FabSwingers.com > Forums > Stories and Fantasies > My book store

My book store

By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

At the bookstore, there was this girl with red hair, short and cute, wearing glasses. She was incredibly shy, barely speaking, always with her head down, but her smile was something special. She'd come in, grab a book, and sit for hours, sipping coffee, reading like it was her life's work.

I was completely taken with her, dreaming up all sorts of scenarios where she'd talk to me.

One day, as we were about to close, I gathered my courage. I approached her with a book I thought she'd enjoy and said, "Here, I thought you might like this."

She looked up, and there was that smile. "Thanks," she said in a voice that made my heart skip a beat.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

In the days following that first "thanks," our interactions grew from mere glances to small exchanges. Her voice, when she spoke, was like a gentle breeze, soft and fleeting. Each word she offered felt like a gift wrapped in cautious silence.

I'd find myself daydreaming about taking her out, imagining what it would be like to share a meal, a laugh, or even just a walk through the park where we could talk about books or nothing at all. I pictured her in different settings, her shy smile lighting up the night, her laughter mingling with the city sounds.

One afternoon, as the autumn sun cast golden rays through the bookstore windows, I noticed something different about her. There she was, in her usual spot by the window, her book open in her lap. But this time, I saw the subtle hint of lace at her ankles—stockings. The sight of them sent my mind reeling, weaving fantasies where those stockings played a starring role.

My breath caught, and I felt an undeniable heat surge through me. I couldn't help but imagine the softness of her skin beneath that lace, the way her legs might feel wrapped around me. The fantasy was so vivid, so intense, that it was all I could do to maintain my composure behind the counter.

As the days passed, our conversations slowly expanded. She'd comment on a book she was reading, her voice gaining a bit more confidence with each encounter. "This one's really capturing me," she'd say, her eyes meeting mine for a moment longer than usual.

Every new word she spoke was like a treasure, and I found myself hanging on to each one, hoping for more. I started recommending books to her, watching for that shy smile when she accepted them, my heart racing with each "thank you."

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The bookstore was bustling, a rare occurrence that left us all scrambling. She was there, as always, but this time, she didn't retreat into her usual quiet corner. Instead, she approached me, her voice barely above a whisper, "Can I help?"

I was touched by her offer, and together we worked, clearing up the chaos. The interaction was sparse, her shyness still very much present, but there was a warmth in her actions, a silent companionship that felt intimate.

Then, as she bent over to pick up some books, I caught a glimpse of the lace at the top of her stockings, and just beyond, the delicate edge of her lacey panties. The sight was like a bolt of lightning to my senses, stirring up a whirlwind of desire within me.

Once we'd tidied up, I felt compelled to show my gratitude. "Let me drive you home," I suggested, my voice slightly hoarse from the effort of keeping my composure.

She nodded, her cheeks flushing a soft pink, and we left the bookstore together. The drive was quiet, filled with the soft hum of the car and the weight of unspoken thoughts. I stole glances at her, her stockings now a secret shared between us, my mind racing with what might happen next, the innocence of her shyness contrasting with the provocative image I couldn't erase from my memory.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

I followed her into her apartment, the air thick with anticipation. She invited me in for coffee, her voice a shy melody. As she headed to the kitchen, I found myself wandering into her living room, which was more like a library. The room was adorned with rich, antique furnishings, shelves packed with books from floor to ceiling, every piece whispering tales of history and luxury.

She returned with two steaming cups, placing one down on a side table. But instead of gesturing for me to sit, she did something unexpected. With those wide, innocent eyes looking up at me - those good girl eyes full of an unspoken promise - she knelt before me.

There was no preamble, no words exchanged; her shyness seemed to melt away in this silent understanding. She unzipped my trousers with a grace that belied her usual hesitance, her fingers deftly pulling me free. Her lips parted, and she took me into her mouth with a skill that left me gasping, every movement calculated to draw out the pleasure.

Her tongue danced around me, her head moving in a rhythm that was both torturous and divine. She looked up, those eyes locked with mine, full of an innocence that contrasted sharply with the act she was performing. She took me deeper, her throat accommodating me, swallowing in a way that sent shivers down my spine. The sensation of her throat contracting around me as she swallowed every drop was overwhelming, my release coming with an intensity that left me weak.

After, she pulled back, wiping her lips delicately, her gaze now shy again, avoiding mine as she stood. She simply said, "Maybe you should leave," her voice soft, almost apologetic. Before I could respond, she vanished upstairs, leaving me in the quiet, opulent room, my mind a whirl of confusion and arousal. The contrast between her reticent nature and the boldness of her actions left me reeling, questioning everything I thought I knew about her, yet undeniably, profoundly, stirred.

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By *avidgeorge68Man over a year ago

wakefield

wow what a story and so well written!

just totally so erotic

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By *es_wrentMan over a year ago

Hatfield

Extremely well written and I can’t wait to read more!

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By *ragsterMan over a year ago

Blackburn

Wow

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

""Maybe you should leave,""

Maybe you should follow her…….

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By *hemarcus2376Man over a year ago

gorseinon

Wow

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By *exyeyez23Man over a year ago

St Anne’s

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By *untooMan over a year ago

manchester

This is fabulous

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Wow well written

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The next day at the bookstore was unusually quiet without her presence. I found myself scanning the aisles, the door, every corner, hoping to catch a glimpse of her fiery red hair or her shy smile. But she didn't appear. Disappointment settled over me like a heavy fog as I finished my shift, my mind filled with thoughts of the previous night's unexpected intimacy.

I walked to my car, my steps heavy, when I noticed a small note tucked under my windshield wiper. It was simple, written in a delicate script: "Come to my house. The door will be open."

My heart raced as I drove to her place, a mix of excitement and confusion swirling within me. Sure enough, the front door was ajar, beckoning me inside. I stepped into the familiar hall, heart pounding, and saw another note at the base of the stairs, "Use me."

"Hello?" I called out, realizing I didn't even know her full name. Silence answered back. I checked the library first, but it was empty, the air still with the scent of old books. I then ascended the stairs, my curiosity and desire leading me to a door I hadn't seen before.

I entered a room bathed in red light, candles casting shadows everywhere, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Another note on the bedpost read, "Use me."

There she was, on the bed, an image of surrender and desire. Her red hair cascaded around her, her body barely covered by crotchless panties and a bra, her hands bound to the bedposts, a ball gag in her mouth, and a blindfold over her eyes. The sight was both shocking and intoxicating.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my senses overwhelmed by her. Her body was a canvas of curves and shadows, her skin glowing in the candlelight. I touched her, my fingers tracing along her skin, feeling her shiver under my touch. I couldn't resist; I climbed onto her, our connection wordless but intense.

The act was raw, passionate, her body responding to mine in ways that spoke of both control and release. But when I tried to talk after, to seek some understanding or connection, she remained silent, her body still, the only sound our heavy breathing.

Confused and overwhelmed, I left her there, the door clicking shut behind me, my mind a tumult of emotions. The night had deepened the mystery around her, leaving me more entangled and unsure than ever before.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

[Removed by poster at 28/12/24 09:44:42]

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By *lderWiserNowMan over a year ago

Kettrin

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By *cotty909Man over a year ago

tranent

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By *iker197Man over a year ago

Hinckley

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The next day at the bookstore felt like stepping into a parallel universe where the previous night's events were just a dream. There she was, the quiet reader, back in her spot, dressed in her typical librarian chic - glasses perched on her nose, a blouse that hinted at her curves, and a skirt that seemed to tease with every step she took. She barely spoke, her silence a stark contrast to the intimacy we'd shared, but her smile was there, directed at me, filled with secrets.

As she prepared to leave, she handed me a note, her fingers brushing mine in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. It was an address, with just two additional words: "7pm tonight, wear a suit."

I watched her walk away, my mind racing with possibilities. Was this an apology? An invitation to continue what we started? Or something entirely different? The rest of my shift dragged on, each minute stretching with anticipation.

Once home, I showered, the hot water doing little to calm the storm of thoughts in my head. I chose my best suit, one that I rarely wore, wondering if this was some kind of formal event or if she just wanted to see me dressed up. As I knotted my tie, my mind wandered through scenarios:

Maybe it was a dinner, a chance to talk about what happened, to understand her better. Or perhaps it was something more risqué, a continuation of last night's game of control and surrender. I imagined her in an elegant dress, the setting intimate, candles lighting up a room where we could finally speak freely.

Or could it be a gathering, where I'd meet her in a different light, among friends or colleagues, presenting herself as the enigmatic woman with a penchant for silence and mystery? My heart raced at the thought of her introducing me, her voice finally revealing her thoughts about me.

As I stepped out of my apartment, the suit feeling strangely appropriate for whatever awaited, I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever this was, it was a step further into her world. The address was in a part of town I knew well, but I had no clue what to expect behind those numbers.

Driving there, my mind was a canvas of desire, confusion, and curiosity. Each scenario played out in my head like a movie, her smile the common thread pulling me forward. No matter what lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain: this woman, with her quiet allure and unexpected boldness, had woven herself into the fabric of my life, and tonight was another thread in the tapestry we were creating together.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Parking outside the address, my heart raced as I spotted her. She was breathtaking in a long, black dress that clung to her form like a second skin, her hair elegantly pulled up into a high ponytail, accentuating her features, her glasses adding an intellectual allure. I managed a simple "hi," but she only responded with a curt "ready?" before opening the door to a world I hadn't imagined.

We entered what looked like a high-end private members club, the kind whispered about but rarely seen. The doorman, with a silent nod from her, let us through without question. "Drink," she said, guiding me to a bar where the air was filled with the murmur of well-dressed, attractive couples in conversation.

She ordered two drinks, her choice bold and strong. I looked around, taking in the refined atmosphere, the sophistication in every detail. She downed her drink in one go, a silent challenge, and I followed suit, the alcohol burning down, igniting my senses.

With her hand gripping mine tightly, she whispered, "Come," leading me through a door into a long corridor lined with rooms, each a tableau of different desires. Some rooms were like stages, others classrooms or bedrooms, all with people engaged in various acts of intimacy or performance.

She pulled me into a room where the decor was starkly different—filled with wooden frames, straps hanging from the ceiling, and tools whose purposes were a mystery to me. In the center, a woman was bound to a table, surrounded by a group of men, their focus intense.

Without a word, my companion let her dress fall to the floor, standing before me in nothing but her heels, her body an art piece in its vulnerability and confidence. She turned, her eyes meeting mine, a mix of challenge and vulnerability in her gaze.

"Do you like me?" she asked, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of need to be seen, to be appreciated in this raw, unguarded state.

I was speechless, the scene before me, her question, the whole night unfolding like a dream or perhaps a carefully curated fantasy. My answer was more than a simple 'yes'; it was an acknowledgment of her beauty, her mystery, and the connection we seemed to share, even if it was wrapped in layers of unspoken desires and questions.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat, as the reality of where we were, what this could mean, settled into me. Here, in this room, with her standing before me, I realized I was stepping into a world where my fantasies might just find their match in her reality.

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By *henicanidoMan over a year ago

Kings Lynn

Awesome story.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"Just watch," she said, her voice a blend of command and invitation, as she stepped forward with a confidence that belied her usual shyness. One of the men, whose eyes had been fixed on her since we entered, approached, guiding her gently but firmly into an old wooden stockade. The contraption creaked as she was positioned, her wrists and neck locked in place, her body bent at the waist, beautifully exposed.

They brought out instruments I had only seen in the most secretive corners of my imagination. A flogger first, its many tails whispering through the air before landing with a soft thud on her skin, leaving faint red marks that spoke of both pain and pleasure. She gasped, her body tensing, then relaxing into the sensation, her eyes seeking mine, sharing this moment of surrender.

Another man stepped up, wielding a wand with a bulbous, vibrating head. He teased her, the vibrations causing her to squirm within the confines of the stocks, her moans filling the room. The sight was mesmerizing, her pleasure so raw and visible, her reactions guiding the hands that touched her.

Then came the third, with a crop, its sharp snap contrasting with the gentler flogger. Every strike was precise, aimed at eliciting the perfect balance of pain and arousal. Her skin was a canvas of red lines and flush, her breath coming in short, excited gasps.

Each man took his turn, their actions a choreography of dominance and delight. One would use a feather to tickle and tease, making her laugh amidst her moans, while another applied ice, the cold shock making her body arch and shiver.

I watched, transfixed, as she navigated this dance of sensation, her body a testament to her control over her desires, even as she surrendered to the moment. Her eyes, whenever they met mine, seemed to ask, "Are you still watching? Do you see me now?"

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By *on BurgundieMan over a year ago

Edinburgh

Good Lord, that’s well written and intoxicating.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As the last of the men stepped back, she looked at me, her voice a sultry whisper, "They give me pain, but you... you're my pleasure now." She shifted in the stocks, her body inviting, "Fuck me, fill me."

I approached, my hands running over the marks on her skin, feeling the heat of her body. My trousers fell, and I positioned myself behind her, the sight of her exposed and vulnerable stirring something primal within me. I entered her with a thrust that made her cry out, not in pain but in a release of built-up tension.

Her body welcomed me, tight and warm, each movement drawing moans from deep within her. I fucked her with a rhythm that matched her breathing, her sounds of pleasure guiding me. I felt her clench around me, her body trembling with each thrust, urging me to go deeper, harder.

The room filled with the sounds of our union, her voice urging me on, "Fill me," she gasped, and I did, my release a flood, mingling with her own, our connection sealed in this moment of raw, mutual pleasure.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

She never returned to the bookstore that week. Each day I worked, I found myself scanning the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Worry began to gnaw at me; had she regretted our encounter? Was she okay? The weekend found me at her doorstep, but there was no answer, the silence amplifying my concerns.

On Monday, my phone buzzed with a text message. It was from her, the words simple yet laden with mystery: "I've left to be with family but will be back soon. Nobody else will enter me as that is yours only now."

A smile crept across my face at the possessive, intimate promise, but it was quickly overtaken by a flood of questions. How did she get my number? I realized I never gave it to her, yet there it was, her text in my phone. What was her name? In our interactions, it had never come up, or if it did, I couldn't remember it now.

And how did she afford that luxurious apartment? She never appeared to work, at least not in any conventional sense. Her life seemed shrouded in a veil of secrecy, her means of living as mysterious as her sudden disappearances and reappearances.

Then there was the night at her house, the second visit where she was already bound. Who had tied her up? Was it one of the men from that club, or was there someone else in her life, orchestrating these scenes, guiding her into these dark, seductive realms?

These questions spiraled in my mind, each one leading to more confusion, more fascination. She had become not just a lover but a puzzle, one I was inexplicably drawn to solve, even if part of me feared what the answers might reveal.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Brilliantly written, drawing me in... painting the picture ...wow

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By *idssissyTV/TS over a year ago

Nr cricket ground birm

Very well written

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By *urious_two12Couple over a year ago

Cardiff

Amazing story and very well written

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By *ensual and PrimalMan over a year ago

Near Narberth

Oh yes, an amazing mystery...

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By *lr1974Man over a year ago

Atherstone

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Two weeks passed like a blur, the routine of the bookstore feeling mundane without her presence. Then, unexpectedly, she appeared at the coffee shop, dressed in her usual librarian-esque style, but her skin bore a new tan, suggesting time spent under warmer skies. She smiled at me, her demeanor the same as always, sipping her coffee before leaving a note on the table: "Meet at mine 8pm. I'll explain all."

My shift ended, and I showered, my mind racing with anticipation. Arriving at her apartment, I was greeted not by her but by a tall, fair-haired man, his physique reminiscent of a Royal Marine. His presence was imposing, his voice firm as he instructed, "Head to the drawing room." He stayed by the door, a silent sentinel.

I waited, the room's opulence now familiar yet no less impressive. After fifteen minutes, she entered, a vision in a dark red dress that hugged her form perfectly, complemented by matching heels and exquisite jewelry that adorned her wrist. Her transformation was striking, from the quiet reader to this embodiment of sophistication and mystery.

