Let's Talk About Sex

Introduction

Davina here, reporting in for duty. This will be my umpteenth spilling of juicy secrets and usually I kick off by saying that, although my confessions have all followed on from each other (more or less), I am doing my best to make every story readable in its own right. Meaning I've used brief intros in the hope I've been saving any new readers the hassle of having to backtrack.

This latest offering is and isn't an exception. What I'm clumsily trying to say is that, having re-read my last offering, "Sex in the City", I've realized I stopped off rather abruptly . . . and at a pivotal moment at that.

Jaysus, as my then new lover might have cried, how inconsiderate! Bunking off with the tale only half told!!

So, sticking to the tried and tested format, here's a more comprehensive than normal update on just who I am and where I'm at; purely in the interests of setting the scene, of course . . .

(Anyone who did read "Sex in the City", please feel free to skip on to Chapter One. I'll meet you there in two ticks.)

*****

Better known as "Dave" by friends and lovers, by 2015 I was an established IT techie, proud owner of a brand-new Mini called Maxine 2 (successor to Maxine 1), and recently at the end of my third spell of co-habiting with Kat. The love of my life had gone off travelling yet again. And unlike before, that third co-habiting spell had included a lot of incidents of unfaithfulness in both directions.

Put bluntly, after a series of pre-approved "wife-swapping", we'd gone off on tangents, vying with each other to be the most outrageous.

Probably drawing a dead heat in the outrageous stakes, but burning bridges as we went.

In other words, as the perpetual stay-at-home, I was convinced our "thing" was over once and for all.

Not that Kat was so easily convinced. She'd declared undying love when I saw her off from the airport and I'd agreed to see her again in a year or so, knowing she'd be back. Yes, I'd been prepared to fuck with her when she returned, but I fully intended to keep cohabiting out of the equation.

Thrice bitten, and all that.

Besides, consensual sex and true love were light years apart, weren't they?

Well, weren't they?

Single again, I'd swiftly looked up a few old girlfriends and put it this way: sex-wise I didn't miss out in the least. Who needed a live-in lover when she could sleep with a different babe every night?

Hell, I was probably getting more without Kat than I was with her sharing my bed!

But there was someone new on the horizon. I'd known Sinead for years without ever actually meeting her. She was my "work contact" at a component supplier in Dublin and I had been shamelessly flirting with her from day one.

Softly and (I hope) subtly pressing.

That sexy Irish brogue of hers! Imagine having that whispering sweet nothings under the duvet!!

Or on top of the duvet . . . Or just anywhere, come to think about it!!

Oh yes, yes please.

Warned well in advance of Kat's departure, I'd inveigled Sinead into agreeing to holiday with me at my dad's timeshare in Lanzarote. She'd agreed on the condition that, after our week in the sun, I'd spend a week with her in the city on the Liffey . . . probably in the complete absence of any sunshine at all.

Yes, she'd assured me, week two would be just like being home, in God's Own County of Yorkshire.

And please don't think I inveigled her without any sort of preparation. As soon as that agreement was arrived at we'd embarked on late night sessions of phone sex.

Innocent, mildly curious as she had claimed to be, Sinead had taken to lesbian phone sex like a duck to water.

I'll spare you the details of our seven days in Puerto Del Carmen. Suffice to say it really was her first time with a girl, but phone sex wasn't the only thing she took to with instant élan.

Hands, mouths . . . sex toys . . . she was a born natural. After a day or so I wasn't teaching her, she was teaching me.

In all honesty I was next to besotted with the girl. She loved everything we did together, happy to give, take or share, and always keen for more. Yes, Sinead was my sort of lover all right.

Then, almost abruptly, we were landing in "the biggest city in the world". And soon afterward there we were, in Sinead's trendy bed, in her trendy place, in trendy Temple Bar, fucking the afternoon away.

That is to say she tied me to her bed and fucked me for five hours without respite. Result! Seven days ago a girly virgin; five hours ago my charming hostess . . .

And by eight in the evening she'd finished her latest mistress class, leaving me breathless, aching all over (in the very best possibly way), and grateful as heck.

For five whole hours I'd been completely at her non-stop mercy. You bet I was grateful as heck.

Here comes the less believable bit of the backstory, but I swear it's true.

