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This is a question Public Sex

Train carriages, car parks, behind the altar at midnight mass. Where have you done the dirty?

Thanks to SpankyHanky, Chart Cat and others for the suggestion

(, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 12:58)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Chapter 4...
Visibly shaking, PJM placed his hands on Legless’ shoulders and began to relay the story...

“After soiling my precious golf GIT, I was pretty pissed off with the three of them, the triumvirate of treacherous ‘toilet-traders’ that they are…but after a while I felt what I thought was a twinge of guilt (which later turned out to be a semi-on) and I went looking for them…

Legless looked on, feigning interest: “Go on…” he said calmly…

“As I drove”, continued PJM “…my suspicions were first aroused that something was ‘amiss’ when a VW camper van sped by, featuring multiple scantily clad ladies all with their heads hanging out of the windows vomiting profusely.

I then knew that they must be close…vomiting girls are like a ‘trade mark’ with those three…

PJM continued stoically, pausing momentarily to mop the sweat from his brow…do up his flies, and detract attention from the fresh spluff stain that had slopped down his trollies due to Chickenlady heroically answering PJM’s request for ‘urgent stress relief’.

He continued: “The boys had been dropped off at a service station when I finally found them”, he said. “The state they were in was indescribable – Chart cat was still splattered with his own repugnant effluence, Spanky was shellshocked…walking like John Wayne after an arduously long ride on a particularly stubborn donkey, and as for Pooflake…well, he always looks pretty rough to be honest.

Together, they looked like a collection of monged-out shit splattered extras from the porn version of ‘Planet of the apes’...

Legless pressed further: “But in the name of a dingo’s dongler, it doesn’t explain what happened to their faces?”

“Hold your horses!” exclaimed PJM authoratively before continuing, “…and what’s with the Aussie accent, Legless?...I thought you were a Geordie?

Legless then ripped open his doctor’s coat, showing his buffed six-pack of rippling muscles which displayed a huge tattoo of ‘Super’ Alan Shearer guzzling a bottle of ‘Newkie Brun’ whilst sat atop the ‘Angel of the North’ statue…

“Oh, I’m still a Geordie, cobber,” replied Legless with a wink,”I’ve just spent a little too long in OZ”

(At this point, Legless’ strapping male assistant, who happened to be named ‘Oz’ shifted about sheepishly, made his excuses and left.)

Somewhat flummoxed, PJM continued with the story: “So there we were, nostril deep in turd stains, spunk-bubbles and stadium memorabila. Pooflake was deliriously saluting a petrol pump whilst singing the national anthem, and chart cat was lamenting about exactly what would have happened if CHCB had managed to catch up with them….when, from out of nowhere….”

“Yes…?” enquired Legless breathlessly, briefly forgetting that he was usually above all this nonsensical bollocks…

“They jumped out at us!” retorted PJM whimsically.

“Who?” asked Legless, nearly dropping his can of Fosters piss lager with anticipation.

“Why…The women of B3ta,of course!” Exclaimed PJM. “Every single one of them! It appears that the ‘Wembley incident’ was the last straw…and they’ve been lying in wait all this time…waiting to make these three testosterone fuelled terrorists of titilation pay for their crimes to ladyfolk all these years!

“Holy snags on the Barbie!” cried Legless, adjusting the corks dangling from his hat and whistling ‘Waltzing Matilda’

“Yeeeeees…….well…..Unfortunately, Spanky didn’t help matters at that point” said PJM despondantly, “…When he saw the massive crowd of girls, he dropped his pants (which were like rags at this point) and told them all to ‘take a ticket and form an orderly queue’…

…This didn’t go down too well…

Legless slowly shook his head, sending the corks flying all over the place.

PJM continued, physically moved by the emotion of it all: “It was a bloodbath. The women pounced on the three helpless man-muck machines and were pawing at them like they were pieces of meat!

Of course they loved it…at first. As they were stripped, covered in lotion and placed on sacrificial stone tablets…Pooflake mentioned something about how he ‘normally has to pay about £50 an hour for this kind of treatment’ before they were starkly informed that they were going to be the subject of a ‘perfect B3ta revenge’…and that they were to be literally ‘fucked to death’ by a rampant hoard of horny female B3tards.

