The Saffa’s end

The Saffa sends me WhatsApp messages on the Monday night, but I ignore these as I’m being pleasantly distracted by The Cockaholic’s oral fixation. Over the course of the week The Saffa and I speak only once a day, either in the morning or the night, not three times a day like we used to. It’s all very civil, tinged with a sense of nervousness; where that comes from I don’t know. Is it from my sense of guilt? No, it’s her demeanour. Does she suspect something? I don’t think so.

She’s right, the romance is over, which is a shame because I love the romance. It might be fair to say I live for the romance. I hadn’t got enough of it with her and now it feels like the hard, steady grind of loveless, pointless relationship is all that awaits. The wheels have spun off and this cart is on its rickety chassis, sliding down a stony hill.

The Cockaholic has gone off to Spain with her mother for a week, I know in that time I must end things with The Saffa. I want a cleaner conscience as matters progress with The Cockaholic. On the Sunday morning I meet The Saffa at my station for what I expect will be he last time I’ll see her. After everything we’ve been through I think I owe it to her to let her down in person.

It’s dreary Autumn morning, rain is imminent, which adds to her sombre mood. We kiss hello, but its feckless. We end up back at my place, intent on going to visit another nearby town, but we don’t. After less than an hour of preparing a curry for lunch, her sipping wine and two episodes of Californication, she’s frisky. Her period is due in the coming week and I’m learning that, like most women, the week before her period is when she is horniest.

It isn’t lost on me that this is just like when I wanted to break up with Busty Czech in that sex got in the way. One last fuck, why not? Yes, I’m doing it again, caving in at the merest whiff of pussy. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m a satyr.

The Saffa complains of a trapped nerve in her right shoulder, so I get my massage oil…and the tube of KY jelly that she had left behind previously. My mind conjures up a naughty idea.

I give her a decent back massage and minutes later she’s sucking on my cock. We strip off in my lounge, try a bit of conventional sex, but I’ve got anal on my mind. She seemed up for it in the past and I never know when I might get another chance to do it properly, so I start talking dirty about it.

“Do you like sucking on my cock?” I begin.

“I love it,” she replies.

“Imagine feeling it in your pussy,” I continue, warming her brain up.

“Mmm,” she mumbles with my cock in her mouth.

“Now imagine feeling my cock in your arse,” I say, planting the idea in her head.

She doesn’t say anything, but just looks at me with her baby-blue eyes and smiles whilst maintaining suction. The Saffa ‘s almost as good a cock-sucker as The Cockaholic, but the latter still has the edge.

“Imagine feeling my cock pumping and squirting cum in your arse,” I say, going for the kill.

“Oh, fuck…” she utters.

“Imagine feeling my hot, sticky cum in your bum,” I say, hoping that this closes it.

“Oh, ja, let’s do it!” she says, dropping my erection out of her mouth and standing up.

Ah, she’s up for it, so I get the KY jelly and lubricate her arse with one finger. I smear some over my cock and we try doggy-style. I slide my cock into her anus slowly and and give a few gentle thrusts before she complains of the pain. She suggests missionary position which is weird to me, but we’re so close so we try it.

It works. After about thirty seconds of gentle ass-fucking, she’s relaxed and enjoying it. After about another minute she’s quite happy to parrot, “please fuck me in the arse” repeatedly, exactly as I tell her to.

“Please choke me while you fuck me in the arse,” she blurts out, throwing her arms up next to her head.

I oblige and The Saffa closes her eyes in utter satisfaction.

Choking during sex

Choking during sex

Anal on the brain

Anal on the brain

How not to suggest anal

How not to suggest anal

Anal prep is important

Anal prep is important

Anal lube is vital

Anal lube is vital

The Saffa’s arse feels like the tightest pussy I’ve ever penetrated, yet so smooth from the lube, thus giving me an exquisite sensation. My hips speed up and I can feel the lubricant wearing thin. I let myself cum, exploding ejaculate into her rectum, while still choking her. It’s difficult not to tighten my grip at a moment like this, so I let go for her own safety.

After a few seconds my orgasm subsides and I want to pull out, slowly edging my cock out of her arse.

“No, don’t. Stay. I want to feel it some more,” she says, snapping out of her own world and looking me in the eyes again.

For half a minute I press my fists into the sofa either side of her head as she savours whatever she’s feeling. She starts stroking my arms and chest, gripping various muscles, just like Krazy Girl used to. It’s nice to feel appreciated.

We takes turns going to the bathroom and end up watching more Californication with the slightest hint of excrement and ammonia in the air.

It’s getting time for her to go back, I start making noises about this, but true to form, The Saffa starts sucking on my cock. I don’t care if she gets into trouble at work; she doesn’t, so why should I?

She diligently sucks me off while I look down at her, thinking to myself about my cock having been in her arse a couple of hours ago.

Her train departs my station when she should have been reporting for work.

On the Tuesday night she phones me and within minutes we’re embroiled in a pointless argument about her work. Again she is rubbing her employers up the wrong way over a new issue and it shows her callous disregard for other people. Her psychopathic lack of empathy reminds me of my Exgf far too much. It’s especially the “fuck them” attitude that bothers me. It hints at what she’s like in a relationship – it really is all about her options.

The conversation gets heated, she keeps talking over me and The Saffa yet again abruptly hangs up on me. I decide that it’s for the last time, so in the morning I send her this email:


Sorry, but we clash far too much for my liking.

For several weeks now our relationship has felt like a clash of wills and not a romance.

I want the latter and convinced myself to give “us” time.

I’m going through a bit of a rough patch in my life at the moment and a roller-coaster relationship is the last thing I need right now.

I need to be with someone who lifts my spirits and is easy company – sadly, to me, you are neither of those things. I want a harmonious relationship – for you that would be boring because it seems to me that you court drama.

I’m having to put this in writing because, as last night proved, you won’t let me say my piece. I have to tell you that you have an annoying habit of talking over people. You have not learnt that there are times when keeping quiet is the best thing to do. You won’t do this because you like the drama – I hate drama.

If I were to try to have this conversation with you in person or over the phone, quite frankly, it would be impossible. It would only end badly.

So, despite the best of intentions and purest of hopes, it has become clear to me that we are just not right together.

We don’t bring out the best in each other. Outside of the bedroom we lack magic. At times it has felt like we are two draught horses pulling in opposite directions. That’s not how it should be.

