I am liquid

I am liquid.
Cup me and feel me drip over your fingers.
Close your lips over my open mouth
And lick trails down my body,
Get on your knees and lap at my wetness,
Drink me down, suck me greedily into your mouth.
You can enter me however you like,
Feel me flow around you to accommodate you
And slide all over your skin.
You probe lightly with the tip of your fingers,
Like you test the temperature before a swim,
But I’m always running hot for you,
So much so I gently mist over
And float above my own skin.
So you touch and quickly jump in,
Fill all of me and pound roughly,
And every entrance strikes against
The bits of me that are still solid,
Tears through them and more liquid wells up –
There’s so much swilling in the depths
Just waiting for a reason to come out.
Don’t be gentle with me.
You can’t catch water with only your fingers.
You need to capture me in both of your palms,
Make me fill all the space in your fists.
Drag me down into the darkness and heat,
In the primordial state from which I erupt,
Fill up the tunnels through which I normally flow
And feel the pressure build against the tightness
Until I find my release and make it spray on your skin.
I am messy. I always overflow and spill,
Connecting you to me in sticky strands,
And I am loud. Gurgles as I crash against my bed,
And those wet slapping sounds at every dip into me,
Every plunge that ripples over me in screams.
I do not understand barriers.
I will splash against your skin, and burrow deeper,
Until I run down your mouth and through your veins.
I will leave bits of me inside, and keep bits from you.
You will have me, and I’ll take something for it,
Every touch switching pieces between us,
Every contact marking a structural change.
And then I’ll flow back into my form,
Pretend again that I am human as I rest on your chest,
But you know better now – you know I am liquid,
Spit and sweat and tears of pleasure,
Pounding blood and a flood of excitement,
And I can’t wait for you to make me come out again.

The Story of Us

So he came over…

(This is in reference to my last blog post, If you came tomorrow…)

Reality couldn’t be further away from my little fantasy.

Compared to our usual half an hour, the two whole hours he had free before the lesson this week were a hell of a treat. I had so many thoughts about how I wanted to fill them. And I do start as planned, satin robe (though not the red one) and a bare, wet pussy. But he has this distracted look on his face as he comes in, so I can’t just jump him. I get out of the way, let him take his jacket off, and only after give him a shy kiss. I want more than anything in the world for him to drag me to him and probe my pussy, but he obviously doesn’t. I follow him in the living room, where he sits on the sofa, and I try to sit on him, make him hug me.

“My hands are really cold.”

“That’s alright, I’m going to warm you up.” So cheesy of me, I know. I kind of awkwardly sit next to him, his hands in mine, and I press them lightly against my chest as I do actually try to warm him up a little bit. “Tea?” I ask, getting up, when this doesn’t have any effect.

“Yes, thanks.”

“The boring kind?” I smile.

I’m sensitive about tea. I might have more types in my cupboard than most small-to-medium tea shops, all proper, loose-leaf. I have shops in which employees know me by name and we complain together about oh-that-awesome-flavour-they-used-to-make-2-years-ago-but-they-stopped. I got myself a tea advent calendar this year. In short, I’m a tea snob. And the mister, he complains about me not having the plainest possible English breakfast. So… I sighed really heard and went to buy him tea bags of English breakfast. I don’t think I ever loved anyone else enough to make such a sacrifice.

“Oh, let me see which,” he says, coming after me. “Meh. I don’t like that kind.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Consider throwing tea at him. But plain and bagged as it might be, it’s still tea. I instead open the cupboard and gesture towards the couple dozens (which is not a hyperbole) of packs. “Then choose another one.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he rushes, hands up in defence. He must have felt my intentions.

