A week ago a postvan pulled up to park outside the house. The guy inside took out a bacon sandwich and bit into it. Something about the way he opened his mouth and put it in was an instant turn on : that absolute hunger.

Reader, I wanked immediately. 

That same week the smell of a young man who walked past me as I took my daily walk: freshly showered with too much aftershave. But at this time, a small welcomed frisson. Another man who glided past on a bike, shouting at his friend. But he smelt good.

A male voice on the phone, just for a change, a little excitement. I couldn’t remember what he sounded like. Gruff, an odd mix of accents. I like his humour. But how does he kiss?

Struggling to fall asleep and trying to remember the last guy who stayed over and not being able to. Even if it was him, he didn’t lie and hug me, spoon me or let me bury my face in his chest. The feeling of some arms around me.  I remember once four years ago lying on my side, in an embrace while he spanked me hard.

A text from the last guy I slept with elicited a shriek. I’d not really been in touch. Out of the blue he asks how I am. The dance of politeness, does he still want me? 

Yes,

Then

The cry of a fuckboy this morning: “So horny I could explode lol”

I reply this time with “TBH I would just wank it out, we ain’t gonna be allowed to meet anytime soon”

I don’t want him anyway

——

Clamps on my nipples, to feel something, anything.

A flat peach, the juices running down my chin.

Something penis shaped in my mouth.

The smell on my hands. What does spunk smell like again?

His six pack.

I crave a playful slap across my ass.

Trimming my bush, just in case.

Clean sheets. A picnic, his hand up my skirt. The vibrator under my pillow. 

Laughing at a newspaper article about new lockdown couples : a propaganda piece

Fuck off. 

Wondering who the next guy to go down on me will be.

When? 

I haven’t spoken to him in a while. I’d noticed a few posts on Twitter and eventually, we get around to DMing again and then WhatsApp.

He’s caged at the moment with a new pink plastic sissy case for his cock. The pictures don’t especially turn me on, but the concept does. Long before I’d even seen a real cage in the flesh I was a huge fan of @thumpermn reading about his experiences of chastity. The incredible power of a man prepared to do that for a woman has always interesting to me, if not a fantasy.

We flick back and forth with news, sexy and not sexy, sharing links to porn and fantasies. He tells me he’s going to try the 40 days of lockdown which is quite a hilarious double irony given the current pandemic.  It’s also a matter of willpower as probably the most logical thing to do while *gestures around* all THIS is going on is self-love.

For the first two or three days of lockdown I wanked solidly. I couldn’t think of anything else. Bullet vibe, vibrator, hand, everything. Even the Doxy came out again eventually as my body craved a different feeling, despite its very loud hum. It was quite the reaction to what was happening. Taking back control? I can control my orgasm but not my life? Freud would have a field day.  I would work, then stop,  then indulge myself at regular intervals. As I’ve documented over the past six weeks of lockdown, I heard from fuckboys new and old. Some still offering to meet up, even now. “I’m safe”, “are you free for a visitor?” “I can be there in half an hour”.

Tempting as it all was, not on my watch. I wanted something different….a long game instead of a risky quick fix.

---

 

He sends me a few pictures of his progress over the next few days, and him in some sissy underwear. No-one is particularly domming him, and I don’t have enough of the inclination to make it feel authentic. I ask who’s knickers they are and what they are made from – the small triangle looks like thin leather. It makes me want to touch the cage through it. I ask if they’re clean – “yes” comes the reply.

Almost simultaneously he suggests I send some of my underwear just as I’ve asked clean or dirty. And so it begins. Great minds.

I select a properly sissy pair, peach-coloured with a frill all the way around and a small pale blue bow at the front. Usually, I wear a liner like a good girl but today is different. The thought of wearing these for him is driving me crazy. I’m working from home but my cunt squeezes and rubs against the fabric and I squirm in my chair. It’s too tempting to retire to the bedroom and watch myself pull the knickers aside, part my cunt lips, lie back on the bed and fuck myself. It’s going to be this way for a while anyway. It doesn’t take me long to come. I remove the vibe and replace the knickers and get back to work.

Later, I do the same again. Again, I don’t use porn. I think about the last time I got laid, how his head went between my legs for a very long time until I was numb and told him to stop. I wonder if I will ever fuck him again. When I will fuck anyone ever again?

I want to catch the post, so I remove them around 4.30pm and wrap them carefully in tissue with a ribbon. Of course, I smell just to check they are as sweet as possible. I add a note on a devil postcard ” Look what you made me do x”

---

 

A few days later, he sends me the pictures with him wearing them. My goodness. How a simple gesture can trigger so much pleasure. Do I wank over those images? Do I immediately select another pair to “mess” for him?  You will have to wait and see.

