Following on from last time’s post about the great divide of persons between I’m inclined to continue with a focus on sex related to Christmas and New Year’s. Whilst my previous post addressed life as a singleton finding sex at these particular holidays I feel this week I’ll focus on whether there are any significant changes in sex at these particular times when in a permanent solid relation ship.
In short – there’s not. Being single and slutty or wife-ish and whorish has absolutely no impact on the kind of sex available and on offer on these dates. Somewhere deep in the subconscious the preferred date is seared not only on the brain but the loins and one responds accordingly.
Me? I like sex all the time and having never been in a proper relationship until my 30’s one thing I was determined to do was make the most of having sex on tap and available to me. No longer would I have to go out on the prowl to ensure a festive fucks.
Christmas is a time of giving and sex is readily available. But it is still a family holiday and when you have one foot Australia and the other in the UK it tends to mean you and your family are joined at the hip – at least in terms of accommodation at this time of the year. If in Australia I’d be staying with my folks and was not in a position to insist on Christmas clubbing and then bringing a random dick back to finally christen my virgin bed (which still remains so and I’m now 35!). If my family were over from the UK we’d be staying at a rather posh Downton Abbey-esque hotel by the sea in Norfolk which limited the amount of dicks available considerably– normally nil because it was a ‘family’ hotel of the English genteel so finding a single man willing to shag a horny common slutty Australian was difficult to say the least.
After I found a man I assumed all this would change.
Not necessarily so. Because Christmas and New Year’s fall in close proximity the same problems plaguing my Christmas cock endeavours also impinged on my New Year’s nobbing.
For the first New Year’s I had my boyfriend rather romantically we had been separated – me with my parents, brother and wife and niece and nephew in a restored barn in Lincoln; my fellow with his newly wedded father in London. Irrespective of the emotional blackmail his father burdened upon him (‘This could be my last Christmas,’ he wailed. ‘And I could go under a bus tomorrow,’ quipped my boyfriend.) He spontaneously caught a train to Lincoln to join me for New Year’s Eve. This wasn’t just to impress my parents, nor was it a grand gesture on his part confirming our shared devotion. It was a lusty journey because he hadn’t had a New Year’s fuck in over 10 years. Thus he felt it worth the effort and I was excited because not being a ‘New Year’s’ person I had never had a shag to welcome in the New Year.
Sadly it was all a little disappointing. My boyfriend was a recovering alcoholic and having recently packed in the booze was low on energy and physically recovering from excessive alcohol abuse for 3 years on his 45 year old body. The valium may have eased his need for the drink but it did render performance problems. I had never really had sex before with my parents in the next bedroom so couldn’t really let loose and ride in the New Year with any vigour or vocalisation. It ended up being a very vanilla style session. We adopted a very last session laying side by side, my leg raised for his entry and then a slow, deep, constant penetration to ensure the bed wasn’t rocking audibly and the headboard wasn’t banging rhythmically to alert my parents to what activity their little girl was indulging in. My orgasm muffled by a pillow and his tampered by his inhibited English manners. His inhibition was so great he was reluctant to even cum for fear of him staining the bed. It was a short celebratory session. Both of us smiling in the dark that we’d finally broken the New Year’s sex drought (mine at 31 years significantly longer tan his ten year abstinence) but also realistic at the subdued nature of the act of love.
What made it so disappointing was that only a week earlier we’d been be staying at a rather posh Downton Abbey-esque hotel by the sea in Norfolk and I’d been riding him and screaming down the house for three nights and mornings on the trot.
Even earlier in the Christmas season his lust had been so frenzied that when I’d been drunk and returned home from my work Christmas party in a cab because I couldn’t stand up straight let alone string a sentence together with any coherence and had vomit down my chin, he opened the front door where I was being deposited with the greeting, ‘Wow you look like a movie star!’ (Really??? In that state???).
It was true, it was the first time he’d seen me fully made up and in a dress but 6 hours of non-stop binge drinking really should’ve taken the shine off me. Instead he looked at me like I was a mesmerising Christmas tree in Times Square and began pushing me up the stairs.
I got up stairs and collapsed on our bed, only to wake an hour later with his hard cock pushing at my buttocks. The minute I groaned, authorising my state of wakefulness he wasted no time in pulling at my control knickers and tights. I could feel his hard cock placing itself between my plump bum cheeks and as he continued to thrust he reached around my front to see how wet I was. And even drunk I was wet and wanting. His hand could feel how moist I was and his fingers slipped in easily. After finger-blasting my vagina, spreading it and bringing my to my first orgasm, my responsive moans had him demanding a little more action from me.
