You will take this the way I tell you and exactly the way I tell you

(this is Part II of another spectacular time with the cop, you don’t have to read Part I but if you’d like to, here it is. It’s pretty good too)

We’ve been at this a while. I’ve come and I’ve had him fuck me the way I want – which hopefully was prescriptive enough? I want to be the mistress that he fantasises about I hope my instructions are what he hoped for. His execution of them certainly was for me.

As I twist around to lie down flat, breathlessly laughing at how good this all is, he is standing over me, his cock still rock solid. I love how he looks at me, like I am the only thing he wants in his life and he would wrestle wild dogs with his bare hands just to keep looking at me right now.

I can’t get enough of that look.

‘And what do you want now?’

‘I’ll have that cock in my mouth please’

‘Yes sir’


I pull myself up to a seated position and he pulls off the condom, then in a nice touch he pulls his hand up his shaft taking as much of the chemical taste away. No one does that, he just kills me with these little touches.

And with his hand on it, one leg on the couch, the other between my legs, gazing down at me he feeds his cock into my mouth. And I am so happy.

But even if he was in charge this part would still be my show, I can do what I like here. He’s never going to say no. I suck his cock get it good and wet and let my spit slide down his length to his balls and also slide down my chin, down my neck. I chase after it, sucking each one in turn and then getting right under them and licking all the way back up. Again he asks me what I want, I say I want him to come, he asks me how do I want him to come. I think about this for a second, pull my dress off and point ‘Here, all over my tits and down to my belly button. ‘Jesus, just fucking look at you?’ he says and he takes in the full sight of me with the underwear, stockings and boots finally all visible together. ‘Fuck me you are beautiful’ He is stroking his cock and consuming me with his stare and weirdly I am able to bear it. He’s not done, the barrage of compliments are flowing from him. A slew of ‘You’re so fucking gorgeous’ and ‘How fucking sexy do you look’ hit me.

I feel like I look ok and I trust the desire in his eyes and the relentlessness of his hard on. I want him to come, I want to see it, I want to enjoy it, I want to feel it on me.

I want him to come because I’ve told him to and I want him to come because I’ve made him. But it’s not going to happen. A good time for a break.


We have another drink and I think about what I want next and how to get there.

I top us both up, another time, and he sits down with his cock still hard, never faltering. And as I’m admiring it I remember that there’s a tailor’s measuring tape in the kitchen, I think it’s time I find out just how big he is. And if ever there’s a guy to be able to take that kind of scrutiny, it’s him. Not just because he’s confident of his size, but because it turns him on to be at my disposal, to do as I ask.


I don’t tell him what I’m doing, I just tell him to stay where he is, I think about telling him to stay hard, but I know that’s superfluous. Just knowing that I’m up to something will be enough. I come back in and sit with the tape behind my back, staring at his cock.

It hasn’t moved.

‘Do you know what it is?’

‘Abbi, I haven’t a clue!’ I know he’s enjoying this.

‘I think it’s time I measured that weapon of yours, you up for that?’

‘I’m up for whatever your needs desire of me’

I am giddy with glee. I know that it’s going to be a good number either way.


He doesn’t believe me when I tell him, he thinks I’m measuring it wrong. But I’m not.

Again with the girth, he doesn’t believe his own size. But I wrap the tape back the other way, facing him and he finally believes me. We are both now giddy with this and I can’t help getting it back in my mouth. But I want to kiss him, to kiss him properly, to control it and have him the way I want. He’s a great kisser. So I stop sucking him and I climb onto his lap, once again straddling him and finally we get into proper, face on face deep kissing. My arms are around his neck, just falling down the back of the couch so I can lean on it and raise myself at any point.

I do this, lifting my cleavage up under his chin and then into his face. He loses himself for a second. ‘God look at your tits, I haven’t even gotten near them at all yet, let me at them, get this off’. And before I can say no he has my bra flicked open. But he’s forgetting himself.

‘Hey? What do you think you’re doing! I didn’t say you could have them? You’ll have to be punished for that’ I say as I step back off him and close my bra again.


