Home Alone with Svenja

I was in a hurry that evening, the 9th November 1989. I was probably the only Westerner fighting his way through the crowds by the Wall, waving away proffered bottles of beer as I headed for the border checkpoint.

“Where are you going?” I heard shouts. “The party is here.”

I kept my head down. I needed to be in East Berlin on this of all nights. I needed to see Svenja who I hadn’t seen for four months, turned back at the border each time. I figured I could get through unobserved, unchecked in the jubilant chaos.

And I was right. I pushed my way past crowds flocking the other way, past exhausted and bewildered border guards who had no will to check anything anymore.  I ran and soon found myself at the U Bahn station from where I could take a train to Svenja’s flat.

Fifteen minutes later I dashed up steps into a dimly lit and empty street. I was once again in East Berlin and I had the city to myself. I pushed open the wooden door of the decaying building where Svenja had her flat. I flicked the light on and ran up the stairs, still polished to a shine even as the plaster crumbled from the façade, needing to make the next landing before the light went out.

I flicked the next switch and has light for the final push to the second floor. I was now hard and cold feel precome leaking out and soaking my boxers. I needed Svenja, I needed Svenja the convinced Communist who would never, surely, leave for the West, Svenja who I worshipped in her blue Freie Deutsche Jugend shirt, Svenja who was probably informing on me to the Stasi, Svenja who could have anything she wanted from me.

Her front door opened. As I turned right into the landing she stood before me, dressed, as I had  hoped, in only her unbuttoned FDJ shirt, which both cloaked and emphasised her breasts.

“I knew you would come” she said simply.

There, in the doorway I knelt before her, kissed her feet, worked my way up her legs, and when I began to lick at her cunt my head was already enveloped by her shirt, the shirt that I had longed to have. I pressed my face into her pubic hair, tasted her juices, like a traveller tormented by thirst who had stumbled upon an oasis.

She grabbed my hair and began to pull me along the hallway to her bedroom. The door to the flat remained wide open. We didn’t care.

I kissed her breasts, kissed the badge on her shirt, took my swollen cock in my hand and moved into position to push into Svenja’s wet cunt.

Less than a mile away history was being made. But we didn’t care. We had each other, four months to make up for, and a city all to ourselves. I thrust hard and long and came with a loud cry.  Svenja didn’t come so I worked her clit with my tongue until she, too, climaxed. Then we sat in bed, drinking Bulgarian brandy and smoking f6 cigarettes. We said little. It was as if we didn’t need to. I wanted to fuck her again, this time more slowly but I was tired, it had been a long and exhausting day and I fell asleep in her arms.

She had to shake me to wake me the following morning. I knelt up on the bed, looked out of the window to where the TV tower was flashing its red light over the grey morning as if noting had happened.  Times were changing and there were things I needed to ask Svenja and which she could surely now answer. But, as so often, she was first to speak.

“Kneel up and say what I like you to say.”

“Es lebe die Deutsche Demokratische Republik!” I said, parodying the voice of the recently departed First Secretary Honecker and went down on her.

If one socialism was about to pass into history, I reflected, Svenja and I would build another. Fuck by fuck by fuck.

The Latex Skirt

This is a kind of love poem I wrote to the lovely swishy floral latex skirt I bought last year at the Birmingham Bizarre Bazaar from the wonderful mega talented Rebecca of Yummy Gummy Latex to who it is dedicated.

You read me like a book.

A cliché, I know, but true.

Remember the time you whipped

A skirt off the rack, a new design,

Held it up before me, smiling,

Like teasing a puppy with a rubber bone

Or selecting the fly with which

You would reel me in?

There I stood,

Falling in love with the skirt,

Aching to please.

 

I put it on. The weighty swish

Swelled into waves of desire

For the beauty you had, I hoped,

Designed for me, to make me gorgeous.

I foraged greedily for my purse, like

Paying for the first date with my latex love.

You read me like a book.

I write you as a poem.

