Strings. Chapter 4. The Vault

Strings. Chapter 4. The Vault

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Tags

Summary

Pixie wrote, 'I am not just interested in the physical act of submission although of course that counts. I'm also fascinated by the desires of dominant men to humiliate and control a woman. I wander what my limits are? How extreme you are? What pleases you.....'
I liked this little Pixie, whoever she was.
This series has been completed and is now a published novel.

Tags

Summary

Pixie wrote, 'I am not just interested in the physical act of submission although of course that counts. I'm also fascinated by the desires of dominant men to humiliate and control a woman. I wander what my limits are? How extreme you are? What pleases you.....'
I liked this little Pixie, whoever she was.
This series has been completed and is now a published novel.

Content

Submitted: August 06, 2015

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: August 06, 2015

A A A

A A A


I composed my Vault profile: ‘For most of my adult life I was a dom. To the outside world I am well educated, travelled, independent self employed businessman, clean and healthy, reliable and sociable, not bad looking and generally attractive to women around my own age. On the inside, I am in need of some Vault attention. I am attracted to lively, bright women, I like slim and athletic and voluptuous too’. I indicated my sexual ‘activities enjoyed’ as blindfolds; bondage; domination; master/slave; oral sex and sadomasochism, and that I could switch. A photo of me taken in Milan a couple of years earlier was attached. My profile name for this site was ‘Trojan’.
The Vault is there mostly for bondage and sado-masochism but includes all sorts of other fetishes too. Amongst the profiles were monikers of clear intent such as Sluttybitch, SlaveCherie and Lickmycunt,
There is a section for fantasies to be posted and discussed which seemed to have no limits on violence and degradation at all. But some individuals purport a need to enact them. For example this classy fifty two year old buxom woman’s profile had her status as: ‘Any one for fun and kay *ine, real players ?’
And then describes what she wants as; ‘Yo, me new. Got my fantacies, not to chat but to fullfill. So lets play! I am very female, and very much a pet lover, plus I like pain too. Lol xx’
She added that her ideal person was: ‘Men and their mans best friend’.
I don’t think anyone chatting or even seriously pet friendly cared about her spelling mistakes, or her evident IQ, her message was clear and no doubt elicited responses.
I had no idea what the ratio of men to women were. Many of the most attractive and genuine profiles pleaded with male suitors to be patient as they were inundated with messages. And one lady sympathetically acknowledged there were fifty men for every woman on the site, and requested we put some effort into our opening email to catch her interest. I put a lot of effort into that one and received a lame, thanks but no thanks reply over a week later.
My profile did not generate any welcome attention, what unsolicited mail that did arrive in my inbox was from either prostitutes or scammers of various sorts. A lot of messages went through my outbox though and only occasionally I got a polite ‘no thanks and good luck with your search’. Even rarer sometimes I would engage in exchanging a few messages and then she would just drop me.
The lack of recent logging on by many of the female profiles suggested that these memberships were short lived. I imagined some bored, half inebriated trollop would enrol for free one night and never or rarely return. Another group were purely into an ego boost from all the male attention, as Carol from The Affair had admitted she enjoyed reading all the mails from males. I reckon half the female profiles had no intention of actually meeting anyone and maybe half the rest were fakes, whores and internet trolls. My logic suggested the arithmetic for finding a genuine woman was appalling. If only a quarter of up to date female profiles were honestly interested in finding a partner, that meant there were two hundred frustrated men for every one of them. That pretty much explained why my carefully crafted approach mails were emphatically unsuccessful. Of course I had self-doubts too, perhaps I was aiming too high, and I predominantly targeted profiles with photos which increased the competitive environment.
There are so many dodgy people on The Vault, the administrators are constantly deleting profiles for abuse. If I review the list of ‘women’ who have hotlisted me, it is rare to find a single a genuine account with the other few dozen all deleted for abuse. However I was able to meet a handful of women, some of which led to one off hook-ups. In terms of disappointment the worst experience of all my online based dates was a Vault female called Pammy.
She looked beautiful in an array of professional produced photographs of her and a young stud. She was tall, slim, busty, blonde, pretty, and into BDSM. After two messages we emailed directly and then swapped mobile phone numbers. When I called her she spoke very slowly and deliberately, with a slight tremble to her voice. It was as if she had recovered from a stroke.
