In theory, I know, I’ve had the opportunity for a while here in the UK. But I’m a naturally nervous person, and I’ve been feeling jittery about most of my social interactions over the last few months. So I was still very much in two minds when, this weekend, I got home from a couple of weeks of munching on vegetables in the secluded countryside which, no, is not a euphemism.
But a friend of some considerable regard and renown, who has been teasing me mercilessly about my nunnish tendencies, was passing through London the day I returned, and we agreed that enough was enough. It was time for my first post-lockdown fuck, and we both looked forward to finding out whether or not my vagina had sealed itself shut in the intervening months.
*A regrettable, necessary digression; I asked the friend involved for permission to write, here, about our encounter, and he agreed, under the condition that he be entitled to a pseudonym. He also had a helpful suggestion as to what that pseudonym be, and that suggestion was…sigh.*
*Nigel.*
*Hi, Nigel! You’re a cunt.*
Alright, I’ll try to persevere.
So Nigel was gracious enough to meet me at one of London’s larger railway stations, and from there we made our way, on foot since I’m still scared of the Tube, back to my place. As we were walking, Nigel continued to mock me at great length about how long it had been since I had sex, and my protestations that I’d been having fun reliving past encounters on reddit fell pretty much on deaf ears. I did my best to explain to Nigel that not all of us are like him, and that some of us can derive satisfaction from mental pursuits when physical ones aren’t available.
‘I bet you won’t be saying that in an hour or two,’ Nigel said, and irritatingly he turned out to be right.
Nigel and I (god, how nauseating) have had sex before, and while it’s not the main event, it’s sort of a funny story. I was strapped for cash as a Master’s student, and I agreed to participate in a psychology experiment that Nigel was running. The experiment involved me playing an innocuous and childish video game in a locked room—it was one where a funny animated bunny jumps over barrels or something like that, I don’t know anything about video games—into which Nigel had randomly inserted a series of terrifying jump scares. He put electrodes on my skull, the better to find out what happened in there when, at eight randomly-spaced times over the course of two hours, I jumped out of my chair, screamed and peed my pants.
Suave as ever, Nigel offered to ~~take advantage of my vulnerable emotional state~~ buy me a beer as an extra thank-you afterwards, once I had finished washing the brain-lube out of my hair. One thing led to another, as tends to happen among bored, horny academics, I gave Nigel a blowjob (there’s a phrase I hoped I would never say), he came all over my tits, and as I walked home with jizz pooling in my bra cups, I knew we would be the best of friends. We fucked with some regularity for a year or so, until Nigel’s career prospects took him elsewhere, and as a parting gift he bought me a multicoloured buttplug so ornate that, I remain sure to this day, he must have jerked off a wizened Murano glass-blower to get his hands on it.
So we got back to my place, and I ran into the bedroom ahead of him to make sure that I hadn’t left my knickers on the floor, my vibrator on the pillow, or any of that sort of thing. Then, once I’d spruced things up to my reasonable satisfaction, I made Nigel a cup of green tea and insisted that I be allowed to take a shower. Ten minutes later, once I had hosed myself down and prodded at the bits of my body which I suspected to have changed shape and tautness since the last time Nigel saw me naked—
*Fuck this, I’m just going to call him Ben. What the fuck are you going to do about it, Ben?*
—I went back into the bedroom, where Ben was sitting cross-legged on the bed. I threw my towel somewhere and sat in the comfy chair I have in the corner of the room, crossing my legs and trying to look like a high-class courtesan, and we chatted for ten minutes, reminiscing and catching up and complaining about our respective families.
‘Do you still have that buttplug I gave you?’ Ben asked me, in almost as jarring a non sequitur as I’ve just rendered it here.
‘Of course I do,’ I told him. ‘What kind of unsentimental bitch do you take me for?’
‘The regular kind,’ he said.
‘Top drawer by the bed,’ I said, acting as though I was calling his bluff when clearly I was giving him exactly what he wanted, but we both went happily along with the delusion.
‘You have a lot of weird shit in here,’ Ben said, but he found the relevant artefact and held it lovingly up to the light. ‘Catch!’ he said, and threw it to me.
