Sooooooo, after a bit of huffing and puffing, I finally made it on my naughty weekend away to see One Ball. It was a bit touch and go at first. I was up-and-down about the idea of going because I’ve been a bit emotional recently, especially with my period looming. Thankfully, I managed to keep it at bay for long enough to attempt my kinky weekend away. But that’s pretty much where the good shit ended.
I tried to find a bikini wax EVERYWHERE. Nowhere had appointments. I was so disappointed. Who knew that you’d need to book a vag-wax at least two or three weeks in advance? It’s hardly the kind of beauty treatment I’d say was in high demand around where I live, but there you go. We live and learn.
But after calling every salon in a ten-mile radius (and then some), I still had to resort to shaving, putting a spanner in my well-thought-out plans right away. I hate shaving. It puts me in a bad mood. I’ve never had a bikini wax before, but anything has gotta be better than running a razor over my legs and hoo-hah, especially to get rid of new stubble growth.
And then my getting-ready time was cut short because I got called into work on Friday morning, and then I didn’t leave work until a good couple of hours after the previously agreed time. It all had a knock-on effect, of course. The train I ended up getting on was at least three hours later than the one I’d originally booked.
At least I got on the train!
The journey was absolute bullshit, which just added to the stress of a bumpy, non-waxed, late-at-work start. My sense of direction is really very bad, so I got lost at least twice. The journey only took about three hours in total, but it consisted of two trains, two tubes, and a short walk. I was nervous. Not just about the journey; I was nervous about seeing him too. All of a sudden, I didn’t feel ready enough to be embarking on a new relationship. I wanted to run back to my bedroom and sulk in my depression, thinking about Big Love, and allow myself a little bit longer to get over him. But if I don’t bite the bullet now, will I ever? I could probably let myself pine for Big Love for the rest of my life. It was only a naughty weekend away with my new lover, but for some reason, this trip with One Ball meant more than that.
When I saw his face waiting for me at the train station, my heart melted and my concerns floated away. He looked so happy to see me, a massive smile beaming across his face. I was happy to see him, too. We ran into each other’s arms like lovers in a movie. Maybe the long-ass day and journey would be worth it after all?
He took me for dinner before we made our way back to his, but I was hopping with excitement at the prospect of it just being us two, naked, alone, in a room together … The butterflies flapping around took away any appetite I had, and I ended up pushing food around on my plate like I hadn’t been ravenous just a few minutes before. You see, I knew just what was going to happen when we finally made it back to his. When we made our naughty weekend plans, I made him promise to cum all over my face. Actually, if we’re being really honest about this, I told him that he wasn’t allowed to wank for a whole two weeks before I turned up, so that when he did eventually blow his load it would be spectacular. I’m not sure if I believe him, but he seemed desperate (in all the best ways). Maybe he really did keep his hands to himself for two weeks?
When we made it back to his room, though, nothing happened like we’d planned. There was just this furious ripping-off of clothes, and I remember really wanting him to be inside me. I was vocal about it. He willingly obliged. Not seeing each other for three weeks might have left doubts, questions, and concerns hanging over us, but it had also intensified the sexual chemistry we had.
It was urgent fucking.
The kind where you don’t care how it comes as long as it does come. Biting and scratching, hair pulling and ass spanking, hard and deep fucking. He likes to spank, apparently, which is good as I quite like being spanked. He pulled me over his knee, tugged my jeans down, and slapped hard across my cheeks, one, two, three, four times. It hurt like hell, but it was hot as hell too. I’ve never been spanked quite like that before. Slapped on the ass, yes. Spanked? Like that? No. But I want it to happen again. I told him that, and he asked me what else I wanted. We now have a shopping list: a riding crop and a paddle to start with. We’ll move on to love balls afterwards because I can imagine being spanked over his knee with love balls inside me would feel pretty exquisite. I guess we’ll see …
Anyway, back to the kinky fuckery.
We had a lot of sex. Like, a *lot* of sex. All we did on Friday night was fuck. First, I rode him. Then, he rode me. We were standing up, sitting down, lying down, on our sides, I was on all fours … It was amazing. Utterly amazing. And – it gets better – I *finally* let him go down on me. Oh-my-gosh, it was beyond amazing. His tongue is unbelievably talented. I have absolutely no idea what exactly he was doing down there, but man it felt good. And I wasn’t nervous. You see, I get super nervous when someone goes down on me, because of a number of things. To start with, if they’re doing it just right, I have a tendency to squirt, and that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. (So I’ve learned.) And if I worry about that, or anything else, my orgasm is nearly impossible to find. Oral sex always gives me the biggest, best orgasms, but they can take a really long time to materialise. I don’t take forever to cum [thankfully], but even I start looking at the clock with oral sometimes.
But we didn’t have any of that. It was just all awesome. Totally fucking awesome.
When I did cum on his tongue, the look on his face was utterly priceless. I’ve never seen a boy look so happy with himself before in my life, and for the first time in a really long time, I slept so well right next to him. Completely knackered, all wrapped up together, with my leg between his to stop them from getting sweaty and sticky, and his arm around my waist, that’s how we fell asleep and then woke up together.
