Kinky and filthy things that have happened to us, all explicitly told

Month: August 2024

Keeping It Secret From Her Family (Part One)

Kate wasn’t stupid. She knew when her brother asked one of his friends to keep an eye on her, to look after her, there was a chance her exploits would get back to her family, and that was the last thing she wanted.

It was her first week at university, where her brother’s friend had been for three years. Her brother’s friend was my now husband. Kate was still a virgin and had gone to university with the aim of quickly losing her virginity, ideally to someone who was a good fuck with suitable experience, and ultimately to get fucked as much as possible. Her family would strongly disapprove, and she didn’t want the repercussions, but she did want to be allowed to fuck in peace.

Not that he had shown any sign of telling them anything. She knew him from before, and he seemed nice. He didn’t seem like a spy, but she didn’t really know him particularly well. It was nice however to have a friendly face, and she had met with him a few times and he had been helpful in getting her settled into university life.

And things were relaxed whenever she met up with him, and she actually enjoyed talking to him, but she was always guarded about sex. She was at university to lose her virginity and to get thoroughly fucked. She didn’t want that getting back. She had to deal with this, and she wasn’t sure how.

And then an idea came into her mind, and it was a ridiculous idea, total madness, and yet it made perfect sense. If she lost her virginity to him, and if it was him that regularly fucked her, he’d never be able to talk about it with them, and her secret would be safe. She talked herself into and out of it several times during the day, but decided she needed to work him out more before making the final choice.

She made a casual throw-away remark to him about him having sex, and he didn’t really reply, but did have a certain glint in his eye. That encouraged her to go fishing several times for more information about his sex life, and one evening after buying him a few drinks, she found out that he was quite rampant in the past, and that all but one of his previous uni fucks had left university at this point, and the one that was still there was now in a serious relationship and didn’t allow herself to be fucked by him (no matter how much she wanted it). Kate was quietly pleased, as she thought he might be craving a fuck and that made her in with a chance.

She wasn’t interested in a relationship, just in being fucked, and the more she saw him, the more she felt comfortable with him, and the more she found herself wanting him to fuck her over and over. She got the impression he was the same as her, both in not wanting a relationship and being comfortable with her. She wasn’t any good at this hooking up game, so, despite meeting a lot of others in those early weeks, she decided that he really was the best option, that she really wanted him to take her virginity.

She decided to twist her own arm in a way, forcing herself to get on with it. She really needed that fuck, really craving it, and in a horny state, she saw him one afternoon in a corridor. Without leaving herself time to think, she asked him to pop to her room later, as she needed some advice. They agreed a time, and then off she went to both regret her actions, and get even more horny at the possibilities.

Good as gold, he knocked on her door at the allotted time, and with a deep breath, she opened the door to him. It was clear from his face that he liked what was in front of him. There was Kate, topless wearing only a short but quite showy skirt, brushing her hair. She was really nervous in case anyone else in the corridor saw her or in case he totally rejected her.

His cock didn’t reject her. She could see how hard it was within seconds. She invited him in and carried on brushing her long brown hair, her arms over her head perfectly framing her sizeable yet pert tits, her totally hairless armpits in full view.

He closed the door behind him and went to sit on the edge of the bed (the only chair in the room was deliberately filled with clothes). His face was now at tit height, and she was in no hurry to finish brushing her hair. The discussion was innocent, yet here she was with her tits out and tantalisingly swaying as she moved. To him, she seemed totally at ease with her exposure. He couldn’t take his eyes off her tits for long, only briefly looking at her face as she was talking. She could see that and was secretly loving it. Now she had to pluck up the courage to move to the next stage.

Eventually she put the brush down. He was waiting for her to put some clothes on, but she didn’t. She offered him a drink and made it, gave it to him and sat down opposite him (in the chair, sitting on her clothes), all with her pert tits proudly visible.

He was trying to work out if she was being as blatant as she appeared to be being, or was she ridiculously innocent and not realising what she was doing? After all, this was a good friend’s sister he was thinking of fucking. In those few weeks, he had gone from being a helpful friend, to so wanting to feast on her magnificent tits (it has been too long since he’d worship Rebecca’s tits), and finally to really wanting to really fuck her, not just once, but over and over. But there weren’t any signs she was interested, until now, until her magnificent tits were out and so close to him.

The innocent conversation continued whilst they each tried to work the other out. She was cursing herself for being too shy to simply ask him to fuck her. Heck, it was amazing she was here with her tits out at all. In fact, at one point, she had almost just put her blouse on, talking herself out of it just in time.

