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A Different Kind of Fairytale

By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

I’d thought it was impossible. That it could never be.

A lot of things had come true in my life, things I could never have imagined. If anyone could believe in the impossible, it should be me. But this was perhaps a step too far.

I’d tried to push it to the back of my mind, forget about it. I should consider myself lucky – I work hard, to be sure, but I have a lifestyle that few could even dream of. I’ve been called the luckiest woman in the world. For all my foibles, I am well aware how lucky I am.

Still, I couldn’t let it go. This fantasy played on my mind every single day. Images arising unbidden, at the worst possible time. It was beginning to harm my mental health.

It took a tremendous amount of courage to broach the topic. First with my therapist, and then with my closest advisors. I didn’t just fear publicity – that was bad enough! - but also what my inner circle would think. Whether they’d think less of me as a wife, a mother, an employer. Whether they’d judge my husband – who has nothing to do with this.

It’s not that we have a bad sex life. On the contrary. Our image is as it must be, squeaky clean. But we have plenty of opportunities, away from the spotlight, when the children are otherwise engaged or asleep. If my appetite could be sated one-on-one, I couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

I’m sure some of my inner most circle are aware of this, to some extent. They’ve probably heard noises in the night. Sometimes as he finally stops edging me, as orgasms rip through my body – sometimes we forget that we’re never truly alone.

Like us, our inner circle are squeaky clean and painstakingly trained. When I confessed, their faces were as unreadable as always. I wasn’t to know what they thought, just that they would do as I asked. It was all outside appropriate protocol, of course – but my therapist agreed that it was vital for my mental health. There were ways, when it was necessary.

They made enquiries. Made arrangements. Ensured that every potential problem had been accounted for. It wouldn’t be easy. But it could be done.

This was all very much on a need to know basis. It couldn’t get out, for all sorts of reasons. There were people each step of the way who didn’t know about any of the other steps. Just that there was an event to be facilitated. Those who did know everything would be with me at all times. Just in case. Keep things as safe as possible.

My guests were much easier to persuade than I’d thought they would be, too. I don’t know what they were told. Not the truth. Something true enough, but appropriately misleading. Not directly by my staff, of course. Nearly everyone I selected had said they would attend. Very few timing conflicts, and nothing that wasn’t easily resolved.

It all felt like a fairytale, albeit one of a very different kind. As the day grew nearer, I found my excitement more and more difficult to repress. I fell back on my training to keep up appearances. I couldn’t hide it at home, it bubbled up inside me, overflowed. I worried I’d make my husband suspicious – he knows most of my appetites intimately, and the way they wax and wane throughout the month. This was out of character, out of time. We fucked ferociously in the days before. My lust – for once, not just for him – raged.

I don’t think he’d understand, even if I had told him. He wasn’t to know.

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

[Removed by poster at 18/10/22 17:18:36]

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

Tonight was the night. I’d been waxed, plucked, exfoliated, and moisturised. I was picture perfect, or so I’m told. Sometimes I wonder – would anyone ever tell me otherwise? But now isn’t the time. Everything seemed to be just so. Down to the deep red toenails. Gran would say a harlot wore that kind of colour. Perhaps. It’ll be gone by the morning. I’m only a harlot tonight, Gran.

Times were a changin’, but not yet for me. In the course of my research, I’d found out that some women could do this quite easily. There were events for it, and some women went regularly. Much less fuss, much less expense, just run of the mill for some niche businesses. Some with very little – even nothing – to lose. It’d be easy to feel jealous. That kind of freedom.

But I mustn’t complain. I wouldn’t change my life for anything. Sometimes, we just need to adapt. Make the best of what we’ve got.

The location was incredibly central. Risky, but the guest list would expect nothing less. All the checks had been done, everything paid for, triple checked. I’d made my excuses for tonight. Nothing unexpected, and nothing anyone would check on. I just wouldn’t be in.

Even at a moment like this, I was never alone, and there was always someone keeping an eye out. Some of them I needed with me. Some I’d rather avoid. So tonight we used a different car, put shades up on the back window. Thankfully it was quite a cold night: once I got in the car, I bundled up to obscure my appearance. This was not a night to be picture perfect.

The press were sniffing around. They always are. But a staff car never drew much attention – ‘we’ were all in our scruffs, going home after a long day in the most unusual office. Fortunately the journey was all smooth sailing, and no one paid us much mind when we checked into the hotel. I knew better than to ask questions, but I wonder if some of the staff had been paid off, to be a bit less observant than usual.

A few hours ago it must have been a high end hotel room. I could see all the accoutrements stacked in the corner. Only the large bed remained, the sheets folded under the desk. New sheets had been added, strategically placed pillows, and what looked like a room divider over the bed. Presumably custom made for the purpose, with a large hole in the middle. A cooler of drinks, a large pile of fresh towels. Condoms of various types. All of the quality that I would expect at home, on both sides of the divider. Chairs for my staff to observe the proceedings on my side, and security on the other.

