London is sexy

London! London is mysterious. London is dark. London is moody. London is sexy.

London is just the place to explore our dark, deep erotic desires.

Fetish. Kink. BDSM. Swingers. Men. Women. Upscale. Dirty. Everything is on offer, if you know where to look.

A chilly October night, the rain just stopped so the air smells fresh and the night sky is so clear you can see the stars. I’m dressed to impress, wearing my nicest stockings and suspenders, sexy bra, high heels and a nice knee length slip dress over the lingerie ensemble. Only a taxi would do to get me where I’m going. I slip some condoms into my purse and apply dark red lipstick before tousling my hair and stepping out into the night.

The party takes place in a mansion in central London, and the crowd is carefully selected to include only the young and beautiful creatures of the night. Only women and couples are allowed to partake. Sexy dress encouraged, lingerie mandatory at midnight. There will be masks given out at the entrance, and complimentary champagne. The night is fully of possibilities. I can feel myself getting excited in anticipation.

But first, drinks. To calm the nerves, and to meet the other couple we are taking to the party. We meet at my date’s private club in West End, the boys dressed up in fancy jeans and jackets, the girls in dresses. We have a couple of drinks there and talk about ourselves, our experiences, our thoughts on this type of parties. I haven’t been to this one before, but I know that this is considered the best in London. It’s not advertised anywhere, only word of mouth, only people who know get the invitations.

We arrive at the venue shortly before midnight. Right away our coats are taken away to a cloakroom upstairs, and we’re given masks. We grab a glass of champagne and mingle with the beautiful crowd in the lounge downstairs, some people I recognize, some friends, others complete strangers but we exchange sexy glances, smiles, introductions and kisses.

At midnight, we are told to change into our boudoir attire. I slip out of my dress and wander back down among the gorgeous women wearing sexy lingerie ensembles of their own, to find the men have either stripped down to their underwear or slipped into a robe for comfort. He takes my hand and we make our way upstairs, followed by the other couples, to the bedrooms where the action has already started.

There are two rooms. One is a bit restrained, just some couples on the bed, women touching, kissing and caressing each other softly while the men look on. The second room, oh my! First, the smell. The smell of sweat and sex, it’s very hot in there as well. Once my eyes adjust to the dim lights I can make out beautiful bodies on the big bed, on the edge of the bed, on the floor. Women’s breasts, their legs, stockings and lace mingled everywhere on the bed, on top of each other, touching, kissing, licking, moaning. A few men standing around as well, mostly watching, some participating. The moans and the smell of sex fill the room.

I kiss the girl of the other couple and take her to the bed. She is shy at first, but I can see she is enjoying this tremendously, she is soaking wet when I reach between her legs. I kiss her lips again and kiss down her body, her small breasts with their sensitive nipples, her stomach, caress her legs and go down on her. She starts moaning in ecstasy. I don’t notice that both men come closer as well, so while I’m licking her she’s sucking off first one, then the other, taking turns, going back and forth. I can feel hands on my back, my hair, they’re men’s hands but I cannot tell them apart.

Eventually we all find some space on the bed and engage in more play. I suck her guy while he touches me all over, she is over there with my date, absorbed in their play as well. We stay apart for a bit and come together again, she’s lying down, I sit on her face and let her lick me while her guy starts fucking her gently, softly at first but going harder and harder. My date goes behind me and slides into me, right over her face. I kiss her man and can feel hands on me again, on my back, my stomach, my breasts, not just the men’s hands but others join in, soft touches of women next to us, some harder hands of the other men around. I get lost in the pleasure, I can feel this sea of hands washing over me, the waves reaching higher and higher into my head until I tense up and explode in a delicious orgasm, adding my own scent and heat to the already tense atmosphere in the room. The men both come shortly after and stumble off the bed, while I fall onto my back right there on the same spot, I can still feel the hands but their caresses are softer now, somewhat muted, as I retreat inside my head.

When I come to it, the party’s over, I find my clothes and manage a quick cigarette on the balcony with another glass of champagne. I see my date talking to some girl in one corner, the couple we came with come up to me and say their goodbyes, I exchange some pleasantries with other acquaintances but I am still in a bit of a daze so I make my way out, back into a waiting taxi, back into the night across town and back home, where I can happily fall asleep in the comfort of my own bed. Thank you, London, for another fantastic night.

Lady of manners

As an inadvertent consequence of my alternative lifestyle, I find myself defining the rules of sexual etiquette when it comes to threesomes, group sex, encounters at clubs or parties, and one night stands. Here is a light-hearted attempt to put it all in one place.

It’s bad manners to deny a man the right to orgasm. Of course, as part of play it could be fun and exciting, but ultimately the man needs a release. Let him have it. Especially if you’ve gotten back late after a long night, both drunk as skunks, and he was unable to come the night before, let him have a quickie in the morning. It generally wouldn’t take long and he will leave happy. That’s good manners.

