Sex in the City

Sinead didn't only look out of this world; she was out of this world.

And having her luscious tits pressing on my lamentably flat board of a chest . . .

In truth that contact was astounding. Separated as we were by two thin sheets of cotton, the feel of my rock-hard nips on hers was beyond heaven. So too was our first private embrace. For my part, I was pressing groins together as well as chests. For Sinead's, she didn't object in the slightest.

Eventually, magnificently, she stepped away and removed her top. Call me Sherlock, but I'd already deduced she was bra-less beneath. Even so, the sight of her unleashed . . .

Fuck me yes, yes please!

That dark skin of hers was totally unspoilt up there. In the one snapshot I had seen of her she'd been wearing a rather skimpy bikini. Maybe they had better weather than West Yorkshire in Dublin, but she had obviously been out topless somewhere. There simply wasn't a white bit to be seen.

I remembered my own haven of a garden and sneakily snickered. Topless sunbathing was not exactly unheard of. My neighbour was elderly and thought that I was a bloke in any case. But I had not got an all-over tan like Sinead; not in my wildest dreams.

And that was before we bathed in Lanzarote sunshine . . . her with a mile and a half start on me.

Feeling the usual sense of shame, I removed my own top, neither slowly nor rapidly, just wanting that particular experience to be over with.

'Feckin hell yes,' Sinead gasped.

I glanced at her, expecting irony. But I'd badly misjudged. She was enraptured by my admittedly over-sized nips. In fact she got her mouth in there long before I could think of protesting.

As if!

Less than five minutes of eager attention and I'd cum in my knickers.

No change there, then.

Well, apart from changing to a new lover who'd been truly wafted here from paradise.

Our plan had involved me taking the lead. Aware that had gone by the board and determined to make some sort of amends, I knelt before her.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she purred.

Sinead's long shorts were much sexier than mine. As delicately as I could I eased them down, leaving her panties very much on her. Then, taking my time about it, I kissed, licked and nuzzled her legs. Still shakily standing, she moaned and groaned before gasping and sighing. Suitably encouraged, I gently closed my teeth about her panty-clad pussy.

Sinead went of vertically, like a Harrier Jump Jet. Believe me, if I hadn't caught hold of her she'd have burst out through the roof.

Not that a major lift-off made me break stride. No, I gripped tighter, holding her exactly where I wanted her to be, and bit again.

Cue the same result and similar levels of encouragement.

Recalling my phone sex promises, still kneeling before her, with Sinead rocking and rolling, I dipped a hand into her panties, licking and nuzzling her inside thigh.

'That's it, that's it,' she said, lilting and moaning at the same time. 'Feck me, girl, I think you're going to kill me.'

I removed my mouth long enough to say, 'No chance, I need you very much alive.'

Then I dived back in, face first.

*****

Being totally naked together was ace. Choosing "Bed Number One" happened without forethought or any sort of thought at all. We sixty-nined like starving women and could have carried on there forever, if only our stomachs hadn't started to rumble.

Yes, I know. I'm misusing "starving" and "ravenous" quite shamelessly. I guess what I am trying to say is that one sort of irrepressible hunger replaced the other. And that my suggestion of a quick snack at an Argentinian steakhouse went down very well.

'Aren't they like three tons of meat and feck the chips?'

'This one does do chips,' I assured Sinead. 'But it does three tons of meat as well.'

'It sounds like a sure bet to me. Food, a few beers and back here to this bed.'

'We may need to use another bed. To be fair to the bedsprings,' I added, 'to give them their share and all. I will take responsibility for that. And watch yourself in the bar later. Manuel wasn't merely looking at you; he was devouring you with his eyes.'

Sinead snorted. "I am from Barcelona," she said, her impression excellent.

'Please,' I implored.

'Keep me sober and I'll be good as gold. And I quite fancy Manuel. If you flake out on me I might give him a go.'

My laughter was sincere. 'Me flake out on you, girl? Yeah, right, in your dreams!'

Chapter Four

The steakhouse was even better than I'd made it out to be. And the need to watch out in the hotel bar never materialized. We stopped off at a couple of roadside bars on our way back but avoided the one in the hotel.

By then we were keen to progress, you see. We wanted to both be sober and didn't need the threat of a bloke getting in the way, even if he had zero prospects.

So we went back to our dinky bungalow and got naked again, even more deliciously than earlier. And, going back to our plan, I unfastened my most special case and produced a small section of my rather extensive toy collection.