‘Get on your knees facing the wall, leaning over the couch. And stay there.’

I run upstairs and grab a few toys:
The flogger

The lube

The butt plug

The dildo

He is in the position when I come back and I stand behind him and tell him to spread his legs wider. I don’t even have to think now, I know exactly what I want to do. And I’m going to drag it out.


I pull down his underwear but not all the way off and I pick up the bottle of lube. I run it along under his balls back to his hole. ‘Do you know what that is?’

‘The dildo?’

‘No, it’s not, try again’

‘The butt plug..?’

‘Nope, it’s the lube’

I do this with all the toys with the same level of success but really I just want him to know what we’ve got to play with.

And I really have to follow through with punishment. I start with the flogger and take to his arse with that, giving it to him both sides. Telling him that he has to learn his place and know that he can’t take liberties with my clothing when he hasn’t been given permission.

I am loving this. It’s been so long since I whipped anyone. And this little flogger feels great, I know well that it does.

‘Tell me that you understand, tell me that you know how to behave’

He does.

‘Tell me that you know you deserve this’

He does.

‘Now. Tell me that you like it. Tell me that you love the feel of it across your arse’

‘Oh god I love it, I love what you’re doing to me’

‘And you’re ready for more, aren’t you?’

Damn right he is.

Once again I get the dildo and I rub it from the front all along his balls back to his arsehole.

Then I lean down and lick all around his hole, get my tongue right in there.  I press the tip of the dildo against his hole, just teasing, just letting him feel the pressure.

Then I stop, I know what it feels like, to be leaning over, exposed, not knowing what’s coming and having no control. It’s fantastic.

I squeeze out some lube, he can hear it pumping out and I get it all over the dildo. I want to be quite rough with him, I want to be forceful. I start push it in, twist it as it burrows.

He makes groans of approval. ‘Take it, take all of this. I’m going to press this all into you now and you’re going to like it.’

‘Oh God yeah, that’s it – Jesus if you measured my cock now I swear ….’

He trails off as I press the dildo fully into his ass and stand behind him pressing my cunt up tight as I can against his ass.

I am nowhere near done.

I pick up the butt plug and walk around the couch so that I can see him. I bend down close to his face as it hangs over and kiss him then tell him to take the butt plug in his mouth, he duly does. Down on my haunches, I spread my knees and again pull my knickers to the side and take the butt plug from his mouth.

‘I’m going to put this in my pussy now and then I’m going to come back around to the other side and I want you to eat me while it’s in there. And I want you to keep that dildo in your arse as you do it.’


The butt plug is bigger than starter average, classically shaped and quite wide at the base. It’s also way squidgier than anything else I’ve ever had. But the best thing about the butt plug is how good it feels in my pussy. It feels better than you would think and this is only the second time I’ve had it in there.


I walk back around to the front of the couch and lie down, it’s about a 5 meter walk, all in and I am so heightened with desire in just that space of time with it in me. I lie back down and tell him to eat me again while holding the butt plug in. As he does this the dildo comes out of his ass, I don’t care I want him to just do as I say and get his lips on me. I don’t have to ask twice and didn’t think that I would have.

I’m adoring this, my cunt is filled and clenching hard on the butt plug and his lips and tongue are sucking and licking at my swollen and needy clit. I am drunk with pleasure. And probably a little with alcohol too. And I want more.

‘Get the dildo, and push it into my ass – and make sure the butt plug doesn’t come out. Then get back to licking me’

Oh God this is so good, so deeply satisfying I am delirious with desire and sublime satisfaction. Or at least I think that, as both my holes are filled to bursting and this man hungrily laps at my clit too. I can almost taste his pleasure, his met needs being fulfilled. I know he is loving this even though my eyes are closed.

But I was wrong about mine, I had not reached the point of most fulfilment, how could I when my mouth was empty?

‘Oh God! I know I know… I know what else. Give me your cock in my mouth’

So he moves around so that we’re almost 69’ing. His bursting cock is in my face as he leans over to work the dildo and the butt plug in me. And finally I am full.

So full and so satiated, it’s a fantasy almost perfectly executed. He’s controlling both toys in me, eating me and getting his cock down my mouth.


