All My Thoughts On Waxing

Whether prevailing cultural norms created my predilection for removing all the hair from my holiest of holies or whether it’s some inner desire of my own; the fact is that I do. On a regular basis I hand over a nice bit of money to have someone pour searing hot wax on the most sensitive area of my body and then rip it off.
Do I feel pressured; do I do it because I have to or because I am coerced? Well if I am it’s so insidious and stealthy that I don’t know about it because I’m pretty sure I do it for me. I like a nice neat lady garden. Even as a kid as soon as it started to be of a length that my underwear/swimwear couldn’t contain it, it had to be removed – that was just a necessity of common decency. Whereas now I remove it for a lot more reasons.
For one, I have a lovely cunt and I don’t want it hidden.
Two, I think it looks better with it all gone. And if it looks better then someone is more far more likely to be willing to spend more time down there. And, if I’m honest, I feel a lot more confident and sexy when I’m waxed. I feel confident that it’s somewhere someone wants to put their mouth and tongue because when I have a guy that’s all neat down there then I spend more time and can be more creative. Pulling a mouthful of hair out of your mouth is fine, I’ll do it and happily get on with the job but fuck me if it’s not at all sexy. So, I don’t want someone to have to do it when they are giving me all that gorgeous tongue action across the mound, up and down my lips and while sucking the hood. That just isn’t as enjoyable when there’s hair in the way. And by that I mean it’s not psychologically comfortable for me. And I’m all about my own comfort in the long run.
And in that vein I don’t want to be thinking that the guy is thinking about hair, I want to imagine that when he peels down my (hopefully) soaking wet knickers and sees my cunt that it’s exactly what he was hoping for, beautifully manicured and inviting, just waiting to be licked all over.
Now if I was between waxes and a guy showed even a hint of reluctance, or said anything about the hair? Dream on pal, those knickers are going back on and you can damn well wait then until I am waxed. Which by the way will be the 12th of never cos you’re never seeing my hole again. See, while I am happy to get waxed and present a beautiful smooth set of lips, it’s also my choice and a style statement as much as anything else. You don’t get to demand that it’s done and balk if it’s not.
Thankfully I haven’t encountered this too much. I usually get met with ‘Shut up woman, I don’t give a fuck, let me at it’ and then I swoon.

But waxing is fraught with so much anxiety and practically none of it to do with pain (I think I actually like the pain now, maybe because of what it represents i.e. that someone is going to fuck it and treat it beautifully and then pound it, either way I like the pain and I like the swollen tenderness afterwards. It’s almost like being swollen from being turned on. After I’ve been waxed I am uber aware of my lips no matter what I’m doing and I, just, love, that.) The anxiety though is caused by timing. You can’t always get an appointment when you need it, there are logistics involved: will you have your period, will you have enough re-growth, will you be able to be waxed in time before the sex. In case you didn’t know, and it’s possible that you might not, sure how would you when we rarely talk about it, but you can’t have sex for 24hrs after getting waxed. That’s right 24 long agonizing hours. Well, you can but it’s not worth the consequences. You also can’t sun bathe, or have UV light near it. Ditto, chlorine or fake tan. So if you’re preparing for a sexfest – as I so regularly am when it comes close to waxing time – then you have A LOT to factor in. Sometimes the stars do not align. And that’s when I will hands down chose the having of the sex over the getting of the waxing, and just hope he’s cool with it.

And sometimes, like buying a large box of condoms, it all gets jinxed. The person you think you’re going to have sex with is not available or they (and god forgive him this has happened) don’t want sex that night. Or worse, you stop seeing each other. All of these things have happened to me at waxing time.
I’m quite fair, my hair is light and it takes ages, aeons in fact for it to grow back to a waxing length. So when I am getting my downstairs hair done and I will finally have a beautifully smooth, can’t-keep-my-own-hands-off it cunt – well then I god damn want someone to see it, comment on it and give me the benefit of fabulous oral sex.

I’m afraid that this has led me to some very questionable sexual encounters. I swear there are some guys who have only gotten it from me because I’ve been freshly waxed and I wanted the sex that I enjoy only with that. I really hate to waste a fresh hairdo.

If I could take it all off permanently, I would. At least off the lips. That would be ideal.

My preference? It’s for an inverted triangle that ends with the point just at the top of the hood, almost like the tip of an arrow.
But I’ve been waxing for so long it never grows back thick enough for that to be effective anymore, it just looks like they missed a spot.

And if I wasn’t having sex, if I wasn’t planning on having it (not that I can fathom that) but if it was winter and I wasn’t planning on having anyone see it or touch it at all, what then?
Then I would still wax it. Not for any bullshit, spurious hygiene reasons but simply because I like it to be neat for me. I like to be able to touch it and for it to be lovely to my own touch. I want to look at myself in underwear and feel that it looks good not for anyone else but for me.
I see it in the same vein as any other part of grooming that I do to look well presented. Does that make me subjugated by society? I don’t think so.

Has anyone ever asked me to grow it? One guy, but I couldn’t make out if he was serious, I think maybe he was just demonstrating that he liked it whatever way I styled it.

Do I expect boys to be manscaped? No, of course not. But it is nice if they’ve tidied up down there. For the same reasons that I do it should be the same reasons he should want to. And to be fair most guys do make an effort to trim it. I do live in hope that I can get a guy to wax it though, I would love there to be no hair down there, none at all. As smooth and silky as only ripping it out by the root can get it! I would love to find that or talk a guy into it. Of course I would never demand or expect or coerce anyone into it. I would just like to experience it with someone who was willing to do it. Have a guy go as far as I regularly do in the pursuit of hairlessness.

Any offers?
Anyone out there actually had a back sack and crack?

Why The Curse of Condoms

A necessary evil which really isn’t all that evil so why do they cause so much drama?
There seems to be an inordinate amount of guys that either don’t want to or can’t for some reason wear condoms. I’ve heard loads of excuses the typical ‘It doesn’t feel as good’, ‘they ruin the moment’ to my very favourite ‘they don’t fit me babe’.
Well here’s my response to that; Get fucking used to it or get used to not fucking.

They don’t feel good – well they don’t feel that great to me either
They ruin the moment – well they ruin it for me too buddy.

If you want me to fuck you without a condom then who else have you said the same to? Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t care who you’ve been with before me, this isn’t about number judgement – it’s simply a case for safety. And yeah I am judging you if you have unsafe sex, I’m judging you as not someone I’m willing to sleep with.