"You want to know who I am, don't you?" she began, her voice calm but with a hint of excitement. "You have questions."

I nodded, my curiosity and confusion mingling. Everything about her, from her sudden disappearances to her luxurious lifestyle, screamed of secrets. The presence of this man, the note, her attire tonight - it all felt like pieces of a puzzle that were about to be laid out before me.

"I've been waiting for this moment," she continued, her eyes locked with mine, "to share with you who I really am, and why our paths have crossed in such an... unconventional manner."

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By *lderWiserNowMan over a year ago

Kettrin

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By *ral Lover extremeMan over a year ago

St Ives

Such an intoxicating story absolutely love it

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By *ameulMan over a year ago

Nr Norwich

Such a good story

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By *laric-PrimalMan over a year ago

central Scotland - working all over

loving it

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

She began her tale with a heavy breath, her eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and resolve. "My mother died when I was very young," she said, her voice steady but laden with old pain, "and my father, a steel billionaire, was always distant. I grew up in boarding schools, surrounded by nannies, but never felt connected to anyone. There's always been this... hole, something missing."

She paused, the room silent except for the soft sound of her breathing. "I turned to S&M to feel something, anything, but even that hasn't filled that void." Her gaze met mine, searching for understanding. "When I first met you, I felt something different. You were kind, and I sensed you could be the comfort I've been searching for."

At this, she nodded towards the door where the Marine-like figure stood. "He's my bodyguard. He checked you out, ensured you were safe. It was him who tied me up that first night. He was in the next room, for my safety."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implications. "I want you in my life, not just as a lover but as an emotional connection, someone safe yet passionate." She took a step closer, her presence magnetic. "I'm offering you to enjoy my wealth with me, to step into my world as my partner. If you're willing to join in my sexual exploits, to be my comfort and safety, I promise you, nobody but you will enter me."

The proposal was as unexpected as it was profound. Here was an offer to be part of her life in a way that transcended the physical, to be her anchor in a world of wealth and wild desires, to be the one person she could trust with all aspects of her being. The choice laid before me was not just about passion or pleasure but about filling a void in her life, and perhaps in mine as well.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

I didn't have to think; my answer came without hesitation. "Yes," I said, feeling the truth of that word resonate within me.

Her face lit up with genuine happiness, her smile reaching her eyes in a way I hadn't seen before. "Let's pack for a trip right away," she suggested, her voice filled with excitement. "We can discuss living arrangements later, but for now, let's go together and begin our new life."

We left her apartment, stepping into a sleek, black car that seemed to embody luxury and secrecy. The drive to the airport was swift, bypassing the usual routes. We entered through an exclusive entrance I'd never seen, one where no waiting or security checks were necessary. Someone took my passport while I enjoyed a glass of wine at a private bar, the service seamless. My passport was returned to me quickly, and we were shown to a small, private jet waiting on the tarmac.

As we settled into the plush seats of the jet, she turned to me with a playful curiosity, "Have you been to Monaco before?"

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Our day in Monaco started with the sun reflecting off the Mediterranean, painting the sky in hues of gold and azure. We began with a leisurely breakfast at Café de Paris, savoring croissants and coffee while watching the world go by. The air was filled with the scent of fresh bread and the murmur of international conversations.

From there, we strolled through the Jardin Exotique, admiring the vast collection of cacti and succulents, the panoramic views providing a backdrop to our budding connection. We talked about everything and nothing, the comfort of our new relationship blossoming in the open air.

Lunch was at the famed Le Louis XV - Alain Ducasse, where we indulged in a tasting menu that was as much an art form as the sculptures in the nearby gardens. Each dish was a conversation piece, a moment of shared delight.

Afterward, we took a yacht out to sea, the luxury of her world becoming mine, the water sparkling under the afternoon sun, Monaco's coastline a postcard view. We swam, laughed, and talked about our futures, the sea a metaphor for the vast possibilities ahead.

As evening approached, we dressed for an experience unlike any other. We made our way to one of Monaco's oldest hotels, its facade a testament to history and grandeur. But it was beneath this opulence, through a secret door, that we descended into another world.

The dungeon was hidden below, the air thick with the scent of leather and the flicker of burning flames lighting the hallways. The staff, dressed in either intricate leather outfits or scant, elegant lingerie, guided us through corridors that seemed to echo with whispers of the past. Here, in this underground sanctuary, where the light danced with shadows, we were about to explore a side of intimacy that was both primal and profound.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

In the S&M club, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation and the scent of leather. She was led to a central stage where a large wooden wheel was mounted. With a theatrical flourish, her wrists and ankles were bound to the wheel's spokes, her body stretched out like a starfish. A woman, dressed in a dominatrix's leather outfit, approached with a feather and a set of ice cubes.

The dominatrix began with the feather, tracing it gently over her skin, eliciting soft gasps and giggles as she tickled her underarms, the insides of her thighs, and around her nipples. The contrast came when the ice was introduced, the cold cubes gliding over her warm skin, leaving trails of water that shimmered in the candlelight. Her body shivered, her breath catching as the cold met her warmth, her reactions a beautiful dance of sensation. The scene was a blend of laughter and moans, a sensual display of control and surrender, all without any penetration.

After this captivating display, we moved to a different part of the club, where a room with a large, canopied bed awaited. Here, the ambiance was different—candles lit the space, casting a warm glow on the array of couples and groups engaged in various acts of intimacy. Some were in passionate embraces, others in more complex group dynamics, their moans and whispers creating a symphony of pleasure.

We found a moment just for us amidst the decadence. I stood behind her, my hands gently exploring her body, feeling the heat of her skin, the remnants of her earlier sensations. I entered her from behind, our connection slow, sensual, our bodies moving in sync, the world around us fading into a blur. It was a moment of shared intimacy, a silent promise of more to come, our movements a quiet declaration of our new bond.

Finished, we left the room arm in arm, the night's adventures still echoing in our hearts. We walked back to our apartment, the city lights of Monaco a backdrop to our silent contentment, the night air cool against our flushed skin, our steps in rhythm, ready to explore not just the city but our lives together.

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By *teadygaitMan over a year ago

rustington

A very good read. Thank you.

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By *j47Man over a year ago

limerick

Theres a book in you id swear

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By *y AmoreMan over a year ago

london

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The next day was a contrast, a return to simplicity and shared interests. We spent it wandering through the bookstores of Monaco, the smell of old pages and new bindings mingling in the air. She tried to gift me a rare first edition, but I hesitated at the extravagance, my discomfort clear. She understood, and instead, we just enjoyed each other's company, her shyness from before melting away as she shared stories and opinions about the books we perused.

That night, she appeared in a stunning leather dress, bright red, fitting her like a glove. Throughout the day, a tailor had taken my measurements, and just before we were to leave, a suit arrived, tailored to perfection, embodying sophistication.

We were collected in a luxurious Maybach, the car's interior as opulent as the night was promising. Our destination was a casino perched above the marina, where from the car, I could see the historic F1 route snaking through the city.

Inside the casino, the grandeur was palpable, the air rich with the scent of wealth and excitement. After enjoying some games at the roulette table and sipping on cocktails, we ascended in a glass elevator to the fourth floor, overlooking the bustling lobby below. Here, the theme shifted dramatically - doormen dressed in ancient Egyptian garb greeted us, setting the tone for the night's adventure.

We passed through a series of rooms, each more opulent than the last, until we reached one entirely in red, with a central stone slab. She was asked to undress and lay down, her body a vision against the cool stone. A figure, cloaked in full Egyptian regalia, their face obscured by a mask, entered carrying a bucket of fire and a wand.

The fire play began with the individual dipping the wand into the bucket, soaking it in a flammable liquid, likely isopropyl alcohol. With a practiced motion, they ignited the wand, the flame dancing at the tip. Moving the wand slowly over her body, the heat from the flame kissed her skin without touching it, the warmth causing her to arch slightly, her skin glowing under the play of light and shadow. The wand was moved in patterns, sometimes closer, sometimes further, each movement calculated to tease the senses, the heat creating a sensation of warmth and anticipation rather than pain. Occasionally, the flame would be extinguished against her skin, the alcohol burning off quickly, leaving a warm, tingling sensation without causing harm.

After this mesmerizing display, we retired to a private bathroom for a shower. The water cascaded over us, warm and cleansing, our bodies pressed together under the stream. I explored her with my hands, my fingers tracing the contours of her body, now slick with water. She turned, pressing her back against me, and I entered her slowly from behind, the water adding to the sensation, our movements creating waves around us. Each thrust was measured, sensual, our bodies moving in a rhythm that was both loving and eager, the sensation heightened by the water's slippery embrace. We climaxed together, the steam-filled room echoing with our shared pleasure.

Dressed once more, we decided to take a late-night walk, heading towards the famous F1 tunnel. The night air was cool against our skin, the city quieter now. Walking through the tunnel, famous for the speed of racing cars, felt surreal, our steps echoing off the walls, a stark contrast to the high-energy evening we had just experienced, the memory of fire and passion still vivid in our minds.

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By *lr1974Man over a year ago

Atherstone

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By * and E 2007Couple over a year ago

Hatfield / Burton on Trent

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By *iker197Man over a year ago

Hinckley

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By *2spikeMan over a year ago

Southsea

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Outside our apartment in Monaco, we were handed the keys to a sleek, silver Ferrari. Her smile was infectious as she tossed the keys to me, offering me the chance to drive. The GPS was already set, guiding us towards Cannes. The drive along the French Riviera was enchanting; the coastline was a panorama of blue and gold, the road hugging the cliffs with breathtaking views. As the sun began to set, we arrived at our hotel in Cannes, the sky painted in fiery hues.

As night fell, she emerged in an intricate green gown that brought out the vibrancy of her red hair, the fabric flowing with every step she took. I asked her to put her glasses on, wanting to see her in that familiar, yet now so different, guise. She gave me a shy smile, the one that had first captivated me in the bookstore.

We dined by the ocean, the gentle sound of waves complementing our meal, the intimacy of the moment deepening our bond. After dinner, we headed to a place that looked like a movie studio from the 1930s, its architecture a French interpretation of Art Deco, all curves and opulence.

In one of the back rooms, the scene was set with a large, ornate bed and a solitary chair where I was guided to sit. She took her place in a small alcove, curtained off but with one side open. A man with a large, movie-style camera was positioned, ready to capture every moment. The alcove, I soon realized, was a high-end version of a glory hole.

The camera kept rolling as four men approached, their identities hidden by the setup. She began with the first, her technique precise and deliberate. She took him into her mouth, her lips and tongue working together, her head bobbing as she maintained eye contact with me and then with the camera. Her hands were not idle, stroking him as she sucked, bringing him to the edge until he couldn't hold back. His release was timed perfectly with her pulling back slightly, letting his cum splash over her face and the green of her dress, the contrast stark and erotic.

She moved to the next, her method varied, using her tongue more, swirling around the tip before taking him deep, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. Halfway through, she lifted her gown, revealing she wore no underwear, her arousal evident as she touched herself, her fingers sliding through her wetness, showing how much this was turning her on. Her moans were soft, adding to the sensory overload for everyone in the room.

Each man was different, each climax captured by the camera, her face and dress becoming a canvas of their pleasure. She managed each with a skill that was both artistic and raw, her eyes locked with mine, conveying a mix of challenge and intimacy.

When the last man had finished, she was covered, her makeup smeared, her dress stained, yet her smile was triumphant, her eyes still on me, full of promise and satisfaction. The camera continued to roll, capturing the aftermath, the raw beauty of her post-performance, the shared looks between us that spoke volumes, preserving this moment forever in film, a testament to our journey into the unknown, together.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As she stood there, her eyes locked with mine, the green of her dress a stark contrast to her flushed skin, a door opened, and four women entered, each clad in matching green lingerie that shimmered in the low light. They approached her with a purpose, surrounding her in a display of synchronized beauty.

Gently, they began to undress her, their hands moving with a reverence that was almost ceremonial. The dress slipped off her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing in nothing but her green heels, the color complementing the lingerie of her companions. They guided her to the bed, laying her down with a gentleness that belied the passion about to unfold.

The women descended upon her, their mouths and hands everywhere. One started at her neck, planting kisses that made her shiver, her lips moving down to her breasts, sucking and teasing her nipples until they were hard peaks. Another focused on her thighs, kissing her way up, her tongue tracing paths that left her squirming with anticipation.

The third girl positioned herself between her legs, her tongue immediately finding her clit, licking with a rhythm that was both torturous and divine. She moaned, her back arching off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. The fourth, seeing her need, joined in, her fingers dipping into her, curling to find that spot inside that made her gasp, her body tensing with pleasure.

They worked in concert, one licking, one sucking, two with fingers inside her, all moving in a dance of pleasure. They took turns, their hands and mouths exploring every part of her, pushing her from one orgasm to the next, her moans filling the room, each climax seeming to build upon the last. Their fingers played her like an instrument, finding new ways to touch her, to make her scream in pleasure, her body shaking as she came again and again, her legs trembling, her breath ragged.

After what felt like an eternity of pleasure, she lay quiet, her body spent, her skin glistening with sweat and the remnants of her orgasms. The camera, which had captured every moment of this intense scene, was finally turned off, and the cameraman left, the room now silent except for the heavy breathing of the women.

"Now you, my love," she said, her voice hoarse but filled with a warmth that was inviting, her eyes meeting mine with a promise of shared intimacy, the night far from over, now just the two of us in the afterglow of her pleasure.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As the room quieted, the air still charged with the scent of her arousal and the lingering echoes of her pleasure, I moved to join her on the bed. She looked at me with an expression that was both vulnerable and inviting, her body still trembling slightly from her previous orgasms.

I lay beside her, my hands gently caressing her skin, tracing the contours of her body, feeling the warmth of her, the softness under my fingertips. Our lips met in a kiss that was slow, deep, a contrast to the frenzied passion of moments before. It was a kiss of reconnection, of intimacy, where time seemed to slow, allowing us to savor each other.

I moved above her, my body fitting against hers like two pieces of a puzzle. Our eyes locked, communicating without words the depth of our connection. I entered her slowly, the sensation of her warmth enveloping me causing a shudder to pass through me. We moved together, not with the urgency of before, but with a rhythm that spoke of love, of understanding, of two souls intertwining.

Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer, deepening our connection. Each thrust was deliberate, filled with care, our bodies speaking a language only we understood. Her hands roamed my back, nails lightly scratching, urging me on, while my kisses trailed from her lips to her neck, down to her breasts, each touch an expression of adoration.

The room was filled with the sound of our breathing, the soft moans that escaped with each movement, the whispers of love and desire. I paused, lifting her slightly to change the angle, allowing me to go deeper, to feel every part of her. Her response was immediate, her hips lifting to meet mine, her breath catching in her throat as waves of pleasure began to build again.

Our lovemaking was an exploration, a dance where we knew each other's steps yet found new ways to move together. I watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her mouth opened in silent gasps, the flush of her skin spreading as her climax approached. When she came, it was with a quiet intensity, her body clenching around me, drawing me into my own release, our bodies shuddering in unison.

After, we lay together, our bodies entwined, her head resting on my chest, my arms around her. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, the silence between us filled with the comfort of shared vulnerability. We didn't need words; our bodies, our breaths, our heartbeats spoke for us, affirming the bond that had been forged in passion and now rested in peace.

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By *hemarcus2376Man over a year ago

gorseinon

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By *kpiercedCouple over a year ago

walsall

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

After the night in Cannes, back in the quiet of their Monaco apartment, she suggested they travel to another city before they decide on their living situation. "Where have you always wanted to go?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the promise of more adventures to come.

He didn't hesitate, "Tokyo." The name evoked images of vibrant streets, ancient traditions, and the kind of anonymity where one could explore parts of oneself not easily accessible elsewhere.

With that, they planned their journey. The flight to Tokyo was an adventure in itself, the anticipation building with every mile.