“Oh, the horror!” Seethed Legless who then muttered under his breath: “Jammy cunts…Did they not have time to call me? *sigh*

PJM interrupted, as he was now in full flow: “Fearing for my own safety, I combined my mountain climbing skills, MOSSAD training, and Captan Scarlett-esque general heroism, by bravely abandoning them, scrambling up a nearby hillside and watching the slaughter from a vantage point above…

With his eyes filling with tears he sobbed “Big Girls’ Blouse, Tourettes, and The Grammar Badger, were first. They each climbed aboard the stunned men’s faces and began to grind their powerful, *ahem* highly experienced *ahem* pelvic muscles and aromatic flappages so deeply and forcefuilly into the three unsuspecting boys that it actually started to peel the skin from their hapless skulls!

I recall Pooflake tried to keep a brave stance on it all. He said: ‘Ah well, if you gotta go…go with a smile“ before sticking his tongue out and joining in, and slowly starting to succumb under the suffocation.

As one after the other, the women gyrated on top of our heroes, Spanky whimpered pathetically:

”Steady on girls, my gob’s getting whiplash” …but to no avail. Secretly turned on by non-stop reams of naughty posts, The girls were positively gagging for it!

Then, sorrowfully, as the men’s crumbled bodies still twitched before the last droplets of life were drained from them, the thrusting throngs of women slowly parted…and the svelte frame of VampyreCat appeared, in full 70’s style sex-kitten clobber.

She walked up to the sacrificial monument and her voice boomed:

“And Lo, by the power of B3ta, you three filthy fuck-addicts will be punished for your crimes, for we are ALL Vampyres, and we will now feast upon your lengthy lamb cannons like a frenzy!”

“I knew there was something weird about you lot…” said Chart Cat condescendingly.

“Hey girls, there’s PLENTY of me to go round” said Spanky defiantly.

Not put off, VampyreCat continued: “…and you will live forever, forced to roam the earth in the hours of darkness…with your stumpy, semi-masticated cocks...

“Semi what?” asked Chart cat.

“Masticated…” Said Vampyrecat with a glare.

“Oh, never mind…carry on” said Chart cat.

“Right, where was I?…oh yes, your chewed up bell-ends will stand in a permanent state of solidity…and you will be forced to spend eternity shagging and shagging us until you find it so boring that you never write about it again! MWWWUUUHAAHAAAHAAAAA!”

“Fat fucking chance” whispered Pooflake,

“Sounds like a plan!” Said Spanky cheerfully rubbing his hands together “Here’s my knob, and you’ll have no problem finding a vein!”

“Any chance of a swift ‘blowie’ first?” said Chart Cat, following up with “…you know…’while you’re down there’ “*nods knowingly*

“SILENCE!” screeched VampyreCat.

They women then smiled, sprouting vicious, pointy teeth then grabbed the three perverted purveyors of putrid porn and puns, before one at a time clasping their mouths tightly around the cocks, (then they sucked a bit – I mean, they’re only half human after all).

Finally,they then bit down deeply, and killed the intrepid trio to death with a spurt of blood, jizz and pappered underpants

“ At this point,“ said PJM: “I sneaked back down…managed to grab Chickenlady, give her a firm ‘shake’, bring her out of her hypnotic trance and get her to take me away from there. and capitalise on the general horniness of the situation to get a lovely nosh into the bargain

...Then I called the police, they picked up the bodies and here we are…”

“Incredible!” wheezed Legless, gazing over the mutilated corpses.

Suddeny, there was a *Parp* noise from one of the autopsy tables.

“What’s that?” enquired PJM nervously…you don’t think…they’re…coming back to life?

“Nah”, said Legless ”,…but you know what?” he continued, with a glint in his eye…I’ve always thought that ‘Chart Cat’ was a good looking bloke…this could be the only chance I get…”

And as he reached towards him, the three faceless, feacally-challenged flange-a-holic fuckwits, with their collective hard-ons still raging to vein-bursting capacity, sat bolt upright on their coroner’s tables

Legless thought to himself 'For fuck’s sake…all that’s missing now is the theme tune to ‘Thriller’...

“NNNnngggg…brains!” said Chart cat, before ejecting such a massive globule of spunk so thick and lumpy that it actually grew legs of it’s own and walked out to find a career in advertising.