So you can’t come with a condom on? Well practise. I don’t love the taste of a cock that’s had a condom on it but will I still happily put it in my mouth? Damn straight I will. It has taken practise, getting used to. Everything needs getting used to. Get. Used. To. It.
Have a posh wank, practise, train yourself. Not much that’s worth doing was done perfectly the first time. And this is worth that time.

You say they don’t fit? Too tight? Well lucky you and congratulations but there are other sizes, brands for larger guys and I’m not just talking about length but girth as well. I can recommend these, when I say recommend, I mean guys I’ve been with enjoyed them. And so did I.

So cut the excuses, protection is everyone’s responsibility.

And here are my reasons why I hate them, make me feel uncomfortable cause me embarrassment

Ideally I wouldn’t have to use them at all and in a committed relationship you can happily eschew them if you’ve got other methods of contraception.
I’m allergic to apple flavoured ones. True.
If I want to do my favourite teasing trick (sitting on it, then sucking it, then sitting on it again – it makes it very difficult.
They do taste horrible
Who buys them, me or him? I hate to be without so I usually have them – but am I judged for that?
Buying in bulk – totally guarantees that I won’t get to use them all and I won’t get it for ages. It just jinxes it. It just does.
If a guy brings a box, we don’t go through them and he leaves them behind – it freaks me out. If he takes them it freaks me out. It’s a no win situation.

If he leaves them does he assume he’s coming back, that I want him to? Or does he think I need them? Is he married/not single and can’t take them with him? All these things run through my head.

If he takes them with him, does he think he won’t be back, have I made him think I don’t want him to come back? Does he think I don’t like him? If he’s sleeping with other people does he need to be so obvious about it. All of which are fine but all of which run through my mind.
Why? Why do these things go through my head? I can’t tell you. It’s just how my mind works. I don’t want any of the decisions taken off me.
Ideally we use them all, I feel like a sex goddess and there’s none left to make me wonder if I want to see him again or if he wants to see me again.

Why I won’t tell anyone my number and why that makes me sad

Do you know your number? I read a buzzfeed article with tips on how to stay awake during boring meetings. They suggested you try to remember everyone you were ever with.
So I spent a rather thoughtful meeting taking, what seemed like, intense notes and then shocked myself. This prompted me to have a conversation with my friend (I gave her the tip for boring meetings) and she was equally shocked by her number but for entirely other reasons.
Our discussion centred on how we were happy to tell each other our numbers but we certainly wouldn’t share our numbers with other girls or indeed our partners.
Why is that?

Why did we feel that our reputations would be negatively altered if we revealed how many people we had slept with? Why does that still matter? It angers me and it annoys me for so many reasons. I am not solely a number, a statistic made up of sexual partners. I resent the implication that my sexual worth is tied to it. That my worth or integrity is tied to it.
Sex is precious and I won’t ever claim that it’s not; my ability to have it is one of the things I prize most highly in life. But it’s not a finite resource and the more sex I have doesn’t mean that I am depleting my allocation. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Neither does it make me a lesser person. It means nothing. It has no bearing on any other part of my life. So why do I need to hide it?
It particularly irks me that I feel the criticism most harshly from my own sex*. It makes me sad that we’re still pitted against each other in this way. Don’t we have enough to deal with!

I think what cemented my resolve about disclosing my number was with a recent partner. He was fixated on it, unhealthily so and to a point where it was a factor in our breaking up. But not in the way you might think. He claimed he never judged me for it but for some reason he felt he was emasculated by it? He felt, as a man, that he should have been with more people than me and in general (who sets the number that dictates this, where was his benchmark?). I won’t even try to decipher what logic he used to arrive at that. No matter what I said to alleviate it, it never helped. He was fascinated with what I had gotten up to previously, what I’d tried and what I hadn’t. Initially I was happy to share never thinking that every nugget I gave him would be used against me. So I started lying, I pretended that I hadn’t done things, and when I eventually reluctantly acquiesced to alluding to my number, I dramatically lowered it.
Now this is probably an extreme example but it hasn’t left me feeling any better about how men or women perceive sex. It just makes me weary.

I would hope to get a better reaction if ever I’m asked, but more than that, I’d hope not to be asked. And not because someone is afraid of the answer but because it genuinely doesn’t matter.

I don’t think a person should be allowed to judge another person for how many people they have or haven’t slept with. Put it in context: do we ever ask ‘how many people have you ever had a pint with?’ or ‘How many people have you ever shared a meal with?’ ‘How many people have you been close with, or shared emotions with?’ We have so many interactions with people, some intimate some not we should shake off this judgement we reserve for sex.

How many? Well, more than my mother and less than Russell Brand – I hope.

 

 

 

*as much as I ever submit to criticism, which isn’t much

Things I’d Written Off Until ….

I was 18 when I went off to university and 2 days in hooked up with my first proper boyfriend. By proper I mean we were at it like rabbits and we were together for 4 years.
He wasn’t my first, he wasn’t my second either but he was the first one I got to experiment with. The first one I slept with repeatedly and really got to understand.
And yes he was the first one to make me come.

That’s weird isn’t it? I’d been making boys come since I was 14 but it took until I was 18 before someone took the time to do it to me.

We lived in halls of residence and we were rarely dressed. This was heaven to me, finally an outlet for it. And unfettered access to someone with no parental supervision. It’s amazing I turned up to any classes at all.
And while this was bliss we were so small, he was only 19 – barely more experienced than me. So anything we tried (and we tried a lot) we were pretty much novices at, neither of us knew much about it.
Which means that anything that we did try and that didn’t go well… well I have written it off mostly.

Some things you can get good at with just good practise; giving and getting head, positions, 69, hand jobs. And other things, while some proficiency may be gained over time, in my opinion you need a natural propensity for; kissing and talking dirty fall into this category for me. I can always tell a faker.
But there’s another area where I just think you need an old hand, or just good old fashioned experience to be able to get it right. To enjoy it. Or to be shown how good it could be. To have it sold to you. To have someone make it seem hot. Pleading and begging do not fit into this category.

So we got good at most things, got comfortable with each other. I don’t know how the subject was broached, I don’t know how it came up I don’t know how it started. Anal. But he loved it, he loved anything to do with me near his ass. He loved my finger in it, my tongue in it and he especially liked it if I put something bigger in it. Which was all fine with me, I was out to try everything. But he also wanted to put his cock in my ass. Of course I wanted to try it; of course I was up for it. But oh my god did I hate it. And I was surprised. I was surprised with myself.
With hindsight I suppose I shouldn’t have been. As I said, we were young and we didn’t really know what we were doing. Yeah, he used lube, but he was huge, one of the biggest of my life, I’m not sure he did enough to relax me, not sure that he knew enough to be able to? It probably didn’t help that he wasn’t prepared to lick my ass – a bit of a double standard! And he didn’t work up to it by getting me used to fingers first.
I don’t blame him for this, I didn’t know either.

