Surprise revelations

I have been sort of in love with this chef from about the moment I met him on my second day of work at the cafe. He's 40, short shorn salt and pepper hair, messy scruffy facial hair and he's wonderfully tall but wiry. But of course he'd never shown any interest in me; handsome, mature, professional pay attention to a young, flippant somewhat promiscuous kid like me? Unlikely. So I've harboured this crush for ages. When I pick up meals from the kitchen, I sometimes dare to make eye contact with him across the pass, but always have to look away, flushing. His gaze is just too intense, and also too frightening. He has that manic, serious chef look about him, like he might thrash me if I bring back a cold plate from a missing customer or if I pass on any patron complaints. Terrifying but intensely desirable. It's not just me, the other girls half fancy him too, but perhaps not as much as me. But we'd never seen him with any women, and on questioning the other chefs, they said they'd never heard him mention any kind of relationship. So being stupid girls, pride hurt by complete lack of interest in any of us despite many (other) girl's efforts to get his attentions, we put it down to his likely being gay. A stupid thing to do.

I was called up to the coffee station to deliver a latte upstairs to said chef, who was in the office attempting to do some paperwork while he nursed a hangover. I knocked but he must not have heard. He was seated behind the desk, in front of the computer, one hand wrapped around a very rigid, purplish cock as he watched some noisy, girl-on-girl porn playing across the screen.

And one of those girls was me!

Pink

What is it with my penchant for super kinky men recently? It feels like ages since I've just been laid down on my back on a bed, legs spread generously being fucked missionary style. Absolutely ages. I'd welcome it, I think. And yet, sometimes it seems that the most important thing about that position is that you have to want to really watch the face above you, contorting as he thrusts in and out. You have to want him to see your raw and honest pleasure on your face and hope that it is beautiful and inspiring to him and his climax. Maybe I associate love with missionary.

But what a treat to be told to stand facing the wall, panties missing, legs spread and hands pressed firmly against the cold concrete and a warm and stubbly face disappears under my skirts to sniff and nuzzle the pinkness there as it begins to warm and moisten and drip. Enormous fingers squeezing my bottom, a large forefinger tickling my puckered hole making me squeal. He refuses to touch my lips until he sees the first drop of my wetness hit the hot asphalt between his splayed legs. It hits his pant leg instead, but it still counted and all ten fingers added their efforts in spreading me open as I would go, exposing what he called 'the pinkest little pussy' he had ever seen. The tongue is such an amazing muscle, soft and laving but also rigid and pointed, he thrust his thick tongue deep into my pussy and tickled it hotly. I was tongue fucked and a little finger popped its tip into by bottom. His beaky nose was pressed against the slowly developing curls there, left untouched at his command. It's almost dangerous being eaten so thoroughly while standing up. My thighs were quaking from the effort of standing up. I was being noisy, mewling and crying out with every stroke of his tongue, echoing through the carpark. Anyone could have seen. If there was a security guard I'm sure he must have been somewhere watching and anyone working over-time and only heading home in the late hours would have been in for a show.

All he had to do was drag his tongue from pussy to clit and wrap his full lips around the nub and suck and I cried out, pressing back against the wall, trying my hardest not to fall, dripping cream all over his flushed face. When he had licked up as much as he could, he emerged from under my skirt, dragged me back to the car and drove us back to his place, his face still shining with my wetness.

Deranged

Two tall, broad, gruff, rough, construction workers walked into the cafe I was getting my lunch at. One smiled at me. I can't get them out of my head now. Both of them. At the same time. I've not really thought such a thing would appeal to me, but all of a sudden it does.

What's happened to me? Sure Richard has gone on holiday, but with or without him my sex life has always been great. But somethings wrong with me. A ridiculous, burning, insatiable slightly deranged thing. I feel like I should perhaps not leave the apartment lest I try to encourage some sort of new encounter with a passing handsome older male.

I'm just sort of lying here writhing. Hoping for something to happen. I could call someone, but for some reason I don't want someone I've already had. I'm desperate for something new. Can I really be that bored? I'm too greedy. I shouldn't.

I think I might just stay here under the covers and fantasise. It might be enough for a while.

Show

A strange and crazy thing. Sitting spread legged on the bed in front of the window open on the night. Able to see everything, from cars to walking passers-by, lit windows in the apartment block across the street, trying my hardest to keep silent, wondering if anyone can see me at all. Secretly hoping, but also terrified and struggling to move away. But one hand held my hands behind the small of my back and kept my posture taunt, the other kept my legs open, dipping the fingers into my dripping pussy, pinching my clit, spreading my lips and letting me feel the cool breeze, making me gasp and shiver. I would have rather he just lay me down and fuck me, let me close my eyes. But he held me open and shoved his fingers into me again and again until I came loudly and wetly all over his hand, shining in the reflected streetlights.