I can barely keep it in my mouth, I need to scream with disbelief at how much I love everything that’s happening at this moment. I can barely take it. But of course I do. And I keep on taking it.

Finally I come and I am almost blind. Mostly likely having cried.

He looks at me again, like I’ve just done something amazing for him, like he possibly might have just fantasised something to life.

I think the same.





We order food, stuff our faces. Drink an inordinate amount, even for Irish people and fuck each other even more senseless, because apparently that was possible.

Neither of us remembers getting to bed but we wake up there, it’s 8am and we’re still drunk, or I am. He eats me and fucks me again and I come again but it takes ages. He still doesn’t come. I’d be anxious about that but I’m too drunk to care. We go back to sleep until we’re at a better level of working normal.

I make us breakfast, we watch the rugby and we have sex all bloody day, it’s heaven! And finally, finally, almost 24hrs later I eventually make him come. Well, I say that but really I was doing none of the work, bent over the couch he fucked me any way he wanted.


I always come more than him, that’s the way of it. I might even suggest that it’s the way it should be, given that girls can come more without stopping play. But if he’d left my house without having come once…..? I would have felt terrible.

As it happens he left very happy and I left sore and bruised to go meet some friends and horrify anyone overhearing

The Worst Thing I Ever Did – and even still it’s probably not that bad

I am not trying to make any grand judgement here, I’m just telling you my experience. If you want to go ahead and feel judged, then be my guest. Seriously knock yourself out.


When it comes to cheating I only ever play one role.
The girl you cheat with.
Well, that’s as far as I know. I might have been cheated on by every beau I ever had, technically it’s possible but I think it improbable.

So I stand by the original statement. I only know it from one perspective. So it perplexes me. More so lately because I am more and more aware of just how often I am in that role.
Essentially I don’t understand it. Warning, I’m about to sound like an asshole, I don’t mean to but it’s just how I see things and have experienced things.

I don’t ever stay with someone if I’m not interested in them sexually. I have just the once stayed solely because the sex was so good. Ok, maybe twice but we’re talking a matter of weeks here, not months or years of wasting some poor guy’s time. I’ve never found the idea of getting caught a turn on, either with regard to having sex in public or with cheating on a partner. (I’ll happily have sex in public, not for the normal reasons but generally because I happen to desire that person so much I don’t care who sees it and as a consequence, knows it)

So that’s the start, I don’t get how it’s somehow supposed to be hotter, that is a factor that can be ruled out. I suppose I don’t like gambling either, which is the same thing, I don’t get any thrill from it, it ignites nothing for me. So I’m never going to cheat solely as a thrill seeking exercise.


The other thing I don’t understand about cheating is.. well, if you don’t fancy your partner why don’t you just break up with them? If you don’t want to fuck the life out of them, or worse, they don’t want to fuck the life out of you – then what’s (literally) the fucking point? Why are you with them, why are they with you …?

I’ll stop myself there because I do actually know the answer to this one, or at least I know the answer for quite a few people, it’s just not an answer for me.

I get it. Sometimes you love someone, so much it hurts but that person just isn’t sexually compatible with you. Or you have a fantasy that your partner isn’t interested in or a way higher sex drive – or whatever. I get it, the person you’re with is perfect, your life with them is perfect, they’re your best friend, they complete you etc. but just not quite perfectly, best friended, completed in the bedroom.

I know this, I appreciate this, I understand this.

I just don’t accept this as a reality for me.

I don’t accept this as a standard for me.  (Why yes, she says with a smirk, it is a very lovely view from up here on my high horse!)

Let me climb down a second.


I have once cheated. On someone who wholly didn’t deserve it and in the most brutal way. I am going to tell this as truthfully as I can, without trying to defend myself or my indefensible actions. But let’s just all agree that that’s always an exercise in futility so we’ll just have to accept it as best my memory (and my ever revisioning guilt) can re tell it.



We’re going to call him Luke, for that was absolutely not his name.

Luke was lovely and clever and creative and tall and attractive. If slightly lacking in full confidence, which I only discovered too late.

