I wish you were here with Mr Jones and me today sailing in one of the most beautiful places in the world enjoying the stunning Queensland weather.
If you were here you could fish with Mr Jones. You would never be thirsty or want for anything. I would serve you drinks and food dressed in a light cotton dress. At first you wouldn’t realise that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath until you brush against me and you feel the softness of my breasts. Your curiosity will be aroused, making you watch me as I walk towards Mr Jones to fetch him another beer. The breeze catches my dress and lifts it just far enough for you to catch a glimpse of my butt. You are still not sure so you watch me as I take a seat on the couch and pick up my book.
Suddenly fishing doesn’t seem so interesting. You put your rod in the holder and without saying a word you are kneeling at the edge of the day bed. You grab my ankles and pull me over to you before you spread my knees apart. My naked pussy smiles up at you, confirming what you already knew.
“Were you going to tell me that you weren’t wearing anything under there?” You ask even as your thumb is sliding into my slit testing the wetness there.
It is hard for me to reply but I manage a small, “Maybe,”
You aren’t listening, instead you have buried your face between my legs stroking the moist folds of skin, tasting my juice. Mr Jones is oblivious to what is happening even as I start to catch my breath and feel the little sounds of pleasure rising in my throat. You slip a finger into my opening while your tongue teases my clit, gently, the exact way I like it; demanding but not too hard. The first spasm is small but you are rewarded with a tiny squirt of juice which you suck eagerly from me. You put your hands around my hips holding me firmly against your mouth hungry for more juice. It is not long before you are rewarded. Your tongue and fingers work their magic until you have had your fill. You pull away from me and wipe me from your chin.
“You are such a good girl,” you say as your fingers pull open your shorts to reveal your strong, hard cock.
My whole concentration is focussed on your cock and you know that I am starving to feel it’s soft skin sliding over my lips until you are pushing yourself against the back of my mouth. You step forward and cradle my head in your hand teasing the tip of your cock over my lips. Out of the corner of your eye you see Mr Jones watching you. An urge to push yourself past my lips and fuck my mouth is very strong but you fight it as you look back into my hungry eyes. You want to tease me, to revel in the knowledge that I am starving to worship your cock completely. Knowing that my husband is watching is an intense turn on for you, almost more than having a woman so willing to suck you.
Eventually you cannot hold back any more and you succumb to the urge to push yourself into my mouth. You are not dissapointed, my tongue swirls over your cock and my lips press down. I suck you eagerly as if you are about to feed me the drug I have been starving for. I wrap my arms around your hips so that I can press my face against you and you feel the tiny spasm that tells you I am gagging on you. It doesn’t stop me, I take a breath and then I am sucking you again, teasing your head before taking as much of your length into my mouth as I can. My body wriggles uncontrollably as you groan in pleasure.
Your nose catches a slight scent of my arousal and you reluctantly withdraw from my mouth. Without speaking, and acutely aware that my husband is watching you intently you flip me over on all fours so that my glistening, wet oussy is beckoning you. You catch a glimpse of Mr Jones’ bulging pants and for a moment you want to feel his cock in your mouth but my naked pussy is pushing against you, demanding to be filled. For a moment you rest your cock against my opening before sliding into the warm wet depths. It is like a homecoming. For a moment you stop, holding yourself inside me but you cannot stop yourself from starting to fuck.
At first you take slow strokes enjoying the feeling of sliding completely out before pushing yourself back in to me. Without looking you know that my husband’s eyes are fixed on your cock and you turn slightly to give him a better view of your cock fucking my glistening wet pussy. After a few strokes you become lost in the feeling of me. Your excitement is threatening to get out of control and overwhelm you but you are not ready to cum yet. You turn your attention back to my ass and increase the pace of your strokes. Your hands grip the side of my hips, steadying me against you, controlling the speed and depth of your strokes.
Underneath you I am sucked in to the intensity of the situation, I watch my husband’s face as he watches you fuck his wife and and I can feel your excitement building. I know I am teetering on the edge of that feeling of never wanting to stop fucking. The blissful feeling of never quite getting enough cock and always being ready to take more is overwhelming; but another need is also building in me. I am starting to crave your cum. I can feel your orgasm building and it makes me crave the feeling of your cum covering my ass and dripping down my pussy. My ass pushes against your belly asking to be covered with your warm cum. You know that is what I want, you also know that is what my husband wants. You know that he will step in as soon as you cover my ass and pussy to lick your cum from me before he puts his own cock into me to add his own stamp on me.
Concentrating intently you hold off as long as you can. But that is not long. Soon the feeling is too strong and you whisper to both of us,
“Are you ready?”