He was worried about reading the situation wrongly, and him trying something and her holding it against him. But she started it with having her fabulous tits out for him to enjoy, or was it for him at all?

He knew she had seen his cock; she’d been looking down at it. Just as he knew she’d seen him looking adoringly at her tits. He decided those two things were enough, and he had to go for it.

Her hands were resting in her lap, bent at the elbows to ensure her tits were still totally visible. He gently picked up her hands in his and said that there was something he wanted to do that he hoped she would enjoy. She gently nodded and smiled, relieved he had taken the lead, and he leant in bringing his face towards her tits, letting go of her hands as he needed to steady himself as he gently kissed on her left nipple. She giggled slightly and twisted her body slightly to offer him better access to her nipple.

This time, she felt his tongue swirl round her nipple, almost caressing it as it went round and over. She closed her eyes to really feel his tongue but opened them again shortly afterwards, as she wanted the visuals of him working her nipple. She felt her nipple swelling and getting harder, but all too soon, he shifted position, her body on instinct moving to offer him her other nipple, which he caressed with his tongue and mouth.

Once that was as hard as the first, he leant back, using a thumb and forefinger to tweak each nipple. As he gently pulled her towards him by her nipples, he leant in to give her a soft kiss, almost a lip nudge, and as he leant a little back, she leant further in for a longer kiss, her tongue starting to nudge between his lips, to little resistance, and his lips parted and their tongues met, touching at first before turning into a full, long, proper snog with tongue jousting. Now she was on familiar ground. She knew how to kiss well.

Her confidence grew as their kiss continued, the tips of their tongues almost constantly in each other’s mouths, whilst all the time her nipples were being worked by his fingers. They were so large, they were almost painful, but there was no way she was asking him to stop. Eventually, their lips broke and he looked into her eyes, wondering where to go next. She nervously looked into his eyes and just gently, almost hesitantly mouthed “Fuck Me”. He kissed her passionately, to give her a chance to change her mind, but she didn’t. She simply rubbed her hand against his cock, at this point still within his trousers, showing that she absolutely did want a fuck. He hadn’t fucked in some weeks, and he had been thinking about her quite a bit, dreaming about working her body and lusting after tasting her and filling her cunt. He wasn’t about to say no to her.

Camel-Toe Crazy

When I left for university, I was finally released from my mother’s rule. Those clothes she made me wear, the fear she instilled, everything that stopped me from developing into me, rather than a clone of her. At uni, I had a chance to find me.

Fucking men: that was me. Turns out fucking women was definitely me too. Melissa wasn’t the first woman I had lusted after, but she was the first one that I had kissed and we had paired up quickly after that first kiss. I continued fucking my uni guy (he knew and was turned on by the thoughts of me and Melissa fucking) and she fucked some guy too on and off, but we were both enjoying the lesbian sex more. Between them, I was getting the most sex I ever did until I met my now husband.

But the thing I was having real trouble with was style. I wasn’t exactly a slim girl, but I was shapely, with amazing tits (although I wasn’t best enamoured with them at the start) and a wardrobe full of clothes your granny would wear. Thanks Mum, I’m not you. My clothes were all loose, covering me up, lowering my self-esteem even more than what happened in the rest of my teenage years did.

But by this point, I had a whole posse at uni, not just Melissa, and they were determined to help me find and hone my style. I’m not one for clothes shopping, but with a group on hand, we sometimes went out, trying on various things, using their experience and styles to make progress.

After years of crawling under a rock to hide from everyone, I wanted to break free, to be noticed. I had started by wearing tighter clothes, ones that didn’t hide the fact I was slightly larger than ideal, but the clothes I selected all showed off my curves superbly. I got a kick out of the positive response I received. Being noticed was wild!

On one of those shopping trips, we found a bra that dramatically emphasised my cleavage, and I bought that and a dress that took advantage of it. The cup fabric of this deep-plunge bra was also very thin, as was the fabric of the dress, so my nipples showed perfectly. I was advised to use ice to make them bigger to make absolutely sure they were on display, and I started doing this every time I went out.

Figure hugging clothes with monster cleavage and on display nipples was definitely the way to go, and I got a mega kick from showing off my tits, something I still get to this day. It was the first time I really began to love my tits. I know some women get upset when men talk to their cleavage instead of their face, but I love it and it just makes me happy.

Now, I’m not usually one for trends, but there was one trend that it was suggested would get me noticed even more. It was about ten years since camel-toe had first made it into the Urban Dictionary. What for a few years was a fashion faux pas went to being the height of teenage fashion, then looked down on, and then back into fashion again.