We can’t even make pancakes together.

All you had to do was be nice to me. Instead, at times, you’ve treated me like the enemy.

I then realized that you’re just not going to open up your heart to me.

I just don’t have time and energy for a relationship like what we’ve had. It’s not what I want or deserve.

The time has come for us to go our separate ways.

Sorry.

I wish you all the best for the future.

After sending it I sit there with a heavy heart and I realize something. My transformation into Hank Moody from Californication is now complete because this scene springs to mind:

I find it interesting that The Saffa was on her best behaviour and most keen when she was trying to win me away from Busty Czech. As soon as she felt a sense of commitment or security from me her behaviour changed for the worse and her true colours came out. In the beginning she was compliant and agreeable to everything, but that quickly morphed into a battle of wills. I started to wonder if she was getting off on mind games, the silly, nasty power games that turbulent relationships are characterised by.

The Saffa wasn’t The One, despite my having some hope that she was. Our dalliance lasted little more than a month. I have learned some lessons from it, hopefully they stick in my psyche.

The Cockaholic hasn’t proven herself either way so I need to give it time with her, despite her being somewhat enigmatic. It’s a few days after saying goodbye to The Saffa and I’ve just developed doubts about who The Cockaholic really is with in Spain which is causing my Trust Demon to be stomping around.

Again it’s beginning to fade to grey, all so fucking grey.

Lessons learned: 1) Women are more competitive than men, especially in the romance stakes. Some women like a challenge by way of wooing a man away from another woman. I guess it partially explains why some women are attracted to married men: it makes them feel more of a woman if they can get a man off another woman. 2) Most woman like to have a sense of power in relationship. If they can bend a man to their will, then it makes them feel powerful. However, it’s a poisoned chalice because after a while her respect for him will erode and with that any sense of love. 3) Drama queens like the excitement that comes with drama, not caring how destructive to a relationship it might be. If there isn’t drama, they’ll create it. A passionate fight is better than being bored. 4) A sense of security for some women gives them the idea that they can treat a man badly because he will always be there. A little bit of insecurity certainly keeps bad behaviour at bay. 5) The way to deal with drama queens, megalomaniacs and challenge-seekers is to treat them badly. They respect a man then, they fear his strength and that excites them. It’s fucked up, but it works.

Visage – Fade to Grey

Obsession

I hadn’t planned to see The Cockaholic on the Friday, for fear of wanting to seem too keen. However, I actually wanted to see her before she went away on holiday with her mother. I like being with her, she is lively and fun…and very keen to please in bed. I text an innocuous message to her at lunchtime and we both confess to wondering what the other was doing that night. It doesn’t take long for us to agree to meet up that night.

I go to The Cockaholic’s place for the first time and it’s so much nicer than mine, as I expected. Bless her for not being disappointed by my dump. She makes us a pizza that she specially went to the shops to buy. She also bought ciders for me and South African wines for her.

After dinner she produces a photo album that her mother had made for her fortieth birthday which has dozens of pictures of her through the years. As a teenager and young woman she was exceptionally attractive, but in some of the photos I noticed how flat-chested she was. She was a small a-cup then and is now a good b-cup.

We chat amiably and before long we’re kissing on her sofa. Suddenly she jumps up and goes to the kitchen, returning with an unopened tub of clotted cream. I remember asking her on the Monday night if she had ever eaten food off somebody or had food eaten off her and the answer was in the negative.

She undresses me and asks me to lie down on her sofa. She starts sucking on my cock for a little while before opening the tub of clotted cream and smearing it over the head of my cock before eagerly licking and sucking it off. She remains fully clothed and continues doing this to me for more than an hour.

She’s a cockaholic and just can’t stop sucking my cock. It’s pleasant, sweet and disturbing all at the same time. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It’s as if she is obsessed with my cock or perhaps penises in general. I bet she sees cocks in the unlikeliest of places.

Cock recipes

Cock recipes

Cock cloud

Cock cloud

Cock sundae

Cock sundae

Cock chandelier

Cock chandelier

Cock fruit

Cock fruit

Penile building

Penile building

Penile sign

Penile sign

Cocky food

Cocky food

Penis-shaped building

Penis-shaped building

Cock cake

Cock cake

Penis pizza

Penis pizza

Penis weather

Penis weather

We go to her bedroom where I lick and suck her clit while fingering her g-spot with two fingers in her pussy. Just like on Monday night she has an almighty orgasm that leaves her shaking and trembling. I cuddle her and it feels good. She’s almost in an euphoric state, eventually recovers, swallows hard and breaths normally again. Only a handful of women have reacted so well to my touch.

Without my saying a word she starts sucking on me again and barely stops to take my cock out of her mouth for at least an hour again. She’s unbelievable, but I’m not complaining. Eventually I cum in her mouth and she just keeps on sucking away like nothing was happening. She’s more than happy to swallow my cum and even sucks and licks tenderly long after I’ve cum. Either my cock is her obsession or my pleasure and contentment is important to her; perhaps both.

We eventually switch the lights off well after 1am and it feels like minutes before we’re both awake again. It’s just after 7am and sirens from the main road outside have woken us. Almost instantly she starts sucking on my cock again! We’ve hardly said a word to each other; she is keen to please. Again I cum in her mouth, but I hurry it up this time because she has a hair appointment to get to. I think with her there will always be time for a blowie.

There is always time for a blowie!

There is always time for a blowie!

The next day, Sunday, she goes off to Spain for a week to go holiday-house hunting with her mother. I spend the same afternoon with The Saffa, intending to break up with her, but I’ll tell you what happened there in a little while.

Over the course of the week The Cockaholic and I swap messages via WhatsApp, all pretty generic and low-key. On Thursday I suggest that we get together on Sunday. I’ll make a curry and get other Indian snacks; she agrees excitedly. I’m pleased by her response and I’m looking forward to seeing her.

Then at 6am on the Friday morning my Trust Demon wakes me. My immediate thought is that she had sent me photos of where she had been in Spain, but none of her and her mother. So I send her a WhatsApp message, wishing her a good day…and asking that she send me a selfie of her and her mother together. She sees my message minutes later, but uncharacteristically doesn’t respond. In the evening she sends me two separate pictures: one of just herself and another one of her mother with an unknown woman.