 

Sharing our Shit -Halloween Edition

There has been a lot to enjoy over the last few days. Here are a few of the things I particularly enjoyed.

I have written a story about period sex, its glorious, wonderful, messiness and the bonds it can create. This story was based on a real-life encounter, and it is an experience that, a dozen years on, I am deeply grateful for. So it is always interesting to hear the perspectives of others. Like this post from Molly on last week’s Sinful Sunday.

Slightly less elemental was this pic from Quinn Rhodes who was celebrating her 2 year blogversary, with a wittily arranged pic that gets to the heart of what sex blogging is about, and why it is not all about sex.

Also from Sinful Sunday I loved this pic by Little Switch Bitch, a kind of view behind the scenes.

Returning to Smutathon, Anne Stagg posted an intriguing story called When The Circus Came to Corwen. I always think it is brave to set erotic fiction in historical contexts but when you pull it off, as Anne does here, the results are so, so satisfying.

This blog as originally conceived,  was to write in defence of sex workers’ rights and anything else I fancied writing about. I am still passionate about this cause and value the corner of my Facebook where I connect with sex workers and activists from around the world. Anne Modus I have followed form the very beginning of this blog and this post about the Nordic Mode in Norway is well worth reading.

Masturbation Monday gave us this clever take on Bridget Jones

And as a domme who has done several consensual non consent schoolroom and prison scenes I very much enjoyed this account of a school scene

This Girl is doing an October Gas Mask Challenge from which I enjoyed this.

This post by May More was deeply thought provoking and got my thinking abut my won roads not taken.

Oh and I can’t forget car porn can I? I grew up not far from Longbridge so Austins were part of my life from a young age. I remember when there were still plenty of Austin A35s on the road In fact I remember having a lift to school in one. As the engines were very tuneable, sporty versions, such as this one modified by the Speedwell company, were prominent in saloon car racing.  Here is one in  action. This is sex on four wheels, believe me!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5TYxHmcjBU

Please have a look, and support these fantastic blogs.

I am going away and taking a break from this blog. My net scheduled SoSS post will be on Saturday 16th November.

Ontario – Yours to Discover

This is another Canadian themed post I had intended to write for Smutathon but never quite got round to as fatigue took its toll. But I was determined to write t and here it is:

I never really wanted to go to Toronto. I didn’t, believe me. And I never thought I would end up staying.  I had been with Kat 2 years without ever getting to visit her home city. Then we broke up. It wasn’t easy.  She regarded my affair with a man as a double betrayal.  We parted and Kat returned to Toronto. I resigned myself to never seeing her again.

For over a year, I heard nothing from her. Then I got a text message.

“I need you back in my life. All is forgiven. Almost �”

“Are you coming back to London?” I texted back, with a mixture of apprehension and hope.

“No. You are coming to me. Check your e-mail. I have sent your tickets through.”

So I found myself on the Toronto waterfront  at 2 days’ notice, having phoned in sick at work, no hotel booked, just instruction to wait for a message.

It was late afternoon and the sun was already low in the sky, when the message came.

“Tranmere Drive, Mississauga. Take a cab.”

I stepped out of the taxi into a deserted street with industrial buildings. I felt anxious and vulnerable.   I held my phone in my hand, checking for messages, scrolling anxiously, feeling mounting panic.  Why had she made me come here? What was her game? No one knew I was here. Not work, not family, not my London friends. If I died alone here, who would ever know?

I heard footsteps behind me then felt a gloved hand over my mouth a knee in the back forcing me to the ground.  A hessian sack was pulled over my head. My hands were forced behind me and tied roughly with rope. I trembled.

Then I heard Kat’s voice.

“Just throw the fucking slag in the boot!”

They picked me up, overpowering me as I wriggled and kicked, I felt a strap going round my ankles. Soon I was in the boot of the car, trussed and helpless. The lid slammed shut and I was in darkness.

The car drove off. After a couple of bends the car seemed to be picking up speed and moving straight ahead. I guessed that we mist be on a main highway out of town.