He insisted I get on all fours for a doggy style ramming. My head was in the bed already pounding with tomorrow morning’s hangover. We agreed later, given my state, it was borderline date rape, but kinda sexy cause it was safe. I was begging him no more but he wasn’t having it. If anything he was making me look in the mirror to acknowledge how allegedly beautiful I was and then thrusting his cock into my mouth.
Knowing I was unable to physically prevent him from having his wicked way he then started telling me he wanted to ‘fuck my arse’. I love anal – as does he – but am normally hygienic about it and like to feel comfortable. Because I was drunk and worried about muscle control (or rather the lack of) I pleaded with him not too. I said I was worried about a mess and knew I had to go to the toilet so felt uncomfortable about it. All this was mumbled and he shook his head and said we’d done far filthier and had far bigger messes take place in the bed. When I expressed my concern about the passage not being clean he was not deterred by my concern and confession of a few stumbling, brown obstacles that may hinder the process of an anal pounding.
STOP READING HERE IF YOU ARE OF A NERVOUS DISPOSITION
In a festive fucking frenzy whilst using his fingers and some baby oil to prime my arse and widen the entrance for his overly thick cock he reached up inside and pulled three malteaser size balls of poo from my bottom. I realise this sounds gross but for him to do that and not lose his erection I can only assume I must’ve looked fucking gorgeous that night. To my shame I was so inebriated I was fascinated that he’d done it and while he forced his cock into my ring piece I watched with an almost childish joy as I saw the three little balls roll down the mattress. I was about to grab them, marvelling at how perfectly symmetrical, smooth and round they were but was prevented from doing so as my boyfriend slapped my arse hard, pulled my hair and thrust deep and then came, making me cry out and forget the poo and focus on the pain and pleasure.
That was certainly a Christmas cracker and a great start to the festive season in 2009. It’s just a shame the sexual start to the New Year of 2010 involved a rather bland, conservative and restrained speedy almost teenage pump. So being single or involved will not influence your sexual takings for these festive holidays. I’m now married and I have to say Christmas remains a bonanza spectacular style attitude to festive fucking (thankfully there is no more forceful faeces extraction required) but New Year’s we don’t even bother with – better to have no sex than bad sex. Who wants to start the New Year with a lousy fuck???
Following on from last fortnights post I take you back to a drug fuelled very sordid, very filthy sex marathon. As things were left having started with vanilla style sex, we progressed into a light cross dressing and some dominatrix role play, some very intense water sports completed with me rogering my man with my glorious giant purple strapless strap on. Now it was collar off for him and collar on for me.
This brings a somewhat rather different dynamic to the evening. When he wears the whore collar, he’s submissive and under my command. When he has me wearing the whore collar the idea is for me to demonstrate how much of a whore I can be. Normally this starts with me having to clean his cock up. Often he will leave it unwashed for a few days to ensure I’m tasting something that’s a cross between Gorgonzola cheese and an old sock. There’s something so repulsive of having to undertake this act that it turns me on doing it.
That having been done I have to make myself look glamorous so I’m ordered to ‘make’ myself up. The set up of the room and the dark lighting means I need to be near the dress mirror but always open to any advances whatsoever. Thus my legs must remain parted and to ensure the make up is immaculate I have to do my best to ignore him kneeling between my legs and flicking his tongue over my clit as his fingers push deeper and deeper into my cunt.
No sooner am I finished than he informs me he wants proof of just how much of a whore I really am. Implied duress and I find myself asking him to piss on my face. I hate this. I always have. It seems so disrespectful but its part of the game. And it’s the one part of the evening where I couldn’t feel any more like a whore – participating in a sexual act that I loathe and detest and yet that I trust him and want to please him and allow him to do it demonstrates great love and that in itself gets my cunt went.
I’m soaked through. He’s deliberately chosen to piss in my newly washed hair and I’m showered in it. He insists I rub it all in. Surprisingly enough as I rub it in, I find my cunt is wet with my own juice as well as his piss and he’s pleased when I bring myself to orgasm.
Soon enough I am on the bed on all fours in a possession of a 9 inch pink vibrator. I am using it to stretch my bottom and the vibrations in my arse are amazing. With a huge whiff of poppers my head becomes floaty and I’m trapped in only the physical sensations. Now my partner is using a glass decorative object (a rather nice 9inch glass dildo with balls increasing in size towards the base) into my arse. He encourages me to sit on it for it to go deeper but my rectum is not ready for this kind of invasion. My flinching must imply this to him as he stops quickly. I ask that he lube his fingers and insert them in me and spread them. At one time he used to be able to get 8 fingers in and when fucking my arse once relaxed he said it was like a second cunt. He seems pleased with how quickly my arse has reverted back to the size and stretch of its former glory. So much so he spreads my cheeks widely and plunges his tongue in. So stretched and so relaxed it triggers an anal orgasm – for most women this is unusual and difficult to achieve but with practise you have my word that the quality of orgasm puts it on a scale of its own. After much play he places a large butt plug my arse.
