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.

Anal Sex Education

It's the 1-year anniversary of Naive London Girl, the Podcast! Wanda, Anjelika and Suzanne chat about: Blow jobs, Dating, Relationships, Anal Sex, Iain Lee and find Mr. Right.

Suzanne Portnoy
http://www.suzanneportnoy.com
Her new book, "The Not-So Invisible Woman" and "The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker"

Edited and Produced by Mr. Charming.
(With sincere apologies to RTR)

Blow Jobs and Nook Time

Blow Jobs and Nook Time

“Why are there always bits of toilet paper on your pussy?”

This is the question the Ex asks me as I take a break from sucking his cock.

I smile a bit embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it. Not like you’re licking down there, anyhow.”

For the record, there are not always bits of toilet paper down there. Whenever I have sex with the Ex, it’s completely unexpected. I’m never prepared. I never have on my fancy pants. So whenever sex does come up with him and I, I end up racing to the bathroom to discreetly wipe my lady bits – instead of being freshly showered and ready to fuck.

It had been an Friday. Thursday night I went to bed a 9PM. I was so exhausted. At 2AM I woke up and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was restless. Either I was too hot or too cold. So I stayed up the rest of the morning ten left for work an hour earlier than usual.

By noon I was horribly tired. I felt like I had to prop my eyelids open with toothpicks. I caught myself nodding off at work. So I thought ‘I’m going to leave work early and go home and sleep.’

Around 4PM the EX messaged me on MSN. He asked if I wanted to grab a drink at the pub. Despite my tiredness I agreed. Usually, he has to work Friday nights. Even when we were dating years ago, we never went out on Fridays. The only time we ever went out on a Friday was back in 2006. [See Sloppy Seconds for the Ex]

I met him at a pub in Hempstead. As soon as I arrived I ordered a glass of wine. Then I raced into the ladies room to throw on some make up. I know he’s an Ex and I didn’t need to impress him, but I didn’t want to look as tired as I felt. A bit of foundation, eyeliner, lipstick. Bish, bash, bosh. I was looking hot. Or at least I was looking NOT tired.

We had a few drinks. I was feeling quite tipsy and silly. We then we took a taxi back to his place. We had more alcohol. Conac. He was feeling nostalgic. He put on all his old records. Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Talking Heads, David Bowie. “Doesn’t this sound much better on vinyl?” He kept sayong. “Um, I guess. I dunno. It all sounds the same to me.”

He’s 15 years older than me so there’s a bit of a musical generation gap. Yet it’s surprising that we met at a concert 4 years ago while I was still a student.

Portrait of the Ex:
Smarmy. Forty-something. Thinks he knows it all. Music buff. His father was quite famous in the 80’s. Since then the Ex been living in the shadow of his father’s fame. Initially that was good, but that’s lead him to 12 years of therapy. The Ex is supported by his family. Earn his own money through antiquing and ebay auctions. He loves, photography, “Lost”, pseudo-intelligent conversation and fine wines.

It was getting late. “I better go home soon,” I said around 11:15. I didn’t have my car there, so I’d have to take the last tube home. The last tube left just before midnight.

“You can stay a bit longer,” he urged. “You want some Nook Time?”

“Yes!” I said with a smile on my face.

Nook time: Remember the Sex in the City episode when Carrie explained that she always sleeps in the nook between Aidan’s neck and shoulder? When I get to cuddle up to the Ex, right by his shoulder and underarm, I love it. I call that “Nook Time.” Most of the time Nook Time is better than sex.

We had ten minutes of Nook Time. I then cheekily rubbed my hand on top of his crotch.

“Anjelika!” He warned.

“I just wanted to see how Charles was doing.”

Charles is the name I gave his cock. It’s French so it’s pronounced, “Shar-rells.”

We spent another 10 minutes in the nook. I looked at his clock. It’s a clock with a picture of the cast of “Hereos” on it.

“I better go,” I said.

“No, stay. You can stay for another 10 minutes.”

“I don’t want to miss my train.”

“You can play with Charles,” he offered.

YAY! That made me so happy.