‘What am I supposed to do with this?’ I said. I twirled it in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the window next to me, and spread kaleidoscope shimmers across my boobs.
‘What do you think?’
I sighed, and fixed him with a stare.
‘Lube.’ I said, holding out my other hand. The lube duly appeared, and I squirted it all over the buttplug and shuffled down a bit on the chair. It had, I’m sure, been quite a while since I’d had anything up my ass, and I breathed deeply and slowly pushed the plug into myself. Had I been in any doubt as to whether this was turning me on, this was quickly settled by the shiny rope which strung itself between my crotch and my wrist when, in the process of pushing the plug all the way into me, I pressed the heel of my hand into my pussy.
I know Ben sounds like a little bit of a smartarse, but he is actually a very kind and generous man, a fact which was quickly evinced when, enticed by the glimmer of glass in my bum or the stringy, silvery web hanging off my pussy, he dropped to his knees in front of me and started eating me out. The feeling of a tongue on me, I quickly remembered, is pretty much inimitable, and Ben clearly had a very developed sense of exactly what I wanted. His lips felt incredibly smooth, his tongue was soft and warm, and my clit was eager to respond to the slightest provocation.
I let myself slump back into the chair as Ben placed strong hands at the backs of my thighs, spreading my legs widely and granting him unfettered access to my cunt. I moaned with wanton disregard for what the neighbours would say, and I played with my nipples as Ben’s tongue brought me close to coming embarrassingly quickly. With, I’m sure, nothing but concern for me, and my efforts not to look so starved of cock that I was dragging down the nation’s Human Development Index, he eased off a little, ghosting tiny circles around my clit, and allowed me to dangle on a precipice of pleasure before, eventually, he let me plummet into an orgasm that almost made me start seeing double.
Ben sat back to look at his handiwork as, with my limbs splayed like an abandoned puppet, I held onto the arms of the chair for dear life, breathed deeply, probably talked a lot of gibberish and generally tried to keep from melting into a puddle on the floor.
‘Take your clothes off, Ben,’ I said, gesturing to him and trying to sound assertive despite the fact that my brain had now turned to pussy-juice jelly. ‘This is just silly.’
Ben took a step back, and I watched him undress. Given the heat we’ve been having lately, this didn’t take very long at all, but it was still gratifying in the extreme to enjoy anew the parts of Ben that I’d kept only vague memories of in the intervening years. When he’s not doing dumb shit like making me call him Nigel, he’s a really beautiful person, with these searching grey-green eyes, tousled hair and large, expressive hands. He looks, too, to have been one of these people who spent the months of isolation working out and eating healthily rather than doing what I’ve done, which has been to gather, in a series of reddit posts, a history of how, when, where and why I have allowed various people to deposit their bodily fluids all over my face.
Speaking of which, and still in a messy pool of my own, I fell to the floor in front of Ben as his diamond-hard cock sprang from his underwear, kneeling before him with the splayed legs and drunken motor skills of a newborn giraffe. From what I remember of how I usually behave with a cock in front of my mouth, I might have expected myself to go slowly, to cup his balls in my hand, gently licking and sucking at his shaft, teasing the tip until it was wet and warm and glistening, but I didn’t have the time or inclination for any of this. I devoured Ben’s cock with a sloppy, noisy relish. Without the need for any action or encouragement from him, I explored the back of my throat with his cock, gagging and choking until my chin was a clear and stringy mess, while Ben looked down at me with an appalled, slightly frightened delight. By this point, the two of us had long stopped making the nervous wise-cracks of two friends who happened to be naked together, and let a carefree and animal desire take over. I listened with the satisfaction of revenge as Ben’s smart mouth descended into a series of moans, swear words and moaned swear words.
I gave myself a break, stroking Ben’s slick and dripping cock with one hand while I massaged my jaw with the other, and I looked up at him again.
‘Do you want to fuck me?’
‘Mmhmm,’ he said, as I circled the well-lubricated head of his cock in my palm.
‘Do you want to fuck me now?’
Ben didn’t answer this; he just placed his hands either side of my ribcage and manoeuvred me toward my bed, and he seemed in some doubt as to how best to position me. With my usual and foolhardy enthusiasm, once I had paused to take a condom out of the bedside drawer in which I keep all my weird shit and priceless glasswork, I got on my hands and knees on the bed, where Ben could remain standing, inclining my hips already toward him in eager anticipation of deep penetration.
