0 comments/ 17474 views/ 1 favorites A Letter from a Friend Ch. 02 By: exiledmaster Dear Sue, I didn't expect your reply to be so positive, to be honest. I expected you to disapprove, or to tell me I'm mad... Instead you were a friend. God, we forget don't we... Maybe it's part of growing into marriage that we forget about being young and not knowing about sex and life in general... Remember that Jackie Collins book we read when we were in the fifth form? I think it was sexy because it talked about things we were sure mum and dad never did, like shagging a black guy who puts cocaine on his cock, but it had the effect of making clear that different sex, exotic sex, was stuff that happened on a boat in the south of France, not in Gateshead or Sunderland.... Except.... Except I'm writing to my best friend and telling her about sex that is happening to me, sex that is truly extraordinary... You know what it's like, when you're nineteen and a memory takes you by surprise the next day; that's how I feel now. I was on the phone to Maddy today, negotiating to get my old job back now that Paul's gone and I need the money, and suddenly a memory popped into mind and I was soaking. Just like that, sitting there talking to the area sales manager and my mind had gone completely. It's partly about G planting ideas in my head, but it's Kate as well. She sent me a text the day after we met in the club, and we swapped a couple of texts, and then we talked. G had gone back south, and I was at home, and the kids were in and out of the house... So I took the phone up to the bathroom and had a bath and talked to her while I was lying in the bath. What did I expect? I don't know. She was chatty, and funny, and she seemed to like me even without knowing me. I said that to her. She had a sexy chuckle, a laugh that started down in her throat. "You should be used to it Kate. To people who want to seduce you..." And I thought 'seduce me?' She wants to seduce me? I giggled and tried to say something about she'd had me already, but she had an answer. "Clubs are different. Clubs are for all comers. You never know what you'll get in a club and sometimes that's part of the fun. But other times you know what you want. I want you." I'm awful at reporting dialogue Sue. It's so hard to remember the words when it's emotions you're feeling that make the most impression. I was turned on, and remembering her tongue, and her nipples between my lips, and her assertiveness, and my imagination was away and running. And she must have sensed it, because she began to talk to me again, providing words that were the commentary and the chorus to the images in my brain. It's kind of hard to believe, that someone you barely know can plug into your brain ass easily and quickly as she did. It's not like with G; I knew him a long time before we started having cyber sex. He knew things about me, could talk to me about P D James novels or old sixties records (although I think he used to go away and read up on those before we chatted because he's got crap taste in music.) With G it was as if I was leading him on sometimes, waiting for him to say things I wanted him to say, leading him to places he wanted to go but wasn't sure what to say. With Kate... With Kate it's as if she knows the things I want to hear. It's as if she has already explored the places I want to go to, and is setting out an itinerary for me. I love it and it's as sexy as hell. Am I becoming a lesbian? No. Kate isn't a dyke, and neither am I. But the memory of her tongue on me, and the thought of her fingering and using me. There were things she told me as well, that I hadn't realised so clearly. That when she was playing with me in the club she was making sure that all of me was on show. That her husband told her when to stop... Anyway, lying on the bath, one leg hooked over the edge, I made myself come. And I agreed to meet her. I hardly couldn't really.... In the process I found out some things about her as well. She's a probation officer; or rather, she was. She left probation work to work as an independent consultant on family law, writing reports on families where the parents can't agree on access or residency. She works as a sessional worker for the courts as well, but she likes her independence. Her husband's a barrister, so it's hardly a surprise that she gets load of work. It means she has free time during the week as well. So that's how we ended up meeting in the Metro Centre. I didn't wear a rose in my jacket, or carry a copy of the Financial Times, but I did have a brief moment of 'how will she know me with my clothes on?' I knew her straight away. She was wearing a pale beige linen suit; heels to die for, and flesh toned stockings that matched her natural tan. Me? I'd gone for a long, flared, pale blue skirt, and a camisole top that looked relatively decent with a small cardigan over it. I felt underdressed, not in the showing off my body sense, but not as smartly dressed as her. It was a kind of reminder, that when I worked I was like Kate, dressed to kill all the time... Can I be honest Sue? I felt angry. I took time off work to nurse Paul after his accident, only for him to decide he needed to go and find himself once he recovered. So he gets to go and find himself, and I lost myself. I stood there and looked at my low heeled sensible but pretty shoes, and I thought 