And he didn't even let me touch him.

I'm frustrated. If I don't have him tonight I might go mad.

Barriers

It is a deliciously cruel torture to be fucked through one's panties. The soaking wet yellow silk was pressed firmly against my entrance, pushed inside millimetre by millimetre by a blunt and swollen cockhead. It was like being a virgin again; the hymen felt like it would never give way, and my passage was too small for his size, but when finally the barrier is removed it's like a revelation. He refused to remove my panties though I tried to wriggle and squirm out of them. Every now and again he would stop his cruel shallow fucking to bend down and press his tongue against my wet lips through the silk. I thought I would cry I wanted him deeply inside so badly.

Suddenly he ripped them from me and pulled my legs open. I cried relief but he stuffed my panties in my mouth and pressed me down into the bed with a hand between my shoulder blades while lifting my bottom in the air, spreading me open with the fingers of one hand and entering with one firm and shocking stroke. He grunted and growled as he thrust and pulled so hard that I forgot to breathe and could only do so in gasps between his movements.

Later he took those panties from my mouth and flipped me over. Two silk covered fingers were pushed inside me and he crushed and stuffed them until they disappeared inside. His lips surrounded my mound and his tongue tickled my clit as he slowly pulled them back out. I came screaming.

Doesn't sound like Richard? It wasn't. He went on holiday without me. For three weeks. Which naturally means he's going to be chasing down someone else. I can hardly mind when I've a list of people I've been dying to try, growing longer as I spent more time being 'exclusive'.

Inspiration

It's amazing how small changes to a normal sex act can make it suddenly feel so much dirtier and naughtier. Having Richard loom over me in bed, his spread fingers cupping my left breast as he licked and sucked my nipple in between his fingers. Watching him do that sent such shivery, quivery tingles all over that I had to close my eyes. It was somehow so much naughtier than normal nipple licking. Being bitten rather than kissed down my side. Being told repeatedly that he would not eat me no matter what I said and then suddenly feeling hands lifting me up by my bottom and his nose and mouth buried in my folds being tasted with such ferocity that it should have hurt and been too much but with all his previous attacking I just rode the overload of sensation.

He looked so cute with his sticky wet face as he climbed back over me and I sucked on the end of his nose. He rubbed his face in my breasts leaving my own juices all over me and then propped two pillows under my bottom and two behind my head. In that position, everything is visible to both of us; I could curl myself up so I saw his bulbous purple head push my lips apart and press so slowly inside. Richard was so controlled, I felt every millimetre slide in. When he hit the back wall I arched my back and threw back my head. I think I nearly blacked out. It was so deep, so filling I couldn't breathe. As he fucked my deeply and slowly, watching me watch his cock, he told me to place the forefinger of my right hand on my clit. But I wasn't allowed to rub. I pressed myself hard, grinding against my finger desperately. Then he told me to reach around with my left hand and press my forefinger against my anus. Curled up and under him I felt completely overtaken and wonderfully controlled. He told me to pinch my clit hard and he began to fuck me hard. I think I was screaming. He bent down and bit a nipple and I came, thrusting upwards, feeling his cock try to break me in two. Richard came hotly inside me, convulsing and groaning in my ear and I knew no more till morning.

Two in a day

I was very impressed with Richard managing to fuck me twice on New Years. Not the easiest feat for a gent his age. The first fuck of the New Years was a lovely lazy morning one, with much nuzzling and nibbling of his saggy balls and slowly licking up and down the protruding central vein of his cock. I wonder why men enjoy that so much? I thought I might start the year adventurous, as per my New Years resolution (a potentially dangerous resolution at that) and wet a finger in my thoroughly dripping pussy (an issue that is causing both of us to change our sheets every couple of days) then eased it into his bum hole. I think the last person to put a finger up there was probably his doctor, so Richard did squirm uncomfortably for a while. But I have been determined to find out what all this prostate business is about. He guided me verbally and eventually I found it. It's obvious if you just say 'stick it up there, curl it upwards and point towards my cock from the inside' if you're wanting to guide your own young partners. It'll take less time that way! Oh the noises he made as I suckled on his plummy cock head and stroked the funny little hollow inside him. Maybe like an elephant, and then like a rhino, which sounds terrifying, but is actually awfully cute. I do love men who make proper sex sounds. I would have liked to make him come that way, but I didn't want to start the year without. So I ripped my finger out and hopped on top of him. He slid in so easily and I bounced on him as roughly and enthusiastically as I could, so I could stroke him fully up and down. I felt so full. The slapping wet sticky sounds were a bit comical, but sometimes you want to fuck too hard to care about any decorum. Especially when you've just had your finger up your partners bum.

