b3ta.com user K.W.A.
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» The Dark

Public Sex pt.2 - In the Dark

I didn’t have time to do this post for the Public Sex question, but it fits better here anyway.

This is going back a few years now, to a time when I was seeing a very nice gentleman called Brian. We were both divorced and unused to the dating game, but he was a lot of fun and a very proficient lover. We saw each other for a few months but then decided that we should end it while we were still friends, as both of us were looking for something more permanent and agreed that we were never going to ‘fall in love’ with each other.

Anyway, back to the story. There was an item either on ‘In Touch’ or ‘The Food Programme’ on Radio 4 about a restaurant that serves food in the dark. It’s staffed by blind and partially sighted waiters and sounded a bit different. Brian suggested that it sounded like a bit of a laugh and I said it sounded like a good opportunity for a bit of a public fumble.

So, we booked a couple of places (everyone sits at one long table on benches, to make things easier), packed the kids off to my parents for the night and, after a quickie to get us in the mood, we showered and got changed. We’d decided to be a bit daring and both go ‘commando’, in case the chance for a bit of you-know-what presented itself. Brian was wearing loose jeans with a button fly and I had a flowing, knee length summer dress which buttoned up the front. Brian also put a Johnny in his pocket, just in case.

So, we arrived at ‘Dans le Noir’ and were shown into the bar by the sighted Maitre d’ for a drink. The lighting was low to get us accustomed gradually to the dark. There were couples and small groups sitting around and I noticed a fair few blind customers with their partners or families. We both opted for the ‘surprise menu’, where you rely on touch, taste and smell to discover what’s on your plate.

The big moment arrived and were led down a dim corridor, each customer with their hand on the shoulder of the person in front. It was a bit like finding your way to your seat in the cinema after the lights have gone down; there were tiny lights along the corridor and you could just make out the person in front of you. Then, we pushed through some black velvet curtains and we were in COMPLETE and UTTER darkness. With some bashing of shins and kicking each other, we all stepped over the bench and sat down.

If you want to know what it was like, go into a dark-room, leave the light off and close the door. Then put a hood over your head and a blindfold over that.

The dinner was probably the strangest I’ve attended but possibly the most exciting too.

As soon as we were comfortable and had found our asparagus tips and mayonnaise, I undid a couple of the lowest buttons on my dress, then found Brian’s right hand and guided it to my lap. He reciprocated, undoing his fly, releasing the beast and guiding my left hand. There then followed a conversation of such filthy double entendres as has ever been carried out in a public restaurant. “Wow, that asparagus is really firm.” “Have you tried dipping it in the mayonnaise?” etc. etc.

Meanwhile I was gently handling his rigid cock and his fingers were fiddling with my clit as I spread my legs wide apart on the bench. The main course was some type of fish with new potatoes and green beans but I could hardly concentrate on finding it on my plate as I was nearing orgasm. I had to try to keep my ragged breathing quiet as all sounds were magnified in the dark and my heartbeat sounded loud enough in my ears to be audible to the guy sitting on my right. Brian kept sliding his fingers into me and I was pumping his cock for all I was worth.

We had to stop as they cleared the dishes and brought in the dessert - apricot tart with a scoop of delicious ice-cream. I almost screamed as Brian recommenced with a spot of ice-cream on his fingers and as I stuffed apricot tart into my mouth I covered my orgasm with a groan of delight, commenting on the food. Brian slipped the Johnny on and I finished him off as he downed a glass of wine. “God, I love sticky puddings with cream on the side.”.

We were both completely sated by this time and I took the opportunity of the dark room to lick my plate clean before doing up my buttons again. Brian carefully took the full Johnny off, tied it off and put it back in his pocket before wiping himself with the napkin and buttoning up.

“OK folks, if you all stand and put your hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you, we will now leave the dining room.”

As we emerged into the dim corridor and then the gently lit bar we were more than a little surprised to see that the Maitre d’, who had been leading us, was wearing night-vision goggles. He gave the pair of us a huge grin as he took them off and said, “I trust that was a uniquely enjoyable experience for you. It certainly was for me.”