We went out to eat late evening and frequented a lesbian bar, intending to have a few scoops, a curry and then back to bed. Except ten minutes in the Flounge and we were unexpectedly joined by a pair of youngish ladies, Aileen and Cait. It turned out Aileen had been at school with Sinead and had been persistently after her ever since.

(By that I mean after her for sex, naturally.)

It also turned out Cait was Aileen's regular Friday night date. Apparently they got together just once a week, every week, but not in any way committedly.

They were both grinning at us, identifying us as a proper couple, unsparing with their encouragement.

Congratulating "Shinny" on finally "finding herself" . . .

And somehow, after at least a zillion pints of Guinness . . . with me not being allowed to buy a single round . . . we were in an alleyway, all of us three-parts drunken, me somehow having sex with Cait while Aileen settled old scores with Sinead.

Going back to Aileen's for a foursome had been proposed a little earlier, and rejected by Sinead. She was, she had said, too low down her learning curve. But guess what? Having standing sex in a littered alley changed her opinion on life, the universe and everything.

She'd agreed to Aileen's renewed proposal like a shot.

Like a lamb, I followed her lead.

Well, maybe not so lamb-like. Stunned as I was that Sinead was suddenly up for it, I still had the nous to lay down a term or two.

Terms which were immediately, unconditionally accepted . . .

*****

Before getting on with the yarn I'll tell you a little about the four of us. Who knows? If anyone wants to use a bit of imagination picturing the action, so to speak, it can only help, no?

Sinead was as tall as me (five-eight) with lovely long, dark red hair, beautiful bright green eyes and a spectacular pair of tits. Her skin-tone was amazing too. "Red hair" and "Irish" suggests paleness, but not for her. She was dark-toned and had tanned infinitely better than I had under the burning Canaries sun.

Aileen was around five foot eleven with short, very spiky hair dyed bright white. She was punky, butch and sexy as fuck.

Cait (whose name was too close to "Kat" for comfort) was a similar height to Aileen. Not seemingly at all butch, she was a blonde straight out of Baywatch, except with an even more spectacular chest.

Me, I hear you ask. I'm regularly compared to Velma out of Scooby-Doo. You know who I mean; not the gorgeous reddish-blonde, Daphne, the other one. The one who always wears turtleneck sweaters and has oversized glasses which she can't see without . . . and invariably lets everyone know about it if ever she loses them . . . which is very, very regularly.

(I CAN'T SEE WITHOUT MY GLASSES!!)

Sounds familiar? It should do. She yells it at least once in every episode, usually when running from a murderous villain, ostensibly of supernatural origin, bumping into obstacles along the way.

As for my tits . . . Do me a favour and forget them. I've seen ironing boards with better curves. On first sight I'm often taken to be a bloke but . . . oddly and gratifyingly . . . not ever by girls who like girls. For some crazy reason fellow lezzies see me more like that American: "Porn Valley's Gold Star Lesbian".

Personally I can't see any resemblance but who am I to protest? Even without having her nice little tits (or any at all), I'm flattered by the comparison.

And I've got a gold star too, so hope springs eternal . . . Even if my bra budget has always been a big (flat?) zero.

Anyway, enough preamble . . . or foreplay or whatever . . .

Let's get back with it. Let's find out what happened after our alleyway experience.

Chapter One

Don't ask what time we arrived at Aileen's gaff. All I can remember is that is wasn't so far from her old mate Shinny's place, and just as trendy. Sometime later I spent a while wondering about the affluence of Dublin's upwardly mobile young ladies. How could they afford such wonderful homes?

The answer was the same as when applied to my own wonderful home in East Morton, back in God's Own County: they fecking-well worked for it, and they got as much as they so rightly deserved.

That was afterwards, though. At the time I was easing back into sobriety whilst easing ever further in a lustful direction. How exciting was it to be there!

And what the feck had got into Sinead? She was heavy-breathing and prancing like a mare, ready for a good servicing. Make that ready, willing and very, very able.

All mares should be like her!

Well, shouldn't they?

Moving on . . .

We didn't waste much time when we got to Aileen's. Ushering us in through her front door, she asked if anyone was in need of wine.

'I'm pissed enough as I am,' Sinead replied, 'let's just go to bed.'

'What about you two?' our considerate hostess politely enquired.

'I'm cool,' I responded.

'I'm hot,' said Cait, 'but not for vino.'

'So we're unanimous.' Aileen laughed. 'Well, we are apart from the bed bit.'