Either way, I have my wish granted for a ridiculously erotic correspondence, should I want it.

 

 

 

 

 

He had a small dick but he made me cum so many times with his mouth and hands I just had to…check. Again. Plus I don’t have any other offers.

He’s coming over on Friday afternoon and the timing is perfect: I’ve just been made redundant and need an escape. Something to make reality go away for a bit.

I dress in stockings and suspenders, noticing with a little pride that I’ve lost weight since I last wore them. I zip up the ridiculous knee-high boots that I can’t walk in and slip on a figure-hugging black dress. I’m very ready to be fucked – or at least brought to orgasm by those magic hands.

But he’s late – an hour later than expected. It’s not an issue as I don’t have anywhere to be, but still.  So when he arrives smelling fresh and looking handsome I’m excited. And then he pushes me against the wall.

His hands paw at me and I can wait no longer. I was meant to pay it cool. He snakes a hand up my dress and pulls my pants aside. I groan because it’s been a while since anyone did that. Standing in my hallway anyway, they usually wait until I get upstairs. His fingers pry and tease me open, my lips are wet as he kisses me. God, he smells great. Somehow I manage to get upstairs in the boots, tottering a bit. But I want to keep them on.

We kiss and I wrestle with his belt in a familiar way, trying to get the tension right and undo him. His dick is straining, neatly packaged in those tight shorts with stripes, I forget the brand. He lunges for my breasts, pulling them out of the bra and biting the nipples, swirling his tongue around them.

---

 

Like last time he doesn’t want me to handle his dick. But unlike last time there is no massage, I don’t even know where the oil is. The boots are still on, which makes things hard as they are pseudo-velvet and catch on the bedding.

God, I love dressing up, always have, always will. It’s always been more for my benefit than theirs. The anticipation, the different sets I own, depending on which mood I’m in and who is coming over. Sometimes I’ve even dressed up alone, ready to pleasure myself.  Slutty, sporty, casual, Never no knickers darling. Your prize is always gift wrapped. The boots are too much maybe, but I wanted to be fucked in them. His head is between my thighs and I don’t care, to the point where I’m actually fantasising he is someone else. Actually anyone else: my boss, the colleague I hate, the last guy I fucked, the ones I used to fuck. And it works, suddenly I’m gripping his hair and grinding into his mouth and oh yes indeed.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asks. I mean. Uhhuh could you not tell I think to myself.

“Yes, so good” I exclaim and get up, putting my knickers and a robe on. I can’t wait for him to be out of the house.

He kisses me with a slobbery wet kiss and although I can taste myself on his lips, I vow never to see him again.

 

I just came out of a six-day relationship. Yeah you heard right. After being hung up on one guy for almost two years, we fell for this guy SO hard.

Tinder has a lot to answer for. But this guy, let’s call him Dick, because I think he had one, despite having no balls, seemed too good to be true. We chat on the app, exchange numbers, the usual. No dickpics are sent, which is good because this is a family show and we never ask for those. Who does? What no guy, and I mean NO GUY seems to realise is that the sight of an angry veiny hard penis does not turn a girl on. It’s the sight of it in its natural state which is the golden ticket.

I’ll leave you with that bombshell, sir.

So yeah we progress to Dick calling me, which again is very unusual in these horrific times. He’s in the car, he keeps it brief and I’m grinning from ear to ear. He’s not been creepy, or suggestive or weird. And we haven’t talked about sex.

For the following few days, I get a “good morning” and “night night” text. It’s quite a lot to deal with when you haven’t had any messages from anyone of the opposite sex in any regularity. Apart from the fuckboy texts which are usually “hey”, “you there” or “I’m horny”. Some of his I reply to, some I don’t. I get a cheeky naked pic in the shower from him but no D, and I don’t reciprocate.

{One day we will write a thesis on male communications, or lack thereof in the digital age and how different they are to females. But this is not the day. Oh no}

On the call, he’s asked me if I’m free Sunday. Now I realise we are in the middle of a pandemic but at that point last week we were not on lockdown. I repeat, not on lockdown.

We arrange to meet at a place in town, but by Friday night we are on semi-lockdown. So we switch to a walk. For me this is a delight – I can’t even get a guy to buy me a drink unless he’s fucking me, so a walk is something. It shows me he’s human.