I put the water to boil and go to grab a glass. I know it’s strange, but I drink tea in glasses, for the only reason that they hold double as much as a cup. “What, are you actually going to make it in that?” I stop, grumble, ignore his second ‘oh it was only a joke’ and get him a cup. While I finish his, and make myself a proper drink (there’s a seasonal tea that tastes like eggnog, it’s freaking amazing!) he starts asking about my day and the lunch I had with a friend. The takeaway boxes are in front of him on the counter, and rather than wait for me to answer what we had, he pulls them to him, opens, looks at the labels and steals the leftover fries. My heart gives a painfully happy pulse at how comfortable he seems around my house. I really want to hug him tightly and kiss him properly already. So, maybe I’m not as pleased as I should be when he asks me if I have milk. I have only one particular type of milk in mind and I won’t find it in the fridge.

“And sugar? Hey, don’t curse me because I asked you for sugar!”

“I’m not!” I protest, turning to grab the sugar from the counter. Put it in front of him and then realize there’s no spoon, so go back for that. That doesn’t mean I’m not a little bit exasperated at how wet my pussy is getting, without him even touching me, but I’m not swearing. Yet.

“You are! I can hear you!”

He’s a pain, but he’s a cute one, so we both laugh as we take our teas to the table. We fumble with the drapes for a bit, not very successfully, while I desperately try to convince him it’s a sign we should be staying in bed rather than the living room, he turns on the TV, and stares open-mouthed at the vast array of sweets on display, but as always, doesn’t eat any. Sometime in the middle of it, my hands find their way to his belt, and when we next sit on the sofa, he unzips himself and I start stroking his hard cock, leaning over to taste him. It’s not the most amazing angle to play with his balls, and when he stands again to kick the trousers away completely, I go to my knees, following him around as I try to get more of him into my mouth. He sits back and lets me have fun, licking him up and down, licking his balls before sucking them into my mouth, and pushing myself down his cock until I’m almost choking. My lips almost reach down to his balls. It’s not the first time I’m quite thrilled he’s not too big. But all too soon, he pushes my head softly away and pulls his boxers back up. I protest slightly, but sit back on the sofa, fully expecting him to at least now play with me.

He doesn’t.

“You said you wanted a massage.” Yes, can you please freaking massage my pussy already? “Do you have oil?”


“Ok, go get the oil, put some knickers on and lay down.”


“You need to lay down for me to massage you properly.”

Ass. He knows full well what I mean. There’s no way I’m putting clothes ON for a massage. A massage is a good opportunity to take them off, not the other way around. So completely ignoring that instruction, I get the oil and lay down. He, to my disappointment, does put his T-shirt back on and actually proceeds with a nice but way too proper massage. He even tells me to be good and relax when I try to turn around and grab his cock, and completely ignores me as I try to push my ass up and into his hands. He just works the oil into my skin, loosens my tense back muscles, and watches TV.

That is not what I had meant with massage. A massage is that thing in which you let your fingers brush the sides of breasts, or go under the hips to grab that sensitive area by the hipbones, pulling up to make my back arch and my legs open. It’s that thing where you press so hard into the ass muscles you make me squirm in pain just before you slap me hard. You drag the oil down my body and let it slide over my ass and pool a little in the hole, but you ignore it completely and start playing with my pussy, which is 10 times wetter and more slippery than any amount of oil would make it. And then, ideally, you turn me around so I don’t have to strain my muscles lifting my ass high in the air to give you better access, and you get to play with my hard nipples, and you’ve got the best angle to curl your fingers upwards inside me and make me squirt. I shouldn’t have to ask you to do this. You should know to do this. Hell, there’s absolutely no way you can miss how horny I am.

You should absolutely not, under any circumstances, just give me a proper back massage than sit back on the sofa to watch TV. Which he obviously does.

I stay on the floor 10 more seconds, counting them in my head, trying to get myself under control. Then I move to the sofa, next to him, and open my legs really wide, hoping he’d finally get the message.

“Oh, be good. Let’s just watch some TV.”

“I don’t think you understand nearly how wet I am if you can say that. Here…”

I try to take his hand and put it on my pussy, but he pulls back, saying how he’s still oily. I close my legs, finally fully flustered. I don’t know how to react to this. I mean, the whole point of whatever it is we’re doing is that it’s just fun. Call me crazy, but refusing sex and holding me as we watch TV together sounds to me like relationship territory, not fun – the been-married-for-several-years kind of relationship too. I want him. I want his fingers and his cock and his fucking attention. Now. My pussy is so drenched it’s getting painful to just shift my position, and he wouldn’t touch me.

