The Policy Advisor 

We’re in the dining room, he’s about to kiss me. His hands go tentatively around my back. I’m only too happy to be kissed here, it’s not usually where anything happens. I mean, I barely do any dining in there either. The kissing is slow and cautious and I think of all the kisses I’ve ever had and decide pretty quickly that this kissing right here right now is the best. He starts pawing at my breasts through my clothes. My pants are already soaked through for several reasons. I’m turned on by the fact a guy wants to meet me on a Saturday evening;  for once I’m feeling sexy; and lastly I know already we are going to have sex. 

There is always uncertainty in my mind: does he like me, do I look okay, am I what he expected. I’m aware he can pull out at any stage – either of us can. 

But the guy kissing me is a nice guy. A nice clean smelling guy who has a good job and ambition in spades and a crisp white shirt and good hair. He also has a hairy chest which I notice straight away as soon as I sit down, thanks to his top buttons undone. It is a signal which says ” I am man” and it’s funny because he looks like a boy. 


We are upstairs now, and we both take our shoes off, and I make a joke about it. We both excuse ourselves to go to the loo during a prolonged undressing session : the highlights of which are that he can’t undo my skirt or my bra. He teases me like a master: his fingers toy with the waistband of my knickers and trace around the general groin area but maddeningly nowhere near my throbbing cunt. I grind against him and the bulk in his pants stiffens. We kiss for a long time, him exploring my breasts gently. He tells me to lie back and then slowly he kisses from them right down to my inner thighs. 

Somehow this is a surprise and my brain registers into “oh god he’s going down on me”. And I am a lucky, lucky girl. 

His tongue dances on my clit, around my lips and I buck and writhe because this is hella good. Sometimes he stops and changes position and I try not to think about what is happening and worry about coming. 

And then I think about someone else. I imagine someone else is doing this, which is deliciously naughty.  And his finger toys with my ass, and I thrust into his mouth and moan and he stops and that is when I cum, without him even touching me. 

Knee High Boots and Suspenders? 

He’s asked her to dress up: a last minute request which she is only too happy to obey. It makes her feel powerful; in control. 

She selects a black satin number that has previously been too tight, now it seems to fit like a glove; as if it were waiting in the drawer for this moment. The straps go over her bra and fasten at the back, the fabric skims her torso and  the bottom skims her own bottom; framing the suspenders and stockings perfectly. She looks in the mirror and is almost shocked at how good she looks. The boots are a different matter: 4 inch heels, purple velvet, impossible to walk in, she tells herself she only need make it upstairs after him. 

He arrives and kisses her, fumbling for her cunt. She pushes him away, and with the riding crop tells him to get upstairs.  Once in her bedroom he immediately asks to use the bathroom, firstly giving her cunt a grope again and kissing her hungrily. 

With him, there is something there. Despite the ridiculous age difference, his body feels somehow like it is meant to be with hers. Is it the hair? Is it the physique? There is no time to decide. They get into familiar positions, the ones that work. The ones that feels so good. 

But this time there is a surprise. His words may be rudimentary, crude even. But he asks to lick her pussy and she is shocked, then flattered. Briefly his tongue flicks in and out of her wet lips and she is delighted. She looks down at his body and admires his tight ass, the hairy shoulders. 


She comes quickly after sliding his stiff cock deep inside her. He doesn’t realise and they continue rocking, his face straining with effort, pink cheeked and eyes screwed in concentration. 

They try several different positions but she ends up flat on her stomach deep throttling him. He starts counting… 1….2…..3…. Up until 10 when she sits up, eyes streaming. 

“Why are you counting?” 

“Seeing how long you can go” he replies. 

“What’s the record?” 

“15” he boasts. 

She has always been competitive, ever since school. But this is a challenge she can’t miss. 

He adjusts his for skin so it is covering the tip of his cock and she goes down on him. The longer she swallows the easier it becomes, her nose and forehead are now touching his stomach; her eyes streaming, her throat gagging. 

“22…..23…..24….25….. ”

She gasps for air, he furiously wanks his cock and she drools spittle out of the mouth on the tip. 

“Ralph, Ralph, Ralph” he shouts as his hot white fume shoots out of the end and she catches most of it, the rest landing on his hand and in his belly button. She swallows and sits up. 

“Who the fuck is Ralph?” She asks. 

” I was saying mouth!” He laughs. 

The Business Analyst Part Two

Her hand is still wrapped around his cock as he tells her he is afraid of premature ejaculation. She is puzzled as his cock doesn’t even appear to be hard, it doesn’t behave like other ones have. she’s tried putting it in her mouth, after a few minutes he has pushed her away and continued to play with her. is it wrong for her to feel disappointed? is she being greedy? a sexual glutton, wanting her cake and the cream? 

whatever, he has now shifted position and is fingering her hard, his expression not suitable for this occasion. he looks like he’s trying to start a lawnmower or a bandsaw, his eyebrows are furrowed together and he is giving her real finger fuck with a face contorted with effort. 

She can never tell how many fingers. Ever. It always feels so delicious anyway it doesn’t matter. But she can tell when she has a finger up her ass – which is now. 

“You need lube” she says as she feels him spit on her asshole. He mumbles something and she doesn’t bother to get it for him, the alcohol has numbed her, and she gets used to his probing, the roughness enjoyable. She bucks and twists like a puppet, him the puppetmaster with a hand inside her. 

