Diary Of A Sex Fiend

by Abby Lee

  After a while, Fiona grabbed him and pulled him up over me, so that his cock was parallel with my mouth. She bent over to me and grabbed my face in both her hands.

  ‘You’re gonna suck his cock now, like a good girl. Do as I say and I won’t punish you.’

  I nodded meekly. He looked very excited at the prospect of some oral action and began to move in towards me.

  Fiona almost ripped his arm out of its socket and dragged him backwards.

  ‘I didn’t give you permission to move, did I? No. You’ll start when I say. And don’t even think about coming yet, I don’t want to see any spunk on your cock, do you understand?’

  He nodded nervously once more.

  Fiona grabbed hold of his cock and pulled him by it until the tip was pressing into my cheek. She gently wiped it against my face and across my lips, and then slowly slid it into my mouth, before standing back and alternating between thwacking him on his arse and slapping me on my face.

  I was choking a little; it was only natural, sucking hard on a cock that had been crammed into my mouth when I was lying on my back, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I felt trapped and yet free, scared and yet safe, simultaneously freaked out by what I was doing and yet amazed and delighted at the same time.

  I was tied up, unable to move, gagging on a mouthful of cock, and yet I felt unbelievably horny. It was the weirdest feeling to be so passive, and yet still be able to pleasure someone else. I realised that I liked it.

  So when Fiona pulled his cock out of my mouth, rolled a condom onto it and shoved it into my pussy, ‘making’ the stranger fuck me, I laid back and let myself become part of the surroundings, part of her, part of him. I didn’t think about getting off, I wasn’t bothered when an orgasm was going to happen: I was focussed on the calmness of my mind, the physical freedom that I felt and the pulses of energy that were surging through my body. I don’t know whether I had an orgasm or not; my whole body felt like one big climax and the sheer power of what was taking place in that room was enough for me.

  This morning, when it was all over, Fiona and I left the stranger to sleep and went to have a good old English fry-up in a greasy spoon. We laughed about what had happened and I thanked her. Since watching her work in the dungeon, I had wanted to experience BDSM; last night I finally discovered what it was like.

  I’ve learned that I really enjoyed being submissive, that it isn’t something to be ashamed of and that a little light roleplay never hurt anyone.

  Well, my arse still hurts, maybe, but it was worth it.

  The Girl’s Guide to Fuck-Buddies: Rules and Regulations

  1 Mutual respect is a prerequisite. If you are going to be fucking the living daylights out of someone, you should have the decency to keep to any arrangement you make and be on time for the event, or, if you have to cancel, do so well in advance so they can make other arrangements

  2 If you are only planning on having a brief shag before going on elsewhere, it’s only decent to let the other person know that you are slotting them into a ‘window’. This will help avoid disappointment since they may have been hoping for a long night of passion. Remember a quickie can always be rearranged if necessary

  3 There is no need to spend time discussing the other person’s day/work/boyfriend/girlfriend/politics, etc. You are not there to debate the weather; you want sex with them. Tell them that; cut to the chase, make the most of the time you have and enjoy

  4 Likewise, if you are going to call, text or email your fuck-buddy during the week, don’t make idle chit-chat. Instead, talk dirty to them; tell them you can’t wait to fuck them, arrange the next meeting and then get off the phone/internet as soon as possible

  5 Don’t apologise for wanting sex; be polite, flirtatious and firm. Make it clear from the outset that you do not desire any emotional attachment and check that the other person feels the same. Mutual consent = good sex.

  8

  August

  Wednesday 3rd August

  I am a fool. I contacted my ex, Steven, today.

  Tim had told me about a party happening this weekend – another swingers’ thing. I am really eager to go, but have no one to go with. It can’t be Tim, because neither of us wants to risk our friendship by having sex with each other, or find ourselves as frustrated as we were at the spa.

  After considering all my options: Tony – has girlfriend; Tom – not in London and back with girlfriend; Ben – in Manchester; the young guy – too immature; Franklin – too fragile; the journalist – too emotionally confused; Blog Boy – out of the country and possibly disinterested in me; I realised I had no one left.

  So I decided to email Steven and invite him. Not clever of me, I know. But a sexy swingers’ night might be just what I need right now, so I dropped my standards momentarily.

  I wrote him a brief note, making it clear what I wanted:

  ‘I can’t think of a better way to end a fun evening than to be lying handcuffed on the bed and have you easing your cock into my mouth, before you fuck me hard. I am wet now just thinking about it. We had some great sex together: it would be nice to spend a night fucking each other again.’

  I explained why I was inviting him:

  ‘I would like to go with someone who I know I’ll have fun with, who I enjoy having sex with, and whom I can trust; and not because I want anything more than that from you. Accompanying me to this event would involve having a laugh and enjoying having no-strings-attached sex with me – and maybe others too – all night long. Nothing more. There is no catch.’

  And I meant what I said. I am past the point where he can hurt me emotionally, or where I would feel uncomfortable being intimate with him. I would be ready for whatever happened, whether he said yes or no.