We did things the “right” way. Met, got my number, he called 3 days later and we had a date two days after that. We had drinks and one kiss.

Two more dates and we had sex. Adequate sex but not mind blowing. But god was he smart and funny and did I adore his company and I wanted, oh so badly to be right for this boy.

But I was not.

I am flighty and flirty and I know a lot of people. This does not make for good bedfellows with a boy who has used up all his confidence in getting my number and talking me into 3 dates. The mask started to slip.

Just before I met Luke I had been having dalliances with two beaus who would be best described as casual and coarsely, yet more accurately, described as ‘people I sometimes fucked’. Unfortunately these beaus both rang at 4am one Saturday night/Sunday morning. Rang repeatedly.

We were up, we had only left the club and in my drunken candour I foolishly, forthrightly explained fully.

I shouldn’t have done that.

You should never do that.

But what you should never do even more, is leave your phone unattended after you’ve done that.

He saw a name, he recognised a name. He now knew one of the beaus.


The name he saw was of a rival. Another Dj, another promoter, an acquaintance, not a friend. And that was probably the death knell of our relationship. From that second on any sense Luke had that I truly wanted to be with him waned with the passing nights out. He had always seemed incredulous, almost bemused at himself that I was with him something I never understood. But now it was in it’s infancy of something else, it was well clothed jealousy that was soon to be naked and barefaced and awful.

Nothing I said was ever believed. The more I tried to convince him that I wasn’t seeing anyone else the less he accepted it. The less he accepted it the less I liked him.

It was a vicious circle that turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy. It no longer mattered who I talked to, I wasn’t being true to him. Every mild flirtation was a slap in the face. Any interaction with The Rival was argued over for hours.

It was exhausting, it was relentless and at the same time it was subtle. We had lovely times, we had hours in each other’s company being delighted, we had good sex. For the most part.

But when we were out. That’s when it wasn’t ok. That’s when I liked him the least.

And even saying that I feel it’s unfair. He didn’t deserve me as I was then, so awful and hard to pin down. So non-committal yet demanding.

He was kind and funny and so very decent. And all he really did was try to love me.

I was having none of it.

So he tried a different tack, I have to believe that it was unconscious, that he wasn’t aware he was doing it but, do it he did.

He tried to take me down. To tell me I wasn’t great, that I wasn’t special, that I wasn’t all that I thought I was. Which is probably true but the rock of greatness that he tried to make me perish on? Was the onlywrong rock.

What was the rock I hear you say?

He told me that I wasn’t that good at sex. That in fact, my fellating skills were good but not as good as I thought they were.


I cannot articulate the rage and utter fury that this elicited in me. If he had chosen any other thing in my life I would have believed him and set about trying to please him and be better. But this? THIS? The only thing I was ever any good at in my life? The only thing that I was EVER sure of?


No I was not taking that lying down. I was not letting that pass. For I knew, without a shadow of a doubt that that was not true.

And worse, I knew how I would prove it to myself also.




The Rival. The casual acquaintance that had turned into a looming, ever ready nemesis by doing nothing other than having had a past with me. Well this Rival had a particular fondness for my mouth wrapped around his cock. He liked nothing more and had done unspeakably flattering things in the pursuit of that goal. When I politely ended it with him (to officially be with Luke) he said these magic words to me ‘I will dream of your mouth and what your tongue can do to my cock for the rest of my life. If you ever EVER need to be told, just ring, or text and I will remind you’

Little did I know that I ever would.




It’s Saturday morning, we’re in bed I can’t even remember if we’d had sex when Luke delivers his killer blow. He gets up, he has things to do, he is gone.

Oblivious to the storm he has induced.

Before the door downstairs slams I am dialling the rival.

‘Hey, you know that thing you love that I do? Do you want it now? Oh you do? Come round, I’m in bed now’



And I did it. I got on my knees and gave The Rival some fucking unbelievable head, all afternoon. I think I enjoyed it. But I was doing it for revenge, it was pure and utter malice and nothing else. I’m fairly sure I didn’t even have sex with him. Not that he cared.



