A Letter from a Friend Ch. 04byexiledmaster©
Dear Sue 4
Back now – because it's past lunchtime and because they've realised my course in Bradford doesn't start till next week and I can't do anything in my substantive role until then. So they're finding me things to do, like sorting files or trying to identify leads from old records. Deep joy. This work will be a very long and slow process. It may involve me going to the toilet and fingering myself again. I did about half an hour ago. It's like wiping up the mess a dripping pipe makes; I finger myself and the urge goes away for a while, but I know it'll come back. I've started looking at the women who work here and wondering if any of them might fancy licking me, or being licked. I'm becoming lecherous…
Once Jon had come inside me, and I'd recovered from an earth shattering orgasm, they took me home with them. It sounds cold, or callous, but there's something deeply sexy about knowing that every move for you is planned.
Being in the back seat of the car, curled up, my head on Kate's shoulder, I felt so much at home. She wanted me to pull my coat back to let people overtaking us have glimpses of my thighs and my breasts, and I complied immediately. No debate. Did anyone see me? I don't think so. Not that many lorry drivers about at that time of the night, but it was the thought that counted. The thought that I'm sexy enough for her to show off. The thought that people might want to look, that I would comply…
We got back to their place and my legs were shaky, like a new born calf. Is it possible to be exhausted and aroused? I was. Actually aroused isn't the right word. Sexed up maybe. I couldn't have done anything about it of my own volition, but everything I was aware of was seen through the prism of my own desire. I think that says so much about my sexuality, because it's how I was when I was married. I never sought sex out, but I was enthusiastic if it found me. I feel like I haven't changed really, and yet I have in so many ways.
Jon sat himself down in the lounge with a whisky and some music that sounded like people bashing tin cans while strangling cats (Yes, apparently, from the 80s), while Kate took me through to the bedroom to pay my dues. And I paid happily. I licked her clit while she dildoed herself with a mini cruise missile. I licked inside her pussy while she rubbed at her clit far harder than I would have done. She turned over with two pillows under her tummy and an even thicker dildo rammed deep in her pussy, filling her up while I licked and tongued her arsehole.
She's got stamina, I'll give her that. I gave her everything else too; my fingers in her, my tongues, dildos from her collection. By the time she told me to stop my tongue felt like it was coming out from the roots, and my jaw ached the way it did when I had my wisdom teeth done. But she called me pet, and kissed my cheek where her juices were drying to a gluey consistency, and I loved the way her arms could become comforters just minutes after her nails had raked at my shoulders. Lying there, under cotton sheets that had the soft starchiness of expensive bedding I don't remember falling asleep, but I knew I was feeling good.
I keep writing these letters in chronological order, but sometimes things get missed then bits of the story don't make sense. You remember G? The guy who got me into this mess / wonderful experience? I've not been getting on as well with him since I met up with Kate. He's still a lovely friend, a nice guy, sexy, all the things I used to think I want but I'm having real doubts about him.
For one thing he's possessive; I don't dare tell him what I'm telling you. And if I told him, and he knew that I was telling you as well, he'd feel like it meant he wasn't the most important thing in my life. Which is daft, because if it wasn't for these doubts I have about him he could be. Does that make sense? And for another thing I have this kind of suspicion about him, that he's not telling the whole truth. It's as if I'm his entry key to a world of people who have the kind of sex life he aspires to. That's not totally bad; everyone who has this kind of sex life is acting out their own needs I suppose, but I need to feel as if it's me that matters, not just anyone.
It's odd about Kate and Jon, they make me feel almost as if they understand my need to be lusted over anonymously, but also my need to be appreciated as an individual. Does that make sense? Anyway, why bring this up now? Because I got up and went to the loo at about seven a.m., feeling good about me, and feeling sexy and looked at my mobile; seven texts from G the previous night. Why wasn't I online? Why wasn't I answering my phone? I so wanted to text him back, saying that I was tied up in a hotel, being gangbanged by strangers, but I bottled it.