“Nnnnggggggrrr…tits!” said Spanky, as he unloaded an ungodly torrent of bollock bilge directly into the unsuspecting mouth of Oz, Legless’ faithful assistant, who had just walked in to ‘pick up his lunchbox’

"*yawn* Do you perchance have any cider in your possession?” enquired Pooflake, looking exactly the same as he usually does…only without a face.

The twat-tastic zombiefied trio then started lunging for Legless and PJM before they were interrupted...possibly for the final time...

“Wait…stop everything…WHAT'S THAT!?!” Cried PJM, pointing to the sky in despair…

…well…do you want to know?
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 13:12, 7 replies)
...end QOTW quick!
...and just in case you do....LAST!
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 13:00, Reply)
Don't end the QotW yet...!

I've been in meetings all day and I haven't had a chance to write chapter 4 of the Pooflake / chart cat / Spanky story.

cunting job...

give us a few minutes...
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 12:47, 3 replies)
All this public sex
has left me breathless.

Time for a new QOTW me thinks.
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 12:37, Reply)
I once had sex with a female
in a field in front of her mother who didn't mind. No she wasn't a sheep. They were a family of retards!
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 12:36, Reply)
My Ex
Her Sex was open to the general public
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 10:27, Reply)
Which one of you is this, then?

(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 9:52, 2 replies)
Why sex in a tent is always a bad idea.
Thecaptainof reminds me.

In the hot, heady summer of 2003 I went to Glastonbury. My mates had all spectacularly failed to get tickets for the festival, I was left in a dilemma. Did I go on my own, or did I just get a refund for the ticket? The headliners were Radiohead, REM and Moby, this was too much to miss, I would go on my own!

Imagine my joy when Kirsty, (for that is her name) a girl I had had a fling with the year before contacted me out of the blue asking if I was going to Glastonbury. Knowing there might be a chance of rekindling old flames I explained my situation and asked if I could camp with them.

Talk about rekindling old flames, it was more like a serial arsonist chucking a petrol bomb and then chucking another one, just to be sure . As soon as I saw her there was a twinkle in her eye and an involuntary twitch in my cock.

Later that evening I helped her pitch her tent, as mine was already pitched (in more ways than one) and as soon at it was set up we got down to business.

She pushed me into the tent and tore my clothes off, I fumbled around trying to necessary accoutrements for having sexytimes without making babies. This girl was hungrier for it than an Ethiopian subsistance farmer after fifteen years of drought.

We had cramped, awkward, elbowy sex in the tent that was only made bearable by the people walking past giving it an edgy, risky feeling. I shot my baby gravy.

Our mates had lit a bonfire outside the tents and the flickering made pretty patterns on the sides of the tent, we watched it in our post-coital glow. Kirsty whispered in my ear 'up for round two yet?' Of course I was, I was virile, young and sex starved!

Round two begins, there is a general groaning and complaining noise from her mates outside the tent. Things like 'not again' and 'oh christ, more?'

I pay no attention and carry on bashing away at Kirsty's exquisite bearded love clam. I eventually stumble out of the tent to be met with a round of applause from several hundred people all milling around the campsite. It turns out that while we could see pretty flickering lights from the bonfire inside the tent, everyone on the outside could see the silhouette of Kirsty and I shagging frantically.

I did what any man in my position would have done. I bowed, and stated that we would 'be there all weekend, and that there would be a repeat performance every evening'.

Kirsty huffed off, called me horrible names and didn't sleep with me for the rest of the festival.
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 9:10, Reply)
And for a very public not quite sex
Back when MrKitty and I had ourselves a girlfriend no one was supposed to know. It would have affected our work (the gf and I worked together in a club), lead to excess questioning and teasing from others and as far as all our friends were concerned (same group of friends for all of us) MrKitty and I were strictly monogomous and long term.

So then comes the day I'm called into the office by my boss (who likes to think she's my BFF) to have her sit me down and say

"I'm very sorry MissKitty but I have to show you some footage from last nights CCTV."

and turns it on to show gf sitting in MrKitty's lap and them contesting to see who could eat each others lips with his hands up her top while I'm sat at the bar, facing the other way and pulling beers.

It was very hard to get myself out of that one.

Especially as I think it was pretty obvious that I was enjoying watching it very much instead of being in tears.