In Tokyo, the day was an exploration of contrasts, the bustling city revealing its secrets to them. They walked through the serene gardens of Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, the quiet beauty a stark contrast to the city's frenetic pace. They enjoyed sushi at a tucked-away omakase restaurant, where every piece was an artwork, a taste of tradition in a modern setting.

As evening approached, she led him to a discreet, known-only-by-invitation venue in Roppongi, where the art of Shibari was practiced. The room was dimly lit, with soft traditional music playing, the air thick with anticipation. Here, she became the participant. A master of rope, a Nawashi, approached her with reverence, beginning to weave the soft, red jute around her body.

He watched, his heart pounding, as she was transformed into living art. The ropes were not just about binding but about connection, trust, and beauty. The patterns were complex, the knots secure yet elegant, accentuating her form in a way that was both artful and erotic. She maintained eye contact with him, her expression one of serenity and submission, inviting him into this intimate ritual.

She whispered to him about the philosophy behind Shibari before the session began, how it was not just about control but about the interplay of power, trust, and surrender. The demonstration ended with her in a suspension, her body a canvas of ropes, the tension in the air palpable. His heart raced, not just from the sight but from the intimate knowledge she shared, her voice a soft guide through this new world.

Later, back at their love hotel, the room was themed like an ancient Japanese castle, with tatami mats, shoji screens, and a low bed covered in silk. Here, she took the initiative, her hands gentle but firm, showing him the ropes she had just experienced. She began with simple, beautiful patterns around his wrists and chest, explaining each move, each knot. The ropes felt like an extension of her touch, binding him not just physically but emotionally.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she straddled him, her body still marked by the subtle impressions of the ropes, her movements fluid, mimicking the dance she had just performed. Her kisses were deep, trailing down his chest, her hands following, igniting his skin.

She positioned herself, guiding him inside her with a slowness that was maddeningly sweet, her body warm and welcoming. Their lovemaking was a dance of give and take, her movements controlled yet passionate, the lingering sensation of the ropes adding an extra layer of intimacy. Her moans were soft, almost like the music they heard earlier, a melody of pleasure.

He felt every part of her, the ropes creating a tension that heightened every sensation, each movement. When they climaxed, it was together, a release that was both physical and emotional, the ropes symbolizing their bond, their trust. As they untangled, each knot undone was like a promise kept, a new chapter written in their ongoing story.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Knowing my love for cars, she arranged for us to borrow an R35 Nissan GT-R, not just any car but one tuned by a famous Japanese tuner. We met him personally, his workshop a temple of automotive art, the car gleaming under the fluorescent lights, its engine purring like a beast waiting to be unleashed. The tuner shared stories of the car's modifications, his passion for performance evident, making the handover feel like receiving a piece of history.

With the keys in hand, we drove towards Mount Fuji, the road a winding path that seemed to dance with the landscape. At sunset, we dined at a secluded restaurant offering a view of the majestic mountain, the sky ablaze with colors. Over a meal of exquisite Japanese cuisine, we talked about our future.

“We should look for someone to manage your bookstore full-time,” she suggested, her eyes reflecting the setting sun. “It would give us the freedom to travel, to explore together, both the world and our desires.”

I agreed, the idea of blending our lives, our passions, and our adventures into one seamless journey both thrilling and comforting.

On the private jet back to the UK, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The cabin was luxurious, private, and once we reached cruising altitude, the world outside was a distant murmur. She approached me, her eyes dark with intent, pushing me back into the plush seat. She straddled me, her dress riding up her thighs, revealing she wore nothing underneath.

Her lips found mine in a kiss that was hungry, demanding. Her hands worked to free me from my trousers, her touch both teasing and urgent. She guided me inside her, the warmth of her enveloping me, the motion of the jet adding a subtle rhythm to our movements. She moved with a passion that was both loving and wild, her moans mingling with the hum of the engines.

I held her hips, guiding her, our pace building, the view outside forgotten as we focused on each other. She leaned back, giving me full access, my hands roaming over her, feeling the contours of her body as she rode me. The vibrations from the plane seemed to resonate through us, enhancing every sensation.

Her climax was intense, her body shuddering against mine, pulling me into my own release, our pleasure shared in the confined space, making it feel like the world was ours alone. We cleaned up, still breathless, the afterglow of our intimacy lingering as we re-dressed, the night sky now our backdrop.

Upon returning to the UK, we moved into her apartment, a place now filled with the promise of our shared life. The space felt different, no longer just hers, but ours, a new beginning where every day could be an adventure, every night an exploration of passion and love.

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By *asseurMan over a year ago

Shrewsbury England not Wales

Absolutely first class reading

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

We spent a week interviewing for a store manager, both of us working in the bookstore together, enjoying our newfound openness. Passing each other, we'd touch or share a loving glance, a stark contrast to the previous days of shy interactions and fleeting looks. It felt like we were redefining the space, making it ours in a new way.

She suggested we go to London for the weekend, to visit a club, knowing my passion for driving. "Take your new car," she said casually. When I reminded her I didn't have one, she simply replied, "Oh yes," and called the local Porsche dealer, asking for an appointment to view their stock. I laughed at her knowledge of my favorite brand, something I had never explicitly mentioned.

At the dealership, she dressed in her librarian-esque outfit, her red hair up, glasses on, playing the part of the quiet, shy observer while I spoke with the dealer. My eyes were instantly drawn to a special order 911 ST, a car that was described as 'invite only'. With a stern yet coy look, she told the dealer to write down the price needed to collect it by Friday. He left to consult his manager, returning with a figure that was triple the listed price, which she accepted without hesitation. "Give the man your card, I'm hungry and want to leave," she instructed.

Confused, I opened my wallet to find a card with my name on it, a pure black card with just a tiny number in the corner. The dealer recognized it immediately, his demeanor changing. "Please sir, one of our staff will contact your people and arrange the rest of the details. Sorry for any delay today," he said with newfound respect. I was bemused by the whole exchange.

She smiled at me, "Welcome to my world," she said, her eyes inviting. With a look that clearly said 'follow me', she led me to the dealership's luxurious bathroom. It was far from the usual car buying experience, with a long sink unit and a large mirror.

She hopped up onto the sink, her skirt riding up. I grabbed her, our kiss desperate and urgent. I pushed her back slightly, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me in. I entered her with force, the sound of our bodies clashing echoing off the tiled walls. Her nails dug into my back, her moans stifled by our kisses, the intensity of our connection heightened by the risk of discovery. Each thrust was deep, hard, driven by the adrenaline of the moment and our mutual desire. She whispered encouragements, her voice breaking with pleasure, until we both climaxed, our bodies shuddering against each other.

Afterwards, as we composed ourselves, I mentioned the card. "Don't worry, they keep it, and it'll get delivered home in a few hours," she explained. "You have another card on your phone for normal purchases now."

With that, we left, her world a puzzle I was piecing together, each piece more intriguing than the last, our life together a thrilling journey into the unknown.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *j47Man over a year ago

limerick

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By *allpaul888Man over a year ago

llangollen

Amazing writing

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Saturday arrived, and we set off towards London in my new 911. The drive was intoxicating, the car's engine singing through the countryside, her hair flowing freely with the summer dress she wore. I felt like the king of the world with her by my side.

The journey gave us time to delve into our desires and experiences, both in life and sexually. I confessed to her a fantasy I had harbored, one that had been simmering in my mind. "I want to see you being fucked, being entered by another man," I admitted, the thought alone making my heart race with a wild mix of jealousy and arousal.

That night, we dined at the restaurant atop The Shard, the city sprawling below us. After dinner, we ventured to a club hidden in the West End, an exclusive venue where desires were explored without judgment.

At the bar, we both scanned the room, looking for a man who fit our mutual fantasy. We whispered to each other, discussing traits, energy, and presence until we agreed on a choice. A tall, dark-haired man with an air of confidence that was both subtle and undeniable.

We approached him together, introducing ourselves, the conversation flowing with an undercurrent of intention. He was intrigued, his eyes flicking between us, understanding the unspoken proposition. We led him to a private play room, the space intimate, lit by soft, red lights.

I sat in a chair, my heart pounding with anticipation as he began to undress her, peeling off her black dress to reveal her matching black lingerie and heels. The sight of her, so familiar yet now in this new context, was breathtaking. He kissed her neck, her sighs filling the room, his hands tracing her body, unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor.

He guided her to the bed, where they kissed deeply, his hands roaming over her now bare skin. He removed her panties, leaving her in just her heels, a vision of desire. His fingers found her, teasing, preparing, her body arching into his touch, her eyes occasionally meeting mine, sharing this moment.

He positioned himself between her legs, entering her slowly at first, her moan a mix of pleasure and surrender. They moved together, starting in missionary, his thrusts deep and measured, her legs wrapped around him. She looked at me, her expression one of ecstasy, the connection between us palpable despite the physical distance.

They changed positions, her on top, riding him with a rhythm that was both graceful and wild, her breasts bouncing with each movement, her hands on his chest for leverage. Then doggy style, where I could see every detail, her face a mask of pleasure, her eyes locking with mine, conveying a silent communication of love and lust.

As he reached his climax, he pulled out, his release spilling onto her stomach, marking her in a way that was both primal and beautiful. She lay there, breathing heavily, her gaze moving between us, the room filled with the scent of sex and the sound of our mingled breaths.

After, we shared a drink in the club, the atmosphere returning to normalcy. We left hand in hand, the night air of London cool against our skin, our bond strengthened by the shared experience, our journey into each other's desires only just beginning.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The next day was leisurely; we explored London, taking in art galleries and wandering through Hyde Park. The conversation was light, but beneath it lay the unspoken understanding of our deepening connection, how last night had opened new avenues of trust and desire between us.

She suggested we try something different for lunch, leading us to a small, intimate sushi bar where the chef prepared each piece with meticulous care. We talked about the city, about life, and subtly, about our fantasies, how they might shape our future adventures together.

Later, we decided to visit some vintage bookstores, a return to our shared love for literature. In one shop, hidden in the maze of Soho, we stumbled upon an old, leather-bound edition of a book we both adored. She smiled at me, "This one, we buy together," and I felt a warmth in my chest, our lives intertwining in even the smallest of ways.

As evening approached, she proposed we attend a private event at a gallery in Mayfair, an exhibition of erotic art. The event was by invitation only, and as we entered, the air was thick with intrigue and whispers. The art was provocative, celebrating the human form and the complexities of desire. Here, amid the paintings and sculptures, we discussed what we saw, what it evoked in us, our conversation laced with flirtation and promise.

After the gallery, we opted for a quieter night, returning to our hotel. The room was luxurious, with a view of London's skyline. We ordered room service, enjoying the comfort of each other's company. But the conversation inevitably turned back to our experiences, to the night before.

"I liked watching you watch me," she confessed, her voice soft but clear. "It made me feel... connected in a new way."

I nodded, feeling the same, the voyeuristic pleasure intertwined with a profound sense of intimacy. "I want to explore more," I said, "with you, for you."

She smiled, that shy smile that had first caught my heart. "Then we'll find more," she replied, her hand finding mine, squeezing it gently.

We made love that night, the city lights casting shadows across the room, our movements slow and deliberate, a contrast to the wild passion of the previous night. It was about feeling each other, about the quiet moments of love that complemented our more adventurous explorations.

As we lay in each other's arms, the future seemed both certain and limitless, our desires a map to uncharted territories of passion and connection, London just the beginning of our shared journey.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *ivelifefunMan over a year ago

bristol

Amazing

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By *hispa49Man over a year ago

hitchin

Riveting read

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By *ogue78Man over a year ago

Edinburgh

Now that's writing!!

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Over the next two weeks, we dedicated ourselves to training Holly, the new manager of the bookstore. Each day, we worked side by side, our glances and touches speaking volumes of our affection, the nights filled with passionate lovemaking, our connection deepening with every shared moment.

Once we felt Holly was ready to take over, we planned a getaway. Muffin, my queen, suggested Rio de Janeiro for the Carnival, her eyes twinkling with unspoken promises of adventure and pleasure.

We flew first class to Rio, the luxury of travel enhancing our excitement for what was to come. Upon arrival, we checked into a spectacular beachside hotel, the view of Copacabana Beach breathtaking from our room. Her bodyguard, who had been somewhat in the background lately, took on a more prominent role here, emphasizing security due to the risk of kid napping in such a high-profile event. His presence was reassuring rather than intrusive, always polite and helpful, though I occasionally caught a look from him that made me ponder if there was ever more to his relationship with Muffin than I knew.

The Rio Carnival was a spectacle of color, sound, and movement, unlike anything I had experienced. The streets were alive with samba rhythms, the air thick with the scent of caipirinhas and the energy of thousands in celebration. Muffin, dressed in a vibrant, feather-adorned costume, her red hair like a flame against the night, was mesmerizing. She danced with an abandon that was both graceful and wild, her body moving with the music as if it were an extension of the beat. Her smile, broad and genuine, was like a beacon, pulling me into the dance, my heart swelling with pride and desire as I watched her.

She joined the blocos, the street parties, her movements fluid, her hips swaying in a way that captivated everyone around her. I followed, joining in, our bodies close, moving in sync with the drums, the intimacy of our dance public yet profoundly personal.

Back at the hotel, after nights of revelry, we found ourselves in front of a glass wall overlooking the beach, the first light of dawn painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. The room was quiet compared to the city's vibrant chaos. We undressed each other slowly, the night's excitement giving way to a tender, lingering desire.

We made love on the bed, the glass wall offering a panoramic view of the waking city, the ocean's waves a gentle soundtrack to our intimacy. Each touch was deliberate, each kiss filled with the shared experience of the night. Her body, still charged with the energy of the dance, met mine with a passion that was both fierce and loving. The sun rose higher, casting light over us, the warmth mingling with the heat of our bodies, the moment eternal as we climaxed together, our connection deepened by the rhythm of Rio, by the freedom of Carnival, and by the love that continued to unfold between us.

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By *akedMMan over a year ago

Witney

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

Stunning!

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Muffin revealed she had made reservations at Boate 2a2, one of Rio's most exclusive and renowned swingers clubs, known for its luxurious setting and selective entry for couples and single women. The club was a blend of opulence and intimacy, with dim lighting, plush seating, and various themed rooms designed to facilitate exploration and pleasure.

Before we left for the club, Muffin sat me down, her eyes searching mine for understanding. "I've got a plan for tonight, but I want to make sure you're okay with it," she said, her voice soft yet excited. "I want to see you with another woman, but only if you're happy with the idea." I nodded, my heart racing with both anticipation and love for her openness. "As long as you're there with me, I'm more than happy," I assured her, and her smile was all the confirmation I needed.

We dressed for the occasion; I wore a tailored black suit with an open collar, no tie, to match the club's upscale yet relaxed vibe. Muffin chose a stunning, deep red dress that hugged her curves, her red hair left flowing, adding to her allure. The dress was short, hinting at what might be underneath, paired with high, strappy heels.

At the bar, we met two friends of Muffin's - one Brazilian, named Ana, with long, dark curly hair, olive skin, and an infectious smile, wearing a vibrant green dress that contrasted with her skin, highlighting her athletic build. The other, Isabelle from France, had a chic, sophisticated look with short, blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a black lace corset top with a flowing silk skirt, her French accent adding to her allure.

We moved to a private room, the atmosphere intimate and charged with anticipation. The girls kissed each other first, their lips meeting in a dance of mutual exploration, hands roaming over each other's bodies. As they undressed one another, the lingerie came into view: Ana wore a matching set of emerald green lace, her bra and thong accentuating her curves, while Isabelle was in black satin and lace, her corset now fully revealed, paired with a garter belt and stockings.

Once the girls were down to their lingerie, they turned their attention to us. Muffin, with a playful smile, began to undress me, her hands deliberate, teasing the fabric off my skin, her eyes never leaving mine, ensuring I was comfortable and enjoying the moment.