I suppose that's probably part of why I climbed in the shower, to try and wash away the thought of squabbling with G. It's silly, because we owe each other nothing, but I still want to keep the peace…
So I showered, in a spa shower the size of the average bathtub, with nozzles pointing in all sorts of directions, and let the water bring the pinkness back to my skin. It was gorgeous, like a carwash without the brushes. I wasn't sure where to go next; it's odd being a guest in someone's house and not wanting to disturb them, but not feeling comfortable enough to walk round naked. I made my way down to the living room; it was warm, and I was more concerned about being seen than about being cold. Which is daft, given that they live out in the country and the house is invisible from just about anywhere.
So I curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a towel, and tried to find a radio station I could listen to. That's where I was when Kate came downstairs and found me, listening to some DJ with a voice like a particularly dodgy estate agent playing sounds of the sixties, most of which I didn't recognise. Kate was wearing a silk robe, also just out of the shower, and a pair of sequinned mules that looked designed for the decadent life.
I don't know how it happened, this trigger in my brain that said that every minute I spent there had to be devoted to sex if at all possible, but within minutes I was on my knees, holding her robe apart, licking at her freshly shaved pussy. Long licks, the kind she likes to use on me, starting at the tight little bud of her bottom all the way up to the vestigial digit of her clit… (Vestigial digit? I keep reading those nature books I bought for the kids, some guy called Gould – I feel as if I'm educating myself by accident…)
She knew that Jon would find us like that; probably wanted Jon to find us like that. I didn't mind, not one bit, not even when he rammed his cock into my pussy to wet it, and then straight into my backside. Everyone has fetishes, and I think that's his, a kind of assertion of dominance and ownership. He does it well though…
He fucks me as if it's all just a process, of getting from where we are to where he wants to be, which is satisfied. I know I'm trying to read a lot into the thought processes of someone else's husband whom I hardly know, but I feel as if I do know him. It is about dominance and his pleasure, but somewhere in his mind his pleasure is linked with fucking someone through orgasms, past the point of coming, until they can't cope.
So his cock is pounding away at my bottom, but his hands are on my nipples and clit, twisting to get just inside the entrance to my pussy, making me gasp and sweat and cry out… I was like a limp rag long before he finished, and Kate was pushing my face away from her… Every time I'd sagged, or slowed down in my making her come he'd slap my thigh, like a jockey with a horse, or the side of my breast. She had her legs over my shoulders, her feet on my back; I had a vivid impression as she swung them up and over me of how pristine the polish on her toe nails was, how the glistening stones on her toe ring looked like real diamonds…
We were both gasping for breath when he pulled out and went to shoot his come on my backside. I don't know if it was down to me, or him, or the circumstances, but his come sprayed up my back, onto one of her feet, a dollop landed on my neck…
I loved it; a dirty, sexy, uncomplicated way to start the day, even if it meant I needed another wash….
I'm struggling Sue; I'm struggling because I can't keep a divide between my sexy life and my work life. Kate and I talked about it that Saturday morning, about being a grown up who has the sex life her friends can only dream of. We talked about it in the bedroom; ostensibly we'd gone up there to get me a robe so I didn't have to spend all morning in a towel, but we ended up in a kind of desultory conversation.
She was talking about how she had a case once (she works with families and the courts) where one of the parents was into S&M; the lawyers wanted to take the kids away from the mother because she was into S&M; Kate had to say to the court that she didn't care what sort of sex the mother was having, but that the kids would be better off with their dad because their mam kept talking inappropriately about her sex life to them, and that it would be the same if her sex life had been entirely ordinary.
Even though she felt a great deal of sympathy for the woman, she had to make the right decision. A bit like the old conundrum about whether you could do a mortgage for someone you fancy, and stick precisely to to the rules, (actually, we all know of occasions when we've believed people because we liked them when others might have been given a harder time of it, but you know what I mean…) but it's a different discussion to be having when you're trying on a waist chain or looking at your tits in the mirror to see what they look like with chains draped round them. (Gorgeous by the way - sexy as hell…).