I download these and analyse them. The properties of the photo of her mother was taken at a very large resolution size and the previous day, but her other pictures she sent me during the week were all taken at a smaller size, while the one of just her was taken at a very small size, also on another day. This indicates that a different camera or phone was used on each of them. Hmmm….I wonder who she really was with in Spain.

My Trust Demon spins furiously in his cage.

Animotion – Obsession

All-over body orgasm

It’s an October Monday morning and I text message The Cockaholic, suggesting that she come over for a spicy risotto and Californication in the evening. She jumps at it. I think she’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie and loves the rush of excitement, something I think I can provide in spades. I’m looking forward to seeing her.

I find myself wondering if I’m addicted to the spike of adrenaline of first dates, of the getting-to-know-you phase. I’m inclined to say ‘no’ because I spent six months with Busty Blonde and it was such an easy relationship with her. I kind of miss that now after not even two months of The Saffa who is increasingly becoming hard work. I’m starting to think of her as a Drama Queen; she just has to have drama in her life.

The Cockaholic arrives early, which I take as a good sign: she’s keen. We have the spicy risotto I made, then sit side-by-side on my sofa to watch another two episodes of Californication which, I suspect, has the effect of making her frisky. Little more than two hours after arriving she is sucking on my cock and loving it. I have never seen such a happy, enthusiastic cock-sucker before.

I ask her, “have you been looking forward to doing this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she says, momentarily taking my cock out of her mouth, but then adds, “I’ve been thinking about something else all day too.”

“Oh, what other people call fantasies you call plans?”

The Cockaholic bursts into laughter, keeping my cock in her mouth as she does so. It’s a strangely pleasant sensation having a woman laughing onto and all around my cock.

“So do you want to tell me what it is you want, or do you just want to show me?” I coax.

She stops fellatio and gets up to straddle me cowgirl style. It feels good to me; she’s not overweight and thus crushing my cock, so my erection can last forever. Within minutes she has made herself cum by riding my cock. I enjoy watching her face convulse in pleasure.

I give it a few minutes, then I start kissing her all over, ending up between her legs, softly licking her clit. After a couple of minutes of this she’s totally relaxed, so I slide an index finger into her pussy, first pulling down, then turning it upward to stroke her g-spot. After a few more minutes I slide my middle finger in too and both fingers are rubbing her g-spot as she moans in pleasure. She keeps her hands above her head on my sofa cushions and it seems as if she is in ecstasy as I lick her clit and finger her g-spot. My tongue tires and I sit upright to rub her clit with my other hand’s thumb. Her pussy starts squelching and occasionally squirting juices into my hand. Not since Krazy Girl a year ago have I felt a woman do that. Eventually she cums, arching her back while hiding her face into a cushion as she screams.

I find it amazing to have such an experience with a woman. The sights, sounds and smells overpower me. The naked honesty of the moment entrances me.

She lies panting, I let go of her bits and climb on top of her to cuddle and warm her. I can feel her body shaking under me. Eventually she speaks.

“I think I just had an all-over body orgasm,” she says, swallowing hard.

After a few minutes of blissful silence conversation turns at my behest to the unpleasantly practical issue of contraception. Something has been niggling at the back of my brain.

The Cockaholic now tells me that she’s on the injection contraceptive, the one where she has no periods and needs a recharge every three months. I also remember her telling me on Friday night that she hasn’t had sex in two years, but had herself tested at a STD clinic four weeks earlier. Why would someone who hasn’t had sex in 2 years be on the injection and have herself tested? Hmmm…I smell bullshit. My ever-alert Trust Demon opens an eye and raises a suspicious eyebrow. He snorts in contempt at her story.

Is my initial supposition correct in that she was on Tinder intending to go on a sexual rampage, part of exorcising her own demons, making her feel like a powerful, desirable woman? I see this as part of my attraction to her, this trying to decipher her motives, learning more about womankind through her.

Without me saying a word The Cockaholic starts kissing me all over. She’s obviously an unselfish lover, a Giver even and this pleases me.

Her kisses feel like a butterfly landing on my skin as she works her way down my body. I’ve been looking forward to experiencing her sucking my cock, hoping it’s as good as I remember.

The Cockaholic’s tongue slides up and down the shaft of my penis, then she glides it down onto my balls, using the smooth underside of her tongue to elicit pleasure in them. Jeezus, she really knows what she’s doing!

She keeps her tongue moving and down to my perineum she goes, twirling and swirling her tongue over it. No woman has done that before. Where did she learn these moves? Cosmo, porn movies or a really instructive ex-lover? Or is she a natural? Just how many ice-creams has she practised on?

I look down at her and see that she’s in a trance-like state. Anything can happen now.

Entranced blowjob.

Entranced blowjob.

Her tongue is flailing about like that of a possessed demonic goat.

Gotta lick it!

Gotta lick it!

Suddenly her tongue drops lower and she starts drawing circles around my anus. Only my Exgf has given me a rim-job before and that was long ago, so it feels good. The circles become smaller…

Hang on, she’s not going to do what I think she’s going to do?…

Fuck!

She’s licking my arse!

Holy shit! That’s so unhygienic!

Yet it feels so good…

Oh my god!

She’s just stuck the tip of her tongue into my arse!

Emotionally I’m horrified, but physically not so much. In fact, I like it, so I relax.

The Cockaholic pushes her tongue deeper into my arse and she starts making snorting sounds of satisfaction, akin to a pig.

Wow! Should I rename her The Ass-licker?

She continues pushing and pulling her tongue in and out of my arse for about a minute. I think she’s enjoys doing it more than I enjoy receiving it. I lie in stunned fascination, my brain is racing.

Is this some kind of emotional release coming to the surface in her? A high-pressured job demands an extreme release of energy for her to unwind?

“Do you like doing that?” I ask, knowing it’s a stupid and obvious question, but it’s the answer that matters.

“Uh-huh. I love it,” she answers, momentarily leave my arse alone before resuming her pig-finding-a-truffle-in-my-arse routine.

My, my, my, what a kinky little thing you are. I wonder what delicious naughtiness we can get up to together? I wish I had filmed this; I could watch it repeatedly.

Without any hint of a change to come The Cockaholic pulls away from my anus and almost instantly latches on my cock which is losing its erection because of the shock of what she has been doing. Most of the blood in there has rushed to my brain and botty.

