Sweet Convictions (3 page)

I
stretch myself across the bed and open one of the drawers to access my treasure chest. It’s filled to the brim with vibrators of all shapes and sizes; feathers; ropes; furry handcuffs; an indulging variety of pleasure-giving toys, as well as a large stock of back-up batteries, of course.

I grab a hold of the biggest dildo I have. She loves big cock.
Who the hell doesn’t?

“Close your eyes
,” I instruct her. 

I slip it into my mouth to moisten it a little then slide it inside her. She takes in a long deep breath and exhales with a groan.
I continue with the clit-licking whilst I simultaneously fuck her with the dildo.

“Oh my fucking g
od,” she says as she squeezes my hand that’s holding the rubber cock.

“Deeper
,” she demands as she puts pressure on my hand to move further in.

I want to please her with this being her first girl
-on-girl experience, but I’ve hardly had an overload of experience of full on lesbian sex myself. God knows I’ve imagined it enough times but not had as much opportunity to put my thoughts and fantasies into practice.

However
, being the ever so accommodating friend that I am, and as intoxicated with alcohol and sexual craving as I am, I do as she begs. She pulls my head in even closer. I lick faster, suck harder and nibble my way around her begging pussy.

She sits up and
jerks my head up towards her face to kiss me; my hand still clutching at the dildo gyrating inside of her like a swivel stick in a cocktail. She’s out of breath and wheezing. She enjoys her own taste. 

I bend my neck down and nibble at her nipple as she lies back down. She twists my hair in between her fingers and tug
s as she squirms about the bed like a side-winding sand snake.

“Oh shit, I think I’m about to
come. Fuck yes, I’m definitely about to come. Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she pleads.

About thirty trembling
seconds later she squeals into a powerful orgasm.

“Oh. My.
Fucking. God. That was amazing. A-MA-ZING!”

“Why thank you
,” I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek and lay my head down on my pillow.

“You, know me. I aim to please my friends.” We both laugh.

“I feel like I should return the favour,” she says.

“Oh your turn will come
hunny, trust me, I’ll let you know when I need a good seeing to. Tonight was all about you getting a taste of what you’ve missed out on for so long.”

“
Mmm and I so did,” she sighs. “Thanks for introducing me to it. But now I’m truly and utterly fucked so night-night.” She snuggles deeper into the duvet and shuts her eyes.

“
G’night ya sexy wench.”

Chapter 2

I
awake with a fright. I’m feverish as Tally’s hand slams down onto my head and she rolls over to face me.

“Coffee
, I need coffee,” she says with a gruff voice.

“Argh.
You go get coffee. I’m staying right here,” I say as I bury my head under my pillow.

“Let’s go shopping
,” she demands as she unexpectedly sits upright finding energy from god knows where.

Around n
inety minutes and a whole lot of effort later, we find ourselves caffeined up and browsing an adult shop to stock up on new treasures. Tally decides in her hung over state, that it would be most humorous to switch on all the vibrators and walk away.

I’m left standing there
belly laughing and holding my thumping head which feels like it’s being beaten with a meat cleaver.

“S
hit, I peed a little,” I tell her, still laughing.

“
Argh, my head hurts too much to laugh you gobshite,” I snarl.

After much prodding, poking and placing
of tremoring dildos and eggs up against our noses, we finally make our way to the counter. She gets herself a butt plug as a joke for her monthly shag with a guy she’s been friends with for most of her lifetime. She’s got the whole friends with benefits thing going on.

“I’m
gonna shoot next door for a little browse. See you in a few yes?”

I know
exactly what browse in Tally-terms means. Next door is a shoe shop and anyone who knows Tally, knows exactly what’s going to happen.

I
struggle as I approach the counter trying to hold my handbag, a cup of cold left over coffee, and two presents to myself – a long, thick purple dildo and a shiny silver vibrating egg.

As
I hand over my credit card to pay for the sinful purchases I’ve just made, I notice a small stack of eye-catching business cards on a shelf behind the counter. They’re rather prestigious looking—shimmery gold with a tiny silver key-like charm dangling from the corner of each of them. I’m like a magpie—anything that glimmers or sparkles, I freeze into a firm, content daze...verging on the unattractive wide-mouthed, tongue-hanging and drooling like a hungry puppy look.

I
fall easily into a day-dream as I begin to wonder why they’re not on the counter with the rest of the business cards and flyers laid out for customers to conveniently reach and acquire with ease.

Ooooh
, perhaps they gain you entry to somewhere fabulous; some dark underground sex club or something. I giggle at the ridiculous thoughts running through my sieve for a brain. I must still be pissed.

F
or all I know, they could be offering professional dildo cleaning services or vibrator repairs. Although, joking aside, I believe the distinctly stylish look of them tells me otherwise.

My
curiosity gets the better of me so I stand on the tips of my toes as I hopelessly fail an attempt at discreetly leaning forward to try and get a better look.

Instead, o
f course, during my endeavour to make it as inconspicuous as possible, I end up doing the complete opposite. My arm on which I was trying to stabilise my nosiness, caves right in, triggering my imprudent forward collapsing motion over the counter, which then knocks over the credit card machine which in turn goes crashing onto the floor. Of course by this time, the other three customers, ominously all of whom were suspiciously lurking about the S&M area, are now gawping over to see what’s happened.

“Carry on,”
I smile embarrassingly and apologise.
Woops!

The cashier chuckle
s as she crouches down to collect the machine and places it back onto the counter. My face now a dark yet iridescent shade of burgundy. I shyly enter my pin number to my credit card, which now, thanks to two pieces of vibrating rubber and plastic, is about three hundred pounds shy of being fully maxed out.
Fuck
.