With that he asks me to get him hard, which takes seconds. His cock is beautiful and I’m desperate for his cum and tell him. We decide he will cum on my clit and I’m to rub it in for my last orgasm of the evening and then lick my fingers clean. Knowing this awaits the end of the sex marathon is something to look forward to rather than dread.
Pushed over onto the edge of the bed, my legs dangle over the edge and I’m instructed to raise my legs and spread them wide and instructed to pull my cunt as wide open as possible. I stretch it and am rewarded with licks and flicks and a tongue fuck. Such attention to my clit begins a multiple orgasm. The first comes but his tongue and fingers are relentless. No sooner has the first finished than a second starts. No sooner has the second finished then with a firm thumb placed over my clit and a third starts. From there on the orgasms continue as fast and with ever growing intensity till I can barely breathe, I beg him to stop – not because of the effort and attention he’s lavishing on me but the intensity and physical exertion of having a prolonged orgasm for more than 15 minutes is physically exhausting. I sit up, sucking his cock to distract him from spending more time on my genitals. Cock half hard he places it in me. I notice he has moved a bowl next to the bed, under where my legs are spread, my cunt cuddling his half erection. I feel his cock strain and then my uterus fills. There’s a warmth feeling and then a pressure, a pressure that touches every nerve sell in my uterus. He pulls out and a wave of his piss floods out between my thighs. The rush of it has my rubbing myself. He aims his cock and pisses directly onto my clit brining on an unexpected orgasm.
My fatigue is apparent and he relents momentarily from the endless orgasms but insists I get onth e bed doggy style. His cock pounds me and he taps the butt plug. I’m handed a pink vibrator and before long my entire body is convulsing. And he continues, his own fingers reach round to touch with my clit. His hands move up and down my body, pinching my nipples, spreading my buttocks to tap the butt plug and I begin to orgasm- clitoral, vaginal and anal. The sex is now straddling something between a religious experience and cruel torture. He eventually releases me.
Cuddles are brief and arbitrary before he gentle takes me down off the bed and onto the floor. I find myself kneeling on the carpet with towels placed around me and I know what’s coming. The anticipation excites me and my cunt gets wet. So wet there’s no need for the tubing attached to the funnel to be lubed. With a stretch arsed the tubing slides in easily. I allow it to go as far up as possible so that a little pressure on it brings small waves of orgasm throughout my being. The sound of him pissing in the funnel is almost as intoxicating as feeling his piss seep into me. His stream of piss is so strong there’s a splash back and little sprinkles of his warm piss shower onto me. I had an urge to finger or vibe my clit as he did it but with him working the tube in and out of my arse at varying speeds and depths yet another orgasm was inevitable. When it came the jolts through my body meant some of the piss spurted back up the tube only to have to be worked back into my colon. After that the decorative glass object is pushed into my arse, only this time its the full length of it. I’m proud I managed more than him. Apart from being a good bedroom achievement, I love the feel of my arse clamping round it.
But the night had to finish and there were final duties to be performed.
At this hour I can take my mind. It’s never just a simple blow job. It’s about shifting consciousness and submitting to the suggestion and sensations experienced. His beautiful cock is perfect in colour, shape, size and girth – it is one dildos should be modelled on. But the beast is proud and he wants to fuck my mouth and I want it to – knowing I’ll suffer tomorrow with the exertion and technique required. Once he’s hard, we inhale poppers and I’m told to feel each thrust in my mouth as if it were being delivered to my cunt. I hungrily take his cock in my mouth and do my best to slacken my throat to stop any reflux but the size of him hits my throat. He can read me,he knows I need to be fucked so as I take him deep and desperately his hand goes over my head and holds it there. He fucks me slow and deep, all the while whispering for me to feel it in my cunt. With closed eyes and an ability to move me consciousness and attention to other parts of my body I can feel his cock in my cunt, even though I hold it in my mouth. As he holds my head tight and I struggle, he lets me until my body wracks with an orgasm originating from my vagina. Only when I achieve climax does he release my head so I can get my breath back.
Then it’s time for me to finish him off. I work with a vibrator, my mouth, with my tongue, with my musician hands and with my piss. Forget lube or spit, my piss is what has his prick leaking thick clear pre-cum. After 8 hours he needs a break- we talk for an hour and begin again and soon enough he’s knelt between my spread legs and I see a huge wad of cum eject from the head of his cock and onto my clit. While he watches I rub the creamy cum into my clit to finish the evening with my final orgasm. I lick my fingers while he watches and we lay down in each others arms hoping that the drugs won’t keep us awake. As whenever he comes, the ejaculation is like a tranquillizer and he sleeps immediately. I can feel remnant of his sperm seeping down to the entrance of my vagina and feel all horny again with nothing to do but count down the hours till he wakes.