Oh boy. Nice one K, you did it again.
(Tue 28th Jul 2009, 14:09, More)

» Public Sex

It all started last autumn
I told you lot how I met Jason at work and how we got acquainted. He moved in with me and the kids just after Christmas and things are looking really good. In fact I hardly ever look on b3ta these days as there's so much else to distract me. This question did tickle me a bit though and here's why...

It was last November, the kids were at school and Jason and I decided to take a day off together to just spend at my place and chill. He stayed over quite a bit, but was still a bit uncomfortable with the kids about and couldn't fully relax, if you know what I mean. The only problem was that there was an important meeting in his department that morning that he would have to dial in to. It was from 9.00 to 10.00 so I told him to not worry about it. I'd make a nice, late breakfast for the two of us and bring it in for him while he was on the phone.

So, there I was, the kids had gone off and I went to have a nice shower. I was feeling nice and relaxed but a little bit mischievous, which is why I decided to have a little shave while I was in the shower. Then I thought I'd have a bit more of a shave. Oh sod it, let's shave the lot off! I giggled as I put on my soft white towelling dressing-gown and went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was just nine o'clock and in the living-room at the back of the house, I could hear Jason on the phone, then the idea came to me. While the coffee was brewing I nipped back upstairs and put on what you might call a naughty maid outfit. I put on stockings, some sexy lingerie, a black woollen mini-skirt, a thin white blouse with the top three buttons undone and some fairly high heels. Then I put the coffee on a tray and carried it in to Jason who had some papers spread out on the coffee table in front of the sofa he was sitting on.

He did a bit of a double-take as I shimmied in and nearly lost the thread of his conversation as I did a Benny Hill - bending over with legs slightly apart to put the coffee tray down in front of him, virtually sticking my arse in his face. He could certainly see that I had stockings on and ran his hand up my inner thigh. Then I turned and gave him a view of my cleavage as I poured the coffee for him and I could see the bulge in his trousers growing by the second. I decided it was time to really put him off his stride so I stood up and slowly unbuttoned my blouse and let it fall to the ground, then I put one foot up on the sofa next to him, pulled my skirt up to my hips and started rubbing myself gently. He was clearly distracted as he had to look away and join in with the discussion again but I was not to be put off. This time I turned away from him and slowly lowered my panties, bending lower and lower. When they were off, I turned slowly so that he could see the full effect of my morning shave.

Now he seemed to be having difficulty breathing, let alone taking part in a conversation. I sat down on the sofa, leaned agaisnt the side cushions, one foot on the floor, the other on his shoulder as I slowly brought myself off. By this point he'd loosened his trousers and pulled them off though he was studiously not touching his raging hard-on as he tried to carry on the conversation on the phone. I was amazed at his self-control, and couldn't match it, I shifted round and lay my head in his lap so that I could lick his nut-sack slowly, I really wanted to suck him off then and there but wanted to prolong the agony as long as possible. With a slow lick right up the shaft I got up, nealt either side of his legs and lowered myself onto him. I was as wet as scuba-diver's armpit and he slid in as if he was greased.

From the conversation I could tell the meeting was winding up which was just as well as my slow bouncing on his cock was making him breathe faster and harder. "Er, I've got to go now folks. See you tomorrow." he said desperately as he hit the disconnect button on his phone.

"Oh God, yeah,"

"Fuck me hard."

Or rather we thought he'd hit the disconnect button. He'd actually hit the speaker-phone button by mistake, which we realised when we could hear: "Jase, are you still there?" coming from the sofa next to us as he buried his head in my cleavage and shot his load and I groaned with pleasure.

