Fantasy or Fact; You Decide

Fantasy or Fact; You decide.

An exploration into a woman's need for more; much, much more!

By

Amanda Williams

aka

mandywilluk2000

I think it was that film I'd seen that really started me off on what I came to think of as my "Belles". The old French film I mean, the one with that most stunning and sexually desirable female stars of all time, Catherine Deneuve, 'Belle de Jour.' She was a wealthy, ultra respectable married woman who wanted more in her life and became a part time prostitute in a brothel. She had no need of the money for her husband was immensely rich and generous and she had everything she wanted apart from illicit sexual thrills. In a way, a little like me. In addition, as with her, there were the psychological aspects. She too was never quite sure whether it was all in her mind, whether she imagined the events or whether they really happened. Occasionally, her torn underwear, red marks, scratches or bruises did though suggest that they really did happen.

I felt like that, though, as I went to that bar the first time, dressed like a whore, picked up the young man and fucked him in that warehouse doorway. Until this day, I am not sure whether I really did it or whether it was all some extraordinarily vivid and highly erotic dream in which I acted out the events that had been built up in my mind over the preceding months.

Whatever it was, it had been dramatically real and had made me realise that I could have sex in that fashion and that I could get an enormous amount from it. Far more than I could from making love as part of a relationship with someone with whom I had no emotional tie up to. So of course, the other fantasies that had lurked in the deepest recesses of my sexual mind started to move nearer to the front of my consciousness. And always it seemed there was a similar thread running through them. Me being degraded. Me being on the face of it abused. But in my way being in control, taking what I wanted and giving none of me apart from sex. It was as if 'As I can't enjoy a normal tender relationship for I can't handle the emotional involvement needed for me to have successful sex, then I'll have no emotional involvement at all and just the sex."

Quirky, unusual, and probably hard to understand I know, but it is what I felt and was certainly what turned me on. Sex with total strangers who I'd never see again. Sex where I became just an erotic object. An item that gave sex and nothing else. A situation of direct similarity to the sublimely beautiful Catherine in Belle de Jour.

I know you may say why not get a fuck buddy as the Americans call it. A man who with whom I could have sex and nothing else. God I meet so many that it should be easy. And of course it would be, but it wasn't what I wanted. To an extent, I would know them. There would be a history and some future. They would know what was going to happen, they would want to talk to me, ask questions and suggest further meeting and that was not in my fantasy script. No, this way was better and was what I chose. Find strangers have sex and leave. No involvement, no strings, no emotions and no aftermath with them. In my mind, I became more sexually daring. Not that picking a guy up in a bar and taking him to a doorway and having sex wasn't daring and possibly dangerous! No, I mean with the act itself. I mean with the type of sex and what I wanted to do with whom I picked up. Yes, I dredged up those fantasies that the women's magazines tell us are perfectly normal and are thought of by most sexually active women at some time or the other. Perfectly normal and imagined of by many they may be, but is it normal to feel as though one acts them out to the point that they are as though they've become part of reality? I doubt that is done by many sexually active women do you?

I visualised myself in the same outfit I had worn before. The same black, frilly, lacy, almost see-through blouse with the buttons loosely sewed back on again. No bra of course and one too many buttons undone. That pelmet of garish, red plastic, the black fishnet hold-ups and high-heeled shoes. No need for the long leather coat though for it was now early summer so it was replaced by a light denim jacket. Short, but able to be done up if the need arose later, as it almost certainly would.

I'd ventured further afield this time. Into North London, Islington. Trendier but with a similar plethora of bars inhabited by young people. Again, I had visited the bars, pubs, and clubs in my "civvies." The research and planning played a big part in the creation of my fantasies. It was exciting being in a bar dressed nicely knowing that if I returned it would be looking very different with completely other aims in mind. It was also incredibly stimulating to poke around in open places searching for the venue where I would do it. Seeing in my mind a doorway, now empty and just a few feet from passers-by where soon, I might be writhing on the end of an unknown erection, where I would be bare-chested with my skirt around my waist being fucked by a stranger. I imagined doorways, alleys, parks and even graveyards. It excited me to think about and look at places in the cold light of day knowing that they might form part of this amazing fantasy that was more and more taking shape in my mind. I even took photos of them on my mobile phone and created my online gallery of 'Locations where I might get fucked.' Simply looking at it excited me to the point where masturbation became essential.