I joined the girls on the bed, where Ana and Isabelle took turns exploring my body. Ana started with her mouth, her kisses trailing down my chest to my abdomen, her hand gently stroking me, bringing me to hardness. Isabelle joined in, her kisses on my neck and ears, her hands caressing, then guiding me into her mouth with a skillful, teasing technique that left me gasping.

They switched, with Isabelle taking me deeply, her movements slow and sensual, while Ana kissed me, her tongue dancing with mine, her hand never straying far from the action. They alternated, their touches and kisses building my arousal to a peak, their laughter and moans filling the room, a symphony of pleasure.

As I neared climax, Muffin signaled to them, and they moved aside, watching intently. Muffin mounted me, her gaze locked with mine, full of love and desire. She took me inside her, her warmth enveloping me, and began to ride with an intensity that matched the night's excitement. Her movements were fluid, her hips grinding against mine, her moans growing louder as she neared her own release.

I came hard, my body tensing, the pleasure overwhelming, but Muffin didn't stop. She continued to move, her rhythm changing to one of her own pleasure, riding out her orgasm as I began to soften, the sensation drawing out her climax, her body shuddering above me.

The room was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the soft laughter of satisfaction from Ana and Isabelle, who watched with appreciation, the night's boundaries expanded, our connection with Muffin deepening through shared desire and exploration.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The following days of Carnival were a blend of cultural immersion and hedonistic pleasure. We returned to Boate 2a2 twice more, each time choosing a room with a glass wall, where we could indulge in our intimacy while a group of voyeurs watched from the other side, adding an edge of exhibitionism to our encounters.

During one of our visits, I positioned her against the glass, her hands pressed against it, her body bent forward. I entered her from behind, my hands on her hips pulling her back onto me while I thrust forward. The voyeurs on the other side were a silent audience to our passion. I learned then that pulling her hair during sex increased her arousal; her moans grew louder, her back arching, pushing her against me harder. Each pull elicited a gasp from her, her body responding with increased fervor, her pleasure evident to those watching.

Another time, she rode me on the bed, facing the glass, her body silhouetted against the light for the voyeurs. I sat up, wrapping my arms around her, one hand on her breast, the other pulling her hair back, exposing her neck for kisses. Our pace was slow at first, then built to a crescendo, our movements synchronized with the silent rhythm of our onlookers' anticipation.

On our last night in Rio, while enjoying a meal at a local restaurant, Muffin kicked me under the table. "Don't look yet, but at your 6 o'clock, blue suit. His name is Sam, Sam Goldberg. We spent a summer together," she whispered, her voice tinged with nostalgia.

I turned casually, spotting a man in a blue suit, his presence commanding attention. "Tell me more," I urged, curious about this part of her past.

She began to recount a particular memory from their summer in Miami. "We were on his yacht, the sun setting. He had this way of using his size," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly with the memory. "He took me from behind, bending me over the deck rail. His hands were all over me, his fingers finding every sensitive spot," she continued, describing how Sam's large cock filled her, stretching her in ways that were both painful and pleasurable. She talked about how he would pull almost all the way out before thrusting back in, each motion deliberate, driving her towards multiple orgasms, the sea breeze mixing with the scent of their arousal, her hands gripping the rail, waves crashing below, her moans carried away by the wind.

I listened, my own desire stirring at the vividness of her story. "Would you want to relive it for me?" I asked, watching her face for any sign of her true feelings.

She nodded, a shy smile returning to her lips, a contrast to the confident woman I knew. "I would," she said quietly, her eyes meeting mine, conveying both excitement and a hint of vulnerability at sharing such an intimate part of her past.

The idea of watching or even participating in recreating such a scene with her was both thrilling and slightly intimidating, but it was clear this was another step in our journey together, exploring depths of passion and trust we hadn't yet plumbed.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

After finishing our meal, we passed by Sam's table on our way out. Muffin's eyes met his, and he stood up with an eager smile, greeting her warmly. Introductions were made, and with a casual charm, Sam offered to meet us for a drink once his meeting concluded. Muffin, with a playful glance at me, suggested Boate 2a2 at 10pm. "Know the place, it's a date," Sam replied, his grin wide.

As we made our way back to the hotel, Muffin checked, "Are you sure about this?" I admitted that the thought had been on my mind since watching her earlier. "Do you have that black lingerie with you?" I asked, knowing it would set the stage for what I envisioned. She confirmed she did, and I said, "Good. This time, I want you in it again, to relive that first time, but this time, I want another man's seed in you." Her cheeks turned a shade of pink, a mix of excitement and embarrassment.

We dressed for the night; she in the black lingerie that had been part of our memories, her red hair cascading down, framing her face beautifully. I chose something simple yet elegant, focusing more on her than myself.

At Boate 2a2, we met Sam at the bar. There was small talk, but beneath the surface, there was an electric charge, Sam's eyes often drifting to Muffin, his desire palpable. She suggested they take a walk around the club, a clear invitation. She excused herself from my side, both of us knowing where this was heading.

They went to the room with the glass wall, where I took my place among the other viewers. Inside, Muffin put on a show, slowly undressing down to her lingerie, her movements seductive and confident. She approached Sam, and they began to kiss, his hands roaming her body, pulling her close, her red hair contrasting with her black attire.

Their kisses were deep, hungry, Sam's hands exploring her curves, lifting her slightly to feel her weight against him. He turned her around, his hands on her hips, pulling her into him, letting her feel his arousal, his large, girthy cock pressing against her. She moaned, the sound muffled by their kisses.

They moved to the bed, Sam guiding her down, his mouth on her neck, down to her breasts, teasing and sucking through the lace of her bra. He removed her lingerie piece by piece, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. When he entered her, her moans were loud, filled with pleasure, her body adjusting to his size, her wetness evident as he began to thrust.

They changed positions, her on top, riding him, her hair wild, her moans echoing through the room as she took control, her hands on his chest, her hips moving in a rhythm that was both desperate and precise. She leaned back, allowing him deeper access, her cries of pleasure filling the space.

In doggy style, Sam's thrusts were deeper, his hands in her hair, pulling gently, knowing it drove her wild. She looked back at him, at me, her eyes full of lust and connection.

Finally, she lay on her back, her legs and arms pulling him closer, their bodies moving together until, with a grunt, Sam filled her with his seed, her moans reaching a peak, her body shuddering with the intensity of her orgasm.

After a moment, they spoke, but it was inaudible through the glass. He unlocked the door, and I entered. Muffin's smile was radiant, her body still trembling slightly. I could see his semen beginning to escape, her pussy still pulsing gently. I approached, our kiss hard and passionate, tasting him on her lips. I entered her, feeling the warmth and the slickness of another man's cum inside her for the first time, our lovemaking a new chapter of intimacy and exploration, our bond deepening in this shared moment of pleasure.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

So well written and leaves you desperate for more

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By *imherjgCouple over a year ago

andover

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By *eed AttentionMan over a year ago

Oxford

Very well written.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

🤩🤩🤩🤩

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By *teve261970Man over a year ago

Gateshead

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Returning to Edinburgh, we checked in on the bookstore, finding it thriving under Holly's management. Muffin proposed investing in a niche market of rare books, ones we could discover on our travels, adding an exotic touch to the store's collection. We sat down with Holly, discussing logistics and future plans, our excitement for this new venture palpable.

As we reminisced about our favorite trips, I was astonished to learn that despite her wealth and travels, Muffin had never experienced the NC500, Scotland's scenic route around the northern coast. "We need to fix that," I declared, and with the 911 packed, we set off over the Cairngorm mountains, our first stop being Inverness.

Inverness welcomed us with its serene beauty. We checked into a hotel right by the River Ness, the tranquility a stark contrast to the bustling cities we'd visited before. Dinner was at a Michelin-star restaurant that opened onto the river, the food a celebration of local flavors and the setting intimate and luxurious in its simplicity.

After dinner, we walked up to Inverness Castle, the air crisp and the view over the city and river breathtakingly Scottish. As we hugged, the scent of her hair filled my senses, a comforting, familiar fragrance. When she turned to kiss me, she felt my arousal against her. Looking up with wide, innocent eyes, the kind that could only be described as good girl eyes, she whispered, "Daddy horny."

The realization hit me; the only thing better than a girl with daddy issues was one with billionaire daddy issues, a dynamic now so clear in our relationship. She knelt before me, her hands deftly working to free me from my trousers. Her mouth enveloped me, her technique both eager and skilled, her tongue swirling around the tip before taking me deep.

Her head moved with purpose, her lips tight around me, her eyes occasionally meeting mine, conveying her desire to please. As I neared my climax, she guided one of my hands to the back of her head, a silent request for control. I took the hint, my fingers threading through her hair, holding her in place as I thrust gently into her mouth, the sensation building until I couldn't hold back any longer.

I came hard, my release pulsing down her throat, and I held her there, perhaps longer than I should have, but her gasp when she pulled back was one of satisfaction, her smile wide, eyes bright with love and arousal. "I love you, daddy," she said, her voice a mix of adoration and mischief.

In that moment, with the castle looming over us and the river whispering in the background, our bond felt as natural and deep as the Scottish landscape around us, our love transcending the settings, whether in the opulence of Monaco or the raw beauty of Scotland.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *ew man 1976Man over a year ago

Limavady

Fantastic story so well written.

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By *teviem48Man over a year ago

stoke

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The roads to Ullapool were a tapestry of Scotland's rugged beauty, with winding paths that hugged cliffs overlooking the North Sea, emerald hills dotted with sheep, and lochs that mirrored the ever-changing sky. The landscape was a blend of harshness and serenity, where the road sometimes narrowed to a single track, forcing patience behind slow-moving motorhomes, giving us moments to share stories and dreams, deepening our bond.

The 911, with its roaring engine, was a beast on these roads, allowing us to push the limits where the path opened up, the experience surreal, like living in a daydream. Muffin, petite and seductive in her seat, knew exactly the effect she had on me. As we climbed the Applecross Pass, with its dizzying views, her hands started to wander over her body, her moans a tease, her skirt lifting to reveal more.

"I need to concentrate," I laughed, but my words were hollow with desire. At the summit, I couldn't resist; I swerved into a small parking area, the car still running. I dashed around to her door, pulled her out, and in a rush of passion, carried her to a nearby wall.

Our lovemaking was primal, driven by the raw beauty around us. I tore her blouse in my haste, buttons scattering, revealing her to the Scottish air. Our bodies met with an urgency that was all instinct, her back against the grass, my hands and mouth everywhere, our movements fierce and uninhibited, each thrust a declaration of our wild love.

Laughing and breathless, we returned to the car, only then realizing the possibility of being seen. As I closed her door and walked around, a motorhome came into view, the couple inside giving us an exaggerated smile and wave. I felt a surge of pride rather than embarrassment, wanting the world to witness my joy, my love for Muffin, my steel queen, making me feel like the king of the world.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The journey to Ullapool was uneventful in terms of adventure but monumental in personal terms, living a life I'd only imagined with the most incredible person I'd ever known. As we rolled into town with the sun setting, the car's engine barked, echoing through the quiet streets, betraying my attempt at discretion.

At the hotel, I wanted to share my world with Muffin. We ordered Chinese takeaway, laid towels on the bed, and ate from foil containers while drinking wine from hotel mugs. She relished the simplicity, the intimacy of the moment, our connection beyond the trappings of wealth.

Deciding to hit a local pub, I knew her wardrobe needed an adjustment; her evening gowns wouldn't do. I explained the local dress code - jeans and hoodies or tight tops and skirts for those looking to get "felt." She had little choice but to adapt. She chose a stunning dark blue gown with a high slit, revealing a hint of lace stocking, paired with heels. I dressed down to a shirt and trousers, her look telling me to at least meet her halfway.

Entering the pub, all eyes turned to us, but Muffin owned the moment, confidently approaching the bar to inspect the whiskey selection, which impressed her. We settled into a booth, soon becoming part of the local banter, Muffin's charm making her the life of the party, fitting in as if she'd always been part of Ullapool.

We drank late, planning an early night until invited to an "afters" at a local's house. Muffin, loving the local humor, was eager to continue the night. Noticing others buying bottles to take, she decided to buy several premium whiskies from the bar, the only moment where her different financial perspective showed.

At the after-party in a remote house, the night was as memorable as any in Tokyo or London. That's when John, or "Johnny Boy," pulled me aside, his comment about Muffin causing us all to laugh. But when Muffin, intrigued, asked him what he would do, John was caught off guard. She leaned in, pulling him by his hoodie, kissing him boldly, then looked at me with a mischievous grin, "Face riding sounds fun, doesn't it?"

I nodded, downing my whiskey, the night taking a turn into the unexpected, our adventure in Scotland adding yet another layer to our shared story, where every moment was an exploration of each other's desires and boundaries.

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By *owboy VikingMan over a year ago

mereside blackpool

Utterly awesome

You have secured victory on Fab my friend

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Once we left the house, John's earlier bravado seemed to evaporate, his conversation dwindling while Muffin, ever the vivacious one, tried to draw him out with light-hearted banter. I was content just to watch her, her smile illuminating the night, her plan to bring another into our world clear in her eyes. In her dark blue dress, her curves were like a masterpiece in motion.

Back at the hotel room, Muffin directed John to sit on the bed with an authoritative yet playful tone. I took my place in the chair, ready for the show, one that always felt fresh and exciting with her.

She let her dress fall to the floor, revealing her in matching dark blue lingerie, her necklace catching the light, her stockings and heels accentuating her legs. John's reaction was one of awe, his jaw dropping - it was clear this was a sight he'd seldom, if ever, encountered.

"Lie down," she instructed, and he complied without hesitation, his eyes never leaving her. She began to caress herself, her hands gliding over her skin, her fingers tracing down to her panties, which she started to lower with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips. She paused, her panties just below her knees, and began to touch herself, her fingers gliding over her sex, a soft moan escaping her lips.

John lay there, his erection evident and impressive, pointing upwards like an eager participant. "You are excited," she noted with a playful smile. Her panties dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of them with grace. She approached the bed, bending over to plant a teasing kiss on the tip of his cock, whispering, "Later."

Then, she climbed onto the bed, straddling his face. Her movements were deliberate, her hips lowering slowly until she found the perfect spot. She started to ride his face, her body undulating with pleasure, her moans filling the room. Each movement was rhythmic, her hands sometimes reaching back to grasp his thighs for leverage or forward to playfully hold his erection, which twitched with each of her moans.

Her eyes frequently locked with mine, sharing the intensity of the moment, the thrill of this shared experience. She climaxed once, her body shuddering, her grip tightening on his thighs, her gaze never leaving mine, a silent communication of love and lust. But she wasn't done; she continued, her second orgasm building slowly, her movements more urgent, her moans louder, her body arching back, one hand now firmly around his cock, not to stroke but to feel the pulse of his arousal as she came again.

Her third climax was intense, her body trembling, her hands gripping and releasing his thighs as if seeking grounding in the waves of pleasure. All the while, she maintained eye contact with me, our connection palpable, the scene both intimate and wildly erotic.

After her final shudder, she dismounted gracefully, her breath heavy, her smile one of satisfaction and mischief. John lay beneath her, dazed, his face glistening, his body tense with unfulfilled arousal. Muffin moved to sit beside him, her hand still on his cock, her attention now fully on me, the room silent except for our collective breathing, the air charged with the promise of what was still to come.

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By *lugoneMan over a year ago

rathmicheal

Fabulously written

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By *igerman23Man over a year ago

hayes

Love it

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As Muffin sat beside John, who was still reeling from the experience, she beckoned me over with a look full of lust. I approached, kissing her deeply, tasting her arousal. She unzipped me, my erection springing free, and without using her hands, she took me into her mouth, her lips enveloping me while her hand reached out to stroke John's engorged member.

She established a rhythm, her mouth and hand moving in sync, but then she paused, her eyes meeting mine with a hunger. "I want both," she declared, her voice thick with desire.