I couldn’t believe I’d done it. Days later when I came down from the sweet and delicious high that is pure revenge being executed. I think I regretted it and there was an awful unshakeable knot in my stomach. But not caused by thinking I’d get caught, that never crossed my mind for a second. But caused by the torment in my head – I had to break up with Luke and yet … on paper, he just made so much sense. Didn’t he?

Shouldn’t I stay and try to make him happy?

Shouldn’t I stay and make it up to him – this transgression that he didn’t even know about?



Didn’t matter. His jealousy had fully undressed and was properly naked now. He was going through my phone. He was checking my texts.

There was none to The Rival, I’m too clever for that. But I wasn’t clever enough to delete the one text to the one person I had revealed myself to. Just a friend, not even the BFF (sure I told her in person) not someone I would normally have told so he was obviously going through the phone forensically.

And so he found the words:

Friend: How’s Luke

Me: Oh you know, cheated on with The Rival



I’d like to tell you that was the end of that but it wasn’t. It dragged out for months after. It wasn’t brutal but it was unpleasant and unnecessary.



He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve me cheating on him with the one person he felt inferior to and the one person he always believed I would cheat with. It’s an awful thing to do, to take a person’s worst insecurity and make it whole. And I did that. Deliberately and on purpose and with malicious intent.

I am so very sorry for it.

It is the worst I have ever treated anyone. And to the person who deserved it the least.

I hardly recognised myself. That wasn’t me. Hurting people so intently wasn’t me. But it was, I did it. Usually I am a fantastic girlfriend, I’m loyal and faithful and wholly monogamous. When I’m done with you, I’m done with you. But when I’m with you? I am utterly yours and no one else’s not even for a second, not even for a flash. It’s naïve and it’s sanctimonious but it’s how I approach relationships – you’re either my potential everything or you’re soon to be my nothing.




I got no joy from cheating. I can’t see me ever doing it again. Not like that or in any other more conventional sense. But I’m not perfect and I wanted to point out that I have made some awful mistakes with people’s hearts.

I’m pretty sure I haven’t since.

I’m pretty sure I’m more careful with them these days.


Right, back up on my horse, and off I clop. The view really is great.

Someone’s Wife or Someone’s Whore?

I’ve been asking myself this a bit lately, I always thought I knew the answer. But did I?

Sex has always been important to me, more so than almost all other things in existence and even still I always thought I would choose to be a wife. Well not a ‘wife’ so specifically, as I don’t particularly believe in marriage but I do believe in a long term partner so, fine, we can call that ‘wife’ for these purposes. And yet, what have I been doing about it? What have I been doing about becoming a wife? I’ve been having crazy sex with people and kissing girls and talking about, planning and sometimes orchestrating threesomes, sex at work, sex on roof tops. Sex with people I’m not supposed to be sleeping with and even sometimes (rarely) sex with people I didn’t like.

Doesn’t sound like wifely actions, does it?

Well maybe my idea of wifely is different to the normal one we’re sold. See I believe that a happy union (and this is my idea of a happy union) involves being whores for each other. Being totally sexually available for that person that you chose to be with above all others. And they in turn would be there for you. Of course having first established that you shared the same predilections and fancied the holes off each other. I don’t think the term Wife and Whore are mutually exclusive or ever should be. For me to be able to commit to someone I would expect back what I would be willing to offer and that is complete sexual adoration. That has always seemed like a great deal, a covetable thing, a goal that was worthy. But most of all, something that I wholly wanted.


I wanted so dearly to outwardly be someone’s partner and secretly be their whore. And in that sense I always believed that I would pick being a wife as opposed to whore in the other sense i.e. just someone you have sex with.


But back to what I alluded to initially, what was I doing about this – but behaving the opposite way. Not staying with anyone long enough, not giving anyone the chance to get close, not giving anyone a chance full stop. Choosing only those who sought the casual from me and making sure that that was all they would get. I don’t seek out the crazy sex scenarios, I’m not on Craig’s list conjuring up settings, but they have seemed to find me. And easily at that.