The second was impromtu. It had rained all New Years night and a bit the next day too. I was bent over leaning out his bedroom window in the dark. Just taking in the fresh clean rain smell washing all the disgusting humidity away. I heard him approaching but pretended not to. I was still wearing the light camisole-like dress from the night before, not bothered to find anything clean. He must have known I'd heard him...it's hard to quiet your rustling trousers. I felt his lovely large rough hands on my bare bottom and felt him pushing the bottom of the dress around my hips. I stepped apart, giving him good access to my pussy and I felt his nose trail through my wetness, something that drives me insane. Anyone in the building's rear garden would have had a bit of a show; a girl leaning out the window, trying to quiet her moans as she had her pussy generously eaten and clit sucked and nibbled. Then seeing her clutch the windowsill for dear life as she was fucked hard from behind by an unseen man. I almost wish I knew for sure that there was someone there.

Such an exhibitionist.

Awkward

It may be some sort of sign that I should try not to pick up so many of the same 'type' of older man. How awkward is it, sitting in a restaurant with much adored older lover, when an ex-older lover with a new woman (closer to his own age) sidles up to your table to greet you with such familiarity and intimacy that no one in the vicinity of your table, let alone your lover, can doubt what kind of history you had? Maybe I should try artistic types that never have any money to go anywhere and just stay in their studios and apartments all day, having sex, knocking up a quick meal, having more sex, then making some art. Like teachers, only they spend all their time doing marking and reading awful essays. Or maybe we should stop going out to nice places. I'm going to get some kind of ridiculous reputation. Richard has asked about my dating history. I admit that majority if not all (save some interesting failed experiments) men I've ever slept with have been much older than me. He only sort of 'hm'-ed and didn't say much more. Oops?

Any minute now he will tell me I'm some sort of liability to his reputation and I will be dropped.

Especially after that fight at his pub. God. Embarrassing.

I bring adolescent drama into his wonderfully mature, adult life. And that's not a good thing.

Perhaps I should be grateful that I have not been punished and have not been deprived of sex.

It would be a terrible waste of cute new lingerie.

Bother

I have no idea whether anyone is actually reading this diary/blog anymore.

Should I stop? I was hoping I would get some advice, insight and opinions from other passing bloggers and blog readers, seeing much of this stuff I can't talk to my friends about. Plus a lot of them don't want to hear it anyway.

I don't know. I started it when I had a bunch of possibilities going and now there's currently one man demanding exclusive rights which I'm happy to give in one way, but still ever curious and unwilling to settle in another. There are so many gentlemen in the world and a recent discovery that men even only 10 years older can hold a potential attraction (or at least just a change of pace in terms of sex)...it is as though the decision to keep blogging is tied to whether or not I try to focus only on Richard for as long as I can. Tame the wandering eye. Stop flirting with other men all over the place. Focus on Richard, stop blogging (he keeps asking me what the hell I'm doing on the computer all the time). Keep Richard and my options open, continue blogging.

Tell me what to do!

Taste

Doing a boob-fuck is awfully tricky if you have firm Asian breasts, as opposed to softer, floppier white breasts. You really have to squish them hard around a cock to get good coverage so your partner is properly enveloped in flesh. But spit won't do and vaseline can get quite sticky and the KY was within reach so inevitably I was squirted with that before we began. I'd not done it before, because, well, there are always more interesting places to stick a cock in. At first it was annoying, just lying there, squishing my breasts together around Richard's cock, seeing it pop in view suddenly as the head pushed past and bumped me on the chin. Not even within reach of my mouth. But when his big hands closed around mine and brushed my nipples with his thumbs with each stroke, I started to see the point. It's incredibly dirty and hot, and makes you feel nicely used, but at the same time drives you crazy because it feels good but no one is paying you any attention between your legs, though you're tingling down there like crazy.

I like Christmas-time, and I think I'm more enjoyed around the holidays because I'm absolutely in the spirit of giving.