  But I didn’t expect this response:

  ‘I know it’s not very smart of me to turn you down, but I spend my weekends with Petra these days and don’t want to jeopardise what I have there.’

  Petra is the 19-year-old that he was fucking whilst he was seeing me. Hearing that he was now spending his weekends with her made me think one thing: prick. That’s it. Just prick.

  You see, the worst of our break-up was the knowledge that he was sleeping with someone who was more than ten years younger than me. I went through the predictable self-loathing and doubt that women who are cheated on go through:

  ⋆ Is she prettier than me?

  ⋆ Is her body sexier than mine?

  ⋆ Is her pussy tighter than mine?

  ⋆ Is she better in bed?

  ⋆ And, what does she have that I don’t?

  Dumb, I know, but I couldn’t stop myself demanding to know why he wanted to be with her – surely I was enough for him?

  Then it dawned on me, it was far less to do with me, and much more about him. Here was a man who was almost 40 and incapable of having a meaningful relationship with a woman his own age. A man so shallow and so lacking in self-esteem that he had to have sex with a girl more than half his age to feel better about himself.

  I’m not denying that it might be a buzz for any older man to get a teenage girl into bed or that most men would leap at the chance if it fell into their lap, but knowing Steven and how badly he actually felt about himself, I know it was more about his feelings of worthlessness than about his sexual prowess and his ability to pull a young woman.

  And so, in the last few days we were seeing each other, I got over my self-loathing. I realised I was beautiful, I was sexy, I was good in bed – and I had a tight pussy (15 years of doing Kegel exercises certainly pay off). As a woman closer to his age, I knew that the qualities I could offer him – intellectual stimulation, emotional understanding and loving acceptance – were far beyond anything a teenager could provide. She would lack the worldly experience to be a real partner to him.

  Rather than feeling angry with Steven for cheating and being so emotionally immature, I felt sorry for him instead. I knew he had problems, I was aware of the issues, and I tried to accept his baggage and work at a relation
ship, but it didn’t pan out.

  So even though I sent Steven that invite, I was half expecting him to turn me down because he couldn’t cope with seeing me again – my emotional maturity may have been too threatening for him.

  I was even ready to hear that he was seeing someone else; I hoped that he was pulling his life together, too – being healthier, meeting a good woman and falling in love again. That would have made me happy for him. I do want the best for him.

  But hearing that he is now spending his weekends with Petra made me feel angry, because he never even gave up his weekends for me. The fact that he added, ‘I have never been very good at lying so I cannot look her in the eye and come and meet you for the night,’ was like a slap in the face. He lied constantly to me about shagging her, seeing us both on the same day, sometimes.

  So, I don’t even feel sorry for him any more. I think he is pathetic and disgusting and totally shallow. I am glad I am not with him. I am doubly glad that I haven’t had sex with him again.

  It was suddenly all in perspective: I have absolutely no desire to be with someone like him. He is no longer attractive to me, emotionally, mentally, or physically.

  And just like that, he was out of my mind. I couldn’t think of him while masturbating again; it’d make me feel quite ill. I don’t find him appealing at all. I don’t have feelings for him now, and I don’t care about him as a mate any more. I just don’t give a shit.

  This is a shame because I like to stay friends with my exes – some of my good male mates are people I have been intimate with and I love them to bits, but I have no desire to ever see or speak with Steven again. I couldn’t be friends with a man like him, and why should the fact that we used to fuck change that?

  It was like a mental spring clean; instead of getting rid of those old books and CDs that I was never going to read or listen to, I got rid of Steven. I no longer want to recall the first time I did anal with him, or the time he gave me more than 20 orgasms in one night. Thinking about those occasions doesn’t turn me on any more. I’ve moved on. I want to forget that part of my life.

  And I have. I feel free. And happy. I have learned from this experience and grown as a person.

  But it would still be great if I could just erase those memories like they did in that film, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and flog the data that’s wiped from my brain. It’d be a much neater way to close this particular chapter in my life. Plus, given the wealth and variety of sordid material in there, I bet I’d make a fortune.

  Saturday 6th August

  Even though I’m gutted about not finding someone to accompany me to the swingers’ party this evening, I am actually beginning to long for some good, clean, simple fun once more – normal, boring, one-on-one shagging – just like I had when I was 18 and going out with Chris.

  Back then he would stay over most weekends, and we’d barely make it out of my bedroom, venturing out only occasionally for food, drink and a quick shower. The rest of the time we spent sleeping, talking and, of course, shagging. Though there wasn’t much privacy because I was still living at my parents’ place, we still managed to get through boxes of condoms in our voracious lovemaking.

  During one brief break, I remember staggering downstairs with him one evening. My parents had gone out and we had the house to ourselves. Dressed only in towelling robes, we began to snack to fuel our appetites: peanut butter on toast for him, Marmite sandwich for me. Being English we had to have a nice cuppa too, and I brewed up the kettle to make a big pot of tea.