Someone else saw pretty much the same thing on a different occasion. Riverghost- I'm looking at you.
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 7:51, 2 replies)
I thought I didn't have anything for this
But then I remembered getting fucked at The Cure in the Sydney Entertainment Center (then the biggest venue in Sydney) in front of about 12 1/2 thousand other people, many of whom were very definitely noticing. I was too off my face and enjoying myself too much at the time to care but walked out of the concert very red faced to the occasional person pointing me out to others, especially as I noticed that a couple of the people pointing me out were friends of mine.

Thanks for bringing THAT memory back b3ta.
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 7:40, 2 replies)
I once found some photos a close young female relation'd left lying around
and had a flip through, as you would.

Aww, lovely, here's Girlie clubbing with her ikle friends, and enjoying a sensible amount of beer on holiday... and on the beach... it must've been Blackpool, because here's one of her sucking a nice stick of rock... no, wait, it's a... OMG WTFF AAAGGGHHH MY EYES
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 7:16, 3 replies)
People Are Cunts
Me, I am Baddie, I am a good man.

In my town I dug the well so the town has water but, do they call me Baddie the well digger.............. NO!

In my town I built the town hall and the church but, do they call me Baddie the Town Builder................... NO!

Outside my town I built the road to the highway to get to the city but, do they call me Baddie the Road Builder....................... NO!

On the shore near my village I build the wharf so ships can bring supplies but, do they call me Baddie the Port Builder................. NO!

But, one person see you fucking a goat................................
(, Thu 30 Apr 2009, 5:53, 2 replies)
Not as public as I thought
Many years later a friend and I were talking about a former girlfriend of mine. She had not long given in to my begging and as a late starter I was making up for lost time. I mentioned an occasion when gf and I had sex when he was crashing on the floor. I thought he must have been aware. Single bed, battling with that obstacle to discreet sex the sleepsuit. He was unaware and so disgusted that I decided to leave him in ignorance of the other two times we shagged while he was in the same room.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 23:43, Reply)
Lovely weather for the time of year.
Had a girlfriend once where to get to her bedroom you had to walk through her brother's room. More than once he was testing the bedsprings with a young lady. After the initial shock I was fine apart from when they engaged me in conversation while they carried on banging away.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 23:32, Reply)
Not deliberate, I promise.
A few years back now, my new girlfriend and I were heading to a well-known music festival. She was with her group (including the boyfriend she hadn't quite managed to get rid of yet) at one end of the campsite and I was with a couple of friends at the other end. I camped near the arena which, as anyone who's been to that sort of thing will know, is a bit of a double-edged sword - fair play, you don't get lost, but it does sort of mean you're on everyone else's main route back.

We spent every night together, as she escaped from arguments among her group. However, despite the fact that their relationship had been dead for ages before I was on the scene, I decided that we shouldn't do the horizontal thang until she'd properly finished with the other guy. So, one afternoon, after a particularly vicious argument while watching some band I don't remember, she told him where to go.

Did I mention that my tent was bought for a tenner from Lidl or some such shop and was tiny (a fact commented on by passers-by every few seconds) and a bit see-through? And that there was a ventilation thing in the top that was left open thanks to the cover flap thing being nicked the day before?

That night, I lost my virginity... surrounded by several thousand people who, I would guess, saw pretty much everything.

Epilogue: we were together for a year and a bit after that; such activities were never repeated.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 22:51, Reply)
not quite public but close
i was up early one morning banging the sass out of my then gf on the couch in the lounge. the doorbell went, and thinking it was the postman with my long awaited bike parts, i leapt up, coverd myself with the one thing to hand- HER dressing gown (i'm a big lad, she was a small girl) and answered the door.
there, on the doorstep, eager smiles fading to horror, were two very young looking jehovah's witnesses.
i was obviously red-faced and sweating, panting like a dog on a hot day, wearing a VERY revealing small pink dressing gown with some kind of floral motif. one of them started to mumble somethign about redemption and so on, and then fell silent, his horrified gaze heading downwards... i followed his eyes to find out the due to a wardrobe malfunction, little peteloaf was also staring belligerently at them, red-faced and twitching.
i uttered the immortal line 'you're not the postman!' and slammed the door on them.

poor bastards
no-one needs to see a 6'3" sweaty behemoth in a tiny dressing gown with a raging hardon, demanding to know why you're not the postman at that time of day, not even jovies.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 21:37, 1 reply)
Also, I not so much watched as witnessed...
...such an act, and no, I wasn't just dogging badly.