It makes you think about yourself differently, being told by someone that your body looks good dressed in a certain way, decorated in a certain way… Lots of people would think of me differently if they could see me with leather belts wrapped round me, or looking at myself in a mirror with chains dangling from my nipples (held in place by a kind of slipknot) slipping a surreptitious finger into my pussy to see how wet my own image was making me, I suspect; I suppose it's all about thinking of it in terms of the positives. People who won't like me because I'm having fun with my body would probably piss me off anyway…
And of course there's the awareness of sex as a possibility all the time that I miss when I'm at work, or at home… Me and Kate got to talking about where she found the men for Friday night; it's not as if you can hang out a sign and see who turns up. Of course, the answer's the net. Not the innocent end of the net, where people research their family tree and exchange cross stitch patterns, or the end of the net where people gather to chat and some blokes make arses of themselves, but a kind of back corner of the net where people define themselves by what they do.
We both know there are big commercial sites where people can try and find someone they want, and who is what they claim to be, but the sites that Kate and Jon use are much more home made, and much more focussed on real people.
I loved their site. I say their site because Kate and Jon help run it. Loved it. It's a message board and the like, with a chat room. I got to read one of the men's accounts of fucking me the night before. It was filthy; he was no Shakespeare, but reading someone describing how much he'd come, and how he'd loved my body, and how he wanted me for himself for a night…
I didn't even care that he said he'd pay for me, and called me a slut. I was just sat there, wide thighed, sneaking strokes at myself while reading. Kate showed me pictures of herself with men, face obscured, and I thought yep, I could do that. We even went in the chatroom for a little while ,and Kate was talking to people about what we'd done the night before. So Horny Bea was born; my nickname in the chatroom, coined by Kate as she told people about my reactions to reading the account of the previous night, and my reactions to them talking about me.
So that's how Jon came to find me, on my back, fingering myself, trying to see over Kate's shoulder and asking her to tell me what people were saying about me. And that's Kate came to type a running commentary for the chatroom of Jon spanking me, bent over a pile of pillows, then making me suck him. Kate was cruel and funny, telling them Jon didn't have the energy to fuck me because of the previous night and what we'd done that morning. I was just enjoying the spanking. Did I just say that? Enjoying the spanking?
Yep, I did. It was fantastic. Sexy, and sore, and his finger nails caught one of my pussy lips and made me gasp, and I wanted to be stood behind me watching. I know this attitude of disbelief is going to wear off Sue, but there are moments when it's just hard to get to grips with this.
It's the fact that I don't know what's going to happen, and yet know I'm going to be so turned on, so aroused… But it's the other people involved as well that surprises me. They're not weirdoes, or strange. They're people like me, like you, but the things other people were typing about me were filthy; they were urging Jon to whip me and punish me and use nipple clamps on me; their imaginations were scary and so so sexy.
I came, of course. Kate reckons there were fifty odd people in the chat room as I came, and as Jon came on me. On my face, and my tongue, and my neck. Kate showed me the things people had typed in the chat room; men typing about coming as Kate described what I was doing. Men asking Kate for my email address, for my messenger ID, for pictures of me like the pictures of Kate they'd seen… And Kate kissing me, rubbing the back off my neck, wiping my face with make up remover wipes that smelled of cucumber and camomile.
I think I was finished for the day; sexually worn out, but with a warm, complete feeling. I was lying there in Kate's arms, thinking about what would happen next, thinking about how I could rearrange the house so I can have the computer in my room, so I could chat the way Kate chats.
And I'm sat here, wet with thinking about this, thinking about my job, thinking about my colleagues, thinking about people who might fill the gap in my life, thinking about myself in bed last night, on my back, legs apart, pulling a thin leather belt tight across my mound, rubbing my clit with it, wishing someone was there to spank and fuck me…
I do wonder if colleagues can smell the fact that I'm turned on so much… I wish they could, and would do something about it…
I'll write when I'm in Bradford on the course; I dare say I'll have bugger all else to do, and next weekend I'm doing the family thing…
Love n kisses