Tag Archives: sex

AB#7 – Whore House

9 Aug

I often find myself struggling to get the attention of females, whether they are young, old or disabled. I put this down to the fact that they are too scared to approach me, not that I am intimidating, but because they probably feel that I am out of their league. Yes, I may be a self proclaimed eccentric; I like to wear a stuffed toucan on one shoulder when going out to socialise, but inside I am like every other man out there, only a little bit nicer.

As a result of the insecurities of the females in my town, I find myself having to pay for sexual gratification. It’s more of a necessity than a hobby. Well, it was, until two nights ago when I paid a discreet visit to my local brothel, Bones. By day, Bones runs as a massage parlour, a good one at that. However, at night, the shutters come down and the action moves to the flats upstairs. Either way, you can enter the premises stiff as a board, but leave feeling flimsy, with a smile on your face. The local constabulary are well aware of what goes on, but there is an unwritten rule around here amongst the men that we keep it a secret from the majority of women in the town. The only ones who know are Gladys and Martha, who own the massage parlour, and indeed the prostitutes that work there.

What I enjoy about visiting Bones is the huge selection. You get to choose the woman you want, how long you want her for, where you want her, what you’d like her to wear, what you want to do to her and, my personal favourite, what you’d like her to do to you. All the options are handed to you on a laminated sheet of A4 at reception and you simply select the combination that tickles your fancy. You just write down what you want, and when your girl is free, you’re good to go. Last Thursday I opted for the following:

Renata – 30 minutes – Bathroom – Barney dinosaur costume – fist – hand job.

 Now Renata is a filthy minx of a Polish woman, and she has a tidy little torso on her as well. She had a tiny shaving rash around her vagina the last time I had her, but I liked this quite a bit. It looked naughty. For my thirty minute session, I paid the sum of £40, a bargain I’m sure you’ll agree. I’ve been with Renata a few times as she’s money well spent. She actually looks like she enjoys her job, unlike some of the others, particularly the Romanians. I heard rumours from other regulars that she’s a bit of a squirter, but I have yet to experience this phenomenon. In most of the women,you can see the fear in their eyes, which makes the whole experience thoroughly enjoyable. Shameful sex is good sex; I learnt that from my father.

Anyway, two nights ago I was at home and feeling frisky. I’d already watched my ‘Carry on up the Sphincter’ DVD twice that day and was bored of the same images; they were no longer doing anything for me, unable to raise anything more than a semi. I decided to go to Bones to see what was on offer and to hopefully satisfy my ever increasing sexual urges. I applied a delicate dollop of savlon to my sore shaft, which, if I’m honest, I had already put through its paces earlier that day and now resembled a purple button mushroom, more than it did a penis. Picking my wallet up off the mantel piece, I headed out the door with dirty thoughts running, nay fumbling, through my mind. Bones is only a ten minute walk from my house and I arrived bitterly cold; the night air was crisp and I had negated to wear a coat. My flat cap did little to cover my ears either.

I headed down the side alley next door to the massage parlour and rapped on the side entrance four times. This is the signal that you are a punter looking for business; a secret code that lets the reception area know it is safe to answer the door. Within seconds the door was ajar and I could see Gladys smiling at me from behind the security chain.

“Arthur! Come in, good to see you”, she said jubilantly, as always.

Gladys was a joy to be around, she ran a tight ship at Bones but everyone respected her. Even though she’s in her late sixties, she’s always up for a laugh and I think a lot of the young girls look up to her. They even let her look after their passports. Gladys led me upstairs to the main reception area and handed me the selection sheet for the night. I scanned the names of the women.

“No Renata tonight?” I looked at Gladys disapprovingly.

I was up for a whole night of pure kink with Renata, but my hopes had been dashed.

“Sorry Arthur, she’s ill tonight. She thought she had a shaving rash but it turned out to be a little more serious than that. Do you want to choose one of the other women?”

As I looked down the names, a lot of the regular women were on there, but I noticed one name that I hadn’t seen before; Mary. I pointed at her name on the list and asked Gladys who this new person was. I was told that Mary was a buxom beauty, and a local girl as well, just looking to get a bit of extra cash. She’d passed her HIV test, which all of the Bones employees have to take as a precaution, with flying colours, and was willing to do pretty much anything, as long as it didn’t involve being tied up as she had a phobia about this. “I’ll try anything once, Gladys. Put me down for Mary”. I scrawled my selections out on a selection sheet and handed it over, together with my £200. I was staying the night. My choices this time were:

Mary – 1 night – Bedroom – Naked – Anything she desires – Everything I desire.

I wanted to make the most of this one. New meat was rare at Bones; the company was renowned for its low employee turnover rate, so seeing a new girl on the list was not only a shock, but also a turn on. I saw Mary like a new ride at a theme park; the prospect of riding it was scary, but at the same time, hugely exciting. Gladys led me down the dimly lit corridor to the left hand side of reception and to room five. “Wait until I leave, and then knock four times. Mary will let you in when she’s ready. I’ve already phoned your requests through to her.” With that, Gladys spun on her heels and disappeared back to where we had just come from. I took a deep breath, I was feeling anxious, which was not normal for me, then knocked on the door as advised.

 It took what seemed like an eternity before there was any answer, during which time my little womb ferret had decided to make his presence known to the front of my jeans. I quickly reached down and pulled him upwards, tucking him underneath my belt. I didn’t want to look too keen.

“Come in”. The voice was a husky whisper.

 It was obvious that she was a new worker as she didn’t have the confidence in her voice that many of the other girls have. I opened the door and waddled in. I couldn’t walk properly as I was now concealing a rather large bulge down below. I closed the door gently behind me and spotted Mary perched on the edge of the bed, her bare back to me, and smoking a cigarette. She looked lovely. She wasn’t a petit from what I could make out, but she was by no means large. As I went to take a step forward, Mary turned to face me, manoeuvring her legs onto the bed, so she was now lying on top of it.

“Ma..Mary?!”

“Ar thur?!” I stayed where I was, aghast.

The new worker was none other than Mary O’Connor, the woman who lives across the road from me, and who I used to actively stalk. I couldn’t believe my luck. For just £200, I was going to be able to do anything to her I wanted. My head was awash with thoughts, part of me thought that if I could put in a decent performance, I might persuade her to be with me, to run away with me like I had always wanted to do. Mary looked as shocked to see me, as I did her. She crossed her arms awkwardly in a desperate attempt to cover her soft breasts and placed a tatty white pillow in front of her beaver.

“Arthur…What are you doing here? You have to leave, we can’t do this…I…I…know you. Please don’t tell anyone I do this. Please”.

