This piece was written specifically for submission to a publication which specialises in hard-core erotica for women. They have quite strict limitations, and the majority of the stuff they produce appears to be for heterosexual or bisexual/ bicurious, sexually assertive women in their 20s and 30s. Or, at least, people who fantasise about being so...!

Anyway, enough ado - here it is, hope you like it:

My orgasm burst like a shout out of me, detonating in at least three places simultaneously, the afterglow spreading like fire to every part of my body. I clenched and juddered, overtaken by the force of this one, given only seconds of warning – that point where sheer surprise dropped my jaw open and my eyes down to his and he grinned and pushed harder, up into me.

I’d just been enjoying the ride – he’d already got me off with tongue and fingers and again, as always, I’d come at the moment he locked inside me. In my daze I now felt him pulsing, desperate, beneath me, rocked by my explosion and gripped by the ripples running through my core. I recovered enough to grin down at him, splay one hand on his chest and clench, deliberately, as I started to rock gently again and, in the grip of me, he spent himself, a rare, loud groan escaping from him, our eyes locking.

Then was sliding and relaxing and rearranging (and a brief getting-rid-of-condom moment) and then snuggling down to drift together.

“You are such a lucky thing, Sarah!” said Becky.

“Hmmm? What?”

She grinned wickedly back at me, put down her coffee cup. “Precisely,” she said. “You’re drifting off again – nothing in your head but Paul, Paul, Paul.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop smiling myself. “I know. Terrible, isn’t it?”

“So, is it luuuurve?”

I sobered very slightly. “Nah – pure porn still.”

She smirked. “I bet. Still as... ‘compatible’?”

I rolled my eyes again, feeling my insides heat lightly. “He has the same stamina and drive as me – pretty damned rare...!”

“Not to mention you look alike!”

“My hair is about two feet longer?” I pointed out.

“But exactly the same colour – that proper, yummy dark brunette” she purred, clearly distracted “ – and your eyes...” she gazed into mine, her own light green ones widening, and I shifted in my seat subtly, below the table, wondering again about Becky and how it might be if we ever got beyond friends-who-flirt.

“And,” I said, picking up my own coffee, “he hugs properly afterwards.”

“Ooh,” she said, “now I am jealous. Was that what you were thinking about?”

“Actually,” I said, putting the coffee down after a sip and picking up my Swiss roll, “I was thinking about what he said...” and bit down.

“So,” he said, when we were comfortable, our brains starting to come back online, “tell me something...”

“You couldn’t tell?!” Mock surprise. “Yes, darling, I did...”

“Cheeky!” He poked my ribs. “No – I was going to ask: is there anything you’ve never tried?”

He knew about the other girls (some just for fun, others proper girlfriends), had heard about a couple of the dares and outfits, had seen some of the toys and – I closed my eyes in hot remembrance – tried some. He’d even submitted, last week, to my knot-tying skills (something very simple – this time), and had spent himself, thrashing and groaning, deep into my throat when I finally let him.

“So,” I said after a while of running through my own personal Sin List, feeling him stir and rise against me again, and remembering how he’d trusted me, “apart from the spectacularly unhygienic, dangerously painful or downright illegal, I...” his arms tightened slightly, reassuringly, “I’ve never tried anal.”

“Never?”

“No. It’s just never...” I sniggered... “come up.”

He chuckled and considered this for a bit. But I could feel him smiling against my neck. “Would you like to?” he murmured.

A hot flash of an image shot through my brain – how it would feel, what it would mean. I was amazed at the heat that rose up in my core, the excitement that flittered across my nerve-endings. “Well... I...” I said, somewhat tremulously.

His arms tightened again. “Don’t say anything now... just tell me when you know.”

“I do know one thing,” I said, turning and sliding down him, letting my hair trail down his body one step behind my erect left nipple, “and that’s that we’re both more than ready for more...”

It was Friday night. In my deep, ancient bathtub I’d been soaking for half an hour, daydreaming after a hard week, when I found our words returning to me, as they’d done in peeks and flashes throughout the intervening days. I was already stroking myself lightly and, in an idle fancy, reached round with my other hand and explored the sensations of my relaxed, warm, sensitive other opening, imagining the caresses of another.

It was different, all right – exquisitely sensitive to the touch and pulsing with a different kind of life and need than my clit, against which I found myself moving with more determination, even as my left hand explored this new place of pleasure, circling and brushing and probing.

Soon enough, the tip of my finger entered that clutching entrance, and I closed my eyes, pushed harder, and was rewarded with a barrage of sensations and images.

God.

I opened my eyes, reached out with my other hand for my phone.

“Hello?”

“How quickly can you be here?” I paused. “The answer’s yes.”

He processed this for a moment.

“Now?”

“Yes.” I paused again. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I get to ask the same question of you... and act on it.”

“Done,” without hesitation. “Fifteen minutes,” and he put the phone down.

Twenty minutes later his coat and shoes were on the floor, his tongue deep in my mouth and his hands exploring my clean, slightly damp curves under the soft bathrobe. As he rolled my right nipple, I was pulling his shirt out of his trousers and attacking his taut, straining flies.

“Wait.” He pulled back. “We need to take this slowly, for you...”

“Take as long as you need,” I retorted, “but I need you naked,” and proceeded to make trouser-removing memorable.

