Today I’m obsessed with risky sex. The kind that gets your heart hammering in time to the thud of your crotch, as you fuck with a nebulous yet oh-so-urgent deadline. Get it over with before the others find you.
Risky sex. Like the snatched gropes you have in crowded places, or the slightly-more-than-that which teenagers do on the bus.
Sex you have not because you’re too horny to get a room, but because the thrill of being discovered makes it all feel more illicit.
Risky sex – almost getting caught
The first time I had this feeling was in my first boyfriend’s kitchen. His parents were in the next room – less than ten feet away. We could hear them bickering over the TV remote, and making jokes about the cast of Eastenders. We kissed, because we were shit at conversation, and then our casual groping turned to more. I turned round to look at the doorway, and he stepped forward to press himself up against my arse. Biting kisses into the back of my neck, then bending me over the kitchen counter.
It was one of those that stuck out into the middle of the kitchen – a long, smooth, cold surface dividing the room. Giving me something to rest on. To be fucked against. To grip onto for balance while he lifted my skirt, pulled my knickers to one side and fucked me with short, hard strokes.
Never quite all the way in: we had to avoid the tell-tale sound of his crotch smacking against my arse.
I held still and stared hard at the kitchen door, praying his parents wouldn’t pick that moment to wander through.
You know what I mean: that kind of risky.
Sex in alleyways.
Parks.
On trains – the late-night carriages with only two other people. Sex where you hitch your skirt up and sit on it hard, and try not to move too suspiciously.
The kind of sex they invented CCTV for.
Perhaps forbidden sex with someone you shouldn’t. The grinding, slapping, clenching urgency of a fuck that needs to end before you’re caught.
I don’t know why this tempts me right now – I’m far from adventurous at the moment. Anxious and ill and tired, I sit in my room behind my laptop, with the curtains drawn and a drink that’s always one-too-many of whatever I shouldn’t have: coffee, wine, cider, one of each.
Maybe risky sex is hot because it’s the one thing I know I can’t do at the moment. I’m horny for danger because I’m feeble and scared, and until I feel better the fantasy’s all I’ve got: public sex. Sex with a stranger. Sex with a colleague in the meeting room when you’re not sure the web cam’s switched off.
Maybe riskier.
Vertigo sufferers, look away now, but I’m thinking of dizziness and fear. Genuine loss of control.
Perhaps a scenario where the sex itself pushes me further into danger – like fucking over a balcony on a tower block ten floors up. Bent over the side, head and arms dangling precariously over the edge.
Scared of falling.
Scared of looking, but equally scared of closing my eyes. As if facing the danger will stop the worst from happening.
He’d hold the railings to brace himself to fuck me harder, and I’d lean further out – feeling that swimming, sick sensation in my stomach as I imagine the pace of the drop. The ground looks far away, but each stroke of his dick inside me nudges me a little further forward.
Each jolt might be the one that tips us over the edge.
And he has to come. Now. Quickly. Because my head is swimming and the balcony’s creaking and I’m hanging over the edge.
And we should stop, but we can’t, because we both need to come. Just one more stroke. One more jolt. One twitch more of my cunt to milk the spunk from his cock, and that split second where we cling to each other: panting and sated and happy.
Sweaty enough to slip.
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Me, behind our garage where my dad went to smoke, only just out of view of the kitchen window, potentially visible to both houses next door, on my knees, sucking the cock of a mate, having spent three months nudging him round to how it’d be something any mate would do for another mate and wouldn’t make either of us gay or anything. The cold air. The damp seeping through my jeans on to my knees – explained badly later to my mum as having tripped. The dusk light. The smell of him mixed with the smell of the garden. The fear, oh my god the fear, the chance of getting caught, making it all the more urgent. It took him no time at all, I think. Hot, salty, sour. He zipped up and fled, only realising after the lust had subsided that he’d got off with a boy… and got off on nearly being caught.
I hope I didn’t ruin him.
oh yes, all of that and more please!!!
Balcony sex is THE BEST. I live in a building with 24 floors; my (whatever he was) and I went to the top floor one night for the view and ended up going through a door that *should* have been locked, but wasn’t. He fucked me on the railing while I was leaning backwards with my entire torso out over it, breasts bare and bouncing, looking out at the skyscrapers all around me. That’s an indelible memory!
Holy shit, just reading your comment made me shaky! That’s amazing and terrifying in exactly equal measure!