One of the poshest girls in the group showed me a pair of shorts in one of the shops that were pretty obscene if I’m honest. The briefest of try-ons showed their potential, but the full obscenity only showed later; the fabric pulled tight into my ass crack and a long way up my cunt, and I could arrange my flaps to make a fabulous camel-toe. I couldn’t wear panties under them, as it obscured the camel-toe, and as I was doubting the purchase, my posh friend said that if I bought and wore a pair, she would too.

In that same trip, one of the others showed me a top that stretched tightly across my tits, and with my deep-plunge bra, the straining of the buttons across my cleavage meant that a column of enormous gapes ran right down between my tits and with my iced nipples showing, it was a fabulous view.

Pair that with the obscene shorts, I had a killer outfit that hid nothing. This was a new slutty out there me, and I was a hit in the club we went to every week. My body was totally on show, everything visible and I’m not going to lie; it got me groped quite a bit, but I didn’t mind. I was seen, noticed, I was me.

And I fucking enjoyed the groping. Interestingly, whilst I was groped by men, I was groped far more by women. I can’t recall how many women I snogged, full on tongues, many of them resulted in mutual masturbation sessions in the seating booths or even right there on the dance floor. I didn’t know their names, I didn’t much care, I just loved the connections, the kissing, the groping, the orgasms.

It always happened the same way. A handful of ass or tit was grabbed, you were hauled from the crowd and up to another woman’s body, tits got squashed against each other, faces got close and tongues got pushed into each other’s mouths. No subtlety or finesse. Just a long hard snog with tongues exploring each other’s mouths and hands exploring each other’s bodies.

With two whole-hearted participants, hands inevitably headed cunt-wards, initially rubbing on the outside of the shorts; the thin fabric was rough and therefore provided a little friction on the rubbing, which only added to the sensation.

Sometimes that was enough, and focussed rhythmic rubbing right there on the dance floor, the odd rough kiss added, was enough to make a girl cum. The fabric of the shorts didn’t react well to cunt juices, and so, for the rest of the evening, I’d have a damp patch at the front of my shorts. Well, so would the other girl, and that was fine. And then the second girl that started masturbating you put her fingers to some wet fabric and she knew. Although she was normally the same. And wet fabric only emphasised the camel-toe, stickiness making sure the fabric stayed up your cunt.

Of course, sometimes, it wasn’t a quick wank on the dance floor that you were after. Sometimes you wanted to feel hand touch your flesh, finger fuck you, and so, guiding each other, you left the dance floor and headed to what were knows as the cubicles, U-shaped benched seating populated by kissing couples, normally on the way to wanking or giving blow jobs. Sometimes you had to wait, such was the popularity, and the cubicles invariably smelled of cum.

So, there you’d be, sitting in this cubicle, legs spread wide, your buttons undone to show your heaving cleavage to your new friend, obscene shorts round an ankle, whilst your new friend works your cunt with her fingers, targeting your clit quite viciously, rubbing on your cunt flaps and finger fucking you with two or three fingers. You could always see the focus on her face as she looks down at your cunt and the joy she was bringing to it. The good ones made you cum several times and then dropped to their knees and got under the table to lick you clean, and then once clean, it was time to swap places and reciprocate, and you’d end up with hands smelling of cunt and mouths tasting of it. A final hard kiss, swapping tastes as we went, and we’d part in search of the next cunt to wank, frequently to never see each other again after that night.

And often, in the same cubicle was Melissa, who, having seen the success my outfits were, got some of her own. She too had monster cleavage and a fabulous camel-toe, and had similar success with the women at the club. And every time, we had a cubicle session too. After all, molesting Melissa was the reason I started going clubbing.

The club was a bit like a cattle market, only the cattle picked each other. You weren’t fussy. Pretty much any woman who grabbed you was fair game, any cunt to be cherished for that short while, and of course, when we got back to uni, Melissa and I licked each other’s cunts out, not only to taste our juices, but because we’d publicly pissed on the way back up the hill and never dried our cunts.

Because despite all the groping, all the cunts, I was still hers and she mine.

I instigated as much grabbing and groping as I was grabbed and groped. Let’s face it, if I saw a woman in that club that I wanted to kiss or to make cum, I went for it. It’s why most of us were there, on show at the cattle market. I was rarely rejected, and I virtually never rejected anyone. Why would I?

I remember those nights with great fondness. I have no idea how many women I made cum, or how many made me cum. But it was a lot. And more importantly, I felt alive, I felt free. What with the clothes, the kissing, the groping and the care-free orgasms, both in the club and with Melissa, I felt that I was finally being me.