So saying, she led the three of us into a sizeable, well-appointed lounge. As if I took note of the décor right then! All I was interested in was the excitement of the moment . . . although I suppose I did have fears Sinead might suddenly chicken.

But there was no need to worry. She kept up the heavy breathing and was prancing more than ever.

'You two can have the settee,' Aileen proclaimed to our companions. 'If you've any sense you'll watch our delightful English friend feck me to heaven and back. I'll even leave the lights on, to enhance your viewing experience. If that's not enough, please feel free to amuse yourselves any way you like.'

Turning to me she smiled. And trust me, a smile on her punky, masculine face was very alluring. 'You said you wanted to feck me,' she said. 'Sod settees, I want it on my Celtic Rug. So come on girl, let's put on a show. Down and dirty does it for me. Always has done.'

Not one to be put off by a challenge I went to the rug in question and slowly removed my T-shirt.

'Nice big nips,' Cait observed with a giggle, 'as if I hadn't already noticed!'

'Aren't you supposed to be amusing yourselves?' I countered.

This time she didn't giggle, she guffawed. 'We have a choice. And for now we're watching the show.'

Somehow that guffaw upped my excitement stakes . . . up and off the scale; in an instant I'd drenched my panties and had trickles running down my inside leg.

Right, as if I hadn't been aroused enough to start with!

Feck them, though. If they wanted a show I was their girl.

I hoped.

Sinead said nothing so, steeling myself, I unfastened my skirt and let it fall wherever.

Kicking off my heels (yes, I was for once wearing freaking heels!) I faced Aileen. Grinning at me, she started to unbutton her blouse.

'No,' said I, 'I'll do that. You just come closer. Put yourself in my hands.'

Having the taller, more strongly-built woman obediently approach me was a massive thrill. Living up to her promise, she was obviously giving herself to me unconditionally.

What more could I possibly ask for?

Butch or not, Aileen had the face, figure and presence to wow. And I was wowed before I slowly took off her blouse and bra, unleashing smallish but nice tits. I was even more wowed as her tiny, virtually non-existent skirt became history and she stood there before me, like a penitent, ready to accept her fate.

Not that I had anything vicious in mind for her . . . No, nothing vicious at all.

Staring into her eyes, I removed my ever-so-wet panties, keeping slow as my watchword, aware that Sinead already knew how I was down there and that Cait had not very long ago had a good feel. For Aileen it was a first. And my, wasn't she up for it . . . Whatever "it" was.

-

If that sounds evasive here's how it was just then. I have never fully shaved my kitty but, at that stage of my life, I'd abandoned the unruly bush and trimmed from time to time. With a whole week in the sun ahead of me I had recently trimmed much closer than usual, not wanting any go-your-own- way pubes to reflect adversely. In fact I'd probably overdone it but hey, some things can't be undone, can they?

Quarter of an hour with my Remington and most of my unruly bush had been consigned to history.

The keyword in that last revelation was definitely "most". Okay, maybe babies' bums were smoother, but I wasn't into any parts of babies. Forgetting our little audience, all I cared about was Aileen. And I was, I admit, impressed with her reaction. As I'd stripped off her smile had become shark-like. She'd shown no sign of disappointment upon seeing no tits and was now visibly salivating at the sight of my somewhat slightly leaky pussy.

'This is my show,' I reminded her.

'Better get my knickers off, then,' she grinned back at me. 'And better make it good. I'm up for this in a very big way.'

Obligingly I got her totally naked then pushed her down onto that rug. And then I let loose.

Please don't think I was in any way violent. I do vigorous but never violent. Hurting a fellow female is the last thing I'd ever do, apart from severely smacking Margot's arse, that is. She invariably deserves it and always gets off on the experience.

Sometimes I think I hurt the palm of my hand more than Margot's super-sexy ass; not that sentiments such as that were ever likely to change anything. We had established routines and stuck to the script.

Well, I always stuck to the script, Margot always felt free to rewrite as and whenever she felt fit; super-duper bitch or what!

Adopting a completely new routine for the occasion, I gave Aileen the hottest kiss in my repertoire. To my delight she hungrily returned it in spades. Head spinning and not entirely because of the Guinness I'd downed, I accelerated with her, keen to progress.

Yes, I might not have been prancing but I was ready, willing, able and more than eager to progress.

Jaysus wasn't I just!

