It is months since I have seen him after blocking him. He became needy and aggressive and I didn’t have the capacity to deal with it. Now it seems he has a new profile and a new offer to sleep with me. And I guess I’m intrigued.

He arrives a lot later than expected but I’m ready with a new ridiculous outfit mainly pvc and which has mainly turned me on before his arrival. I realise I’m scared. His tone on texts is aggressive but it’s the language barrier. The fear adds to the excitement and I focus on remembering the size of his dick, the money and how quickly it will be over.

He’s straight through the door and hands and fingers all over me. He’s somehow behind me, fingers straight up my pussy and I’m framed in the doorway to the dining room like a doll : legs akimbo and nervous the guy next door who’s been gardening all day will see us. Sure, it’s an extra thrill. We move to the lounge and I kneel on the footstool with him still fingering me. I’m driven wild by all of it: the incongruity, the no communication, the uncomfortableness. My arms have no purchase on the furniture I grab onto and he starts to slap my pussy. I run upstairs and come on my bed from that alone. He pulls me around to get his cock in my mouth and I feel his come all down my neck, hot and sticky. He traces it back up into my mouth.

It’s a long time since I’ve swallowed any cum, it’s bitter and claggier than I remember. He goes to wash his hands. We chat for a bit and he asks about other men, he always seem jealous despite the circumstances of how we met and he’s obviously fucking others.

We go again with him slipping on a condom and fucking me hard into the bed. It’s over before I can get into a rhythm, he’s climaxed very quickly and asks where to put it.

We go back downstairs and he’s handing me £50, asking if that’s okay. The money doesn’t matter to me, it’s the kink of him actually paying me and feeling slutty. Is that wrong ?

I look at the clock as the door closes : he’s only been here for half an hour.

He’s asked me to get out the toys for this visit. I don’t have much time so I only get a small selection of what I use and what I’d like him to use on me. It’s always interesting to see what a guy chooses, and it’s often the opposite of what I might want.

He goes down on me straightaway and I’m able to squirt a little as I haven’t seen him in weeks. I’ve been away and although he promised to come and visit he didn’t.

He takes up the rabbit vibrator and struggles to use it – I have to show him that the ears go on the clit and the main part inside. He looks fascinated as he brandishes it and also licks me and used his hands.

He also grabs the Doxy and tries that, almost getting it inside me, until I cry out. He tells me he used to run a sex toy business until Facebook marketplace closed it down. I laugh and ask for the leftovers.

Eventually my cunt is numb, I can’t even feel his dick inside me. He comes inside anyway and I enjoy the feeling of his tongue licking his own cum as he fingers me, making me squirt again.

He lies back and I guess he doesn’t have to rush off this time. He tells me about a bi club we should go to, but as with most plans it doesn’t work out.

He leaves and I start to clear up after him. The vibe is covered in my blood.

I’m sore for a couple of days, but it’s worth it.

So here we are : my first threesome in 6 years. The last time was traumatic and I’m keen to please M and shake off the bad experience. I’m trying not to overthink it : it’s just sex with one more person than usual, I trust him. More than that – I was a different person back then. I’ve grown up, I’ve grown a thicker skin.

I’ve chosen a black corset-style bodystocking with cut out tits but with a bra and thong over the top to preserve some of the mystery. Of course I’m nervous but the admin had been taken care of and the guy arranged by M. I’ve even chatted a little to him online so I know he’s real. 

We are introduced first which makes me chuckle, I don’t at this moment care about names. Barely anyone uses my name, dare I admit it’s actually one of my kinks? 

I pull off my dress and I have two pairs of eyes admiring me. It’s hard not to focus my attention on C as he’s about 6 foot 7, huge hands and dick swaying in front of him with a marvellous chest like it’s been sculpted. He grins at me as I trace my fingers over it. What a treat.

I can’t remember how everything happens but I enjoy two sets of hands on me, two lips, two cocks and two guys, wow this is easy. M takes a few photos : one of me sucking M and one of him fucking me. They are pretty good. 

I can’t come though. I try not to think about it but I notice M can’t even get hard, which is unusual. I take him in my mouth and I can smell something on him: is it sweat or his ass? Either way it’s odd, he’s always so clean and fresh. Performance anxiety? 

At one point he leaves to get something to drink out of his car and I almost lose it. It’s a big trigger as this happened in my last 3. I’m left with C pounding me which is a bit strange and disconcerting. Luckily he comes back pretty soon. We do all of the possible positions: C fucking me from behind while I suck M’s dick, me on my back while M licks me and C’s cock is in my mouth. At one point M grabs my ankles so tightly I have to tell him to stop.

— 

I ask C if he can come from a blow job “No” comes the reply. Hmmm, we are in a pickle then. 

C fucks me hard and I feel nothing. It’s just very mechanical and sexless, soon I’m fairly sore and numb from the repeated pounding. I ask for several breaks but they can’t leave me alone for long. Fingers and tongue probe me, I even manage to squirt a little despite my nerves. Tee hee. 

—- 

I finally come with C’s cock in my mouth and M’s mouth on my pussy – what actually turns me on is the sound of C noisily kissing and sucking my nipples. 

C isn’t going to come at all and M can barely get hard. 

I say to C how long is it and he says an hour and 15 and I say no your dick and we all crack up. “8 inches.”

C leaves and I think it’s all over as M puts his clothes on. I do the same but suddenly M is rock hard, pushing me back on the bed and pulling up my dress. He’s back in the room and 💯 on me. It’s doing wonders for my ego. He licks me, and I take a photo of him doing it. 

He tells me to kneel on the bed and he fucks me from behind, coming almost immediately. 