During our phone sex sessions Sinead had told me she'd never used any sort of intimate toy. In reply I had assured her it was a part of adult life and nothing to be ashamed of. And we'd arrived at a sort of agreement.

(Make that yet another sort of agreement.)

'Here,' I said, showing her two medium-sized dildos, one supposedly flesh-coloured the other bright blue.

'Omigod,' she gasped, 'aren't they big!'

My knowledge of real cocks was, to say the least, limited. But they looked just about right to me.

Now I must admit that at that point in our planning we'd been vague. Showing a confidence that was in the most part bravado, I told her I'd demonstrate by using the blue one on me.

And then I did!

There on Bed Number Two, I slowly, tenderly frigged myself while Sinead watched me, rapt or maybe even entranced.

'Excellent,' I observed after a second self-induced cum, my excitement enhanced by Sinead's only too obvious appreciation. 'Next you get the choice: you do me or I do you.'

The glamorous redhead gulped. 'I couldn't possibly do anything like that.'

'Yes you could. And yes you will. But seeing as you have doubts, I'll do you first. Okay?'

Doing Sinead was beyond a privilege. No girl on earth could have been more responsive. Having her was rapture. And I did restrain myself. Going much slower, being at least ten times as tender as I had been with myself (as an out-and-out porno spectacle) I brought her off not twice but thrice.

Then I insisted she did me. And oh . . . my . . . God . . . wasn't she a fast learner!

Twice she did me, thrice . . . and on and on . . . onwards and upwards.

'Do you,' I as good as bleated when she had finally finished with me. 'I want to see what you like to do to yourself.'

'I don't know if I dare,' she replied.

Up for anything by then, I sweet-talked her into a duet: me doing myself with the flesh-coloured toy as she did herself with the blue one. That went so well it was relatively easy to persuade her to go a step further.

Yes, quite shamelessly, I strapped on and fucked her.

Thank heaven she loved it. To be honest she more than loved it, she was lost in adoration. And a little later . . . when we'd got our breath back . . . teaching her how to use my strapless device on me was a lifetime high.

Result!

*****

Seven nights in Puerto Del Carmen wasn't nearly long enough. At that stage . . . and forgive me if this is too much information . . . Sinead was still struggling to master (mistress?) the strapless device. She tended to use it with my harness, saying she was clumsy and needed to keep it in place. Even so, she could still use it like I know not what.

Clumsy but exceptionally vigorous . . . unpractised but unparalleled, always appreciated; that was her!

We did, for the record, get out and about. That Argentinian steakhouse saw us often. So too did a lot of nearby bars, as did the guy who ran the poolside shack; that had always been one of my favourite watering holes.

And I hadn't been wrong about suntans. I've never struggled but Sinead was like a solar litmus test. If exposed to sunlight she went instantly dark brown. I was seriously jealous, in the nicest possible way.

As an aside, I hate racist bastards, whether they are focused on skin colour or country of origin. But the thing that always gets to me is this: why does a certain type of white folk gripe on about "blacks" and then go out and try to fry their sad selves under a hot Mediterranean sun?

Yeah, and most of them generously covered in Spry Crisp 'n Dry!

Maybe it's because they haven't got one brain cell per dozen heads.

That's quite enough of me on my soapbox. Given the choice, my skin-tone would be Tahitian. Yes, in the unlikely event of being given the choice, I'd be grateful to look half as good as those extraordinary beauties who hail from that so beautiful island.

Well, we all have our dreams!

Just think of a nut brown, Tahitian Velma, running between palm trees, bouncing off them and yelling "I can't see without my glasses!'

Likely as not she'd be pursued by some hocus-pocus, would-be fiend . . . or else a severely aroused head-hunter, armed with jagged spears, daggers and all sorts of natural weapons.

Hot on her heels, hunting her head and goodness only knows what else . . . before or after!

Maybe not the image you'd expect, but I like it.

No, in a very perverse way, I love it.

Moving swiftly on . . .

Believe it or not we did sunbathe. And even more incredibly, we did talk. Okay, okay, most of our time poolside or on the beach we slept, restoring our batteries ahead of our next bout in bed. Conversation did, however, happen. On one occasion, by the pool and armed with "pints" of Estrella lager, we even talked shop.

Sinead was worried about that component of hers. I'd needed several replacements . . . all warrantied . . . and she was afraid my employers would ditch hers as a main supplier.