Step one was to kiss Aileen more thoroughly than she'd ever been kissed before. As I had no idea as to how thoroughly she'd previously been kissed, I hit her in overdrive. Her response was encouraging, to say the least. How on earth did she make her tongue curl around mine so splendidly?

And why did her skin seem so good under mine?

Feck the answers to meaningless speculation; forgetting all else . . . forgetting the possibility that we'd got a critical audience . . . I moved on to step two.

Step two involved kissing every last inch of Aileen's face, eyelids very much included. Next I moved to her ears, kissing, licking and nuzzling, paying lots of attention to her lobes. And then, satisfied both of her shell-likes had been equally attended to, I focused on her neck.

Still nibbling, licking and nuzzling, I steadily progressed down one side, up the other. Down and up, up and down . . . again and again and again.

Corny as it may sound, I relished every second of everything. The taste of her upper body was tinted with some male aerosol . . . Nike as likely as not . . . but alluring for all that. Maybe it was the scent of her underneath the decoy. Maybe her natural body scent was too overpowering.

Point of order: just then my nose was miles away from her kitty. I was accepting her as I found her, in every last way. Okay, so I had my hopes . . .

Step three involved those lovely little pert titties of hers. Although I paid them heaps of attention I must have spent much longer attending to her pierced nips. Barbells, no less! How lucky was I!!

'Feck yes,' Aileen sighed, her body writhing beneath mine, 'feck me, yes, yes, yes.'

Stopping off to inspect her pierced belly button, I slowly, steadily, headed south. Her kitty was shaved closer than close but she had left a small triangle of short hair, pointing the way to heaven. That arrow was as bright a white as the hair on her head, but not nearly as spiky.

Maybe she wasn't bleached after all. Maybe that was her natural colour. Failing that, at least she was consistent.

Now I can be a bit of a foot fiend but not there and then. After all, there was only so much patience in my tank. Avoiding her groin altogether I began on her legs, working up the insides from just above the knee, using the same kissing, licking and nuzzling I had employed higher up, grateful to produce even better results.

'Feck yes,' Aileen yelled, 'feck me, yes, yes, yes!'

It's fair to say she orgasmed at that point. And, tell the truth and shame the devil, I wasn't so far away myself. Excitement rates rising like mercury in direct sunlight, I stepped up another gear.

Chapter Two

It's no great secret that I adore eating pussy, and Aileen had one of the very best. Whether judging it by sight, feel or taste, I have to give ten out of ten. Sight-wise it deserved to be on a statue dedicated to worshipping womankind. Feel-wise it had everything: moisture (lots and lots of moisture), elasticity, heat, and a general sense of needing to be loved. And best of all, taste-wise . . .

Well yum, yum!

Giving the whistle-stop account, I at last abandoned her inner thighs and circled the mouth of her sex with the tip of my tongue. That soon brought her off a second time and did wonders for me too. Going slowly upwards, I lavished attention on her labia, major and minor, before leaving her clit in suspense and homing in on her prepuce.

And didn't I give that sensitive stretch of skin some stick! Gently using my teeth as well as my lips and all parts of my organ of taste, I triggered cum number three and did my best to keep her high up there, not quite perpetually convulsing, but knocking hard on the door of sheer rapture.

Only then, when she was wailing and writhing, bucking and bleating, did I assault the glans of her so-sexy clitoris.

Cue cum numbers four and five, arriving together like long-awaited buses.

Or maybe they weren't so long-awaited . . .

And maybe number six wasn't so far behind . . .

Desperately in need of more direct stimulation myself, I finally broke contact and wriggled up her body letting my flat chest slide over hers, lubricated by lovely, mutual perspiration, until it was snug with her nice dainty boobies. And only then, as a distant sort of hindsight, did I glance toward the settee.

To my amazement Sinead and Cait really were watching us. Okay, so they were naked from the waist down and fingering each other, but they were spectating too. Clearly they had decided to take both of Aileen's suggestions as good ideas.

Confession time: the realization we'd been providing a spectacle thrilled me. By that I don't mean that I wasn't thrilled by the action so far, but the additional buzz was better than input from any vibrator.

Am I exaggerating yet again? Taking input from any vibrator is glorious, no?

Anyway, forget that digression. There I was, on top in perhaps the most basic tribbing position of all. Dismissing my fleeting glimpse of our audience, I gladly let loose the hungry, whirling dervish inside of me.