Richard pumped hard, and maybe it hurt a little but then he was pinching my nipples too and I thought I could come without being touched if he kept doing that and I rocked my hips enough to rub my panties against my clit. I nearly did. But then Richard was making those lovely deep groans and I could see his head was deep purple and ready to go and rather than have a face full of come I lifted my head up and wrapped my lips around it.

KY lube tastes like fifty packets of artificial sweetener mixed with water. Which absolutely ruined the taste of come. I would not recommend using it if you intend on putting anything in your mouth!

Richard looked so tired after and I was prepared to go without this once but then he asked me to touch myself in front of him and I couldn't refuse. I lay back comfortably on the pillows as I placed the chair I usually dump my still-in-use clothing on at the end of the bed, propped each foot on the mattress and slid two fingers inside a very wet slit. I've masturbated in front of a camera so many times for porn shoots, so I knew how I looked to Richard and the combined pleasure of him enjoying me and me enjoying myself pushed me very close to the edge. But I held back and circled and spread my lips to prolong the pleasure before I let myself go.

I think I must be tiring Richard out awfully; his pub is absolutely insanely busy with all the wonderful functions it's hosting and the massive amount of organisation for the annual Christmas eve lunch. But I can't get enough of him and thankfully he can't get enough of me.

Going to be the best Christmas ever!

Christmas is coming

Should I be getting excited that I've been officially invited to the pub's Christmas Eve brunch by Richard? Yes. Of course there will be people that will look at me and think I'm some sort of stupid tart trying to get something out of Richard before running off. Which is only half true. What Richard gives, he does so willingly! This wonderful attitude has made it possible to explore many fun activities with him, knowing that he won't take me for granted.

Desk sex has become such a cliche, with all this boss-employee, teacher-student themed porn fantasies all over the place. I've had my fair share, whether at school or University, and now the 'boss desk' has been ticked off the list too. Admittedly there are problems with this scene:

1. Hard desk very hard on knees

2. Papers covering desk are slippery

3. Knocking things off desk always draws attention from someone in the hallway

4. If you don't have a particularly wide desk, girl will potentially fall off slightly in the middle of hard thrusting.

Tricky tricky.

Actually speaking of desks I found the email address of an old literature tutor from Uni and tried it to see if he was still alive (not because I thought he might have literally died but because he just stopped talking to me one day). He did reply, he said all was well and that he'd returned to the UK for work and thought of me occasionally. He had of course had other students since me, his wife either still ignorant or happy that he was occupied and not bothering her. It was nice to touch base. Watching Californication sure brings up memories of this time when I was 19. Nothing as clever or obvious as that of course, seeing he taught modern global literature, and though there were often sexual topics in our books, they weren't discussed terribly much.

Fucking a tutor is a very good way to get out of hanging out with University boys, unless of course those boys are your genuine friends. But they were usually out chasing their own boys or girls during free periods or lunch hours. Even though the office is usually a tiny, dark closet with one window, having a personal haven on campus is wonderful. Sometimes if the weather is too cold I skip afternoon classes to go home to my apartment rather than bother staying out. But that semester I had a key to his office so with two coffees I'd let myself in, sometimes waiting, sometimes not. He probably could have done without the distraction, because he'd usually have stacks of assignments to read or notes to compile for classes, but instead it would be me on the desk making a mess of everything as I made room for hands and knees or me curled up under the desk, head under a coat draped across his lap in case anyone poked their head in his door without knocking. If you genuinely care about your man, you will give him a lovely drawn out blow job under his desk! And to make up for making a mess of his office, I would always swallow it all down, so there would be nothing to clean up. Except me.

Always keep extra pairs of panties in your satchel.

Hm. There I was about to expound on lovely desk sex with Richard and I veered off topic into dirty memories. Must try and focus on the present. Probably need to eat.

Off my chest

So I never expanded because I was trying to block it out. But to summarise, one night I was hanging out at Richard's pub, chatting to one of his lovely bartenders, Ben, who is becoming a friend especially since my two best friends have accompanied me for drinks a couple of times. Not only is he a great mixer, but a very funny and generous server. I digress. I was on my own that night, eating some dinner and hanging around waiting and hoping that Richard would get his duties over and done with early. Anthony came in with some workmates. I had no idea he ever came into this pub, considering I hadn't seen him all that time. They'd clearly had a few by that time, and Anthony broke away from his group, swaggered up to the bar and threw an arm around my shoulder and said to Ben that he would have a beer and that I could have whatever I wanted on him. Ben, absolutely professional to the end, poured his beer and then another glass of cranberry and soda for me and made the exchange without a word. Anthony was squeezing me very tight and I was pretty alarmed and everything and didn't know what to do. Ben tried to remove me by squinting obviously to the back of the pub and said 'Oh I see our friends have arrived, why don't I walk you over?' but Anthony just said 'No, no. She's with me. You're going to have a drink or two with me before we go home.' Oh God it was so awful and shaming and I thought I'd cry from sheer embarrassment. To summarise it was something like that for another 20 minutes before Ben tore away from the bar to get Richard, which in retrospect probably wasn't the best idea. Richard came downstairs looking like thunder, pulled Anthony's arm from me and ensued an argument that became very loud and very rude. It ended with shoving, attempted punches and then the pub's lone security guard and two waitstaff dragging Anthony outside as his group of mates meekly followed.