She positioned herself back over John, facing me, guiding his cock inside her with a practiced ease. As she began to ride him, her back arched, her ass moving in a mesmerizing dance, she looked like a goddess in motion. John's groans filled the room as he watched her from behind, his hands on her hips, feeling every movement.

I stood on the bed, my hand on the ceiling for balance, bringing my cock to her waiting mouth. Her movements were fluid, her body undulating back and forth, riding John while her mouth worked on me. She took me deep, her throat accommodating, her moans vibrating around me, adding to the sensation. The sounds she made were a mix of pleasure from both acts, her body moving with a rhythm that was both primal and graceful, her eyes occasionally locking with mine, conveying a wild, shared ecstasy.

Her breasts swayed with each thrust as she rode John, her pace increasing, her moans growing louder, the wet sounds of her mouth around me mingling with the slapping of their bodies. She was a vision of lust, her body a canvas of pleasure, her movements artful yet raw.

Just as I felt my climax approaching, she pulled away from my cock, announcing, "He's cumming," as John's groans signaled his release. She then turned her attention back to me, sensing my urgency. She took me deeply into her mouth once more, my hand on her head, holding her there as I erupted, my release pouring down her throat. I held her longer than before, her movements under my hand signaling her pleasure in this control, her body writhing slightly until I released her, and she let out a loud, shuddering moan, her orgasm hitting her like a wave, her grip on my thighs tight as she rode out the aftershocks of her pleasure.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, her voice breathless with satisfaction.

We retreated to the bathroom, giving John space to gather himself. When we returned, he had left, the room now silent except for our soft breathing. We climbed into the warm bed, her body fitting perfectly against mine, and we drifted into sleep, the night's adventures leading us into dreams as vivid as our reality.

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By *lugoneMan over a year ago

rathmicheal

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

I woke to find Muffin missing, checked the bathroom - nothing. My phone had no signal. As I connected to the hotel WiFi, the door burst open, revealing Muffin, a sprite in a summer dress, sunglasses perched on her head, clutching a Red Bull with a straw. "Hi!" she exclaimed, kissing me. "No driving or drinking today," she declared, her intelligence outshining mine. "I've booked an extra night and breakfast. Get dressed; we'll get you a full Scottish, then go look for Dick." I burst out laughing. "Dick?" I asked, confused. "Moby Dick, the whale," she clarified with a smile.

After breakfast, we walked to the harbour, greeted by the captain. "Private tour?" he bellowed. "Just us," Muffin confirmed, her smile radiant.

The boat chugged out, the west coast of Scotland unfolding with its rugged beauty, the water a deep blue, the sky clear, and the mountains standing guard over the sea, their reflections dancing on the water's surface.

Suddenly, a whale surfaced, its massive body a dark shadow against the light of the water, its spray like a fine mist, its tail fluke rising before diving back into the depths, leaving us in awe of nature's grandeur.

On our return, with Ullapool in sight, I embraced Muffin at the rail, kissing her neck. She moved her hips, teasing me. I lifted her dress slowly, the sea breeze cool on her skin, and entered her from behind, our movements slow and sensual, the boat's gentle sway adding rhythm to our love, the horizon our only witness.

Finishing, we turned to see the wheelhouse above, the captain and two hands looking down, the captain giving a knowing wink.

Walking back to the hotel felt like floating, worries nonexistent, the day spent in the embrace of nature and love.

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

Glorious writing, brilliant,

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Leaving Ullapool, we ventured further north, the road a canvas of Scotland's wild beauty, allowing our car to roar through the landscapes. We made frequent stops, marveling at the scenery. Muffin insisted on visiting Smoo Cave, a natural wonder near Durness, characterized by its vast main chamber accessible by both land and sea, with an underground waterfall feeding into a pool.

Inside Smoo Cave, the atmosphere was almost mystical, our minds wandering back to the ancient humans who might have sought shelter here, the echoes of their lives lost to time.

Breaking the silence, I mused, "I wonder how many people have had sex in here?"

Muffin grinned, "Two less than in a few minutes," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I sat on a large, flat rock, the coolness of the stone seeping through my clothes. Muffin, keeping an eye on the cave's entrance, let her knickers drop to the ground. She backed onto me, guiding me inside her with a practiced ease. Once seated, she remained still, focusing on her own pleasure. She began to stimulate her clitoris with her fingers, her breathing growing heavier, the cave amplifying the sounds of her arousal. She moaned softly, the acoustics of the cave turning them into a haunting melody. Her body tensed, her orgasm building from the inside out, her inner muscles clenching around me as she came, her pleasure radiating through her without a single movement from either of us.

After her climax, she started to move, grinding against me, her hips circling, using the angle to bring us both to the edge. The grinding was slow, deliberate, her body dictating the pace, our connection deep and intimate in this ancient setting. I felt the build-up, the pressure, the sweet, inevitable release as she continued to move, her rhythm matching the slow drip of water somewhere in the cave, until I found my own release, our breaths mingling in the damp air.

As we walked back into the daylight, her knickers left behind, she glanced back towards the cave's entrance with a playful smile, "I wonder what story the one who finds my panties will tell."

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By *rRetourMan over a year ago

T.Wells

More fun than the CalMac ferry to Mull!.... though you could always lighten a few truckers' loads...

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

After a lunch at John O'Groats, we headed south, our sights set on Dunrobin Castle, where after a few calls, we secured a room for the night. Driving down the long, sweeping drive to the castle, we were greeted by eager staff, their hospitality warm and welcoming.

We dined under the soft glow of candlelight, the ambiance adding a touch of romance to the evening. After dinner, we strolled through the gardens, the night air cool, the castle's silhouette majestic against the sky, the smell of blooming flowers around us.

Retiring to our room, we found ourselves in the opulence of a four-poster bed, the canopy above like a frame for our intimacy. I started by kissing her, our lips meeting with a hunger that had been building all day. My hands roamed her body, feeling the curves through her dress before she helped me undress her, revealing her skin to the candlelit room.

I laid her back on the bed, my kisses trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, to her breasts, where I lingered, my tongue circling her nipples, feeling them harden under my touch. Her moans were soft, encouraging. I continued my journey south, my mouth finding her inner thighs, kissing, licking, moving closer to her center. Her legs parted for me, and I tasted her, my tongue exploring, her hips rising to meet each stroke. She was wet, aroused, her fingers threading through my hair, guiding me, her breath coming in short gasps.

She pulled me up, wanting to touch me in return. Her hands were deft, stroking me, her mouth following, her tongue teasing, taking me in, the warmth of her enveloping me. The anticipation built, our bodies touching, exploring, until she lay back again, pulling me with her, guiding me inside her.

We moved together, our bodies finding a rhythm, her legs wrapped around me, pulling me deeper. Our hands were everywhere, touching, guiding, the connection between us electric. I slowed, wanting to prolong the moment, our eyes locked, sharing every sensation.

Her hand found her clit, adding to her pleasure as we moved, our breathing synchronized, the tension building until it was almost unbearable. We climaxed together, our bodies shuddering in unison, the release profound, our moans mingling in the quiet of the room, the bed creaking softly under us.

Lying there, catching our breath, I held her, the night outside the castle windows silent, the only sound our slowing heartbeats. I had no idea what was in store tomorrow, but in that moment, with her in my arms, the anticipation was part of the adventure.

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By *otcpl40!Couple over a year ago

Edinburgh

Ohh my

Well written, great build up and hot as hell.

Great job xxx

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By *ike231251Man over a year ago

Heckmondwike

This is ghe best story I have read on here, hope there is more.

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By *eadMeisterMan over a year ago

near you...

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *rillerMan over a year ago

saltcoats

You really do have to give this to someone who can make a book out of it, you’ve undoubtedly got a talent for writing and words, and the sexual experience and adventures to go with it. Go get it printed Muffin xxx

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

This is by far the best erotic story well done to the author

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By *lr1974Man over a year ago

Atherstone

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Waking up at Dunrobin Castle, there was an undeniable buzz in the air. I noticed vehicles outside and staff scurrying about. An archway was being set up in the garden, and the distant sound of bagpipes being tuned filled the castle. Muffin was missing from our room; I heard her voice down the corridor, clearly on a call. "Oh, you can't come out here yet, go back in. We need to talk," she said, her tone serious yet excited.

Confused, I returned to our room, sitting on the bed, trying to make sense of the activity outside. Then came a knock at the door. Opening it, I found a tailor with a kilt and measuring tape. "Your attire, sir," he announced, entering to lay out a full Highland dress. He instructed me to try it on, mentioning he'd return to make adjustments.

As he left, Muffin entered. "About today," she began, her expression a mix of excitement and apprehension.

I saw it in her eyes, the question she was about to ask, and rather than wait, I acted on the impulse that had been growing inside me for months. I dropped to one knee, the kilt laid out behind me, a symbol of what was to come.

"Muffin, these past few months have been a dream that I want to continue. Will you marry me?" I asked, my voice steady but my heart racing.

She smiled, that beautiful, knowing smile. "Good timing," she said. "You want to get married today?"

"Is that a yes?" I asked, needing to hear it, to confirm this spontaneous moment was real.

She grinned, her answer clear without words, her nod sealing our fate, turning a morning of confusion into one of the most joyous moments of our lives. The day was set to unfold in a way neither of us could have fully anticipated, our adventure now taking the most profound turn yet.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *ensual and PrimalMan over a year ago

Near Narberth

Fantastic storytelling skill. Very impressed.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

She looked up at me with those eyes that held promises and secrets. "Trust me, and be prepared for the best day of your life," Muffin said softly. As I stood, she knelt before me, her hands deftly unzipping my trousers. "Starting now, daddy," she whispered.

Her tongue was a dance of seduction, tracing the length of me, swirling around the tip with an artistry that left me breathless. She took me into her mouth, her tongue gliding along the underside, her lips applying just the right amount of pressure. Her hand gently cupped my balls, massaging them with a rhythm that matched her mouth's movements. She knew exactly how to build the tension within me, her expertise in pleasure leaving me on the edge.

Just as I felt the climax approaching, she guided my hand to the back of her head, a silent request for control. I held her there, my fingers tangled in her hair, the sensation overwhelming as I came, my release pulsing into her. She held me in place, her eyes looking up with satisfaction until I was spent.

We hugged, a moment of closeness before she spoke, "As a favor, I need you to take Alexei, my bodyguard, down to Inverness for lunch. Don't come back until 2pm."

I dressed in the kilt, embracing the role I was about to play. Alexei and I left in the 911, the engine's roar a contrast to our quiet journey. In Inverness, I tried to engage Alexei, the bodyguard, in conversation, but he was a man of few words, his responses limited to yes or no, occasionally sharing an obscure fact about the area or his travels. His reticence only added to his enigmatic presence.

By 1 o'clock, my impatience to return was palpable, and we started our slow journey back to the castle. As we approached, the sight of numerous private hire cars suggested something grand was afoot.

At the castle's entrance, the tailor greeted me, his face a mask of urgency. "Make your way straight to your room; you have half an hour," he instructed, leaving me with a sense of anticipation and the realization that today was indeed going to be unlike any other.

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By *cotswitchMan over a year ago

Glasgow

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my best mate from my Royal Air Force days standing there. "You're a dark fucking horse, mate," he said, shaking his head with a grin. "Don't hear from you for six months, then I get a call from a wedding planner last week."

"Last week?" I was genuinely confused. I thought the NC500 trip was my idea, but now I wasn't so sure.

"Yeah, mate, cutting it fine. You really didn't need to pay for my travel; I would've been here anyway."

We hugged, and he clapped me on the back. "Right, pal, let's do it."

Guided by staff opening doors, I made my way down to the hotel chapel, where I was nearly blown off my feet by the sight before me. On the right side were almost all the friends I’d known over the last twenty years, my sister, aunts, and uncles, all looking proud, happy, and some slightly bewildered by the suddenness of it all. I walked down the aisle, shaking hands, thanking people for being there. We took our places at the front, and as I looked across the aisle, I spotted a few faces from Monaco, one of the girls from Rio, but mostly it was an eclectic mix of what looked like Eaton Alumni and a crowd from Paris fashion week. At the front, an old man in a wheelchair, an oxygen bottle beside him, made me wonder if this was the steel king himself.

Then, the doors at the back opened, and there she was, Muffin in the most beautiful, intricate gown, accompanied by four stunning bridesmaids, none quite matching her radiance. Iain muttered under his breath, "Fucking hell, mate."

The music played, and she walked down the aisle, her eyes locked on mine, her smile lighting up the room. She was almost by my side when she paused, turned to the old man in the wheelchair, bent down to take his hand, kissed his cheek, eliciting an "aww" from the crowd, and then stepped forward to stand beside me.

The next few minutes were a blur of vows and promises, and before I knew it, I was kissing her, taking her hand, and walking out of the chapel doors as a married man.

"Fucking hell, mate," I thought, the reality of the whirlwind day settling in, a mixture of shock, joy, and overwhelming love.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Absolutely amazing... the most brilliant writing

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

Cracking, Love it,

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *aughtyandfortyMan over a year ago

Cheshire

The best most well written and enticing story I have read on fab!! When is the film out?!

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

"The best most well written and enticing story I have read on fab!! When is the film out?!

You never know.

By the way, any suggestions for the story are welcome via PM. inspiration for scenes is harder than the writing.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The photo session after the ceremony was a delightful introduction to each other's friends and family. Muffin, ever the charming and gracious host, left an impression that was nothing short of regal, solidifying her place as my queen in everyone's eyes. The connections felt natural, and there was an ease in the mingling of our worlds.

The meal was a gastronomic journey, the finest I'd ever experienced, and when it came time for speeches, I had to think quickly. Drawing on my years immersed in literature, I managed to weave together words that seemed to resonate with the crowd, blending humor with heartfelt sentiment.

Muffin, however, outdid herself with the entertainment, arranging for "Fred again.." to perform, knowing how much I admired his work. The highlight was when he played a special mix of "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John, a song that held significant memories for us, having danced to it first in Monaco and many times thereafter. The room was filled with joy, the dance floor alive with love and nostalgia.

Later in the evening, Alexei approached, his presence always a reminder of Muffin's thoughtful planning. "Sir, Muffin would like your assistance in the snooker room," he said, his voice as professional as ever.

Curious and excited, I made my way to the snooker room, opening the door to what turned out to be the best surprise of the day.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

I closed the door behind me, my gaze drawn immediately to my beautiful bride, Muffin, perched on the edge of the snooker table, facing me. She still wore her veil, her wedding dress hitched up to reveal white stockings held by garter belts, her heels accentuating her legs. There were no knickers, just her legs parted, her shaved pussy glistening in the dim light of the room.

At the next table, my best man Iain and Sam from Rio stood, midway through a game. Muffin giggled, her voice playful, "We have a proposition for you."

"Go on," I encouraged, intrigued.

"Who fucks your bride first?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Them," I decided, watching the scene unfold.

Iain approached her first, his hands gently guiding her to lie back on the green baize, her dress splaying around her like a white halo. He kissed her, his hands exploring her body through the fabric of her dress, before moving between her legs. Sam joined them, his fingers tracing up her thighs, adding to the stimulation. They worked in tandem, Iain entering her first, her moans soft, her body arching into his thrusts, the table moving slightly with each one.

Sam watched, his hands caressing her breasts over the dress, his lips finding hers, kissing her deeply while Iain continued. After a while, they switched, Sam taking over, his movements eager yet controlled, his large, girthy cock filling her, pushing her to new heights of pleasure. Muffin's moans filled the room, her hands gripping the edges of the table for leverage. They both took turns, their rhythms blending into one, each bringing her to climax, their releases filling her, marking the moment in the sanctity of her wedding attire.

Once they stepped back, breathless, I approached, my heart racing with a mix of love, lust, and the surreal nature of the night. I bent Muffin over the snooker table, her dress still on, her back arched, her pussy now wet with their cum. I entered her from behind, my thrusts hard and passionate, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing in the room. My hands found her hips, pulling her back onto me, her gasps and moans a symphony of our connection. I felt the warmth of her, the slickness intensified by what had just happened, my pace increasing until I too added to her, my climax deep and intense.