I unzipped his jeans. He already had a stiffy. I pulled Charles out of his underware.

I smiled and inhaled his Cock into my mouth. Up and down I sucked on his cock while flicking my tongue against the head.

“Feels good,” the Ex said.

“I thought you didn’t like my blow jobs?” I said indignantly.

The whole time we dated the Ex hated my blow jobs. I wondered if there was something wrong with my technique. As it’s been confirmed by other men, most especially the BFE, there is nothing wrong with my blow job technique. As it turned out, the Ex just didn’t like blow jobs?

How is it possible that men don’t like blow jobs? That’s like a woman not liking cunnilingus! These women are clearly crazy.

The ex urged me to take my clothes off. I disrobed. Then I ran into the bathroom to make sure my lady bits were extra clean.

I returned to the sofa and continued sucking off the Ex. He was reaching around fingering me at the same time. I wasn’t really getting off with the fingering. I think I was focusing to much on blowing him.

“Don’t cum,” I wanted him. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll fuck you.” I didn’t trust him though. I’ve heard that line before. There was something unconvincing in his voice. I really wanted to have sex with him. I really wanted to feel him cuming in me. There was a hint of unenthusiasm in his voice. As if fucking me was some duty or favor rather than a desire.

Eventually, we got to fucking. We tried doggie style, but it was difficult to do on the sofa. I tried getting on top, but that was difficult as well. We then engaged in the missionary. Initially his cock kept falling out of my pussy. I hate when that happens. When we started fucking, we really went at it. We were both bucking up and down. So hard. Our bucking moved the sofa a whole foot.

He didn’t cum from that. I sucked him off a bit more, then he jerked himself off.

Only a bit of cum came out.

“Is that it?” I said feeling disappointed. “How is it possible that that’s all the cum in there.”

“Sorry!”

“There must be more in there!” I looked at his now-shriveled cock. “Oh my God, look how small Charles is now! I didn’t realize how tiny he is. Wow your cock gets big when you’re erect, but now it’s tiny. Is that the size it is when you pee?”

“Yes” he said not very happily.

It was past 1 AM when we finished off. We listened to more records and then I went home.

Blow Jobs, Public Orgasms and Confronting your Lover's Wife

Blow Jobs, Public Orgasms and Confronting your Lover's Wife


ANJ: Have you ever fingered yourself on a train?
WANDA: No! I've never fingered myself in public!
ANJ: I have fingered myself on a train-
WANDA: Have you? Going from where to where?
ANJ: From London to Manchester. Virgin... hardly

Wanda and Anjelika chat about...

Have you ever fingered yourself on a train?
- 5 Things that annoy Anjelika
- Getting turned on, on the train
- Blow job techniques
- Moral Quagmire: Should you confront your lover's wife?

Sex and Edith Piaf

Naive London Girl
with special Joseph (in the Bracknell)

- "Get out!"
- Men who don't llike blowjobs
- Open relationships
- Monogamy
- Oreos and Coconuts
- Edith Piaf
- Massages with "happy endings"

The Table that I Came on

The Table that I Came on

"I would rather not go
Back to the old house
There's too many
Bad memories"
- The Smiths

It’s strange how the simplest of things can affect you in a weird way. I feel somewhat traumatized by something that happened a few days ago that should be relatively minor.

On Tuesday I had job interview across the road from the a friend’s house. I called him after the interview – since I was in the neighborhood – and asked it he wanted to go for lunch. Since he was working from home that day, he agreed.

“Come on over to the house” he said.

Since I was only across the road it took me about thirty seconds to get to his place. There’s something creepy and stalkerish about arriving at someone’s house faster than they can hang up the phone. So I stood at his door and waited. I applied some lipstick and waited some more. After standing at his door for what seemed like an eternity (Actual time: two minutes) I rang the doorbell. I realized that was the first time I’d been to his house since last year we ended our relationship – or whatever you call it. It never really had the legs of a full-fledged relationship.