Yes it was awful. And then I was taken upstairs to Richard's office to have a drink and calm down. He looked quite angry and I got yelled at rather badly, which doesn't happen to me often, and frankly terrified me. It's one thing to have a woman yell at you, but when it was a man and one that I cared about very much, I felt quite frightened and like I wanted to die. Mostly it was about consorting with the wrong sort of people and being careful and that he hoped now that he was around that I would never try it on so easily with another man again. I couldn't promise him anything obviously. He has some claim on me now, but that's hardly going to last forever. I got bundled into a cab and sent home.

Richard came by later, around midnight and when I saw him I cried (like the pathetic girl I sometimes am) and he held me and we went to bed. Having sex when your heart feels broken can be mending.

Vision of a perfect life

Living

I didn't think it would get so out of hand but this relationship - I am indeed allowing myself to call it a relationship - is causing me to be unable to report on my favourite details on this blog. It's awfully tricky. There's Richard, there's sex, there's work, friends, chores, more sex, cooking and shopping to do. It's a tricky part of the year. But what a treat to have someone to spend it with. Not one of those desperately sad Christmases where I spend one day with beloved but small rest of family (I do miss seeing my brother and he only comes down for the holidays) but the other, usually Christmas day itself, there are so many parties but always a someone attending his own family party, replete with children and wife but not lover. No more married men. Never again. They're an absolute drainer and though they always give you a good gift to make up for their necessary absence, you never get to give them what you want.

The first year, when I finally turned 18 and had prepared my body and the metres of red satin ribbon, my teacher bailed when his wife declared that she would accept him back home as long as he could remain faithful forevermore. As far as I know he has been.

This year will be different. I'm sure of it.

Also, not quite sure what the point is of buying me new pairs of panties all the time, when every morning I seem to wake up without them, whether or not company remains till morning.

Lessons Learned

Awful day at work. How many people can come in sick? How would such an excellent chef get such incredibly bad food poisoning? On the busiest breakfast day of the week too. I'm certainly in a better mood today, after seeing friends and avoiding seeing other people. My last post was pretty bleak. I didn't mean to sound so incredibly melodramatic.

Suffice to say I've learned a few of lessons.

1. Tall, dark, handsome, older men who at first seem lovely and gentle and sweep you off your feet, could potentially harbour a malicious, jealous, violent streak.

2. Eventually hanging out at the place of work of your lover will result in some kind of scene, because it will happen wherever you happen to be.

3. Being yelled at is incredibly frightening when it's coming from someone you respect and quite like. When it's someone you're angry at, however, it only makes you angrier.

4. Sex post-argument is rough, violent, extremely satisfying and will possibly occur in a very unusual place.

I'm starving so I'm going to knock up some pasta. One of the boys is here. He insists he isn't reading over my shoulder as we walks past me, but I know he's lying. Hello, yes I'm talking about you.

Trouble

It's only been a week and already I'm in big trouble. I've never been yelled at like that before. Not by any man. Not even a teacher. Last night was an odd night. I am slightly bruised and very embarrassed. I got let off from work early because I didn't have any sparkle on the floor and customers were noticing. Plus there was the bloodshot puffy eyes. I'm not in trouble with work though. My bosses seemed sympathetic, though ignorant of what was wrong. It's lovely working for a group of women. Most of the time they just know when you need some time out. I've been there for a couple of years and they take care of me. Speaking of being taken care of, I'm going to go sit in a hot bath and have a long think.

Good Haul

So it's not exactly been the nicest weather for shopping. Certainly warranted many cold drinks and stops to sit down and be obscenely mismatched in public, but still it was a pretty good haul!

We escaped the blustery city streets in many a lingerie shop, but it took a little convincing for Richard to get me the stuff I like. I've not totally graduated to the very lady-like lace and silk wear that most men seem to get a kick of buying for women. I still like panties to be cotton and colourful and fun to look at.

