Guest blog: Two very different men

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

Today is an odd day – I am sitting on my sofa nursing a giant hangover, still reeling from the election last night. So it’s fitting that instead of trying to come out with any words of my own, I’ll give my very tired brain a rest and hand over instead to a guest blogger. Clementine is here to tell you about a recent sexual encounter with a guy… and how that encounter sparked fantasies about someone completely different. No prizes for guessing which of the very specific lines in her piece press my ‘submissive lust’ buttons…

Two very different men

So I’m very new to this sort of thing and the story I have to share comes sort of as a 2for1 deal – so much so, if it were a supermarket advertisement it’d be screaming BOGOF!

I’m labelling my guys Mr A and Mr B (inventive I know) in order to add some anonymity. My story comes almost as a 2-for-1 deal because I feel neither of the men are done any justice without the other. The juxtaposition of both go hand in hand for the perfect dirty story.  First off, quite unconventionally I’m going to start off telling you about my (almost steamy) but much more lacklustre night with Mr B.

I’d had a fair bit to drink for a girl who rarely drinks. I was on holiday, I was allowed to enjoy myself. The whole night up to this point was, quite frankly, a bit shit and nothing worth telling had even come my way…until…

Picture an almost empty bar calling last orders, a very drunken (maybe one too many tequila shots) kind of girl and a couple of European guys… I’d say lurking in the corner but it doesn’t sound so sexy, does it?

The night started/ended, you can choose the point of view, with Mr B’s friend buying me a very expensive drink which ultimately led me to believe he was the one I’d spend the night with… Oh how wrong I was!

Some time passed. How long? I really couldn’t say, my time scale was completely off but I found myself alone with Mr B – an older man, a guy who’s look said “I’m going to fuck you hard and you’re going to like it.”

Let your imagination run wild but please when conjuring up the image remember his smouldering grey eyes and what felt like two-day-old stubble. When I say alone, we’d picked the most accessible room in the hotel to fumble our way through the night. Through drunken slurs he seemed irresistible, with the added level of danger of being caught, making my heart pound. I had never done anything like this before, it made me feel alive – a guy I had only met hours before grasping at whatever he could whilst I straddled him on a cold leather chair.

What I wanted was to be finger fucked into oblivion, to feel that rush I had never quite felt…

What I got was very different – a half-arsed attempt to get me going, a man with such promise, with hopefully a lot more experience than myself; left me dissatisfied. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think sex has a language barrier?

On that note, I’d like to welcome Mr A, thoughts of who were rushing through my dizzy head somewhat wishing Mr B would soon be Mr A (and no this isn’t an episode of PLL where you find out who A really is).

Mr A has a power about him, a power that leaves you nervous but ultimately curious and wanting more, he’s cocky and oozes confidence in his own abilities enough to second guess your own and all of this bundled up into a well-dressed man leaves you nothing less than weak at the knees.

I would most definitely be lying if I said I haven’t conjured up the odd fantasy about Mr A. The thought of him using me for his own gains – showing me who’s in control.

He thrusts me against the wall, a fixated gaze on my shy, but somewhat alluring eyes. Only pulling my pants down enough to slip two fingers into my already pulsing cunt. I writhe and gasp at his intricate touch. He has me right where he wants me. I am his play thing.

With his other hand touching every inch of my body he whispers “I want to do bad bad things to you”. The only response I can muster is a nod, quietly biting my lip. I’m nervous, trembling with excitement but with a yearning in the pits of my stomach.

He pulls my t-shirt over my eyes. It’s dark. My chest is pounding. Teasing me – it’s intensified. Pushing me to my knees, I hear his belt clinking as he undoes his jeans. His cock springs against my lips – “Open your mouth”.

I do as I’m told. One hand on the top of my head, fingers spread to hold me in place, he buries his dick to the back of my throat. Fucking my face – one, two, three, four times.

He’s making me wait. He is in control. But I need him to fuck me; I’m aching and it hurts. Using his belt he ties my hands behind me, gripping me tight, I’m on the edge of the bed. Face down.

I want this. I want him. I don’t have to say anything, the wet between my legs is a giveaway but I pled with him anyway. Without warning he thrusts into me and I cannot help but moan in gratitude. With each thrust he spreads me wider burying himself deeper into my aching cunt. I can feel it building, it’s too much. Pushing myself back onto him in an attempt to meet his rhythm. My legs twitch as I flood around him. One. Last. Thrust before throbbing with his own release.

“Good girl”.

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