That’s the best bit. 

In a pandemic, the natural step is to indulge in some self- love. You’re not allowed to meet new guys or even old guys unless you know where they have been and weighed up the risk. Truth is, even the old guys have disappeared. Because they had girlfriends all along anyway, and now they can’t play around.

I spent February – August on dating apps. The results were pretty shocking from the guy who came on a date and then ghosted but after two weeks said he wasn’t looking for a relationship to the local guy who I kept seeing with different women each month. As a friend perfectly coined it, dating is now akin to self-harm.

August brought some new sex toys – not all hit the spot. First some nipple suckers (useless, don’t waste your money) and a beginners buttplug. Both disappointing. I dialled it up a few weeks later with a triple hole vibe (too fiddly, minimal joy) a huge rubber dildo and nipple clamps attached to a ball gag.

I had a lot of fun with the dildo and the clamps/ball gag. The latter became a staple of solo sessions. Something very hot about being so restricted alone. But the time comes when solo play doesn’t hit the spot anymore.

---

He’s very good at flirting with me on the phone, I take this as a good sign. So when he calls a bit drunk after I’ve walked away from a guy I don’t fancy or want to fuck at all, I’m all ears. My principles have stopped me from popping the 16-month drought with someone, but serendipity serves me another opportunity.

Sure, I’m taking a risk by meeting a guy at the end of my road, but I can always say no. After all I just did. I am all powerful, master of my own destiny. But when I step off the bus and actually see him, it’s a huge relief. On first sight I fancy him, and he’s just a ball of energy. The complete opposite to the guy I’ve just spent an hour with.

And yeah I’m horny and all dressed up and ready for sex. So when we have a giggle together, dance and sing it feels fabulous. I haven’t had a man touch me in over a year, and I’m not including the osteopath in that because he never kissed my neck.

Yeah, that happens straightaway. Even a hand on my waist is enough. And despite it being so long I settle into the familiar dance with all the energy I can. I have flashbacks for weeks about his body contorted to push his cock into my mouth while fingering and licking my pussy. Oh god what a feeling. To return to form with someone who knows what I like.

His cock is the perfect shape, perfect form, perfect girth. It’s poetry in my mouth and he likes to tell me what i need to do with it – “Hold it tighter” he urges, as I learn he hates his balls and nipples being touched.

We are at it for hours and I cum on top of him, shattering all inhibitions. We are so compatible in bed its crazy – his demands really turn me on. It is a glorious return to form. But I am not prepared for what happens next.

---

15 months without sex can get to a girl. Especially a horny girl who doesn’t need much encouragement now to get wet. So I go back to the swingers site and plunge myself into a sea of cocks. Maybe I belong there, maybe I should be in a position to choose who I want and ignore those I don’t. Maybe this is a terrible idea.

It’s overwhelming and I feel out of practice. But there is a familiar face there amongst the angry looking pork swords. He’s very persuasive, which I am a sucker for and gets my number very quickly.

We chat for two hours into the night and early morning. I never know if this is a good sign or a sign of a psychopath. The following day many voicenotes and phone calls. There is a double entendre about cake, and then I think he’s mugging me off.

I’m chatting to a handful of others anyway and arrange to meet a different guy that evening with very little notice. I like the idea of going out despite a hectic day. The weather is unpredictable at best and I don’t want to look as if I’ve made an effort. I slip into black jeans and a top that shows my boobs but cover it with a jacket. New kicks. Adding a necktie which is actually a silk blindfold is my master stroke. For the first time in a long time I actually feel amazing. I look fucking hot.

I arrive too early and for some reason he doesn’t want to meet at a bar so i’m waiting by the station, sucking on my new CBD vape, trying to curb my anxiety. But I don’t actually feel that nervous. The area I’m in is hipster central and there are a lot of excellently dressed people to watch. So when he comes across the road immediately I think NO. There is something about the way he walks, the way he approaches me, his coat, his shoes. He leads me up the road walking so fast I have to tell him to slow down. He chats nervously about the area and I’m just thinking oh fuck how do I get out of this.

We find a restaurant with outside seating – I don’t want to be inside as I’m now roasting hot from the speedwalk and it’s a gorgeous evening. So now I’m sat opposite him. I don’t drink, and order a tonic water so he doesn’t either. I’d rather he got a fucking glass of champagne or something, Jesus. And nah, I definitely don’t even want to see this guys dick just to get laid. He’s boring, there is no spark. He talks like he’s never talked to anyone before. I’m distracted by literally anything in the street, the cute whippet sitting at the table next to us, the gang of girls off out out getting into a cab, the woman who leaves the house in a neon mask. Sure, we chat about stuff – I’m not a complete bitch. But it’s awkward and stilted. Is he really that nervous?

He finally asks what I want to do after we’ve finished the drinks. I apologise and tell him I’m not really feeling it so I’m going to go home. He takes it well. I realise at this point he hasn’t smiled or laughed once. Am I making him nervous?

There follows an awkward series of events that you would cringe at in the movie version. He says he’s going to the loo and he’ll ask for the bill. I really hope that he disappears and just leaves me. I think about doing the same tbh, but politeness. He takes ages but comes out and the waiter brings the bill. A few moments later the heavens open in to a monsoon-type rain so we shelter for a bit and realise we need to get inside to pay. We split it and then I think “fuck it” I’m going to pee. There’s a girl stood washing her hands and I almost want to say ” mate i just swerved one” but I keep that to myself.

Annoyingly he’s waiting for me, we say our goodbyes and I walk off feeling amazing. And then I look at my phone, missed call from you know who.

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.