So I gave it a go a couple of times, I’d be sound like that, but then I said I’d had enough. That I’d tried it and it wasn’t for me. It hurt and I didn’t like the sensation. I was happy to keep rimming him and put things in his ass but he was categorically to leave mine alone.

But that wasn’t strictly the truth, yes it did hurt and yes I wasn’t crazy about how it felt but it was more than that. I hated that he didn’t seem to care if I was enjoying it; it wasn’t a shared experience for both of us. He was only focused on getting it in and getting himself off. And whether my tiny asshole was hurting him. Charming. It was like he loved it so much he was oblivious to how it was hurting me or even that I wasn’t enjoying it, it was something he was getting all by himself.
And that is what I didn’t like.

When he first got it all in he made this noise, like it was the best sensation in the world, a new noise – and essentially my enjoyment was surplus to requirements. I hadn’t really been involved in making that noise happen; I didn’t feel at all part of it. It only compounded things when he declared ‘Babe this feels amazing!’ No enquiry into how I was doing. It was out of character for him but for the first time I felt used. Like just a hole. And that is what I didn’t like.

So I said to stop, I wanted to stop. He gave a few more thrusts and reluctantly came out. Only then did it seem to dawn on him that I hadn’t enjoyed any of it.
He’s not a bad guy and he’s not an idiot, he knew well that a charm offensive was needed now or that was never going to happen again. So we talked about it, I said I would give it another go he said he was happy if he never got to do it again. He was lying, I wasn’t. And like I said he’s not a bad guy so we did do it again and when I said it was off the menu, he accepted it. With minimal petulance, if memory serves?
As I said above, begging and pleading aren’t the way to turn someone on to something. Especially when the other thing that struck me as I realised that I wasn’t part of his new found ecstasy, what if he preferred my ass to my pussy? What if he wanted this all the time? What if my pussy was no longer good enough for him?
He loves this thing that I hate and I can’t give it to him? I can’t satisfy him?
And that is what I didn’t like.
I suppose my experience of it made it seem derogatory in a way, that it was something guys wanted to do to me instead of with me.

Anyway, I needed reassurance and coaxing and an experienced hand. Not selfishness and statements like ‘But I waaaaaant it’ although there was only a few episodes of that. All these things combined to turn me off anyone going near my ass. Until I read GOTN’s post about it. And I swear something just snapped into place.
All of a sudden her description of being full up just seemed like the hottest thing in the world. Read it. Do yourself a favour. Do your partner a favour.
For so long I had written something off because of how I experienced it with just one person. I don’t do that with any other aspect of my life, I always revisit things but this one got set in stone somehow. That said nobody since then ever talked about it properly with me or made me feel like it was a shared enjoyment and if that’s been my experience maybe it has been other people’s too?

And now? Well shortly after I had seen the light and re-opened my mind on all things related to my hole, I got exactly what I needed an open mind with an experienced hand. And everything was different. He wanted to do whatever I wanted to do, he had no interest in doing something if it didn’t turn me on – ironically a stance that just made me want to do anything.
I think it all comes back to the Golden Rule of sex or at least the Golden Rule of good sex:
Don’t chase your own orgasm, you look after my pleasure and I’ll look after yours.
I genuinely get off on getting someone off and it’s a trait I prize in a partner.
And here it was. The most perfect manifestation of that.

This was going to get filthy.

The Very First Girl

I know this girl, we’d been friends for a while, we were getting close. We were sitting on my bed getting ready to go out, drinking wine finishing our makeup and talking about some guy’s kissing technique. I’m not sure I was fully listening. So when she turned to me and said ‘well it was like this’ and then leaned in and kissed me, it took me completely unawares. I rarely move away from people when they lean in, if someone goes to kiss me I usually let it land before saying no. Always seems so much more dignified than whipping your head away. So of course it was easy for her to kiss me initially. But it was a great kiss, girls are soft and they know what they’re doing. I instinctively opened my mouth and took her tongue as she was going in deeper. I couldn’t help it she was a great kisser and this was so exciting. I don’t know if she knew what she was doing, maybe she did. But she went on with the story so I went with that.
But that was the watershed. She knew then that she could kiss me anytime she wanted and that I would. My boyfriend hated it her boyfriend was not so stupid. This became our thing, we’d kiss whenever we got drunk or bored or wanted some drama. We were young and just liked trouble. And then it needed to be more. I think we both wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to eat her so much, I knew I liked the taste of my own pussy, I wanted to know if hers tasted as good. Did it smell like mine, did it look like mine? Would I be able to make her wet?
She has a very different body to mine, we’re both tall, but she’s slim and athletic with dark hair. I’m curvy and have bigger boobs, blond hair. We looked good together. I loved her small, perfect breasts. They were similar to mine and I wanted them in my mouth, I wanted to suck them hard, I wanted to flick my tongue over her nipples and bite them. I want to live out on her what I wanted done to me. Her stomach was perfect and I licked it all the way down to her cunt, which was also perfect. It tasted amazing and I wanted not just to eat it but to have my fingers in it, to put things in it to watch her face. She had the same idea. Pulling, grabbing, tasting anything we could. Eating every part of each other. Tasting each other’s pussy off each other’s mouths and fingers. Neither of us knew where the line was, I’m not sure there was one. It just seemed exciting and bold and special. And just so different to being with a boy. Everything was soft and felt great. I didn’t know it at the time as I’d only kissed one girl but girls are great kissers. They’re generally just better at it. I could have kissed her forever.

One night her boyfriend came home to find me with my head between her legs. Not a man to miss an opportunity that’s how the first threesome happened.

The Tindering – what’s in it for me?

So I’ve been on Tinder, who could resist the delicious draw of the brutality of it? It’s a game of hot or not and it’s more addictive than crack or Percy Pigs. Whatever your preference is.
But is it yielding any results?
Not for me it’s not. I’m following the rules on how to get as many matches as possible: head shots and full length body shots. A friend mentioned that he skips past any girl, no matter how hot, unless there’s a full length body shot because (and I swear this was said, or very similar words with the same charming sentiment) ‘they could be a surprise fatty’. Sigh.

Also key to getting many matches is to have none of the following:
Me with a duckface
Me in front of the Eiffel tower/Sydney opera house/some temple in South East Asia
Me feeding starving kids/ rescued monkeys
Me with a tiger
Me snorkelling/scuba diving
Or indeed, me in a wedding dress.