I don’t know what I say to trigger the discussion – it isn’t something as pathetic as ‘oh, you don’t want me’, but it isn’t too far off either. It’s still whiny and confused, and when he says that of course he enjoys being with me, why else would he be here, I mumble a brilliant ‘I don’t know, ’cause you’re… nice’.

“I’m nice?” he repeats, finally looking at me. “Do you think I go to all my students’ places and get my dick sucked because I’m so nice? Would I get so hard if it was just cause I’m nice?”

Well, said like that, it doesn’t make much sense. But I’m not completely insane for saying it, am I? Imagine a guy and a girl. Girl has huge crush on guy, guy is pretty indifferent. He’s still going to let her suck his dick every once in a while – he’s not crazy, right? – but he’s not too enthusiastic about anything else. So when he does come over, it does feel like he’s just indulging her.

“No, it’s just… you don’t seem to be really attracted to me.”

“Mei,” – cringe, does anybody else feel really awkward when a guy uses your name? – “this is the third time we’ve been together, right? I make time to be here with you. And you think because I haven’t fucked you yet I’m not attracted to you? Think about that for a second.”

I do think about it. Another possibility skirts the edges of my mind, something along the lines of ‘oh he must mean that he really cares for you that’s why he doesn’t want to rush into things’, but caring for and being attracted aren’t perfect synonyms. It doesn’t completely invalidate my point. I open my mouth, but I don’t know how to put this into words.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you’ve just sucked my dick! Talk to me.”

“Sucking dick is easy! I’m good at that. This… takes more effort.”

“It’s ok. And it’s also ok if you don’t want to talk about it.”

I smile. Maybe it’s stupid, but in the middle of our.. contradiction, this strikes me as quite considerate.

“No, it’s alright. I just… I don’t know. I’m used to attraction… I have this, maybe wrong, idea, that I have to actively do something to deserve this, to keep the other person interested. And… you’re not letting me do stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s right for me to just come, fuck you and leave. You might not like not doing anything, but wouldn’t you feel worse if I just fucked you and that’s it?”

“I… If that’s how it was from the beginning, I wouldn’t have known any better.”

“So you wouldn’t have minded if I fucked you and left?”

“I don’t know! No, if it was like that from the start, I definitely wouldn’t have minded. But now that you showed me the other alternative, I have no idea.”

I don’t say it in so many words, so I’m not sure if he gets it. But I’ve never been with anyone who didn’t want to fuck me – or, more exactly, if what he’s getting at is true, who wanted to fuck me but didn’t. I don’t understand the fundamental problem with ‘fucking and leaving’ because all I’ve ever known was meeting someone for sex, finishing and both of us minding our own business. How ironic is it that I have to be with the first person who insists not to be in a relationship with me to give me a vague idea of what a healthy, respectful relationship should be like?

“Well, it’s wrong to… or maybe it’s not wrong, but it’s just not my style to do that. I’ve never been one for that. I don’t like rushing into things. I don’t do one night stands. Making love to someone, it takes time to get to that. And I am here. I don’t care how nice you think I am, trust me, if I didn’t really want to be here, I would not be. Do you have any idea how many other things I could be doing right now? I really value my time, Mei. And I’m giving you my time. That’s the best I can do.”

I sit there for a second, considering what he said. I finally offer him a tentative smile.

“I wish I met someone like you earlier.” Damn, how different things would have gone. It’s easy to say ‘have self-respect’, – and I was probably pretty crap at that to begin with – but do you really understand what that is until someone shows you what that looks like?

“Things happen the way they do for a reason.”