As
I wait for the transaction to be processed, I wonder how it’s possible that my so-called love life has become so pitiful.

The only real out of the bedroom-norm sexual experience I’ve had is one I shared with a friend actually. Well, we were in a
kinda shag-a-ship at the time; definitely not a loving and tender relationship – purely sex!

So anyway, one night we were out in London together having a few drinks and a dance and he suggested to me that we should try a sauna he’d noticed as we’d walked passed earlier that evening. I was like,
whaaat? You mean a filthy naturist spa where couples swap and fuck in front of people they don’t’ know? I think as soon as he said that, I sobered right up!

Yeah, he said
and asked why not. Um, I can think of a number of reasons why actually, was my response. The fact that only dirty, creepy, desperate men who can’t get women, for apparent reasons, go there; or the fact that they’re probably disease-ridden and you could probably catch something just from looking at some of the perverted creeps that go there. I recall asking if any of those worked for him when his lips curled up into a smile and he told me that actually, those types of places didn’t permit single men from going in and in fact, only allowed entry to couples only, whether they’re formally together or not. And, then he went on to say, that they were quite classy, elite and well-kept establishments—clean and of surprisingly high hygienic standards which he had discovered from few others he’d been to before. Oh, was all that I could muster at the time. Well how could I argue that? Still, no, not a chance in hell I told him.

Anyway, after many more drinks and a few hungry kisses and floundering under the table, I thought fuck it, why not. And off we went.
Ho-ly he-ll! That night was by far the best, most sexual night I’d had in my entire life. So different, so unlike me and so exhilarating in every way I could have ever imagined.  No vile, salivating, one-armed, fanged men.

It was just as my
mate had said; quite prestigious and the people were really normal, from what was apparent anyway. That night we got so sexed up it was unbelievable.

To
begin with, mainly down to nerves and being awfully shy, initially we did it in one of the eight private rooms. These rooms, if occupied but left open, meant that people were invited to join, but if the door was shut, it meant no access.

Then with a few more drinks inside of me and what with getting into the swing of things – pun intended, we moved to the hot tub with another couple and later after rehydrating, we had a swim across the length of the heated pool and ended the night literally making waves as we fucked in the shallow end of the pool
whilst everyone watched.

“Dear God, I need to get a
severe dose of artlessness in my pathetic life. Preferably from something that doesn’t come wrapped in over-priced plastic packaging.”

Instantly
becoming aware I’ve just said that out loud, which explains the reason I’m receiving such inviting looks from one of the creepy oddballs in the alcoves of the store, I notice the cashier turn to face the golden stack. She pulls one from the top, slips it into my goody bag and hands over my credit card to a very humiliated little ol’ me.

“Give them a ring.
It’s not broadly notorious and nor do they want it to be, so keep it hush-hush,” she says as she winks.

“They?
Who are...,” I attempt to ask.

“Thanks for shopping with us
and enjoy your purchases,” she says before turning to serve the next customer.

Okay
, so I am seeing Karl and the sex is pretty darn great, but it’s only every now and then and it is after all extremely new and very casual. I have no idea where it’s going and not even sure I want it to go very far. He’s not what I’d usually go for. Besides, we push each other’s buttons way too much, and that’s only after a month of being together.

There’s just something
missing. Right, so it’s very likely that this revolves around my most recent ex – the one I thought was THE one – the one I gave everything to, only to receive a kick up the ass at the end of our three and a half years together. Still, I miss the fuck out of him. I miss who he could have been had he just ever so slightly tweaked or at least switched his buttons of emotion and communication on. God, it was like trying to talk to a fully grown dog expecting to receive a response when all I got was the head tilted to the side, a smile and ‘Ah baby, don’t worry, don’t be silly’ every time I attempted to have an adult conversation with him.

Anyhoo
, even as much as I’m making the utmost of the sex with Karl in the meantime, I do very much miss the fulfilling advantages of a more meaningful, deeper relationship. Sadly, yes, I do yearn for someone to cling on to at any time I want or need to, whether it be after a crappy day at work; an argument with my mother; snapping a heel on the tube on the way to the theatre; whatever the reason.

I want
that exceptional someone to hold me so closely I feel like I’m inside of him, someone who’s going to tell me it’s all gonna be just fine, even though I know it’s a load of bollocks just to make me feel better in that crappy moment of shittiness when I’m sobbing my heart out, mascara’s running down my cheeks, and my nose is bright red and glistening from smeared snot.

What I want is the
impulsive anticipation. I need that burning urgency to rip off someone’s clothes from the second he walks through the door and yet I need all the loving pledge bollocks to go with it. I guess the way to get that is to enjoy nothing more than a four to six month relationship at a time – a constant rolling honeymoon period of pure harmony and walking like a cowboy from the endless sex.

Right now, I
’d be happy to just settle for some unorthodox, risqué exhilaration. I’m sick of everything in my life being so premeditated and strategically planned out. Fuck, people must think I’m such a rigid cow – people who don’t know me that is.

As of around a
couple months ago, I had a good run. I had the kind of fun I never thought I’d even contemplate permitting myself.

I was
going out with an ex-boyfriend, a druggy, who I met at work soon after separating from my rage-infused-woman-beating prick for an ex-husband. I felt like a trapped animal set free for the first time and I wanted to do anything and everything my husband thought was wrong. Because of course, he didn’t think that hitting his wife and dragging her across the lounge with her hair, or intentionally dropping a tool box on her head, or throwing food in her face was very wrong at all.
Obviously!