“Damn you, Mary.” I proclaimed in a rather spiteful manner and I approached the bed.

The moonlight was pouring through the gap in the curtains and onto her body, making her shimmer like a glorious mermaid, without the tail. Or the scales. “I’ve paid good money for tonight. It’s your job; you can’t turn me away; besides, because it’s you, I’ll be gentle. You know how much I adore you.”

With that, I clambered up onto the bed and towards Mary, who had a look of bewilderment in her face. She was shaking a little bit, probably through shock, and this made her nipples gyrate hypnotically. I took the opportunity to push Mary down flat onto the bed, and knelt on her outstretched arms, so my groin was in her face. She said nothing; she just lay there gazing into my bloodshot eyes. I knew at this point I was going to have to pull something special out of the bag, so to speak. I put my finger to Mary’s lips (facial), as she started to sob gently.

“Shhhhhh, Mary. Relax. I’ll make it all better”. I was trying to calm her down, not too much, but enough so she might enjoy it as well.

I unbuttoned my jeans and wriggled free from them, like a snake shedding its skin. Next, my maroon, and embarrassingly stained boxer shorts were pulled down. I teased the tip of my shaft around Mary’s neck and then up onto her cheeks, whilst moving her left hand onto my balls. She squeezed them tightly as I entered her mouth. Her lips were dry, but I enjoyed the friction. As I thrust in and out of her gaping jaw, I was planning my next romantic move. I knew it had to be special. I ordered Mary to turn over and push her chest to the bed with her arse in the air. She obliged, eventually.

I took up my position up off the bed and took a small run up, my erect penis aimed arrow-like at Mary’s winking snatch. Her arse looked wonderful, like a peach, but a little less furry. There was a squelching sound as I entered her and I must admit I let out a small woop of joy; I was shagging Mary, the woman of my dreams. I thrust deeper and deeper into her velvety folds, holding her around the waist and rocking her back and forth to a nice gentle rhythm. I could feel myself nearing orgasm with every thrust so I removed myself from her passage and stood up once more.

Mary collapsed face down onto the bed; her legs were weak from cramp from the position she had been in. I rolled her onto her side and began to slowly stroke myself whilst I cupped her breast in my other hand. I moved in for a kiss but she turned her head away and this made me a little angry, reminding me of the times she’s shunned me in the past.

“Run away with me”, I whispered delicately into her ear, hoping to change the mood in the room somewhat.

She didn’t respond so I gave her fanny a gentle pat, then climbed on top of her and penetration commenced once again. I was more vigorous this time. I no longer cared about my £200; I wanted to finish off the dirty work and then cuddle up to Mary before chatting deep into the night, about our future plans together.

“One more manoeuvre”, I exclaimed through drawn breath. Mary nodded her head as if to say ‘go on then’ and I took up by the hand and led her across the room, positioning her against the wall opposite a wardrobe which had a mirror on the front. I wanted to watch myself in action, and watch Mary’s curves ripple slightly as I serviced her. I dropped to my knees and lapped at Mary’s sweaty pink hole with my tongue. I gave a performance like Pac-Man on acid, and Mary actually shuddered a little as her vaginal muscles contracted and sent a wave of pleasure through her body. I rolled onto the floor, triumphantly. I’d succeeded in what I wanted to do; prove to Mary that I could make her happy.

I lay there, physically and mentally exhausted, and it was in this position that I had a moment of epiphany. I realised that Mary O’Connor would never give me a proper chance outside of the brothel. She was dead to the world and had no true feelings. Besides, I’d got what I’d always wanted, and I’d discovered Mary was nowhere near as exciting as Renata. I was finally over the bitch, and I’d achieved it by having intercourse with her, whilst at the same time degrading her. What a way to get over her.

“Shoot that poison arrow through my hearrrr—aarrr-ar-art”, I sang as I left the room. Mary was still naked, stood against the wall with her legs apart and head to one side with her eyes closed. As I shut the door behind me, I heard a thud, which I assume was her slumping to the floor. This made me smile. I am now looking forward to another liaison with Renata, I may even try and find out where she lives…

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AB#5 – The Return of Axle Strider

7 Aug

My local pub, the Bell End View Local Tavern is where I go every Sunday night for a couple of pints of Abbot Ale, and to join in the quiz with all the other locals. Yesterday saw a £50 prize going to the winner, so I headed straight down after my dinner to get a decent seat. The pub itself has a very cosy atmosphere; the faded red upholstery that adorns most of the seats now has a more of a pink tinge to it, and the old oak posts and floorboards are battered and worn. Old brass utensils are hung sporadically on the walls and the low sloping ceiling makes the whole place seem smaller than it really is. A log fire burns most nights keeping the pub warm and inviting.

It’s shielded from the rest of the pub by a very large grill. It didn’t used to be, but after an elderly chap had a rather bad accident after too much rum in close proximity to the fire, Health and Safety called for it to be installed. His nickname is now ‘Weston’. The pub has no pool table, which I like, as it keeps unwanted youths away, and the bitter is always of good quality. The main reason I come here though is the people. From landlady Scatty Morag to many of the other locals – Big Paul, Carpenter Dave (he’s a plumber), Chin O’Brien and Mustang Wally; they are all a lovely bunch of people that give me a lot of time and good conversation.

I arrived at about ten past seven to yesterdays quiz, and the pub was already to beginning to fill up with hopeful people all wanting to take part and win. I always enter the quiz on my own, rather than being in a team, as I like to take all the glory for myself. Plus, what’s the point of splitting £50 five ways? I’ve never seen the use of winning a tenner. My usual stool at the end of the bar was unoccupied so I ordered a pint of Abbot and a packet of pork scratchings and sat down.

“What time do we get underway, Morag”, I asked as she handed me my change.

”Well Arthur it’s an 8 o’clock kick off, would you like a cheese sandwich?” she replied, smiling.

“No thanks, I’ve just eaten” was my response and I was a bit surprised at how quickly she’d managed to change the subject, which Morag was famed for.

I passed her my £1 entry fee and looked around scanning any potential competition. Most of the usual faces were already gathered in their groups; my main rivals were sat directly opposite me near the door. ‘God Shave the Queen’ is their ‘hilarious’ team name, but they have won six of the last eight quiz nights. Mustang Wally is the brains behind the team, specializing in both science and geography, but his wife Brenda is also capable when it comes to history questions. I think that they carry the other two members of the team somewhat, their next door neighbours Colin and Bruce, a couple of homosexuals that have matching moustaches and who like to fornicate in public.