Mainly because, shockingly, I have none of the above in my colossal library of photos. So I get a lot of matches despite my criteria being quite specific, I want someone who lives in actual Dublin (sorry people but Kildare is not Dublin, neither is Dundalk). Not that I have an issue with anyone from these areas or who choose to live there. The issue, and it is an issue, is solely mine. Having recently been in a long distance relationship I’m not so willing to do that again so soon. I’ve done my time and I’m not prepared to get back into a situation where I spend my time living for when I can see someone and you know, have all the sex. Because let’s be straight here, I’m in it for the sex, regular and guaranteed but copious amounts of sex is what I want. If that comes in the shape of a relationship, ok. If it comes in the shape of someone who’s just willing to give it to me all the time, also fine. Either way my ultimate aim is to have it available and ready and as accessible as humanly possible. I want it not just once every two weeks or just on Friday nights or Saturday evenings. I want it all the time, I want it mid-week and I want it in the morning before work, after work and oh Holy Grail DURING work. I suppose I want the possibility of it at any point that either of us could be free on any day during any given week.
I’m not asking for someone to live with me, I’m not asking for someone to be at my back and call – I just want it to be possible at the drop of a hat. For it to maybe be an option all the time. And that only comes with relative proximity.

I’m also a relatively busy girl. I work full time (true story) and I have friends, family and questionable pursuits that I call hobbies. My available sex-time is not infinite but whose is? I might not always be available all weekend every weekend or simply at the time slot offered. Working 9-5 Monday to Friday means that hooking up with someone not in my vicinity means primarily meeting at weekends. Does it sound like I’ve overthought this? Well it’s because I have. I’m a logical, rational girl. If I want something, I have to make it happen. And I always want sex so to make this happen and to make it happen the way I want (regularly) I have to think about it and eliminate anything that is going to put barriers in my way. So anyone living more than 5km away from me is off the list.

There’s also the added fact that if the sex is in any way satisfying I am susceptible to over enthusiasm and mild obsession. Not with the person per se, more with the planning and plotting how to get more naked time with them. I’m a planner. I love planning and organising; festivals, weekends away, parties, travelling – I love organising that stuff and it works out well for anyone connected with me. I do all the work and all the research. I’m a control freak but as everyone knows (or should) control freaks throw the best parties because we think of everything. Maybe that’s why I’m submissive in bed? I digress.
So there’s nothing I love planning more than my own sexfests. So instead of working, I’ll be checking calendars and looking up hotels. Seeing when I can get wax appointments and do I have enough cash in my account to get new underwear and a new toy? This shit consumes me. And it’s not like I have nothing else to do or work to be getting on with – I do. I just can’t stop myself. It’s my favourite thing but like a lot of things it makes it very hard to get on with other more productive things. Not to mention it being reminiscent of all the time I blocked off and gave up and was appropriated and demanded by the last big, long distance relationship. So again, anyone who is not near me is off my list, I’ve no interest.
That wrote off so many hot and very interesting tourists. I really am not interested in a one night thing from Tinder, I can get that anyway.

The next thing that narrows my field is age. I don’t want someone way younger than me. I’m ok with older, as long as they’re not decrepit, in fact I would love someone older. Young is fine, but again I’ve done my time there, I’ve been the teacher, I’ve sent a fair few back into the fold with more skills than they came to me with, thoroughly having enjoyed every minute of it. There’s nothing wrong with this but it’s just not what I’m looking for right now. I don’t want to feel like I know everything and I don’t want to feel like a creepy older woman. Predatory I suppose. That’s not sexy for me. Oh since you asked it’s set at 30 to 45 but I keep reducing that because the 45 year olds are not adhering to the not-decrepit prerequisite. (it’s reached 40)

So even with a radius of 5km and an age bracket of 10 years I was still getting a lot of matches. Which you would think would be a good thing. Nope. Even when we did match there was no dialogue happening. Of course then I would make a quip, only to have them not respond at all or worse, respond with something unfathomably lame. I’m very polite, I’ll try to get a conversation going out of nothing, I’ll coax it. But even my interest will wane as it inevitably did and I will move on.
And still there was enough traffic and messages going back and forth for some dates to happen.

I went on dates with 5 Tinderers. One of them I actually met again so 6 dates was the sum total of what I got out of it.
I kissed 3 of them, slept with one and had a good feel of the guy who I had two dates with. I probably should have slept with him.

The first guy was very cool and very polite, if a little shy. We met on a Sunday evening and had drinks and some nibbles which he insisted on paying for. My bike was parked weirdly, just outside his house so when I went to get it he asked me in for tea. I love tea so I went.
We had tea and some kissing but it was late on a Sunday night and I had to go home, that’s as far as it went. I wasn’t sure how I felt.
A week later I got a bit of a rambling message telling me I was cool and he just was too busy for a relationship right now. A little presumptuous and totally jumping the gun but ok? I just assumed he didn’t fancy me that much. But then I started to think? Hey, was I supposed to sleep with him, was that a tacit implication?
I didn’t dwell on it too much I had date 2 to prepare for.
This guy was big and way better looking than his pictures and the minute he sat down I wanted my face on his face or maybe my hole on his face. I just wanted him. He was funny and we got drunk and laughed. And at one point when I said I thought I was a bit drunk he decided that he needed to get some chips into me (if that’s a euphemism then it was unintended).
Chips happened and then sex in my hall happened. We didn’t even make it upstairs for the first round. I was on my knees unwrapping what I had earlier groped and was hoping to find I’d correctly assessed. I was not disappointed, well I was, but not by his cock. It was indeed as big as my ever gropey hands had ascertained.
And while we had some fun as I sobered up I realised it was me doing all the work. Again that wasn’t the disappointing bit; I know how to make us both have a good time even if it’s me making all the effort.
The let-down came as I discovered he’s one of those guys that is happy to sleep with girls on the first night but not happy to sleep with them again. I won’t bore you with how that was discovered.