These are a selection from today! I tried all the pairs on in pretty quick succession once we got back to my place, so they're a bit rumpled from that! It's just as well because we were in such a rush to leave I forgot to hang out the washing. I think my favourite is the white and pink pair in front. Very pretty and delicate. It's not even been a week and I already got presents!

Richard has gone to the pub to oversee dinner preparations. I actually don't think he's coming back tonight, which may be just as well, because it's a mess here. And in truth, too much sex can become a bad thing. I'd like to be able to sit comfortably for more than a few minutes at a time for starters.

OK. So Friday night I did go to the pub and maybe in retrospect it was quite awkward. It was around 6 and dinner service was starting up, mostly families and older couples in the dining room. When I asked a barman where Richard was, he must have thought I was applying for a job or something because he led me upstairs to his office behind the wine storage and told me to sit and wait. I felt quite foolish really. I didn't really give myself time to back out, not that I'm complaining now, but it had been terribly impulsive. He could have been some kind of psycho-killer. In any case he didn't come up for about 15 minutes so naturally I did as much snooping as I could from my chair. Picture of himself and someone I can only assume is his brother because they looked terribly similar, stacks of paperwork and order forms, a mix of fountain pens and biros etc. Some golf trophies. I hate golf. A weirdly addictive sport for men that causes them to forget that you can do fun things other than golf on the weekend.

Anyway, Richard knocked on the door, which was weird because it was his office, and I stood up suddenly, feeling as though I'd been caught out. He actually looked nervous for a second, then smiled gently and gestured for me to sit down again. A lot like being sent to the principal's office really. He asked me how my day had been, and made general small talk. I wondered if he thought this had been a mistake, that like so many older guys he had spent the day thinking it through and decided that I was too much of a risk to his current life to take on. It's a ridiculous misconception that older men will always take up the offer of a reasonably attractive young woman if they have the opportunity. It's of course much worse when they sleep with you once and decide immediately after than it's never going to happen again. I digress. He said he wouldn't be able to leave the pub for hours at least, so I could have dinner down at the bar, and then he would meet me later. It's an amazing gastropub, how could I say no? Suffice to say all the staff watched me as I ate, especially when Richard came by to ask how I was going. They were all boys. Why? Women in service certainly soften and lubricate the dining experience a bit. I know they were an interesting choice of words but it's genuinely what comes to mind.

Oh god I take forever to write stuff. Skip skip skip. Home, undress, shower, trim fuzz patch, run around like a madman tidying up (making extra care to make sure couch was semen stain free). I couldn't decide between casual home or something of more interest so I just picked a white camisole, red spotted panties and a grey oversized cardigan. Turned up at 10. It started quite shy, really. He sat on my little couch and pulled me down to sit across his lap, stroked my cheek, brushed my hair back, pinched my chin. Very daddy-like. Admittedly, that got me completely. Unlike so many others, he kissed me first, chastely with closed mouth then with the slight slick of his tongue. I carded my hands through his hair and was pleasantly surprised to find the short hairs thick and bristly. He rubbed his nose down my neck and kissed my collarbone, his hands rubbing my thighs in circles. His hair smelled nice; a bit smokey and boozey from the pub. When he started to rub his nose down my chest inbetween my free and comfortable breasts, I thought 'I really want to stop having so much sex on this couch'. So I stood up and pulled him to my room. Changed the sheets specially. Determined to make him know that I'm a giver and not just a taker, I unbuttoned his jeans and found a very thick cock with a small pointed head that smelled a little sweaty. It certainly tasted sweaty, and salty and maybe like he needed a wash, but that was OK. Richard flopped back onto the bed and sighed. I couldn't get more than half down my throat so I gave up and just licked up and down. His cock has large purplish veins that I could feel pulsing against my tongue slightly. He made such lovely deep groans that seemed to vibrate the bed, like a big cat. I love the sounds men make when they're enjoying themselves. He didn't hold my head, which I appreciated and felt free to suck his fuzzy balls. I wriggled out of my red panties and threw them at his face. I think he might have taken them actually because I didn't see them in the wash. I'd been fairly damp all day, and his deep purrs were making me drippy so I climbed on top of him, hiked up my camisole and dragged my slit up and down the front of his cock. He reached up and tweaked the same nipple he had earlier today, I felt a rush of guilty pleasure. Eventually I let the pointy cockhead nose at my entrance and it popped in and out. He's too thick to take quickly, so I spent some time just rocking back and forth, Richard's cock pushing in little by little, making me feel so stretched and full I could hardly think straight. I don't think I took all of it in. It hurt a little as I thrust downwards. So full. Too intense to do anything else but bury my face in his chest and rock back and forth. I think I was noisy. I certainly couldn't help it. Our genitals were very wet and sticky, our fucking making slapping and sucking sounds. He held and kneaded my bottom, I ground down and rubbed myself in his hairiness. I bit his chest as I came and started fucking down on him harder and faster, making the feeling last longer. Next thing I know I've been rolled and Richard was on top of me, ripping his cock out and coming on my sweaty tummy. A simple and lovely fuck. He wiped us both clean and napped with me a little but left around 2 am. I remember he brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead when he left. Again, like a daddy. I know I have issues. I can't help it. It made my heart swoon a little and I didn't want him to leave.