'Seduce me Kate? You don't know the half of it...' We didn't dash off and have sex immediately, don't get me wrong... We walked around the shops for an hour, talked about each other, talked about clothes, talked about our lives,..., and talked about sex. She asked me what panties I was wearing, told me off for describing them as boring, then dragged me into La Senza where she bought three thongs. I didn't blush, I promise, but when the assistant asked what size Sue turned to me and asked '12 or 14 for you sweetheart?' and my stomach fluttered and I thought my groin's reaction must be written all over my face. The assistant didn't react, and part of me wanted her to, wanted her to look at me and wonder. We stopped in a shoe shop as well and I bought two pairs of shoes; one pair of grey strappy shoes with three inch heels, the other a pair of black high heeled mules, real fuck me shoes. Sue asked me if I was going to wear them immediately; I smiled at her and promised to model them later. I thought I was being good at the flirting game, but she smiled sweetly, opend the bag from La Senza and handed me a thong; black lace, a pearl thong, unwearable except for sex, and said 'This thong, those shoes, my juices on your face...' That was enough for me. We drove to her house, me following in my car, not wanting to miss a turning. She lives in a converted barn outside Hexham, very private, very peaceful. I love my house in the city, but if I had to live in the country then a south facing house with a private garden would be high on the list. We parked our cars to the side of the house, my Volvo behind her MX5, and she turned to wait for me. Part of me is ashamed to tell you this stuff, Sue. Part of me is a bit turned on to tell you this. Part of me wouldn't mind if you were turned on by me telling you this. I just can't live with it inside me, can't live without telling someone. Deep breath... She pulled my skirt up and pulled my sensible panties down. In the open air, by the side door of her house. I didn't object, just stepped out of the panties. The L shape of the house meant we couldn't be seen by passing cars, but if anyone came in the gate they would have seen me, skirt around my waist, naked below it, kissing a woman. I didn't want just to be passive, and ran my hands under her skirt, and found that she was naked above her stockings. And wet... She could have stripped me there and had me on the gravel, between the Japanese maples that framed the doorway. She didn't, but it could have happened. Instead she led me into the kitchen, and stripped me there. She handed me the pearl thong, and the bag with my fuck me shoes. "You promised to model for me..." So I stripped, and put the shoes and the thong on. I did a twirl for her, turning to face out of the window, trying not to teeter on the unfamiliar heels. When I turned back to face her she was lying across the table, her skirt around her waist, her eyes closed, her heels propped on the table top so that she was spread open before me. I never know how much detail to tell you Sue. Do you want me to tell you about how cold the slate floor tiles felt on my knees? Can I begin to explain the hoarse catch in her voice as she told me not to touch myself yet? Or the tremble I felt at that word yet? This is a theme Sue, the way I struggle to explain the sequence of events once the action starts. There's no doubting that I'm changing Sue as I do these things. She used her mobile phone to take a photo of me fingering myself, lying on the sofa with my feet on the coffee table. She sent it to her husband. Then she asked me if I wanted him as well. Of course I did. I would have accepted anything she asked of me I think. She made me lick and finger her, made me worship her body as if I were somehow ssubservient to her. And I loved it. And I loved it when she reciprocated; even the chemical scent of something on her hair as she nuzzled my breasts was special, and different to anything I'd experienced. We were exploring and enjoying, and she was showing off too. Have you ever seen a strap on dildo Sue? Not just in pictures, but real life.... We both wanted the play to go on for ever, for the orgasms to continue and the sense of belonging and being desired to never stop. But time runs on, and her husband coming home was the perfect stopping point. I was bent over the arm off a leather chaise longue at the time. She was fucking me with a strap on dildo. I was beyond caring. He simply unzipped, and shoved his cock in my mouth. I'd like to pretend it was somehow me taking charge, making love to him with my tongue and lips. I'd like to pretend I was relishing the feel of the woollen cloth of his trousers against my skin, but I was gone. I only regained my senses when the heat of his come spurted over my face..... I had to leave of course, and I drove back to Durham burning up with shame, and guilt, and the thought that people might be able to see his come on my face, even though I'd scrubbed it with cleanser. Then I got home, and bathed, and she rang, and I was safe, and warm, and wanted again... I felt guilty about not telling G immediately; he would have been so turned on. But maybe I'm moving on from G; I just don't know.... Think kindly of me Sue... A Letter from a Friend Ch. 03 Dear Sue, I think I'd forgotten how the bank works. I started back at nine am this morning, and