I smile. So cheesy. I kiss him and tidy myself up. The robe I threw on my shoulders in the middle of our discussion, I get up to close it properly, then I go to my bedroom to bring a cover for us. I drape it over him and cuddle into his chest, and we’re nice and watch TV together. It’s a bit awkward – I don’t know if he wants to talk or not, and I keep trying to open subjects. I feel like I should use the time to get to know him better, but I don’t know how. And at the same time, a small part of me is pissed off. Not wanting to make it all about sex and giving me some pleasure are two different things. I’m unbearably fucking wet, and if I can suck him, I don’t see why he can’t stick two fingers in my pussy and make me come. I want to say it’s not fair, but I absolutely don’t want to give the vaguest impression that I’m not enjoying playing with his cock, or that I expect something in return for it. So I don’t. But in the next half hour or so, all my ego goes out the window, so by the time he has to leave I must have asked him a dozen times to play with me, and clung to him so tightly he had to actually push me away to be able to get dressed.


Obviously, the first thing I do once he’s out the door is get my vibrator. I’m normally a fan of playing with my clit and making myself wait for it, but a single touch is enough to confirm that yes, that’s not going to do it tonight. I push it all the way in, moaning loudly as the other two ends brush against my clit and push into my ass. My phone beeps. I look at it as I continue to pump the vibrator in and out of my pussy.

Karim has sent me a picture of my flat. From the outside, ground floor. What the…


Showing you your flat

Did u just leave so u can stalk me? :p

Lol. I am behind you

I take a picture of my pussy and send it to him.

… would be really intriguing in this context


I am so fucking wet i cant believe u didnt put ur fingers inside me at least.. i would have squirted so hard

He doesn’t answer, so I put the phone aside and turn on the vibrations. I fiddle with the selections a little, until I decide none of the pulses or softer program satisfies me. I leave it on the higher, steady vibration and try to play with my clit, but it’s gone a little dry while I was texting. I drag the vibrator up and, fuck, I didn’t expect it would feel so good. The end is big and bulky, so it doesn’t deliver a concentrated pulse, but spreads it nicely over the whole area. I leave it there, playing with my nipples. It’s less than a minute before I come. But… it’s not the way I expect.

I feel my pussy contracting once before a hot wave of liquid gushes out of me, down over my ass. I half sit up, startled. Did I just… I know I’m capable of squirting, but I’ve never made myself do it. But now that I started and I can explore… I move the vibrator back into position, dragging it in place a little, between my labia, more or less directly on my clit, until I find that sweet spot again. It takes barely any time until I’m coming again. Not just coming. I look downwards as I do, and the liquid sprays out of me, on the cover at the end of the bed. I keep the vibrator in place. I start tightening again, and fuck, the pressure builds so tightly it makes me scream. A whole arch of it gushes out of me, drenching everything. Something tells me I could keep going, but I can already feel the liquid seeping into the bed, so I stop. When I get up, my robe is so wet it drips. I stare open-mouthed at the huge spot I made. Seems porn is not completely unrealistic afterall.

I snap a quick picture of it and send it to Karim before I start cleaning up.

… told you so





If you came tomorrow…

… I’d suck you the second you close the door.

Imagine this.

I am wearing my red satin robe and nothing else. My hair is freshly washed, my pussy is freshly shaven, and I am close to jumping out of my skin. My abdomen has been tight since you called to say you are coming over, and my juices are leaking ever so slightly down my thighs. I’m slippery and more than ready for you.

I pull the robe closed, but don’t tie it when you knock on the door. You stop a little, seeing me like this, and damn, is it cold outside. The wind sneaks in the house and up my body, and I can feel my nipples getting even stiffer from the temperature change. The soft satin drags over them as I move to let you in. I didn’t use to have sensitive breasts, but you always pinch and twist my nipples, I got used to being excited by it, so the caress is a nice reminder of what is to come. The second you close the door, I step in, letting my robe flutter open, and press myself into your body. Your clothes are so cold they make me shiver, but you immediately answer my greedy kiss, so the shiver ends up settling between my legs. And speaking of, my hand automatically goes to your groin. You are hard, the length of you almost waiting to push back against my palm. I suppose you’ve been running this in your mind for as long as I have.