My soon to be husband said to me very early on in our relationship that the the great thing about monogamous sex was that it could really improve over time as you got to know how each others bodies responded to certain stimuli and also, knowing how each other’s minds operated meant you could improve your sex life with creativity and imagination. Foolishly I pooh poohed him on that, under the misapprehension sex could only ever stagnate and become vanilla.
Four years on and I have seriously had to review my initial opinion.
There comes a time when one must reconcile one’s self with age and physical capability. A sex marathon should never be passed on but it needs to be prepared for and in our case it needs to be drug fuelled. With age and a decreasing level of fitness non-stop excessively athletic sex needs a little help and if you can get your hands on a gram of go-gaine you’ll be set for a good 8 to 12 hour session. And after a little sex drought that’s what we decided to do in a bid to kick start things and get our sex life back on track.
That little buzz it gives once snorted immediately relaxes and clears the mind. For us cuddles naturally progress to some very slow warm up sex; both lying on our sides with him raising my left leg slightly and sliding in. In that position our bodies are pressed against each other, we can maintain eye contact and the movement of his cock in me is slow and intense. It also allows time for a little dirty talk to discuss what activities can be undertaken on the night ahead.
What was great for me here was that leading up to this night I had been having sever hormone treatment which had all but stolen my orgasm so had to prepare him that I might have difficulty being my most orgasmic self but to not worry. How wrong I was. Even with slow intimate sex and a little filthy suggestion I began cumming on his cock. The ultimate vaginal orgasm. I don’t know if he was placed in such a way he could rub my g-spot but three times I came on his cock and then it was time to ramp it up.
It was decided he should wear the ‘whore’ colour first. This allowed me to put make up on him and after pissing myself in my pink frilly knickers making him wear them: thus he really was bitch.
There is one thing that brings me to instant orgasm and that’s seeing my man wanks his arse with an object. Our chosen one is a 8 or 9 inch glass decorative object. It stars with a small glass ball and towards the base of the object they get thicker and thicker. Normally I would instruct him in detail as how I like him to use it but on this particular occasion I requested that he wank his arse as he would if he was by himself but warned if unhappy with his performance I’d instruct him and he would oblige. But he was being a good little whore and knew what I liked. Taking to all fours, facing the end of the bed end and raising his arse for my viewing pleasure; he slowly slid the glass dildo into is arse hole and began to work it in there – ball by ball. Given how out of practise we both were I was super impressed at the depth he achieved so quickly. Every so often he would raise on his haunches and begin to siit on the dildo to allow it to go further in. He managed to imbibe all but the last huge ball of the dildo. Then he resumed on all fours and begin rapidly moving the dildo in and out of his hole. With the thicker balls he would stop and rotate the dildo in a bid to stretch his arse hole. He knew I liked this. Done effectively and stretched properly it meant when he worked the item out as the smaller balls cam into view I could see a space in his arse where he’d stretched it to accommodate the bigger balls. This gap, the space, knowing I could slide a finger in there alongside the object at the same time drove me crazy. Sitting spread legged at the head of the bed with a pink vibe working my clit, as expected, my orgasm was phenomenally intense. The shudders of my body reverberated into him where my foot lay rested under his leg. I had promised if he did a good job with wanking his bum that I would not only rim but probe as deeply as possible with my tongue as a reward. Unfortunately after he heard me cum he immediately removed the object and turned round and asked if he could lick my cunt. I acknowledged the gesture but reminded him who was in charge. I spanked him twice with the leather paddle that leaves the imprint of the word ‘slut’ when struck on bare skin, but given the generosity of his univited offer I did spread his bum cheeks and tongue him. I would’ve allowed him to sit on my face had he been completely obedient but it’s all a learning curve.
Visual stimulation isn’t always associated with women, it’s considered more of a male trait on he sexual side of things. Whether a result of me being a gay man trapped in a woman’s body or the fact that I watch too much porn there are certain ‘pictures’ I like during a sex marathon. A favourite is porno cock – that is a nice hard large cock clearly visible through the underpants. With piss stained translucent lacy French knickers I wanted porno cock. I asked him to play with himself and he put his hands in his pants and began to wank. But the wait time was annoying. In the end I took over and moments after my hand clamped round his dick I felt it firm up. Now standing to attention I placed it back in the knickers so I could see his big cock straining to break free.