  As it boiled, Chris sat down behind me and called me over to him. I turned around, and he was grinning at me. I smiled back at him and followed the direction of his gaze. It led, of course, to his crotch. I looked closer, and through the towelling, I could see a bulge. He looked back up at me, smiling even more and, with one small motion, undid his robe and grasped his cock in his hand.

  I stood there for a moment, pondering his erection, and then decided to walk towards him, letting my own robe fall open.

  I slid myself on top of his thighs so that his cock was pressed up against me, and pushed my breasts into his face, like I knew he loved it. Sucking furiously on my nipples, he grabbed my arse hard, and ground himself against me until he could feel I was slippery enough to take him. Lifting me by my hips, he swivelled and adjusted my position and then pulled me down onto his cock roughly. He moved in me deeply; I felt him pulse and knew that both of us were near.

  As we were about to climax, I heard ‘Oh, sorry, Abby! We didn’t know you were … um … in here. Er…’and I turned my head to see both my parents backing out of the kitchen, blushing furiously.

  Chris and I were stunned. Our bodies said it all: moments before at the point of orgasm; now numbness, softness and all that pent-up ardour went straight out the window. There’s nothing like the anti-aphrodisiac of one’s parents walking in to kill the moment.

  With shame on our heads, we shuffled back to my bedroom, and kept ourselves hidden from view for many hours. I was too embarrassed to face my parents properly for days.

  This incident was never discussed or spoken about, but I knew that they knew exactly what we were up to, and in my opinion, that’s a little bit too much information for them to have embedded in their brains.

  Still, it didn’t put Chris and I off: we were back shagging again some hours later, albeit with less gusto and noise. He had a great appetite, that boy.

  Thursday 11th August

  Hello, my name is Abby, and I am a sex fiend.

  I have admitted I am powerless about sex – my life has become unmanageable. Frenetically masturbating at every given opportunity is rather inconvenient.

  I have come to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity. Who would have known that Duracell Extra Strength could last so long?

  I have made a decision to turn my will and my life over to the care of God as I understand him. I’ll gladly give up my will; handcuffs and ankle restraints might help.

  I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. The use of a compact mirror often comes in handy.

  I have admitted to God, to myself and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs. Screaming out his name just as I am about to climax is the best admission of all.

  I am entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character. Returning over-used broken vibrators to their maker is my speciality.

  I shall humbly ask Him to remove my shortcomings. Although I am all for the quickie, I do prefer the longer, more drawn-out climax.

  I will make a list of all persons I have harmed, and be willing to make amends to them all. For all those I gave rushed blow jobs to, I thoroughly apologise; it was only because I was going crazy not having your cock inside me that made me hurry so.

  I will make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. For all those I gave rushed blow jobs to, and who are now partnered-up with someone else, I thoroughly apologise; you’ll now just have to imagine my lips around your cock, sucking you for an hour.

  I will continue to take personal inventory and when I am wrong, promptly admit it. I promise to throw out all my other sex toys and only keep the most effective one.

  I will seek through prayer and meditation to improve my conscious contact with God, as I understand Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry that out. If asked nicely, I will gladly worship a cock; clasping my hands together and bowing my head when requested. Crucifixes are optional.

  Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I will try to carry this message to other sex fiends, and to practise these principles in all my affairs. ⋆ I will try to spend less time looking at pornography, and more time on foreplay.

  ⋆ I will try not to judge the fuckability of all men I meet; I can be just friends with men.

  ⋆ I will try5 to spend my free time doing artistic and creative things, rather than always end
ing up with my hands between my legs.

  Wednesday 17th August

  There are times when single women like me may have difficult conversations with our mothers. They might begin with, say, ‘I’m pregnant,’ ‘I’m a lesbian,’ or even ‘I’m thinking of becoming a nun and living in isolation, far away from the family, for the rest of my years.’

  Yes, my mum and dad walked in on me and Chris having sex in the kitchen, but as I said, we preferred to brush the incident under the carpet and never mention it again. So explaining the difference between vanilla and BDSM to my mother was not something I ever expected to do.

  The conversation started off innocently enough. We were talking about the forthcoming wedding of Billy, a bloke I work with. Moving on from the normal issues – who’s going, what I should wear, what present I should buy – my mother and I ended up disagreeing about the groom.

  I thought he was young, dumb and full of come, and may eventually cheat on his bride. His serial long-term monogamy has limited his sexual experiences, thus leaving him in possible need of self-discovery via casual shagging with other women.

  My mother, however, disputed that, stating that perhaps he is satisfied with his wife-to-be, and that not every man needs to shag around and rack up notches on their bedposts.

  I pointed out that I’ve noticed his wandering eye at work – he’s always flirting with the actresses on set – and suggested that at some point, he might follow things through with one of them. Again, my mother argued that just because he might look at other women roguishly it didn’t mean that he would actually have an affair.