Mr Jones loves to see me thoroughly fucked. He also likes to see cum. On me, or in me. Sometimes when I play without him I get my partner to take photos for him.
As I was looking through my photo roll I found this. Perfectly capturing the drip. But something else that drew my eye was the slight rosy hue of my butt cheek. It brought back memories of the sting of a hand while I was being thoroughly reamed.
Delicious.
It has been a while since I visited the pages of “My Dissolute Life” but in an insomnia moment I found myself there catching up and then reading his thoughts about monogamy. They prompted some of my own.
These days I am more casual about hiding my “lifestyle” or relationship choices. Conversations with work colleagues and other acquaintances sometimes cover certain topics that leave me in a weird situation. Putting forward my thoughts can “out” me, keeping quiet is kind of making me look like I don’t care. So there I am, sometimes I am not capable of keeping my things inside my head. So little comments slip out that makes people raise their eyebrows. My standard reply is “Monogamy is overrated.” It is a throw away line that answers questions while raising a whole lot more.
N’s position is that when people claim to be monogamous they are lying. Sometimes because they are outright lying, sometimes because they INTEND to be monogamous but have failed in the past and / or will fail again in the future and, sometimes because they are unaware that their partner is not. Whichever way most people, at some time in their lives, will come to the conclusion that monogamy is hard, destructive and that devotion to the idea is a complete waste of time.
These people fall off the monogamy wagon. Some of us get past the guilt and self loathing and go on to enjoy a life of debauchery and freedom. Others who fall off the wagon and don’t stop to look at where they landed. These people spend the rest of their lives chasing the wagon and desperately trying to get back on.
But those of us who let the Monogamy Wagon trundle away into the distance are free to enjoy mornings sandwiched between two lovers and afternoons exploring the nuances of different people.
This post is #12 of February PhotoFest 2024. To see who else is participating click on the icon below.
This past weekend was spent on the water with a group of friends doing what any sane person would do. Hanging out, laughing, swimming naked in the ocean and whatever else comes into our heads. I was a little low on energy so from time to time I disappeared for a nap leaving the line “I am available for visitors,”
This led to some quite delicious visitors. I felt like a queen on a throne.
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
Yesterday I posted about spending a weekend with my Piney Peeps. This event was one of a series that run throughout the year. In its basic form it is a paddock on a farm populated by campers. Clothing is optional. Sex and sexuality are a primary activity. To attend you must be a swinger or swinger friendly.
The word “play” is a key feature of this event. Swingers refer to sex with others and sometimes their partners as “play”. For us play sex is generally more. A different aspect; being outside, having spectators, including sensual massage, toys, multiple positions, multiple partners. The list is endless. True recreational sex.
As we drove home after the three day event Mr Jones and I debriefed. A concept we have recently embraced is that hanging out with vanilla people is quite restrictive and a little boring. Take for example this weekend. While there was certainly fucking. And what a vanilla person would describe as an orgy somewhere most nights it wasn’t a constant sea of naked bodies going at it. But flirting and sexual interaction was a large part of life.
Clothing was optional and most of what people wore was brief, sheer or designed to entice. During conversation it is acceptable to express admiration for someone and cup, or more their breast / arse. Sometimes conversation focussed on previous activities and sometimes it involved planning future ones. Rather than adults taking a childhood activity and beefing it up, adults enjoyed being adult and each other.
It would seem ideal to live like this every day but it would be hard to sustain. Relationships would get complicated and the whole thing would self destruct. But there is an element of this kind of play in most of my daily life. Text messages to play friends, online chat groups, taking images and posting them on these pages it is all part of play. It is hard to imagine life without it. Working with people who aren’t in the lifestyle poses challenges because I have to constantly be on guard so I don’t out myself or offend someone’s sensibilities. Spending my leisure time having to do that?
No thank you.
There is simply too much skin to explore. With perhaps the occasional genital to worship.
Sometimes after sex I like to lie quietly and look at the person I just fucked. Especially when they are up and moving around. Despite the stereotype some men are very energetic after sex. Maybe it is because they are afraid to cuddle a woman that they know is not theirs. Whatever the reason it gives me an opportunity to look at them when they aren’t really worried about impressing me. Usually they are naked which makes things more pleasant.
“What are you doing?” He was moving around his room, adjusting curtains, straightening things, his body was radiating energy and excitement.
“Just watching you,” in contrast to his energy I was curled on the bed like a cat, content, relaxed.
“What do you see?”
