DIARY OF A (FAIRLY) NORMAL SATURDAY

It’s been a while since I wrote anything in here.

Sorry for the delay, but it’s really quite a lot of work. But I’m going to try and do a bit from time to time, and since someone asked me a couple of weeks ago to tell him about our next encounter I thought it would be a good place to start. So here’s the diary from a Saturday in June. As I keep saying, all this hot weather makes everyone extra horny…

6.00am

Awake early, still hot and wet after last night.

Managed to dance and snog a couple of very exciting young men without being seen to do more than the rest of the girls. I wonder if any of them had a good fingering on the dancefloor like I did? Couldn’t spot it happening but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t. Got properly finger-fucked on the stairs by the Ladies, and though lots of girls walked past none of them were with us, so that’s one more secret safe, and another big orgasm known only to me and, erm… damn, forgot his name already. Handsome twenty-ish, spiky blond hair, cock like an iron stair-rod, which I had a very good feel of, though I never got to feel it in me since no Rog = no shag. Pity. I was ready for him and we could easily have got away with it without going outside.

But Rog was more than happy to oblige when I got in, and cleverly wasted no time on foreplay but just shagged me silly. A typically good fuck, like we do, made all the sweeter because while he was pounding into me I was opening my legs for blondie, Alex, or Andy, or whatever his name was, and Roger knew it, and knew the wetness and excitement was caused by and meant for another man, so he got to feel what it’s like being another man shagging his wife. Kind of. He explains it better.

Anyway, Alex-Andy made me cum a second time, and he wasn’t even there, which is quite an achievement.

And here’s another one – he’s still making me wet, still making my pussy ache for that cock, so hard and straight. There’s a lot of hot wet stuff going on between my legs and young thingummyjig is responsible for it all. So it’s really up to him to sort it out, and I close my eyes, picture his smile and even white teeth, and open my legs for his hand, slipping beneath my skirt and into my knickers. Lying on my back with my legs wide, my fingers feel enough like his to make it work, and I can still smell his aftershave in my hair, which makes it all the more real when I cum hard, gasping a bit and clenching my pussy round my fingers.

The noise wakes Roger. He slept through the wriggling about and the steady rocking of my arm movements, but the gasping and squeaking wakes him. Was I any good?, he asks me. No, I tell him, you weren’t. But he was…

He can’t be doing with humour this early and just mumbles something about two sugars before he goes back to sleep. I slip out of bed, but he knows I won’t bring him tea for at least another hour, probably longer.

6.16am

Laptop on, there are already people to talk to on messenger and dc.

Lots of them expect me to be up early because I’m horny. I almost always am, a little, as you probably know, but it’s double-correct, on this occasion. My lips are still puffy and swollen still tingling from cumming just now, and I can still feel the sticky warmth of pussy juice on my thighs. But my body is content for now, and the warm buzz of the afterglow will last a good while, perhaps until lunchtime or so.

But my brain is still rampantly horny, greedy for sex, and all I get is the same old tell me what you got on and touch yourself for me, or the old favourite, what would you do to me if I was there, none of which raise the slightest flicker of arousal in my mind, never mind my knickers. Not that I have any on, but I’m not going to mention that just now.

But there are enough conversations that keep me interested, new people with new questions or old friends with the kind of question that does excite my mind. And my underwear. One of them asks if I’m going out tonight and my pussy gives a little twitch that says yes, it isn’t over yet, and as I type the answer yes, I know I’m going to go looking for cock. And because I know I’ll find it, I feel my lips swelling gently, and starting a warm ooze. I want to fuck someone very badly, and tonight seems like a bloody long wait.

7.30am

Quite unbearably horny now. I’ll wake Roger with a cup of tea and a high-temperature bj.

8.15am

A good ride, hands on his shoulders, eyes mostly closed because I was thinking ahead to tonight. Rog sensed my mood and made a few suggestions about where we can go and what we might do, with reference to similar activities. The memories of those nights and of the wall-climbing orgasm I had last night on what’s-his-name’s deeply-thrust fingers do the trick very nicely for me this morning , and when Roger feels my pussy clamping and squeezing on his cock he cums on cue. Couldn’t ask for better.