Also present were ‘The Old Couple’, ‘Pump your Quiz on me’, ‘Farmers Meekly’ and ‘Beadle’s Claw’, among others. I opted to go for my usual name of ‘Solo Baggall’. Although it sounds like some sort of lurid sex act, I like this name and I will always keep it. I can’t stand teams that change their team name every week; in fact, I think there should be a 10 point deduction for any team that wants to change their name. Farcical. As 8 o’clock neared, the pub was bustling with people getting drinks in ready prior to the quiz starting. I got another pint in as the first one had gone down so well.

Question Master for the evening was to be Morag’s husband, Phil, who always did a good job. Morag passed Phil a microphone from behind the bar and it made a piercing shrill as he flicked it on. “Good evening Ladies and Gents and welcome to the weekly Bell End View quiz night! As some of you know, first prize tonight is £50, so good luck all. Morag is handing out paper and pens to all the teams as we speak and once she’s done that, I’ll start the quiz!” I took my pen in my hand and then hunched over my paper slightly in the fashion of a child at school, so no-one could copy any of my answers. I was quietly confident that this was going to be my week.

“Round 1 will be on Capital Cities”, said Phil. My eyes lit up. I couldn’t believe it, my best topic. I was determined to get into an early lead and show my rivals I meant business. Phil picked up his clipboard of questions and spoke into the microphone.

 “Ok, question 1. What is the capita ARRHHGGGHHH, what the f….”

He was stopped mid sentence by an almighty smash. There were cries of terror coming from two women sat on a table behind me, near the back entrance which leads to the garden. Looking over my shoulder I saw broken glass littering the tables, chairs and floor that stood in front of what used to be a window. The occupants of the table were not badly hurt; one lady had a deep gouge on her cheek but was otherwise fine. She looked to be making the most of it, milking the fact she was bleeding as a way of getting a bit of attention. The woman and her friends made their way over to the bar and everyone was now beginning to crowd around the area where I was sat to see what had happened. The whole pub had fallen into an eerie silence. The congregation around me reeked of anticipation; they were expecting something else to happen.

“Please remain calm and return to your seating”, announced Phil with slight discomfort in his voice.

No-one listened; they remained focused on the smashed window. Morag had shimmied over to the area to retrieve a brick from the floor. This was obviously the projectile that had been used to cause this damage but who had thrown it? Although it only happened yesterday, I cannot really remember what was going through my head at this point. I think I was more transfixed on watching the actions of others. I remember having a gut feeling that something else was going to happen, and I was right. From out of the dark night sky, a figure moved towards the shattered window. I could only make out the silhouetted outline at first but as they moved nearer, It slowly dawned on me as to who it was. The person in question is a beast of a man, the local nutcase who had previously done time for GBH, armed robbery and necrophilia; a man that I had the misfortune of spending my school years with. Most of the crimes he commits are carried out whilst he’s high on drugs, I’ve spotted him on my binoculars before, sniffing glue and popping pills in the early hours of the morning.

The man who had smashed the window was Axle Strider.

He was back from wherever he’d been, and he didn’t look too happy. His face was contorted with rage; his bulbous eyes with dilated pupils looked full of confusion and anger. Sweat trickled down his bald, veiny head, and it glistened like a disco ball from the light emitted from the pubs fire. His stonewash jeans were tattered and dirty, and they were held onto his lower torso with what looked to be a bungee cord. His white vest was thick with grease and mud and clung to his toned chest like a limpet. Over this he wore a denim jacket, with the sleeves rolled up. It didn’t quite match the shade of his jeans, it appeared to be newer. In one hand he clasped a butchers’ knife. The other was in the air with the middle finger raised.

“What the fook are you lot lookin’ at, eh?” he screamed, as he waved the knife menacingly.

Many people in the pub had moved back now towards the entrance and those that had been around me trying to see what was going on were following suit. I remained in my seat trying to stay calm. In truth I was petrified. Axle used to bully me at school and it was no surprise to me he had turned out like he had. I wanted to keep my head down, try and look away, but something was stopping me. I just had to watch the mentalist.

“Axle, my love, what the bleedin’ Hell are you doing? What do you want? Can I get you a Stella? Why did you smash my window?” Morag was hysterical. She was shaking like a cold Parkinson’s sufferer.

Phil had moved behind the bar and put a reassuring arm around her. She nuzzled into his neck and began to sob.

“Pleeease, please go Axle. Why are you doing this to my pub?” Her words sounded weak and feeble. The corner of Axle’s mouth moved up slightly and he broke into a smile. As he smiled, his chapped top lip bled slightly as the skin broke out from the tight position it had previously been in. He was now starting to climb through the window and no one was doing anything to stop him. I remember Mustang Wally attempting to remonstrate with him and I admire him for that. He walked towards Axle, picking up an empty pint glass on the way. Axle leapt through the window, knocking the remaining shards of glass out from the window frame with his feet as he did so. Wally was in trouble and we all knew it.

“Leave him Wally”, said Phil, almost inaudibly. Wally looked at Phil and then backed away slowly from the window. Axle started to laugh.

“HAHAHA, you utter wimp, you complete and utter wimp” and as he said this he moved towards the bar where we were all gathered. My heart sank as his gaze fixed onto me, once again I was trying to look away but I just couldn’t. I knew he recognised me from somewhere, I was just hoping he wouldn’t figure it out. Many people were pleading with him to leave.

All he would say though was “I am Axle Strider and I will do what I please”. “YOU!” he shouted, prodding me in the chest with his finger. “Who are you? I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

He was right in my face now, spitting the words out through his clenched teeth. I was so close to him, I could see the patterns of stubble against his rough skin. I could smell alcohol on his breath and I could taste his salty body odour which was raping the air. I was scared and he knew it.

“No, not me, Sir” I said, in the gentlest manner I could. “I think you have me confused with someone else”. It sounded convincing enough in my head.

Axle took a step back and surveyed me up and down.

“No, I do know you. You’re Baggall aren’t you? I knew it! I knew I recognised you’re ugly mug”. He slammed a fist onto the bar in front of me. Morag let out a quiet whimper as if she knew what was about to happen. I looked around me for support but everyone had gone to the front of the pub, packing themselves against the wall. I was on my own. Axle lurched forward again and grabbed me by the collar of my jumper. The force of this sent my flat cap to the floor. He looked like a rabid dog; foaming at the mouth and now shouting an impressive array of obscenities. I was so scared, I couldn’t move. People were shouting, I could see their mouths moving, but I could hear nothing. It was like I was underwater.