Sunday morning, I just get the feeling that this isn’t going to happen. I’m a big girl now and I can sense it. And then the text comes through. I guess at least he’s given me notice, but he’s saying he’s ill.

Fair enough, we are on lockdown and you’re not supposed to kiss and maybe this was all a stupid idea anyway. We’re not in the 1940’s and courtship is fucked. I’m not not going to get laid until the Autumn and it hurts. Boo fucking hoo.

And then it’s pretty much crickets. The morning and evening greetings stop. Is he really ill? Married? Fucking around?

And then today he’s suddenly back.

We are way too old for this shit that’s for sure.

It’s four weeks later and I am still thinking about it. I should not be thinking about it at all. I should just be thinking about the marvellous sex. But I am not.

It happened at the station. I’ve never been kissed there before. With a guy I hardly know who had just called me a weirdo. I unzip his jacket and put my hands inside. He’s warm and I want him so badly.

It was the kind of kiss I’ve not had in a long time. Slow, sensual and thrilling. The one when you know you’re gonna end up fucking. On the train, he clutched my bum as the carriage swayed and I exploded.

---

 

It’s the same guy as before, The Accountant. After him going dark, me deleting his number, forgetting about him,  etcetera he suddenly reappeared in my messages.

So we meet for a drink in the same place. Except for this time, he tells me he’s badly injured his neck. Immediately I think he won’t be able to do anything. I’m wrong of course.

 

---

 

In almost a replay of before he goes down on me straight away. Last time he actually played with me so much he made my clit numb. My pussy was sore for days afterward. This time I tell him to stop when it is too much. His thumb presses into my inner thigh and I love how that feels. Like he’s totally in control here. And that’s fine with me.

His boxers are black with a white waistband and I still get excited to put my hand in there and play with the package inside. He has smooth large balls and a perfectly cut cock but he doesn’t seem to like me playing with them very much. He kisses me, with the taste of me all over him and I shiver. I take him in my mouth while he lies back on the bed, slowly taking him all deep down my throat. He groans and moans and after a while pulls me away. Then he rolls me over so I’m underneath him, underneath his perfect thighs. The tip of his cock pushes into me while he kisses me and although I want him to fuck me just like that he needs to wear a condom.

I pull one out for him to put on, he unrolls it looking at me the whole time. Just thinking about mounting him now is too much. His cock fits inside me perfectly and he seems to go crazy with me riding him slowly. He pumps into me from below, grabbing my hips. and then flips me over. Slowly entering me and then pulling out with a pop, waiting a few seconds and then going again. God, what did I do to deserve this guy?

He seems to know exactly how I want to cum – riding him with him kneading my tits and biting my nipples. It’s not very long before I do.

He makes no noise when he comes. Yes, he is perfect.

---

 

A few days later, I notice the bruise on my left inner thigh where his thumb had been and I smile to myself.

He’s been pursuing me for about six months. One of the last from the swingers site I gave my number to. And dear reader, I have been putting him off. I’ve given him every excuse under the sun: a new job, working late, wrong time of the month, too tired, delays on the train, you name it, I’ve said it.

So when we meet one cold January evening, of course, I’m nervous. It’s been around 5 months since I slept with anyone. But he looks so freaking handsome. Better even than the one photo he’d sent me: a neat beard with flecks of grey and happy twinkling eyes. We have a few drinks and I definitely fancy him. But is he into me? I can never tell, friends. I can never tell.

I imagine when you are a man you know immediately. You must be able to sense or even smell a woman who wants you. There must be something. Am I tossing my hair, playing with my drink? Is he looking at my ass when I go to the bar? Ther must be research on this. There are people playing darts and I try to get him to play with me, thinking the interaction would be sexy. His arm on mine, showing me how to hit the bullseye. But no, all the boards are full.

I go to the loo and check myself. I’m soaking wet. Even meeting with the guy has me excited. I have to ask if he wants to come back – I don’t want a third drink. He says yes.

---

We take the tube and then the bus. It’s always fascinating to see how a guy reacts to the banality of travel, the boring bit before the icing on the cake. Impatience, indifference or just oh god he’s touching my thigh. Just that physical touch is so much. He wants me.

Like any well-behaved boy he takes his shoes off as he enters the house. And then his hands are snaking around my waist and we go upstairs.

I’d got it in my head that I’d been doing sex all wrong and had vowed to stop going down on a guy before he did that for me. Behave like a queen, get treated like a queen. So I try out my theory. Oh, daddy. He doesn’t even need to be asked.