11.30

I hate the Trafford Centre at the best of times. Why have I come here on a Saturday?

12.30

Because the Saturday boy in the shoe-shop doesn’t know me from a hole in the ground. And he’ll never recognise my face again because he hasn’t looked at it once since I sat down and started trying on the shoes he brings me. This is the fifth pair, and though I’m not going to buy them I am about to put him out of his misery and leave. But only because letting him look up my skirt for the past 20 minutes has made me so horny I’ve got to find the Ladies and do something about it. And if I don’t go now I’ll probably be stuck to this chair for the rest of the weekend.

12.45

With my eyes closed I can see the outline of his cock sticking straight up in his trousers as he brought me the shoes, and I wonder what it would taste like. I can feel the heat in my mouth, the tension of his teenage erection as his cock swells and bursts in my mouth.

Almost certainly the women in the next cubicles and at the washbasins will recognise my chest-heaving gasps for exactly what they are. I stay behind the locked door until my breathing is normal and I’m fairly sure there’s been a complete change of personnel outside.

1.15

Despite my best efforts at tidying up before I emerged from the Ladies, my knickers are a damp rag between my legs. As I sit down on a hard plastic chair to drink a coffee, I flick my skirt up at the back, feel the cold seat on my burning wetness, smear myself on the plastic, leaving a warm trail for whoever sits there next as I watch hundreds of fit young men strolling past, wondering what they would do if they knew I was gagging for a cock and would say yes to any of them if they offered a fuck. Perhaps I should pick one based on package size and just walk up and invite him to the car park.

2.00pm

Didn’t quite have the bottle for that, so now I’m squelching in the car seat, fingering steadily as I drive up the motorway. This is why God invented the automatic gearbox. That and bj’s if there’s a man driving.

I’d find a lorry and show the driver everything, but I’m so horny my hands are shaking and I’d probably crash into him before I’d got my knees apart.

3.00pm

Roger’s out, the house is empty. I have a big black real-feel softie dildo for occasions like this. It’s 10 inches long and as thick as my wrist, with dangly balls and all. Fresh out of the toybox, it’s as dry as a lump of rubber can be, not slippery like the skin of a cock even when dry. But the act of taking my knickers off in preparation for it makes me wetter and open wider, like undressing for a man.

Opening my legs wide is always such a horny thing to do, and when I lie back and point it between them the first few inches slip in quick and easy. I take it steady. No need to rush, I’ve got an hour or two all to myself.

3.01

Didn’t have the patience to tease me myself. Self-control lasted a good 10 seconds, and then it was all the way in, rubbery balls slapping my bum just like the real thing. It bends and flexes quite realistically too, and it’s thick and heavy inside, just like the real thing. I fuck myself very firmly and quickly. It’s breathtakingly good, and with almost a foot of warm thickness slithering away inside I cum pretty much on the spot.

Now I can take my time, and have a long, fulfilling fuck.

4.45pm

Rog is back from dropping the kids off, and immediately starts talking about tonight, setting off a hot itch and an even hotter dribble in my fresh clean knickers. Just when I’d got it all under control, too.

5.00pm

We’ve decided on the plot for tonight and will play by two rules. No changing venue until I’ve had at least one hand in my knickers. And no refusals. In other words, if someone invites me outside for a shag, I can’t say no, regardless of who it is, or how many times I have been asked before.

We’ve done this before (quite a lot to be honest, ever since Rog thought of it about a year ago) and it’s given us some memorable experiences, most of which I’ve been too lazy to write about, but I’ll try and put that right soon, and tell you about the night I went outside five separate times between about 10 pm and 3 am, and the night I went outside twice – the first time with two guys and the second time with six of their mates.