I've posted briefly about this before but I forget when. Sometimes in my late teens when I couldn't get to sleep for {ahem} whatever reason, I'd sneak off out of my bedroom window to a local park, where there was a tree by a small lake with a branch just made for me to lounge in - didn't hurt my back, supported my legs and head, and not easy to fall out of. I discovered it when I was a kid, but it was always comfy. I used to pre-roll a few and lie there chaise-style with a scarf behind my head until the sun came up. I liked that tree - long gone now though.

So, one night I'd been up there with my thoughts for maybe an hour when I heard cars pulling into the car park near the kids playground and voices hooting as they fucked around over there. Nothing I hadn't done in their condition, so I grinned and listened to them for a bit before my thoughts wandered off again.

I was brought back to earth once again by rustling in the bushes nearby. A lad and a girl, around my age at the time passed within sighting distance of me in my tree, whispering and giggling. But like all who had passed me there, they didn't look up - no-one ever did. They disappeared along the path and I heard more rustling a little further on, then silence interspersed with murmurs and the odd out-of-place rustle. It wasn't long before I started to hear downright unnatural rustling and not-very-well muted moans.

So there I was, reclining in a tree in the very same park where I'd already enjoyed two sexual adventures myself, by the very same lake where I'd enjoy yet another some time later, hearing if trying not to listen to frenzied teenage humping going on no more than thirty feet away.

I grinned again but after awhile the moans became a little less guarded and whilst it was no less funny, I began to wish that they'd get to the finish line, fuck off and leave me to my peace. Which they then did in short order, earning a silent thumbs-up from the stoner in the tree. I heard rustling as they straightened themselves out, escaped from the bushes they had hidden in and then carried on along the path they'd started up before their little detour. Peace was restored.

Despite cursing myself for not packing my walkman that night I was pleased for them all the same. So, in case they were lacking I sparked myself a post-coital pre-roll in their honour :)
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 20:04, Reply)
Involving a dog, but not dogging
Pink and golden shimmers flecked the sky, tingeing fluffy, sweeping clouds with a magical glow as the sun began its slow descent on that balmy July day. The scent of freshly felled pine trees danced in my nostrils, while the gentle buzzing of grasshoppers filled the air. We skipped ebulliently through Thrunton Woods; eager to find a secluded clearing in which to indulge in a spot of Golden Time of our own. DG had done that funny thing he does with his eyebrow that makes my clopper fizz in an instant. With pounding heart, my woman's insides churning like an industrial vat of Angel Delight, we found the ideal place, way off the beaten track.

I imagined myself in the SAS as we crept through the pine trees with very little stealth. A soft, mossy mound lay before us and we quickly laid out fleeces. Bum bags and rucksacks were clumsily untied and tossed aside with abandon. Fumbling with eachothers pants (his jeans, no problem; my Rohan bags - fiddly fecking zips) we eagerly saught eachothers mouths with hot feverish tongues.

With neither the time nor the need for foreplay, within minutes our interlocking body parts had docked. Did I mention Mildew the spakkadog was with us also? Sensing our urgent excitement, she came bounding over, eager to investigate our groans. Her slice-of-gammon tongue caressed DG's pumping buttocks, knocking him decicedly off his stroke. With not a jot of sympathy* I began to giggle. Until it was my turn. Cold viscous membrane leaving a trail of snot along my dimpled, corned beef thigh, it wasn't funny any more. But we were past the point of no return. Frantically scrabbling for sticks in the immediate vicinity, I threw them as far as I could to give us a few seconds of respite. Throwing like a girl, and being otherwise occupied, seconds was all I managed. Having a poor sense of rhythm to begin with was not helped by the 30 second Mildew interjections as she proudly returned with each stick; taking extra special care to rub any thorny / muddy / mossy bits thoroughly into our exposed parts.

Abandoning the algebraic equations in his head, DG had had enough of Mildew's involvement exacerbating my poor rhythm and shot his hot barley white emulsion twixt my quivering lady-loins.