for the last two hours I've been sat in an office with paper work. Rejoiners forms, staff details forms, mortgage code board forms, FSA clearance forms… It's enough to make you despair. Granted I've got access to email from work, but I'm not sure you or me will want the sort of stuff I tell you on a works email… So I'll save this in word and email it to you later After the forms there was the ‘let's order a uniform for you' nonsense. I don't want to wear a uniform. Customers don't want their financial advisor in a uniform either. They want to speak to their bank manager, not a superior air hostess in something that looks like it came off a rack in Asda. I'll gladly buy my own suits (I'm wearing one I bought in Monsoon today… but more of how I'm dressed later…) I'm glad we talked on the phone Friday… I wanted it to be a more intimate conversation but of course we both had other things to do, and we managed to at least find some common ground. I didn't set out to tell you this stuff to turn you on; it just happened that way. I'm an exhibitionist, I've realised. Telling the story is a turn on in itself. But I've loved you as a friend since we were kids, and turning you on, (as opposed to turning just about anyone on) is a good thing too… I'm trying not to get turned on telling you what's happened this weekend, but I bet it happens… Anyway, Friday. I was at the metro centre car park when I called you. My excuse to be there was to buy some outfits to wear to work for the four weeks I'll be without a uniform. Kate decided she was going to come shopping with me; she treats me like a sex object when she wants to, but she's a fun friend too… I'd love you to meet her, and I know you'll suspect she wants to get into your knickers, but you can always just say no… I know I'm not a good advocate for that, since I can't say no at the moment, but maybe that's because Kate has such a good grip on the kind of things I want… It could be a discussion on Trisha or Jerry Springer – submissive sex sluts are discovered, not made…. Did I say submissive sex sluts? Well, I'll let you form your own opinion. Shopping with Kate again. I seem to meet her at the metro centre regularly. She likes clothes, and she likes the impression they give. I like her choices for me. I'm starting to sound infatuated aren't I? I don't think I care… Anyway, we wandered round the Metro centre, and I bought some suits in Ann Harvey and Monsoon, and we talked about shoes,(more shoes!!!!!) and how high my heels should be. Kate's a power dresser; her shoes ooze sex appeal and control. We even had a political argument about it - I'm not sure about the argument about heels and women's role makes sense anyway, but Kate had her own distinctive spin on it. She made it sound like walking a tightrope; look at what I can do in the name of being sexy while going about my everyday life…. Anyway, we ended up another pair of shoes from House of Fraser that just ooze sex; four inch heels, a tiny band across the foot, an ankle band and an attitude that made me wet just trying them on…. No, I'm not a foot fetishist… I just have this association of shoes with glamour and wickedness that won't go away. Too many B movies when I was a kid I reckon… You already know I'd made plans for the evening and all of Saturday. Or rather, that I wasn't going to be at home because of plans someone had for me. We went back to Kate's house and I got ready. A shower, shave off my pubes, (not that they grow back that fast if you keep shaving them…) clean my teeth, style my hair (I'm thinking of growing it long again, by the way) then get dressed for the evening. I hated the whole process. Not because I don't like getting ready, but because Kate didn't touch me once. Didn't shower with me, didn't brush my hair, nothing. I discovered that her indifference was deliberate, part of the scene setting. She'd laid out my outfit for the night on the bed. The new fuck me shoes, a pair of black hold up stockings, a leather belt… And that was it. The belt was, ummm, unusual. Leather, about two and a half inches wide, with a buckle on the front that was mainly ornamental; adjustment of the fit was done at the back, with leather thongs through eyelets, like a miniature corset. I'd put my shoes and stockings on, and tottered a little on the heels as she pulled the thongs tight, cinching the belt tight against my waist. She was very conventionally dressed; s black dress, stockings and heels, and there was something uncomfortable, disconcerting, about the feel of the dress's material against my back as she checked the fit of the belt. Maybe it was disconcerting because my mind was doing overtime; what did she have planned for me? A night at a club like the night I met her? A night in with her and her husband? I already knew they played kinkier games than they'd played with me; my mind was working overtime and so were the glands that produce lubricant for my pussy. I'm sure she knew what I was going through, and kept me waiting deliberately. Eventually she handed me a PVC coat; short, with a belt around the middle. I put it on, just about covering my stocking tops. And she spoke. AT last; I was so bloody grateful I wanted to kiss her just for speaking. "We know you like multiple cocks Bea. I've seen that for myself. We know you like doing what you're told… So tonight we're going to test you out on