I can only manage a whimper but Mr Jones answers for both of us, “yes.” He has stripped off his clothing and his cock is jutting out in front of him as he leans forward to watch. He doesn’t have to wait long, after several strokes you pull out of me. I have just long enough to register a feeling of loss before I feel your warm cum splashing over my ass and pussy. You cum hard and I feel splashes on my thighs. Your hands grip me tightly until the first spasms pass and then gradually you release until you are leaning on me, breathing heavily. I hold myself still not wanting to disturb the pattern your cum has made on me until you lie down on the bed beside me to make way for Mr Jones to inspect your handiwork.
He doesn’t dissapoint, wasting no time before he is bending over me touching your cum and smearing it around before he places his finger into his mouth to taste you. I hear the smacking of his lips before I feel his cock stroking through your cum and teasing around my opening. I know he won’t be able to control himself for much longer and my suspicions are confirmed. His cock slides into my familiar opening covered with your unfamiliar juice. I groan in excitement and push back against him in the same way that I did to you. Inviting his cum to fill me. I do not have to wait long.
Afterwards we rest together watching the sun dip towards the horizon. A cool breeze blows over us covering us with the salt smell of the ocean. It would be easy to think that our play was over for the day but all of us know that this is just the beginning.
I have a friend who has a rule about her ‘Number’; it can never be greater than her age. Just prior to writing this I was skipping through TMI Tuesday posts and I came accross a question about your personal number stating that in a recent survey it was found that men found women with the number higher than 14 a little off putting.
14???!!? Like shouldn’t that read women with an IQ of less than 41? I don’t really want to think too hard about this but I am relatively sure that I passed 14 a VERY long time ago. Even before my swinging days, maybe. I can honestly say that I have no idea what my number is. If I think about it I can remember most of the people of have shagged, I think. OK there will be ones that I have forgotten, not everyone I have met has been fantastic at sex. However the point is that my number is much higher than I or anyone else needs to think about.
I was recently discussing the whole concept of keeping track of your number with a male friend. He was commenting that a lot of younger men like to discuss their number, obviously the higher the figure the higher their opinion of themselves. He and I were both in agreement that it is bad form for people to have this kind of approach. Mainly because it indicates that you are just chugging through partners without any thought of the quality of your input or the effort they are putting in. Really you may as well just go visit a series of glory holes. It is very disrespectful of the person who is sharing their body with you that all you think of the experience is how the notch is going to look on your bedpost.
In my opinion being able to describe your experiences and being able to describe a life of fantasies realised is a much healthier and sexier way to live. Thinking about my number makes me feel bad about myself. There is so much confusion in my mind about what is an acceptable number and what the ramifications of a number that is too high. I am nervous sharing my feelings about my number with people because I am worried about being judged. When I think about experiences that I have enjoyed I feel strong and powerful. It gives me a sense of control over my sexuality and my life.
There is one time when a number is perhaps a good thing; when you are planning a session of pure unadulterated lust. This year will be my 45th birthday. A conversation recently with Mrs Mikes Place about a birthday celebration involving a gang bang inspired me to make a similar birthday wish for my upcoming celebration. I am a little unsure of the exact number of men she fucked but I believe that it was somewhere in the vicinity of 20.
I am nowhere near that ambitious. But my scenario runs something like this;
I am in a room of a swingers club, on a bed, mostly naked. I am not restrained but I am available to any man who is invited to join me. Mr Jones is beside me holding me, loving me. Standing over me my private bouncer, in consultation with Mr Jones, is in control of who has access to me. Men who come into the room can fuck me with the permission of the fireman and Mr Jones.
My visitors are allowed to lick my pussy and fuck me. Any condoms they fill are to be left for Mr Jones and the fireman to enjoy later. While I am being fucked other men are able to explore my breasts and have their cocks sucked. They are welcome to cum on my belly and tits but they are not allowed to cum on my face.
I don’t have a specific number of men in my mind but I doubt that I could handle more than about six or seven. Definitely no more than 10. That is the only time in my mind that a number would matter. Even then I am thinking it isn’t really an issue.
The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday is “Ode to your favourite sex toy”. I started out to write a piece of erotica based around a toy I recently used for the first time and have become quite enamoured with but I got a little caught up in a fantasy shared with me and the story has grown quite large. My submission this week is the first instalment of the story.
As usual make sure you visit the Wicked Wednesday page to peruse all of the other fantastic entries.
As he turned the key in the lock Howard was gripped by the feeling that he was doing something wrong. It didn’t deter him; instead it enticed him further. The door swung open and he stepped over the threshold. His hear pounded in his ears as he made his way through the living area towards her bedroom. Around him were signs of ordinary life, a stray breakfast bowl in the sink of the kitchen, and an open homework book lay beside an iPad on the kitchen table. For a fleeting moment he was reminded that this was where she did all the ordinary things every day with her family: cooking meals, supervising homework, discussing bills and dentist appointments with her husband. But these thoughts flitted out of his head as quickly as they had come. His visit wasn’t about that, the everyday version was not the version he was here to see, when he saw her she wasn’t that person, she was someone else entirely.