Ugh, her mouth must be coated in faecal bacteria and now she’s spreading it on my precious manhood!

This cannot be! I don’t want to spend my nights in the shower scrubbing my phallus raw like I did after the anal sex episodes with Krazy Girl and Tech Titan. This Grey Knight must arise and put matters right by mounting this damsel with the dirty mouth!

I get up off the sofa, leaving her on all fours on the trusty footstool. She doesn’t move, I think she knows what I’m about to do. She knows to stay in position for doggy-style. Such a well-trained ass-licking cock-sucker.

My semi-flaccid cock easily slides into her slippery pussy. Some women in their early forties start experiencing lubrication problems, but not this one. After several mighty thrusts of my lance blood floods its chambers and turgidity returns.

“Oh, yes, that’s it, fuck me!” she mutters.

I love it when women tell me things like that, but it’s starting to amuse and puzzle me that they generally say the same things, like she did right now. Ho-hum, mustn’t tarry or quibble, there’s fucking to be done.

Earlier I had turned the lights down low as we got comfy on my sofa. Soft lighting usually leads to hard fucking. I knew this even back when there was that close call with Baltic Babe, that time when she turned the lights down low. A dormant sense of anger is evoked by the memories of her and my hips speed up. I’ll be cumming soon.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask. It’s only polite to ask.

“In my pussy,” she wheezes back.

I reckon it’s safe to do so, I believe her contraception claims, but a little impetus to get me over the line is needed.

My thumb finds its way to my mouth and I suck on it for a few seconds. How will she react to being on The Hook this time? Will she rear up and lurch away like Busty Czech did? Or will she enjoy it like every other woman has?

Slowly and smoothly my thumb slides up her bum. She doesn’t make a sound nor does she move as my hips keep ramming my fat cock into her. Yes, she likes this. I’m now thinking that she has an anal fetish thing going on given what she did to my arse with her tongue.

Oh yes, the bum bacteria that she slobbered onto my cock is now coating her vagina. This high-flying, yuppie career woman with the expensive sports car likes it dirty!

I lean my head over to one side, hoping to catch a glimpse of her tits bouncing around as I fuck her, but they’re barely moving, just the slight shake of a mound of jelly. Now I’m sure her boobies are fake. Right now that doesn’t matter because my balls have just tightened.

With a back-arching spasm I blast a day’s worth of sperm into her, but the build-up has been so good that it feels like several day’s worth. I wonder if a woman can tell from the sensation of the cum in her pussy just how many days worth the load is? Answers in an email please…

My hips keep rocking and The Cockaholic is making ‘mmm’ sounds that indicate approval. Most women seem to like the feeling of sperm in them, but some don’t. I wonder if it’s an emotional thing more than anything else?

Never mind that, this was a good orgasm.

Sex with The Saffa has degenerated into angry sex, which is not my favourite kind, but doing it with The Cockaholic feels sweet, it feels right.

She spends the night and I’m in heaven. We talk for ages again and again I enjoy talking to her. She finds me funny and we laugh a lot. We both feel good. I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

In my Triangle of Temptation (personality, face or breasts) she has personality. I don’t find her face off-putting, it’s just that I’m not enthralled. I can’t just stare at her face and derive pleasure from that, not like I could with The Model and Krazy Girl. I’m now convinced her breasts are fake, but that isn’t a problem to me, which surprises me. How I feel when I’m with her counts for more. Of course her ability to suck a golf ball through a hosepipe matters too.

The Cockaholic having a kinky streak I find interesting. How did it come about? Will she share some of her sexual history with me? I’m really curious, but it’s a rare woman who’ll share that kind of information. I’d love to know what she’s feeling when she’s having sex or how it feels to her being on The Hook or licking my arse. What are her other fantasies? What is she looking for?

I guess the Eurythmics were right: some of them want to get used and some want to be abused. Yes, everybody is looking for something. We’re all pursuing a sweet dream or two.

What are hers?

Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This )

Who can it be now?! – Final part

“Get undressed,” I order.

The Saffa complies without any hesitation. All that she is wearing now is the mask. I’m still sitting back in my chair and the camera is capturing everything, including the sound of Darth Vader finally cumming in the Princess’s mouth.

“Sit down,” I say, pointing to the footstool.

She sits down on the edge, facing me. Her nipples are hard. She smiles at me from under the mask.

“Lie back,” I say.

The Saffa lies back and drops her head down over the edge of the footstool.

“Spread your legs as wide as you can,” I command.

She obeys, moving her feet far apart and revealing a freshly shaven pussy. Hmm, she came here wanting to be fucked.

I get up and go over to her, getting down on my knees between her beckoning thighs. I’m not sure she can hear my movements because of the sounds of satisfaction emanating from the screen near her head. It turns out Princess Leia loves to swallow; who knew?

The Saffa lets off a loud moan of pleasure as my tongue slides up her slit and makes contact with her nubby clit. Unsurprisingly her pussy is dripping wet. For someone who claims to have a dryness problem hence the KY jelly, I seem to have no problem getting and keeping her wet.

A copious amount of T.L.C. leads me to developing a mild case of lockjaw, so I pull away. The Saffa’s motor is running full speed now. With her head still dangling over the end of the footstool and surely a mild headache brewing from the rush of blood to her head, she nevertheless reaches towards her pussy with one hand and starts rubbing her clit.

I hold her legs open so that the camera can see this furious finger action, but it also has the effect of heightening what she’s feeling because restricted movement feeds her need for being dominated. Suddenly she stops playing with herself. I take the opportunity to slide a finger into her vagina, play with her g-spot for a few seconds, then slide another finger in. She’s moaning constantly, so I slide a third finger in.

Hang on, I’ve never been able to get three fingers in before. Has she been recently fucked by another cock?

Now is not the time for my trust issues.

I stand up and back away. This big-breasted blonde with her legs wide open makes for a magnificent sight. I should make the most of this; we’re perhaps not going to be together like this again. I want a memento.

My hands slide under her calves as I lift her toward me, then swivel her forty-five degrees so that she is almost vertical toward the camera, getting her head on an even surface on the sofa for her own well-being. I part her legs as wide as they can go.

“Play with yourself,” I instruct as I back away out of shot.

Instantly she reaches for her crotch and starts rubbing herself in a sideways motion which causes her to close her legs. That’s a shame, I was hoping for footage of her doing that, but now I’m busy getting undressed.