We agreed to meet, and in the final telephone call to confirm the arrangements she mentioned she had been ill with cancer, and there was some scarring. I have sympathy with cancer victims and would never drop anyone just for disclosing such a trauma in their life, I would go ahead and meet her.
I booked a hotel in her area of North London. The room wasn’t ready and the service at the front desk and the lobby bar where I waited patiently was negligible. When Pammy arrived she tottered into the bar on enormous high heels supporting shapely calves in white fishnet tights. She had a mass of blonde hair, bright showy makeup, wore stylish glasses, with quite thick lenses though. When she took her fur coat off she had on an expensive white dress and an exceptionally good curvy figure. She also looked at least twenty years older than her Vault photographs.
I bought her a drink as we waited for the non-service of the east European hotel staff to produce our room. She asked in her halting shaky way if I thought she was attractive, and did I want to be with her. I said yes I did, and she added that she had ‘Some stretch marks too.’
Eventually the migrant workers behind the desk sorted out my reservation and we had the key. We took a bottle of white wine with us.
Actually the room was fine, and as we shared the wine we chatted about her husband, (why?) her four kids, her bad back, her breast cancer…
 We sat on the bed, she took her glasses off and we kissed. Close up I could see how thick the makeup really was, and her green eyes didn’t seem to focus, the poor thing seemed half blind.
Poor thing, well she undressed telling me as she slipped her dress off that the scarring was her mastectomy. Did I want her to keep her bra on or off, ‘Most men don’t seem to mind,’ she added helpfully.
I said it was okay to take it off.
Facing me on the bed, she reached around behind her to unhook the black lace bra, and then lowered the shoulder straps and then the cups. Her right breast was large, full and not particularly saggy, it was fine for her age. Where the left breast should have been was some hideous looking scarring. I had seen the results of mastectomy before, but always after reconstructed surgery, but this was a shock. She looked forlorn, I felt so sorry for her. So her tights and panties came down.
Then a mass of stretch marked lose belly skin flopped out.
I wasn’t callous enough to just walk out on someone, plus OG was reminding me that I hadn’t had sex in weeks, and in any case she was still pretty enough. So I stripped, and we lay on the bed kissing.  After a few minutes caressing her single shapely breast, I moved her to lie down on her back. Impressively the lone breast didn’t particularly drop towards her armpit, it looked and felt one hundred present natural. I then moved my hand down her waist and hips – I didn’t want to touch that tummy, and just as I touched between her legs she did a sharp intake of breath. I massaged near her clitoris very lightly as a teaser to get her aroused, and about three minutes of heavy breathing later she shuddered.
‘Did you just cum?’ I asked, and she had.
She must have orgasmed a dozen times with me during the hour of sex, and she admitted she could cum thirty, forty or more times in a day easily.
We had condommed vanilla sex, no BDSM, she lay on her back the whole time, her bad back prevented her being more active.
When she got up for the bathroom she did that straight back, careful walk all back sufferers know, and watching her walk I saw a little pyramid of flesh poking out near her armpit, the vestige of what had once been another magnificent breast. She didn’t walk well even barefoot and tottered to and from the bathroom.
She reminded me of a television comedy show character, an east European with too much cheap plastic surgery and a botox frozen face, who explains weakly that the mysterious drops of fluid were ‘Just a little seepage.’
I did feel sorry for Pammy and although my orgasm was good and facial with a thick string of cum draped across the long fake eyelashes above one of her unblinking half blind green eyes, I had not really enjoyed her.
Then she said normally she would charge £100 but I could have this one free, but could I pay her taxi fares. It was a bit of a shock that she turned out to be a pseudo-prostitute. Thank god for the precautionary condoms, I thought.
To be honest I would not fuck her again if she paid me £100, and any empathy I had earlier dissipated rapidly; her taxi cost me £15, the train fare into London, wine, and hotel room cost me £120, compounded when the hotel double charged for the room. It was more expensive in my time, having taken a day off work.
A lesson learned, make sure the photos are recent.
Years later Pammy is still on The Vault with the same youthful photos, and no doubt still looking for tricks.
A couple of months passed uneventfully after my date with Pammy and as my subscription was up for renewal I was going to leave The Vault forever. But my luck was about to change.
Almost in a final sweep through new matches before my subscription lapsed I scrolled briefly through those with no photo. One caught my eye.

