SATURDAY – no going back!

In all the time we’ve been doing this we’ve hardly ever bumped into someone we met before. The joys of a big city.

Of course it’s happened a few times, and strangely enough the lads have mostly seemed to embarrassed to do more than smile at us and move away. The joys of youth, eh?

A few have come over for a hello and kissed my cheek, one or two kissed me on the mouth and put a hand on my bum. Which I have to say I really enjoyed. But they still don’t get a second chance, though I’ve danced with two (that I remember) and reminded myself what nice strong cocks they have, and let them remind themselves how wet my pussy gets (and how quickly), and then sent them on their way.

Sounds cruel? I’m not. Once, we left a club with a lad and as I hitched up my skirt and leaned over a car (I choose them at random in car parks, they just need to be the right height) he slipped it in, leaned over and whispered in my ear, new car? And I realised we must have done this before. I didn’t remember him, but so as not to hurt his feelings I pretended I knew who he was and had such a good time, I wanted to do it again. Not true, because if it HAD been so good, I’d have remembered him. As it was, he felt as if he knew me and was wanted and put his heart into the job, and it was a pretty good fuck, to be honest, and a bit naughty because of being a rule-breaker.

Once, and only once, I’ve gone back for more deliberately. It’s in my blog somewhere.

I mention this, because on Saturday night Rog had hardly got his feet under the table when the lad from last night walked up to me at the bar (I sometimes like to get the drinks in alone and do a bit of scouting while I’m there), said hello, kissed me quite firmly, though not as hard as he had last night, and asked if that was my husband over there. When I said yes, he said oh good, now we can fuck, and I would have told him I never go back but he’d already got his hand up my skirt and pushed it quite roughly between my legs. Nearly dropped my purse. Does he like seeing men do this? he asked, quite aggressively, and I said yes, almost as much as I like them doing it. Good. Let’s go and tell him you want to fuck me. I started to say it was early and so on, but he interrupted me, again quite roughly, and reminded me that last night I had assured him I wanted to fuck him and Roger’s absence was the only reason that sadly I couldn’t oblige. Trying not to hurt his feelings, see.

I knew he was going to be a nuisance about this, and I also knew an easy way to get rid of him.

His cock was as thick and hard as it had been yesterday, and to be honest when it was in me it felt every bit as good as I thought it might. Being even more honest, I had quite fancied shagging him last night, and if Roger had been there, I most certainly would have done. So I felt quite alright about lying back on the seat of the car with my legs wide apart and letting him fuck away. After a short time I felt very good about it, and in no time at all I felt like it was a very good idea indeed. Then I was cumming and so was he, and there was spunk everywhere, but mostly inside me, and that was that.

Luckily there was none on my dress, and so off we went again, Roger and me.

It’s my favourite bad girl outfit really, that dress. Silver Lycra, very short, and very tight. Looking in the mirror I can see it plastered across the bulge of my pussy like cling-film, not see-through, but so tight you can count the hairs when there are some, or see the join when there aren’t. I feel slutty and rude just putting it on at home, so imagine what it’s like out and about. Looks great under dancefloor light and it works really well on stairs and balconies. And it’s just not possible to sit down WITHOUT showing your knickers, so I don’t get to choose who and when to flash, I just have to do it all the time. Rog loves it too, obviously.

And so did lots of guys. I was quite busy, chatting and dancing, and being bought drinks, of course. No wonder I end up tiddly on nights like this, with half the men in Manchester pouring Baccardi down my throat (usually as a prelude to pouring something else down there, they hope). Among them was this Ian or whatever his name was, the lad from Friday and earlier, kept popping up, asking to dance, offering drinks, acting like I was his girlfriend or something when I was chatting to other guys, encouraging them to put their hand up my skirt while we talked, telling them I liked all that and generally being a pain.

Roger thought it was funny, but I was getting quite angry with him. Just when I’d got to the point of wanting him dead, I found a lovely tall blond guy with a lovely big cock, who wasn’t put off by creepy Ian and even did as he said, hand up my skirt at the bar and everything, and I decided to put an end to Ian and the evening all in one go.