He opened the door to let me in and I just wanted to turn around and walk out. It felt too creepy. It felt wrong. I was now in another woman’s domain. I could sense it. And even though she wasn’t there everything in the air, in the walls, in the atmosphere oozed her. She wasn’t there physically, but her presence was everywhere.

My friend and I greeted each other in the vestibule of his house. The last time I stood in that very spot was after a horrible date we had. The sad details aren’t important, but I do remember standing in that spot feeling full of hope because moments before he said, “I really want to work things out with you Anjelika.”

I averted my eyes to the kitchen. I focused immediately on the kitchen table; the table we fucked on. He looks at that table and just sees a glass top. I look at the table and think about the night he lifted me up onto the table, pushed up my skirt, pulled down panties and ate me out. I came so hard. His tongue was amazing. How many dinners has he had on that table since then?

Everything in that house reminded me of ‘us.’

The stairs up to his lounge: He used to finger me as I walked up the stairs.

The sofa I sat on in the lounge: New from Muji last year we broke it in hours after its arrival.

The lounge chair he sat in: I remember giving him head in that chair and snowballing afterwards. There’s something electric about swapping cum from my mouth to his.

His whole house was peppered in bittersweet memories and I suddenly felt confronted with feelings I didn’t want to deal with. Not then, not at that moment. We only spent a few minutes in the house before leaving. After we exited he immediately made a phone call. For the next twenty minutes while walking to the restaurant waiting for him to end the call, all I could think about was being in that house. I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of feelings.

Even though we were walking together I felt very alone dealing with those feelings. It put me in a rather melancholy mood for the rest of the day. But what can you do?

I persevere.

And move on.

Bull Sperm and Strap Ons

Bull Sperm, Boobs, Strap ons, lesbianism, how to give a great BJ, and more of the usual chit-chat.

Sometimes the best shag is the worst thing ever

Sometimes the best shag is the worst thing ever.

I didn’t get my clit licked weekend. I guess I could have let Grandpa lick it, but the fact that he was all to eager to do it made me want to say no. Also, I don’t want to rush things with him.

In lieu of what would usually be a bean-flicking festival I’m going to tell you about the best shag I ever had.

It was February this year. I don’t want to mention or allude to his identity as I’m quite protective of him. There is a magnanimous side of me that just wants the absolute best for him. (Then again there is a horny side of me that wants to shag him rotten). All you need to know about “the guy” is that at the time we were seeing each other he was faced with some difficult decisions.

There was some raw attraction that had been lurking behind our platonic friendship. Then one day there was a break-through: our feelings surfaced we went out on an “official” date. Later that night we made love. It was fantastic. That, however, wasn’t the best shag I had with him. It was several weeks later.

There’s something really exciting about having a new cock inside you. I think guys feel the same way, about pussies; that there’s something exiting about putting your cock in a new pussy. Am I right about that? The excitement and newness of it all makes it worth the pursuit.

Despite my flirtatious nature and love of oral sex I’ve only been penetrated by 5 different guys in my whole life. As I explained in an earlier entry, I have a very tight pussy. I’m not at all saying that to brag – but physically it is tight. My gyno has confirmed that it is indeed tight. Because it’s so tight I haven’t slept with many men That’s another reason why I prefer receiving oral sex. I really do not like being penetrated unless it’s with someone I trust implicitly.

My bastard ex-boyfriend who I'll refer to as N. was a bit of a sadist. He knew that if he positioned his cock a certain way in my pussy that it would hurt. I shouldn’t say hurt, rather it fucking killed. It’s the sort of pain that makes you walk funny for days afterwards. In the days when we were having sex he would intentionally fuck me so I would feel pain. He wouldn’t feel satisfied until he saw tears. The very first time it happened I yelled, “What are you doing?” He replied, “I’m gonna fuck you til you cry.” The moment I would shout out in unbearable pain was the moment he’d cum. He said those were his favorite shags. Remind me why I stayed with that bastard so long? Oh right, because back then I was fat and had no self confidence. My, my, my how times have changed!