This reminds me of that awful story from a couple of years ago when a young couple in London died doing exactly that.
Oh, flashbacks! I’ve had my fair share of risky sex but the one time that stands out the most is having sex in the hotel corridor. It was one of those times where it starts early and builds for hours. We’d been to a restaurant and jazz club (me with my butt plug in and collar fastened around my neck, him with a vibrating cock ring on) and had toyed with each other all night. We came back to the hotel, got into the lift and just… stared at each other – the lust, the heat, the passion between us was threatening to spill out. As soon as the doors opened and we stepped out, we grabbed for one another – stumbling down the corridor, kissing, groping, fumbling. He picked me up, carried me to just outside our room and put me down. I put my hands against the wall, backed into him and we fucked right there in the corridor, right outside our room.
There’s a hotel in a cathedral town in the UK which has a beautiful Victorian sunken garden situated between the main hotel building & the rooms situated in a separate extension.
Once, coming back from a day at the beach, & fueled by the sunshine & some early evening drinks, my lover & I, staying at this hotel, went for a late evening explore around the garden. It was gloaming time, so we could still just about see where we were going… & be seen…
At the top end of the garden, by a little wooden pagoda, leaning over a wooden fence, looking across the darkening depths of the garden, towards the flickering lights of the hotel buildings – we started to caress, then to grope each other… My hands were all over her skin, still warm from the day’s sunshine…then, standing behind her, loosening the fastenings on her jeans, pushing them down, pulling her pants down, pushing her forward over the fence, I entered her…
We giggled at the thought that the old ladies & gentlemen who were the hotel’s standard clientele would be getting something more than Coronation Street if they happened to switch to the cctv feed … At which my lover suggested that we should give them a real show…she told me to fuck her in her arse, using all the wetness of her excitement to lube my cock.
Still laughing, but thrilled at the performance of risk, I did as I was instructed, & came hard inside her, gasping, laughing, stifling the noises of our excitement…
I don’t suppose there were any cctv cameras…
Oh.
My.
God.
*swoons*
Many years ago, My mrs and I were in a jacuzzi in a very well known water park in Stoke on Trent….we were in there with a few of our couple friends, she sat on my lap and I got hard straight away and I couldn’t resist slipping it into her, (I thought all the bubbles of the jacuzzi would hide what we were doing, but I think my face gave it away)……my friends said later that they knew what was going on and that people above in the queues for the slides were watching too…..oops!
My first experiment with Risky Sex was when I was 14. We were on a train going to San Francisco with a church group. My pal and I met some girls from another group, and we had this little pint of whiskey we had swiped from a grocery store and thought we were hot stuff. The girls were our age or maybe a little older and started talking about sex, of which we didn’t know much. Well, the one I was sitting next to put her jacket in our laps and slid her hand into my pants and started rubbing my cock. I did the same till I felt her wiry pubic hair and tried to finger her pussy, but the angle was wrong, so I could only rub the lips. I was hard and came quickly. She laughed and rubbed her hand on my jeans, and that was the end of that. While we were playing, trying to be so stealth, one of the chaperones walked by and looked at us. Nothing was ever said. That was the first time someone touched my cock other than I, and it would be some years before someone other than I made me ejaculate.
I love the fantasy. Actually doing it is to much for my anxiety, but I love to write it.
can’t beat that added feeling of the blood pumping from anxiety of getting caught, on top of a good fuck hmmmm
A print shop with presses lined up in a long room and a shelf full of supplies centrally located on one wall. My room mate working late or on a Saturday, I forget which, at the press at the end of the room. My girlfriend and I stop by (I was a supervisor in another dept.) to conduct some business with my room mate. At the conclusion of our business, as my girlfriend and I are leaving, she grabs me and pulls me behind the shelf, pulls her pants down to her ankles and pulls my cock out and gets on it. What an experience. I really miss that girl sometimes. She was always amazingly wet.
Stumbled on your post. I have always been into Risky Sex until my later years. I never knew what “pushed” me in to that direction, again until my later years. Risky sex & borderline issues went (go) hand on hand. Risky sex provides that mental high that makes me feel something. The riskier the better. I look back and think “I should be dead.” From fucking strangers in bars, to fucking in the park, on my front porch on a main street. To having sex with married men, borderline taboo things, even in some alcohol at times and it’s off. Quickies. Sex at work in the closet. The list goes on, but I look back and think what was it all about? I got off, but bottom line it was about the high that I got from the risk. Coming down was awful, regret and paranoia fucked my mind up. Thinking about STD’s, pregnancy and just looking like a slut and how guys talk.
