the best of british sex - II

i normally don't answer private numbers, but tonight was family night in our house and we were watching the Towering Inferno. as much as i love camp disaster films, these people just weren't dying in ridiculous situations fast enough for me.



the downside of not answering private numbers is if someone is calling from a hotel room.

this was a british guy calling from a hotel room. he didn't give much information. he just wanted me for a couple of hours, bring amyl and be dominant. sure. i can do that.

i had never been to the Windsor Hotel. but it's a mighty fine establishment. a beautiful old school british hotel in Melbourne's cbd. as soon as i walked in, my first thought was the Overlook Hotel from The Shining, but with less freaky carpet. it's deathly silent with a slight musk in the air. charmingly tacky and stuffy - quintessentially british, really.

Harris was a large man. tall and chunky. if he was a Simpsons character he would be the one that thinks he's Michael Jackson that sings 'happy birthday Lisa'. nice guy and very polite in that British way.

i love the British accent. in gives the BBC news an air of credibility and i could watch it for hours. it was even on the tv on his hotel room. but also that british accent everything sounded pervy. Harris wants to go slow and wants me to drink up. i expect he wants to get into piss. so with a minibar at my disposal, who am i to deny him. i started drinking like a fish.

"i want you to get me fucked up and use me. i like to get really fucked up."

by going slow, he really did mean going slow. just sitting there groping each other and sniffing poppers. it was alright, but i have to admit i got a little bored and started watching the preparations for the royal wedding on the BBC. i got drunker and drunker. we relocated to the bed where i started smacking him around a bit, choking him, torturing his tits and pulling on his balls. it was all fine and dandy until i smacked his cock out of his hand. the slap was a little too much and he blew

fuck! i was supposed to be there for a few hours and i accidentally made him blow in 1 hour 5 minutes. i still had more beer to drink in the minibar too!

i only charged him for the hour and he also tipped

the next day i was sitting on my arse having a cuppa tea and watching the morning news that showed how local Melbourne establishments were preparing for the Royal Wedding of the guy and that chick that looks like she can't be bothered being wherever she is. one such Melbourne establishment was The Windsor Hotel. so excited i even said aloud "i been there! i smacked a man in the nuts!"

i was alone in the room

our second date was a few weeks later at the Crown Casino. this time i was determined to go slow and piss on the motherfucker. so i drank my litre of water 45mins before. at least i would have if i didn't get delayed and delayed. so by 75 minutes my gut was bursting. not only did i look like a pregnant woman but i also needed to piss like one.

"i want you to get me really fucked up and be really dirty. how dirty do you like to get? i want you to get me really high and use me!"

i went as slowly as i could. so i would stand there in my footy shorts slowly releasing small bursts of piss out. he would see a dark patch spreading in my shorts and find it incredibly sexy. i would see it a necessity or my fucking bladder would explode. after the initial release of pressure i got into and became a dirty fucker, pissing all over his and the hotel room carpet. until he was a dribbling mess on the bathroom floor. it was a nice hotel room. it was...

who'd have thought one day i was protesting outside Crown Casino protesting the World Economic Forum and 10 years later i would be pissing on someone in one of the hotel suites. oh, life... how it can take you to places you could only dream of...



however. my boyfriend and i (bf at the time) only last 2 days at the S11 protest. the third day was when the intreresting fights happened and some chick got run over by a car. but we had already lost interest in fighting the power and went shopping instead



on our third date, Harris and i were once again in the Overlook Hotel. this time i had enough warning and was able to bring something to get him fucked up. but as i got there he had already polished off a bottle of wine, so feeding him GHB after a fair amount of alcohol wasn't a good idea. so unfortunately we both had to be relatively sober with only the tv playing the Rupert Murdoch News Of The World enquiry going on in the background

we got a little rougher without ever getting off the sofa. "i want you to get me fucked up! how dirty do you like to get?"

"i've done it all, mate. how dirty do you want to get?"

"really dirty! how dirty you like to get?"

like? you're asking me? given to opportunity i would never wipe my ass again if i could avoid it. that how dirty i want to get. i don't want to get get dirty at all. i want sit down, have a cup of tea and watch a home renovation show on the sole premise of catching a glimpse of a hot tradie with his shirt off from the comfort of my sofa. that's how dirty i want to get

when client asks you questions like this it can become cyclical and never get anywhere until they man-up and answer the question truthfully or you tell them what they want

i knew what he wanted. really, we'd done just about everything degrading. the only thing left was shit and vomit. i'm not doing that. i'm not totally convinced he wants it to. so i spurred him on into talking about it

"how filthy?"

"really dir'y"

i slapped him across the face. "how dirty!" i smacked him again "how filthy you wanna get, faggot!" and started choking him

his face started bulging and turning red and blue. kind of like Violet Beauregarde but with my piss dripping off her face. "i want you to do a shit!" he struggled to speak while i strangled him, "i want you to shit in my mouth."

i spat in his face, slapped him and smirked. "yeah?" now we were getting somewhere

"i want you to make me shit myself. and we can go to a club and have other guys see me with my shitty arse"

...you can fucking do that on your own, buddy...

"then get guys to play with my dirty arse!"

...i don't think many guys around here would touch it, but...

"make me walk down the street so people can see me and think "what's that smell," he grinned. he was a dirty little cunt and i felt proud that i could have this breakthrough with him. clearly we've gotten to a stage in our relationship where i spit, abuse and piss on him and he can now trust me

we took a little break. i sat back on the sofa, sinking more beer and watching Rupert and James Murdoch giving bullshit answers to stupid questions

after a few minutes the dirty talk went on. i got a little bored again and started watching the inquiry while i pulled on his nuts and crushed them. as i stood there, boot crushing his nuts into the hotel sofa, cock in one hand squirting piss onto his chest, beer in the other hand and spitting in his face like it was the most natural thing to do on a wednesday night all i could think was: i find James Murdoch a little bit attractive. actually, the more he sat there next to his dad spewing bullshit out from behind his nerd glasses the more i found James Murdoch attractive. James Murdoch!



in the final break i was glued to the tv. a little drunk i said aloud, "i'd fuck him."

"what?" Harris said "him? you think he's attractive! what the..!?!"

i turned to Harris and laughed but said nothing of what i was thinking. you don't approve? you know that pretty fucking rich from a guy that just asked me to shit in his mouth!

i tried to make it better by saying "you know he'd be a dirty bastard. James Murdoch likes fucking little girls or something. he's a fisting plushie bottom. he's gotta be. all that money and power. there's gotta be something going on." but still i could not defend it to myself. i know it was the power i was attracted to. but i really have no excuse. those beady little souless eyes. that fucked-up annoying accent. holy shit, what the fuck is wrong with me!