Then we went to the Tap & Spile to meet Legless for a pint (as was customary on Sundays) where I deposited DG's wriggly milk** in the powder room, within earshot of our friends. How we chortled at "dropping the kids off at the pool".

*sympathy - it's in the dictionary, somewhere between "shit" and "syphillis".

**shamelessly stolen from another b3tan - sounds like one of Spanky's

(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 18:58, 15 replies)
Dumpster sex
Not mine, but from the local paper: www.theprovince.com/news/Couple+caught+having+dumpster/1531547/story.html

Saanich is just a touch northeast of Victoria in British Columbia, practically a part of Victoria.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 17:10, 2 replies)
Pitsford Reservoir
in Northampton was THE place to go and partake in a little jiggly full-moon-bobbing-in-the-breeze horny butt sex action. Nice and quiet, lovely view of the still, placid, translucent water just in case you'd rather not look at the fire while you're stoking the mantelpiece.

One time my mate Greg pulled and turned up at our local with, what I can only describe as a fucking ugly mutant munter.

She limps off to the bogs.

Greg announces proudly: "Just picked her up down at the reservoir."

To which I replied: "CHRIST, MAN!!! THROW HER BACK IN!!! THROW HER BACK IN!!!"
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 16:58, 1 reply)
Alfresco Copulation
By the light, of the silvery moon,
I want to spoon,
To my honey I'll croon love's tune.
Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June.
Your silv'ry beams will bring love's dreams,
We'll be cuddlin' soon,
By the silvery moon.*

If only that was true to form, Sgt. Charlie may still be practising nocturnal drills outside. Regardless, unless you own one of the Thousand Islands or a similar sanctuary for shagging, sex in public places will rarely be romantic. Infact, I very much doubt any copulation where a gust of wind dances gently over one's behind is going to make the scrap book, unless of course you keep a scrap book detailing every sordid sexual encounter of your life to date.

I was in my final year of college, lusting after a beauty called Rachel. We were in the same Law class for the first year of college, and as some sort of cruel joke by The Man, fate, or maybe even the College Admin Staff, ended up taking Business Studies together for the second (and final) year.

Rachel was as deep as a puddle. There was an air of arrogance about her - her parents were well off, yet lived in the dark ages. There was no TV in the house, their internet connection was dial up and she owned a Ford KA. Right.. The bleached blonde hair, whiter than white teeth, firm bottom and pert breasts, squeezed into the tightest, most flattering tops and jeans you could imagine. Ok, not that tight - but you could count every curve with very little left for the imagination. Rachel was bloody gorgeous, but lived so far up her own arse you often wondered how she saw where she was going.

However, being a fully functioning male, I could overlook this issue of snobbery in an attempt to get my willy wet in The Holy Grail of our college.

In all this time, aside from the odd glance at one another, few words were exchanged. Rachel studied hard (atleast, that's what she pretended) and I barely studied. Or turned up for classes. Not even to gaze lovingly at her through my third eye. But then in another small miracle, I was ordered to sit with Rachel in the hopes that her good influence would rub off on me. I on the other hand, was hoping to rub something else. Perhaps the idea of my balls splashing about in His cup caused this act of kindness, or maybe someone, somewhere took pity on me. That or Satan wanted me to rub my bellend around His cup, and leave a few pubes too, just for the hell of it. Metaphorically speaking anyway.

Rachel and I actually got on like a house on fire. She had a devilish sense of humor, her big brown eyes would swallow me up when she looked at me, seeing just how far she could string me along before I cracked. She'd ask my opinion on underwear, tell me how she loved dressing up for her ex boyfriend, explain how everytime she applied fake tan her legs would tremble slightly each and every time she caressed her ample bosom. I was being seduced with words, shagged by sentences and filling up the wank bank with more knowledge than the Encyclopedia Britannica translated into several languages.

It also appeared that Rachel loved cock. Stories were swapped and I'm pretty sure that by the end of the year Rachel had dampened her panties whilst day dreaming of me several times. You know the way a woman looks at you, with the 'come to bed eyes' you only see in various top shelf movies? Well, I am positive I was on the receiving end of those eyes from Rachel and she was ready to receive something from me.

Alas, we parted ways without so much of a fumble. Fast forward a few months and I get a text from Rachel. She's coming back from Univeristy and wants to see me. Sgt. Charlie leaps into action so I take it upon myself to teach him a lesson. Minutes later I can think straight again. What could she want? Where would we go? Should I take flavoured, standard, ribbed or hop on the good foot and do the bad thing?!