The Saffa keeps rubbing her clit and she brazenly open her legs as wide as she can. She knows the camera is filming her; she’s enjoying this now. Like all the other women I’ve filmed, she too starts off reluctantly but then gets into it, playing up to the camera, enjoying being an exhibitionist.

For half a minute I let her play with herself then I step over to the sofa, straddle her face and let my penis fill her vision. She sees it bobbing and pulls it down towards her mouth, commencing sucking on it. With one hand playing with her clit and the other gripping my cock The Saffa pleasures us both like that for several minutes.

I don’t want to cum too soon and I want different footage of her in action; I want to capture as many of her skills as possible. Without a word I get up and stand where I think it’s best for what I have in mind.

The Saffa stops playing with herself and she’s looking at me with uncertainty, her eyes begging for direction. I reckon she wants my cock in her now, but she’s just going to have to wait.

“Come over her and get on your knees,” I say.

She quickly wriggles up and off the sofa, throws the mask onto the floor, lands on her knees before me, my erect penis inches from her face.

“Suck,” is all I say and she eagerly complies.

After a second I take step back so that she has to lean forward, causing her breasts to dangle perfectly and sway as she gobbles my cock. After a minute of this it’s time to mix it up a little, so I grab the camera and hold it above her head, pointing it down towards her face. She has her eyes closed and doesn’t notice this. After another minute of expert cock-sucking she opens her eyes, notices the camera watching her, smiles a little then closes her eyes and resumes doing what she does best.

“Suck it like its Darth Vader’s cock,” I say, to which she laughs, keeping my cock in her mouth. Having a sound reverberate around the chambers of my cock is wonderful. I love it when women do that.

“Show me how you’d suck Darth Vader’s cock,” I say, just for the hell of it. Again she guffaws.

The Saffa now grips my shaft with both her hands and speeds up her head motion, keeping her lips locked around the head of my penis and the rest of the shaft that her hands can’t cover. No doubt her mouth tiring she opens her eyes, looks squarely into the camera and, just like Busty Czech did, she starts slapping her face on either side with my cock, smiling as she does so.

Now she starts flicking her tongue at and around my bell-end and shaft. She certainly knows what she’s doing. How many cocks has she sucked on, I wonder? Stop the negativity, just enjoy it!

She swallows as much of my cock as her mouth can handle and, impressively, she doesn’t choke. Most women who’ve done that invoked a gag-reflex. Now she’s looking up at me with pleading eyes. I think I know what she wants now.

“Do you want that cock in your arse?” I tease, knowing it will shock her.

“No, I want it in my pussy,” she answers.

“Do you want me to stretch your pussy?” I ask.

“Mmm…” is her reply.

“Get over there,” I bark, pointing to the footstool.

Instantly she jumps up and assumes doggy-style position on this over-used piece of furniture.

My cock slides into her pussy like it’s on rails. The Saffa lets off sounds of approval and I realize that she’s quite close to cumming. The foreplay has been hours for her.

I suck on a thumb and it glides into her arse. She let’s off sounds of pleasure as she feels the full force of being on The Hook. Less than twenty seconds later she’s squealing like a piglet as she cums, her body shuddering, her back arching and her pussy clamping tight onto my cock.

After ten seconds of this she relaxes, managing to stay in position. I’m close to cumming too but there’s an important order of business that needs addressing.

“Where do you want my cum?” I ask, checking for naughtiness and safety at the same time. I’m not entirely sure where she is in her cycle, so it’s best to ask. She’s not the type to trap a man, but accidents do happen. That’s why I’m here, as my mother often told me.

“My period starts next week. Just cum on my back,” she answers, huffing and puffing as she does so.

My left thumb is still deep in her bum as my cock stiffens totally and my balls spring to attention, propelling a blast of baby-batter up the chamber. Just in time I pull out and watch as a salvo of creamy sperm flies out the tip of my penis and arcs through the air and lands on her back.

With the other hand that was on her hips I tug on my shaft a few times and lazier dollops of cum jump out and plop onto her back. She’s still on The Hook and doesn’t seem to mind, but makes “aah” sounds as she feels the warmth of my ejaculate sliding across her back as gravity does its thing, pulling smelly trickles down towards her ribs.

I let go of her once I get my breath back. Without looking at me she gets up and goes to the bathroom while I switch the camera off.

Once cleaned up she returns and we try to cuddle on the sofa, but my heart isn’t in it. I want her to leave, I need to process everything that has happened today. After all, hours ago I wanted to break up with her but good sex got in the way.

At the end of the encounter, as we are getting ready to return to the train station, she says, “It feels like all the romance is gone between us.”

In my heart I couldn’t agree more. I feign surprise and disappointment at her words, but I know she is right. Is she now starting to make noises indicating that she wants to end it? I too feel like the best days are already behind us; the bloom is off the blossom. We simply clash too much, it’s not a harmonious relationship, there’s far too much drama in it.

I’m not going to dump her just yet. I don’t know where things might be headed with The Cockaholic, matters with The Saffa might improve and if they don’t I’ll just use her for sex. I suspect she’s doing the same with me.

Later in the evening I phone The Cockaholic. She seems pleased to hear from me and we have a pleasant, laughter-filled chat. She doesn’t ask too many questions about my day, but those that she did got little lies in reply. She doesn’t press for more; it looks like I got away with it.

It is so much more pleasant dealing with her than with the Saffa who, by comparison, is such hard work and slightly negative. The Cockaholic’s attitude reminds me of Busty Blonde in that nothing is too much and is very eager to please me.

I like that.

Again I’m having it both ways with two women; I like that too.

Who Can It Be Now? – Men At Work

Who can it be now?! – Part 2

I can’t believe this is happening! The Cockaholic is about to arrive and The Saffa is standing in front of me with pussycat eyes. I’m speechless because of this predicament while The Saffa takes my silence for something else. My heart is pounding in my mouth, I can’t talk.

“I’ve come to make you breakfast,” she says.

What?! I don’t why you’re here, but I’ve got to get rid of you. Breaking up with you now will take too long. Shit, what do I do?!

“How about you take me out for breakfast?” I quickly come up with.

“Okay. Where do you want to go?” she counters.

“How about down into the high street. I know a great place for breakfast,” I say, reaching for my phone, keys and wallet. Got to get out of here quickly.