Oh, and one more thing. I’m getting e-mail from guys who want to be #6; Guys who want to be the 6th guy to penetrate me. Honestly, do you think I’m just going to let any guy do that to me? I’m very choosy and IF I decide I want to be penetrated it will be by someone who is charming, romantic and deserving of my attention. And if he were rich too that would help ;-)

Anyhow, I digress…

One night Mr. Best Shag ever for dinner in Mayfair. We later took a taxi back to his place in W1. After drinking copious amounts of white wine he led me upstairs to the bedroom. He was so gentle leading me up the stairs. As soon as we entered the bedroom he turned into an animal. I loved it! He lifted me up, and propped me on his bed. He buried his head under my dress. He pulled down my panties with his teeth. Licked my clit and ate me out so well! It was as if he thrived off pussy juice and couldn’t get enough. I came 3 times. Two small orgasms and one huge one.

He came out from under my dress and I saw that his mouth was covered in my pussy juice. He had this devilish look on his face as if he were a hungry kid who just ate the last Toblerone.

We snogged and then I licked my own juices off his face. He was so forceful except when it came for me to take off my dress. He was so cute in that he was concerned that if he ripped it off me that it would ruin the dress. So he was gentle in handling the dress, but then when back to being the testosterone-driven no-nonsense stud.

He took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, and pulled down his trousers. He was wearing Y-fronts. I could see a massive hard on bulging out from udnerneath. I lowered his pants and took the whole of his cock in my mouth. He sighed a sigh of pleasure.

Normally, I really do not like giving blowjobs. I trusted this guy so much and cared a great deal for him. Sucking his cock was a pleasure; a desire. During the time we were seeing each other I woke up every morning thirsting for the taste of his cum in my month. I’ve never, EVER been like that about any other guy. I mean I used to really hate, hate, hate giving blowjobs. Being with this guy changed how I felt about fellatio. I woke up every morning gagging for his cock – although I never told him that.

I sucked him off for about 10 minutes. I didn’t want him to cum because I wanted him to fuck me. As soon as I took his cock out of his mouth, he flipped me over so that I was on my stomach with my arse in the air. He fingered my pussy for a few brief seconds then stuck his cock inside. We were in a straight-legged doggie style type position.

He grabbed both of my hands and clasped them behind my back. He used the weight of his body to keep my hands in place all the while he was thrusting me. He then found my sweet spot. I go absolutely wild when a guy kisses my ear. I started bucking back and forth. This really got him going. I tried to resist him kissing me on the ear, but the more I reacted the more he would kiss it. He loved seeing me thrash around.

He kept fucking me, harder and hard; simultaneously he was driving me wild by kissing my ear. Then suddenly it hit me. He had control over my body. I was pinned I couldn’t get him off if I wanted to. My face was buried in the pillows so I could hardly talk. I started panicking

“Stop, please stop.” I muttered.

Either he couldn’t hear me or didn’t want to.

“I’m serious, please stop.”

He kept going. He seemed to turn into even more of a mad man.

After being pinned down for 20 minutes, he finally came.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck, yeah. Oh fuuuuck.” He yelled.

He got off me but soon saw the scared look on my face.

He immediately apologized and said he didn’t mean to scare me. I didn’t tell him but that was unquestionably the best sex I ever had. The panicked feeling heightened t the tension. We embraced for a long while. He apologized a further 3 times. I told him that it was fine; that there was nothing to apologize for.

So here it is now, 6 months later. I still think about that steamy night. Sometimes when I use my vibrator I try to recreate that scenario in my mind. It was hot, raw, wrong yet amazing at the same tme. The reason why I say that the best shag is the worst thing is because the moment is over and can't be repeated. It's like having the most fantastic meal ever at your favorite restaurant -- and now that restaurant is closed permantely. You can reminisce all you want, but you'll never eat there again. And even though there are other dishes to be had at other restaurant, it still inspires a tinge of sadness. Enough of that metaphor!

Incidentlly, that same logic is the exact reason why I never order the daily specials from restaurants. I'm afraid I'll like it too much and never get it again.

He's a good guy. Whatever he’s doing now, I just hope he’s happy. That’s all I really want for him. I do wonder sometimes if he ever thinks about that night too.

I hope so.