Leaning over her, I whispered in her ear, "You are perfect," the words a soft seal on our shared moment of love, passion, and the unique bond we had just celebrated in the most unconventional way.

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

We chose Rome for our honeymoon, a city where history whispers through every stone and the past feels eternally present. Our days were spent exploring the Colosseum, where the sun cast shadows over ruins that once echoed with the roar of crowds and the clash of gladiators.

As the night drew in, we traded the daylight for the decadence of a modern Roman orgy, held in a villa that could have housed an emperor. The place was a testament to opulence, with marble statues lining corridors and frescoes depicting scenes of Bacchanalian revelry. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the floors adorned with mosaics of gods and goddesses at play.

The event was attended by hundreds, all dressed in the style of ancient Rome. Muffin was draped in a silk stola, her hair styled in an intricate Roman updo, embellished with gold and precious stones. I wore a toga of fine linen, a laurel wreath upon my head, feeling like a character from the history we'd studied earlier that day. All around us, people in various states of undress or in costumes that ranged from historically accurate to provocatively modern mingled, their laughter and whispers filling the air like music.

The atmosphere was one of liberation, an echo of the ancient Bacchanalia, where pleasure was the night's only law. Music, a blend of ancient tunes and modern beats, played, creating a bridge between eras.

The sexual encounters were diverse and plentiful. In one area, a couple performed acts of dominance and submission, the man dressed like a centurion controlling his partner, who wore a transparent stola. In another, groups formed, exploring each other with a freedom seldom seen, the sounds of their pleasure mingling with the night's symphony.

Throughout the evening, we kept each other in sight, our love and trust allowing for exploration while always returning to one another. Muffin found herself in scenarios where she was revered like a goddess, with several men and women attending to her desires, their touches gentle yet arousing, her eyes meeting mine across the room in silent communication.

I too indulged in the night's offerings, from a playful, sensual wrestling match that turned intimate, to whispered Latin sweet nothings from a partner. Each encounter was a story to share, our eyes always finding each other, ensuring our bond remained strong amidst the revelry.

When we came back together, it was with new stories to tell, our kisses tasting like the wine of the night. We might join a larger group or find a quiet corner for moments just for us, where our lovemaking was a dance of intimacy and familiarity in contrast to the night's wild displays.

The orgy was not only about the physical but about the celebration of all senses. Areas were designated for watching or being watched, or for indulging in the culinary arts with lovers, making the night a rich tapestry of human desire.

As dawn approached, we left the villa, our steps light, our hearts full, having experienced Rome not just as a city of history but as a place where love and life are celebrated with an intensity that feels eternal.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By *kmrandmrsCouple over a year ago

Falkirk

An outstanding piece of literature.

Had us hooked from the start.

Bravo.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Sensational 🤩

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By *orneyloverMan over a year ago

Boston

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Our days in Rome were filled with fine dining and the typical tourist adventures, which in itself was a delight. I got to meet some intriguing individuals, including artists whose passion for their craft was infectious and an F1 driver whose stories of speed and precision made me appreciate the adrenaline of the sport.

However, my curiosity led me online where I stumbled upon an EDM orgy, described as a warehouse rave where public sex was openly embraced. We decided to dive into this experience.

For Muffin, I chose an outfit that was both alluring and functional for dancing. She wore a sheer, shimmering crop top that barely covered her breasts, paired with a matching thong, both under a short, transparent skirt that flowed with her movements. Her outfit was completed with thigh-high boots and minimal jewelry - just some sparkling earrings that caught the light. Her red hair was in loose, wild waves, enhancing her free spirit for the night. I went for something simple yet effective, black jeans that hugged my form, no shirt, just a leather harness that accentuated my chest, and boots that could handle the long night of dancing.

When we arrived at the warehouse, we were immediately enveloped by the dark, pulsing atmosphere. The bass was a physical presence, vibrating through our bodies. People were everywhere, dancing with abandon, some pairs or groups engaged in sexual acts right on the dance floor - from couples grinding with hands exploring each other's bodies to more explicit acts like oral sex or even public intercourse against walls or on makeshift platforms.

As the night progressed, the constant teasing between Muffin and me had built a palpable tension. Muffin then decided to give me one of her ultimate teases. A girl passed by, her body clad in a tight, neon-colored bodysuit that left little to the imagination, her hair in a high ponytail, her eyes lined with glitter, making her look both fierce and inviting. Muffin grabbed her, pulling her into an intense kiss, their bodies pressed together.

They moved to a nearby sofa, surrounded by dancers who formed a small, curious crowd. Muffin pushed the girl down, straddling her, their kisses deep and hungry. She started to peel off the bodysuit, revealing the girl's body, their hands exploring each other. Muffin's fingers found the girl's nipples, pinching lightly as they kissed, their tongues dancing as much as their bodies. The girl responded by slipping her hand under Muffin's skirt, touching her through her thong before pulling it aside, her fingers gliding through Muffin's wetness. They shifted, with the girl now on top, her mouth moving to Muffin's breasts, licking and sucking, while Muffin's hands guided her head, urging her on. They pleasured each other, their movements becoming more urgent, their moans adding to the music's rhythm, until they climaxed together, the crowd around them either cheering or simply absorbed in their own dance.

After, with no idea where her clothes had gone, Muffin danced freely, her body still a tease, her eyes locked on mine, igniting my desire.

We left in a stretched Maybach, the ride home charged with the night's energy. I told her how watching her had driven me wild, her movements, her boldness. She climbed onto me, completely naked, her body warm and eager. Our kisses were passionate, her hands in my hair, pulling me closer as she positioned herself, guiding me inside her. She rode me with a fervor, her movements slow then fast, her moans in my ear, telling me how pleasing me made her feel.

By the time we reached the hotel at 6 am, Rome was just beginning to stir. I opened the door for her, and she stepped out, walking into the hotel with the same casual grace as if it were just another day, her body language screaming confidence and satisfaction from the night's adventures.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Back at the bookstore, our business was thriving, its reputation growing thanks to Holly's efforts and the unique, exotic books we'd been collecting during our travels. After months of city adventures, we craved something different, something closer to nature, so we planned a safari in Kenya, taking in the popular tourist routes before spending our last days on the estate of a family friend, where our private tours promised more intimate encounters with the wild.

There was one guide, a Kenyan in his early twenties, tall with a physique that spoke of strength and agility, his skin the color of rich earth. His presence was commanding, his uniform shorts revealing the outline of a notably large package, something I'd noticed had caught Muffin's eye more than once. His name was Kofi, and I'd observed him brushing against her while opening the door of our safari vehicle, his touch lingering just a bit too long, her gaze lingering on him in return.

On our last full day, I decided to invite Kofi for dinner, keeping this plan a surprise from Muffin. I ran her a bath, sitting by her, teasing her with touches and kisses, reminiscing about our adventures, how watching her had been one of the year's greatest pleasures for me.

As she stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a silk robe, there was a knock at the door. I welcomed Kofi inside, his eyes immediately meeting Muffin's, the air charged with an unspoken understanding.

She approached him, her steps confident yet slow, allowing the robe to slip from her shoulders, revealing her to him entirely. Kofi's eyes widened slightly, his gaze appreciative. Muffin moved closer, her hands on his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. She began to undress him, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a torso that was all sculpted muscle, before moving to his shorts, which fell to the ground, exposing his impressive, 10-inch girthy cock.

Without hesitation, she knelt before him, her mouth taking him in, her lips stretching to accommodate his size, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took him deeper. Kofi's hands found her hair, guiding her with gentle urgency, his moans mingling with her own sounds of pleasure.

They moved to the bed, their interaction turning primal, her back against the sheets, him above her. He entered her with a thrust that made her gasp, his size filling her, stretching her. Their bodies moved with a rhythm that was both fierce and fluid, his muscles tensing with each thrust, her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. They changed positions, her on top, riding him with an intensity that matched the wildness of the savannah they'd explored, her moans echoing through the room, his grunts a counterpoint to her sounds.

I watched, my excitement palpable, seeing her in this raw, passionate state, loving every moment of her pleasure.

After what felt like an eternity of primal connection, Kofi left, and Muffin lay there, out of breath, her grin wide, her body glistening with sweat, the air still charged with the raw energy of their encounter.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

In the bookstore, a tall gentleman entered seeking specialist erotica. I remarked that there wasn't a local market for it, leading to his curious response, "Unfortunately? Is that something you are into as there are local groups?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," I responded, "but do you have time for a coffee and a chat?"

We sat outside with our coffees, and I began to ask about these local groups, sharing my first experience in Monaco, though he seemed skeptical. He suggested sending an invite to a local group, piquing my interest.

Muffin arrived, fresh from shopping, a bag from a lingerie store in hand. The stranger's eyes roamed over her as she approached. I greeted her with a kiss and introduced them. Soon after, he excused himself, leaving me his card.

That night, I inquired about Muffin's experience with BDSM. She explained that everything we'd done together was the extent of her previous experiences. I then brought up the idea of exploring this local group. She was intrigued.

A week later, we found ourselves near my bookstore, at the entrance of a boiler room BDSM club, the existence of which I had never suspected. Muffin looked stunning in her leather mini dress, boots, hair up high, her studded collar and crotchless panties signaling her readiness.

Inside, we were at ease in the bar area, mingling with members in various states of undress. The tall gentleman, glad to see us, discussed participation. I expressed my desire to watch, specifically to watch Muffin. He offered to be her Dom, which we agreed to, and he whispered a safeword to her. With a kiss and a stroke over my trousers, Muffin said, "Wish me luck."

I watched through a two-way mirror as she entered the room with him. His demeanor changed instantly, authoritative and commanding.

"Down on your knees," he shouted. She complied, a mix of nervousness and excitement in her posture.

He issued a series of commands:

"Crawl to me, slowly." She moved across the floor, her eyes locked on his.

"Stand up, and bend over that table." She positioned herself, exposing herself to him.

"Spread your legs wider." She adjusted, following his order.

"Remain silent until I tell you otherwise." She bit her lip, her obedience silent but clear.

Then, "Kneel and open your mouth." She did as commanded, her mouth open in anticipation. He approached, his cock hard, and placed it in her mouth. She began to suck, but he quickly corrected, "Did I say suck?" She stopped, her mouth open, waiting.

He placed a hand on her head, pushing himself deep into her throat, holding her there. Her eyes looked up at him, wide, her body frozen. As she began to move, trying to breathe, he bellowed, "Stay still." She fought against her body's reflex for air, her frame bucking slightly before he released her, and she gasped for breath.

I watched, half expecting her to use the safeword, but she continued to follow his commands:

"Hands behind your back." She clasped her hands, offering herself more to his control.

"Look at me, and only at me." Her gaze was locked on his, unwavering.

"Now, suck me properly." This time, she did so with deliberate care, her actions guided by his earlier reprimand.

The scene was intense, a dance of power and submission, my heart racing with the mix of concern and arousal at watching Muffin explore this new dynamic.

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By *hrisukbishareCouple over a year ago

Edinburgh

Fabulous

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The scene continued with a series of commands, each one pushing Muffin further into the realm of submission and humiliation. She crawled around the room, her movements slow and deliberate under his gaze. The occasional spank echoed through the room, each one leaving a red mark on her skin, followed by another deep penetration of her throat, making her gasp for air each time.

Then came something entirely unexpected, a kink I'd never considered. He ordered her to squat, knees wide apart, her eyes meeting mine through the mirror. In her leather mini dress, the crotchless panties revealed her arousal, her wet pussy glistening. "Stroke yourself," he commanded, and she complied, her fingers moving rhythmically over herself. "Now piss," he ordered next. When she looked at him questioningly, he sharply corrected, "Did I say to look?" Her gaze returned to the mirror, and as she continued to stroke herself, a warm stream of urine began to flow from her, the liquid splashing softly on the floor, the warmth contrasting with the coolness of the room, her strokes never ceasing, the act both humiliating and liberating.

"Kneel," he said next, and she moved to all fours, her hands and knees now in the small puddle she'd made. "Turn," he instructed, and she shifted, now facing away from me, her leather dress lifted, her pussy exposed through the provocative panties.

He removed his belt with a deliberate motion, the air cracking three times as the leather met her skin, each strike leaving her with a sharp cry of pain, yet she remained still, her body absorbing the sensation. His trousers off, he walked behind her, spitting into his hand before delivering a forceful slap to her pussy, the sound resonating, then inserting two fingers, checking her readiness. He moved to retrieve a leash from the wall, attaching it to her collar, pulling it tight as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock at her entrance.

With a swift, hard pull on the leash, he entered her deeply, eliciting a cry from her. I watched for signs of her using the safeword, but none came. He paused, giving her a moment, then began slamming into her with force, each thrust yanking the leash, lifting her off her hands, her body moving with his rhythm, her cries a mix of pain and pleasure.

Just as I was trying to discern the pleasure beneath the intensity of the moment, he pulled out, standing with the leash tight, her legs trembling visibly, her pussy pulsing, the signs of a hard orgasm clear.

He commanded her to stand, removed the collar, and opened the door. Muffin walked out, her steps unsteady, but her smile wide as she approached me.

"She's a keeper, that one. Look after her," he said, nodding at me before heading towards the bar, leaving us with the echoes of their scene still lingering in the air.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By *akeb7722Man over a year ago

Wow

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By *untobehad2020Man over a year ago

Sandy

Stunning story!

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By *D123Man over a year ago

Kings Heath and Estepona

Just caught up. What a fantastic read. So well written. Beautiful.

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By *iltshirefunmaleMan over a year ago

Devizes

That is an amazing and very well-written tale.

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By *ilkey69Man over a year ago

Barnsley

Wow, so hot

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

So very hot and beautifully written wow 🤩🤩

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *kpiercedCouple over a year ago

walsall

Phenomenally well written story !

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By *enuine photographerMan over a year ago

Swansea

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By *eadMeisterMan over a year ago

near you...

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Open to suggestions where the story could go

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By *ickyouallover123Man over a year ago

Feltham

"Open to suggestions where the story could go"

This story is brilliant, just put your words on the page, thank you.

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

Love it

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

We decided on Greece for our next adventure, drawn by its ancient history and the promise of a unique hotel experience. We checked into a hotel suite that was unlike any I had ever seen or even imagined. The room was themed around an ancient ship, with every detail meticulously crafted to transport you back in time. The ceiling was made of glass, offering a panoramic view of the stars, which was particularly breathtaking at night.

The suite was an immersive experience; the air was filled with the subtle scent of wood and sea salt, evoking the feeling of being aboard a ship, while ambient sounds of creaking wood and gently lapping waves played softly in the background. The walls were lined with dark wood panels, some carved to resemble the hull of a ship, and the decor included nautical antiques like compasses, maps, and lanterns. The bed was designed like a captain’s quarters, with a large, ornate headboard and luxurious linens that felt like silk against the skin.

Our first few nights were spent in awe, lying on the bed, gazing at the stars through the glass ceiling, discussing our dreams and desires. We indulged in the services of a private chef who prepared meals that were both a culinary journey and an art form, served right in our suite. The food was inspired by ancient Greek recipes, fitting our ship theme, with dishes like grilled octopus and fresh, local herbs.

Then came the festival of Aphrodisia, an exclusive event celebrating Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, beauty, pleasure, and procreation. Known for her role in numerous myths, Aphrodite was said to have been born from the sea foam, emerging fully formed and radiating beauty. Her domain included not just physical love but also the emotional and spiritual aspects of affection and desire.

This festival was held at Mount Olympus, the mythical home of the gods, where an exclusive invite-only event was organized. Only 200 women and 800 men were permitted, creating a ratio that echoed the themes of Aphrodite's worship, where women, embodying the goddesses, would dictate the activities, and men would submit to their desires.