But I was in charge and he was wearing the collar so really I shouldn’t have had to wank him. For that there was punishment. Loving and gentle but disciplinary. I grabbed the leather paddle an the word ‘slut’ was soon emblazoned on his left buttock as a reminder that it was not my job to get him hard; he needed to do that himself.
The thing with go-gaine is that you get very dehydrated and drink – A LOT. Soon enough you need to go to the toilet. I instructed my partner to get on the floor on all fours. He obliged me and I grabbed a deep plastic bowl and put it under his head. Quickly but not cruelly I grabbed his head and said if he wanted to lick my cunt now would be the time. He pushed his face there and I held his hair firmly preventing him from withdrawing and pissed on his face. He had his tongue out wanting more so I picked up the bowl and allowed him to drink the piss from the bowl.
I was careful not to completely empty my bladder because I knew what came next. From our box of goodies I retrieved a 3ft length of tubing and a large funnel. I attached the tubing to the funnel and then lubed up the open end of the tube, as well as my man’s arse. Very slowly I began to insert the tube into is bottom and then slide the length in. Here I allowed him to tell me when it was in as far as he was comfortable with. I have him some poppers to help him relax and then took the funnel and squatted over it. I pissed into the funnel and began to watch my piss be absorbed into his body. It was intimate and filthy and wonderful watching his arse consume literally a litre of my piss. This action while incredibly pleasurable to receive does evoke an almost immediate desire to use the toilet. But wearing the ‘whore’ collar I felt he needed to be tested a bit. So as quickly as I pulled the tube out of his arse I replaced it with a small black but plug. I went round to the front, grabbed his hair and thrust his face in my cunt and pissed a little into his mouth. I straddled him and just pissed on his back – like his body was a urinal and then massaged my warm urine into his skin as he moaned. Not to let him off lightly I removed the plug and straight away began easing back in the tubing. Before he had time to complain he was being filled with my piss again and moaning in delight and despair at having to keep it all in.
Once done I put the but plug in and squatting over his arse let the final drops drip from my cunt so the piss fell down on his balls. He very quietly asked if he might be excused to the toilet to remove the butt plug as he felt he may have an accident and wasn’t coping with the excess of liquid inside him. Pleased at his efforts I allowed him to go to the toilet and even gave him a cigarette to have.
When he returned I cuddled him and fondled his cock. It was half way to an erection, I pissed a little on it and he whimpered as I sat on it. That spongy feeling of him pushing it in me felt good. I could move around on him and rub my clit against his pelvic bone. It bought me to orgasm and the contractions on his cock meant I felt him firm up completely while inside me. I sprung off – this time of the night was about my pleasure not his. His would come later.
Aware that as a result of our recent lack of sexual inactivity his posterior I had to be a little gentle. The idea was an attempt to recondition it, not abuse it to the point where it would be out of action. But I am a gay man in a woman’s body and it wasn’t long before the strapless strap on was out. I had him on his side and soon enough, after some rearranging and pliable body parts my 8 inch purple cock slid into his arse. I held him close in my embrace as his bottom became accustomed to the girth of my faux member, but soon enough he was begging for me to fuck him so I began sliding it in and out. In order to go deeper I knelt up and forced my cock in his ask while he remained on his side.
I rolled him on his back to admire how pretty he was. Decided he’d be much prettier if I shaved his pubic region. With a warm bowl of water, electric shaver, shaving cream and a razor I delicately shaved his pubic hair. He had a pre pubescent look and with the make up looked like a youthful gay boy made someone’s prag in a prison. Truth is I often fantasized about showing him off to gay men knowing how desperate they’d be to have a slice of his arse. Teasing and taunting them, showing them what he could do, how beautiful and flexible he is and knowing that his arse is all mine. The straight woman’s.
I requested he suck my cock, stroke it and mind the sensitive head. The drugs and being that high on intimacy I actually managed to orgasm from him sucking my cock. There was a definite physical reaction with my body shuddering and convulsing in delight. It was amazing that plastic strap-on didn’t spurt semen cause it felt like it should’ve.
So turned on I had his arms over my shoulder and had my cock in him. Rather than going for slow and seductive I let my lust dominate me and fucked him furiously and deeply. He never complained once. Moaned and groaned and tried to shallow the depthness but he didn’t say no or stop, until I made the executive decision to. But there was no rest for the wicked. I raised hi arse with two pillows and reached for the tubing and funnel. The tube was inserted into his arse and I stood on the bed so he had full vision of me pissing into the funnel. Better still for him he could see my piss moving down the clear tube and into his arse. Once he’s taken it all I removed the funnel and removed the collar.
‘You’re turn next,’ he said.