I had passed up several likely prospects largely because it was still light outside. That might be just a little too much for tonight's adventure. Then I saw him and heard him. Standing just down the bar to me, he was chatting to someone next to him in an accent, Dutch or German I thought or maybe Swedish, I could not tell. He caught my eye across the other guy's shoulder and I saw his piercing blue eyes and sweep of blonde hair. He was nicely tanned wearing just a white tee shirt and tight jeans. He looked muscular, very fit and I guessed, as they say was probably well hung. I looked away and watched him from the corner of my eye. Obviously a regular for he talked to quite a few people and I was beginning to give up hope of being able to see him by himself so I started to think of leaving and go to my secondary bar, see how detailed my planning is?

But then, the bar started to clear a bit and I was the only one apart from him sitting at it. He went to the men's room and came out and, after chatting to a group, came back to the bar his eyes pinned on my crossed legs all the way across the room. He smiled and went to move along the bar towards me but I stopped him with a shake of my head. He lifted his glass indicating as to whether I would like another drink? I again shook my head but as I did so I undid the last stud on the denim jacket letting it fall open. I was getting adept now at longer range, silent pick-ups and was quicker at it than I'd been that first night in Bethnal Green. With his eyes on me, I re-crossed my legs taking my time letting him see well up my skirt probably even above my stocking tops. I leaned forward over the bar giving him a good, if rather long distant, view down my top.

I slid off the stall letting the cheap skirt get caught on the stool before brushing it down slowly wiggling my boobs as I did. I picked up my lighter and cigarettes and put them into the pockets of the denim jacket, no bag on an adventure like this, too risky. As I stood up, I avoided his eyes, for I knew, or most fervently hoped, they would be watching my every move. That done, I stood there a moment fumbling in my pockets as if searching for something and then looked up quickly and caught him staring at me. He looked flustered but my smile reassured him. He came up to me and said,

"Can I buy you a drink or something?"

Now used to how to get through the usual pick up routine I said quietly,

"No but if you want to fuck me you can."

I saw him visibly gulp as, at the same time, his eyes widened as he looked straight down my top seeing for sure my lack of bra.

"How?" was his naturally mumbled reply.

"By keeping your mouth shut and following me to where I go, OK?"

I turned and walked out letting my bottom wiggle and hips sway in the tight plastic skirt just as I'd practiced so often. I waited a moment outside for I knew he had to pay his bill and it took a few moments longer than I'd expected before the door opened and he emerged. He went to come up to me but I shook my head and turned and made off down the road in my high heels knowing that his gaze would be on the undulating cheeks of my bottom and the seamed, fishnet covering my legs.

The timing had been perfect for it was now dusk but not dark as I made my way down Upper Street away from the Angel towards Holloway Corner. I didn't bother to look back but felt him coming alongside me as we got to a less crowded part. He came alongside and went to say something, probably wanting to know my price. Without even really looking at him I said,

"Here's the deal. You can come with me and have sex but you mustn't say a word; don't worry it won't cost you a penny. OK?"

"Yes, yes sure," he stammered back as I turned off the main road.

He was alongside me and seemed to have got the message, for he didn't say anything as I turned into the small park. Walking across it I made for the shelter I'd found right in the middle surrounded by gardens on all sides. He followed me inside where, despite the gloom, there was enough light to see each other as I sat down on the bench and looked up at my quarry. 'Nice,' I thought, around twenty, maybe a little older he was good looking and appeared to have a great body.