Fast forward a few days - several dates, giggles and kisses later Rachel wants to take me for a ride. At that point, I wasn't aware of how literal she was being.

It was a humid evening, the sun was setting and as she drove I realised the KA wasn't so bad we were heading into the middle of nowhere. She gave me a wicked smile, and ran one hand over my thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Sgt. Charlie was at the battle station instantly. I'm sure she sensed this and Rachel giggled.

We pulled into a small road, parking infront of a gate leading into some woodland. Rachel had her eye on this place with her ex, but the sap decided to stick it elsewhere. I can understand why, as she was very high maintenance. But it was like trading in your Xbox 360 Elite for a Gamegear, or a Ferrari for a Skoda.

She pounced on me, and my hands gripped her waist firmly. Nibbling on my earlobe and whispering how she'd wanted me since she saw me made me dig my nails in slightly and squeeze tighter. Rachel moaned a little, and then a little more as I gently licked and kissed her neck and shoulders. She fumbled for the door, it swung open with a loud clicking sound no man ever wants to hear his car door make. The one where someone throws it, causing it to swing to far and clip the arches or whatever it is. Rachel grabbed my hand, slide off my lap and into the great outdoors. I followed, hungry for more.

Birds chatted away in the trees, possibly answering our impressions of Tarzan and Jane over the bonnet of her little KA. Her tight ass gripped the bonnet and her toned legs were thrown over my shoulders. Sgt. Charlie was deep undercover. Balls deep infact. And.it.was.fantastic.

A rustle from the trees, the wind dancing over my arse and the odd car in the distance turned my Man of Steel into the Man of Steel on Kryptonite. A big softie. It was our first time alfresco and as much as I was concentrating on beating blue hell out of my bollox on her beautifully toned bottom, I couldn't help but hear every little noise possible, incase we were rumbled. Then again, our Tarzan and Jane noises were a big give away.

My palms were sweaty and slipping slightly on the bonnet of the car, her cries for a religious experience turned to swearing like a sailor and back again. It was time for my best cum face. Here, on the other end of my dick, was the beauty from my dreams. She deserved more than a grunt and a nap. If we were in a bed, I'd have cuddled afterwards. Regardless, I too made my peace with Him before unloading everything I had. My balls felt lighter, and I could almost hear them thanking me for giving them a break. Rachel moaned as she felt my member pulsate inside of her, running her nails down my back, before letting her legs collapse either side of me. I was breathing heavily, exhausted. She smiled at me, again her eyes swallowed me whole. I could hear an applause. I felt I deserved it. Rachel could hear it too.

Our eyes widened in terror as the ripple of applause was growing louder into an ocean of accolade. There was cheering. We hurried to hide our shame, eyes peering into the darkness trying to work out what the noise was.

A bright light descended on us. Perhaps our cries to the Lord were being answered, after all he had put us together and somewhat asked me to do the deed with Rachel. Hadn't He? Perhaps Satan had tricked me and now God was going to deliver the KO - Eve picked the Apple from the Tree, my imitation of a beast with two backs surely didn't deserve this?!

Alas, the closest either of us got to any real religious experience was feeling very embarrassed and almost dirty as if we had committed a cardinal sin. You see, the applause and bright light belonged to the MoD. Hearing a car pull up right next to a training facility certainly earned some interest. Rachel and I then proceeded to give Her Magesty's finest front row seats to our little romp. We could still hear them cheering us on as we dove into the car and pulled away sharpish, to make our escape.

Rachel was a shade of red most of the journey home. We sat in silence for a very uncomfortable ride. She dropped me home and left, just as easily as she came. We're still facebook friends, and I see she's back with her ex boyfriend. Apart from the odd perv over her picture, we're back to how it was in the first year of college - knowing each other exists, but that's about it.

So there we go ladies and gentlemen, a little bit of blushing really helps you get to know a person. Still, it was a mighty good romp and my faith in the British Army remains at a relative high - if those bastards could sneak up on us the damn Taliban don't stand a chance.

*Edward Madden

Apologies for length, though I think it's more about the girth.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 16:07, 4 replies)
Even if it's been said
it should be said again.