But he wasn’t put off, and followed us outside. I really wanted to kill him now, but Rog still thought it was amusing, and tall Mark must have thought it was all part of the show, and kept on following instructions from him, even holding himself away from me while he was in me so that Ian could get a good view. If Mark hadn’t had such a nice big cock it might have spoiled it completely, but luckily it was working and I was heading towards my second orgasm (had the first when he put it in, all long and thick and hard and that poxy Ian was telling him to let us see it going in her, all the way, and Mark obliged). Anyway. Now I was approaching the second, and I’d stopped caring about Ian or very much else except that whoosh, whoosh as it went in and out, and I could feel him spreading my lips with it each time he pushed it in, slithering over my clit and squashing it with his pubic bone. I was just starting to make a lot of noise (Rog says) when Ian started off again. Let me finish her this time, he said, and Mark once again did as he was asked, pulled his lovely cock out and stood aside so Ian could put his in.

Rog, of course did nothing to stop him. After, he said it was bloody horny, Luce, to be honest, you know i like it when you just need a cock and you don’t care whose.

Fair cop. I didn’t by then, I just wanted to finish, like Ian said, and though a large part of me didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making me cum, a much larger part (between my legs) just wanted a cock and finish, and so I did just that. After that, Ian and Mark swapped around, always on Ian’s say-so. Just tell me when you’re cumming mate, I heard him say to Mark, whip it out and I’ll take over. Nice, handsome, big-cock Mark got the hang of it pretty quickly, and Rog said it was like tennis players keeping the ball in the air, and as rude as anything. I don’t recall the details (do I ever) because all I know about is the cock inside me and the marvellous sensation of flying while fucking.

Of course I do take my surroundings in from time to time, usually just after I cum, when I’m still breathing hard but the sensations in my pussy and images in my mind are at their lowest ebb, and then the rudeness of being bent over a car bonnet (they turned me at some point, don’t remember when) while two young strangers take turns at making me cum just makes my pussy hotter and wetter and makes me feel even more abandoned and ruder, and I start wanting them to treat me like a slut, start talking them up, saying fuck me, fuck me, make me cum, and stuff, and trying to suck the spare one, all sorts, I was leaning back against the car at one point, holding my dress up round my waist with one hand, legs apart, knickers still clinging round one ankle (Roger LOVES that, by the way) and fingering myself, saying come on then, come on then, one of you fuck me, come on, and so on.

Which they did, of course. Mark came first. I remember that because I was sat on the edge of the car with my legs wrapped round him, clinging on and pulling him towards me even though his cock was already as far in as it would go, whispering cum now, cum now, and he did, one long hot never-ending spray of spunk that made me cum too, long and hard.

Ian almost dragged him off me and pushed himself into all that white-hot sticky while I was still cumming, and my pussy was gripping and squeezing a fresh new hard cock while the one that made me cum dribbled its last big drops on the concrete floor.

I started to cum again, straight away. And after that I couldn’t stop, so as always have to rely on Rog for the details. Ian fucked me solidly till he’d cum as well, Mark was ready for more by then, they swapped a bit, and eventually mark filled me again, though I don’t really remember that so much. Maybe because he zipped up, and said bye to Rog, tell Lucy thanks, and went home. He couldn’t say goodbye to me personally because Ian was still keeping me busy. Of course.

He ran out of energy and cum eventually though, by which time I could hardly stand and it was time for bed.

Rog was sweet, and gentle, and felt lovely inside as always. I love you wanting other guys to cum in you, he said as he rocked gently on top of me, and of course I do at the time, but I’m still slightly embarrassed by it afterwards. But there’s no denying it when you’ve just been shouting cum now, or cum in me, cum in me please cum in me to a pair of complete strangers. (I thought I was whispering, but apparently not).

And there’s no denying that the sluttiness of saying it in front of hubby makes me want it more, and the feeling of a guy cumming inside me is doubled by knowing hubby is watching it happened and can see I want it and love it.

And his cock feels wonderful now, squishing around inside me where I’m full of spunk because I’ve opened my legs to another man, wanted his cock, wanted his fucking, and wanted his cum.

Isn’t life great?

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