GoodLittlePixie 37F new sub seeking Mentor, Hampshire.
She stated. ‘Let's start a dialogue. I'm bored of stereotypes. I'm hungry and I have a vivid, intelligent mind. I'm looking for someone with wit and discretion. And a gentleman to take me further.’
I scrolled down to read her ‘activities enjoyed.’
24/7 (Total Power Exchange); Age Play; Anal Sex; Asphyxiaphilia (Breath Play); Ass Play; Blindfolds; Bondage; Bukkake; Chains; Collar and Lead/Leash; Defilement, Seeing a Partner Dirty or Wet; Dildos (Handheld & Strap-ons); Domination; Gangbangs; Hair Pulling; Handcuffs/Shackles; Masks; Oral Sex; Spanking/Paddling; Talking Dirty; Urolagnia (Water Sports/Urine); Vibrators; Whips
Bukkake leapt out of the page, and bondage was there too.
On the downside she used the word ‘Gentleman’, sometimes used interchangeably with the euphemism ‘generous’ by working girls trawling for clients.
Pixie got the benefit of my doubts, and Bukkake trumped Gentleman.
I read her personal data, Good Little Pixie was thirty seven, 5’ 2”, petite and slim and Caucasian. She was ‘just curious’ about the lifestyle, submissive, a novice, considered herself a liberal with an assertive demeanour and for her style of dress she entered ‘none (nudist)’.
Bondage and bukkake was my Nippon Porn fantasy. I was in an upbeat mood and this Pixie profile intrigued me, so I rattled off an email.

25th January 2013

It was a busy and varied day of projects in my home office. I did three hours of sales calls for one European client, and an hour for another, reminding them yet again that they still owed me money, plus an hour’s research for a former  British client who was setting up a consultancy venture. In the afternoon I did three more hours researching a new project for myself and had a gym session in the evening. Then I wrote this Vault message to GoodlittlePixie.

 ‘The Nice Little Pixie has some nasty little habits, something will have to be done. I can train you, or humiliate you, punish you or tease you. Perhaps I will be a selfish bastard and demand you service me, or perhaps I will service you, continuously over and over again. It all depends on the initial dialogue, establishing the framework that any later acts operate in. Or maybe you don’t want a framework? I hadn’t thought of that. If your curiosity needs flirty fantasies to begin with, edging towards exploring them physically, well I am your patient man, proceeding at your own speed until you are ready.  I am good at 'getting' the fantasy, or triggering it. Oh and about age play, I lost my virginity the very month you were born, in Dovedale Deryshire under the stars. I became a geologist and travelled the world (love Japanese porn: bukkake and shibari) and she became a policewoman.  What does a nudist do for a living?  Tell me more.  T, xx

As with all the other recent messages sent out on The Vault I promptly forgot about it, and got on with my work. To be honest it needed it, our wonderful banking crisis induced recession was playing havoc with my income and job fulfilment.

26th January 2013

The Vault message from GoodlittlePixie
‘Hello Trojan. Thank you for sending me one of the best first contact emails to date. I do have some nasty habits or at least I have them in my mind waiting to be explored but you will have seen that in my profile. A framework..... I'm glad you asked. I have had some potential mentors who want everything on their terms which I'm not sure of yet because it’s all new. But also I am so turned on by the idea of being with a sexually demanding older man. Maybe we could start by telling me why you have chosen this lifestyle…
 (what lifestyle? I thought)
… or what really gets you molten at the core. I'm tired of stereotypes and you don't sound like one so far - a geologist, really? So far all the scenarios presented to me are me exposing myself in public. I don't really find that much of a challenge as I've had lots of encounters outside. My favourite al fresco to date was on a walking holiday on the Devonshire moors, my partner and I wrestled off our walking gear and did it right there only a few meters from the path while walkers rambled by as their dogs sniffed us out. This all seems innocent now particularly with what is on offer in BDSM! Sorry I'm also rambling.....hope to hear back from you. P x.’