“Hello,” you finally say when my fingers are already working your belt loose.

“Take your clothes off.” Not in the mood to be polite. I’d much rather you grab my hair, pull my head back and start kissing my neck and tits.

I drop to my knees, pulling your jeans and boxers down with me. The floor is cold under my knees, and I wish I thought about that before, but I can’t be bothered. Your dick springs up, hard and already leaking precum, and you give a soft moan. God, you are gorgeous. I briefly consider grabbing you and shoving you all the way down my throat directly, but I’d just choke. Instead, I put my tongue out and start gently licking the underside of your shaft. I go all the way down to your balls, over which I quickly swirl my tongue and suck them into my mouth. I trail my hand over your now bare abdomen before circling the base of your dick. Time to start the fun. I pull your cock ever so slightly down to give myself better access, release your balls with a rather loud, wet pop that makes me smile, and lick my way back up. I stop at the very tip, my taste buds exploding with the taste of your precum. And then I start moving my tongue. No lips, no hand, just my tongue, lapping at the sensitive head until I hear you mutter that delighted “fuck, bitch”. I stop for a second then, lick my lips, and take you properly into my mouth, my tongue ever so slightly out to wet you, make you slide easier, and my lips tight against your skin. I press myself into you, too far, to fast, as always, and I have to stop for a second, your dick deep inside, to fight the need to choke. I come back up, pop you out of my mouth, lick you up and down until the sensation subsides. And then I do it again. Just a little bit, just too much. I think you can feel my throat starting to contract around you, because you never push, even though you are getting more vocal by now, and your hand is fisted tightly in my hair. I look up at you and smile before settling into a nice rhythm, my tongue pressing tighter against your cock as I suck you in, my lips tightening with more suction as I retreat, and my hand following it with a harder squeeze.

I think about the full-length mirror behind me. I consider pushing my robe to the side, arching my back and shoving a couple fingers in my wet pussy. You would love watching me masturbate as I suck your dick. I wonder if my moans would make your blowjob feel more pleasurable. But that’s not my style. I don’t like my own fingers inside me, only yours, and I’d find it hard to concentrate on sucking properly. Not that you ever complain. Whenever I enjoy your fingers enough to abandon your cock, you only seem to finger me harder.

You fist your hand in my hair and pull me back. It’s an unexpected move, and I make a sound of protest before your dick completely slips out of my mouth, to which you smile.

“Should we move somewhere more comfortable?”

Part of me wants to say no, I want to make you shoot your hot come down my throat right where you stand. But to be honest my body is not thrilled with the position. You’re always so considerate. I stand up, replacing my mouth with my hand around your cock, and kiss you, before angling for my open bedroom door. You somehow kick your shoes and jeans away as you follow me, our lips still locked, your hands moving over my hips and down my ass. Your fingers slip lower, and I moan loudly when you touch my pussy. I’m painfully wet by now, and the position pulls me tight against your hard cock. I can feel its wet tip pressing against my belly. I wish it was lower. When the back of my legs hit the edge of the bed, I just let myself fall backwards, legs really far apart. I’m not verbally begging you to fuck me already, but I think my body does a decent job.

Your fingers start rubbing lightly, and I almost squirm at the touch. You’re going to take forever now, aren’t you? My clit is thrilled with the treatment, obviously, but my pussy is screaming already.

I try to sit up, hungry for your cock again already, but you only let me go halfway before you push me back on the bed. I make a sound of protest, but the sudden movement is quite thrilling. It doesn’t hurt that your other hand hasn’t stopped rubbing my sensitive clit. My hips move on their own, trying to drag your fingers downwards. I sit up again, and you don’t push me back, but place a hand on my shoulder and keep me there when I’m only reclining.

“I want your dick.”

“I know. You’ll have it in a minute. You have to wait for it. Go up.”

I scoot over, giving you space to kneel on the bed. My legs fall even wider open, my feet resting on your hips. The look of your hard cock so close to my pussy is maddening, and my body arches towards yours of its own accord.