Date 3 had to talk me into it. Begged he said, I’d counter otherwise. He didn’t really fit my criteria as he lived so far on the outskirts of Dublin that I think it’s actually libellous to describe it as Dublin. But I entertained the chats for a while (he was a GAA player and you can’t ignore that kinda fitness) and was getting funnier. But then it transpired that he had only just broken up with his girlfriend, that he had been living with. All my alarm bells went off everywhere. But I’m an idiot and I ignored them.
We had a lovely date and some kissing and groping (entirely instigated by me) up against some shop windows. What did he expect? If he’s going to push me against a window and wear the face off me then I’m most definitely dropping the hand.
We had a second date, again went well. Drinks and dinner – very civilised. But it ended abruptly, I thought, and there was only a cursory kiss from him. Which was in direct contrast to the last time. Did he have another date that night? That thought was soon wiped as I got home to some very provocative texts. No better girleen for taking a saucy text and escalating it to filth. And to his credit he kept up. Hmmm, this now had potential.
So the texts kept coming, what was I up to, any plans for the weekend – I’d respond with info offering a window of possible availability only to get a response that he was busy with work/college/training. This happened 3 more times before I decided to stop responding.

This example here is the classic case of what was wrong with Tinder for me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was waiting for a better offer or holding out for something else? Of course I was talking to other people but if I met someone I was giving them my full attention, I was responding only if I was genuinely interested.
I am many things, direct, a bit straight to the point, a bit forward but one thing I’m not and that’s a time waster.

I had two more dates one with Smoky Joe, a lovely guy who I couldn’t make out if I wanted to sleep with or not. But the fact that he smoked, at a conservative estimate I’d say at least 200 fags in the few hours we were out, kinda killed it for me. That and the fact that he said he’d never had his heart broken, either by a lover or being fucked over by a friend. I couldn’t take anyone seriously that hasn’t had life experience. My dark insides were never going to be suited to his overly sunny disposition. Even just for riding. He did have some great sex stories though and I got the impression that he might have been great in bed. But in the end he didn’t make a move and neither did I.
And the very last one? There was just no spark in reality and he didn’t look like his photos.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you Tinder.

*I am off Tinder, and I’ll know I am bored to within an inch of my sanity if I ever find myself reinstalling it. Read: it will most likely happen, I predict hungover boredom and diminished brain capacity for real entertainment might drive me to it. I hope not though. I’ll keep you posted.

The Girl I Shouldn’t Have Kissed… and not just because Dublin Isn’t Ready

I knew this girl for a few years, I knew her for about a year before I realised that she was gay. I’d never met her partner, who had a unisex name, so it never occurred to me. And it didn’t matter. I just knew I was attracted to this girl. I told her things I shouldn’t have, totally opened up to her. Every time we had any alone time I would give her any secrets I had. I don’t know why. And god did she make me laugh. I just adored her company. Everyone does.
Did I mention she’s pretty?
Did I mention she’s very pretty?
We moved in different circles and one night when I was out with her group I mistakenly kissed one of the boys and ran away. I called her and we laughed about it, she told me he was cool and there would be no awkwardness if we were all out again.
We were all out the next time. It was a bank holiday Sunday and the atmosphere was lawless. I had left my group of friends to come meet her where she immediately told me I was not drunk enough and I immediately monopolised her attention.
I downed 3 drinks pretty quickly and we went to dance. The boy I’d kissed starts dancing with me – fine. Cool no issues from me legging it last time, great. Then another guy – who I’ve always flirted with cuts in, actually cuts in. We’re a hot mess dancing it up in this bar, swinging out of each other. At one breather when I reach for my drink She laughs and whispers in my ear ‘They are both trying to score you’ and then erupts laughing. With a glint in her eye she shouts ‘I’ve warned you’ and dances backwards away. God she was cool.

IMG_0804
And then I notice it, yup, she hasn’t gotten this wrong. That is what’s happening here. But I notice something else too. I only enjoy dancing with her. I only feel good dancing with her. And our dancing got hotter and touchier and closer until we were basically touching each other up and ludicrously acting as if it was nothing. Pulling our sexiest moves for each other. The boys had left us too it at this point, bored of our exhibitionism.
We moved on to a club and promptly lost everyone, I don’t know how it happened and it wasn’t a surprise but we started kissing and we didn’t stop. She was a great kisser. When we came up for air there was a group of guys around us staring. They applauded? WTF? So we moved off and got back to devouring each other.
I’m not sure what I’m allowed here, she has a girlfriend – is this just drunken kissing? I really want her to touch me, feel me up, grab me. I want her to squeeze my tits and put her hands between my legs. I wanted her to do whatever she wanted – but most of all? I wanted it not to be a spectacle. Why was two girls kissing still a thing to behold? Once again we moved to a different part of the club.
I’m a tourist, I do this for fun and when I can get away with it, but Kitty (I’m going to call her that, she’s that cute and that bold and I always want to play with her) Kitty, must get this all the time. I asked her if this was the kinda shit she has to put up with all the time? She adorably responded ‘It’s cos you’re hot and you’re wearing a short skirt, they wouldn’t look otherwise’. I’ll add that it’s because we both are. But I didn’t get a chance, she grabbed me, pushed me against the wall and kissed me again. She stopped and announced ‘I want to take control, I want to be in charge of you, to tell you what to do. To take you’. God it was so hot, ‘I know you want me to’ she wasn’t wrong. I did want it. I wished we weren’t in the club.
I pushed things a little further – I started feeling her tits and I couldn’t stop myself, I felt my hand go up her skirt. I wanted to do more but I didn’t know what was ok. And of course I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all being watched. And not in a nice way.
When boys are still interrupting girls mid full kiss, to get in on the action, I know we’re not living in an equal society. Yes that actually happened, he tapped us both on the shoulder and went in to lob the gob. Thankfully Kitty handled it.
Did I mention she’s great?

We eventually parted. I was too drunk and I wasn’t sure where this was leading. I went home alone. I’m not sure what she wanted I’m not even sure I know what I wanted?
But it’s probably not the last time.

The Cop

I’m going to call him the cop, he wasn’t, but I thought he was and that’s what he went in my phone as. I can’t even remember his name?
But I can remember this, because it was all that was in the bank for a good while afterwards. I’m going to start in my room, what happened up til then is really of no consequence.