The next morning [Saturday morning], he awoke to find me slowly stroking myself. It’s a habit I have, and although it’s quite hot waking up to an earth-shattering orgasm, it sure does come with its downfalls. Like that one time in the War Zone, where I was sharing a room with three other women … Awks.
It wasn’t awkward with him, though. Rather than waking me up and telling me to stop, he simply moved my hand and took over, my eyes blinking open just seconds before my orgasm hit. It was one of the best mornings I’ve had in a long time despite it being a *really* early morning.
We spent the day on Saturday just shopping and pottering around, looking for Christmas gifts for his kids, grabbing some lunch, and generally being cute in coupley ways, but then we took a little detour into a sex shop local to him to pick up some toys we could play with that night. He’s so playful. I love that about him, but I didn’t feel brave enough to shove any of my own toys into my weekend bag as I packed for my naughty weekend. We’re still testing the sexual waters, you know? Figuring out what we like and whether or not we’re sexually compatible. After a little bit of deliberating in the adult store, we chose a little pink bullet for our first foray into fucking with toys, added some sensation-inducing gels to our basket, and then threw in a bunch of lubricants.
“We don’t need handcuffs or anything like that,” he whispered into my ear. “I’ve got plenty of things I can tie you up with.”
And my whole body shuddered as I thought of the endless possibilities.
We headed back to his one-man room on the military base after our shopping trip, cooked and then ate our dinner, drank some wine, and laughed the evening away. It wasn’t long before he started to undress me again, slowly this time though, and with less urgency than he had the night before. He began by unbuttoning my shirt, releasing my bra, and then pulling the cups down slightly to give him access to my nipples. He used one of our new sensation gels on them, a tingling one, and tingle it sure did. Grabbing a clean, new paintbrush from one of the sets we’d bought his kids, he delicately draped it across my body, flicking the bristly edges across my now-tingling nipples and asking me, “How does that feel?” I could barely mumble in response, throaty groans urging him not to stop his playful ways.
He was more dominant than I remember him being before, using more force to push me down on the bed and acting more determined in following through on whatever his little fantasies were. My scarf was used to tie my hands above my head and to the bed frame, and his scarf was used in place of a blindfold. And then, when I was at his mercy, naked and waiting, he dribbled some of the tingling gel on my clit before eagerly eating away at me, switching between urgent sucks and light blows, teasing me and tempting me until I was almost begging him to stop and let me cum. I loved every minute of it, but I especially loved how it seemed he could read my body. How he knew when to slow down and speed up again or move from using his tongue to his fingers. And I especially loved that he didn’t push anal play into the mix, but I saw him take a peek at the special, numbing anal lubricant on the windowsill, another of the delights we’d purchased earlier on in the day. Maybe next time I’d let him have my ass … maybe.
It wasn’t all sex and kinky-fuckery; we laughed a lot too. Like when he got up to use the bathroom and ended up running smack-bang into the bathroom door. I could tell he wanted to explode with swear words, but he kept it all in and just laughed despite the big, red bump that was starting to appear on his head. There was a lot of getting to know each other. Questions and answers. What-would-you-do-if scenarios. And lots and lots of silly fun. Lots of it. My face cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing, and my ass cheeks from all of the sex. A good weekend all-round, I’d say.
By the time we’d fucked every last drop out of each other, I travelled home on a train that was four hours later than originally booked. I didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want me to leave. I would’ve been content to just stay hidden in his one-man room for another few days, wallowing in the nakedness and kinky fuckery until the novelty no doubt wore off. But I had to go home. He has a job, I have a job, life had to return to normal again. The entire way home, as the train rocked me back and forth, all I could think about was him. His dick. The way his tongue felt as it lapped against my clit. The way his fingers felt as they rolled and tweaked around my nipples. If the carriage had been empty, I would so happily have slid my hand under my coat and bag, down in between my legs, to get myself off. The carriage wasn’t empty, though. Far from it. So instead, I had a wet, sticky, sore and frustrated journey home.
But it isn’t just the sex that keeps springing my mind back right to him. Something else has happened. Yes, there are things that I don’t like about him-slash-us. He has too many kids to think about, for a start, and there were those lies right at the beginning. He has his faults, sure, but I’m sure I do too. And if he can overlook mine, maybe I can and I should overlook his? Whether I should or I shouldn’t, it’s happening. I’m definitely smitten. Falling head-over-heels in love with this man. The L-word was on the tip of my tongue for the entire weekend, but it still didn’t feel right to say it just yet. I wanted to say it a few times, though. Just blurt it out so that it’s out there and he knows. But it’s too soon for that, right? It’s only been a couple of months.
Just as I got home, though. He almost said it. Kinda. Via text, which I know doesn’t count.
“I’ve fallen for you.”
“Fallen? Or fallen in? As in, fallen in love with?”
“Fallen for … but I’m not sure of the difference.”
So he loves me, right? He’s kinda said it, hasn’t he?
Fallen for = love?
A new chapter has started, people. I’m finally closing the chapter that is Big Love, ready to embark on a new adventure with One Ball. I couldn’t be fucking happier about it all!