It’s also bad manners to leave out a participant in a threesome. Of course it happens sometimes, when playing with a couple, the two of them end up absorbed in each other. In this case if you are the third participant, it is fine to let them be but otherwise, all parties should always be participating and enjoying themselves, until everyone is fulfilled and preferably exhausted, if you’re doing it right. In which case the party that’s tired can excuse themselves for a nap and not get offended when the remaining two continue on their own. Though preferably not on top of the tired party that’s trying to sleep.

It’s always tricky dealing with one night stands in the morning. They should get the hint and leave, especially when the host has somewhere better to be. It’s nice to offer them a coffee, if you’re making one for yourself. Some people want breakfast, though I find it too much when it’s just some casual fun. I’ve found myself on occasion sitting in someone’s kitchen while he made breakfast for himself, all the while asking me if I was sure I didn’t want anything – yes, I was fine with my coffee, black no sugar, thank you. Now how do I get back to civilisation from here, please? Thank you for a fun night.

The extension of that is going out for breakfast or lunch, or spending the day together afterwards, talking. That just messes with expectations. If you like each other enough to spend more time together after the sex, it leads to believe that there is more there, more to explore, a connection, maybe. It’s not just a case of having company, from my experience. In fact, I’ve been in situations where what could have been a one night stand turned into more, which was great, and the first indication of that was that I didn’t mind going for lunch with him and sticking around after spending the evening, night and morning together.

However, don’t use that line – I don’t think any girl has been convinced to go home with someone by a promise of breakfast in the morning. Nice try.

A good fuck buddy is good for three things. He will show up when I call. He will fuck me, and do it well, as per the definition. He will not stick around too long afterwards and will leave, without spending the night. Perfect, just what I needed after a long day at work. I will clean up the traces in the morning – a half empty bottle of wine, a full ashtray, toys and accessories all around the bed, only my clothes left on the floor. Thank you for being understanding and not staying the night. I really don’t have the patience for the majority of people in the morning.

That’s all I can think of for now. Of course there are exceptions to every rule. I will add more to the etiquette series in the future.

Connections (self portrait)

I met her when she was just a girl of twenty, uncertain of her future, unsure of herself, already a woman but still not fully an adult. I could still see her now, curled up in a chair or on a sofa like a cat, with a book on her lap, completely absorbed in the text, or with a notebook, writing away through the night, writing her stories. Stories she wouldn’t show anyone, reflections on her life, clearing up the confusion in her head by putting thoughts down on paper.

A silky strand of dark reddish hair falls over her face; she brushes it away to reveal a high forehead, wide cheekbones giving away her foreign origins, a defined nose and sharp blue-grey eyes, accentuated by jet black eyebrows and long eyelashes. Her small lips pursed, she focuses on page before her, unaware of the time and then it’s already late, and she has to be up early in the morning. She lights a cigarette and looks at the clock, counting the hours of sleep she could still catch, too few, always too few but she manages the escape the dark circles that would dampen the beauty of her eyes…

As I came into her life she barged into mine, demanding to be heard and hoping to be understood by someone she viewed as a kindred spirit. We read the same books, liked the same cities, listened to similar music and had a dynamic exchange of ideas on the subjects of politics, culture, and religion. It’s just the personal matters that we could not bring ourselves to discuss. Moments of happiness, fleeting and precious, preceded or followed by demands and accusations, not entirely unreasonable on her part. I left the country at the end of the summer, and I left her without saying goodbye.

And then there were the letters. As befits a coward, I got in touch with her from a safe distance of a few thousand miles and an ocean between us, with all due apologies and a pathetic attempt at an explanation for my sudden disappearance. Looking back now, I wonder if I fell for her then, or if it happened gradually, over the years, when the only thing that tied us together were these letters, sometimes light, sometimes happy, sometimes emotional, on occasion so abysmally depressing that I worried about her well being but never managed to properly express my care and concerns.

It took seven years. I was back in town, wandering around looking for something that I couldn’t place when I saw her walking towards me. She hadn’t changed much, her appearance still very youthful, the same round face, long hair, even the same look, blue jeans black boots leather jacket. She was walking towards me wearing sunglasses on an overcast day, I wasn’t sure whether she could see me but I felt like the world had stopped and there was only her. She looked the same, she was right here but the miles and the years have washed away all the feelings and all that remained was a connection, and the questions of what could have been, questions forever unanswered. I’m not sure if she saw me; she just walked past.

Hermine: a fantasy

“I want a man who can kill me with his bare hands.”

I want someone who can make me feel the pleasure in the pain. It’s only through pain that we can feel truly alive in this world. So tie me up, hold me down, slap me around so hard that it hurts, and make love to me.