The event was a spectacle of luxury and hedonism. The setting was as opulent as one might imagine for a gathering of gods, with tents and pavilions set up to resemble ancient Greek architecture, complete with marble statues and flowing fountains. The catering was beyond lavish, with an array of foods from across the Mediterranean, and the staff was there to cater to nearly any whim or desire, from massages to private performances.

Muffin, embracing her role as one of the 'goddesses', led me through the evening with a confidence and authority that was both exhilarating and seductive. The activities ranged from dance performances that told stories of love and conquest to more private, intimate settings where desires were explored with consent and mutual respect. There was an area dedicated to star gazing, another with baths fed by natural hot springs, and private spaces for those who wished to indulge in more personal pleasures.

This festival was not just a celebration of Aphrodite but an exploration of love in all its forms, where every participant was both a celebrant and a participant in the divine play of human desires. It was an experience where luxury met mythology, and we, for a night, lived the myths we had only read about in books.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

At the festival of Aphrodisia, Muffin embodied the essence of Aphrodite, her attire a testament to her role as a goddess of desire. She wore a flowing, sheer chiton, the ancient Greek garment, but hers was made from the finest silk, dyed a deep, almost blood-red that matched her hair. The fabric hugged her petite frame yet allowed glimpses of her skin, the material so light it seemed to dance with her every move. Her red hair was intricately woven into a crown of braids, adorned with small golden leaves and flowers, emphasizing her commanding yet delicate beauty. Around her neck, she wore a necklace with a pendant shaped like a scallop shell, symbolizing Aphrodite's birth from the sea foam. Her feet were bare, save for thin, golden anklets that jingled softly as she walked, adding to her ethereal allure.

Muffin had chosen a secluded area among the olive groves, where the stars above and the soft glow of lanterns created a sacred space. Here, she was in total control, surrounded by three men who were eager to submit to her desires. Each was muscular yet respectful, their eyes filled with admiration and anticipation.

She began by commanding them to kneel before her, her voice both soft and authoritative. "Worship me," she instructed, and they obeyed, their hands gently caressing her feet, moving up her legs. She allowed them to kiss her skin, their lips tracing paths up her thighs, her arousal evident by her increasingly rapid breath.

With a wave of her hand, she directed one man to stand, his erection clear through his thin, traditional chiton. She approached him, her fingers deftly freeing him from his garment, her hand wrapping around him, stroking with a deliberate slowness. She then moved to the others, giving each the same attention, her touch a mix of tenderness and command.

Muffin then sat on a large, ornate stone that served as her throne, her legs spread slightly, revealing she wore nothing beneath her chiton. "Please me," she commanded, and one by one, they took turns. The first man knelt before her, his tongue finding her clit, licking with skill, his fingers entering her, matching her rhythm of desire. Her moans were like music in the night, her hands guiding his head, her pleasure evident.

The second man was summoned to stand beside her, his cock now in her mouth, her lips and tongue working him with expertise, her red hair cascading around her, creating a vivid contrast as she looked up at him, her eyes full of power and lust.

She then directed the third to join the first, both now working together to bring her to climax, their fingers, tongues, and hands exploring every part of her, their actions synchronized to her reactions. Muffin's control was palpable; she dictated the pace, the intensity, her body moving in response, her commands clear yet filled with pleasure.

When she was close, she stood, her body glistening with sweat and desire, and instructed them to lie down. Straddling one, she lowered herself onto him, her movements slow at first, then more urgent, her moans filling the grove. The others watched, their own arousal evident, until she beckoned one to come closer, guiding his cock to her mouth, her rhythm between the two men seamless.

She switched, moving to another, riding him with a ferocity that contrasted her petite frame, her hair wild, her eyes locked on his, then on the one she was sucking, her power over them complete. She brought herself to orgasm, her body shuddering, her cries echoing through the night, her control never wavering even in the throes of her pleasure.

After, she directed them to satisfy each other under her watchful gaze, her satisfaction in their obedience and their pleasure clear. Her beauty, her red hair now more vibrant against the night, her petite form radiating power, made her the very embodiment of the goddess she portrayed, a night of Aphrodisia truly lived through her command and desire.

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By *D123Man over a year ago

Kings Heath and Estepona

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *orny guysMan over a year ago

Galway

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

At the natural spring baths, nestled amidst the ancient rocks of Greece, an exclusive area had been set aside for a very particular kind of show. Muffin, along with two other women, had decided to put on a display of sensuality and desire, where men were invited to watch but not to touch. This was part of the festival's celebration of Aphrodite, focusing on the beauty and autonomy of female desire.

The baths were surrounded by lush greenery and the steam from the springs created an almost surreal, dreamlike atmosphere. The water was clear and warm, with natural rock formations providing both a stage and a backdrop for the performance. Candles and lanterns were set around, casting a warm, flickering light over the scene.

Muffin was in a sheer, white toga that clung to her body when wet, her red hair now loose, cascading in wet strands over her shoulders, her petite frame accentuated by the water. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and power, her smile both inviting and commanding.

Livia, the second woman, had long, dark hair that floated like ink in the water, her skin a warm olive tone. She wore a similar toga, but in a deep green, her curves more pronounced, her movements graceful and slow, like a water nymph.

Ariadne, the third, was taller, with golden hair that shimmered in the candlelight, her toga sky blue, emphasizing her athletic build. Her eyes were like the sea, deep and inviting, her laugh clear and light.

They began with simple, playful interactions, splashing water at each other, their laughter echoing around the bath. Muffin took the lead, guiding Livia to the edge of the bath where the water was shallow, their bodies close, their movements synchronized.

Muffin's hands roamed over Livia's body, tracing the contours through the wet fabric, pulling her close for a kiss that was deep and passionate, their moans soft and melodic. They kissed with an intensity that made the air around them seem to vibrate, their hands exploring, teasing each other's nipples through the fabric.

Ariadne joined them, her hands on Muffin's shoulders, pulling her back against her, her fingers trailing down Muffin's stomach to between her legs, where she began to stroke Muffin through the fabric of her toga, making Muffin moan, the sound a mix of pleasure and command.

The women then shed their togas, revealing their naked bodies to the steam and the eyes of the onlookers. They moved to the center of the bath, the water lapping at their skin. Livia positioned herself against one of the natural rock formations, her legs spread, inviting. Muffin knelt before her, her tongue finding Livia's clit, licking with deliberate slowness, her hands holding Livia's legs open. Livia's moans were louder now, her body arching into Muffin's touch.

Ariadne, not to be left out, came up behind Muffin, her fingers playing with Muffin's pussy from behind, her other hand reaching around to caress her breasts. The sounds of their pleasure were like a symphony, each moan, gasp, and sigh adding to the crescendo of their arousal.

They shifted positions, Muffin now on her back, floating in the water, Livia straddling her face while Ariadne pleasured Muffin with her fingers and tongue. The sight was one of pure ecstasy, the water amplifying their movements, their bodies glistening, their sounds of pleasure echoing off the stones.

They climaxed together, one after the other, their cries of pleasure mingling with the sounds of the water, their connection with each other a display of female empowerment and sensuality. The men around the bath watched, entranced by the scene, their desires clear but restrained, respecting the rules of the show.

When it ended, the three women shared one last, lingering kiss, their bodies close, their smiles triumphant, their power in their shared pleasure undeniable. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the steam from the baths, the night at the festival of Aphrodisia forever marked by this display of beauty and control.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

In the heart of the festival, as the moon hung low and the stars shone brightly, an event commenced that felt like stepping back into the ancient rites of Greece. The night was set for a late experience, where the primal beat of drums and the dance of fire would guide the festivities.

The location was an open field near the festival's main grounds, the grass soft underfoot, surrounded by ancient olive trees whose leaves whispered secrets in the night wind. In the center, a large bonfire was lit, its flames reaching towards the sky, casting shadows and light in a captivating dance. Around it, smaller fires provided warmth and light, with drummers positioned around the main fire, their drums deep and resonant, echoing the heartbeat of the earth.

The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of burning wood mingling with the musky aroma of olive groves. The drumbeat was mesmerizing, a call to both body and soul, inviting everyone to lose themselves in the rhythm. The fire's crackle added to the symphony of the night, its light revealing the eager faces of those gathered, their excitement palpable.

Muffin and I, along with the other attendees, found ourselves drawn into this ancient ritual. The drummers, skilled in their art, varied the tempo, sometimes slow and ponderous, other times fast and frenetic, dictating the mood of the gathering. People began to dance, their movements initially hesitant but quickly becoming more fluid, more primal, as the rhythm took over.

Muffin, her red hair catching the firelight, looked like a creature of myth, her eyes wide with the thrill of the night. Her attire was simple yet seductive, a flowing dress that allowed for freedom of movement, its color echoing the flames. She danced with abandon, her body moving to the beat, each step, each sway, an offering to the night, to the music, to the fire.

I joined her, our bodies close, our movements synchronized, the drums guiding us into a dance that was as much about passion as it was about letting go. The heat from the fire warmed our skin, the shadows playing over our forms, enhancing the intimacy of the moment.

As the night deepened, the dance evolved. Couples and groups formed, their interactions charged with the electricity of the drums. The air was filled with laughter and moans, the boundaries of personal space dissolving in the communal ecstasy of the ritual. Some danced with wild abandon, others found partners for more intimate exchanges, the firelight revealing glimpses of skin, of touch, of desire.

Muffin, feeling the pull of the drums, led me closer to the fire, her hands on my chest, her body pressing against mine. We kissed, the taste of smoke and night on our lips, our dance now a private one, though still part of the greater ritual. Her movements were both teasing and demanding, her hands guiding mine over her body, her eyes locked on mine, reflecting the flames.

The peak of the night came when the drummers reached a crescendo, their beats fast and loud, urging everyone to a state of near-frenzy. Muffin and I found ourselves on the ground, the grass cool against our heated skin, the drums a heartbeat to which we made love. Our movements were primal, driven by the rhythm, her moans mingling with the drumbeats, our climax a release that felt both ancient and new, a tribute to the night, to the fire, to the music.

As the drums slowed, signaling the end of the ritual, we lay there, catching our breath, the fire now a smoldering heap, the night cooling around us. The shared experience left us feeling connected not just to each other but to the earth, to history, to the primal dance of life and desire under the stars.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As dawn began to break over Mount Olympus, the festival of Aphrodisia reached its final, sacred act, known as "The Ascent of Eros." Muffin, having chosen her partner for this ritual, stood on a high ledge where the first rays of the sun would strike, her silhouette a tribute to the goddess herself.

Muffin stood tall, her eyes on the horizon, her arms slightly raised in a gesture of offering to the new day. I approached from behind, my hands gently guiding her into a close embrace, our bodies becoming one against the dawn's light.

As the sky turned from black to hues of pink and orange, I began to undress her, the fabric of her robe catching the light, making her glow like a deity. My hands traced her body, each touch slow and reverent, her sighs carried away by the morning breeze. She leaned into me, her back to my chest, her body a canvas of the rising sun.

We lay down on the grass, the warmth of the sun now kissing our skin. Muffin mounted me, facing the sunrise, her silhouette dramatic against the lightening sky. I guided her down onto me, her movements slow and deliberate, as if we were part of the sun's own ascent. Each movement was timed with the sun's rise, her body rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed to pull the day forth.

As the sun fully emerged, its light bathing us in gold, our movements quickened, matching the sun's climb to its zenith. Our climax, timed with the sun's ascent, was both a physical and spiritual release, our moans echoing the dawn, an ode to the beauty of life, love, and the new day.

After, we lay there, the sun now warming us, our bodies entwined, the world waking around us. The act was a communion with nature, with history, with each other, marking the end of the festival but the beginning of something new.

Once the act was complete, the other men who had watched this sacred ascent now formed a circle around us, kneeling in respect and awe. They were the crown of males, each bowing their heads, their eyes lowered, as Muffin and I, hand in hand, began our descent.

As we walked through the kneeling crowd, they murmured words of reverence, their hands occasionally reaching out to touch the ground before us, as if to honor the earth we walked upon or the act we had just performed. Their worship was not just for Muffin but for the moment, the ritual, the shared experience of the festival.

We moved through them, their heads bowed, their bodies creating a path of devotion, until we reached the edge of the gathering. The festival's energy was now one of quiet respect, the end of the night's revelry replaced by the solemn beauty of the morning. We left the festival, the sun now fully up, its light guiding us back to the world below, leaving behind the echoes of our worship, the ascent of Eros, and the start of a new day on Mount Olympus.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Wow...brilliant

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Just the most awesome read 🤩🤩

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By *es_wrentMan over a year ago

Hatfield

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By *igger9969Man over a year ago

Aberdare

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By *untooMan over a year ago

manchester

This is brilliant

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By *aidbackcpleCouple over a year ago

nr stockton

Wow. More please xx

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Bravo!

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Back in Edinburgh, Muffin proposed expanding the bookstore into an erotic book and art gallery, inspired by the unique experiences we'd had around the world. We decided to travel to Paris for inspiration, where the city's long history with art, literature, and sensuality promised to offer plenty of ideas.

We checked into a luxurious hotel near Montparnasse, known for its artistic heritage. Our room was opulent, with large windows overlooking the city, the decor echoing the elegance of the 1920s.

While enjoying an evening at the hotel's intimate bar, we met a German couple, Hans and Liesel. Hans was tall, with short, sandy hair and a physique that suggested he enjoyed sports, dressed in a tailored navy suit that outlined his broad shoulders. Liesel, on the other hand, was stunning with long, blonde hair, her eyes a piercing blue. She wore a sleek, black dress that clung to her form, the fabric shimmering subtly with each movement, paired with high, strappy heels. Muffin was in a red silk dress, her red hair flowing freely, the color of her attire matching her hair, giving her an aura of fire and passion. I wore a dark green shirt with black slacks, feeling both casual and elegant.

We struck up a conversation about the arts, Paris, and inevitably, our shared interests in exploring the boundaries of intimacy. The chemistry was undeniable, leading to an invitation to join us in our suite for a more private continuation of our discussion.

Once in our room, the ambiance was set with soft jazz playing in the background, the city lights providing a natural backdrop through the windows. Muffin, always the initiator, suggested we explore each other's desires further.

Muffin approached Liesel, her hand gently tracing the line of Liesel's dress, their eyes locked in a silent agreement. Liesel smiled, her hands finding Muffin's waist, pulling her close. Their lips met, the kiss deep and exploratory, their bodies pressing together. Muffin's fingers found the zipper of Liesel's dress, pulling it down to reveal a lacy black bra and matching thong. She guided Liesel to the bed, where they lay down, their kisses moving from lips to necks, to exposed skin. Muffin's hands roamed over Liesel's body, her touch both tender and knowing. She kissed down Liesel's stomach, her fingers hooking into the thong, pulling it off.

They moved fluidly, Muffin positioning herself between Liesel's legs, her tongue finding Liesel's clit with precision. Liesel's moans filled the room, her hands in Muffin's hair, guiding her. Muffin's own desire was evident as she worked, her movements causing Liesel to arch off the bed, her climax building until she shuddered with release, her cries of pleasure echoing.

After this intimate display, Hans and I shared a look of mutual desire and agreement. We decided to swap partners, each watching the other. Hans approached Muffin with respect, his hands gentle yet firm, while I turned my attention to Liesel, who was now flushed with arousal.

I kissed her, tasting her on my lips, my hands exploring what Muffin had just enjoyed. Liesel responded eagerly, her body moving against mine, her hands working to undress me. Meanwhile, Muffin and Hans were in their own rhythm, her red dress now discarded, his suit jacket off, revealing a well-fitted shirt. They were on the bed beside us, their movements synchronized, Muffin riding Hans with an intensity that matched her earlier passion with Liesel.

We watched each other, the voyeurism adding a layer of excitement. Liesel and I moved to the floor, our bodies entwined, her legs wrapping around me as I entered her, our pace matching the sounds and sights of Muffin and Hans. It was a dance of desire, each couple feeding off the energy of the other, the room filled with the sounds of pleasure, the visual spectacle of love-making in its rawest form.