I looked up at him and smiling reached out, undid his belt, and slipped his zip undone. My eyes locked onto his as I slipped my hand inside and ran it up and down his erection. "God he's big," I thought my heart leaping rather ridiculously at the thought of having a big cock in me. I pulled it out of his boxers and yes, it was big. Thick and long it made me shudder at the thought of it going up me and I momentarily wondered if it would hurt me. But I knew that by then I would be soaked and that would help a lot. Still holding his gaze, I leaned forward and after licking right up and down his length I took him quickly into my mouth.

In my thinking and fantasising I had added this variant and as I would run over it in my mind I'd found it extremely stimulating to be imagining sucking a completely strange cock just minutes after meeting its owner. As I'd thought of that, so the man would quickly get to like it and would soon start finding my rhythm and would slowly be moving his hips back and forth at the same time as my head moved. And in that dingy shelter, in that dark park that's what was happening. I had reached round him and was gripping the, at one moment firm and at the next soft, cheeks of his wonderfully pert arse as he started to fuck my mouth. I wasn't ready for that though. Oh no, not unprotected.

But I kept him in there knowing that I was bringing him nearer and nearer to ejaculation. As I felt the extra straining of his erection in my mouth so I slid the top of the blouse off first one and then the other shoulder, wiggling my body until it had completely uncovered my breasts. Then just as I knew he was about to cum, I whipped my mouth away. Holding his pulsating cock in my hand, I rubbed it quickly between my tits giving it that last impetus that forced his cum to start shooting from him.

I heard a deep grunt, almost a moan, come from his mouth as his warm, sticky cum splattered onto hand and over my bare breasts. It just seemed to spew and spew from him in what for a moment, in my fantasizing mind; I thought might be an endless stream. But even young, virile young men cannot do that in reality, as they might in the unreal, and soon it stopped and there was just a small dribble hanging from the tip. Looking into his eyes again as he ran his hands through my hair saying how marvellous it had been, I rubbed the tip of his still surprisingly hard penis over each of my breasts smoothing his goo into the soft flesh that felt so sensitive and alive.

It was just as I had imagined in my moments of thinking about this and fantasising about how it would go. The straining I felt in his cock as it prepared itself to ejaculate, the stream of thick liquid shooting from it, the splash of warm cum on my breasts and the feelings as I rubbed it in with the bulbous head of his engorged cock. There is something so wonderfully dirty and amazingly sordid at having a man cum on your body, especially your breasts. I can't quite put my finger on why or what, but women do fantasise about it and most, I think, welcome a man emptying themselves on her.

He went to talk but I shook my head and continued running his erection over each breasts concentrating its head on my nipples that were now alarmingly hard just as I knew they'd be from when I used my vibrator on my bed visualizing this moment.

Unlike the mainly older men I'd been with, both within my marriage, my forty eight year old husband, and outside it, the small number of late forties and early fifties, with whom I had 'strayed', his penis didn't go completely soft, just a little less hard than it had been. After a few moments, I wondered whether it was now time, to try to freshen that back to its fullness.

I placed it between my breasts and sort of wrapped them around it looking down at the tip that was sticking out from between its soft covering. It was close enough for me to reach with my tongue and as I massaged the sides with my boobs, revelling in it sliding in and out of them lubricated him with his own cum; I licked the very tip several times. It was wonderful and so gratifying to feel it twitch and come to life again, just as the fantasy had indicated. It was even better to see and feel the hardness returning, the straining coming back and his hands grabbing my hair.

I stood up letting the blouse fall away from me but still held in the waistband of the skirt. My breasts were completely bare and still splattered with his semen the hard, erect nipples glistening with it as I took his hands and place them on my tits; they felt good. He rubbed and stroked them making moaning grunting sounds as his fingers explored the soft pliant and such sensitive flesh. As he did that I was, just as I'd planned, holding his cock rubbing it gently as I coaxed it back to its full readiness.

And then the fantasy took a very different turn. My imagination had created a new dimension. I visualised a completely new element to it. In my mind, a totally new event happened.

"Hey is this a private party or can anyone join in?" I heard a man's voice with a heavy accent ask. But it was not the man who was caressing my breasts and whose now wonderfully full erection I was holding against the red plastic covering my tummy. No, it came from the entrance to the shelter where, as I looked up, I saw another man. The man I was holding turned and said.