Emotions are part of the game. Tease me, play with me, promise me, lead me and guide me as long as I trust you. Because I must trust you with life when the day comes. And it will come, probably just a little sooner than we wish.

Imagine being tied to a chair, hands behind your back, legs restrained as well. Blindfolded. I sit down opposite, smoke a cigarette and simply look at you. Do not speak, do not break the silent strings of tension.

I will come to you when I please. I will kiss you gently on your lips, and unbutton your shirt. I will run my hands over your body, plant a few kisses here and there and remove your shirt altogether. I will then move behind you and caress your sensitive neck, your strong shoulders, your beautiful lean long back. You will only have a split second before I strike you with a whip; you will hear the sound as it cuts through the air, but your hands are tied, there is nothing you can do to move away from it so you let it fall onto your shoulders, your back, stinging, striking, leaving red traces in its wake. I want to hear you scream in pain before you moan softly with pleasure as I kiss the red marks on your back. I’m in control, and I will play with you, tease you, caress you then strike you until I’m satisfied, then kiss you deeply and passionately until you want me so much that it hurts.

I will then pause, remove your blindfold, and sit across from you again and smoke another cigarette as I watch you, and let you watch me. Silence. Look at me. Take in my body, my face, my clothing and my pose. Look at my lips and my facial expression. Look me in the eyes. See what you can read there.

I will cut your bonds with a sharp knife, accidentally leaving a scratch on your wrist. Let me kneel down and kiss it better. Let me lick the traces of blood off your skin. Let me taste you.

Take my face in your hands, kiss me gently and deeply then slap me. Grab me by the hair. Drag me to the bed. Tear off my clothes, push me onto the bed and spread my legs with your body while pinning me down by the wrists. Enter me with a sense of urgency, first hard and then gently, make love to me gently before going harder again to finish until you are done.

Hold me. Let me hold you. Let me drift off to sleep in your arms, my body fulfilled and my mind completely at peace.

The love of a woman

Women are beautiful. Their smooth skin, soft curves, gentle touches and tender lips are a world apart from the feel of a man. I’ve been attracted to women most of my adult life, though it took a special one to make me realise it back at university. I think everyone experiments at university, for one reason or another – out of curiosity, or to please the boys. For me it was the beginning of sexual exploration and it stuck, to the point where I can’t imagine not being attracted to women.

It takes a very specific type to get to me. Maybe it is the opposite of me in some way. Someone who’s soft, feminine, a bit rough around the edges but all too aware of the effect she can create around her, through a simple glance, a gesture, a flip of her hair or a smile. The mysterious charm of a beautiful woman…

She was French. Not originally French, more of a mysterious Eastern background but brought up there, she had assimilated the best part of that culture that has a reputation for the sexiness and sexuality of their women. Long hair, brown eyes, fair skin and full lips. A fantastic figure with shapely legs and a fabulous ass, yet small and elegant breasts. A woman’s breasts should be small enough to fit into a couple of champagne, they say in France. Hers certainly did.
The first time I got a feeling she was attracted to me was on a weekend at the beach. We went to change into our bathing suits and she took off her dress very casually in one gesture. She stood there in her little lacy underwear and watched me through the mirror, watched my eyes travel over her body, taking in the shapely breasts and the dark, hard nipples. Our eyes met and I think I looked away.

We always talked about sex. Boys and sex, a topic of conversation much more interesting than work. I knew her romantic history, her current interests and what she liked in bed. She seemed to get boys into her with a snap of her fingers, a flick of her hair and a quick peek of the tops of her stockings all the while laughing at the simplicity of it all.

She got me into stockings. She would frequently flash me the tops of hers, regular stockings that she wore under her work trousers or the suspenders held up by a lacy garter belt that she reserved for skirts. She looked good in them, and insisted that it’s the only bedroom clothes a girl needs. She took me shopping for my first collection, showed me how to put it together and also pointed out that the slip goes on top of the suspenders/garter belt combination, that way it can come off while the rest stays on. The only bedroom clothes you ever need, indeed.

She came to stay over at mine on a few occasions. I was very attracted to her but I didn’t know how to act on it, until we were in bed together at which point I let my hands wander over her body and leaned in for a kiss. I kissed her all over, her voluptuous lips, her sexy breasts, going down her body until my mouth was between her legs. I licked her pussy the same way a man had done me in the past, focusing on the sensitive button and flicking my tongue back and forth, until I felt her tightening around me, getting close, her pussy all engorged, rubbing against me, harder, tenser still, then finally exploding and contracting in an intense orgasm before collapsing and going completely quiet. I could see her chest and her cheeks redden as well, so I knew this was for real.