The next day at work was a little embarrassing, but not too much.
(Tue 28th Apr 2009, 12:24, More)

» Famous people I hate

Ian McShane

It was love at first sight. I'd just turned away from the bar with a glass of wine in each hand when I bumped into Ian McShane (that's Lovejoy to you oiks), from the way he licked his lips and smoothed back his wavy hair while surreptitiously (not) looking down my top, I knew he'd fallen for my 'charms'. It was a Friday night at the Packhorse and Talbot on Chiswick High Road and I was there with a mate from work. Ian was there with a pack of hangers-on, one or two looked slightly familiar but I couldn't place them.

McShane was clearly three quarters pissed, as I could tell when he stopped at our table on the way back from the bar. He had another two glasses of wine and he placed them over-carefully on our table before inviting himself to sit down. Now, I have to admit that I was a bit of a fan in those days and also single. To cut a long, rambling story short we ended up back at my place (the kids were with their father that weekend). Ian spotted a bottle of scotch and helped himself, while I slipped into something more comfy (and a little less grey and frayed).

So, why do I hate him? Well, he broke off a deep meaningful kiss for a huge burp then wondered why I didn't want to resume. Sighing, he then loosened his trousers, released the beast and bid me: "Get on with it love." Not wishing to disappoint, I took him in my mouth and gave him my best effort - and I have it on good authority that it is good. Half way through he gave me an encouraging "Oh yes, that's good. But can you get your tits out love?". Once more I obliged, and resumed work, this time with the Lovejoy mits all over my boobs. I managed to carry on when he started pinching my nipples and I didn't complain when he pushed me off just as he started to cum and got it all over my neck and tits. I didn't say anything as he slumped back on the sofa without a word of thanks, burped again, asked where the toilet was, disappeared, threw up in the toilet and didn't flush.

"Bye love!" he shouted as he opened the front door and stumbled down the steps, looking around for a taxi.

I rushed to the door but realised just in time that I was topless and covered in spunk, I opened the door a crack and shouted through the gap,

"McShane you bastard, come back and fuck me"

"Sorry love, I'm on a promise."

That's why I hate him.

Still, I did have series One of Lovejoy on video, so I stuck it on and frigged myself silly to it while rubbing his cum all over my chest.
(Mon 8th Feb 2010, 16:27, More)

» Flirting

A man who was very good with his hands.
The seven year itch exists - fact. It might not always be seven years, but that kind of equates to the time in a serious relationship when there might well be small children about.

It did for us; I was on maternity leave for the second time. Our eldest was almost four and the baby was just a few months old when my father-in-law died and we came into about £15k. This was the early 1990s and that was a lot of money. We'd been living in our little house in Isleworth for about five years and still hadn't got around to replacing the kitchen that had been there when we moved in - and for the previous ten years, by the look of it. Ben (my husband in those days) kept promising to do something about it, but his skills in the DIY department would have left the Chuckle Brothers tutting and shaking their heads.

At this time, our marriage was looking a little bit shaky. The reduced income while I was on leave, plus the increased out-goings due to the baby would have been bad enough, but she was one of those babies that wouldn't get into a regular sleeping pattern no matter what we tried. Kid 1 had been brilliant, Kid 2 was a nightmare, which meant that neither of us had had a good night's sleep for fucking ever. Or rather, I hadn't; Ben had taken to sleeping downstairs on the sofa-bed during the week so that he could function at work.

I still can't figure out whether I had post-natal depression or just chronic fatigue exacerbated by lack of sex, or any physical contact really (with anyone over three feet tall anyway). I assumed that Ben 'got his' on the sofa, courtesy of late night channel four, as he rarely pestered me for sex at this time. Looking back on this time later, after I kicked him out, I suspect that he might have had a bit on the side too, though I can't be certain.

Wow - that's quite a back-story isn't it. Paints a picture though - a blurred, impressionistic picture - like one of Turner's maybe: 'The River Thames on a Misty Morning with Boats and Smoke'. We both knew that things couldn't carry on as they were; we both knew that things would get better once Kid 2 learnt to sleep through the night, but meanwhile...