I looked into Axle’s eyes and he just looked back blankly; it seemed as if he was looking straight through me. He moved his right arm backwards, his tightly clenched fist pointed down towards me, with numerous sovereign rings ready to pummel my face in. Everything was moving in slow motion. As his fist came through the air towards me, I did the only thing I could. I moved my head to one side and pushed my arm upwards towards his face. As I made contact with his sweaty face, I pushed my index finger deep into his eye, gouging it; twisting my wrist so that I could inflict as much pain as I physically could. Axle let out a terrifying scream in agony and staggered back, releasing his grip on me. He fell to his knees and covered his face with both of his hands. Blood was oozing from his eye socket and spilling down his face. I was in shock. I looked at my hand. I had Axle’s blood spattered over it. I remember the noise coming back into the room at this point. I heard a cry of “What has he done, Arthur’s a dead man now” and it sprung me back into action.

“Take that you bastard!” I leapt forward and kicked upwards against Axle’s chin, sending him backwards onto the floor. He was sprayed out like an upturned woodlouse, disorientated and desperately trying to feel for something to help him to his feet. A nasty looking cut had formed from the kick, a gash so deep you could just see the bone. I knelt onto Axle’s chest and tried to pull his tongue out. It gripped the fleshy end between my thumb and forefinger and tugged downwards. As I did so, Axle’s head jolted forward and met the palm of my other hand, sending him back to the floor.

Blood was pissing out of his face now, he was almost recognisable. I had never got into a rage like this before, the last time I came close was when I was back at school and the bullies used to lock me in the stock cupboard with the school cleaner, who was later convicted as a paedophile. I used to get taunted saying that I had turned him. I suppose it was these memories that came flooding back as I pummelled Axle. Every last sap of energy drained out of me as I laid a relentless barrage of punches, kicks and slaps. After 5 minutes or so, I stood up, sweaty and dazed. Axle lay on the floor like a dead badger on the side of the road. I don’t know why but other people in the pub began to clap. There was cheering as well, “Way to go Arthur, Yeah!” a jubilant Morag exclaimed, “Let’s drag the evil swine outside”.

So we did. It took 4 of us to move his battered body across the floor and into the pub garden. We rolled him into the bushes and retired back to the pub for a celebratory drink. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I was a quivering wreck by this point. I wasn’t sure if it was the excitement of being a hero or the fear of Axle’s revenge. Either way, I was going to try and savour the moment. The night passed quickly without any further incident of note. I was proud to have conquered a few of my childhood demons, with Axle taking to full brunt of this.

I was rewarded with a three-some with Phil and Morag. After closing time, we headed upstairs and into their bedroom, onto the marital bed. Things were by no means awkward and we got straight on with things. I took Morag from behind, quite slowly, whilst she performed fellatio on Phil. It got quite messy. Morag was begging me to come deep inside her at one point, but I wasn’t ready. I squeezed my throbbing shaft at the base and withdrew. The sight of me, member bobbing around proudly, caused Phil to withdraw and spatter Morag’s face with his man fat. She looked like a plasterer’s radio, but she managed to force a smile and lick her lips a little. I was bashing myself off like a little spider monkey at this point, whilst furiously fingering Morag’s baggy snatch. Yes, she was old, but her pert breasts more than made up for the lack of friction I was receiving from her vaginal passage. She had a nice little rug on her as well, like a 70s German porn star.

Phil was watching, semi-awake and semi-erect. I took his place on the bed and lay down. Morag shimmied herself over me and then squatted, releasing a torrent of fluid over my chest, which I massaged into myself. She then lowered herself onto my wand and began to slowly gyrate, leaning forward so I could take a nipple between my teeth. I held onto her arse for support and went at jack hammer speed. Morag wailed loudly and arched her back, her ribcage protruded through her skin. I was ready to unleash my load into her cunny and Morag shouted, “I’m coming Mr.Baggall you fucker” as she climaxed. I won’t go into the finer details of last night, but I sure did enjoy myself. As for Axle Strider; I hope he never has the nerve to show his face around here again.

AB#4– The Man with the Dodecahedron Shaped Head

7 Aug
It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to write as I’ve been busy helping the police with some of their more important enquiries. Believe you me; you’ll be shocked when you hear what I have to say about my ‘friend’ Barry, known around the town as ‘The Man with the dodecahedron shaped head’.
He’s also now known as a dirty zoophile.
Barry has always been a bit of a quirky fellow. Firstly let me tell you about his head, it really is a grotesque affair; weirdly shaped with bumps and lumps coming out from every angle. It’s veiny, pale and has a texture similar to that of ET; half leather, half eczema. When Barry walks, his huge head flops about carefree, like his neck has given up trying to support it. When he speaks it’s painful to listen to. A long monotonous drone followed by a thirty second stutter and spittle. And that’s just him saying his name. Not only this, he has a habit of hording anything and everything. He’ll collect rubbish from around the town and hoard it under his bed, he’ll defecate into old lunchboxes and put them in his freezer and he’s started to collect dead animals; cats, squirrels, mice, pretty much anything he sees that hasn’t got a pulse.
 
 
Having said this, I’ve always liked Barry. We met at the village fete last year where I was running a ‘Splat the Rat’ stall. Barry was my last customer that day and my only winner. He refused to use the rounders bat I offered him, instead opting to smash the ‘rat’ with his bulbous forehead. I gave him his prize, a signed photo of Dave Benson-Phillips and we hit it off from there. Since then, we have met up at least once a week, normally round my house as I find the putrid smell that lurks around his pretty unbearable.
 
 
As much as I like Barry and get on with him, it is often difficult. The public aren’t too kind when they see Barry, and treat him like a modern day John Merrick. Abuse is hurled at him wherever he walks, and being a friend of his, I often get caught in the crossfire. I’ve often seen Barry chase after local youths that have called him a freak, armed with only a leather belt and the angriest grimace on his face you can imagine. His head, although slowing him down, can make a handy weapon. Friday nights are the worse, and I’ve taken to staying in on my own. “Oi! Dodecahedron head you ugly twat”, are the most frequent cries from drunken revelers. They like to poke him and laugh at his voice. I remember one man describing Barry’s groans like that of ‘Brian Blessed’s voice, only with a megaphone, whilst battering a baby seal with all his might’.
Anyway, the events of the last few days have put a lot of things into perspective for me. The most important things I’ve learnt from what has happened is never make friends with a weirdo, never talk to a freak and never ever trust a man with a dodecahedron shaped head. The reason?  Almost all of them are dirty zoophiles. I’ve learnt from my lesson and I hope by writing down the events of the last couple of days, whoever reads this will too.
 
 
Last Thursday there was a knock at my door. I remember being a bit angered as I was playing Subbuteo against myself and actually winning for a change. I opened the door and smiling at me was Barry’s wide frog-like mouth.
 
 
“Arthur”, he said, foaming at the corner of his mouth slightly, “Fancy coming round to mine for a bite to eat?”
 