I was chuffed at the reply, any reply was welcome but this was encouraging. I wanted to see how far it would go before she shut down the correspondence having lost her nerve. I had to think a little how to respond and also reply quickly to keep her engaged in case some rival dom caught her eye. Her question, ‘what really gets you molten at the core?’ was the key sentence, the invitation to reveal and to take a risk. So I replied to GoodlittlePixie.

‘Dear Pixie, Thank you for your quick and complimentary reply. I worked in oil exploration in Africa, Middle East, North Sea, The Med, Australia and the Arctic. Long four week trips on all male oil rigs immersed in work till time to leave. On the long-haul flights home my thoughts wandered towards my bondage loving girlfriend and the anticipation was almost uncontrollable, god knows what the air hostesses thought about the young man with the bulging jeans asleep in economy.
I like to take my time, nothing rushed, that anticipation thing, it is the greatest thrill, going into the unknown with someone new does it, but after that? Knowing what makes them tick is a massive turn on, it’s the framework. Men are visual, and for myself seeing a woman exposed and helpless, (and knowing that’s what I will be seeing), gets me going. I like to tease, use, manoeuvre and correct her. Oral sex - both ways, is important - and I love cumming on her, the mounting tension whilst above an upturned face…The more I know about you, the more in context our play will be, I can present a scenario based on what I know so far about your nasty little mind. If you wish I will compose a little age play game – nothing extreme, more a mindful game. I’ll call it the Domineering Boss and the Vulnerable Assistant.’
I added my email address and signed off.

Nothing controversial I hoped, and waited, but it wasn’t long for her reply to arrive.

27th January 2013

Pixie: Hello Jack Well I also work in the oil and gas industry but unfortunately do not get the chance to spend time on oil rigs with lots of hungry men. Which of my nasty habits has appealed to you? I can't access your profile so don't know what your own tastes are specifically. I am not just interested in the physical act of submission although of course that counts. I'm also fascinated by the desires of dominant men to humiliate and control a woman. I wander what my limits are? How extreme you are? What pleases you.....What else....hmmm.....do you still work and travel? Look forward to your scenario. Pixie xx

This was a promising quick exchange, I had to keep the momentum going in case she got bored.

Me: Hi Pixie, Work and Play.
1. Work. I moved on from oil and gas years ago, worked in aviation technology, then travel IT and am now self employed. I sell software and consultancy for different clients, mostly in the travel industry and also have a couple of other interesting new projects. I still do a lot of travelling, Berlin and Orlando last November for example. What do you do in the oil and gas industry? 
2. Play. How extreme am I? I can be a little sadistic, inflict some pain, water sports and anal sex, if that is required, But I do love the mind games, the humiliation angle and to take my time. Make you do things, tie you into positions for my pleasure. My scenario will be more focussed on that more than any extreme physical stuff.
If I can have your email address I will send you the scenario. It would be nice to see a photo too. Jack xx

That was it, I had revealed my deepest sexual desires to a faceless, anonymous woman.  So far it had already been the most enthralling exchange of messages but I had some doubts too, what if she was hideously fat, or butt ugly or a man masquerading for some perverted troll-like, cheap thrill of their own? The Vault message from GoodlittlePixie dropped in a couple of hours later, nervously I opened it, for no reason I half expected a rejection.

Pixie: Hi again Jack. Can I be honest…
(oh fuck it is a rejection!)
… and say that The Vault website warns against providing an email address until you are sure?
(Phew)
 I don't want to be rude as you appear to be honest in your response but can you tell me what can be achieved by email differently to this way of communicating at the moment?