And this of late has made me think? Do I really want that? Do I really want what I purport to seek? Or am I just telling myself I want this because I’m supposed to, because all my friends do, because all of society does? Was it about time I stopped trying to be a round peg in a square hole and just accepted who I really was because all my actions spoke otherwise?


I really looked at this I really thought about it, examined what it was I wanted out of a sexual partner long term. Turns out that I’m not trying to be a round peg in a square hole, I’m trying to be me. See I do give people chances I just grab the crazy sex opportunities when they come along too. I’ve been open to them and just capitalised when they came my way. Enjoying any one of those experiences doesn’t negate my desire for something more stable, I just would like something more tailored for me. And when I have let people in? Well obviously it hasn’t worked out long, long term but it has worked out enough times for an appropriate amount of time for me to know that I still want to try.


I have to stop hating myself for wanting what most people want. But my next question is; if I keep having casual sex (with admittedly really fun people) will I stop looking for the thing that I really want? Will I miss it if it walks on by?


As much as I adore great dates with one offs and the super situations I’ve had with The Cop and intricately planned seductions – I want more than that. I want to be more than just a fantasy to someone. I want to be important to someone as myself as well as the character I can play out for them. And as exciting as new sex is, it’s not my favourite thing, I prefer sex with someone I know well. That’s my choice. That would be my preference. And Really, I am just so bored of being the other interest. Not in a ‘woe is me’ hard-done-by way – I’ve chosen these situations and they have worked out to my repeated satisfaction. I’m just saying that I no longer want to choose that.


I’m not sure how this will manifest its self. It’s like wanting to get drunk on champagne and only being able to find cider. I still want to get drunk ….. I still enjoy being drunk.


(you can see the dilemma right?)

Have You Sent Me a Dick Pic Lately?

Like a big proper blogger I’m going to talk about something that someone else published.

Two weeks ago in The Sunday Times Magazine there was a cover article about sex. Well, sexting really but sure, we can make that fit. All about how awful and dangerous it was.



Before we start the dissecting:


I love The Sunday Times, it features heavily in most of my Sundays and they are sorely lacking when I don’t have it. I don’t always agree or even relate to all of the articles but I am generally entertained and if nothing else it gives me some pictures to look at when my brain has either been fucked out or fried out with a hangover.

I’ve been disappointed (and have judged very harshly, you should know) 3 boys in the last year who have uttered this line to me: Why would I buy a paper when I can read it online?

Well, for one, you can’t read all The Sunday Times online – not for free anyway.

And secondly… well secondly you’re missing the point. Entirely. And you’re ruining sexy Sunday for me. And for yourself because now I’m annoyed that I have to explain it to you.

Two people sitting staring at their screens not talking = not sexy, two people entwined on the bed or couch reading a paper categorically is. Especially when you put the paper down and ruin it by fucking me on it.

And for some reason it just feels more like I’m doing something with my partner ‘We’re reading the papers’ as opposed to ‘We’re both just sat here on our phones/tablets’.  I always think it’s easier to interrupt someone with something I want to share, if they’re reading the paper. I don’t actually want to know what they’re doing on their phone, that’s their business, but reading the paper is shared business.


Anyway, none of that has anything to do with the stupid article that I hated, I just wanted to make my Sunday needs very clear. And also obviously make it very clear that I didn’t find them at all credible, the claims of the article. In fact I refute most of it. I think it was written by someone who is not, if it was a thing to be marketed, the target audience. Written by someone who was a generation, in mind-set if not actual age, apart from one that is open to sexting and getting sent the vilified dick pics. So I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t find any joy or beauty in her task.


The article was titled ‘Why do Men Sext’ – really? You have the answer as to why all men, everywhere sext? Wow, Sunday Times Magazine, that was some serious research, how many years did it take to compile? You know the reasons why any man at any given time might want to sext, the reasons and explanations behind it? Again I’m so impressed.

But wait? What about women, do they not sext? Are they to be excluded from this? But then I applied logic and realised that after doing that mammoth amount of research it was probably not reasonable to expect them to cover both sexes and that additional article will be along shortly.