both. Don't worry, it'ss indoors, and you'll be anonymous. Just enjoy, and if it stops being fun, just say the word Mugabe." "Mugabe? Why Mugabe?" "Can you think of a less sexy word, or a word less likely to be associated with sex?" With that she led me out to her sports car; she had a brown leather bag with her, like the one her husband uses to carry his law books and wigs to court. I was so glad she lives in the country Sue - I was so conscious of the coat coming open with each step, and of the fresh air on my naked pussy. And I was so conscious of what she'd said; I was to be anonymous, but used by more than one man? By the time she'd driven down the A69 and onto the A1 I was soaked. We didn't have far to go; just to one of those travel lodge places just north of Newcastle. Her husband was waiting in the car park with the room key, and led us up to the room. I'm not going to regale you with lots of details of the room; I didn't see that much of it. There were two double beds, and, between them but on the opposite wall to the bedheads, a wardrobe with no doors, just hangers on a metal rail. I don't want you to think I sleep walked into this Sue; as soon as I saw the beds I wondered if I was going to be tied to one of them, or what the arrangements would be. Not worried, or fretted, or panicked, but wondered. Wide eyed, sexy, born again adolescent wonder. And magically, sexily, they managed to surprise me. Once I'd shed the coat I stood in the middle of the room while Kate put a silk hood on me. It covered my head completely; with narrow cut outs for my nostrils and my mouth. There was padding in the section that fitted over my eyes, so that no light was admitted. I had to stand until, guided by their hands, I was led to the mouth of the doorless wardrobe and patiently, efficiently, tied to the clothes rail. I didn't know what they used to tie me; it might have been some kind of rope, but the feel of it on my arms was soft, the knots no tighter then they needed to be, but firm, holding me with my arms outstretched to my sides and forward; if I wanted to I could close my hands around the clothes rail. Something firmer than the ropes was fastened around my ankles; it was only when both ankles were fastened that I realised there some kind of bar between the fastenings, so that I couldn't close my legs…. As if I wanted to. Kate took charge again, running her hands over me, testing the bonds at the same time as stimulating me. "I like being whipped in this position you know. In a room a lot like this he tied me like this and whipped me while men sat in the chair and watched. All I knew of their being here was the pile of used tissues afterwards, and the scent of them…." I know that I shuddered. I don't know if it was because I wanted her to squeeze my nipple harder, or because I wanted her to make me come, or because I wanted her to penetrate me, but she interpreted it as meaning I was scared. "Don't be frightened. You're not here to be whipped tonight. You're here to be fucked, repeatedly. I'm going to put a plug in your arse, but that's less sexual than preventative. We don't know if you've ever been fucked there, but the men tonight aren't allowed to, and the plug will remind them of that while stretching you for him once they've finished with you." Sue, I know it's impossible to fall off a cliff and hang in mid air, suspended, but that's what it felt like. The nose of the plug was blunt, and rubbery, and as she wiped it between my pussy lips I shook inside, with that acidic top of the stomach sugary taste in my throat that adrenalin and nervousness and excitement can bring. I've never been buggered, although I'll confess to having explored the idea since I first started cybering with G., and to letting my finger stray once or twice, but this was different. I bent forward slightly as she pushed at me, and strained a little, like I'd read, but there's no explaining or describing the sensation. I think she must have known how close I was to coming; she smacked my backside once, affectionately, as if she was just playing, but my mind was completely overwhelmed. It was so odd Sue; the time I got gangbanged in the club I felt as if I couldn't take any more by the time they'd finished with me… This time, god help me, I felt like I could have gone on all night. Five men, Kate told me afterwards, but two of them came back for seconds. I loved it when she said that; two of them came back for seconds. Actually Sue, I should qualify that. Five men in my pusssy. Condom covered men, who splattered the backs of my legs, my backside, my thighs, even my feet with their come. Kate had them organised; condom on, a handful of KY, fuck me good and hard, ignore the gagging gasping noises I was making, pull out when they were close then stand still as Kate tugged them to spurting, messy orgasms on me… Then there was Kate's husband. Should I give his name now? I trust you Sue; god, I must trust you. Jon. He's called Jon. Short for Jonathan. I knew he was behind me straight away. He smells of Aramis, and plain soap, and somehow he manages to smell of cotton and starch and something I think of as manliness. I knew what he was going to do. I was soaking wet, and messy, and covered in come, and starting to ache, just my calves and ankles, but I knew he was going to take the plug out of my bum and fuck me there, and I wanted