These are knicker-wetting memories as you can imagine, and that’s exactly what they did to me. I was still simmering gently before the conversation began, and as I started to get ready and think about the evening ahead I was positively boiling away, in a delightful anticipation of some serious fucking. I like fucking, have I mentioned that before? Best of all I like fucking complete random strangers and that was the plan for tonight. No wonder my pussy was so hot and so wet.

6.15 pm

In the shower. Shave the legs and the pussy. Probably no-one will spend enough time looking to appreciate the appearance, but there’s nothing as off-putting as prickly stubble under your fingertips when you’re expecting smooth and slippery. So I shave every day, and always take my time to get it perfect, and spend double time on it when I know for certain I’ll be opening my legs for someone new.

It’s a proper razor but with a battery, tingles a bit, and holding myself apart to do the fiddly bits I can feel the oily wetness under my fingertips… so ready for a thick cock from some handsome stranger…. I’d just better take the handle of the razor out of there and finish with my fingers.

7.00 pm

Hair and makeup. I’m always aware that I’m doing it for another man. Curling the lashes and brushing the mascara is almost like foreplay. Putting on lipstick, it’s hard not to think about the fact that there’ll be at least one cock between them later on, maybe 2 or 3, big, salty-hot and heavy. So hard that I have to think about it in some detail, and make my fingertips all wet.

7.30pm

Getting dressed last-minute is one of my habits when I’m out on the town. I have to wait until the final moments to decide exactly what mood I’m in.

Skirt and top?

Or a dress?

I do have trousers. Not just any old ones, but hunting trousers. Soft white, Lycra, fit really well around the bum and the pussy.  Rog calls them read-my-lips trousers, and you certainly can. If I wear a thong you can see the pattern and read the label. Even with a thong you can see the shadowed landing-strip of my freshly-trimmed Brazilian. Without a thong you cant count the hairs and see my lips, never mind read them. And they get dangerously wet very quickly. Being touched and fingered through them is dead horny – they get all slick and slippery, almost like a lube. But you cant get a finger in me properly, and tonight I want fingers in me, and the feel of skin on skin. And it takes ages to get them off, which can sometimes be fun, a little strip-tease, but that’s indoor stuff, with good lighting and somewhere I can strut about or lie down, and tonight is going to be quickie time, car bonnets or car park doorways, and I know I’m going to be in a hurry. I’m already quite wet. An experimental finger slips in wetly. It’s very hot in there.

A dress, I think…

Red, black or silver?

Black. Always classy, and I feel like surprising them tonight. It’s always ruder when posh totty turns out to be a posh slut who drops her knickers for anyone.

Black heels, black holdups, white knickers, no bra.

A thong? A tanga? (small knickers). It’s always exciting to choose underwear knowing that a lot of people will be looking at it and one or two (or more) will be touching it, and I can feel the heat between my legs.

Knickers, that’s the answer, because there’s more to look at. Nice sheer Lycra, almost see-through, especially now the gusset has been carefully snipped out. They won’t be able to see that in the half dark of the bars, but they’ll definitely feel the difference, one thin layer between their instead of two

I decide to put everything else on except the knickers for now. It feels naughty, all dressed up but minus that protective covering, and it’s an even sexier feeling when you leave the house like that. But I always wear knickers when I’m flashing in dark places like bars and clubs, because people see them at once and know exactly what they’ve seen. A naked pussy is just a shadow.

But I delay slipping into tonight’s selected pair, partly because it keeps them dry longer, partly for that little naked-underneath thrill,and also because it means Roger can slip an occasional finger or two in as he passes. He looks good himself tonight, white shirt, black trousers. I’m looking forward to letting him watch me spread myself for some young lads, and then fucking me vigorously himself. There’s a lovely rudeness about having your husband’s cock in your pussy when it’s still warm, stretched and full from another man’s cock and cum.  Can’t wait.

But you’ll have to.

It’s a lot of working getting this lot spelt and punctuated properly, so I’m going to post this and do part two tomorrow.

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