Given a lot of my life is spent being recorded, I thought for a change I might transcribe some conversations between myself and my boyfriend for a teasing insight into my present sex life and a hint of the more extreme stories and bedroom adventures that have come into being since committing to the one dick.
S: Fucking hell my vagina hurts.
E: What in a good way?
S: I think you were erring to the right yesterday. That particular lip seems to be sore when I’m sitting.
E: That’s a fucking good opening line for a play.
S: Better than ‘How’s your vage?’
E: As good as! Tell you what you could do, you could do your next blog post as dialogue.
S: That’s not a bad idea. Kinda like a script – a record of us chatting shit.
E: How’s your arse-hole by the way?
S: Very good all things considered.
E: There’s your next line.
S: I have to say, on reflection, in the words of Sun Tzu you picked the right strategy to get in there.
E: But how does it feel?
S: At the moment I’m desperate for a poo. It’s been three days and normally I’d welcome a bowel evacuation but given the charge you led last night I just know it’s gonna hurt so it’s clenched buttocks for me for the time being. Doing my best to delay the inevitable. Oh don’t look glum, at the time it felt good. You had the element of surprise so I didn’t have time to think about it which means I couldn’t freeze or squeeze as it were.
E: An astute general will strike thunder and lightning so that neither the ears nor eyes of his foe can be closed to them.
S: I really wish I knew what that actually meant.
E: It means…..well I was forceful enough so that your bumhole couldn’t keep me out.
S: In any case it worked. It’s been like, what, at least three months since we had anal sex.
E: Not for the want of trying.
S: Oh come on, that’s not my fault. I’m the one facing permanent sexual rejection.
E: Oh please, I never reject you. That’s so untrue.
S: Tis true. I still find you really attractive, I still get horny for you but you…
E: That’s not fair. I think you’re beautiful but this…situation isn’t great.
S: No it’s not. Anyway I better get on. Nothing like being on your hands and knees cleaning piss off the bathroom floor. It’s as close to a golden shower as I’m gonna get.
E: Stay while I finish my fag.
S: Nah no other idiot is going to clean this pig-sty before your son gets here.
E: I’m cooking Sunday dinner.
S: Yeah well cooking or having your hand down a toilet – you’ve not exactly drawn the short straw.
E: Why are you being mean?
S: I’m not being fucking mean. I have work to do.
E:You’re snapping at me.
S: What like a snapping turtle?
E: Exactly and you know how I feel about snapping turtles. I’ve told you what vicious creatures they are and the fucking damage they can do. If they got a hold of your finger…
S: YES I know you’ve told me all this before. Anyway if you hate snapping turtles so much why are you gonna marry one?
E: There’s no date set.
S: Fuck off. That’s a really shit thing to say. Why do you have to be so horrible?
E: I’m joking. Come on, you’re fucked off with Chris the cleaner not me.
S: Well it’s not funny.
S: Anyway how do you know it’s Chris that I’m cross about, it might be my sore right lip – and it does fucking hurt.
E: I’m sorry. What can I do to make it better?
S: (Laughs) Kiss it better!
E: I would.
S: I know.
E: What can I do about it?
S: There’s nothing you can do about it.
E: What can you do about it?
S: There’s nothing I can do about it – it’s inflamed.
E: Maybe it needs something cool on it to reduce the inflammation.
S: Noooo I wonder if that isn’t what caused the problem. You were really rough with the Rowntree Fruit Pastille ice lolly thing.
E: Was I?
S: Yes! And it’s quite a chunky ice lolly. It has a fair girth on it.
E: You liked it.
S: Not really.
S: Well I like the whole pain pleasure thing but to be honest I was raped by Rowntree. It wasn’t like you were sliding it in slowly and for a brief time. You were pushing it in there – pounding it in me. And don’t forget I was blindfolded so it was a surprise – I wasn’t ready for it and it’s not like you only did it the once.
E: I forgot about that. I’m a master of improvisation. Tying your sports bra round your eyes was inspirational on my part.
S: Or you coulda just got the proper blindfold .
E: I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t even find the toy box.
S: It was in the bottom of the cupboard.
E: I thought you kept it in the top of the cupboard.
S: No after our drug fuelled sex marathon when we made all kinds of promises about fucking filthily once a week and having more sex in general I thought it’d be easier if I moved the box down from the top cupboard. Presuming we’d be having LOADS of sex.
E: Only the cupboard doors are broken so I would literally have to have ripped them out to get into the cupboard and then dug it out from under the shoes and clothes. Yeah that’s conducive to spontaneous sex.
S: Given the state of our sex life it was all a bit premature on my part. I was a fool to believe your words in the Gogaine haze.