Needless to say none of my questions were answered. But I didn’t really expect them to be. What I also didn’t expect was the slightly prudish judgemental tone throughout. And the stand point that women don’t really want dick pics and have no idea how this became a phenomenon.

Once again, really??


Well of course this was a red rag to a bull.

I know this is redundant but I’m going to do it anyway. For the record I fucking love dick pics. I love being sent them by guys I know, I love being sent them by guys I don’t know.  I love them awake and standing to attention and I love them all tempting and semi awake, nearly ready for action.

I adore this Tumblr I could waste a day falling into its magnetic pull. (Nearly didn’t finish this post because of it. Thanks a lot @seasideslut Twitter) I can’t understand why someone who likes dick would not want to see that?


What I can understand is appropriateness and timing. There are of course some parameters around receiving cock shots and what can be reasonably expected in return. And just to clarify I want to see dick all the time it doesn’t mean that I can. I have a very lovely day job and as exciting as it is, it regrettably doesn’t actually involve being paid to be Abbi in any way. (that is very shocking, I do realise) Or indeed write reviews or collect the most amount of penis pictures a phone has ever amassed. Much to my chagrin. No, it just pays me to do some other stuff which I mostly love doing. And, as if you needed reminding, I do have a family, I am not a lone entity who was magicked into the world with no kin, and they have no idea that I get up to any of this and I am quite often busy with them.

So I can’t always take a peek at the pics I’ve been sent, I can’t always take the time to appreciate them or comment. But I will, eventually and I will generally be very happy to do so. Delighted in fact. Rest assured if you’ve sent me a pic, whether I’ve said it or not, I’ve probably loved receiving it.


Now again there are exceptions to this. I don’t love receiving a dick pic with expectations attached. I have never once, publicly asked anyone to send me a picture of their penis. I have let it be known that I have happily received them and I have commented where it was warranted. But outright solicited? Nope not me. So, if you choose to send me a picture of your cock, then that is your choice and I’m afraid you have no right to expect anything from me. You send them of your own free will for whatever reasons that drive you to. All you can rightly expect of me is non judgement which I will dole out in spades, if it were a thing to be doled by spades.

So if that’s you and you just want to send it, then please feel free, I would hate for this to discourage anyone. For the ones who want to ask what I’d like to do with it, do not expect a response. For anyone thinking of asking would I like to feel that length up me, also don’t bother. That’s not what I ever want accompanying a nice cock shot. This can all be done without any element of sleaze. So please don’t ask me if I’d like it in my mouth or if your pic has made me wet. I won’t be answering.

(except here, to tell you that no, it hasn’t made me wet)


I have of course solicited pics from cocks that I was on very good speaking terms with. And these are the ones that have the power to make me wet. These ones are far more potent. A good pic from a cock I know, with a well-timed message will have me in a puddle. If I know what that penis is capable of then of course a picture of it from its owner will do more than it realistically should. I’m transfixed and then I am transported, thinking back to the last time it slid into me or I slipped my mouth down over it. How it felt in my mouth, how it hardened in my hand and all the filthy things I want to do to it next time.

And just to break all the previous rules; these ones are even better if I get them at work or when I’m with my family and I know I they’re there and I can’t look. But there’s a whole difference between a cock I know and one I don’t, this I hope is self-evident? I know the person, I know the motives, I like the person sending it and they know what response to expect from me. It is not sleazy.


I have just the once been sent some pics that I didn’t like. I’m not entirely sure what was wrong .. that’s a lie, I know exactly what was wrong I’m just not prepared to describe it. Suffice it to say some things in the background of the shots were off putting and there was an inherent tone of expectation and reciprocity. Something that I have always stated will never be, this is a one way street, I will not be sending you any pics of my very lovely (and you’ll just have to take my word for it) neat, little cuno. I post enough of myself, in fact I think I’m quite generous with the boob pics and the leg shots and on occasion the odd shot of my less than average arse.

It is for reasons like these that I removed myself from Kik and Snapchat. All my stuff is up on Twitter.