"Hi Carl, I'm sure you can join in but our lady doesn't want us or her to talk."

At first, the fantasy had told me that I would panic. But strangely I didn't. I think it was the first man mentioning not talking that did that. I simply looked at the second man measuring him up and yes, he was young, yes he was well built and attractive and yes, I may well have chosen him had I seen him by himself in the bar. He was slightly familiar and of course, as in the fantasy, he had been talking to the first one at some time in the evening.

I watched as he came over to us and standing behind me he put his hands around me and cupped my breasts shoving himself against my bottom. He was already thrillingly hard and I felt his length fit between my cheeks. At the same time, the first man was pressing his erection against my tummy. The combination of feeling two cocks squashed against me was so exciting that I felt myself losing a little control. Nothing like it had been in the fantasy. I found that I was squirming my pubic mound, backside and breasts all at the same time against the pleasure giving cocks and hands. They simply kept giving me more and more pleasure; it was as if I just could not get enough from them. I wanted, more and more and more. But it was not just the feel of their bodies against mine. It was also the thrill of the two men and the anticipation of both of them fucking and doing what they wanted with me, which contributed hugely to the unexpected sensations that had not been factored into my plan. I knew that this was near rape. I realised that I was going to, no had started, having sex without my agreement. That one man at least was forcing himself on me without my permission. That didn't worry me, though. Did it concern me or fill me with dread? No, my imagination took that on board and the fantasy building up took on a completely different dimension to that which I'd planned. Now, I would have the added humiliation of being taken by two men together in tandem, of double the degrading and demeaning. Now, not only was I going to have sordid sex in sordid surroundings but also I had lost control and between them they could force me to do as they wished not as I directed. So, in addition to all the other imaginary or real sensations I had previously considered, there was also near rape and forced sex to factor in.

The fantasy was, as I guess had always been inevitable, going pear shaped.

The fantasy had called for me to pull my skirt up and offer that part of me to one man. Now though I had two pairs of hands yanking at the plastic so that it was bunched around my waist. Now, I was bared by them to their gazes and enquiring hands. Nothing in my imagining had prepared me for this, but oddly, I didn't struggle for the domination of me by them seemed, if anything, to arouse me more.

They spoke to each other as they pawed my breasts and stroked between my legs possibly saying, although I could not understand a word, how wet I was for they spoke in their native tongue. I was even losing control over the silence but now that too didn't seem to bother me. I found that as their hands slid between my legs I squirmed myself against them pressing my bare, soaked lips and my clitoris onto their skin drawing every last bit of pleasure from the hard, warm flesh. I found that I pressed my breasts back against their hands, which were fondling me wonderfully roughly and were pinching and pulling my nipples deliciously fiercely. I found that I was moaning and gasping from what they were doing, showing emotions and feelings in a way that had not been scripted nor catered for in the fantasy.

The first one said something in what I think now was Dutch. I could only pick out one word, that was repeated several times in the same sentence, and that was fuck. It thrilled me to hear it amongst what sounded as a load of gibberish. It thrilled and excited me to the extent that completely out of the intended way I heard myself saying, no whining,

"Yes, yes."

The first man now came behind me and the other stood in front, his hands grabbing a bunch of my chestnut hair as the other one grasped my hips. The first pulled my head upwards his face descending as he did, so that it was so close to mine I could smell the faint traces of his aftershave and the strong odour of beer on his breath. This was not the fantasy I'd imagined for his mouth enveloped mine and he kissed me greedily and roughly immediately shoving his tongue deep into my mouth. My immediate reaction was to struggle and I tried to pull away but his hold on my hair hurt so much I couldn't. As I tried to yank my head back, so he pulled harder on my hair making me think that a bunch would come out. I cried out with pain and he said, in English, "Shut up bitch, keep your fucking mouth shut." I gasped at both the pain and the language now somewhat afraid, but even more excited. The other joined in, obviously now ignoring the agreement we'd made.