Now that I am older the sex isn’t as risky and the offers aren’t there like when I was younger. BUT there are a few riskier moments that do occur every once in a while and keep me high for days. Great topic, something I can really relate to only a different level (I think) for the other commentators.
When I was 18, My gf (before she became my wife) and I went to stay with my aunt in the Lake District for a few days. My aunt was pretty prim and proper, but with a dry and sometimes wicked sense of humour, but ther was never any possibility that my gf and I could sleep together, so I slept in the attic and she in the tiny box room. We were in the ‘can’t keep our hands off each other’ stage of our relationship and my gf told me to see if I could creep down to her room early in the morning, before my aunt got up, to satisfy our need for sexual release.
Climbing down from the attic was a noisy nightmare, because it was only a creaky extending ladder that was right outside my aunt’s bedroom door, but I was so horny I was prepared to risk it. The floorboards on the landing weren’t much better and I was holding my breath while trying to creep along without too much creaking. And then I was worried that the god damn door would squeak when I opened it, but I managed to get in there and close the door.
My gf was in a tiny single fold up bed, that also squeaked when I climbed, in and any rhythmic movement would have sounded like an old unlubricated steam engine, so we realised the only way we were going to manage to keep the noise down was to fuck standing up.
My god, she was hot. I mean literally hot to the touch from being tucked under a high tog duvet, and she was wearing a long silk nightgown that slid over her curves in a deliciously liquid fashion. We were not really physically matched well for face to face fucking when standing, so after what can only have been half a minute of passionate kissing and feeling each other up, she turned to face the door, bent forward slightly and I pulled up her nightgown, dropped my shorts and slid my boner between her bum cheeks. She immediately soaked my dick with her wetness and with a gentle push I got the first inch in, then slowly started to slip a little more in with each thrust until I was going in, balls deep. I could hear her breathing speeding up and she was clearly gasping in an attempt not to moan, but she tensed after only a few seconds and her head dropped forward and I could tell by the increased tightness and tension that she had already cum. I was also breathing heavily by now and it was only a few moments more before I blew my load inside her. We stayed still for a while, me still buried inside her, catching our breath. Then she giggled slightly and whispered that she needed to get to the bathroom to clean up, so she opened the door as quietly as she could and made her way there while I pulled up my shorts and made my was back up to the attic to wait for he to vacate the bathroom.
Whether my aunt knew anything had gone on, we never knew, and although it was only a quicky, it was about a sexually charged as we ever got.
That trip to the lakes was also the occasion when I satisfied another of my gf’s fantasies, to fuck high up on a hillside. Nice sunny day, off the beaten path near Allcock Tarn (seems appropriate, no?), we had another Quicky on a blanket, luckily not disturbed by the RAF who regularly screamed through the valley on low level training sorties.
And we did the deed in my local park too, one summer evening when my gf was in one of her horny, naughty moods. She was wearing a long flowing hippy dress and we were walking through the park on the way to my flat when she said she needed some cock immediately. I didn’t need telling twice. I had her dress up and her knickers off and in my pocket before we’d even decided on the right spot, which ended up being on the lawn in front of the steps to Longford Hall, which was an event venue only about 30 seconds walk from where she’d told me of her urgent need. Once again, it was a quick missionary job on the grass, but we were interrupted by a couple of dog walkers we heard approaching and had to stop before they actually got into view. After a brisk walk to my flat, we carried on from where we’d left off, not bothering to get undressed or into bed, but with her bum on the bed edge, her dress around her waist and me on my knees, pounding her as hard as I could. Didn’t take us long to achieve lift-off.
Happy days.
I love risky sex, always have. Recently we were at a bar, the Soggy Dollar in the BVI’s drinking and enjoying the hot weather with the refreshing water to cool us off. My guy swam up to me in the water and, naturally I wrapped my legs around him. I could instantly feel his thick cock bulging through his trunks. We had many people surrounding us, but we slipped it in anyway. Slow and rhythmic motions with the waves, so not to draw too much attention, we went for it. It felt amazing, he had to keep telling me to keep my moaning down. Soon we both came hard. I still get wet thinking about that experience. Oh I could write a book on those risky encounters.
how have i not found this site since