After our shared climax, we lay together, the room quiet except for our breathing, the city outside oblivious to the intimacy we had shared within. The night in Paris was one of inspiration, connection, and exploration, setting the stage for our new venture back in Edinburgh.

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By *eadMeisterMan over a year ago

near you...

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

The following day we visited a private showing.

We entered the early 1900s themed private theatre, the ambiance immediately transporting us back in time. The room was cozy, with plush, velvet-covered two-person sofas arranged to face a small screen where silent, black and white films played. These were not your typical films; they were burlesque and vaudeville in style but included scenes of sexual acts that would have been strictly forbidden during their original creation, making them all the more intriguing.

Around us, couples were engaged in their own private performances, the dim lighting and the flickering screen providing both a cloak of privacy and an invitation to explore. To our left, a woman was straddling her partner, her skirt hiked up, moving slowly up and down while they both kept their eyes on the film, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the burlesque dancers on screen. In front of us, a man was on his knees before his partner on the sofa, his head moving rhythmically under her dress, her face a mask of pleasure, her hands in his hair, guiding him as she watched the silent seduction on the screen. To our right, a couple was more discreet, with the woman's hand inside her partner's trousers, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes darting between the film and her hand's work, his face contorted in silent ecstasy.

Muffin and I, absorbed by both the film and the surrounding activities, felt the heat of desire build. She turned to me, her eyes reflecting the black and white dance of light from the screen, and without a word, she climbed onto my lap, straddling me.

Her dress was short, allowing her to position herself with ease. She leaned forward to kiss me deeply, her hair falling around us, creating a private world. She then sat back slightly, her hands on my shoulders for leverage. She began to grind against me, the fabric of our clothes creating a delicious friction.

Feeling my arousal through my trousers, she reached down, unzipping me with deft fingers, freeing me. She lifted her dress, revealing she wore nothing underneath - a silent testament to her anticipation for this moment. She guided me inside her, her warmth enveloping me, her movements slow and deliberate at first, matching the pace of the dancers' tease on screen.

She rode me with a rhythm that was both tender and commanding, her hips circling, then thrusting, her eyes occasionally flicking to the screen but mostly locked on mine. Muffin's hands moved from my shoulders to my chest, her nails gently raking down, adding to the sensation. She leaned back, allowing me to see her fully, her body moving in waves, each motion a dance of pleasure.

The sounds of the film, the soft moans from around us, and the creaking of the sofa under our movements created a symphony of sensuality. She picked up the pace, her breath becoming shorter, her moans mixing with the silent film's music, her body tightening around me. She climaxed quietly, her movements becoming more erratic, her eyes closing in the throes of pleasure, but she didn't stop, continuing until I too reached my peak, our union a silent celebration amidst the silent film's forbidden dance.

After, we sat together, her head on my shoulder, both of us watching the film's conclusion, our hands entwined, the shared experience bonding us further in this intimate, historical setting.

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By *untooMan over a year ago

manchester

This is so beautifully written

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By *untooMan over a year ago

manchester

This is so beautifully written

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By *teviem48Man over a year ago

stoke

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

As we were heading out of the theatre, one of the staff members called us over. He silently handed us a card, his expression unreadable. The card was of high quality, embossed with the words "Rencontre libertine" on one side, and on the back, a telephone number was printed.

Muffin translated for me, explaining that "Rencontre libertine" meant "libertine encounter" in French. She elaborated that 'libertine' refers to someone who lives without moral restraint, particularly in sexual behavior. It's about freedom - freedom from conventional norms, where individuals might explore their desires openly, often in a setting or with others who share similar views on sexuality. She pointed out that the number was for a French mobile. When we looked up, the employee had vanished into the shadows of the theatre.

We decided to go for dinner, Muffin still without underwear, her excitement palpable. Over dinner, we examined the card, discussing what it might mean. Was it an invitation to some exclusive event or club where libertines gather? A place where one could indulge in or witness acts of sexual freedom, perhaps even participate in a world where traditional boundaries of intimacy are pushed or ignored? Curiosity got the better of us, and we tried calling the number, but the call failed, leaving us with more questions than answers. We shrugged it off as a peculiarity of the night, dismissing it as we enjoyed our meal.

Back in the hotel, as we entered the elevator, my phone vibrated with a message from the very number on the card: "Send recent face and body pictures." I showed it to Muffin, our intrigue deepening.

In our room, we positioned ourselves in front of the full wall mirror, taking some pictures together. Muffin, with a mischievous smile, dropped her dress to the floor, standing only in her heels, stockings, and a lacy bra. She then undressed me, her touch teasing, her eyes playful. We took more pictures, capturing our anticipation and desire.

She knelt before me, her eyes wide with that look I knew well - good girl eyes, full of innocence and mischief. Her hand found her clit, her fingers beginning to circle and stroke, her breath hitching as she took me into her mouth. Her technique was both teasing and expert; her tongue danced around the tip before she took me deeper, all while her fingers continued their dance, her moans vibrating around me, adding to the sensation. Her pleasure was evident, her arousal building as she pleasured both herself and me.

Just then, my phone pinged. An address in Paris appeared on the screen, with a time - 8pm tomorrow. We both grinned at the prospect of whatever adventure awaited us.

"Fuck my mouth," she whispered, her voice thick with desire.

I gently pushed her back until her head was against the mirror, her eyes locked on mine. I entered her mouth, pushing deep, her lips stretching to accommodate me. My thrusts were slow at first, but her eager moans encouraged me to go harder, deeper. Her eyes watered, tears forming at the corners as she gagged slightly, the sound both arousing and tender. I held onto her head, my fingers in her hair, guiding her movements as I thrust, the mirror reflecting our intimate act.

The intensity built, and with a final, deep thrust, I released, my climax filling her mouth, her eyes never leaving mine, her hands still working herself, her body shuddering with her own orgasm. We were a mess of pleasure, our reflection a testament to our shared ecstasy, the night's mystery adding an extra layer of thrill to our connection, the prospect of stepping into a world where libertine meant freedom in its purest, most sensual form.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Where should we take it next?

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By *oy Roi keltic for kingMan over a year ago

shirley Southampton, polop la nucia Benidorm

It's your story wether it's false or indifferent you are the one that's keeping everyone intrigued sorry it's still all up to you 😁 things can only stay on the same wavelength or just get better plus everyone loves a smile 😊😁 been blooming marvellous 😁😁😁😁

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

We dressed for the Rencontre libertine, me in a tuxedo and Muffin in a bright blue ball gown that made her look like she had stepped out of a fairy tale. I felt like we were about to enter the set of a James Bond movie, and I made a playful remark about it to Muffin, who smiled back with a hint of mischief.

As we left the hotel foyer, there was a stunning Aston Martin parked at the door. I was admiring its sleek lines as we stepped out. "Your transport, Mr. Bond," Muffin announced as the valet handed me the keys.

"Tonight is going to be amazing," I thought to myself.

We pulled up to a mansion on the outskirts of Paris, where couples were queued at the gate, each one looking like they'd stepped out of a high-fashion magazine, confirming that this was an exclusive, hand-picked crowd.

After parking, we joined the line, waiting our turn. When it was ours, we entered a small tent just inside the gate. We showed the message on my phone, handed over our keys and phones, and were given a brief on the house rules. Masks were handed to us, adding a layer of mystery to the night. "This way," the guard directed us.

We stepped onto a gravel drive, with open-flame torches lining the path up to the house, an 18th-century mansion that was as grand as any I'd seen since being with Muffin.

At the door stood a couple, their presence as magnificent as the mansion itself. The man was tall, his physique evident even through his tailored suit, which was of a rich, dark green velvet, contrasting with his silver mask that covered his eyes and part of his nose, leaving his strong jaw and smile visible. His hair was dark, slicked back, giving him an air of sophistication and power.

Beside him, the woman was equally captivating. She wore a dress of deep burgundy silk that seemed to cling to her form, highlighting her curves in a way that was both elegant and provocative. Her mask was gold, ornate, and adorned with small, glittering stones, complementing her chestnut hair that was styled in a high, intricate bun. Her eyes, visible through the mask, were a striking green, full of welcome and intrigue. Her smile was warm yet held a hint of the night's promises.

They greeted us with a grace that matched the setting, their voices soft yet clear, welcoming us into what promised to be an evening of luxury, mystery, and unbridled exploration. "Welcome," they said in unison, their tones inviting us into a world where every step was a dance of desire and every glance a prelude to adventure.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Once inside, we were shown to a room that was a testament to opulence. The walls were adorned with gilt-framed paintings, the ceiling high with intricate moldings, and the floor covered by a lush, Persian rug. A grand fireplace was the centerpiece, flames dancing within, casting a warm glow over the room. A girl, dressed in a flowing, silver gown with a delicate mask covering her eyes, sat at a grand piano, her fingers gliding over the keys, filling the room with a soft, melodic tune.

The couple already there was breathtaking. The man wore a black velvet suit, his mask a deep blue, matching his piercing eyes. His hair was dark, styled to perfection, and his presence exuded confidence and charm. His partner was in a dress of shimmering gold, cut to accentuate her figure, her mask matching his in color, set with small diamonds that sparkled in the firelight. She had long, blonde hair that fell in waves over one shoulder, her smile as captivating as her emerald eyes.

As more couples were brought into the room, the atmosphere filled with anticipation and elegance. Each new arrival added to the room's allure, their attire varying from the classic to the avant-garde, yet all were tailored to perfection. Conversations flowed like the wine served by masked servants, the mingling a dance of flirtation and curiosity.

At 10pm, a bell chimed, resonating through the mansion. The door to our room opened, and we joined the stream of couples exiting into the hallway, where doors from other rooms also opened, revealing a parade of masked figures, each pair as intriguing as the last.

We decided to head upstairs, following a couple who caught our eye. This couple was undeniably attractive; the man was tall and lean, with an athletic build visible through his white, silk shirt left slightly open at the neck, his black trousers tailored to perfection, and his mask was a simple yet elegant black satin, emphasizing his sharp features. His hair was a rich chestnut, styled in a way that looked both casual and deliberate. His partner was dressed in a deep red, strapless gown that hugged her body, her skin glowing under the soft lighting, her hair dark and cut short, styled to frame her face perfectly. Her mask was silver, with intricate filigree work, drawing attention to her deep brown eyes and full lips. They moved with a grace that suggested both confidence and an invitation to explore further.

Together, we ascended the stairs, the promise of the night's next chapter hanging in the air, each step taking us deeper into a world where beauty, desire, and freedom intertwined.

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By *untooMan over a year ago

manchester

This is such a magical and erotic story.

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

Upstairs, we began exploring the rooms, each one a tableau of desire and intimacy. Some rooms already showcased couples in various stages of passion. We found an empty room with a large, canopied bed and entered, the four of us quickly engaging in playful touches and kisses, our hands exploring, our lips meeting in shared anticipation.

Soon, two more couples joined, turning our quartet into an octet of desire. The four women, drawn together by mutual attraction, began to explore each other. They were a vision of lust; one had long, curly black hair, her skin a rich caramel, her lips full and eager. She kissed another with short, blonde hair whose eyes sparkled with mischief, their hands roaming over each other's bodies, their kisses deep and hungry. A third woman with fiery red hair, her body a canvas of freckles, joined in, her mouth finding the breasts of another, their moans encouraging each other. They moved to the bed, forming a circle, their heads between each other's legs, tongues exploring, tasting, the sounds of their pleasure filling the room.

Muffin, with a subtle gesture, invited two of the men to her side. They stood, one on either side, her hands working to free them from their trousers, her mouth moving from one to the other, her technique both skilled and seductive. She took them deep, her eyes occasionally meeting mine, the act both a tease and an invitation.

While this was happening, two of the girls, seeing my arousal, knelt before me. One was the blonde, her eyes locked on mine with a playful intent, her mouth enveloping me, her tongue swirling around the tip before she took me deep. The other, with the red hair, was next, her technique more deliberate, her mouth warm and wet, her eyes watching Muffin, adding to the voyeuristic thrill. They alternated, their touches and kisses on my thighs, my balls, adding layers to the sensation, Muffin and I watching each other, our connection palpable even in the midst of this shared experience.

The room was filled with the sounds of pleasure, the air thick with lust. I found Muffin again, the pull between us undeniable. I pushed her against the wall, her legs wrapping around my waist, our mouths meeting in a kiss that was all desire. I entered her, the connection immediate and intense, our bodies moving in sync, the wall supporting us as I thrust deep. We watched each other, the intimacy of our gaze contrasting with the wild energy of the room. Our climax came together, our cries mingling with the symphony of sex around us, the moment ours alone in the midst of the shared ecstasy.

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By *ongbowmanMan over a year ago

Grantham

what a read!

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By *onle81Man over a year ago

Yeovil

Wow! I have just read through from the start, what an outstanding writing style you have. Very enjoyable

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By (user no longer on site) OP over a year ago

After our intimate encounter, we redressed, our clothes now a contrast to the disheveled luxury we had just experienced. We descended the grand staircase to the mansion's main hall, where the atmosphere had shifted to one of after-party mingling. The room was filled with couples, each pair as intriguing as the last, their masks now part of their identity for the night.

There were couples everywhere; some whispered secrets in corners, while others danced to the music that had replaced the piano's earlier melodies. One couple stood out, both in their mid-thirties, with an air of sophistication. The man was in a perfectly tailored grey suit, his mask silver, his dark hair slicked back. His partner wore a black, floor-length dress that shimmered with each movement, her mask gold, her hair a cascade of auburn curls. They moved with an elegance that suggested they were at home in such settings.

Another couple, younger, perhaps in their late twenties, caught our eye. He was in a white shirt, the top buttons undone, his mask a rich burgundy, his blonde hair tousled. She wore a short, silver dress that hugged her curves, her mask matching his, her laughter light and infectious as they shared a story with another couple.

We mingled, the conversation flowing from art to philosophy, to the unspoken language of desire. The air was charged with a sense of camaraderie and mutual exploration, each couple adding to the tapestry of the night.

Later, we decided to head back upstairs, curiosity leading us to watch from the doorway of a room that had transformed into an open orgy. The room was large, with mirrors covering one wall, reflecting the myriad of bodies in motion. The scene was both chaotic and beautiful; bodies entwined on a large, circular bed, the floor, even against the walls. The sounds were a symphony of moans, laughter, and whispers, the air thick with the scent of sex and perfume.

Couples and groups were in various stages of intimacy, some lost in their own world, others performing for the room's voyeurs. There was a woman being pleasured by two men, her cries of ecstasy echoing, while nearby, a man was on his knees, servicing another couple. The beauty of it was in the freedom, the unashamed pursuit of pleasure.

Muffin and I looked at each other, the silent question in our eyes. With a nod, we stepped in, joining the dance. I guided Muffin to a spot on the bed, where we kissed, our hands re-exploring each other, the room's energy fueling our desire. She lay back, pulling me with her, but our connection was soon joined by others. A woman with short, dark hair and a mischievous smile leaned in, kissing Muffin, her hands on her breasts. I felt hands on me, guiding, touching; another man, his touch firm, his intentions clear.

We became part of the orgy, our bodies moving with others, the boundaries of 'us' dissolving into the collective. Muffin was kissed by several, her pleasure evident, her body responding to the touches. I found myself with another woman, her skin soft against mine, our movements in sync, the sensation of being watched adding to the thrill.

We moved through the room, sometimes together, sometimes apart, always returning to each other, our connection a constant amidst the fluidity of the orgy. It was a celebration of sensuality, of sharing, of experiencing pleasure in its most communal form, each touch, each kiss, a part of the night's narrative. The experience was both overwhelming and enlightening, a testament to the human capacity for joy and connection in its rawest, most liberated form.

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By *ensual and PrimalMan over a year ago

Near Narberth

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