She got jealous of my lover. He also got jealous of her, and tried to play us off each other by telling me that she had flirted with him at the coffee machine. I went a bit insane and confronted her about it; she slapped me on the face and told me that he’s the bastard playing the game, that she would never flirt with him, that she only said hello to him because by now the whole floor knew about him and I and all my friends knew who he was. She was the first to tell me that he had resigned, and his goodbye drinks were that Friday. She was a bit surprised to find out that I already knew it because we had just gotten back together and he had spent the previous night at my place.

She wasn’t interested in him. I suggested a threesome on several occasions, even tempting her with dinner and toys, but she wasn’t interested in the slightest. She was more keen on an Irish boy we met by accident in some late night club, he was there with his friend, I was with her, and it seemed a perfect match at the time – two boys for two girls. We spent half the night kissing them and kissing each other while dancing together. Essentially starting a swingers’ club on the dance floor. Shock and awe all around.

We went home with the boys and first she was with the Irish one while I was with his friend. I enjoyed watching her, in her stockings and suspenders, riding him and moaning in ecstasy. She was screaming at me in French about how amazing and endowed he is, encouraging me to try him out. The whole scenario collapsed into giggles when he said what they taught him in his high school French class – ‘je parle Francais’. Then I did try him; she was right, he was fun.

We had more fun all together one more time at mine. I’m not sure how it fell upon me to organise a threesome, but it was a difficult tactical maneuvre. I had to coordinate my cycle and my sex life with her cycle and with the guy’s social schedule. Granted his social schedule would always take second place to a threesome with us, but it took a couple of months for her to agree on a date. He came running when we called, and all of us had a lot of fun before kicking him out to return home and going to sleep just the two of us.

I lost her as a lover and a friend. She did something to upset me, I can see now that she did it out of love but it came out all wrong, and I thought she was out of line. I didn’t speak to her for a month, until eventually a friend brought us together to reconcile. She had a chance to explain herself but I was so upset and angry I didn’t know whether I wanted to slap her pretty face or kiss her full gorgeous lips. We argued, we ended up making out in some bathroom of a bar, we got drunk and I left them to continue their night while I went to see my lover, the one she didn’t like.
I was almost ready to forgive her. She might be a bit of an idiot, but she is still someone I cared about deeply as a friend and a person. We even made small steps to re-establish the friendship but then something happened, I went away for five days to get my head together after a difficult situation with that lover and when I came back, she was gone. I tried calling her, texting her, writing to her but she just ignored me, and at the time I could not understand why.

I saw her once again. She came to this bar where I was drinking, while I was outside having a smoke. She came swaggering straight at me, with that long luscious hair, full lips, shapely legs and curvy body that I remember so well. We exchanged an old time snarky greeting and she went past me into the bar, got a drink, came back out but stood to the side with men surrounding her, her back turned, not even looking at me. It hurt a bit. I finished my cigarette and went back inside.

Submission and trust

Trust is everything. Trust is the safety net that I rely on when I let a lover take me under, into sub space, and further, to the edges of my limits. Trust is the key ingredient that allows me to put my body, my mind and my emotions on the line when I give control away and submit to a man.

Trust must be earned; it cannot be given freely. It used to be easy to trust someone I had just met, based on some words uttered, some promises made, and some expressions that seemed to reach me on a deeper level. It was just words, the actions that followed were not always aligned and as a result, the trust was broken before it had time to develop and grow. My mind was broken with it.

Trust is caring. A Dom who can both push me to the edge of the precipice, and hold me in his arms as we both lean over to look, feel, touch, he wouldn’t let me fall. That is a caring Dom I trust. He is the man who can read the hints in my words and understand the signaling of my body to realize when to intensify, or when to take a step back. Someone who can slap me hard, and caress me tenderly and gently at the same time is the best type of Dom, who takes care of his sub.

Trust takes time. It does not appear overnight, and it is not based on one gesture or one mutual experience. I want a lover who has all the patience in the world for me, one who will guide me, gently yet firmly along this path of exploration and who will give me all the time I need to fully build up the trust required for the intense and intimate relationship that I desire so much.

Trust is fragile. It is easily broken, more so while it is taking time to build. If I am opening up to someone, putting myself on the line each time I expect a lover to meet me half way. I am giving myself fully to him and only to him, and expect him to do the same for me. I should be the only one who matters, and I want him to make me feel it on a deep, fundamental level.

Trust must be maintained. Consistency is most important, and meetings must be spaced so that the feeling of his touch is not allowed to fade from my skin. Maintaining a strong physical connection and a level of intimacy is what helps build the trust; too long a break, and we are back at the beginning.

Trust is growth. The only way to develop as a person is to have a caring partner I can trust both physically and emotionally. I want a partner who makes me want to be the best person I can be, and I will do the same for him.

Trust must not be broken. Once it’s gone, it’s almost impossible to get it back. The pain of losing trust in my lover, my partner and my Dom is the greatest pain, one that I do not wish to experience ever again.

Trust is everything. I want to build a relationship based on trust.