He was only a few feet away from me; he stepped towards me and took my hand, slipped an arm around me and then leaned in close as if to kiss me. But he didn’t. He spun me round and with his hands over mine placed both my hands on the wall and told me not to move. He slid his hands down to my waist and pulled me in against him and whispered, give me a look at this ass, and kicked my legs further apart. I tried to look over my shoulder, he calmly but firmly with a hand on my neck, reminded me that I was told not to move. I love someone having control of me. I love it even more when it’s implicit and done so well. He’d obviously done this before and I was insane with excitement. He lifted my skirt and pulled my arse against him, I could feel through his jeans he had a massive hard on, even though he sounded as if he wasn’t at all bothered. He pressed me harder to him and asked was I excited. I wanted him to exert more control over me, to get me to submit further so I answered no. He slid my underwear down and slipped two fingers into my drenched pussy and calmly stated ‘you’re lying’. I nearly squealed. He turned me to face him and pushed me flat against the wall. With one hand he managed to get both my wrists together and held my hands over my head. Then, he finally kissed me, deep and decisively, told me again not to move and dropped to his knees and pulled my tights down. And started kissing, then licking my pussy. He stayed there for a few minutes until I tried to take back control i.e. to get at his cock. I didn’t really want control, I just wanted to pretend I did so that he would be forceful with me again; it just turned me on so wildly how he could do it with such authority. And it worked. He stood up, kissed me again – god I love it when someone kisses me and I can taste my own pussy from their mouth, it sends me crazy. But it didn’t last long, he had only stood up to take back control, kissing me was a momentary ruse, while my eyes were closed he lifted me and placed me onto the bed taking me completely unawares. Bravo cop, bravo.
‘Lie down and do what you’re told, do you hear me?’ yes, I said. ‘Ok, so lie, the fuck down. Now’. He said this so calmly as if it was utterly understood that if would be complied with. I did and he went back to eating me so expertly. He had me exactly where he wanted me, I was at his mercy. When I tried to sit up he reached a hand up and pushed me back down, and held me down. He was very strong. I couldn’t believe this was working so well and I hadn’t even gotten near him. Once again I tried to wriggle out from under him – I don’t know why, I was so close to coming? but I felt I hadn’t given him anything. With hindsight I can see that he was totally getting off on exerting control over me. He laughed and said, but you’re about to come, why would I stop. He finished me spectacularly and I could barely breathe. While I was trying to focus I stood up to grab hold of him but he whipped his clothes off put on a condom and got on the bed. From where he commanded me to remove the rest of my clothing and let him see me. For some reason I felt exposed and nervous, shy? But I did it and then in such a quietly commanding voice he said ‘Get over here’. I shook my head, terrified of what else he could make my body do, but really just getting into the role. He repeated the request and told me to get on him. I didn’t really need to be asked twice. I got on him and again felt like I was going to come straight away.
Usually when I’m on top I can direct things, I have some control. Not this time. He told me to lean back, so that my hands were flat on the bed, between his legs. He told me not to move, and he fucked me. From that angle it felt amazing. But I’m not well behaved, I moved, leaned over him and moved the way I wanted to, to try and direct things. He knew better. From that position he could knock my arms out from under me so I fell over. Before I knew what was happening he was standing up and dragging me by the ankles to the edge of the bed so he could fuck me. I was in heaven.
With his hands on my hips he pulled me onto my knees then pressed my face into the sheets and twisted my arm behind my back, then guided his cock deep into me in one stroke. It hurt and I loved it. The more I wriggled the tighter he twisted my arm and the harder he fucked me. I was adoring every second of this. But when he sensed I was liking it too much he changed. The man was a control genius. He let go of my arm and told me to balance myself on the bed because he was now going to fuck me properly. Slowly at first and then deeper and faster. He would pull it almost all the way out and then slam it right into me. It hurt and felt great all at the same time and I would have begged him to continue if he stopped. And without warning he stopped, told me to turn around and sit on the bed. As I did he pulled off the condom and told me to suck his cock. And I happily did. Finally I had a bit of control, finally I could hear that he was into it, I could see that he was relishing my tongue on his throbbing hard cock. He put one leg up on the bed and forced his cock deeper into my mouth and thrust and came into the back of my throat. Not something that I would normally like, but he executed it well and timed it perfectly so I didn’t choke.

I never got to do it again. But it was perfect.

The Actual Cop Part II

I can hear her, and my cousin. Oh god Thank You for letting him be with her, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard them talking coming towards my room. I shoved him into the bathroom and kicked my underwear out of the way. They banged on the door, the cop mouths ‘Get rid of them’ – ‘I can’t!’, I mouth back, ‘they won’t take no for an answer’. See despite my aversion to weddings, I actually like my family. I particularly like this side of the family. And even more surprising, I’m a popular member, for all my crankiness, I’m pretty good craic. So I declare that I’m just shoving my dress back on – can’t make it too easy on myself, and I let them in. My cousin, quite rightly, asks why was I naked, I tell him there’s a corset in the dress and I needed a breather, my sister concurs like this is perfectly natural. We have some chats, they take a look round my room. I’m about to strain something with the giggles I’m holding in. We chat about the speeches, mention how good the food was and then my sister says she needs to fix her makeup – she’ll just be a second. I can see The Cop peering out at me from the crack in the door, composure gone for the first time! I tell her that her lipstick is horrible and let’s go get my other sister, she has a nicer colour that will suit her better. And practically strong arm her out of the room.

Bullet one, dodged.

Excitement and frustration levels up to a point of insanity.
This couldn’t be going any better if I dreamed it.

So I go back down stairs, mingle – fuck it, I’ve no idea what I did. I just know I was back in that room in less than 30 minutes. Exploding through the door with the enthusiasm of a kid who just won a medal. ‘Oh my god, can you believe that shit! Can you believe we got away with that!’ I am practically singing, and I launch myself at him and throw my arms around him, kissing him. ‘Yeah’ he agrees, actually sounding excited and relieved too, ‘I thought the game was up when she headed for the bathroom, I can’t believe you talked her out of it with that line, I nearly just walked out!’ ‘I told you this wouldn’t be easy’ I trill. The role play is over for now, I want to kiss him and have him and neither of us wants to wait.
Have I used the word exquisite already? Well it was. I was allowed to have everything. And I got everything. He ate me expertly, then put his whole hand in me again and made me come. He finally gave me his cock in my mouth – fuck I love that.
The bed was the perfect height for me to be on all fours with him fucking me from behind with my face buried in a pillow, biting it so as to stifle the noise. And then I heard him spit on his fingers as he circled them around my asshole. I knew what was coming but I love it when he gives me a running commentary: ‘Do you know what I’m doing?’ I made some noise, conveyed that I did. ‘And do you want it?’ I did. He pushed a thumb into my ass and fucked me at the same time. He took his thumb out and I complained, but he just lubed me up with more spit and put two fingers deep into me. Then said ‘I’m rubbing the head of my cock with these two fingers in your ass’. I just pushed harder down onto him. This was exactly what I wanted. He’d somehow found the ‘All New & Revised – Abbi Handbook’ and read it cover to cover.
I know we had more sex because there were condoms and wrappers all over the floor when my phone rang. How long had I been missing? It was my other sister. I answered not thinking that she was so close by. ‘Abbi! Where the feck are you? Everyone’s been asking for you?’ Insert some lame answer here, not about a dress, she’s too savvy for that. ‘Ok, well? Hurry up, you should get back downstairs, and, where’s your room, in relation to mine, I’m just in the corridor’. Oh fuck?
Fair play to the Cop, he’s half dressed at this stage.
On the spot, with her waiting for me to give her directions, I’m amazed that I think of this, I tell her to come up the stairs and my room is to the right. The stairs splits in two and there is a suite either side. I know I’ve sent her the wrong way but it has bought me about 15 seconds. Just enough time to right myself and collect the condom wrappers.
Does the room stink of sex? I don’t know I have to let her in.
I open the door and see her across the stairwell about to bang on the wrong door. ‘What the hell?’ she says, ‘I thought you said right?’ ‘Sorry, it’s my right as you look down the stairs, from um, where .. I’m standing’. This is not my best work, I can concede. But let’s all remember that I’ve had a lot of Prosecco and my senses have been dulled by the mind blowing sex. I’d like to see any of you do better. So delighted was I with myself, maybe I wanted to get caught?