 
“I’ll pass on the food, but yeah, I can come round for a bit. Let me get my slippers on Barry and I’ll be right with you”, I replied.
 
 
Barry’s eyes lit up, I was the only person in the village that gave him any sort of time at all, he knew if I had have turned him down, he would have been forcing his faeces into Tupperware all afternoon, alone and upset. We set off from mine at about 12.30 and Barry’s house is normally a 5 minute stroll from mine, sometimes slightly longer if his head is more swollen than usual. However, Barry wasn’t intent on going straight to his house, he wanted to go via the park as “The fresh air helps my facial skin”, I remember him saying.
Now, you might not think this is strange, especially as it’s coming from the mouth of the dodecahedron shaped headed man. But, if I was to say that I had seen Barry sniffing the grass in the park where a couple of pigeons had copulated just a couple of days before, you’d have a slight air of suspicion about you. I did too. I knew this type of behavior wasn’t normal, and seeing someone with Barry’s looks displaying such behavior, only amplifies the strangeness of the situation.
 
 
We entered the park. There is a gravelly path which cuts through the middle of it, grass on either side of it, with a medium sized playground on one side next to a pond.”Can we, can we?!” Barry said in the manner of a drunken toddler. He was jumping up and down on the spot, head flailing about wildly and arm pointing at the park. I agreed we could stay for a while but being a grown up, and very mature man, I didn’t want to hang around for too long. I don’t want to dwell on the finer details, but there were about 3 ducks and 2 swans on the pond and two dogs with their owners near the slide.
Barry made his way over to the swings and brushed the tops of each seat gently with his hand as he walked passed. I sat on the first one I came too, but Barry looked about carefully before settling onto his swing, as if he was looking for a good position. A good position for what, I didn’t know at this point, I could tell though he wanted to be able to see the dogs playing, and birds swimming.
 
 
In a way I thought this was quite nice. I was thinking of Barry reminiscing about the time when he was young, being in the park with his parents, who are now deceased. I imagined Barry going back to an age where prejudices didn’t exist, and children played together and got on with each other without any problems. Barry has long been without anyone. He would come to the park and go into almost a trance like state. I visualized him in my head, holding hands with other children and singing ring-a-ring-a-roses. Little did I know, his thoughts were far from what I had envisaged. He was a pervert. A dirty, boulder headed pervert. And I was going to catch him out.
 
 
We stayed on those swings for about half an hour before I asked Barry if we could leave.
 
 
“Barry?”……”Barry?”…..”BARRRYYYY??!!” I had to bellow in his face. A small pool of drool had formed on the soft tarmac by his foot, not unusual for Barry, but there seemed to be a bit more than usual. He’s eyes stay transfixed on the two dogs.
 
 
“Let’s go” I said as I stood up from the swing. Barry followed from behind, almost hunched over. I thought it was the weight of his head, now I know the dirty secret he was trying to hide. Looking back to this moment, I should have seen the small bulge in Barry’s groin region, but like anyone that has ever seen Barry will tell you; it’s very hard to take you’re gaze away from his head.
 
 
Upon arriving at Barry’s house, he ushered me through to his living room. Sweeping a bird carcass and numerous empty packets of peanuts from the sofa, he offered me a seat. I brushed a few of the remaining feathers off the tattered upholstery and sat down.
 
 
“Would you like a drink of tea?” Barry spluttered.
 
 
“Please Barry; that would be nice”, I said, hiding my now growing fear about his mental state.
 
 
As soon as he was out of the room, I began looking for something. I didn’t know what, I just wanted evidence; something solid to go on. Something that would either prove me wrong and set my mind at rest, or would capture any dirty deeds Barry had been carrying out, and send the dodecahedron headed freak to prison.
I looked behind cushions, lifted carpets, opened draws and moved furniture. I was moving frantically but at the same time quietly, hoping Barry wouldn’t hear me as he could turn into an aggressive beast at the drop of a hat. I heard the click of the kettle as it finished boiling and knew I didn’t have long. Scampering around on my hands and knees, I spotted a silver object pushed firmly under the tight gap under the sofa. I snatched at it but it was wedged quite firm. Using the strength in my left wrist, I managed to push the sofa upwards, revealing a brand new laptop. I heard the clinking now of the spoons hitting the mugs as Barry stirred the tea. I stayed crouched by on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, but in truth was only about 30 seconds. As Barry walked towards the room, I decided to leave the laptop where it was and play it calm.
 
 
“My shoelace was undone” I said as Barry walked into the room.
 
 
He nodded and smiled as he handed me my tea, fortunately not noticing I had slippers on. His baggy eyelids probably played a part in this. We sat and talked for about 20 minutes. I was of a nervous disposition, sweating quite profusely, but Barry being Barry didn’t notice a thing. In my head I was trying to conjure a plan. How could I leave the house, armed with the laptop, without Barry noticing? Plans came into my head but I deemed them far too risky. There was only one thing for it.
 
 
“Take that you moron”. I flung my hot tea into the face of Barry and he yet out a loud shrieking cry, covering his face with his hands and falling to his knees. I lifted the sofa and grabbed the laptop making a run for the door. I could see Barry out of the corner of my eye starting to stand so I upped my pace and bolted out of the door, slamming it shut behind me. As I ran home, huge thoughts of doubt crossed my mind; what if Barry just liked animals? What if he wasn’t abusing them and I had just assaulted an innocent man?
 
 
I got home and went locked the door behind me. I shut every curtain in my house and made my way into the spare bedroom upstairs. The laptop whirred slowly as it started up, my heart was beating my against my rib cage so hard I could hear it. Once fully started up I began searching through the ‘My Documents’ folder.
There it was, a folder called ‘Fun’. I stopped for a deep breath and then opened it. What I saw will stay with me forever; images of Barry violating an array of animals. There were a couple of pictures of him fisting miniature horses and naked in bed with goats and sheep, all of whom I recognized from the local farm. There were more pictures of him, naked from the waist down, fellating various breeds of dogs. They looked happy, but you could see it in their eyes how uncomfortable they really were. There were hundreds of images of Barry receiving oral sex from birds. In one, what looked like a duck had its beak stuffed so full with Barry’s swollen member, his eyes were beginning pop out. In another picture, Barry was bent over with a live kipper dangling from his puckered anus, whilst Barry fingered a squirrel. It had its bushy tail tied upwards with a ribbon which had the other end attached to the ceiling. I’ll never forget the confused look in the squirrels face.
I felt sick but felt I had to look on. The next pictures I found were of Barry masturbating furiously over two chickens whilst smaller birds, possibly starlings, ate bird seed from the dents in Barry’s head. Barry had his tongue out, obviously enjoying the moment. There were more. One looked as though it was taken around Christmas time as there were decorations up. A badger was lay spread-eagled on the mould ridden floor, a mop protruding from its rear end. Barry was kissing it on the head, taking the photo with an outstretched arm. I started to look at pictures of Barry sodomising a tortoise when suddenly a thought hit me. Had Barry been violating and then killing these animals? It would explain the corpses in his house.
 