“Ja, cool with me,” she says.

Shit, what about The Cockaholic when she gets here and I’m not here?!

“I haven’t been to the toilet yet, I’ve just got up. Wait in the lounge and I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” I improvise.

I go hide in the bathroom and start texting The Cockaholic that a friend had a crisis and that I was now having to spend the day with him. Will my message get to her in time? Will she believe this bullshit? Will she question my texting rather than phoning? That’s all out of my hands now. I’ve got to get The Saffa out of here pronto before The Cockaholic arrives!

I’m scared that these women would meet. If either or both of them physically attacked me then I’d deserve that. It wouldn’t be the end of the world though as just a few clicks on the internet would have me back in the game. I’ll try and avoid that unpleasantness nevertheless.

I collect The Saffa and walk fast to the side-walk cafe a couple of blocks away. Has The Cockaholic seen us?

“Geez, man, what’s the hurry?” The Saffa complains.

“I’m really hungry. C’mon, let’s get there,” I reply, stretching my stride as The Saffa skips along sporadically trying to keep up.

Mercifully the only free table at the cafe is inside, so I bundle The Saffa in there. Was I quick enough? I look over my shoulders, half-expecting a slap but none is forthcoming. Not yet, at least.

“Doll, I’m really sorry about last night. It was very rude of me to end the call like that,” The Saffa begins.

Right now I don’t give a shit about that; my eyes are darting around the place and I’m trying to see who’s outside at the tables. Again The Saffa misinterprets my silence for stony disapproval, all the while my heart is racing, my mouth is dry and I’m trying my damnedest to look unperturbed.

“Ja, I can see you’re upset with me. I would be too. Ag man, I’m really sorry. I know you’ve just been trying to help,” she continues.

Did I just see The Cockaholic’s sports car drive past? There aren’t too many of those around here.

“Listen, can we try and patch things up?” she asks.

Silence on my part. I might just get away with this. My heart is sliding down from my mouth to where it normally resides.

“Please?” The Saffa says, leaning towards me across the table, almost pleading.

I’m getting hungry.

“How about we order some food?” I suggest, aware that I’m ignoring her words.

My heart-rate slows down to a mere gallop as we order and then eat our breakfast. I can’t taste the food while The Saffa talks the hind-leg of a race-horse that is missing its heart. All the while I’m pondering what to do next. I can’t assume it’s safe to go back home because The Cockaholic might be waiting there. An idea finally arrives.

“Hey, how about we go for a drive in the countryside?” I suggest which The Saffa gleefully accepts.

She’s probably thinking that my actions mean that she’s in the clear. So far I have hardly said a word to her about anything, least of all about ‘patching things up’. The few times I felt inclined to say anything she simply spoke over me, as usual.

We scurry back to my apartment complex and I lead the Saffa straight to my car for fear of The Cockaholic waiting at my front door.

“Doll, can I go to the loo first?” The Saffa asks just as she gets comfortable in the passenger seat.

I ignore her and slam her car door shut before she says or does anything else. I don’t make eye contact as I get in the driver’s seat. I start the car in record time and we speed off into the countryside using all the back streets, heading in the opposite direction of The Cockaholic’s town.

Only once we are several miles in the middle of nowhere do I remember an isolated pub. We should be safe there. Just to make sure I park away from where any passing car on the road might spot us.

“About bladdy time. I’m about to burst!” The Saffa complains as she makes for the ladies’ at the pub.

We spend a couple of hours sitting in the beer garden at the back of the pub, drinking cider and nibbling on tapas. For good measure The Saffa spoke at me for the duration, as she is prone to do. Some women have nothing to say and they keep on saying it. At least she paid for the drinks and nibbles.

Deciding it’s safe to head back home I coax her back into my car. While she spoke at me and over me I’ve decided that once we get back to my place I’m going to break up with her. The drive back is more leisurely now that it’s after lunchtime.

“I want to suck your cock,” The Saffa blurts out.

“What?! I’m driving,” I answer in shock.

“Ag, c’mon man, it’s a fantasy of mine, to suck a guy off while he’s driving,” she continues.

I think about it for a second, it’s tempting but I decide it’s just too risky.

“Is somebody horny?” I ask.

“Ja. You know how much I love your cock,” she answers with a mischievous smile, then licking her lips.

An idea comes to me, it’s one of my naughty ideas. I press my foot a little harder onto the accelerator.

“Tell me another of your fantasies,” I say.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to have sex while wearing a mask,” she replies.

“Tell me another fantasy,” I say.

“You’re going to laugh, but I’ve always liked the idea of giving Darth Vader a blowjob,” she says, surprising me.

“I think we can arrange some of that back at my place. Until then you just imagine all the things you want to do with my cock,” I reply, remembering that I just happen to have an eye-mask like Zorro’s that has never been used.

My words have a profound effect on The Saffa: she shuts up. Finally, some peace and quiet. Knowing to tune a woman’s brain into the prospect of sex is an useful thing. How am I going to pull off the Darth Vader thing? I only have a naval aviator’s costume, the type Richard Gere wore in ‘An Officer and a Gentleman’. Ah, I know what to do.

We don’t talk much until we’re back at my place. I find a porn movie on the internet that involves Darth Vader and I cast it to my television. When we get to the inevitable scene of The Dark Lord getting a blowjob from a reluctant Princess Leia lookalike, The Saffa is enthralled watching this, her mouth hangs open.

She’s ready.

I go fetch the mask from the shelf in my cupboard reserved for adult toys and return to the lounge. I don’t think The Saffa noticed my absence. Coy Princess Leia is still greedily sucking Darth’s dong.

“Here, put this on and stand there,” I instruct, handing her the black mask. Her perfect blue eyes should look good through the slits.

The Saffa stands up, puts the mask on and steps towards where I pointed.

I sit facing her in a chair next to a table, grab my nearby camera, switch it onto video, position it on the edge of the table and press ‘record’. The Saffa looks at it, bites her bottom lip and then looks at me, but says nothing.

Something I’ve figured out about her and many women I’ve encountered is that they want a man to take charge. The Saffa’s enjoyment of being strangled while being fucked speaks of her secretly wanting to be utterly dominated by a man. The sense of powerlessness, helplessness does something for her; the fear is a turn-on.

To be continued…

Who can it be now?!