In she comes and bounces on the bed, more proclamations that my allocated room is lovely, if a little small. (The consequences of being an outwardly single girl at a wedding – you never get the good room) We declare some sartorial winners and losers, mostly winners, we’re pretty nice, and the obligatory ‘Can you believe that tool of a man is here’ – yes I can, I was put sitting too close to him. She eyes me suspiciously, lying resplendently on the bed, she raises herself up onto her elbows and says ‘What’s up with you, what’s going on?’ Nothing, I reply, go on down I’m just gonna fix my make-up. ‘Oh no way’, she declares, ‘you’re gonna come back down with me. I just gotta pee first’.

‘Oh, there’s a boy in here’

‘Abbi? Eh, who’s this in your bathroom?’. Then ensues some of the worst lying I’ve ever tried to pass off. The game is up this time. My bullet dodging ability has passed.
And this is when I’m so glad that I took the time to make up a back story the week leading up to it. She buys it, but she’s not letting us stay in the room. She marches us down. I think she finds it funny that I’ve picked someone up/got picked up by a randomer at my cousin’s wedding. I think she thinks everyone else is going to find this funny too? I don’t agree.

In our effort to slip in, have a drink and then get back to the room we run into, in this order: The Bride, the Father of the Bride, the Bride’s brother, the mother of the bride, my aunt – who gives me a knowing look and walks off with a dirty laugh, she knows well, my other sister and my brother in law.
This is not what I wanted. I can’t tell what he wanted I’m out of my mind at this point with the tension. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, I can barely look at him. I’m trying to brazen this out. So I get some shots. Seems the only thing to do. The Cop’s not drinking, never something that would sit well with me, I hate being the drunk one, but he had to be up the next morning at 7, I took what I could get.
He gets cornered by my brother in law, a cool guy actually, and they seem deep in conversation so I turn to my cousins and start chatting, read: do more shots, the ball was rolling at this point. Then my sister beckons me on to the dance floor and I want to go? And I do, I join her on the floor. This is not how this is supposed to play out? I don’t like weddings, I want to be amusing myself upstairs, don’t I?
I get back to the Cop who tells me I should go and dance with everyone. That I should ‘be’ at this wedding for a while, that he’ll be waiting upstairs for me, whenever I’m done.
I’m a little incredulous but this is what I was promised.
I might like him.

I think everyone thinks he’s left. I sing, I dance, I talk rubbish, I reminisce. I have a good time.
And at around 4:30 I call it a night. I’m wrecked, but I’m not spent.
I say good night, I don’t just slink off. I’m very polite this time. And I head upstairs.
Oh God, please let him have meant it, please let him still want me to wake him for sex.

Lights are off, I think he’s asleep. I slip in to the bathroom to take this dress off, I want proper sex now, with access to everywhere, his hands on all of me. But the dress really does have a corset inside it. In the form of 16 hooks and eyes, like opening 8 bras. It takes me well over 7 hours, or so it seems, to get the fecking thing off. I know I’m whimpering, I know I’m making noise I just hope he doesn’t come in to find me contorted like this.
FINALLY! I shake off the shackles and fling it away. I slide in beside him and he reaches for me, surprised to find me completely naked, with all my skin against him. He is granite solid in seconds, true to his word.

I can’t describe how flattering that is.

I don’t know what we did, but I remember him reaching for the light and flicking it on first go then making an appreciative noise, may I suggest that this should always be the case? And the other thing I remember is that I needed to bite the pillow for most of it. I could have screamed that castle right down.

I suspect he got about 1 hour of sleep, can’t have been more? before he had to get up and go.
And I cannot be more impressed with him.

The Actual Cop Part I

This guy was a real cop, not something that initially endeared me to him but I obviously got over it. And god am I glad I did. This guy was open to everything and happy to do anything, something I hadn’t come across so fully in a long time. He told me one of his fantasies and I knew from then that anything I did he would be into. And he read me so well, took control off me, told me what to do and on the first night we were together he did something no one else had.

He had his whole hand in me – not fisting me, he had 3 fingers in my pussy, his thumb on my clit and his baby finger up my ass. And I came 4 times like that.

He just impressed me with everything. In the most unexpected ways. He told me that I should pee regularly. Told me that I would need to and that I should? I already know why but I couldn’t believe that he knew, or was concerned enough to mention it. So I had to go ahead and make him tell me why, just to confirm. To avoid UTIs girls really need to pee after they come, they also need to be doubly aware of this if the guy is well endowed.  Yes he was hung and he was just so sure that he was going to make me come repeatedly.

I was hooked.

The day after I was first with him he sent a message, told me that with very few exceptions he would do anything I want. And not in a ‘I can walk all over you’ kinda way – just whatever I wanted to get up to, he was up for it.

Music to my ears, but how do I, as a bit of a submissive take full advantage of this? And the opportunity presented itself.

I hate weddings, don’t, let me stop you there, let’s just agree to disagree. I hate them and that’s that. Why I hate them is a story for another time. And I had one looming. Outside of Dublin, down the country, in a castle, loads of family. But The Actual Cop is not from Dublin, he’s stationed near where the wedding was.

I can’t leave the reception, I can’t get out of it but maybe I can make it more bearable? So I ask will he sneak into the castle and he agrees.

This is wrong, this is dangerous and I should not be doing it. But there’s no way I’m not going to do it. I mean, it’s hot sex, with a hot guy in a castle with me wearing clothes I should rightly be fucked in? It’s pure fantasy.