I paused. “A man,” I squirmed uncomfortably. I felt as if he was probing into my innermost thoughts. Into a place I wasn’t ready for him to go. “I haven’t formulated my thoughts yet.” I brushed him off.
He shrugged, “I will read about it in a couple of weeks.” A cheeky grin.
He is a regular reader. Since that afternoon I have reminisced and my thoughts are coming together.
What did I see that hot December afternoon?
I saw a man I had known for several years. The first time we met there was electricity, flirting and hints that things could go further. Today was the first time the path had been cleared for him to consummate that attraction. Physically he is attractive. He is fit, but not with that bulky gym body. Actually fit, able to run a long way, able to do a hard day’s work. He is latino so his skin is brown and his body is covered with hair. Except where he has tattoos. He shaves there to display his body art.
The tattoos show the depth of his thoughts. This man is not simple or straightforward. There are twists and turns in his life that have lefts scars on his body and in his bearing. He walks proudly and confidently but when he speaks it shows that the confidence is hard earned. He has had to prove himself to narrow minded people in a country and a job where he is the odd one out. Instead of having a chip on his shoulder he has used this to grow into a better man. The tattoos all have stories that he is strongly attached to. They represent his beliefs. This man does not do surface level acquaintances. When he opens himself to a new person they see all of him. He does not live life by halves. The body art shows this.
Let’s not forget his cock. Or as he calls it, his penis. English is not his first language so I think sometimes slang doesn’t feel right in his mouth. Or maybe he is just a polite. He certainly doesn’t say fuck as much as I do. But his cock is beautiful. In line with his heritage it is dark skinned. Something I don’t see often. To my eye it is exotic which makes it more attractive. And it was hard. From the moment he undressed it was standing out in front of him. Even after he unloaded on my tits. As he moved around full of post coital energy his cock standing proudly out in front of him. Not fully erect but awake and listening. For a while I sat between his legs and teased him with my mouth admiring the hues of his skin and feeling the beautiful smoothness with my tongue but this was exploration not the hot heavy mouth fucking from earlier.
He is an attractive man. There is absolutely no doubt about that. He draws the eye. Lying on his bed after sex watching him walking around his room radiating energy was a chance to feast my eyes. I am not thinking a particular thought. Just looking, enjoying the view, remembering how they felt inside me and wrapped around me. It is like committing them to memory so I can remember them later.
As I gathered my things and put my clothes on I made a joke that he would move on now that he had “caught me”. Some men are like that. All about the chase. He assured me that he isn’t one of those men. I believe him. I am looking forward to more afternoons watching his beautiful brown cock.
This post is part of week 154 or MMMonday. If you want more of the things that make you say MMM click the badge below.
Sometimes I wish I had a scribe. Someone to record my thoughts as I have them.
While I am driving.
While I am working.
While I am fucking.
Especially when I am fucking. Because that is when juicy things happen. Things that come back into my mind when I am sitting in traffic or starting at my screen. When I cannot write them down. These thoughts creep into my head. Inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that make my thighs press together and my panties damp.
But I am at work doing work things and being proper.
I just need a scribe.
Mr Jones and I recently caught up with a couple that live in a small town about five hour’s drive from us. The distance that separates us means that we don’t spend a lot of time together but it seems that when we do the conversation is not the banal “So how is your job going?” Kind of thing. During our latest visit the Mr of the couple commented about my transformation as I voyaged with Mr Jones last year. I was a little nonplussed by some of his observations.
I will admit that I did change during the journey. Perhaps more than I realised. But when it came to my sexuality and my Gemma life I hadn’t really reflected about the impact of this voyage. Before we left I had been swinging for more than ten years. We had journeyed through the early days of “Only swapping with other couples, only in the same room” through various versions of couple swapping to what I would consider a full blown open relationship. The only thing that separates our relationship with polyamory is that neither of us have romantic relationships with our partners. A friendship, yes, regular conversation about non-sexual things yes but full blown romantic relationships, no. I had done a lot of things from a sexual point of view and had ticked a lot of the fantasy boxes. While I didn’t feel that I was done with my lifestyle I didn’t really consider that I had that much room to grow.
One thing that I do remember having very clear in my mind when we purchased the yacht and started our travels was that when I was in this space and this lifestyle I was not going to pretend to be something I wasn’t. In my professional and extended family life my sexual lifestyle is kept very much in the closet. My parents have no idea about my ‘number’ my employer and my students are completely in the dark. I don’t even discuss my pole dancing with most people at my work. But when we stepped aboard and started taking the yacht out, even for day trips. I refused to hide anything about me from the people we met along the way.