I lie back on the bed as everything gets removed by him. I can’t believe how lucky I am that this man is not a complete psychopath. Why on earth did I put him off for so long? Fear, confidence, still being in love with the guy before.

He grips my thighs in a way I just LOVE. His technique is something else – lips, hands, fingers, beard all brushing against my pussy. I am soaked through, I can feel myself seeping onto the cover beneath me.

I have barely touched his cock at this point. He seems absolutely intent on pleasuring me but it has been so long that I can’t seem to come despite really really wanting to.

Eventually, I get to ride him, he hasn’t brought condoms but by now I have given up adding up his ‘score’ as he’s perfect. His body is lightly covered with hair, including his chest and as he lies back I exclaim ” you’ve got a six-pack” which he laughs at. He’s probably the most in-shape guy I’ve been with. And I’m going to enjoy it.

I tell him to look in the mirror and watch me fuck him. And he does as he’s told. All he says is “You’re so hot”, which I will take to my grave.

I’m back in the saddle, and boy does he makes me cum good.

YEE-HA!

 

 

It’s been a while but he’s been messaging me fairly regularly for a meet. Less than 24 hours since I met you-know-who but given I didn’t get much action, I’m game. I guess I can’t be in love then.

He’s arriving at lunchtime – I’m working from home. I choose matching neon underwear and a blue vest dress. I toy with wearing no knickers but decide I enjoy the resistance. I slick myself with lube, make sure my lipstick is fixed and my hair is not too perfect.

And then there he is at the door. We kiss in the hallway, he’s smaller than I remember. Lucky I’m barefoot. He puts his hand up my dress – oh is there anything more sexy? He gropes at me, asking if I’m wet. Very soon he finds out that I am.

“Let’s get you upstairs” he growls.

---

I undress, deciding there is no point beating around the bush. He’s hard, I can feel through his shorts. We grope and kiss, standing up, he bends to suck a nipple. I step back and lie on the bed. He kneels down to lick my pussy, softly at first then rougher. His hot mouth there is a delight. And then fingers, one then two.

Soon my mouth is on his cock. I note the ginger hairs around his stalk as I swallow him. And then says he’s gonna come, pulling me off. He holds the end as the cum seeps out, apologising profusely. I fetch him some tissue, laughing, telling him it’s fine. But, dear reader he’s still hard so I manage to roll on a condom and position myself on him.

He knows what to do as I ride him, grab my tits and squeeze and lick them. I’m so close to cumming but of course he beats me to it.

His cock looks white, dead even in the condom so I help him take it off. He tells me its been a while which I find odd given he’s relatively handsome and polite. We chat about meaningless stuff and he lies there for a bit. I check when he has to leave – in ten minutes it turns out so no chance for another go.

When he leaves I sort myself out with my Rabbit.

I’ve finally pinned him down to see me. He’s in a very complicated situation involving  a nuisance neighbour and I don’t realise the enormity of the situation until I’m there and see the riot vans and the armed police. As a result we are using his friend’s house as a temporary base for the afternoon.

We meet in the park, it’s a beautiful day and I see him before he sees me. There is no picnic or plan, in fact I’ve already got lost and confused but here we are now. He looks tired, a little bloodshot in the eyes but even just to see him is everything to me. We walk to get ice-cream, he gives me a crisp note and lets me choose what I want. Like the proverbial kid in a sweet shop. We drive around for a while, as always he talks ten to the dozen and has about 15 things going on at once, his phone never stops and he knows everyone in the area. To be in the car with him eating ice-cream is enough for me, for now. I love him, after all. I just haven’t ever told him.

We get back to the house that he built for a friend. It’s not much from the outside and we go in the back way. The first thing I notice is the smell: fresh wood. The walls and ceilings are light Scandinavian pine. It’s beautiful, and I instantly relax. He shows me around, the stairs, a skylight – its like something out of a TV design programme. I’m open mouthed as I take in the detail, carefully going back down the stairs.

We settle down to watch some comedy – remember this is how he relaxes – and he lies his feet across me. I get orders to itch here, scratch there. He shows me how to massage his neck properly. We lie opposite each other and he starts to massage my feet. Wow. I’m shot back to the first time we met 18 months ago when he did the same, explaining sexual pressure points are in your feet. And then he pokes my pussy with his finger. I can feel it getting wetter as he strokes it over my knickers.

We both shift positions and he puts his head in my lap, still eyes on the TV, occasionally grasping my breast through my dress. The desire to take a photo of him like this is intense, I want to capture the moment and how he looks. I scratch his neck in the way he likes. I feel like I’m on holiday, in someone else’s house, with the boy in my lap. Lazy afternoons like this forever please.