In my reply to Pixie I tried to reassure her that I asked about direct emails just to make communications a little more convenient than having to log onto the Vault every time. But I was happy to get to know her at her pace and continue as we were.
I then moved the subject back to sex, adding ‘If we meet, whatever we do, I will know your limits and desires first (I hope), but it will involve a lot of oral sex, both ways, and I WILL cum on your face. That simple act is a huge turn on for me, it’s your nasty habit of bukkake in your 'likes' that really caught my eye. (and will give you pink eye if it catches yours).’
Whilst I enjoyed these exploratory messages with Pixie I cautiously continued looking on the other websites. I was cautious because in the previous year I had experienced some scares and downright nastiness and had come to the partial conclusion that The Vault was a place frequented by trolls, whores and idiots like me.
When I say bad experiences I don’t mean being stood up or disappointed as I was with Pammy. I mean the potential for a real nightmare.
Unlike Pixie, Lady Samantha had quickly moved from brief Vault messages to personal emails, she also dropped hints about a mistress having her costs covered. Condescendingly I advised:

Me: ‘Dear Lady, I don't use prostitutes if that is what you mean. The best sexual relationships are based on mutual attraction and that is what I am looking for. I am not stingy at all but I don't want or have to pay for sex. I had hoped you were the same.
Rgds’

I was in bed when an email came through to my Blackberry smartphone.

Lady: ‘Are you Jack Thorne, Sales Director of Dolphinsoftware….’

Fucking hell! How did she know my surname and find out about my job? This was a scary moment, my body actually shook. Jesus wept!  I had to think. I didn’t want to respond too quickly and seem panicked, or too slowly and appear too considered. Ten minutes later I wrote back:

 Me; ‘Impressive investigation, and am fascinated to know how you did this. For any misunderstanding on my part I apologise - we are not on the same wavelength, clearly. Hopefully we will both find what we are looking for. Regards Jack

Lady: ‘Nothing impressive - three clicks on the computer led to an extensive profile and to your cv, on which you state you are married. Perhaps that is outdated.’

Me: We were divorced in 1993. I was unaware that BusinessLinks had my marital status, which is the only website that references Dolphinsoftware. But I admit I had not expected my personal, Vault and business lives to be connected, so I do need to update BusinessLinks if that's where you found me. But to do so you must have known my full name How? because I don't see any accidental emails sent with it on. Like I said. I am fascinated.

Lady: Silly boy! Your name appears in full alongside your email address every time you send me an email! Yes, it is wise to be careful - there are some very odd creatures about - lucky for you I am not one of them. Your marital status was on your cv which came up on the first page of google results along with the BusinessLinks profile, hence just three clicks to know your whole history - the internet can be a scary thing!
As for me, I am a naturally dominant woman with a history of being a pampered, adored and worshipped mistress to married men - just a handful of long term relationships, all of whom remained lifelong friends after circumstances took us in different directions.’

Panic over, and first thing in the morning I checked my email set up and removed my full name from the account details. I trimmed my BusinessLinks profile to the basics and researched my name on google. I discovered an old curriculum vitae showing my status as married. The document was sourced from a recruitment agency I had once used. I contacted them to advise the CV was hopelessly out of date and demand they remove it, which took them three weeks to comply with. I had learnt a lesson about the internet, but not about being condescending. A worse lesson was to come.
On Playthefield I had started exchanging messages with Jen, from Coventry in the West Midlands, another unhappily married woman. We slowly progressed to direct emails and as she wanted to instant message me on Yahoo I opened a new yahoo email account taking care my surname wasn’t traceable. We chatted via yahoo email and on yahoo messenger for weeks. Facially she was an ordinary looking woman, but she had a stunning body. She was very flattering to me and though coy at first she asked for more revealing photos of me, she wanted to see OG.
She received his images, first flaccid and thick, and then aroused and ready. I got some underwear poses from her, and then some open leg shots. Neither of us included our faces, but I was sure she was genuine as she posed for photographs in positions of my suggestion, as I did for her, including a cumshot. Weeks passed and she kept delaying meeting me, eventually we had a date lined up four weeks away.
Not knowing where my extended correspondence with Jen was leading me or whether I would ever actually meet her, I continued my searches on Friendsindeed and the Vault etc, and started a conversation with SlaveCherie.
My first mistake was quickly agreeing to direct emails with her which was then compounded when I suggested that she was not genuine as her photos were too glamorous, and reminded me of various Nigerian based scams that seemed to infect The Vault periodically.
‘She’ didn’t email a warning shot like Lady Samantha. But a couple of days later I got a note from Yahoo that my password needed to be reset. When I tried, I couldn’t access my account from my Blackberry. The next day I used my laptop to verify my Yahoo account with my back up email and other information and re-set a new password.
In the meantime Jen had stopped communicating with me. A week later we were supposed to have that first ever meet up.
She eventually replied that her son had been hurt in a rugby match and was in hospital and could we postpone the meet. Bugger, it was the old health scare excuse again. I offered some alternative dates and got no reply. So I sent another email asking if anything was wrong, and it took another week before she responded.