E: Oh right so blindfolding you, shoving an ice lolly in your cunt and fucking your arse without warning while I made you vibe yourself doesn’t constitute filth in your books?
S: Put like that…
E: AND there were no drugs involved.
S: Yeah it was good old fashioned sex.
E: I’m sorry it was so vanilla for you.
S: It was anything but vanilla. It was one of the most enjoyable blow jobs I’ve ever given. I loved that you rubbed the ice lolly over the head of your cock. It tasted well nice. I didn’t even have to worry about whether your cock was clean or cheesy – the sugar rush sent me into sensory overdrive.
E: Did my cum taste as nice?
S: Ahhhh your cum always tastes nice. Except for that one time when I had an allergic reaction.
E: Oh yeah in the cottage – you said you had to go to the kitchen at 4 in the morning and get some custard to ease your throat.
S: Anything to ease the stinging sensation. That was horrible. Fuck knows what you’d been eating that night…except you weren’t really eating at that point were you? Some stiff spirit squirting down the back of my throat.
E: I’m sure the sperm diluted it for you. It didn’t stop you coming back for more.
S: Well you were starving me out at the time. You were bed ridden so you never fed me. I was desperate for the protein.
E: You’re not short of a meal now and you seem to still drink it was gusto.
S: The things we do for love.
E: Oh come on I don’t force you to do anything.
S: What?!?! Oh my god your art of seduction involves pushing my head down to your crotch when I try and give you a cuddle. It certainly ain’t subtle and resistance is most definitely futile.
E: You love it when I throat fuck you.
S: Yeah but not when I can’t breathe.
E: Oh you love it. You beg for it. Literally. One sniff of the poppers up each nostril then it’s all ‘deeper and deeper’.
S: Shut up.
E: You said it turns you on when you’re choking on my cock. You actually fucking orgasm when I thrust into your mouth. Properly orgasm. What woman can do that? You’re like a real life version of ‘Deep Throat’.
S: Okay, okay. Yes I like it when you throat fuck me but not all the time. Not when I’m on the verge of vomiting on your cock. Like literally when lunch pops back up.
E: Oh that I definitely like.
S: So my basically my bariatric surgery gone wrong has been a positive in the bedroom department. The fact that I now have gastroesophageal reflux disease and a gastric band that doesn’t work and I spew after almost every meal is a good thing.
E: Yeah I like you refluxing away while I hold your head and pull your hair.
S: And my arms flail and I feel I’m about to die and start worrying about what you’ll tell my mum and dad.
E: It’s not that bad.
S: I’m just glad that £6000 is considered money well spent.
E: That £6000 means I get a little warm chunky vegetable soup-like hug on my cock when you blow me.
S: In fairness you do time it right. You exert just the right amount of pressure and deprive me of just enough oxygen to panic me but not kill me. It’s actually very sexy. But I don’t think spewing is glamorous. That can be tiresome and it happens loads. Your cock is bigger than you credit it.
E: What this little thing?
S: Seriously when I washed it with that tar soap the other night, because you were prodding round my throat straight away I could taste soap at the back of my throat all night. It was dry in the morning. I thought I was gonna need to tuck into your ‘Lockets’.
S: Whatever. It was like an adult version of punishing me for being a potty mouth. And I’m not talking about my excessive swearing.
E: Fucking cunt bitch! You’re not going to bring that up again are you. The greatest sexual miscommunication of all time.
S: There’s a reason why ‘Mudshute’ is my favourite stop on Docklands Light railway.
E: I thought it was what you wanted me to do!
S: When have I ever given the slightest inclination that I’m into that. I ain’t no Scatman.
E: Look I genuinely thought it was what you wanted. You know my feelings about this. I did think it a weird request but I don’t like to decline an invitation, let alone have you thinking I’m rejecting you when you’re are your most vulnerable or be accused of not being sexually adventurous. I was actually really uncomfortable doing it.
S: So was I when I had a brown fountain falling on my face. I mean you served up a substantial meal that night but it was a hell of a lot more unappetising that your poison drunk cum. That sex dinner was psychologically traumatising. Is it any wonder I’m at the fucking therapist’s once a fortnight. That said I do feel I dealt with that particular mishap in a gracious way.
E: Yes S, your bedroom manners were unsurpassed I’ll grant you that. You are truly an elegant slut.
I need to fast forward a bit. Not just because there’s no way I can manage this chronologically (oh, the first four or five are always memorable, then afterwards….just a series of – for the post part – indistinct penises and faces whose stories are triggered, usually at inopportune times, with the most tenuous links) but because I found myself with an online acquaintance discussing ‘the Slutty Value System’. It’s kind of where the ‘one hundred dicks thing’ comes in.