You stop playing with my clit. Your hand comes down hard on my ass, making me gasp. “Wait, bitch.” And then you shove two fingers inside my tight pussy. I cry out a delighted ‘fuck’ and close my eyes against the intensity of the sensation. You push your fingers all the way inside first, once, twice, take them out to spread the juice around my already soaked pussy, and when you put them inside again, you curl your fingers upwards. I moan loudly as my muscles tighten around you. You just started, but I can already feel my orgasm start to build.

“Umm that’s a good girl. You’re so wet for me. Did you masturbate before I came?” I bite my lips against a scream as you change the angle of your hand, driving your fingers harder into my G-spot. Your knuckles are starting to put pressure on my ass as well as they pulse in and out. I can only shake my head no at your question. “No, you wanted my fingers in your sweet pussy, didn’t you? Do you want my dick inside? Do you want me to fuck you?”

A shudder passes through me. A light orgasm, making me gush some more in preparation of what is to come. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and my fingers find my nipples and squeeze, trying to soothe the ache in them. My body is coiling in expectation. Your free hand caresses my leg lightly before taking it and placing it on your shoulder. I must have been pushing against your hip. The new angle opens me up a little and your fingers slide in deeper, faster, making me whimper.

“That’s it. Let it go, baby. Come for me.”

“I’m… I’m gonna squirt,” I whisper. My pussy is burning, the liquid starting to gather.

You don’t answer, but your fingers press even deeper. That’s all I need. I explode. My spine pops loudly as it jerks my body upwards, then violently back against the bed. My pussy tightens once, and starts pulsing rhythmically, pushing against your fingers, squeezing my juices past them. I hear you swear. I wish I could see your reaction to me, but I’m tearing up from the intensity. You take your fingers out, and I can feel more shoot out of me, but as I tighten I already feel empty.

I would protest, but you don’t give me time. The hand you had on my leg moves to my hip, and you press hard downwards as you shove your dick into me. Fuck, you have no idea how good it feels to be filled. I scream, and you promptly cover my mouth with your hand, smearing my juices all over my face. I smell… sweet, the musky kind, and my mouth opens a little so I can taste it better. A finger immediately finds its place inside, the flavour opening and bursting across the back of my mouth. You start pumping your hips, not too fast, but hard enough to feel your balls slapping against my body on every thrust. Your stiff cock presses against my inner walls, but doesn’t quite give me the stimulation from before. It’s a difficult angle to get it, so I twist around, following the tingling feeling in my pussy that says I’m on the right track for the next orgasm.

As soon as my ass leaves the mattress, you give it a hard smack, the resulting shudder shoving me straight into your pounding cock. It hits exactly right this time, and I moan, trying to settle into the position despite my muscles screaming at the stretch. You slap me again, even harder. My skin is starting to smart, but your fingers trace between my legs, catch some moisture and start rubbing it into my ass. First on the cheeks, but as soon as you feel me relaxing, you trail down between them. You just trace my asshole for a second, your thumb pressing against the tight entrance. And then you push inside. A single finger, gently, slowly, up to the first knuckle before you extract it to trail it between my ass and my pussy, letting more liquid build up and pool in the hole. You push your finger all the way inside this time.

I don’t know what does it. The friction itself, the contrast between your hard dick slamming into my pussy and the gentle probing of my ass, the knowledge that you probably feel your own cock through the thin tissue inside me… or maybe just the fact that you didn’t ask before you fucked me, before you did anything even though it’s never been like this – the fact that you act like my pussy and ass belong to you, like you own me… which you totally do. The orgasm hits harder this time, and more unexpected. My muscles are so tight, my abdomen already hurting from my last one, that there is no marked warning, just the sudden feeling of release, with even more muscles contracting so hard it’s painful. And you fuck me through it, draw it out, until I almost want to tell you to stop, but of course I never would. I love the sounds you make, some of them whispers that get me even hotter, some just unarticulated moans of pleasure. For my part, I just scream, enjoying the feeling of your hand over my mouth, and try to ride it out. My body relaxes slowly as it finishes, dripping limply into place to let you enjoy yourself too.