It was the start of the summer holidays, so I was practically living in my dressing gown, baggy leggings and tee-shirt at this time, as I didn't have to take Kid 1 to school. They were permanently stained with baby sick and breast milk and I must have looked a total fright. When Ben suggested that we use a chunk of his inheritance money to get a new kitchen fitted, I actually cried, as it felt like the nicest thing anyone had said to me ever. Once I got control of myself and thanked him properly, he said he'd do some asking around at work for a recommendation.

Later that week, a guy came round to have a chat about it. His name was Mark and I was a bit scared of him. He came in the evening when Ben was there, but he was still scary, he had his sleeves rolled up and there were tattoos all over his forearms and I guessed they didn't stop there. I'd already decided that I didn't want to be alone in the house with him when he showed us some photos of other kitchens he'd done, brought out samples of woods and finishes, discussed the merits of Belfast sinks and dishwashers. By the end of an hour I'd changed my mind and he started work four weeks later.

At first I was nervous about being in the house with just him and the kids, but very soon he showed that he was not just a very good kitchen designer/maker, but he was brilliant with kids. It turned out that after a bit of a rough start to life, which included children's homes, a spell in the navy and a couple of spells in prison, he'd turned his life around when his girlfriend gave birth to their first child and he'd had to miss being there because he was inside. He'd trained as a joiner and had never looked back. His kids were all teenagers and somehow, he showed me that my kids were at the best possible age. I started to enjoy being a mum again.

Gradually, I pulled myself together. I started doing yoga again, showered every morning, got dressed, went to the hairdresser's, bought some new clothes, took the kids out to the park everyday, chatted to Mark, saw my lovely kitchen coming together.

I don't even know if this was a flirtation, or just a very nice man helping out a struggling woman in need. I tend to think it was just that, but knowing men, I can't be sure. Sure, when I got back from the hairdresser's he commented on how nice I looked, sure he made me laugh, boosted my confidence. Sure he changed somehow when Ben got home from work, or if he worked on a weekend...

By the time the kitchen was finished, Kid 2 was sleeping through the night and I'd persuaded Ben to come back to our bed. He hadn't taken a lot of persuasion - when you whisper into a man's ear "How would you like a blow-job?" I've found that that can be pretty persuasive. He wasn't to know that I was imagining myself on my knees in the kitchen with my mouth round Mark's cock, or later, that I was imagining myself lying on my back on the kitchen table with my heels up on Mark's shoulders as he fucked me amid the scent of freshly sawn pine.

There are some things that are best kept to yourself.
(Fri 19th Feb 2010, 11:37, More)

» Best Films Ever

"Mediocrities everywhere: I absolve you"
That is the closing line from 'Amadeus'. I've not had a chance to read all of the posts this week so I don't know whether anyone else has this masterpiece in their top ten. If you like drama, good acting, costumes, music, timeless classics and wigs, then this film is a must.

[Was that OK for an opening? I'm new here so please be gentle with me, even if it takes a while]

The first time I saw Amadeus was in 1985, soon after it came out. I was still on the rebound from my first real love, a charming love-rat called Sean who had robbed me of my virginity on the floor of the stockroom in WHSmith and then kept me available for him despite being engaged, then married and the store manager to boot. After 18 months of this, I had told him not to bother me anymore and moved jobs and to a bedsit in Brentford without giving him my new number. So, I was still bruised and hurting when Ben turned up.

We were both temping at the DHSS at the time and, despite me feeling pretty blue I could tell he fancied me: I kept catching him looking at me whenever I turned round, whereupon he would blush and look busy. When we were working together, I'd chat to him and listen to his traveller's tales, laugh at his jokes, flirt in a gentle way and enjoy the attentions of boy my own age (21) who seemed carefree and vulnerable as well as sort of self-assured. He was also pretty good looking.

Eventually, I had to ask him to lunch as he seemed too shy to ask me. We did the old eye-gazing thing at a pub near the office in Ealing. Things gradually warmed up and he asked me out one evening to a film. He lived with his parents in Chiswick as he hadn't sorted out anywhere else since returning from his wandering, and as the film was in Hammersmith, I went to his place first. His Mum answered the door and invited me in; not wishing to appear rude, I accepted. His Mum sounded much posher than Ben did and I became very conscious of my East London accent, so I mumbled a bit and let them do most of the talking. Ben's Dad was away on business in Japan I gathered.