However much we want to slip into our Union Jack dresses, do peace signs and screech ‘girl power’ at the top of our lungs (sorry, is that just me?) or bang the new feminist drum, we do live in a patriarchal society where women like myself are labelled by small minded (or threatened) men and prudish women in a negative way. Thus I was forced to establish the aforementioned ‘Slutty Value System’ in an attempt to keep numbers down to acceptable levels within some social circles.
I’m from the Clinton camp. If there no vaginal penetration taking place, you’re not in my numbers. Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex only – you are hereby disincluded from the official count. My friend K, a homosexual, posited this system could imply a gay man that has never had sex with a woman would forever therefore remain a virgin. Well I’m sorry K, but that’s how it is with my slutty values. I need to keep my numbers down, for my own personal sake. Frankly speaking ‘One Woman, Three Hundred and Twenty Seven Cocks’ just isn’t a catchy blog name.
With my Slutty Value System thus established I had to consider the trajectory of my sex life in general. I somehow went from being an inexperienced virginal 21-year old to slut, to experienced slut, to deviant, .filthy personal whore to my soul mate; and that’s not the end point – I am after all just reaching my amatory peak. There must have been significant events (well dicks) plotted on the graph of this sexual trajectory signposting and directing me towards he dark course of my current place of degeneracy.
Sometimes its best to work backwards – I need to gauge where I am now to further establish the prominent ‘dicks’ that got me to where I am now.
And where might that be?
I remember my current beau once suggesting it would be quite a turn on for him if I were to display how desperate for an orgasm I was by grinding myself against the door frame. At the time – perhaps six months into our relationship – I obliged….reluctantly. There was something still very inhibited about me. I loved the slut part, the sheer filth and I knew I really was that desperate to come, but with one hand gripping a hook in the bedroom ceiling of that 300 year-old cottage (and yes, it has many alternate uses) to lever myself against the frame – I felt hugely self conscious. I didn’t feel sexy at all. If anything, I was concerned about my ‘bingo wings’ flapping around, my arms hurt from holding the majority of my body weight and I couldn’t quite position myself so my clit was actually being rubbed. It was like a cheap soft porn film where they stimulate sex but don’t actually do it.
Yet only a year down the line when I have on my leather collar – the word ‘WHORE’ proudly displayed – and am told to demonstrate how desperate I am, I think nothing of getting on the floor, spreading my legs and moving my hips up and down as my slippery girl-bits grind against the edge of a bookcase. I can bring myself to orgasm in seconds just from that. Forget what’s wobbling and what’s a good angle; the sheer pleasure of feeling the sensations tingle and burn until the wood’s nearly dripping and I’m gripping and thrusting and moaning – lost in a thunderous climax…and if it turns him too on all the better.
I mean, the guy comes up with the idea of a funnel and tubing (what follows is not the funnel story, just one) and using these to piss into one another’s arses. I thus find myself, only months later, in a frenzy of filth taking the initiative, and pushing said tube deep into my anus (one hand holding it) and moving the funnel under my cunt and pissing directly into myself. The experience, for my partner’s viewing pleasure then is not just me pissing but watching it sporadically flow and gurgle its way deep inside me. What came next? Well, then I kinda thought it might be fun to remove the funnel and put the other end of the tube into him so we could swap my piss back and forth before it all eventually dribbled on the heap of towels ever present in sex marathons such as these. Extreme watersports some might consider it. It could be an Olympic sport, akin to synchronised swimming.
But even these anecdotes don’t quite fully encapsulate the lengths of my dirty insatiable desire. The big question without answer now is whether the desire is for sex or for him. Are these barriers and limits being constantly pushed to test me sexually or to impress him, gain bedroom approval, join some club where he won’t wanna sleep with another, or is it something as simple as sharing a journey together and exploring all the elements within a relationship? Maybe I can’t be Jenna Jameson every night…although I frequently find my mind is.
The braid of ultra-intimacy and sex….that’s where I am now.
Take a look at this pic.
Did this burn happen because Peachy was being a bad boy?
Or was I attempting the medieval skill of ‘cupping’ and my first attempt heated the glass almost to melting point as opposed to creating a vacuum to help suck the pus from a bum-boil?
Looking at the entire portrait of my sex life from a distance and which I’ll fully piece together in over time, I see this particular endeavour as a kind of post-Post Modern feminists ‘Rake’s Progress’ in words, which had, I not titled ‘One Woman One Hundred Dicks’ I could have called ‘A Slut’s Tangent’. I went with the existing title because most of my encounters were with Dicks both of a literal and metaphorical nature.
More on those dicks and which ones teased me into an at-first gentle learning curve of sensuality which didn’t take too long in becoming tick shaped.