I have no idea how long we had been driving for when I was shaken to the side again as the car veered suddenly off the straight road, braked sharply and began jolting down what was evidently a rough track.  After a short while the car turned sharp left again and came to a sudden halt.

The boot lid was opened and I was lifted out and set on my bound feet. The blindfold was taken off. It was already dark. I had no idea what time it was.  Kat came out and spat in my face.

“You like cock? You’re going to get cock baby!”

She pinched my cheeks and smirked.  One of her accomplices came up wit a license plate on a cord and handed it to her. She showed it to me. Underneath the word Ontario and the motto “Yours to Discover” were the words

“Yours to Fuck,”

She hung it round my neck and laughed again. I trembled with fear.

“Kat, what are you going to do to me?”

“Giving what you like best, honey. Which isn’t what I can give you. Is it?”

She turned me round and pushed me in the direction of the edge of the forest.

“Walk. This is Ontario. Yours to discover”

They all laughed.

I shuffled forward, ankles bound.  I fell over a couple of times, stumbling in the undergrowth. Each time I was pulled roughly to my feet, ordered to carry on. We soon reached a fallen tree where I was ordered to kneel in the wet grass.

I was tied to the tree, blindfolded, my ankles bound, my tights round my ankles. I was alone. At least I think I was. Kat and her friends had gone, I knew that but here it was, bound and helpless, in bra and panties, a quick to the side from having my cunt exposed to the world.

After a while, I heard voices in the clearing.

“Hey, look at this.”

I heard footsteps coming near. Three men were standing over me.

“Well she’s not my type, I guess but, hey, it’s a free fuck.”

“What’s your name?”

I screamed.

“Fuck off!” I yelled, hoping someone might hear. But my screams just seemed to echo in the emptiness. I let out a wail of despair.

“Well Miss Fuck Off we are real pleased to meet you. My friend is Kat’s brother and we have heard so much about you, about how you really like being fucked.”

“That’s right, we have been looking forward to it. And hey cos we’re good guys we have eve brought rubbers.”

Then I heard the third voice. I started. It was an English voice, one I thought I recognised. I was a little relieved that these weren’t random strangers.  If they knew Kat, and were here at Kat’s invitation, then Kat herself and her two accomplices could not be far away. I had not been abandoned. Instead I was being used and degraded in an elaborate game. And, maybe, Kay would have me back  once I had done this penance.

Except it wasn’t penance. As I thought about this |I felt myself getting wet, feel my swelling clit brush against my nylon panties. I was going to get a good hard fucking or three but what I needed more than anything at this moment, was a wank. And this, I would surely be denied.

“Can you untie a hand please?”

“And why would I do that honey? So you can play with yourself? My cock not    good enough for you?”

He climbed onto the log, knelt astride me and tugged down my bra and began sucking my nipples. He was rough, I felt a beard against my skin, felt his teeth.  He was doing this top hurt me.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Oh really? Kat said you like it rough.”

He started kneading and slapping my breasts with his hands, again I cried out. He carried on then I felt a finger going into my cunt.

“You’re a dirty bitch. You are so fucking wet.”

“Just fuck me, Please!”

And then he was inside me. He pushed in to the full length of his large cock, grabbed me round d the head, pulling on my hair so that I winced with pain again, then with five brutal thrusts, he ejaculated, and cried out with pleasure as he came.

I hadn’t come, I generally don’t come unless I can massage my clit when I am being fucked. But that was the point wasn’t it?  This was to be sex with men for whom my needs counted for nothing, for whom I was an object with a wet, slippery hole. Kat was trying to teach me a lesson.  She has thought this out well up to a point. What she hadn’t taken into account was that I was enjoying the objectification, I was going to get a month’s worth of wank fantasies out this. Oh God, wank. I so needed to wank.  Oh please!

I pulled against the ropes that bound my wrists. But they were tight, really tight, and rubbed and chafed.  I began to sob with frustration.

The man got up, I could make out the sound of trousers being pulled up, the clink of a belt buckle.