He paused in the open bedroom door taking a moment to savour the feeling of anticipation building in him. Like the kitchen the bedroom held traces of ordinary life, hastily pulled up bedcovers, a pair of shoes beside the bed, a dress thrown across the bed perhaps discarded in favour of another one as she dressed that morning. His eye travelled to the corner of her bedroom, beside the doorway to her bathroom. Here stood the laundry basket, the goal of his mission. For long minutes he stood there unable to move. He wanted so badly to rush across the room to kneel beside the basket and shove his face into it. But something stopped him: Maybe it was the feeling that he was intruding on her private space because she wasn’t there to invite him in, maybe it was just the disbelief that he was here doing this after fantasising about it for so long.
Eventually the spell was broken and he was able to move towards the object of so many fantasies. As he moved closer he was rewarded with the sight of pink lace peeking at him from the top of the clothes piled in the hamper. One large stride and then he was on his knees in front of the basket; like a pilgrim kneeling at the entrance to the shrine they had sought all their life. Almost reverently he reached in an picked up the satiny garment. He had never seen these knickers before, she had never sent him a photo of her wearing them, nor had she ever worn them when they had met but as he lifted them to his face and inhaled the scent of them, they were unmistakably hers.
His mind filled with the thought of the cotton gusset nestled against her cunt as she went about her day, dealing with mundane, ordinary things all the while secreting sweet juice that left the residue he now inhaled. The tightness in his jeans reminded him of his cock that had been hard the moment he had stepped off his bike and made his way up the front steps to her door. Now it throbbed painfully demanding to be released from its constraints. Slowly he stood up and made his way over to the bed where laid out the panties neatly so that he could look at them while he undressed. Teasing himself he slipped his shirt over his head and folded it neatly before reaching for the clasp of his jeans. The feeling of relief barely registered as he slid his jeans down over his knees, his eyes remained fixed on the knickers on the bed. The thought of them wrapped around his cock filled his mind, obliterating every other thought.
His jeans added to the neatly folded pile, followed by his boxers before he allowed himself to reach down and pick up the thin, silky lace garment. Slowly, using all of his restraint he lifted the soft pink fabric to his face again. He inhaled deeply, letting the smell of her fill his senses. Automatically his hand wrapped around his cock gripping the hardness, stroking automatically in a slow steady rhythm. He had forgotten all of his fears about being caught or trespassing in someone’s private space, he was completely lost in the moment and feeling of his fantasy. After a while he took her panties away from his face and turned back to the basket. With his cock jutting out in front of him he bent down and rummaged through the clothing, a flash of white cotton caught his eye and he extracted a pair of soft white cotton knickers from the basket. The aroma he inhaled was older and more musky than the first pair.
Acting completely on impulse he bent down and stepped into them and pulled them up over his ass. His cock strained against the cotton fabric, creating a wet spot of its own above the yellow stain of hers. He moved back to the bed, noting carefully how the fabric moved against him, restricting his erection while the elastic around the legs cut into his thighs. The dress discarded on the bed caught his eye. Suddenly the temptation was too great, he picked it up and slipped it over his head pulling it down over his body. He twisted his body back and forth focussing on the sensation of the skirt playing over his erection. This was a whole new realm of experience, nothing like anything he had ever done or felt. In the mirror on the other side of the room he caught a glimpse of his reflection. It seemed as if the person he saw there was a complete stranger, a weird clashing mix of man and woman. Not attractive in a classical sense but alluring and strangely enticing. Completely absorbed in his own thoughts he twisted this way and that noting how the skirt of his dress caught on his erection and how badly the bodice fitted over his chest, stretching at the shoulders and sagging where her breasts would normally be.
This week’s questions are so delicious! I know you won’t be able to stop at just one so go ahead, indulge yourself and uncover some secrets at the TMI page
I thought long and hard about this one but I am relatively certain that the answer is no. Which, given the headspace I am in right at this moment, I am a little sad about. It is very unlikely that I will ever engage in sexual exploits at my current employment because that kind of thing is very, very inappropriate. Believe me when I say I ame the furtherest thing from the fun police you will ever find but there are some lines that should never be crossed and that is one of them.
2. Do you ever fantasize about your significant other while you are at work?
Absolutely! And of course other people, especially Pet. Although there are days when I don’t have time or the inclination to think about anything not work related. When I first started teaching I was determined to keep my Gemma life very separated. Once I walked through the school gate I refused to even message people. These days I have become a little more relaxed and the boundaries have moved a little. But everything is firmly in my head and has a much lower priority.