To summarise since then (because it's getting very tiresome trying to catch up):

I worked the weekend. Richard came over Saturday and Sunday night. Super sex. Slept over Sunday night.

Anthony brought his girlfriend to breakfast on Sunday. I have to admit she's stunning. Surprisingly blond with short cropped hair (I love this on girls!) and quite petite and tomboyish. I wanted her for myself really. What do you think I did? Sure service was busy but boy did that girl ever receive the best service she will ever have in any cafe anywhere. She called me 'a darling'. Anthony nearly died in his house-made baked beans. He genuinely doesn't deserve anyone that cute. Her name absolutely doesn't suit her. I would call her Heather. She'd only be about 5 years older than me. Anthony will probably never bring her to my work again, but I'm sure she'll insist.

I think I mixed the days up a bit on earlier posts. It was definitely Thursday that all that shit with Anthony happened. Friday I hooked up with Richard. Wasn't meant to work Friday but I did. Worked all weekend. Saw Richard both weekend nights. Day off Monday, late shift Tuesday...OK. I know where I'm at. I'm really just noting this for myself. If I don't at least know what happened when, I'm basically lost in my own ridiculously over-sexed life. And if I don't keep track, I'm going to get in lots of trouble.

Morning Glorious!

I should be at work but I did a swap with a girl who owes me 10 so I will be working tomorrow and the whole weekend again. God damn rotating roster. I'd love to have permanent days, but as Christmas draws closer, the store just gets busier and it's all hands on deck. But losing the weekend is so worth it, especially seeing Richard will be busy overseeing his pub on a typically busy December weekend. I love a man who treats his girl properly. Even if Richard junior is not up to a morning screw, it doesn't mean Gina gets left wet and frustrated. You can't really blame him when he managed a very nice long screw session last night. He fucked me about four times but didn't come until the last. It must have hurt him a bit. How does he manage to stop I wonder?Didn't affect me though. And the other reason to stay home is a panty wash because I am pretty much out of clean underwear. Richard says he'll just take me out to get more this afternoon, but you can't leave a hamper full of wet knickers just sitting there can you? It comes from my insistence to wear underpants when not actually in that moment in the middle of a screw session. To make a point of difference. And to stop wandering hands being too tempted, thus distracting me from important tasks like cooking, brushing my teeth and talking on the phone. This chair has an odd pussy-ish smell now; see what happens when I'm lax? As long as you have panties on, you can focus. Although cooking with a shirt on would have been a good idea too. Little oil burn next to tattoo under collar bone. Ouch!

So I said I wouldn't fuck Richard, for all the complications it would cause. But I have, multiple times, and have now made my life incredibly complicated. I may have a tendency to sabotage myself. I stand at the crossroads, look between the signs for 'dangerous but fun' and 'right but slightly boring' and choose the former nearly every time.

To summarise last Friday (if I don't shorten my accounts I will never get properly up to the present), Richard came in early to treat himself to a hot breakfast, I opened to store so was the only waitress to serve him (and the 9 other all male early customers. Why is always men first thing?). Very much wanting some attention I flirted shamelessly, he responded in kind and when I daringly boob brushed him as I collected his dirty plates and glasses, he reached across and pinched a nipple through my shirt. Non-padded bras give everything away. Luckily my back was facing the open kitchen or I would be in a lot of trouble. That kind of behaviour generally deserves a slap, but Richard really is so lovely and I am a pathetic attention-whore, and I think maybe I have been harbouring a great big crush on him but trying to deny it. I felt quite giddy and sort of gasped and probably turned quite red but I was clearly responsive. I went to the kitchen with my dirty plates. When I returned to the counter, who should have slipped in but that terrible Anthony. I called him 'sir' rather than by his name, perfunctorily put his coffee order through and ignored his attempt to make conversation by walking off. I brought Richard an unnecessary glass of water and asked if there was anything else he wanted. You can probably guess the stupid sort of flirty thing he said, and he said it quite audibly, but he and Anthony were probably the only customers there that knew that kind of suggestiveness actually gets you somewhere with me. Seeing Anthony watching us I smiled quite horribly at him before I bent down and told Richard that I would come visit him at his pub after work. Don't think that I'm doing this to spite him. It's just that it was all timed quite conveniently and it's working out pretty well for me. More on Friday night in a moment; breakfast is served! Men who cook are incredibly sexy. In fact, I wouldn't mind trying a chef. They would be quite intense I expect.

