Fucked Hard

Fucked Hard

Guess who just left my apartment? None other than Mr. MusicBiz. He’s so fucking sexy. I love that I can smell the remnants of his cologne in the T-shirt I’m wearing. I am going to masturbate tonight, vibrator in one hand, and sniffing my T-shirt with the other.

Surprisingly he’s still in London. And even more surprisingly he had time to come visit me again. He arrived at my flat around 7:30

I’m still in my work clothes when he arrives: Tight titty-hugging H&M pink V-neck T-shirt and brown Benetton mini-skirt. He says hello in the best way: by kissing me in the foyer of my apartment. We continue kissing as we walk into the lounge. He notices the bathtub filled with water as we walk past the bathroom I tell him how I was going to take a bath.

I didn’t have time to eat before he came over. Just before he arrived I was on the iTunes store buying 10 of his songs. I created a special playlist just for him. It was going to be a mix of the songs I bought, along with the ones of his that I already had in my collection. On each previous visit with him, his songs never seem to play. I’m thinking that the “random” feature on iTunes isn’t really that random. So this time I wanted to hear his music. 1. Because it’s damn good and 2. Because I want him to know that I appreciate his music. So I wanted to hear his stuff all night long. Is that weird? Would that be considered narcissistic for him? Would he actually sing along while we’re fucking? Or would he be thinking about his time in the recording studio? And if he’s thinking about the recording studio while he’s fucking me does that mean I’m doing a bad job fucking? Maybe I’m thinking about this a bit to much.

I order take out from an Indian place around the corner. I don’t have any money in my wallet, so I have to run down stairs to get some cash for the food. Mr.MusicBiz kindly offers to pay so I don’t have to go downstairs. I feel bad accepting because I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the sort of girl who expects things to be bought for her. I’m not a leach. Sure, gifts are nice, but generally, I’m the sort of girl who can take care of herself.

We keep kissing. He starts feeling up my breasts. Oh shit! I am wearing my uncool bra! It’s the brassiere equivalent to “Granny pants.” My boring whit e Marks & Spencer’s bra with no underwire. The bra is that I wear when I know I’m not getting laid. Ooops! Of course I‘d be loathe to show any guy this bra. Why didn’t I change when I got home? I have SO MANY sex bras and only one uncool one.

He's not too crazy about my playlist idea, so we end up listing to a bunch of tunes that had some meaning to me in August 2006.

We move onto the sofa. Luckily Doggums is away at the crèche so we don’t have worry about her jumping all over us. Mr.MusicBiz sits on my couch. I sit on his lap. My skirt is really short and I’m not wearing any knickers. I’m sitting on Mr.MusicBiz’s lap. We’re kissing. He’s lifting up my skirt and fingering my clit. We spend a few minutes kissing. I then get up and go to the bathroom. I take of my shirt, bra and skirt. I slip into the bathtub. I make sure that my pussy and other parts are nice and clean. My bath lasts just under 10 minutes. I put on my plush pink terry cloth and beckon Mr. MusicBiz

Before I can even dry off, Mr.MusicBiz backs me onto the bed. My bathrobe is open but still draped around my shoulders. Mr.MusicBiz lowers his head and immediately goes down on me. I have small orgasm while he’s licking my clit. His tongue soon explores my pussy, going in and out of my hole. His tongue explores further. He spends lots of time rimming me; He sticks a finger inside. It feels slightly uncomfortable, but I guess I have a ways to go.

Following my tongue-bath, Mr.MusicBiz mounts me. His cock thrusts inside me. Mmmmmmm.. God, it feels good. He pumps me hard and harder. We start off in the missionary position. He passionately kisses me on the mouth. He cums after ten minutes in me. I was secretly hoping that the food would come first. But whatever, not a huge deal.

We sit and watch Grand Designs, followed by an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm Series 4. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we have moments of silence. Sometimes I ask him questions about his kids and life in LA. Sometimes I ask him about meeting other celebs: Yes, he’s met at least one of the Beatles. Yes, he’s met a couple of the Stones. He’d never tour with Amy Winehouse. He’s not keen on Keane, Madonna, the Chilli Peppers nor Henry Rollins. He thinks Amy MacDonald is fab. Every time he mentions her name I think about bumping into her and her wide face at the Digital Music Awards. But even our moments of silence are comfortable moments.