 
A small bit of acidic sick shot up my esophagus and into my throat, so I gulped it back down and sat in the darkened room; laptop still whirring quietly. I slammed it shut and started to sob gently. I let out tears for all the animals I had seen in those photos and the hundreds of others that probably met there untimely death to Barry, the man with the dodecahedron shaped head.
 
 
Gathering my thoughts, I went to the police station. I handed them the laptop and explained what had happened that afternoon and what I had seen Barry up to in previous weeks.
The next couple of days were traumatic to say the least. I had to give evidence against Barry and the local town found out what he had been up to. Phrases such as ‘Dodecahedron Dog Fiddler’ and ‘Freaky Mental Animal Sucker’ were daubed in graffiti onto Barry’s house.
 
 
I was proud with what I had done. Yes, I had lost a friend, but the man is crazy. I’ve found the locals to be a lot more friendly with me as well, more so than usual. I even received a £10 book voucher as a reward for putting Barry behind bars. There is a downside to all this though and that is the mental images that will scar my mind until the day I die. I hope all the animals that died may rest in peace, especially the miniature horse with the dreadlocks; I cannot ever imagine how he must have felt.
 
 
Apparently, Barry has tried to hang himself twice since his arrest, but on both attempts, his head proved too heavy and the noose snapped. He’s even tried to tar me with the same brush, saying I had intimate relations with a goat. What Barry doesn’t realize Is, that what I practice is a sport, not a sick fetish. I hope he rots in his cell, which, given the head size, may take a while…

Nightclub Shoes

30 Jul

I really hate it when bars and clubs refuse entry based on the type of footwear somebody chooses to wear. What difference does it make if you’re wearing trainers or shoes? I often snub such places that have this rule in place, but it was at a club in Brighton that I had to give into this self-imposed ban, because the rest of the group wanted to go to a certain bar.
We queued up for ages before we eventually got to the entrance. I made pleasantries with the bouncers and walked through, along with my mates, into the busy club. First stop, as always, was the bar. We waited to be served, looking out for any quality ‘fanny’ that we could try and chat up later on in the evening. Mark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

“Meatball’s just sent me a text. He’s outside, he’s worn trainers and the bouncers won’t let him in. What a daft cunt.”

 

The rest of the group muttered a collective ‘for fuck sake’ and decided on a course of action. The plan we came up with was simple: We’d ask someone in the club for their shoes, get Meatball to put them on, get Meatball in the club, and then he could return the shoes to their owner, before slipping his trainers back on. It couldn’t fail, we were sure of it.

 

Jimmy spotted one bloke standing on his own at the other end of the bar. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and had thick greasy hair. Most importantly, he was wearing shoes, and looked about Meatball’s size. Jimmy and Mark wandered over to him.

 

“Excuse me mate, this may sound a bit weird, but can we borrow your shoes? Our mate needs them to get in. We’ll buy you a few drinks and you’ll get them straight back”

 

The greasy chap agreed almost straight away; no persuasion was required at all. He slipped off his shoes and handed them to Jimmy. They were ghastly, like the chunky black shoes shoes that I was forced to wear to school. Jimmy slipped them inside his jacket and we all went back to the entrance of the club. Meatball was still there, pleading with the bouncers to let him in but they were having none of it. Jimmy got his hand stamped so he could get back in, whilst the rest of us stood just outside the entrance in the smoking area.

 

Jimmy led Meatball away and round the corner.

 

“Here, have these”, he said, handing Meatball the shoes.

 

“Fucking brilliant! Cheers Jim!” Meatball quickly slipped the shoes on, they were a perfect fit. Not as fashion conscious as the rest of us, Meatball really didn’t care that they looked like retard shoes. He handed Jimmy his trainers, and once again, Jimmy concealed these inside his jacket and they returned to the front of the queue.With a massive grin on his face, meatball strode up to the bouncers.

 

“My mate just dropped my shoes off, so can I come in now?”

 

“Piss off, mate. You’re not coming in, you were lippy before”.

 

Meatball’s grin quickly disappeared and we all wondered what we were going to do. It didn’t take long for us to decide -we all left the club immediately, we couldn’t leave a mate outside on his own. It wasn’t until we got to the next bar that we’d realised what we’d done. Meatball still had the shoes on; the shoes that we’d borrowed off of some poor bloke in the club. He was still in there, just in his socks, probably looking like a complete weirdo. I like to think that he remained in the same spot for the rest of the night, with his socks getting stuck to the spilt alcohol on the club floor. We did feel bad, for a second or so. The shoes were dropped in a bin, before we carried on with our evening.

Wardrobe Wank

28 Jul

Jimmy and Dave are dirty fuckers. Although they are mates of mine, I sometimes cringe at some of their behavior on nights out, particularly when they involve the opposite sex in their antics. It is no secret amongst my group of friends that Jimmy and Dave like to go ‘twos-up’ on girls. One of them will meet someone on a night out, invite them back for some horizontal liaisons, and then invite their mate to join in. It shocks me really at how many girls agree to this. Quite why Jimmy and Dave want to share their spoils with one another is anyone’s guess, but I suppose it goes to show how close they are as mates. They always regale their frolics to us the following day, and the story normally involves them hi-fiving each other at some point. Very romantic.
One particular night, Dave had got lucky with a brunette girl and had invited her back to his hotel for sex. She must have been pissed because she agreed to, and at the end of the night, Dave, Jimmy and the girl made their way back to the hotel at which the two boys were staying. Dave had taken a massive shine to this girl, and he’d made it clear to Jimmy that he wasn’t up for sharing, which wasn’t normally in his character at all. He’d met her the previous night, and although nothing had happened, he had spotted her again, chanced his luck, and scored. Now he wanted her all to himself, and no matter how much Jimmy pleaded with him on the way back, Dave wasn’t considering even asking the girl if she’d be up for it.