They have talked about pissing on each other. As soon as they got home, they both had to go – but felt it rude to start off like that. 

Now, having had a few orgasms and talked about it twice again – she is jumping into the cold empty bathtub and he is following her, like a puppy. 

She lies there, unsure what to do with herself, so she squeezes her breasts together and waits, looking up at him rubbing his dick. 

“I thought I needed to go” he says, and before the sentence is finished, a warm translucent blob of spunk hits her knee, followed by a dozen others dotted over her. 

“Oh, I thought I could pee because had an erection” he apologises. 

He is probably too tall to get in the bathtub for her to return the favour but they wash together using the shower hose. 

There is a strange intimacy there, and she gives him a towel that was hanging by the door. 


She can’t remember what happened after that – he left not long after. 

She wonders how someone cannot know their body: she, who can tell exactly when an orgasm is coming; where to touch her and how. 

But it does not matter. She doubts she will see him again.

The Financial Advisor

There had been a string of mediocre fucks recently, and I had turned to new and alternative methods to try and meet someone. I craved someone to take their time with me, to savour me and spoil me. A long session where my pleasure was central to the activities and there was no time limit. An overture of orgasms rather than a toot on a kazoo. An overnighter. A bang, but a firework display.

You get my drift.

All the signs were good: he was in town for 2 nights only and we had plenty of time to get to know each other online at least before the big day. But I was still a little wary.

We met in an average pub I had suggested a few doors down from his hotel. He’d already messaged me to ask what I was drinking which was a nice touch.

I arrived, wet from the rain, hair frizzy. My G&T was waiting, as was he.

He kissed me hello and I felt comfortable immediately. He was cuter than his pictures, with gorgeous brown eyes and long eyelashes. His accent even sexier in the flesh. We chatted for a good hour or so and there was no doubt in my mind as to how we would spend the rest of the afternoon. Luckily he felt the same way, and shortly afterwards he was grabbing my bum in the lift up to his room.

He had warned me it was basic: there was no window and not much room to swing a strap-on but a hotel room is a hotel room. Anonymity, depravity and someone else to clean the sheets. I laid out the condoms on the dresser ready for use. He produced a bottle of Prosecco and one of pink champagne. He pulled me in for a kiss and rested his hands on my hips. What a kisser! Despite his beard his bristles were soft and gave me no rash at all. His hands somehow undid my bra with my top still on. I threw my arms around his neck and sat in his lap, locking lips with his.


Sometimes you just click with someone: that was what happened. He seemed to know that I needed to have orgasm after orgasm whether from his fingers, mouth or cock. I am delighted to say I lost count. He bypassed his own pleasure to make sure I was fully sated. There were glorious scenes: me lying flat on my belly slurping his cock down and licking from root to tip. Him buried between my legs in a similar position, me wrapping my thighs around his shoulders and shuddering to a glittering crescendo of ecstasy. Him bent over me, feeding his cock into my mouth and then coming all over it. Me underneath him licking his balls while he gently fingered my pussy to orgasm. Him taking me from behind: but not just banging and thrusting, oh no. He changed position, made sure I was enjoying it as much as him by strumming my clit like a guitar as he slowly slid in and out of me. Him taking my breasts in his hands and just licking and nuzzling them for ages. I reciprocated by tongueing his nipple ring- a new phenomenon for me and oddly addictive. I couldn’t leave it alone.

His body was well built, freckly and his upper arms were covered in tattoos. Not really my thing but they were fascinating. He took a lot of care over his appearance – I joked that he had some good “manscaping” down below. We sipped the prosecco between our exploits and felt comfortable in each others company. After around three and a half hours we both got dressed and headed out for something to eat.

His hotel was conveniently placed for some very well known restaurants – I suggested steak or Mexican, but he didn’t care much for either. So I took him to one of my favourite places – absolutely on purpose because I love it so much. Over the few years it has been open I’ve taken friends, relatives and lovers there. They either get it or they don’t. It was only halfway through the meal that I remembered I had broken my first date rule of not eating in front of someone. And I did not care at all.

During dinner we talked about sex. He confessed he hadn’t been so compatible with someone in bed so quickly in his life. I agreed. We discussed the state of porn, feminism, comedy and how to relieve stress.

There was always the option of picking up where we left off after dinner. In truth I felt pretty drunk from the booze and having skipped lunch. He had to revise for his training course the next day. He kissed me goodbye and messaged me soon after to thank me for a great time. I went home with a new feeling of satisfaction.


The next day I had to stop myself thinking about him. Scenes from the previous afternoon replayed in my brain: him biting my ear and then sticking his tongue in it which set me off. Him softly caressing my neck and upper back with his fingers which drove me crazy. The bitemark which he apologised for leaving on my back, just about where my bra strap sits. Him contorting himself into different positions to heighten my pleasure. The way he slowly removed my clothes. His striped underwear and matching socks. His miniature travel toiletry set laid out in the bathroom.

Oh god. I was having feelings for him. This wasn’t in the blueprints. I hadn’t planned this at all.


In most of the blog posts I write, I know what happens already. The scenario has already played out, I scribe and report the details for your reading pleasure and for my own catharsis.

Dear reader, forgive me just this once if I don’t finish the story.

Because I don’t want to jinx it.