It’s a week before the wedding, and I am so excited. I can’t believe this guy is as bold as me. I can barely contain myself thinking about it. I can go weeks without it, I can go ages without even doing it myself but the thought of having mind-blowing, illicit sex in a luxury castle was more than enough to make me ignore how much trouble I could get in with my family and start to fantasise how best to execute this plan. I have the control, I’m telling him what I want, telling him what I want him to do and the more prescriptive I am the more he’s ok with it.

I’m starting to get into this, wondering how far I can push it? Like, is he at my beck and call the whole way through the wedding – so I can run back to the room every time I’m less than 100% entertained, at the slightest hint of boredom?

 

I check with him, he’s fine. He wants me to do what I want with him. Is this real? Is HE real? I can barely work all week thinking about this. This is a wedding that I’m actually going to enjoy.

 

He tells me that he’ll slip into the room when we’re having dinner. That I’m to check my phone as he’ll send me photos of his hard cock. ‘No you won’t’ I say, there’s no chance I’ll look at my phone I’ll be up to the room when I’m ready, trying to get into my role as the protagonist. I tell him that I’ll take off the knicks I’ve been wearing all day and leave them for him when he gets to the room.

Which I duly do.

 

Half way through the meal, of course I look at my phone, it’s a picture of him with my underwear in his mouth. I can’t keep the look of glee off my face. I hold it together, but just about. Soon as I can I dash out of there and up to the room as fast as my 5” heels and skin-tight dress will allow. Just like he knew I would. That should have been my clue. But all these things I see and I did not see.

 

 

He’s standing there looking great and I think I’m going to get to do just what I want. To get his cock in my mouth and tease him, then hitch up my dress and sit on his face.

But he had other ideas.

What’s this? He wants control?

‘Sit on the bed’ I do, ‘and pull up your dress’ I do but I go for his cock, try to open his pants. ‘Stop, or you get nothing’ he says softly. God I love his accent. But then he reaches into his pants and I think I’m getting it. Nope.

He has my underwear in there. Now they smell of him and me.

He tells me to spread my legs, I do. He stands between them and puts the underwear in my mouth. I take them out and start smelling them – delicious. Then he kneels in front of me and lifts one of my legs over his shoulder and bites my ankle – I love it and I take a sharp intake of breath, he kisses up my leg and I make more noise. He looks at me as if I’ve done something wrong. He stands up again leans over me as I sit on the bed and tells me I have to behave, do I hear him? that I have to do exactly what he says and do I know what will happen to me if I don’t do what he tells me? It’s so cop-like and I actually love it, I can imagine him saying this to someone in a non-sexual, like at-work-as-a-cop way and it being quite threatening. I shouldn’t be turned on by this but I am.

 

I’m also drunk and I think I can take back control, I giggle and go for his cock again. He gets more forceful, tells me I’m not to move and I better do exactly as I’m told or I’ll get nothing, that I need to be quiet, submit and be good, asks am I ready to be good? I promise to be good. He tells me he has to start again, I nearly cry. He kisses up my leg again, but I can’t wait I start pleading. He stands up, puts the underwear back in my mouth, turns me around and tells me to pull my dress up all the way over my hips, then put my hands flat on the bed. I can hear him open his belt and I am dripping wet, I am possibly whimpering I want it so badly.

He opens his pants, and pulls my ass against him… now that I think about it, it’s like he’s read what I wrote about the fake cop! I can feel his rock solid cock throbbing as he presses against me. I turn around to kiss him, to get anything, surprised he lets me up so easily. As I face him he says ‘You look sensational by the way’, ‘thank you’ I say, thinking I am definitely getting it now. I put my arm around him, he spins me around, slaps my arse and dismissively says ‘Now. Fix your dress and get back to your wedding’. And he turns away to fix his tie and close his pants.

 

I’m horrified. Thrilled, delighted and more than a little impressed but horrified. How did this happen?

I grab my bag and storm back downstairs.

Thankfully the dessert had arrived – nothing like ice-cream to help assuage the denial of sex. And booze, another bottle of Prosecco to myself.

 

 

I’m somehow fixated on the fact I’ve just eaten a meal and might not taste great. I want to kiss him so badly. I’m an eejit, an out and out sucker for a great kisser. Not a good kisser, a great kisser can maybe get me to do anything. And he is a great kisser. I locate a toothbrush and some toothpaste – this is a very lovely castle. And I think if nothing else I’ll be able to get a kiss out of him. And if I can get that, maybe I can get something else.

 

I get back up to the room. I burst in and demand that I get something, now. He’s unfazed. He’s in the bathroom shaving. As I rant that I hate him, he comes out and says ‘Shut up, you loved it’. I did, I admit, but I’m having none of it now. I want SOMETHING. And I want to be kissed right now. He laughs at me. Sending me crazy. He pushes me face first onto the bed then drops to his knees behind me. He has his tongue in my wet pussy before I know what’s happening and I am in ecstasy. I get up and demand to taste it. God it’s good to finally kiss him and to taste my pussy that’s been wet and aching all day.

He turns me around and I’m probably close to crying I want it so bad and at the thought that he might be planning to be as disciplined as last time. I start babbling that I’ve been really good, that I did as I was told, that I was lovely to eveyone at the wedding didn’t roll my eyes once and I really, really deserved something. I barely recognise myself. How did he do this? He agrees that I’ve been really good and that I do deserve something, in fact I deserve a prize for behaving so well. I’m sitting on the bed, he’s once again standing between my legs he leans down and whispers in my ear ‘Put your hands flat on the bed behind you’ then asks ‘Do you want your prize or do you want my cock in  your mouth’…. now usually I would opt for the cock in my mouth, playing the long game. But no way, not this time I want, no, need to feel his tongue in me, his fingers, anything. I want my prize I say, I want that now. ‘Good he says, do you know what it is… I’m going to eat you’. I am barely able to stay on the bed I am so consumed with desire and need. But before he goes down, all cop like, he says in my ear ‘Good thing you made the right choice, if you had said you didn’t want your prize and said you wanted my cock in your mouth, I’d have sent you back downstairs with nothing’. I can’t remember but I think he said ‘…until you want it enough’.

Either way this was spectacular out of him, he made me want it like I have never wanted it before. Really. I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded, I’ve whimpered for it but always kinda knowing that I was going to get it anyway. I’ve been insane with desire but always with the other person’s needs in the back of my head, always ready to give my partner something at any point. Not this time. Right at that moment I wanted my needs to be met. I cared about nothing else. Not to mention genuinely terrified that he might not give it to me! And he knew it, it was his plan and it was magnificent.

It didn’t last long, I could hear my sister in the hall coming for my room… we had seconds before she came in.