You last mere seconds longer. I think you were just holding on for me to finish. You disentangle yourself from my legs, push my leg down and climb higher up the bed and stand over me. I wish I could start sucking you properly, get you to finish in my mouth, but I don’t have the coordination after that mindblowing fuck. You grab my hair and yank my head up, and even after all this I moan at the sensation. Your other hand goes around your dick and starts pumping it, fast. I close my eyes and put my tongue out. When your come shoots out, only a little finds it, most of the hot strings landing on my cheeks and chin, and dribbles down. I wonder if I have some in my hair. I don’t dislike the possibility. You finish properly, wipe the tip of your cock against my tongue, and roll out from over me.

“Excuse you, some help?” I mutter, not daring to move. I tentatively try to open an eye, and nothing sticky falls into it. So far so good.

“Yes, let’s clean this mess together.”

You lean over, your fingers gathering your come and scooping it into my open mouth, while you come to kiss my other cheek, your tongue coming out to lick some of it. I shiver. You have no idea how sexy it is that you’re so okay with tasting yourself on me. Fuck, I so wish you’d just come into my wet pussy and lick me clean, lick me until I squirt and drench your face in our juices combined.

“This was. So. Fucking. Good,” I whisper, settling in your arms, against your chest once I’m relatively clean.

“Good.” You kiss me, tightening your hug. “I think we even have time for round two before we have to get ready for class.”

My eyes pop open at the suggestion. I am fucking sore, and yet my pussy clenches automatically at the possibility.

Fuck. Me.




The characters

Hello, and welcome to my story (Very early warning: explicit language and erotic content to follow. Yes, it’s that kind of story.):

Meet me – I’m an Eastern European girl in my early 20s, a Masters’ student, living in central London, with my mother visiting WAY too often (she does pay the rent though, so pros and cons). Imagine someone of average height, average weight – I will confidently, and quite proudly characterise myself as ‘fluffy’. I know I’m by no measure fat, but I’m not going to look model-fit anytime soon, and I don’t think being soft and cuddly is that much of a burden -, with that average shade of blonde hair that if you are drunk enough will be the subject of a debate whether it is actually blonde or brown, and if you are REALLY drunk and argumentative will fuel the second heated debate about why on earth you’re debating something of so little importance. I have full lips that are somehow permanently dry no matter how much I hydrate, and light eyes that would look quite well if I ever made the effort to put on some makeup. I clean up nice – and rarely. My fashion style consists in grabbing the first comfortable thing from the wardrobe, checking if it fits the weather (but never the season) and going out. In short, I don’t look bad, but I am not beautiful. I am relatively intelligent, kind of funny, plenty shy, and one of the most loyal friends you will ever have. I am an awesome person, but you have to get to know me to see that. Skin-deep and all that.

Regarding skin-deep… that all changes when my clothes come off. I mean, sure, I don’t become a supermodel, but my eyes seem to magically become very attractive when I’m on my knees and look up as I’m blowing someone. I am fun – according to all reviews so far, very unexpectedly so. I love to experiment, you would be very hard pressed to find something I’m not at the very least willing to try once in the bedroom. I am bisexual, but let me qualify that because it means different things and degrees to different people. I am not particularly attracted to women. But imagine you are not particularly attracted to brunettes. If you like everything else about your potential partner, I doubt you will say sorry, your hair colour is a real deal breaker for me. If I like you, your sex, age, ethnicity, religion etc etc becomes irrelevant. Though I will admit I’m a bit partial to older, darker-skinned people, and I generally like dick more than pussy.