Jen: ‘I think your computer was hacked I been talking too SlaveCherie.’

What? Who? How? I was gobsmacked.
Whoever and whatever gender SlaveCherie was, they had exacted a revenge on my stupidity and hacked into my yahoo account. Thank god the only emails held there were those with Jen - the potential for wider damage could have been catastrophic. I dread to imagine the consequences if I this had happened before my encounter with Lady Samantha and my full name had been attached to all my emails. Still, SlaveCherie had contacted Jen and claimed I had wanted to do vicious and obscene things to vulnerable women.
I sent Jen a copy of every email I had exchanged with this fucking hacker to show the correspondence wasn’t incriminating and that the Hacker was a malicious troll. Jen slowly relaxed and said she needed time to get over the situation. In the meantime photos that she had sent to me suddenly appeared on Playthefield as a new profile.
After that Jen wanted nothing more to do with the site or me. In any case she divorced her husband and no doubt that would have been the end of me with her anyway.
I had other correspondence which led to meets and nothing else, and a few that quickly produced sexual encounters that I didn’t want to repeat. One evening I journeyed up to an isolated farm house in darkest rural Suffolk. (I once lived in Norfolk and Suffolk will always be a dark place). A fat farmer Giles type welcomed me in and to my surprise a young man was already seated in the living room waiting patiently.
The three of us chatted.  The farmer was not participating, he just wanted to take photos. The other guy looked about nineteen years old and had been with them before. Forty minutes of dull Suffolk conversation ticked by until the equally portly farmer’s wife paraded down the stairs and swept into the lounge in a red bra, knickers and stockings set and some sort of sheer red negligee. She reminded me of Miss Piggy from the Muppet show.
We had some wine and Giles said that young stud and I should take Piggy upstairs. Basically she lay on her back with her stubby legs spread and the impressively endowed stud and I banged away at her cunt and mouth as Giles zoomed in with his Nikon. Giles wanted facial cumshots for his collection, but the stud deposited his inside her bald fat twat. Unfortunately OG doesn’t perform well in front of other men and he withered under the close up scrutiny of Farmer Giles’ camera and failed to deliver the required pop shot.
 On another occasion, in dark rural north east Essex I was unexpectedly welcomed in by the taciturn man of the house who wanted to watch me with his wife. When I looked surprised, short man syndrome jabbed his finger at his wife and said she was supposed to have told me what was happening, that he would see her later, and left us alone.
She didn’t seem to care too much about Napoleon Bonaparte’s attitude, though she did seem nervous once we were alone. She would not stop talking, sometimes about Napoleon’s small dick which could only orgasm dribbles of cum, whereas she liked copious sprays. She also prattled on about previous playmates, her job, or grown up kids, whatever. I struggled to focus partly because of the dumb jibber jabber and partly because of the deadening effect of the condom. She described some weedy little guy she had fucked, who had an ‘enormous willy’ that he could bang away with for hours ‘just like a rabbit’ she said. And apparently he squirted lots of cum on her face.
Oh really? I suddenly got interested.
‘Can I cum on your face? I asked.
‘Of course’
By this time she was sat, stockinged legs up and wide apart on a narrow sofa with me toiling away whilst holding onto the arm rests. I pulled out of her and twanged off the condom. She leaned against the back of the sofa and I climbed up to stand on the cushions with a leg either side of her and OG in hardened expectation positioned directly onto her ever yapping mouth. I would not describe it as a blowjob exactly as she wouldn’t shut up and talked the whole time, probably about shopping for all I cared. I just tossed myself off against her rubbery mouth until ten day’s worth of heavy creamy cum saturated her eyes, nose, and still moving lips and tongue. The cum bubbled and slopped about as she attempted to continue her shopping plans, but it was visually a very satisfying outcome and when hubby returned she complimented me saying she had never seen so much cum, yabba yabba etcetera. He looked peeved to have missed the show.