While he takes a shower

I would be able to write more entries on here, if only I wouldn't receive so many visits. Not that I'm complaining. God I'm really not. He's taking a shower now as I sit here sweaty and wetly marking the blue fabric of a dining chair but I am far too shagged to care. If I show it to him, he might take the chair home with him and bring me a new one to replace it. It's Wednesday and I haven't even gotten to talking about last Friday. Screw it for now. Oh he's such a scream! I said that out loud and he called from the shower 'In a minute dear'. Where did I find him? This is crazy fun. Friday was a good day. I was incredibly cruel to someone but at the same time was swept off by someone else. Wonderful shags, dinners in, generous flirting, genuine sweetness.

He's turned the water off. Got to go! Don't wait up. If I don't have a very sore pussy and very raw nipples tomorrow, I will be very surprised. Tell you about it tomorrow maybe!

Good morning!

Never got back to my laptop. Dinner with friends was lovely. Ending with bottles of wine and many confessions. I can feel myself becoming incredibly crass and honest when drinking, and I know I should hold back with whatever I'll say, but I say it anyway. It's not like my friends don't like hearing about my sordid little life anyway. We've all got some strange kinky issues.

I left off telling you about my miserable Thursday. Later on my own in bed I did something quite strange. I had been wondering about my surprising flash of attraction towards Dan, who is 22 and a few months younger than me (according to half reliable sources), which is already tipping the scales way opposite to my usual. I was very frustrated from not having come when horrible Anthony fucked me, so I'd stripped off and was concentrating on having a little self love. I felt oddly guilty as I pictured Dan, as though I was somehow not allowed even thoughts of him. I don't know how fantasies start; they just sort of spawn of their own accord. I hate walking through bushland, but that's what I imagined us doing hand in hand, down a valley the scrub getting denser and whipping at our bare legs. We stopped in front of a enormous fallen tree, climbed over it and settled ourselves in the shelter behind. I undress him first, unbuttoning his shirt, undoing is belt and pulling down his trousers and I imagine that he has a wonderfully long and elegant looking erection with a head just slightly wider than the shaft, smelling very clean and sweet. He falls back onto his elbows and I bend over him, knees pressed painfully into twigs and leaves but I don't care and take his cock in my mouth and move it up and down slowly but firmly flicking the head with my tongue. It's strange because even in fantasy I rarely take the lead; I prefer to be taken while surprising my partner with my generous attentions in between. Dan smells clean right down to his fluffy, curly pubic hair, of which there is a lot. I enjoyed this but with all fantasies it starts getting out of hand as soon as you get into it. Dan became Charlie, pulling my lips from his cock and pushing me back into the dirt to remove soaking panties and sniff appreciatively. Charlie having licked me to dripping guiltily became Anthony with his beautifully thick cock pressing at my entrance but not in the brutal way he had done earlier. I was rubbing my clit hard and felt so bad at thinking of him and so he morphed into Nick, or Mr Fleming, where or my fantasies go to finish, no longer in the bush but in my old school's library store room, smelling dusty and dry. Back against musty carpet, Summer gingham skirt pushed high around my belly as my old English teacher fucks me with the wet slapping of generous balls against my bum one hand pinching a nipple through my uniform while a thumb circles my clit and I always come when I think of this and imagine Mr Fleming coming too, inside me like always despite the risk and I say 'Mr Fleming' maybe out loud. What I would give to see that grey head looming above me again, fading green eyes just slits as he rocks back and forth, slight pot belly pressing into the concave space I leave for him, his lovely slightly hooked nose nuzzling my ear. It always ends where it all started. I wish I could see him again. Or at least just know he's seen me and seen all the things he's inspired. I have to go and think. And change my panties for the second time in 11 hours. I'll come back later.