I sunbathed nude when I wanted to. I did put clothes on when people came to visit, unless they wanted them off. I invited lovers on board when I wanted to. I had sex in the open when other boats were not parked too close. When talking with other travellers I did not hide my lifestyle. I answered any questions honestly. As we travelled along the coast we took on board more than one man as “crew” for short periods. We also met with a few men in particular towns along the way.
At the time I didn’t really think about this but this practice of meeting people and spending twenty four hours per day with them was something of an evolution. The Second Mate definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things. Even though we were very clear about the boundaries and we all knew that when he left there was no going back there was something about having another person effectively living aboard that was different. Did it change me?
I think so. I was able to have a different kind of relationship with him. From a sexual perspective he pushed some of my boundaries. He encouraged me to do things I would not have done otherwise and he gave me confidence because, I am not going to lie, he was sexy as fuck and I was punching well above my weight! Later we were joined by The Italian. He came with a different set of quirks but there was growth and a strengthening of my confidence in being Gemma.
Before this journey I was becoming very concerned about my “Number”. I was self conscious about my “slut” status. That old fashioned idea about being a “good girl” who didn’t sleep around was still living in the back of my mind even though I had consciously rejected it there was still aspects of it that haunted me. Interacting with these men and spending time being completely true to myself meant I was able to make progress in slaying those demons. Certainly The Second Mate or The Italian didn’t care how many men I had fucked. Neither does Mr Jones. Or anyone else who has an inkling. The only person who is bothered by it is me.
Even though it has been a year since I left on that voyage and I have been back at work and living on land for several months now I am still able to spend time on the water and that time is often accompanied by “Being Gemma”. Boating and the ocean are perhaps the last free places on Earth. Places where the normal rules often don’t apply. People who mess around on boats understand this. No one questions anything that they see me doing or the people who accompany us when we head out. More importantly I have a space where I don’t feel I have to behave in a certain way to impress people or to preserve their sensibilities. I have a space where I am free to be myself.
As my friend observed having this space has changed me. Even in a landlubbing state I am different. I have grown. Gemma is a more intrinsic part of my life. She is no longer the party girl I bring out every so often. According to my friend it makes me a role model for people who are also on a journey of discovery. When he told me this I wasn’t sure what to think. I see myself as a regular person doing regular things. But he assures me that there are many things about me as special. Personally I think that what is special is that I am proof that ordinary people can do extraordinary things when they put their mind to it.
As we finished our recent short break I took some time to do some cleaning. Mould, ever present on a boat and doubly so because we live in Queensland where it just doesn’t stop raining, had started to appear. As I wiped ceilings and walls in the back cabin I reflected on the action this room has seen. Typically it is the room we use when we have naughty guests aboard. In the eighteen months we have owned this yacht some notable visitors to this room have included, The Second Mate, The Italian and The Traveller.
And so I share a snap of an unassuming cabin, freshly cleaned that carries many memories of hot sweaty fucking.
I posted the lead up to this for MMMonday last week.
We took the stairs to the mezzanine room that I sometimes used to fuck in when I meet with men. A purpose built room in the back of an industrial building. Nothing fancy but there is a big sturdy bed with a few toys. Out of the way and private. I have enjoyed some wild times in this room. But for the last few months it had been quiet. Not for any one reason just the way of it. Climbing the stairs felt strange. I always felt weird bringing a new person to this space. It was not like most places and I worried about what they would think. It made me feel awkward and jittery.
But there was something else. I was at the end of several weeks of visiting relatives, attending events and dealing with people. It isn’t that I don’t like people and it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy every individual event or spending time with the people I cared about but it took it’s toll. I am at heart an introvert. I need time at home quietly away from people to recharge my batteries and I hadn’t had that. I was wound up tightly like a spring about to give way. I could feel the tension in me and it added to the awkwardness.
Once inside the room we shed our clothes. There was still this transactional feeling. The heat of attraction was still struggling to ignite. We stretched out together and he cupped my breast. His fingers pinched gently, exploring my response getting to know me. His fingers slid inside my wet opening, teasing, bringing out a response. The whole time he was careful, respectful but I could feel something in him. There was strength. He pressed his face between my legs, tasting me. My back arched as his tongue traced around my folds, seeking out my pleasure. Liquid covered his mouth. He gripped my thighs, pulling me closer. I smiled in pleasure. The sight of a man between my legs greedily devouring was something I missed.