New Couples produced another woman that I did meet, her name was Collette and I enjoyed her company. She was a short bubbly Irish professional singer, she was very sweet and outgoing with the most enormous full and firm tits. Her thing was being spanked. After one platonic meeting in London our meets had to switch because she moved to Stratford upon Avon in the Midlands. We met in various motels in and around Stratford or Oxford. She was staying with friends whilst she hunted for a house to buy in the area, so we never met anywhere local to her and she kept our liaisons secret from her friends. I thought my New Couples search for a ‘friend with benefits’ matched her desire for a ‘partner in crime’ i.e. a fuck buddy, with a bit of D/s (dominance and submission) thrown in.
She was fun in the bedroom too, let me tie her up, spank and generally have a lot of fun giving and receiving oral. She adapted to what I liked too, it was good, but when she began suggesting we become a bit more of a bone fide couple rather than being fuck buddies, I backed away somewhat.  I was not interested in a romantic, long-term relationship with her or anyone.  She was not too happy with me, and hadn’t realised quite what I was about. I didn’t lie to her once, but a fuller truth might have been more honest and as I was not comfortable with my deception I apologised sincerely. We kept in touch and she admitted to missing me, and I know she checked my profile on New Couples a few times.
 There were other one hit wonders, Maria the formidable London Underground driver wanted to be tied up and abused orally. We met three times before we did the act. There was also a sixty year old grandmother with the body of a forty year old, and a nice face too; I tied her up, spanked and fucked her in the Grand Hotel Brighton. Lynda in Plimlico was a stunning statuesque half West Indian, half Nigerian who arrived four hours late. She drank copious amounts of alcohol at my expense, which gradually numbed my anticipation. Eventually I got a long boring shag, quite the anti-climax, in a hotel also at my expense.
There were others: The air stewardess in Reigate didn’t mind bukkake but didn’t want any cum in her long blonde hair, so I suggested she wear a swimming cap. She loved that joke, but I was serious. A scrubber in Hackney who made gurgling sounds as she deep throated me, and another in Reading who after a lunchtime of fun at her place, left me with lipstick on my collar which I failed to notice until my afternoon business meeting, (I thought I had been so smart arranging a sexual tryst and a meeting in the same town on the same day).
I had a brief fling with Bernice, a black Canadian living in Dagenham. She wanted gifts of expensive perfume and I went along with this as I was travelling to the States and offered to get her something from the Duty free. But one day the she brought her ‘sister’ along and I also had to pay her the equivalent of the perfume, £70. All I got was the ‘sister’ wriggling in her underwear whilst sitting on my face whilst Grace poured baby oil over OG and then relentlessly hard, wanked me off. It was all over in five minutes, and all over between us for ever.

28th January 2013

Pixie: Hi Jack, ‘Can we continue chatting through the site, I'm new and want to be safe. Reverting back to the point, the upturned face and cum in my mouth does push the right buttons. I would like to explore more with you. I am happy to send a picture when I know more about why you are here and what your expectations are. I guess - what do you want from being on this site? P xxx

No rejection, explore more with me! I liked this little Pixie, whoever she was. So after a history of misadventures and mostly unsatisfying encounters I was cautiously hopeful about The Vault’s Pixie.


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