Enters Karim. Now, very important for the events in this story, I am learning something. For plausible deniability, I will not clarify whether it is a martial art, combat system or specific self-defence course, only that it is practical, ABSOLUTELY AMAZING, and quite painful, hence the blog title. I am quite sure I am covered in bruises more often than not. Feel free to imagine me in anything from gis to boxing gloves to military camo. Whatever tickles your fancy. I have two instructors (/trainers/senseis/etc) and both are some of the most incredible people you may ever have the fortune of meeting. To easily distinguish them, let us call the more senior one the master -and yes, it does tie in nicely with the double meaning- and the other one the instructor. I’m not quite sure how to describe Master S, or by his given name, Karim* – though you will have a loong long blog ahead that attempts to do just that. He is a good looking man (that is the conservative term verified by other people, in my own view that jumps directly to ‘insanely attractive’), slightly older than double my age, really funny, really intelligent, really … I can go on indefinitely, at one point I literally had to sit down and focus intensely on trying to find a single fault he might have. I didn’t at the time. I know him better now, he’s not actually punctually perfect – only on average. And the thing is… for any of you who are into historical/fantasy romance, and you get this alpha-male coming in, relatively average, and then he starts moving? He fights someone, brandishes a sword, does some fancy kung-fu moves and all the panties in the audience suddenly drop? To me, that always sounded unrealistic. Until I met Karim. Seeing him move is a freaking revelation. It’s poetry in motion, or looks like he doesn’t need touch the ground, or whatever literary flourish you might want me to produce, but in short – it. is. HOT. It actually makes my mouth water, and it’s not once that I had to shift my body weight because I was getting too wet just watching him. I decided in the exact first 5 minutes of coming to his class that I am going to do this [sport] for the rest of my life. It probably took far less than that to decide I want to see how his skills translate into the bedroom.

*Disclaimer: Karim is not his real name. His actual name, for some reason, sounds absolutely delicious to me, and the first time I heard it I ran home and did a really stupid schoolgirl-with-a-crush thing and just repeated it for ages. Karim is the closest I could come to that effect, and it took me forever to settle on it. The meaning might have influenced my decisio – ‘generous’. Out of that long list of qualities, one that I have to specifically mention is his kindness. It always struck me how much time and effort, consideration and respect he is willing to give others. I was just one student in a big class, and he was the most knowledgeable person on earth, yet he always treated me like I was a… person, like I was important, like, in a very strange way, I was his equal, because what I did and said and thought was just as valid and relevant. It’s possibly a bit of a sad reflection on my social interactions that this behaviour is so shocking to me, but I honestly don’t think there are that many people who are quite so good in the world.


This blog. To be honest, I don’t know how this blog would go. It might be cheesy, romantic, full of emotional rants, or it might be straight-up hot and steamy erotica. What I do know, though, is that everything I write is REAL. This is my actual life. Sure, I will take some liberties to cover up the moronic responses I sometimes produce, or to make the action flow smoother or make up for the many many parts that aren’t included (I’m not going to document every single glance we share, after all), but generally speaking, if you like the story, it’s not because I am a great writer (though obviously I am), it is because I am lucky enough to have a freaking awesome life. This is also an on-going story. At the moment I write this, things have already been happening, but I have absolutely no idea which way they will go. Maybe we fall madly in love with each other, maybe I end up doing things that make 50 Shades run away in shame, maybe tomorrow we part ways and never see each other again, and maybe a week after that I’ll be obsessed with a whole new other person. The plan though is for the main posts to be about me and Karim, with maybe some extras about other things I did, fantasies, or just random sexy made-up stories.

Because this actually is my real life, I will obviously be rather stingy with details. All the names will be changed, all the things that make anybody easily identifiable will be avoided or talked about in vague terms. If you think you know who I am, congrats, please keep it to yourself. If you actually know both me and Karim, I apologize for the emotional trauma you might have gone through learning all this about your instructor, and for your own sake, please never ask either of us for confirmation. At this moment in time, Karim is not even aware of the existence or my plans for this blog. (I will probably try to cut down on the very emotional, heart-shaped eyes emoji posts, in case I do tell him, and he hopefully doesn’t run off as fast as he can.) But otherwise, sit back and enjoy. Picture yourself in my or his shoes. Or just take it as a hot fantasy. Because, whatever else it will be, I can promise you this…

It will be hot.


~ Let’s call me Mei