He consumed me until I couldn’t stand it any more. The sheets beneath me were wet. I pushed him down and positioned myself so that I could take his cock into my mouth. There was a sigh of pleasure as my lips slid down his shaft. I tilted my head so that I could look him in the eye. He smiled as his hand cupped the back of my head.
“I love that sight,” he told me. “Watching you take my cock into your mouth.”
I slid my lips down further. His cock was smooth over my tongue. Clean, a slight salt of pre-cum, not to small that it didn’t fill my mouth and not so large that it choked me. Just right. He pulled back a little and leaned forward, not letting him escape.
“I want to edge for a while.” His breathing was hard. I was a little surprised at how close he was to cumming. But I complied. I alternated with swirling my tongue around him and sucking him deeply. His arousal resonated through my body. I spasmed in my own pleasure feeling his enjoyment on a deep visceral level. It wasn’t long before we could wait no longer. He stepped away to find a condom. I rolled over onto my belly and watched him between my arms. He stood over me, with his cock jutting out in front of him.
“Take a photo,” I asked. He kneeled on the bed and placed his cock in my mouth again. I looked up at him following his direction as he snapped pictures. I could feel how close he was to cumming. The phone was abandoned. The condom was rolled down over his cock and he knelt behind my arse. His hands gipped my hips as his cock slid into me.
This position is sometimes problematic but tonight it wasn’t. He fit nicely. I was like Goldilocks, not to small, not too big, just right. This man could fuck. Like a machine. He was attentive to my responses and responded accordingly. Earlier in the night he had indicated he liked the feeling of being dominant. As he gripped my hips I felt it coming out in him. He held me against him. Keeping me in the position he wanted. Showing me he could control my movement without making me feel trapped. I was a goner. He took himself to the point of orgasm and then withdrew from me. The bed beneath us was soaked but I didn’t care. I was in that place of happy fucking.
He flipped me over and pulled me to the edge of the bed. I was completely at his mercy. His fuck toy. All pressure to make decisions disappeared. As he lifted my legs and slid his cock inside me I felt the pressure disappearing. He leaned down and held my hands above my head, firmly. Holding me in place, at his mercy. There would be times in my life when I would struggle against him asserting his authority but tonight it was what I needed. He fucked me to climax. After holding back as long as he could he came long and hard.
I was very pleased that his earlier promises of not being a “One and done” was genuine. All of the goods offered in the transaction were delivered. The feeling of being able to relax and not have to deal with people, make decisions and be places. All I had to think about at that moment was being fucked. Relaxing and living in the moment.
We parted with promises to meet again. The transactional feeling returned. For this man what had just happened was a regular hook up. True to his negotiation there was no emotional attachment. No drama, no pressure of high expectations. I was high on being fucked, on the feeling of being unwound. I trundled home to reflect. To listen to Powderfinger and relish the felling of release.
In my last post, masturbation, I spoke about my asexual upbringing. I lived on a farm. Everything was about reproduction but sex was not allowed. Rather, enjoying sex was not allowed. At least for the teenagers. The adults. I have no idea. At the time when I made choices about my education and earlier jobs I felt I was following the expected path. Get a university degree, get a good job. My mother is a control freak. For all of my life, including my life as an adult she did her best to be in charge of the decisions I made and to keep me in the mould she had determined made a ‘good daughter’. I could probably write a book about the ways she tried to manipulate me.
The education and the job led me to a place a six hour drive away. In hindsight it probably wasn’t far enough. Despite the distance she still tried to influence all of my choices and so the stupid Catholic, abstinence based ideas about sex continued to haunt me. My true sexual nature and my upbringing continued to wrestle with each other for a very long time. In some ways they still do. My current feelings about my ‘number’ are testimony to that.
But I lucked out. I met Mr Jones. Sex was a feature of our relationship very early on and the way that he encouraged me to express my sexuality was exactly what I needed. I had found a person who encouraged me to dress and act sexy instead of shaming me for it. He encouraged me to be nude and be proud of my body. Cheeky nude photos in the outdoors were a feature of our relationship from the beginning. When children came along our sex life struggled. Actually our marriage struggled. There was a man I almost had an affair with and then a long dark time of guilt.
But we made it through. And then we opened our marriage. The journey through the opening up has not been without its problems but together we have worked through it because we both knew that it was right for us. Our journey has always come back to a simple touch stone. What the other person needs and how we can make that work for us.
When I started writing this piece I was thinking that the thing I was most grateful for was my open marriage. But as I wrote I realised it went deeper than that. The thing I am most grateful for is Mr Jones.
Corrupting Mrs Jones 