I let his trousers drop with a thump to the ground, but took my time – achingly slowly – over his pants, working them down an inch at a time, nuzzling the skin and hair, marking him with swipes of wetness, against which I blew, occasionally, and tiny rows of nips and nail marks. I tantalised his erection, sighing over it, and brushing it gently with everything but my tongue until he started to push reflexively towards me. Taking my cue, I suddenly engulfed him, savouring that fabulous taste, the warmth and the texture. He gasped as I took him deep, cupping his balls as I did so, then moving to grasp his buttocks and pull him further into me, swirling my tongue constantly, enjoying the tiny sounds he made and the taste of pre-cum pooling in my mouth.

He pushed me back after a while, and took me to the bed, snagging his coat, for some reason, on the way. Laying me carefully on my back on the edge of the bed, he went to work with his talented tongue, laying stripes of familiar sensation over my thighs and lips, teasing me, at first, the way I’d teased him until I was gasping with need and pushing up and into him, at which point he played my trick back, grasping my clit with his lips and then laying into it mercilessly with flicks, swirls and nudges of his tongue, fingers tweaking gently but constantly at my thighs until that magnificent tension fell apart and took me with it, sighing down, sinking into the bed.

He stayed there, lapping at my wetness, then started working his way down, and replacing his tongue with his thumb as the former went to play on my tight ring, eliciting groans and whimpers from me. At first the tip of his tongue tickled – there is no other word for it – all around the surrounding flesh, drawing in, tightening circles of maddening sensation until he landed on the bulls-eye (I giggled at the thought) and began to work his magic there, all the while maintaining a steady rhythm with his thumb between my lips.

The pressure on my ring began to increase until he was pushing his tongue into me. I could never have imagined such a sensation! As I began to arch and push towards him, he tucked the middle finger of his left hand into my dripping pussy, then carefully started working it into that one unexplored part of me.

Oh, it was tight, but god it felt good. I groaned then cried out as he rolled the delicate walls of flesh gently between the fingers of his right hand in my pussy and the left in my arse.

He then reached up and pulled my hand onto my pussy. I stroked myself, hips starting to pump lightly, as he reached away one-handed and I found out what the coat was for – in his pocket a series of things he laid up on the bed, just out of my sight, and then showed me a pump of expensive lube, which quickly coated more fingers of his left hand while his tongue went back to play.

One clever, slickened finger became two, and I cried out and pushed myself onto them, desperate to impale myself, feel those sensations deeper, more intense. I tucked my fingers in, feeling his fingertips on the other side glide against my knuckles, causing me ever more guttural pleasure.

“More?” he said – the first words that had been spoken for a very long time.

“W-what?”

“Do you want,” he ground his fingers in deliberately, grinned from where he kneeled at the end of my bed, “more?”

“Oh, god, yes – yes!” and the tiny fear I felt only spiced the sensations – heightened the feelings as he withdrew slightly, then slowly, gently but authoritatively pushed three fingers in, while I grunted and swore and lifted my feet underneath me for more purchase as I pushed back against him, while my fingers drove and drove and he lapped and lapped until I broke again.

I came again – sweet and briefly – oh, the kind that just fires you up and whets your appetite. Now I felt fierce with wanting to know – to feel. I reached out and pulled his head back from its delicious torture. “If you’re going to do it,” I snarled, then cried out as he grinned and pushed. I recovered. “Fuck me now, bastard.”

He smoothed on a condom, and slicked his cock rhythmically. I groaned to see the pleasure on his face, his body arching, his fist working. I felt his fingers pull out slowly, and then the broader head of his cock nudging at me. I fought down nerves and called up again how it had felt with his fingers buried deep in me, and relaxed that crucial amount.

He slipped forward gently, rocking in, then back, then in a little more insistently, then back, then forward again, further again, and again and again, all the while massaging my clit and lips with his right hand. My fingers found my nipples, and rolled them, feeling the way the sparks from that friction flashed down to meet those other sensations, mingling with increasing urgency, as he pushed once again, the flaring head of his cock bringing a brief, flaring pain, swallowed instantly in the strangest, fullest sensation.

“Oh, God!” I groaned. He checked quickly, then grinned broadly at the look on my face. In case that didn’t say it all, I hooked my heels into his buttocks and pulled him towards me. He grasped my knees and pushed them back, then rolled his hips inexorably forward until he was completely inside me.

Nothing can prepare you for, or describe adequately, that fullness, that unique sensation.

“Fuck me,” I groaned, “that shouldn’t feel so fucking good.” He chuckled, and I opened my eyes. “Didn’t you hear me? I said fuck me!”

He obliged, and my world took fire. His right hand went back to play on me, then reached down to the side of the bed and the vibrator he’d secreted there.

I came then mercilessly strongly, shouting obscenities, ordering him to fuck me – fuck in the arse like the dirty bastard he was, to fuck me balls-deep and ram me full. My mouth seemed to be directly wired to everything I was feeling and I could no more stop shouting these things than I could stop coming, in wave after wave.

Whether it was my words, my tightness with the vibrator now buried between my lips, or my clenching, writhing muscles, but at this point he came, crying out my name on a sobbing note, all control gone.

Later, washed-up and wrung-out, clean and insanely relaxed in each other’s arms, I thought about what he’d said when I put the question to him in the shower, and how his eyes had turned hot and liquid as melted chocolate when I made a couple of suggestions.

And then I thought about Becky and calling bluffs. And that strap-on she liked to boast about.

Interesting times ahead...