“OK Gary. I’m done. The dirty slut’s all yours now.”

“Hi Gary” I said, attempting a weak smile. Could you just play with my clit a little bit? Please?”

“I really haven’t got time for foreplay and all that shit honey. Kat wants you fucked and fucked hard.”

And he did. Six thrusts, six thrusts of premeditated brutality. And he was out.

“We are using rubbers” said Gary, “that was like part of the deal with Kat, But I am just going to squeeze this baby out over your lovely litl;e tghigh.”

I heard him fumbling with the condom, removing it I guessed carefully so as not to spill anything, then I felt a vigorous rubbing of latex against my inner thighs, then the ooze of cold jizz. He worked his way up to the crotch, spreading his emission over both inner thighs up to the first sproutings of pubic hair.

“Be careful. I can get pregnant from this, you know.”

“And? I quite like the idea of a lesbian having my child. Yeah I love that idea. And he rubbed again and I felt the pubic hair matting as he worked his way up to the vaginal opening.

“yeah, that would be real good.”

He laughed and stood up.

“Mike, the little lady wants you to make her a baby”

They both laughed and I began to scream. I had to hand it to Kat. She had probably thought this one up too.  I felt miserable and helpless as Mike got on top of me and pushed his way in. I barely registered what her was doing to me. He grunted a lot, he was , I guessed, a bit more corpulent than the other two, his breath smelt of vinegar I tried turning my head away from him bit he grabbed it and turned it back. I shut my mouth as I felt him kiss me and try to force his tongue   between my lips.

He would not abandon the effort and I thrashed about, pulling against my restraints, retching at the vinegar breath that I could not escape. He held my head in a lock and I began to choke when I heard someone approach. Mike took his hands off my head and I felt him sit up, still astride me.

“Get off her and leave her alone. You have all had your fun. Now just get back in your car and go home.”

It was Kat, cool, authoritative and utterly dominant. The three men didn’t say a word and walked away. I heard a bang of car doors, an engine starting, and they were gone.

I was spent. She took the blindfold off and smiled.

“Had enough cock, haven’t you?”

I nodded. I felt sore and used, my inner thighs sticky with the come of the men who had had me as I lay there helpless.

“Yes, Kat.”

She stood over me and spat in my face.

“Betray me again and this is going to happen again. And again. And again. Until you learn your fucking lesson.”

“Yes Kat.”

“And what have you learnt?”

“That I will be faithful to you, I will sleep with no one but you, that I am a lesbian. I am yours. I love you Kat, I adore you, take me please take me..”

I burst into tears.

It was after dawn by the time we reached East York. We pulled into a diner where Kay handed me a denim boiler suit. And a pair if pumps.

“Put these on. They’re a bit like prison issue aren’t they but I quite like the idea of that. I mean, the dynamics of our relationship have changed haven’t they and we kinda need to reflect that in our clothes from time to time don’t we?”

I was tired. I was hungry. Cream cheese bagels and coffee were just what I needed.  Back in the warmth of the car I feel asleep but when we reached Kat’s house I was conscious of her lifting me out of the car and tenderly carrying me in to my new home.

After a bath I lay in the freshly made bed waiting for my love.  I played back the previous 24 hours in my head, how I had been degraded and used. My hand reached for my clit. I was horny as f**k. Waiting for her, waiting for her,

MEDITATION ON A PAIR OF FENDI THIGH BOOTS

As I couldn’t afford them

I cut them out of Vogue,

Put them in my handbag as a charm,

Mine to keep as long as

The paper bears my

Obsessive handling, on the tube,

In the morning coffee shop,

In the places where I take them out,

Weigh them in my hands like gems.

 

At night, as you lie beside me, sleeping,

I take out the birthday gift,

You will never buy, part my

Booted legs as if for you to fuck me,

Vibrate myself to Amazonian bliss.

SoSS – October

It is Saturday 19th October as I write. I am listening anxiously for news of the votes in Parliament on you know what. But there is good news, one part of which I will turn to later. For bow I ma very happy that we stuffed the Aussies in the rugby this morning.