to beg him to get on with it. And he did. No pre-lubrication, no foreplay, no warning. He just pulled the plug out, and suddenly he was at me, and it felt like I was trying to pass a big object, but in reverse, and then he was inside me. And then he almost wasn't, pulling out and then back at me again. Banging at me. No other words for it Sue, he was just banging me, and I felt so full, and so complete…. All he wanted was to fuck me; hard, as fast as I could cope, and uncaringly. And I was happy with that. I'd come five or six times while the other men were having me. I was turned on, and enjoying it, and enjoying the lack of any involvement or responsibility from me, but Kate wasn't going to allow that. The little bitch got under me and started licking my clit, and using her fingers on my pussy. Jon asked her what she was doing. "I want to make her lose control. She's not going to just stand there and take it…" She. Kate was calling me ‘she'. Doesn't matter what she called me Sue. Kate was in charge, and I lost it, as she predicted. Crying, sobbing and begging him not stop, begging her to stop, gabbling and terrified I was losing control of my bladder I was so wet…. I'll finish this letter later Sue….. I think they've realised I'm pretending to take half an hour over this bloody form… A Letter from a Friend Ch. 04 Dear Sue 4 Back now – because it's past lunchtime and because they've realised my course in Bradford doesn't start till next week and I can't do anything in my substantive role until then. So they're finding me things to do, like sorting files or trying to identify leads from old records. Deep joy. This work will be a very long and slow process. It may involve me going to the toilet and fingering myself again. I did about half an hour ago. It's like wiping up the mess a dripping pipe makes; I finger myself and the urge goes away for a while, but I know it'll come back. I've started looking at the women who work here and wondering if any of them might fancy licking me, or being licked. I'm becoming lecherous… Once Jon had come inside me, and I'd recovered from an earth shattering orgasm, they took me home with them. It sounds cold, or callous, but there's something deeply sexy about knowing that every move for you is planned. Being in the back seat of the car, curled up, my head on Kate's shoulder, I felt so much at home. She wanted me to pull my coat back to let people overtaking us have glimpses of my thighs and my breasts, and I complied immediately. No debate. Did anyone see me? I don't think so. Not that many lorry drivers about at that time of the night, but it was the thought that counted. The thought that I'm sexy enough for her to show off. The thought that people might want to look, that I would comply… We got back to their place and my legs were shaky, like a new born calf. Is it possible to be exhausted and aroused? I was. Actually aroused isn't the right word. Sexed up maybe. I couldn't have done anything about it of my own volition, but everything I was aware of was seen through the prism of my own desire. I think that says so much about my sexuality, because it's how I was when I was married. I never sought sex out, but I was enthusiastic if it found me. I feel like I haven't changed really, and yet I have in so many ways. Jon sat himself down in the lounge with a whisky and some music that sounded like people bashing tin cans while strangling cats (Yes, apparently, from the 80s), while Kate took me through to the bedroom to pay my dues. And I paid happily. I licked her clit while she dildoed herself with a mini cruise missile. I licked inside her pussy while she rubbed at her clit far harder than I would have done. She turned over with two pillows under her tummy and an even thicker dildo rammed deep in her pussy, filling her up while I licked and tongued her arsehole. She's got stamina, I'll give her that. I gave her everything else too; my fingers in her, my tongues, dildos from her collection. By the time she told me to stop my tongue felt like it was coming out from the roots, and my jaw ached the way it did when I had my wisdom teeth done. But she called me pet, and kissed my cheek where her juices were drying to a gluey consistency, and I loved the way her arms could become comforters just minutes after her nails had raked at my shoulders. Lying there, under cotton sheets that had the soft starchiness of expensive bedding I don't remember falling asleep, but I knew I was feeling good. I keep writing these letters in chronological order, but sometimes things get missed then bits of the story don't make sense. You remember G? The guy who got me into this mess / wonderful experience? I've not been getting on as well with him since I met up with Kate. He's still a lovely friend, a nice guy, sexy, all the things I used to think I want but I'm having real doubts about him. For one thing he's possessive; I don't dare tell him what I'm telling you. And if I told him, and he knew that I was telling you as well, he'd feel like it meant he wasn't the most important thing in my life. Which is daft, because if it wasn't for these doubts I have about him he could be. Does that make sense? And for another thing I have this kind of suspicion about him, that he's not telling the whole truth. It's as if I'm his entry key to a world of people who have the kind of sex life he aspires