This afternoon’s date with The Lying Lithuanian was a pathetic waste of my time, but it did show me how far I have come in my dating life that I so quickly and easily walked away from her. Sadly it feels like it’s over between me and The Saffa; I need to say goodbye to her. The unexpected fun factor that The Cockaholic provided last night has my head in a bit of a spin, but I know it’s just the oxytocin.

It’s getting late and I’m waiting for Saturday’s Match of the Day to come on when my phone rings. It’s the Saffa. Let’s see what she wants. I’ll play it cool and wait to see if she apologizes for her bad behaviour of late.

Initially she’s all light and positivity then in a schizophrenic moment suddenly launches into a series of aggressive questions about where I was last night and who I was with. Seeing as she has been less than honest with me about who she has been with on her nights off that she doesn’t know that I’m aware of, I tell her lies too.

That’s the thing about lies, one begets another, but not just in the classic sense of having to follow one lie up with another. If we lie we get lies in return. I hate lying, it pains me physically, but tonight it doesn’t feel so bad.

The Saffa is unimpressed by my words and switches over to her favourite topic of her ‘unreasonable’ employers. I say something reasonable, she counters irrationally, I respond with more reason and she puts the phone down on me…again.

Fuck that and fuck off. I don’t need this. I’m already in the process of replacing her so I’m not as offended by her behaviour as I was a few nights ago. I guess that’s the beauty of feeling that you have options: you don’t take things to heart as easily. That is if you have a heart to start with.

The next morning I wake up at 10am and my mind instantly starts recalling my date with The Lying Lithuanian and the unpleasant call with The Saffa. I need some feel-good vibes in my life after those two.

My little brain latches onto the sordid memories of The Cockaholic. Yes, I want to see her again. It was a great night and despite her being off Tinder, there might just be something there. Still lying in bed I phone her and we have a fun chat. On the spur of the moment I invite her over to mine on the pretext of doing a barbecue for her. The way to a woman’s pussy is through her eyes; women love seeing a man doing things for them. I reckon that a man doing manly things is perhaps a secret aphrodisiac.

The Cockaholic jumps at my offer.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes!” she exclaims.

With a laugh I say, “See you soon then,” and we hang up.

I lie in bed for a few minutes more, thinking about how I want today with The Cockaholic to turn out. I think it’s almost certain that it’ll involve sex at some point, but I don’t want it just to be about that. I want to know more about her and see if there is relationship potential with her. I think it best that we behave ourselves for as long as possible; it also helps to build the sexual tension.

She only lives a few miles away so I better get up and get dressed and ready my home for my guest. I didn’t have any plans for today so this is exciting.

I’ve just finished getting dressed and spraying myself with Terre d’Hermes – the scent that Baltic Babe introduced me to and said made her horny – when my front door bell sounds.

That’s less than ten minutes. Wow, The Cockaholic’s keen. My heart skips a beat and my blood flows a little quicker. A memory of her repeatedly swallowing my cock flashes before my eyes.

I open my door expecting to see a smiling Cockaholic.

It isn’t her…

It’s The Saffa!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Date #50 – The Lying Lithuanian

After The Saffa had pissed me off I went onto Tinder. One of the two faces who matched with me looked familiar. I was convinced that I had swapped messages with her on ‘Plenty of Fish’ (PoF) earlier in the year but I became bored with her one or two-word answers. Good banter via email has lead to good dates; poor banter has meant poor dates. I wondered if she was dealing with a torrent of emails from other guys.

Tonight I went and found what I thought was her profile on PoF. Comparing the computer screen and the phone in my hand I can see that they were both definitely Lithuanian from signs in the photos on their profiles. The facial similarities are clear but perhaps not the same person. A major difference is that on Pof the age is forty-one and on Tinder it’s thirty-five; both of which could be lies. The major similarity is that their profiles’ wording is identical. It’s a long-winded quote from a popular book. Coincidence?

Irrespective of all that, she was very pretty and I would love to see her face sucking on the end of my cock. This was Tinder – after the experience with the Brazilian on Tinder my hopes are very low.

I wrote to her and she answered with very short sentences. Becoming irritated at her poor writing in one of my final messages I suggested we get together. I was expecting silence or an excuse, but was pleasantly surprised when she replied with suggesting that we meet two days hence on Saturday.

I suspect culture and language will be a barrier, but quite honestly, my objective is just to have sex with her; in most of her photos she’s stunning. I’ve learned enough about other Eastern European women to know to not even contemplate a romantic relationship. I must just keep telling her how much money I have and how important I am at work and she’ll eagerly open her legs for me.

I know that I’ve forsworn Eastern European women, but this is unfinished business. I’ll always wonder, “what about that one who reappeared?”.

Could she be The One?

I’m standing outside Tower Hill Tube station and am amazed at the fact that this is now my fiftieth first date but I still feel the occasional butterfly in my stomach. However, the cause of my nervousness is largely because I feel like I’m cheating on the Saffa and the girl I just spent the night with, The Cockaholic.

The Saffa is suspicious of my movements and is clever enough to conjure up a trap for me. What if the woman I’m about to meet is a stooge for the Saffa? What if she doesn’t exist and the Saffa taps me on the shoulder instead, followed by a swift slap through the face. The slap won’t bother me, it’s more about her telling everyone who knows me in the old country that I cheated on her. Why the hell would that bother me? I don’t know.

I realize that losing The Saffa wouldn’t bother me at all. That tells me something. I’m putting myself through stress for what exactly? A lot of stilted conversation and occasional good sex, that’s what. Is it worth it? No. The bullshit drama that she is capable of just isn’t worth it.

I feel that old familiar sensation of eyes looking at me. I turn and it’s my date and…she’s so fucking fat!

She has rolls of fat in her neck, a belly protrudes from under the black raincoat she’s trying to cover it with but the buttons can’t close. Is she pregnant? No, just obese.

I don’t mind a bit of jiggle, a bit of cushion for the pushin’, but if I’m expecting a slender nymphette and ponderous heffalump is what appears, then I’m not happy. My Trust Demon rolls around laughing on the floor of his cage, slapping a thigh and holding a hand to his stomach as a tear drips from a beady eye. I don’t have a poker face and can only guess that, at best, I look surprised. She’s definitely not thirty-five either, more like forty-five.