'How long will you stick with us?' she wondered. 'I mean we're investigating internally, but nobody has come up with a design fault yet. And none of our other customers have ever had problems.'

'I think it's us, not you,' I said, half trying to reassure her, half speaking honestly. 'Whatever you do, do not quote me on this, but we have been rushing our new system, cutting corners, trying to get it in, up and running before it becomes obsolete.'

'What do you mean, obsolete?'

'You know how it works. You set up a team to identify the best new product on the market. That takes a year or more. Then it takes three years to get "unanimous proposals agreed" and a realistic budget. Then it takes yonks to install, fine-tune and improve. By the time the system has been fully rolled out it has become a decade out of date. And you know how fast IT moves these days. A decade is like four centuries. Our super-duper new system is using quills and ink compared to the here and now.'

'You are such a cynic.'

'No, I'm a realist. I know how it all works.'

'Even so, our part is your weakest link.'

'That's not how I see it. I may be a techie but I can programme very well. And I'm not convinced Kat's colleagues are as good as she is. When Kat's away, things go astray.'

'Ah yes,' said Sinead, 'Katrina; your every other year lover.'

'She's gone for good this time,' I replied, swigging beer. 'There isn't going to be a happy homecoming, whenever she does deign to return.'

(I was speaking frankly at the time. Not being a fortune teller, I had no idea as to the circumstances in which Kat would make her latest comeback. Or how sympathetically I would react, come to that.)

'So,' said Sinead, 'you're back on the market. And I understand it's a big market indeed. I'm honoured you've stayed by my side all week.'

'You've been using up all my sex drive,' I countered with a grin. 'And we've been living together. That combination of circumstances always works for me.' Then, recalling my last few weeks with Kat, 'Well, it always used to work.'

'So if we live together you're exclusively mine?'

'Yeah, but normally we are two hundred and odd miles apart, not to mention separated by a notorious stretch of rough sea. I see that as somewhat a problem when it comes to living together.'

It was Sinead's turn to grin. 'I warned you about that already,' she smirked. 'When I do get you to my place I'm going to chain you to my double bed. There will be no escape.'

'Sounds like a plan,' said I, laughing.

*****

Our holiday SOP (standard operating procedure) was to fuck the night away. But we also took regular siestas, in which sleep played little part. Without revealing all our secrets, in reality we took hardly any notice of "agreed times" and just fucked whenever the urge came upon us. That happened a lot, quite often on the spur of the moment.

At the time I thought it was far and away the best week of my life. And then we went to Dublin . . .

Chapter Five

'It's the biggest city in the world,' Sinead said as we circled in to land, clearly more than ready to start the second week of our long-awaited liaison. 'Because it's Dublin all the time, isn't it?'

I'd heard that before, more than once, but duly laughed along. In all honesty I had reservations about being on Sinead's home turf. Not that I had one single reservation about the girl herself, or about the old (if not forgotten) differences between her home city and London. No, my reservations were about my inner feelings.

The more I saw, the more I liked her.

A mere seven days (minus three years of flirting) and suddenly she'd become important. No, suddenly she'd become more than important. Suddenly she'd become exceptionally important. I was attracted to her beyond all reason.

For fuck's sake, I was attracted to her almost as strongly as I'd been addicted to Kat. That was to say I was attracted incredibly strongly. And so far we'd been on neutral territory.

So far I'd been the one with a vestige of control . . .

'What's the plan?' I asked out loud, and not for the first time. Apart from promising to chain my ass to her bed, Sinead had been evasive about the forthcoming week.

'We're going to do the tourist same-old,' she said now. 'lots and lots of cathedrals; Croke Park and the Ha'penny Bridge; the Old Jameson Distillery; Phoenix Park and the unmissable Guinness Tour; not to forget Trinity College. I'll think of other places as we go along.'

'Sounds like a busy week, considering I'm going to be chained up.'

'I'll save the chains until it's nearly time for your plane to Leeds/Bradford. Meanwhile we can see all the sights, eat fine food and drink plenty of scoops.'

Puzzled by "scoops", I sighed. 'And I'd been so looking forward to being bound to your bed . . .'

*****

By typical airport to city centre standards Sinead's home wasn't far away. It was probably shorter than the drive from the airport on Lanzarote to the time-share. Thanks to relentless traffic, it took the taxi in Eire at least twice as long.