3. How old was the oldest person with whom you’ve had sex.
I am not sure of exact ages of everyone I have had sex with but I am relatively certain that I have not had sex with someone who is in their sixties. I think the oldest would be late fifties. I know a lot of men are very worried about their age. In the on line dating swingers world there seems to be this barrier around the 40 mark. The cut off age for some parties is 40 along with the cut off age for a lot of profiles. There is also this idea that younger men are more desirable. I have been approached by younger men but in all honesty they are often too high maintenance for me. I find men like Mr Jones and Pet who are both well past 40 to be much more respectful and sensitive to what makes me tick.
Note to self; I need to change my dating profile to extend my upper age acceptance level.
4. Have you ever fallen asleep during sex?
No! If I am that tired I usually excuse myself and go to sleep before things get too serious. If things are that boring I do the same thing. I think telling someone that it isn’t working for you may be hard but it is definitely going to hurt their feelings much less than if you start snoring right before they execute thier master move!
5. Have you ever cross-dressed or worn undergarments of the opposite sex?
No not really. It isn’t something I have ever thought of doing or been asked to do. I haven written on these pages before about Pet’s predeliction for wearing women’s underwear. Especially ones that belong to women he actually fucks. He has told me that most women are not receptive to his particular kink which I think is kind of sad. Mostly because making someone feel like they are weird for being the way they are is very selfish.
Secondly I personally find watching someone enjoy themselves extremely sexy. Or maybe I just love the sight of a man’s cock covered in slinky, lacy fabric. Mmmmmmm.
For me this one was a bit of a no brainer. Sadly it would be my mother. Already I can see a lot of you thinking “My Mum is the most important person in the world to me. How could you even consider banishing your mother?”
Believe me I would love to have the kind of mother that is the first person I call up when I have a problem or need help with something but sadly my mother is not one of those people. Instead she is a very controlling and manipulative person. Her primary method of controlling people is by guilt which has caused me endless heartache in my life. It has taken me the best part of 40 years to learn how to deal with this but I have noticed recently that even a phone call to my mother can trigger my depression. Earlier in the week I had to call her to tell her that I wouldn’t be coming to visit as I had previously planned because of work and family commitments. Her response of the abandoned parent almost instantly triggered that old feeling of being so tired all I could manage to do is hibernate in my bed with the blanket over my head.
So yes. Not having her in my life would be all kinds of wonderful.
Last week Rebel has made the prompt for Wicked Wednesday Goals. You can read her post about the prompt here Despite my best laid plans I didn’t manage to get a post completed on time but I still wanted to share it.
One of the things that a lot of people in my sexual world seem to talk about is the eternal “Fucket List” – the sexual version of the Bucket List. It is a pretty standard conversation starter when sussing out a new or potential partner. There is nothing better than meeting someone you find attractive who has something on their Fucket List that matches an item on yours.
Often however when I am asked what I have on my Fucket List I find myself at a bit of a loss to come up with something interesting. I have engaged in some pretty interesting sexual exploits in the last five or so years, many of them involving sex or sex acts in public places or places where the risk of being spotted doing something highly inappropriate make the experience even more stimulating. However the bulk of these antics were not planned or pre-conceived. Mostly they were the result of acting on a spur of the moment impulse with a better than expected outcome. So when asked what I have on my Fucket list I often come up empty handed. Unless of course I happen to be in a department store, movie theatre, moving vehicle, or a boardroom where the possibilities just scream from the rafters. I sometimes come up with ideas based on literature that I have been reading recently but sadly my life does not allow for too much time to do that sort of thing at the moment.
On top of all of this I seem to have the sexual attention span of a goldfish. Something I find highly desirable today slips off the radar tomorrow. There are a few fantasies that do have endurance though and so I will list them here. Hold on to your hats; this is the first time I have ever put a list on the record!!
1. It is a long held fantasy to be at a club or a party and to be sitting either on a couch or in the floor against the wall and to be giving head to a series of men. I don’t have control over who the men are. Mr Jones possibly is controlling them and their access to me but I essentially don’t have control. I am just sucking as much cock as is offered to me.
2. Another relatively long held fantasy is to have sex on a boardroom table in the boardroom of a relatively large swanky company. My partner doesn’t necessarily have to be the CEO. It is a little bit cliche but I like the element of danger or possibility of being discovered.
3. This one popped in to my head more recently but it is something that Mr Jones and I have discussed off and on and that is to visit a lifestyle resort similar to Desire or Hedonism. There are some places in Australia that are swinger friendly but nothing on the scale of these places. Another variation of this idea is to go on a lifestyle cruise but again there are none of these in Australia so this is more of a long term goal.
4. Mr Jones and myself like to go on regular cruises and every time we do we discuss (in a very pie in the sky way) the possibility of picking up a couple and having a fling. This is more of a nice idea than something we could actually do but if you never ask then you can never have.
And so that is the first ever and maybe the only ever recorded version of Gemma Jones’ Fucket List. Probably the closest thing I have to a sexual goal.