Here are some things that I have enjoyed reading over the last couple of weeks. I was a late comer to anal sex and them mainly in a BDSM context.  I ave both given and received and there is nothing like it for making the recipient feel vulnerable. In the right headspace it can release powerful emotions. May More discussed anal here in the context of a post that looks into wider consent issues.

Sweet girl talks about the emotional aspects of anal here.

I enjoyed this story by Posy Churchgate.

Three weeks ago I was busy with Smutathon I have still not got round to reading more than a handful of the 49 posts. I will feature more  of them in a future post. This week I enjoyed this by The Other Livvy and this poem by Quinn Rhodes.

Photography is something I used to enjoy but these days rarely have time for. Some thirty years ago I bought a Minolta x300, my very first SLR camera, and for a few years I  took t wt me everywhere.   These days I tend to be on the opposite side of the camera. I found this by Exposing 40, she who exposed my 57 a few months ago.

And now the good news. This week the Government announced that age verification for accessing online porn was to be abandoned after being deferred several times. They had been told by those with expertise in the area that it would be unworkable. This is apart from issues of privacy, of the security of personal data, of the effect on niche and ethical porn,  (much of it produced by women.)

Read more here:

As ever I am finishing with car porn.As a vintage girl I own a 1958 Ford Prefect 100E, the perfect car for a summer’s day in a circle dress,  and here is the official launch film for the range from 1953,

 

Les Souliers Verts

I hadn’t been in Montreal long before I met Lynda in a bar. She was, I guessed a bit older than me, a brunette with shoulder length hair, a Quebecoise born and bed with a marked preference for speaking French, well what she called French at any rate. I had done French A Level back in England and thought I knew the language quite well but I really struggled to understand her. But I persisted, she switched to English from time to time, and after buying her a couple of beers I persuaded her to come to back to my flat.

We started kissing as soon as I had shut the door behind us, I quickly had her to off, and a soon as I had unhooked her bra I dropped to my knees, pulling her down just enough for me to suck at her nipples. I steered her towards the bedroom and let her make herself comfortable, while I popped to the bathroom.

When I entered the bedroom, she was lying naked on the bed, holding her hands two green stiletto shoes. I froze. She laughed.

“What are these?  Do you bring girls back who leave their shoes here?     Do you?”

He stopped laughing and got up off the bed. She pushed a stiletto heel into my left nipple and twisted until I winced in pain.

“Ces souliers verts, ils sont a qui?”

I didn’t answer,

“Ils sont les tiens?”

I nodded. I reasoned that admitting to crossdressing was likely to be the better option. She went to my wardrobe and took out a red shift dress that didn’t really go with the green shoes but which was easy to put on after three beers, and with nervous sweaty hands.

Then she said

“Dance”.

So I did, nervously, gingerly as I had never really worn the green stilettos to do anything more than pad about the flat.

“Faster” she said “faster.”

She laughed, and as I spun round trying not to fall over I saw her hand slip down to her cunt, saw her begin to massage the swelling bud of her clit. Then she said,

“Play with yourself as you dance.”

So I did, bouncing from side to side as I danced, watching her as she pleasured herself on the bed. I was near to coming and I sensed that she was too as she arched her back and pushed two fingers into her cunt.

“Viens. Baise-moi.”

I kicked off the stilettos and moved I in her. I was hard and precome was dribbling from my bellend. She was wet and ready. I pushed in and we both came immediately. I withdrew and rolled over panting. I had been nervous, this was my first fuck in Montreal, my first fuck I Canada and I knew it wouldn’t be my last. I knew too that my next fuck wouldn’t be with Lynda.

What I didn’t know was that she was a singer.  She never told me that. And it was a couple of years later that I found one of her albums in a red shop. I played it in the car on the way home and started with I heard a sing about les souliers verts. I felt myself getting hard as I listened.

I made a detour to call in at the bar where I had met her. I needed to pull. I needed to fuck, in souliers verts or not, as she wished.