Still, the gradually change of scenery impressed me. From relatively open green pasture (the Emerald Isle of my daydreams) we eventually crawled into an increasingly bustling metropolis. How to describe it? I can only compare the city centre with London or New York. Much smaller as it was, the place had a definite buzz about it. It was a place with a pulse, a city where things happened all the time.

Good things and maybe bad things, but exciting things nevertheless.

Sinead lived in Temple Bar, an area which buzzed exceptionally loudly. I struggled to remember any other part of a town with more nightclubs, restaurants and pubs. Even at that time of day, three in the afternoon, everywhere was booming.

'This is dead,' Sinead assured me. 'Wait 'til you see what it's like later tonight. This is the calm before the storm. We can do a whole lot better than this.'

Her house was actually an apartment, two floors up in a terraced row mostly featuring pubs and clubs.

(And surprise, surprise at that!)

'This is an expensive part of town,' she told me. 'It's D2, and mine is a relative hovel.'

'Looks good to me,' I said sincerely.

Sinead squeezed my hand, perhaps thinking I was sparing her feelings. 'I may well be slumming,' she told me, 'compared to most of my neighbours, I mean, but I am not just renting; I'm buying.'

'Respect,' I said, even more sincerely. Then, infinitely more practically, 'Where's your bedroom?'

'Don't you want the grand tour?'

I sniggered. From what I had already seen Sinead's apartment was modern and trendy. But I was due to be there a week, wasn't I? Who needed to admire the décor straightaway when there were modern and trendy bed springs to strain?

Not me.

'The tour can wait,' I said. 'I can think of better things to do just now.'

Praise the Lord, so could Sinead. Grabbing my hand, she dragged me in the right direction.

'Here we are,' she said breathlessly, 'get your kit off.'

Ask me to describe her bedroom and I can give you chapter and verse. But not right then I couldn't. At that moment surroundings were a blur. All I was conscious of was a bed with wooden rails at the head end and my hands ripping off my (relatively modest) layer of clothing.

'Where is it?' Sinead demanded.

Intuitively understanding, I pointed at my backpack and carried on removing my shorts and panties.

Lady juice was already trickling down my thighs, exciting me exponentially.

'Where are the chains?' I demanded eagerly.'

'I haven't got any.'

'You what . . .'

'We'll have to use scarves instead.'

That compromise worked for me okay. As naked as the day I was born, copiously leaking like never in recorded history, I threw myself on my back on the bed.

'Tie me,' I commanded. 'Tie me right now.'

'Hey,' Sinead countered, 'I'm the boss.'

I squirmed deliciously at that, all for it.

'So bind me, Boss,' I said as seductively as possible. 'Make me your plaything.'

She had produced four scarves out of thin air, all very much suitable for purpose, two of them black, the others a sexy deep blue. Using the blue ones she efficiently secured my arms to two appropriate rails.

And I came.

Yes, simple as that; the build-up had been way too much. That self-control I so often boast about was nowhere to be found.

As if Sinead cared about such trivialities. Gulping in air, I watched her strip and step into my harness.

How sexy, how elegant was she!

And surprise, surprise: yet again, she'd gone for my strapless affair.

Totally unfazed, I gazed up at her.

'I could tie your legs as well,' she said, waving the black scarves.'

'Leave 'em for now,' I replied. 'I'm yours as it is, aren't I? You're free to do anything and everything.'

'This is consensual, isn't it?'

'Too true it is. So are you gonna fuck me or what?'

Chapter Six

Did I recently say Sinead was still struggling to master my strapless device? Delete such nonsense at once. That afternoon she was no less than superb. In all honesty, she's been superb ever since. Yes, so she did have the benefit of my harness . . . but only initially. As the clock ticked on she discarded it and took me the way we both wanted.

What was that? More detail required? Okay, here goes . . .

At first Sinead knelt between my parted legs and fucked me quite beautifully. She constantly varied all the essentials such as depth, speed, rhythm, strength and intensity, going at me endlessly, as though she had all the time and energy in the world, keeping me eternally on edge, unsure as to what delight I'd experience next.

Scrap "superb", she was supreme.

And didn't I respond!

That first cum never seemed to go away. It just continued and continued, keeping me up on a plateau of ecstasy, punctuated every so often by eruptions on the scale of supernovas. I kid you not (even if I am explaining this badly) those explosions shook me to the core. Starting in my kitty the thrill raced all the way through me in an instant, rattling every last atom of my being.