We’ve spoken about me helping him shave his bits and I’m waiting for the cue. He leaps up and tells me he hasn’t showered yet – I mean no shit, I could tell. But I like a man who smells of man rather than aftershave.

He pulls off his clothes and is framed in the doorway. His dick, his beautiful dick hangs down and I take it all in. He starts the shower, telling me to find the clippers and I go scrambling everywhere for them. I pull off my dress and underwear and join him in the wet room. The floor is polished concrete and slippy. I have clippers in my hand and his beautiful thick dick in front of me. What could possibly go wrong?

Have I ever done this? I recall a guy doing it to me but never this way around. He holds his stalk out and he’s hard. He reaches down and kisses my breasts and I slide around a little. I switch on the clippers and start at the top. I don’t really want to shave off the hair, I like it. He’s not even particularly hairy, just a downy fuzz. We slip and slide around a bit and switch positions. I manage, with his help, to trim him how he wants.

I can’t remember which happens next: did he then shave me or did I kneel down and take his beautiful cock in my mouth?

I lick and suck the end then the length, a little like I had done with the ice cream earlier. He’s not 100% clean which is unusual for him, it’s not unpleasant but just a shock. Either way he’s showing me how to squeeze the end with my hand how he likes it, and is very soon grunting and spurting all over the floor, the white jets splattering on the black concrete floor.

He tells me he hasn’t come like that for a while. Oddly I don’t really care.

---

 

We go out to grab takeaway, a Lebanese and return back and eat it very quickly. It’s late now, around 8. He’s prepared some halloumi to go with it which also disappears. We chat a little bit about what’s been happening in each others lives. He’s poured me a glass of wine and I’m slowly drinking it when he tells me we’ve got to go.

I wasn’t expecting to or even sure if staying the night was possible. I grab my things and replace my clothes. I stalk out and he calls me back to say a proper goodbye but we don’t really do kissing.

Once again, I leave his house more disappointed than sated, the girl who always wants more.

 

He’s French, which is a surprise. I can’t quite place the accent at first but as he explains he’s from a small town near Bordeaux it unfurls from aural hieroglyphics into a recognisable Gallic twang.

One of our favourite all time fucks was French, so we kind of do an internal dance.

The drink at the pub is just a formality, after one we are riding a few stops back to mine.

He grabs me near the bed and we kiss softly, his stubble sexy against my lips. His hands smooth my body down, I grab his waist and feel how goddamn slim he is. I take off my jacket and his hands go over my breast, over the lace body I’m wearing. It’s too damn hot to be doing this so I switch on the fan and push him down on the bed, straddling him we kiss again and I grind into him.

I’ve already taken off my jeans and As I unpop the crotch of the body he gasps. Now I’m in my underwear, he’s fully clothed. I help him take off the shirt and then unbuckle his jeans. He’s hairy like a cartoon Frenchman with a thin silver chain around his neck. I pop off my bra and he buries his face in my breast, kneading them and sucking the nipples. Very soon he is pulling down his boxer shorts – red stripes – and I take him in my mouth. He’s got and oddly not hairy but no evidence of manscaping.

I tease a little and he groans, I take the length and then let it flop out. He makes noises like he loves it. I come up for a breather and we kiss, tongues of course. God he’s good at this. Now he’s pulling my knickers down and traces one finger down my cunt lips then buries his face there. Oh my goodness. A pleasure, sir.

I moan and writhe for a bit until he jumps up to get a condom. One if the first guys in a while to bring his own. He slides it on with an ease I haven’t seen in years and pushes his length inside. Oh good grief, what a glorious fit. Mon dieu indeed!

We missionary for a bit and it’s good, he knows how to move to get a good rhythm going and I fixate on how hairy his shoulders are for some reason. I ask if I can ride him and we switch, me sliding back onto his Gallic member and finding the sweet spot. Meanwhile he actually motor boats me, burying his face between my tits and really enjoying himself. Then grabs each one and licks and sucks and oh wow that’s it yes fuck oh god I’m coming that’s it!

I ride him for a bit longer then tell him to switch. Doggy style for him – as he grabs my hips I tell him to go harder and he explodes not long after.

We lie there for a bit and enjoy the fan. It’s begun to rain so I get up to close the window.

“You’ve got something stuck on you” he says as I peel off the condom wrapper from my ass.

I look at it “Large eh?”

It’s a Passante one but he’s pretty much punching above his weight. He’s a good size but by no means large.

Men eh? Especially French ones…