"So, what are you two going see?" she asked.
"Amadeus", I said, "it's about Mozart." As soon as I said it, I knew I'd sounded like an idiot. As if she didn't know. But I wasn't ready for:
"Oh, I really want to see that film, I've heard some very favourable reviews, but I know Daddy won't want to go." she said.
'Daddy?!' I thought!!
"Well," I said out loud, "why don't you come along?" knowing she'd not want to be a gooseberry.
"Oh, I'd love to, if you really don't mind". This is where I was hoping Ben would say something like: 'Tell you what, if it's any good, I'll take you at the weekend'. What he actually said was:
"You don't mind do you?" to me! Now what could I do?
"Of course not."

The film was magical, I was sat next to Ben with his Mum the other side of him. When the lights went down, I reached for his hand, which was on his lap, and throughout the film, I played gently with his hand, feeling the effect this was having in his 'lap'. After the film we got the bus home, his Mum getting off at Chiswick while Ben 'saw me home'. Once she'd got off the bus, I turned to him and planted a long, slow, gentle kiss on his fevered lips. More of the same plus a little light stroking went on as the bus thundered past Kew Bridge and we nearly missed my stop.

I asked him in for a-coffee-in-inverted-commas: my favourite blend as it happens. What then transpired I will not describe in detail, but he was only the second man I'd slept with, and the first for some months. He'd had a few girlfriends, but none like me. I didn't want him to leave and he didn't; we went to work together the next morning and were a couple from then on.

Skip forward four years or so, we're married with a baby and Amadeus was on the telly. As well as making sure we had a new tape in the video machine, we also made sure that the baby was staying at Gran & Grandad's for the night. That evening involved showers, candles, Italian food, plenty of wine, soft music and plenty of lovin'.

Now we had the film on tape, we tried to watch it at least once a year, and each time we'd pack the kids off to Gran & Grandad's for the night, or wait until they went off on school trips and sleep-overs. In 1991, I finally made it to university, having messed up my 'A' levels first time around. Ben was still at the DSS (as it now was), in a fairly senior position and being a student allowed me to look after the kids almost full time. As I got more and more into my History studies and made some good new friends amongst the mature students, I found it harder to really talk with Ben. I thought it was just me, but gradually I noticed he was distracted. I decided an Amadeus night was called for, so made all the arrangements and even bought some new, if highly impractical, underwear; well, sometimes you have to make the effort.

It was a Friday night and the onions and garlic were browning in the pan, the wine was open and I'd had an early glass when Ben got in. I was solicitousness itself, poured him a glass, made sure he was comfy etc, then got out the video. I knew something was wrong when he said he didn't fancy watching it tonight.

To cut a long story short, that was the night he told me he'd fallen in love with a girl at work. There was quite a scene and I gave him his marching orders; he slept elsewhere that night. I'd pretty much kept myself together until the moment he walked out of the door (though his recolection might be different) but did a pretty dramatic breakdown as soon as the door shut. I watched that damned video that night anyway and drank two bottles of wine, though I didn't bother finish cooking the meal I'd started. I was cried out by morning.

Now, I'm over the worst and the second worst, but if I ever feel really down, I still get in the wine, cook myself my favourite comfort food - a big dish of pasta with onions, garlic, mushrooms, bacon, cheese, olive oil - and sit down when the house is empty to watch Amadeus with the volume up really loud. I don't bother with a mammoth sex session these days, well, not usually anyway.

I'm still on good terms with Ben's Mum, and one time I invited her over and we watched it together. She's a good stick and felt really bad when Ben left. My only wish now is that he doesn't watch the film with his new woman; that would really feel like a betrayal somehow.
(Tue 22nd Jul 2008, 13:53, More)
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