to. That's not totally bad; everyone who has this kind of sex life is acting out their own needs I suppose, but I need to feel as if it's me that matters, not just anyone. It's odd about Kate and Jon, they make me feel almost as if they understand my need to be lusted over anonymously, but also my need to be appreciated as an individual. Does that make sense? Anyway, why bring this up now? Because I got up and went to the loo at about seven a.m., feeling good about me, and feeling sexy and looked at my mobile; seven texts from G the previous night. Why wasn't I online? Why wasn't I answering my phone? I so wanted to text him back, saying that I was tied up in a hotel, being gangbanged by strangers, but I bottled it. I suppose that's probably part of why I climbed in the shower, to try and wash away the thought of squabbling with G. It's silly, because we owe each other nothing, but I still want to keep the peace… So I showered, in a spa shower the size of the average bathtub, with nozzles pointing in all sorts of directions, and let the water bring the pinkness back to my skin. It was gorgeous, like a carwash without the brushes. I wasn't sure where to go next; it's odd being a guest in someone's house and not wanting to disturb them, but not feeling comfortable enough to walk round naked. I made my way down to the living room; it was warm, and I was more concerned about being seen than about being cold. Which is daft, given that they live out in the country and the house is invisible from just about anywhere. So I curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a towel, and tried to find a radio station I could listen to. That's where I was when Kate came downstairs and found me, listening to some DJ with a voice like a particularly dodgy estate agent playing sounds of the sixties, most of which I didn't recognise. Kate was wearing a silk robe, also just out of the shower, and a pair of sequinned mules that looked designed for the decadent life. I don't know how it happened, this trigger in my brain that said that every minute I spent there had to be devoted to sex if at all possible, but within minutes I was on my knees, holding her robe apart, licking at her freshly shaved pussy. Long licks, the kind she likes to use on me, starting at the tight little bud of her bottom all the way up to the vestigial digit of her clit… (Vestigial digit? I keep reading those nature books I bought for the kids, some guy called Gould – I feel as if I'm educating myself by accident…) She knew that Jon would find us like that; probably wanted Jon to find us like that. I didn't mind, not one bit, not even when he rammed his cock into my pussy to wet it, and then straight into my backside. Everyone has fetishes, and I think that's his, a kind of assertion of dominance and ownership. He does it well though… He fucks me as if it's all just a process, of getting from where we are to where he wants to be, which is satisfied. I know I'm trying to read a lot into the thought processes of someone else's husband whom I hardly know, but I feel as if I do know him. It is about dominance and his pleasure, but somewhere in his mind his pleasure is linked with fucking someone through orgasms, past the point of coming, until they can't cope. So his cock is pounding away at my bottom, but his hands are on my nipples and clit, twisting to get just inside the entrance to my pussy, making me gasp and sweat and cry out… I was like a limp rag long before he finished, and Kate was pushing my face away from her… Every time I'd sagged, or slowed down in my making her come he'd slap my thigh, like a jockey with a horse, or the side of my breast. She had her legs over my shoulders, her feet on my back; I had a vivid impression as she swung them up and over me of how pristine the polish on her toe nails was, how the glistening stones on her toe ring looked like real diamonds… We were both gasping for breath when he pulled out and went to shoot his come on my backside. I don't know if it was down to me, or him, or the circumstances, but his come sprayed up my back, onto one of her feet, a dollop landed on my neck… I loved it; a dirty, sexy, uncomplicated way to start the day, even if it meant I needed another wash…. I'm struggling Sue; I'm struggling because I can't keep a divide between my sexy life and my work life. Kate and I talked about it that Saturday morning, about being a grown up who has the sex life her friends can only dream of. We talked about it in the bedroom; ostensibly we'd gone up there to get me a robe so I didn't have to spend all morning in a towel, but we ended up in a kind of desultory conversation. She was talking about how she had a case once (she works with families and the courts) where one of the parents was into S&M; the lawyers wanted to take the kids away from the mother because she was into S&M; Kate had to say to the court that she didn't care what sort of sex the mother was having, but that the kids would be better off with their dad because their mam kept talking inappropriately about her sex life to them, and that it would be the same if her sex life had been entirely ordinary. Even though she felt a great deal of sympathy for the woman, she had to make the right decision. A bit like the old conundrum about whether you could do a mortgage for someone you fancy, and stick precisely to to the