Although unimpressed by his mate’s lack of generosity, Jimmy agreed to wander around the hotel for a bit, whilst the two lovers got it on – the problem you see, was that they were sharing a room and therefore Dave would have no privacy. When they arrived back at the hotel, the three of them had a drink at the bar, before Dave and his beauty retreated to the bedroom. Jimmy agreed to wait at least an hour before returning, and he stayed at the bar on his own, feeling horny but with no one to help relieve the tension.
Back in the hotel room, things got saucy as soon as the newly acquainted pair fell through the door, and within no time they were rutting like animals; both working up a sweat as they let their inhibitions go. Being drunk, Dave was surprised that he’d actually managed to get an erection, but now he was firm, there was no stopping him and he found himself lasting longer than he’d ever done before. The recipient of his clunge rod was certainly not complaining, and her bacon pocket begged Dave for more and more.
Before long, both Dave and the girl were so hot that they needed to open the patio doors, which led out onto a small balcony. The room was on the top floor of the hotel, so there was little danger of anyone seeing Dave as he slid the doors open with nothing protecting his modesty. As he opened the door, Dave had a brainwave. He called over his lover and asked if she fancied a spot of alfresco sex. She didn’t hesitate and sauntered over to the balcony railing, before grabbing them, bending over so her cunny flaps were winking at Dave.
“Take me from behind”, she ordered.
Dave didn’t need to be asked twice, and he held her by the hips before entering her. This was turning out to be one of the best shags of his life.

Meanwhile, Jimmy was sat downstairs, very drunk and bored. He had looked at his watch about a hundred times, waiting for an hour to pass so he could go back to the room and get to bed. ‘They best not have done it in my bed’ he thought to himself, although secretly he didn’t mind because at least he’d be able to sniff the sheets. Eventually, after finishing his forth pint in the hotel, over an hour had passed and Jimmy decided to venture back.
When he reached the door to the room, he put his ear to it. He couldn’t hear much and guessed that Dave had finished his business and was asleep. He turned the key in the door and opened it very slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The first thing he saw was his bed, and he noticed that it was as fresh as how he’d left it. Then he noticed that Dave’s bed was also empty. Looking further ahead of him, Jimmy saw the reason why; Dave’s bare backside was thrusting in and out as he pumped away like a Jack Russell on heat. Jimmy was suddenly turned on at what he was witnessing.

Out on the balcony, Dave was oblivious that he had been caught in the act and carried on with the job in hand, savoring every moment. Just as he was about to spray his milky treat, he heard a noise behind him, coming from inside the room. Without breaking his stride, he peered over his shoulder.

What he saw was a sight he would never be able to forget, no matter how much he tried.

Jimmy was stood just inside the door frame, against the wall. He was partially covered by a curtain but Dave could see that he was leaning against the side of a wardrobe and visibly having a wank, aiming his todger at the gap between the wall and the back of the wardrobe. Dave didn’t say a word; he just braced himself for his own climax and let out a groan of pleasure as he spilt his load. Too afraid, to traipse back inside and confront his mate, Dave was at a loss as to what to do. From behind, he hugged the girl he’d just rogered, grateful that she was unaware what was happening behind them, whilst thinking about what he should do next. Now they’d finished shagging, it was getting quite cold.

Again, Dave peered over his shoulder, and this time the scene wasn’t as bad as expected. Jimmy had finished his wank and was now crashed out on his own bed, so Dave suggested to his bit of skirt that they retire to bed, to which she agreed. She noticed Jimmy as soon as she walked through the door; it was hard not to as he was spread out like a starfish, face down, with his trousers and boxer shorts still pulled down around his ankles. Dave had to reassure her that Jimmy was so drunk he wouldn’t have even noticed them outside.
The next morning, once Dave had ushered his conquest out of the hotel room, he woke Jimmy and asked him what the fuck he was playing at the night before. Jimmy’s head was pounding and his mind was hazy and he struggled to remember much. Dave told him to think hard whilst he went and showered. Ten minutes later, Dave emerged from the bathroom.
“Dave”, said Jimmy.
“Yes mate?”
“Did I have a wank behind the wardrobe last night?
“You know you did you dirty fucker! Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought it was a dream”
“You are a sick bastard”.

Jimmy has managed to refrain from wanking behind wardrobes since the incident, but one does wonder why he chose such a place to aim his pecker. What a strange man.

Sexual Ignorance

7 Jul

A few years back I was indulging in drunken conversation with a lady friend when inevitably the subject matter turned to sex, and in particular, our favourite things to get up to in the bedroom. Having confessed to enjoying having her nipples lightly bitten, her labia being stroked with lace and to loving the sensation of frozen peas being pushed against her pulsating pussy, Melody was eager for me to regale tales of what I had got up to the bedroom and what I enjoyed the most. For the next half hour or so, I went into great detail of what had really got me going between the sheets, and mentioned the following:

Beetroot Enema – I had first tried this at the tender age of 16 with my first proper girlfriend, an 18 year old gypsy girl named Rosie, who was born a hermaphrodite. She would blend up 4 or 5 beetroot, mix in some ginger, and then induce the liquified goodness into my rectum using a hose pipe and a bike pump. The slightly burning sensation was, well, sensational, and in no time at all my gutstick would be engorged and ready for action. I explained to Melody that I had indulged in beetroot enemas a fair few times since.

The Lizard – Wendy Halflove, the girl I left Rosie for, suffered from extreme psoriasis. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than me rubbing a pumice stone all over her naked body. Her toes would curl, and she would dig her fingernails into my shoulders as she came; I wouldn’t even have to enter her, it was the pumice that did all the work. This made sex less of a chore for me; I would merely have a wank once she was ‘finished’. However, I would be covered in flaky skin at the time, resembling a giant lizard. I have always made sure I have pumice in my top drawer since. Melody seemed confused by this but I carried on….

Floater – Quite simple really, I had some great experiences with a 24 stone gothic woman named Medusa. I would take a bath, and she would squat on the side and defecate into the water. The thing that turned me on the most was watching the foul faeces leave her; it was the way her buttocks would slowly separate and the brown goodness would appear, like a tiny mole poking its head out of the ground. I would listen intently as she strained, and then lay back blissfully as another bog-trout joined me for a swim. Medusa also introduced me to the wonderful world of sploshing, although sometimes the sessions would be cut short and she seemed to have an overwhelming urge to eat most of the food.

Month-Old Water Balloon – This is something that really got one of my exes horny. I had dated Abigail when I was 20 and at the time it didn’t do anything for me, but since we split, I have had many a wank about it. For one month, I knew that every morning would begin with a blow job. First though, I was made to go for a piss, but not shake off much of the excess. Abigail loved it when my foreskin retracted and a few droplets of urine escaped and trickled down my shaft. She would then work me into a frenzy with her mouth, using her hand to aid the process. I was under strict orders to ejaculate into her mouth, which I did. She would then spit the contents of her mouth into a small sandwich bag, put an elastic band on it to seal, and place under her bed. She did this every days, for 30 days, until she had enough of my putrid spunk in the bag for the next stage of her fetish. This simply involved me throwing the bag at her so the contents would explode all over her. By now, Melody was looking perplexed.