So I do understand that there are situations where dick pics might be unpleasant; as described above or randomly being asked on Tinder, two sentences in, if I’d like to see his dick? Yes, there is that and it’s annoying and insulting but it’s mostly laughable, surely? And it doesn’t negate the sheer thrill of getting a gorgeous cock shot, out of the blue on a Monday morning from a beau who knew how to wield it…… Or absentmindedly checking your other email just before you go to sleep and finding a series of really well taken shots of an impressive dick. A delicious treat. And nicer than the Tumblr because I know it was taken just for me (or at least intended for my eyes, if not actually taken specifically for me!) (Both of which happened this week. And to the guy who emailed me them? Wow, just wow and apologies I didn’t respond sooner)



The Sunday Times doesn’t speak for all women everywhere on the matter of dick pics, and neither do I. But I like them and long may I receive them, through my phone and please god almighty, who I don’t believe in, in glorious reality too.



Right, so we’re all clear on how to send me pics and what to expect? Which is of course, nothing. If you’re sending them with expectation then you probably shouldn’t.




*There may also have been other aspects covered in that article but I was picking the one I had most umbrage with.

Guest Piece! Thankfully About Blowjobs

So I love other people’s thoughts and stories and opinions on sex. I don’t get to hear half enough of them but the ones I do get always fascinate and entertain me. (you know who you are out there, keep up the good work)

And just when I nearly ruined my own blowjob memories, along came this from someone who has been sharing some great insights with me.

So here it is an Irish boy’s take on my favourite hobby.





So let’s talk about sex, it’s been a taboo subject in Ireland for far too long!
My favourite topic is that of oral sex, whilst I do enjoy fucking, receiving a good blowjob has to be one of greatest feelings a guy can ever imagine! There’s something about it which really turns me on. From a passionate kiss to that moment of realisation as she begins to lower her head below my chest, kissing my stomach whilst tugging at my belt and rubbing her hand over my already bulging pants. It all adds to an incredible feeling, a knowing sense of what’s to come.
There’s also a very slight sense of fear, given that a bad technique could lead to a very sore and unpleasant experience!
But thankfully I’ve never had too much of that. In fact there has been one or two girls who literally have had me begging for more as they teased me with their tongue! One in particular knew how to give great head. First of all, she had an excellent technique with her hand, she could get me really hard and almost draw me to the point of orgasm with varying speeds and amounts of pressure as she rubbed my cock. That sounds very technical, but so many girls get it wrong. They pull and jerk like they’re trying to detach it from your body – that’s not going to work for anyone!
Anyway, this girl would run her tongue all over my cock, kissing and licking it like it was her edible trophy. She would spit on it, take it all in her mouth, work her head up and down and constantly vary her technique, all the while glancing up at me to see that I was enjoying it and tell me how much she loved my cock. Not to mention the fact that she would never neglect my balls, visiting them with her tongue or massaging them and stroking along that incredibly sensitive area just between my balls and my ass. She would go for hours too, we once spent a full hour in the shower, the majority of which was her sucking me off, telling me how she wanted me to cum in her mouth and how she loved having my big cock in her mouth!
She would occasionally take it in her hand and slap it against her tongue, before devouring it again and going to town on deep throating and sucking it really hard! She seemed to get off on seeing me thrust my hips up with excitement or hearing me moan as I enjoyed that incredible feeling of having her in control of me, teasing, tasting, toying with my mind as she took control of my body. It all made for some unbelievable foreplay to say the least!
Not only was she good at it, but she liked the thrill of taking my cock out in places that were a little bit risky. Behind a wall near a shopping centre, in the car while I was driving, in a disabled toilet at the Guinness Storehouse, her appetite for naughty blowjobs was as much of a turn-on as her incredible technique and ability to satisfy!
If only our relationship had lasted a bit longer, I would still be as happy now as I was then! Haha!
From one dirty mind to another, I hope you enjoyed it!
Yup DirtyinDublin (as I know him) I certainly did enjoy it. That’s exactly the way I feel about giving head, I could do it all day for the right cock. I love nothing more than knowing I can have access to it any time I want. But that’s living the dream
You can see more at his Twitter account DirtyinDublin@DirtyinDublin. I’m hoping he might share some more insights with me soon.