Get a fucking room, eh?
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 16:02, Reply)
Not so much public but a bit embarasing
I used to have a girlfriend and her sexual fantasy was being shagged by a burglar. So i regularly used to dress as a burglar (hoodie etc etc) go to the garden and go in through the bedroon window and shag her to bits. Until some fucking neighbour called the police.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 14:40, 1 reply)
The world's worst threesome, part 3
part 1

part 2

De-RIS/What the fuck?

Through the window, the famous Wembley arch glowed in the distance. The coroner sighed, it would be another long night.

Legless had seen everything in his forty years of grim work, including decapitation-by-spoon, gunshot wound to the rectum and even one unfortunate musician who had drowned in vomit (it wasn't his own). Despite all that, nothing could have prepared him for the gruesome scene laid out in the morgue that evening.

"Three males, two in their twenties or early thirties, the other a bit older and probably their abusive step-father or something"

The Dictaphone clicked off, the tape reaching the end of the reel. He moved into his office to get a new one, the radio was crackling. It was the evening news.

"Disbelief and horror at Wembley, as three unknown men invade the pitch and perform what Guinness has now officially confirmed as the most disgusting and indecent public act in recorded history" said the newsreader. Legless turned up the volume and sat down, intrigued by this development. The bulletin continued "In other news, a double tragedy for sport today as the Canadian women's water polo team goes on a gun rampage at a local children's hospice before committing suicide themselves. Police believe they suffered recent mental trauma and are appealing for witnesses"

He picked up the phone and dialed. A quiet voice on the other end answered. "I need your help" said Legless nervously.

He stepped outside for a breath of fresh air as the stench in the autopsy room was overwhelmingly bad. The night was cool and the wind calm, a shooting star fizzed across the ink-black sky as something else large and bright caught his attention. It was interrupted by the screech of tyres announcing the arrival of his contact.

The Golf GIT skidded to a halt in the car park, the driver less-than focused on the task of parking. As Legless approached the car, he noticed a second person who appeared to be sleeping on the driver's lap.

The driver patiently allowed his passenger to rise from her apparent slumber in her own time and she eventually sat up, retched a little then wiped her mouth before opening the window to spit a mouthful of gloopy, translucent fluid onto the tarmac. "That's a nasty cold you've got there, chickenlady", Legless observed. She winced and licked her lips, before spitting a second time at his feet.

Clambering awkwardly out of the vehicle, the driver adjusted his trousers for a while before pacing towards the entrance. Chickenlady scowled, stuck two fingers up at them both then sped off in the opposite direction. "Actually, it's three bodies, not two" he said to his friend as the red tail lights faded into the darkness.

PJM had worked with Legless many times, especially on crimes of a brutal sexual nature. When he entered the chilling mortuary, his skin crawled at the vile mess of bodies and bodily fluids before his eyes. The smell of shit hit him first, then he spotted that one of the trio wasn't wearing anything below the waist. He already knew the identity of these poor, broken individuals, for they had been traveling with him only a few hours earlier.

"That one's Pooflake" said PJM, pointing to the bloody, spunk-filled arse cavity on the first table. "The other two are chart cat and SpankyHanky, at least I assume that's who they are, what with the complete lack of a face on either of them." Legless was confused. "How the fuck do you know that?" he enquired, "as the injuries on these men are consistent with hours of sexual misconduct and violent buggery".

PJM knew the game was up. He explained about the careful planning they'd undertaken together to carry out 'The Wembley Incident', the journey away from the stadium and chart cat's anal 'accident' in his car earlier in the day. Legless listened, stunned into silence.

"What I don't understand though..." mused Legless, pausing for thought "...is how did they end up like this?"

"Time to find out" replied PJM.

to be continued....? You tell me
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 14:13, 23 replies)
Sadly few
My public nookie experiences have been limited, however, I did lose my virginity in a field (yes, to a human). I'm pretty sure that, on that occasion, I was rubbish. To be fair the agricultural surroundings didn't help, root vegetable crops do not a comfy mattress make.

More recently, I've discovered that office swivel-chairs have some potential for fun. I'm keen to test this out further, although I'm concerned that excess spinning could induce fighter pilot style blacking-out if blood is occupied elsewhere.
(, Wed 29 Apr 2009, 13:19, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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