When I have only my own company, I tend not to penetrate myself with anything, and when I do, it’s never anything as big as a hard, fleshy human cock. So when Ben started fucking me the sensations felt very fresh and a little too intense, and I yelped and wriggled away from him, and only thanks to his superhuman patience did he gradually, with a lot of careful teasing, work his cock to the base into my cunt.
Here as in most other regards over the course of our afternoon, Ben proceeded with a calm and steady determination which I, in my sex-starved state, tended to lack. Conscious of the clear and present danger of bumping me in the cervix, Ben artfully lingered at the entrance to my cunt, with short and careful motions, repeating that feeling of entry a lot more times, squeezing my arse tenderly. When, again, he did enter me fully, he did so with slow and lingering strokes, my pussy squeezing his cock for dear life all the while. Sometimes, as he paused there deep inside me, he gently played with the plug I still had in my asshole, tugging it backward by a matter of millimetres, or pressing its base more firmly against me in time with his strokes. Slowly, I grew eager for more of him, arching my back a little more, rocking a little more of my weight back onto him as he thrusted.
I did ask Ben if he wanted to change positions at some point, offering to get on top of him, but he refused; I think he may have been enjoying the view too much from his present vantage point. This point seemed further evidenced by his complete lack of hurry to cum, and as I remained in place, with my upper body collapsing into the mattress, my ass thrust toward him and my back starting to get sore from all the arching, he found infinite variety where a lesser man might quickly become uninspired. He thrust into me from various angles; he varied his pace, eventually fucking me so deep and so hard that my weight was flung forward into my arms and I practically screamed with every stroke; he would tease me at times with just the tip of his cock or with his fingers, playing with my lips and my clit and my plug. Ben is not the kind of man who would request a tally of how many orgasms I have had, which is good because I wouldn’t have been able to tell him.
But come I certainly did, sometimes with my fingers on my clit and sometimes without, sometimes with only the beautiful and blended sensations of having both my ass and my pussy filled with something at the same time. I had orgasms which made all my senses and faculties turn funny, my legs and extremities shaking, my voice turning incoherent, my eyes losing focus and a whooshing emptiness in my hearing, like when you hold a shell up to your ear.
‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ I said, with all the righteous indignation of a woman who has allowed herself to forget how good an orgasm can feel. ‘You can come whenever you want, Ben.’
‘I know,’ Ben said, and asked me where.
For old times’ sake, I asked him to cum on my tits. He still continued fucking me though, with these long, swooping, wavelike strokes that seemed to hit me from impossible angles, while all the while I whimpered and made a swampy, syrupy mess of his balls, his cock, his thighs and his lower belly.
Eventually, he pulled his cock from me and threw the condom aside. I turned and slipped down to the floor in a heap at the foot of the bed, my legs spread wide, my elbows poised either side of me on the end of the mattress as I spread my arms too, and leaned back and closed my eyes.
Ben did, I think, mean to cum only on my tits, but I’m pretty sure he let out a little ‘woah’ of surprise as the first, watery jet issued from him and splattered noisily into the space where the eye socket met my nose. As my eye stung a little bit, and most of it trickled salty-starchily down into my mouth, the rest of it landed all over my tits, glazing my nipples and pooling between them, running down into my belly button in great, hot waves, as though Ben were the one who had been locked in a self-imposed pussy embargo.
We both refrained from making any further jokes. Covered and dripping I sprawled on the floor, my head falling backwards onto the bed while Ben, his cock artfully softening in my eyeline, fell back into the chair, and we both drew haunted, halting breaths as though we’d been granted a glimpse into the void.
*Coda, and final piece of wisdom; if your friend is kind enough to run out and buy enormous wedges of chilled watermelon while you hose his jizz off you, put some clothes on before you start eating it, or at least invest in some napkins and a thorough grasp of good table manners. During a heatwave, it’s a considerable waste of water if you have to shower again because you’ve got melon juice in your pubes.*
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/i7bhqj/end_of_lockdown_i_got_cocked_down_fm