Just another disillusioned or desperate woman coming across to me as deceitful, I think to myself, fully aware of my hypocrisy. I decide to be civil in case she has the most amazing personality going. I’m also starving, fucking The Cockaholic has taken a lot out of me and it’s not just my sperm. I know that this date is going nowhere, but I’ll be a polite gentleman over lunch, eat my food while I ask her open-ended questions which might get her chatting.

“Do you like chicken?” I ask her after the customary polite kiss on the cheek. At least I think it’s her cheek, it could have been a roll of fat on her neck.

“Yes,” she says, looking at me quizzically.

“Then take a wing,” I say with my cheesiest of smiles.

She laughs and links up arms with me as we make our way down the stairs. Once on the concourse I relax my arm, expecting her to do likewise, but she holds on. Not since the Lusty Lass has a woman held onto my arm so tightly, not wanting to let go. What a shame I don’t fancy her, otherwise it would have been a great start.

My usual waiter at the Dickens Inn raises a disapproving eyebrow as he leads us to a table on the balcony overlooking the marina. I know, I know, not the hottest date I’ve brought in here. Is that a look of pity I spot on his face? Or is he concerned about the strength of the chair she’s just forced herself into? Am I going to have to extricate her out of it later? Or should I leave her trapped and then run?

In the spirit of making the best of this we order wine and pizzas. I direct the conversation and we get talking about how dating in London is difficult. I get more than I bargained for.

“I had a twenty-two year-old toy-boy once. I didn’t want him to know my real age, so I had a fake Facebook account. That’s what the account Tinder has picked up. It says I’m thirty-five, but I’m not. I actually forty-one,” she says.

“Wow! Really? You don’t look it,” I say, to which she smiles, not realizing I think that she looks forty-five or older. Then my brain kicks in and I remember the PoF profile that I thought was hers and suddenly she starts to remind me more of that profile. Details of that PoF profile come flooding back: Scorpio, accountant, forty-one, fat face.

“When I arrived in London nine years ago, my English wasn’t very good and he was from my country so it was easy to see him,” she elaborates.

Right, so those pictures I was drooling over are nine years old!

This was a serious case of deja moo – I’ve heard this bullshit before. What does she think she’s playing at? Is her modus operandi one of using her oldest, best photos to lure men onto dates then once they’re on the hook count on her personality to win the day? Why do women not realize that this is a flawed strategy because once trust is broken it ain’t coming back? Stupid girl.

Deja moo - the feeling you've heard this bullshit before.

Deja moo – the feeling you’ve heard this bullshit before.

This flagrant deceit towards another man instantly evokes my Trust Demon again; he snarls contempt. Before I get a chance to form any kind of opinion of her, any interest in her is finally crushed by her innocent admission of being a vain, manipulative, dishonest person.

I now think of her as ‘The Lying Lithuanian’. I think I’m being kind with this moniker.

Ah, I mustn’t lose sight of her being on Tinder. Maybe she’s just looking to get laid? Conventional wisdom says that fat girls don’t get sex as often as skinnier girls, or this that just a scurrilous rumour put out by Weight Watchers?

We talk and eat some more. Despite my hunger and her doing most of the talking she finishes her pizza before me. I think her errant glands have had some help in getting her to be almost as wide as she is tall.

“I’m studying to get a British qualification in accounting,” she says confidently, as if she’s trying to impress me.

I couldn’t care less, but seeing as she’s chatty I seize the opportunity to confirm a suspicion.

“What star sign are you?” I ask.

“Scorpio. Why?”

“I think some star signs make natural accountants,” I tell her. She seems to believe me.

Yep, you are who I think you are. She clearly doesn’t remember me.

Her English is adequate at best; most of my humour is wasted on her, unfortunately because laughter is what binds a couple together. In her defence I must say that even a native English-speaker would miss some of my humour. I couldn’t help but compare this aspect with The Cockaholic who not only caught all my humour, but loves it.

By the end of dessert I’m shocked to realize that she’s totally into me. I went passive-disinterested on her because it was a genuine response. It has had the usual effect of the woman playing with her golden-blonde hair, perpetually smiling at me, making sly glances at me, pointing her knees at me and paying absolute attention to anything that I care to say.

A part of me reckons I could tell her anything and she would nod her head in agreement. Did I want to see her head nodding and bobbing off my cock? No.

Earlier I had looked at my watch as I got off my Tube train and it was 2.30pm. It’s now 5pm. These two and a half hours felt like an eternity with her.

I also get the feeling that she’s a bit of a Misery, a downer to be around. I’ve met her type in the past: finding solace with takeaway meals, wine, chocolate, ‘Sex and the City’ and probably a collection of vibrators. What is it with some women who have such negative centres of energy?

I could invite her to my place, pour her some chilled wine, show her Californication, make my move and fuck her silly on my sofa while videoing it all. Been there, done that. Getting tedious now. Fuck off, stupid girl. I’ve had enough and want to get out of here.

I make my excuses about needing to get home. It’s true, I’d rather be washing my belly-button fluff than spend another minute with her.

“Would you like to join me for a walk around a park?” she asks as we head for the Tube station.

“No, thanks,” is the brutal best I can muster.

This was the shortest date because I simply wasn’t enjoying it. Yes, she was intelligent and friendly, I’m pretty sure that she fancied me, but the reality is that I didn’t fancy her, but more the younger, slimmer version of her. The thought of having sex with her made me uncomfortable. Having The Cockaholic and The Saffa on my cock is good enough for now.

The next day I sent her a text message complimenting her to start with then saying that I didn’t think that we were right for each other, then wishing her all the best for the future. A couple of hours later, while I was “entertaining” someone else, I get a lengthy reply from her that barely made sense it was so badly written. In essence she was saying that I was being too hasty after such a short date, which told me that she saw potential with me. My silence might help her understand that I’m just not interested in her.

I’m interested in The Cockaholic and have to say goodbye to The Saffa.

The inexperienced, White Knight me would have wasted time on this stupid girl. This Grey Knight swings his sword, slashes through the bullshit of another deranged woman, fending off her blubber with his shield, is entertaining some lusty wenches while keeping his gaze firmly on the prize that is love.

They say men can’t multi-task.

LESSONS LEARNED: 1) Maybe it’s time I realize that I really should stay away from Eastern European women. 2) Tinder can be gamed by having a fake Facebook account.

Pink – Stupid Girls