I tell him that I think he’s a natural-born helper. I know him as an Individual who is quite caring and quite giving. He’s generally easy-going and easy to be with. He’s also just a nice guy.

While we sit on the sofa I think about his life in LA; how different it must be from here. I think about his kidney-shaped swimming pool and the Santa Ana winds that blow against palm trees in his front yard. There is probably a maid, and a gardener; A nanny and a pool boy; A personal assistant and manger. There is probably a home-gym so that his actress girlfriend can keep in shape without leaving home. Between the celebrity friends and the VIP rooms I wonder, what the hell is he doing here with me?

Yeah, I know I’m a good fuck, but surely there are a lot of good fucks in Los Angeles

He gives me the impression that his life at home is well-oiled machine. Whether he is there or not, life goes on. And even when he arrives back home, he’s more of an interloper rather than an essential piece of the puzzle; It seems ironic. Without him, there’d be no family, yet now the family functions perfectly even perfunctorily with out him.

I try to detect some sadness around this fact, but there was none forthcoming. He seemed resigned to the fact that, that’s how his life is now. He wasn’t resigned in a forlorn way. On the contrary, he was quite practical, matter-of-fact and accepting of his circumstance.

If anything, what I detect in him, more or less, is boredom; a lack of challenge. There is no new big conquest. He’s a natural-born helper yet his ability to help at home is no longer needed. His own family has made him obsolete; yet the situation isn’t miserable. At it’s worst it’s “acceptable,” sexless and on occasion, lonely. It’s not miserable enough to make him leave.

So here he is, Mr.MusicBiz a man in limbo. I’m reminded of that quote from Nikki Giovanni: "We love because it's the only true adventure."

What I think he needs:
1. To be needed; to be able to help; to contribute more than a pay cheque to his family unit.
2. To do something to rekindle his sense of adventure; whether this be through, work, sex, love, charity, etc.
3. For someone to be there for him.

Then again, I could be wrong.

We turn to More 4 to watch the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. For the first time that night, he puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his should. Slowly my hand creeps down to his crotch. First I start rubbing it over his jeans. Soon he unbuttons his jeans exposing his hard cock. I lean my head down towards it and slowly take his cock into my mouth.

I vary speeds, sometimes licking the tip with my tongue. Then I engulf his entire shaft into my mouth. He starts fucking my mouth. I almost gag at one point. I slowly ease off.

He takes his jeans off. Then he takes his underware off. He climbs on top of the sofa. I open my legs. He thrusts his cock into my pussy. Mmmmmm feels so good. He starts thrusting me, harder and harder.

I’m trying to think of an occasion where I got fucked harder? I’m not sure if one exists? Maybe with the BFE in Brazil, but even that was different. In Brazil it seemed as if the BFE was fucking me to vent his anger. It wasn’t so much about sex or love. He was screwing me literally and figuratively! It was easier for him to vent his frustrations at me by shagging the living daylights out of me. I guess that’s why the asphyxiation element of it makes sense. But not to dwell on bittersweet times…

Mr.MusicBiz shags me so fucking hard. I don’t think anyone’s cock has been so deep within me. His hard cock in my wet pussy feels fantastic. I love it. I love ever minute of it. My legs are spread open and in the air. As he thrusts into me, I thrust back. We’re fucking so hard that our bodies slap together, making a loud slapping thud each time we make content.

He pulls out. I ask him if he came. He said no. He’s not sure if he has it in him. I give his cock a five-minute break then I started sucking on it again.

As it grows closer 11:30, Mr.MusicBiz assembles his belongings. We hug, kiss and say our good-byes. Before he heads out the door, he reminds me to buy his single when it's release in the next couple weeks.

He's left me with some great fucking memories. I don't know when I'll see him again?. I am, however, sure to see him in the top 10 very soon. This is good news, because he's in my top 10 as well.

Part 4 of “I Fucked him Up the Ass” coming tomorrow. Sorry for the delay.