rules, (actually, we all know of occasions when we've believed people because we liked them when others might have been given a harder time of it, but you know what I mean…) but it's a different discussion to be having when you're trying on a waist chain or looking at your tits in the mirror to see what they look like with chains draped round them. (Gorgeous by the way - sexy as hell…). It makes you think about yourself differently, being told by someone that your body looks good dressed in a certain way, decorated in a certain way… Lots of people would think of me differently if they could see me with leather belts wrapped round me, or looking at myself in a mirror with chains dangling from my nipples (held in place by a kind of slipknot) slipping a surreptitious finger into my pussy to see how wet my own image was making me, I suspect; I suppose it's all about thinking of it in terms of the positives. People who won't like me because I'm having fun with my body would probably piss me off anyway… And of course there's the awareness of sex as a possibility all the time that I miss when I'm at work, or at home… Me and Kate got to talking about where she found the men for Friday night; it's not as if you can hang out a sign and see who turns up. Of course, the answer's the net. Not the innocent end of the net, where people research their family tree and exchange cross stitch patterns, or the end of the net where people gather to chat and some blokes make arses of themselves, but a kind of back corner of the net where people define themselves by what they do. We both know there are big commercial sites where people can try and find someone they want, and who is what they claim to be, but the sites that Kate and Jon use are much more home made, and much more focussed on real people. I loved their site. I say their site because Kate and Jon help run it. Loved it. It's a message board and the like, with a chat room. I got to read one of the men's accounts of fucking me the night before. It was filthy; he was no Shakespeare, but reading someone describing how much he'd come, and how he'd loved my body, and how he wanted me for himself for a night… I didn't even care that he said he'd pay for me, and called me a slut. I was just sat there, wide thighed, sneaking strokes at myself while reading. Kate showed me pictures of herself with men, face obscured, and I thought yep, I could do that. We even went in the chatroom for a little while ,and Kate was talking to people about what we'd done the night before. So Horny Bea was born; my nickname in the chatroom, coined by Kate as she told people about my reactions to reading the account of the previous night, and my reactions to them talking about me. So that's how Jon came to find me, on my back, fingering myself, trying to see over Kate's shoulder and asking her to tell me what people were saying about me. And that's Kate came to type a running commentary for the chatroom of Jon spanking me, bent over a pile of pillows, then making me suck him. Kate was cruel and funny, telling them Jon didn't have the energy to fuck me because of the previous night and what we'd done that morning. I was just enjoying the spanking. Did I just say that? Enjoying the spanking? Yep, I did. It was fantastic. Sexy, and sore, and his finger nails caught one of my pussy lips and made me gasp, and I wanted to be stood behind me watching. I know this attitude of disbelief is going to wear off Sue, but there are moments when it's just hard to get to grips with this. It's the fact that I don't know what's going to happen, and yet know I'm going to be so turned on, so aroused… But it's the other people involved as well that surprises me. They're not weirdoes, or strange. They're people like me, like you, but the things other people were typing about me were filthy; they were urging Jon to whip me and punish me and use nipple clamps on me; their imaginations were scary and so so sexy. I came, of course. Kate reckons there were fifty odd people in the chat room as I came, and as Jon came on me. On my face, and my tongue, and my neck. Kate showed me the things people had typed in the chat room; men typing about coming as Kate described what I was doing. Men asking Kate for my email address, for my messenger ID, for pictures of me like the pictures of Kate they'd seen… And Kate kissing me, rubbing the back off my neck, wiping my face with make up remover wipes that smelled of cucumber and camomile. I think I was finished for the day; sexually worn out, but with a warm, complete feeling. I was lying there in Kate's arms, thinking about what would happen next, thinking about how I could rearrange the house so I can have the computer in my room, so I could chat the way Kate chats. And I'm sat here, wet with thinking about this, thinking about my job, thinking about my colleagues, thinking about people who might fill the gap in my life, thinking about myself in bed last night, on my back, legs apart, pulling a thin leather belt tight across my mound, rubbing my clit with it, wishing someone was there to spank and fuck me… I do wonder if colleagues can smell the fact that I'm turned on so much… I wish they could, and would do something about it… I'll write when I'm in Bradford on the course; I dare say I'll have bugger all else to do, and next weekend I'm doing the family thing… Love n kisses Bea….