The Matisse – Denise Glover, a 40-something I picked up one night at my local introduced felt pens to my nocturnal activities. We would draw pictures on one another’s intimate areas with the pens; it was fantastic foreplay. I remember drawing a face on each of her breasts once, using her hardened nipple as the nose. Denise would write naughty words such as ‘cock’ on my stomach, and then draw an arrow to my actual cock. Alongside this, she would write poems about what she was going to do with it. It was great fun, although I was caused great embarrassment in a public toilet one time, when the gentleman next to me spotted my fluorescent orange bellend which I had forgot to clean. After sex, we would clean the filthy words off each other in the shower, which often resulted in more sex. This led to more foreplay, and the felt pens would come out again. It was a vicious circle; we once had sex for 72 hours non-stop.

I looked at Melody, having poured out my most personal sexual experiences. “Have you tried any of them?”, I asked. Melody looked dumbstruck, and her jaw dropped a little.

“Erm, no”, she wimpered.

No?! No?! I couldn’t believe it! She’d never even heard of the sexual practices I’d mentioned, despite being sexually active herself! What an amazing display of ignorance on her part.

A new account, coffee and a bit of oral sex

7 Jul

I’d decided I wanted to open a new savings account and after scanning a few of the comparison websites, Halifax was to be my chosen bank (also aided by the fact that of all the banks, The Halifax is closest to where I live).

Working throughout the week and not wanting to waste my precious weekends, I thought it best to venture to Halifax during a lunch break, giving me 50 minutes to queue, hand over the already filled in application form and ID (including a utility bill)and deposit £10 cash into my newly opened account. What I hadn’t chanced upon was being served by Susan.

Ahhh, Susan. Her brunette hair and deep brown eyes will forever stay in my memory; her sweet soft lips forever encrusted in my mind in the file marked ‘wanking material’.

‘Cashier number 2 please’ came the voice from the tannoy, and it was finally my turn to be served after about 10 minutes of waiting patiently. As I stepped up to the perspex window of despair, I noticed a radiant smile beaming back at me and a split second later a pretty face, with toussled, tangled locks swept delicately behind each ear. Her eyes were warm and gentle; instantly carming.

My eyes drifted south, and an ample chest, tightly packed into Susan’s blue blouse, heaved back at me with every breathe she took. I thought to myself that I’d be able to peek a bit of bra if I was stood to one side of her, as the fabric between each button was forced apart under the strain of her bust. Dirty thoughts raced through my mind.

“How can I help?” said Susan gently.

‘Shit, I’ve been caught staring’ I thought to myself.

“I’d like to open a new account please” came my mumbled response, my face getting hotter and more crimson by the second. I was in lust; I wanted Susan there and then, it was a longing that I’d never experienced in my life up to that point, and haven’t since.

15 minutes or so passed and my new account was set up and ready for use, but all I could think about during that time was she. I lost the ability to write; I struggled to sign my name. I’m sure I said one or two stupid things, maybe more, but she had laughed at my lame jokes. She twisted her hair in her fingers as she spoke to me. Was this flirting? According to the magazines it was.
I wanted to see Susan again. Soon. But how? It was as she handed me back my ID that I decided to chance it…

“Would you be up for going for a coffee tomorrow lunch time”. I couldn’t believe that I’d come out with it. She was out of my league, a stunner, she’d have a boyfriend for sure.

“Sure, why not. Here’s my number, I have lunch from one to two o’clock tomorrow” replied Susan, smiling.

I smiled back, “See you then”, and walked out of Halifax. I almost jumped and clicked my heels together as I made my way back to work; tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

===========

We sat upstairs in Costa making small talk, edging ever closer to each other until our thighs were touching. I felt an instant shock run up my leg and all the way up my spine. My heart fluttered with desire and I watched her; ‘I could watch her talk forever’, I thought to myself. She was perfect.
She touched my hand as she laughed. I liked it when she did so. She tilted her head slightly to the left when trying to get life anecdotes and small talk from my shy self. I liked this even more.

I’d barely touched my coffee, and she was about a third of the way through her frapucinno when she whispered in my ear, “Follow me”.
She took me by the hand, quite gingerly at first, and then clasped it tightly as we stood up and she skipped towards to female toilets, pulling me with her. Looking around to make sure no-one was looking, she pushed me through the door and led me to a cubicle.

As the cubicle door shut behind her I kissed on the back of the neck as she slid the lock to ‘occupied’. Susan turned and our lips met. They were so soft, so gentle, and her tongue felt warm and almost rough in comparison as it worked with mine. We stumbled backwards, holding each other for support, the kissing getting more frenzied with every passing moment. I felt her reach for the flies on my work trousers and I repayed the favour, being careful not to rub too hard against her polyester trousers for fear of getting a static shock.

Susan’s hands moved from my waist and all the way up my back until she was cupping my neck. Then she slid them outwards across my shoulders, forcing me down onto the toilet as she did so. We both gasped for breath. I remember wiping saliva from the corner of my mouth. As Susan dropped to her knees, my meaty bangstick pulsated and throbbed with all its might, itching to be freed from the cage that was my boxer shorts and into the beautiful wilderness that was Susan’s mouth. I lifted my buttocks slightly so that she could pull my trousers and boxers down.

The blow job was heavenly. Susan’s tongue teased my shaft as she licked gently from my balls up to the tip, smiling and moaning as she did so. This was a huge turn on, knowing that she was enjoying pleasuring me. She teased me, opening her mouth over my cock, but refusing to close until I was near on begging her to suck me into oblivion. By now my shaft was truly awesome; more hard and manly than ever before, aching with the pain and torment of not being relieved. My balls sat tightly, like two vacuum packed ping pong balls, all the while being gently groped by Susan’s ever willing hand. Eventually she took me into her mouth, her eyes looking up at me as she did so. Her eyes looked so innocent, so pure, and I had to remind myself that she was expertly working my cock with both hand and mouth, definitely no amateur, and certainly no angel.

The relief was immense. I saw colours and lights and my hands gripped Susan’s shoulders tightly. My salty love stew dribbled from the corner of Susan’s mouth and my bellend glistened with post cum.

“Best get back to work” she said and she smiled and left me, sat half naked in the female toilets of Costa.

I continued seeing Susan for about 2 months after this first encounter and it is a part of my life that I will always look back on with great fondness. We even had sex in the bank during early evenings when she had to balance the tills. This soon stopped because I couldn’t face cumming whilst looking at a life size cut out of Howard the Halifax Man. She no longer works at the branch; she moved to Devon and was transferred

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