I was thrilled. I didn’t expect this to be a classy affair – how could it be? - but it was as classy as I could expect under the circumstances. Meeting the standards that my guests would rightly demand.

Those Christmas bonuses would need to be raised substantially. I’d find an excuse.

My train of thought was shattered by three sharp raps on the door. “Fifteen minutes!”

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By *eardedclitlickerMan over a year ago

Glasgow

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

The divider was closed securely before security were let in. I wouldn’t say another word for several hours: at least not voluntarily. Black sheer stockings, red suspenders. No knickers. All my guests and security would see of me. I could be anybody. I don’t know what they’d been told. Certainly not the truth. I gather that regular women who use glory holes have ‘wingmen’, so that wouldn’t be so unusual. I hope none of my other minders had monitored my internet activity.

They’d probably guess that I was no ordinary woman, if they hadn’t already been told. They might wonder who the other guests were – maybe they’d been talking about that. No leaks to the press, evidently, or we wouldn’t have made it this far. My people had reassured them that their privacy would be upheld, and it seemed that they were returning the favour.

I did want to know who they were. Put face to cock. That was part of my fantasy – these were men who, unbeknownst to them, dealt with me quite regularly. I wanted to look them in the eye, once again the squeaky clean image of propriety, remembering their balls slapping against me, how their cocks fill me, the sounds they make when they cum. This contrast excited me. It’s why I invited the men I did.

So I’d had a camera and a screen set up. Not recorded – that was a step too far. I wouldn’t want to be recorded either. I wanted to see their faces as they were fucking me, even though they couldn’t see mine. It was part of what they’d agreed to.

I was grinning from ear to ear. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening. I looked up to my closest member of staff, on a chair right beside me. She had let her mask falter, and her expression mirrored mine. It was good to know that someone was pleased for me – that she was in my corner, not just because she was paid, but because she wanted me to be happy.

That raw, honest moment between us came to an abrupt end as a voice startled me – “guest one is on his way to the room”. It was all set up like clockwork – each had an allocated time, a small chance for me to rest, then a new man would come in. None would know the others were there.

Maybe not how I’d do it if there were another way. The thought of being surrounded by horny men, rammed by three cocks at once, and a queue – god, that really got me off. But there was absolutely no way to do that anonymously.

A note slipped under me, kneeling in my very own glory hole. “The guards are rather cute. Maybe after, ask them if they want to have a go, too?” I couldn’t quite see them through my camera, but I’d trust my staff implicitly. I’d see how I felt. After fucking half of the most powerful men in Britain in one night, what’s a few hunky plebs added on to the end?

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Great writing! I look forward to the next instalment.

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By *amesB66Man over a year ago

St Peter Port

Beautiful and so different!

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

bump - working on next installment

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By *imon_hydeMan over a year ago

Stockport

"bump - working on next installment"

Good, your fans are waiting ')

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

There was plenty of lube on hand, of course. My safety was the first priority – followed, naturally, by my reputation. Something told me – something aching, throbbing – that I wouldn’t need it for awhile.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Would it be worth it? The question arose unbidden.

Of course, of all the times for that question to pop up. After all the work that had gone into this, the people who now knew – my self-doubt came to crash the party. I’d been working on that doubt since I was a little girl. And we’d been through all the what ifs. Even if it wasn’t what I imagined – I simply had to know.

We’re here now. It’ll begin at any moment.

And… breathe.

I wouldn’t know who ‘guest one’ was, until he was almost inside me. My mind whirred through my list like an old Rolodex. All I knew for sure was that most were attending, in an order I didn’t know. No. They weren’t attending. They were coming.

I’d imagined their faces as they did so – would they be stoic? Moan, gasp, lose control? It had been a source of fantasy long before the plan had been hatched. Hard to suppress my wicked smile as I sat across tables from them. Ever the picture of professionalism, of propriety.

My heartbeat began to recede, and my attention move downward. Aching, almost unbearable. My face flushed. Not sure if I could hear footsteps or that the throbbing had become all-encompassing. Or both.

Guest one took what felt like an eternity to undress. His belt unbuckling sent goosebumps down my spine. I still didn’t know who he was, couldn’t yet see. The second man I’d ever fuck. I suppose it’d be important in any other circumstances. In context? Maybe a bit of a silly thought.

It’d never occurred to me that it might feel different when he penetrated me. I know that initial filling so intimately, crave it after a long hard day. But I suppose... it must be different? Would I moan, as another man stretched me?

I felt a finger against my ankle, the most feather-light of touches. The mattress shifted slightly underneath me: it was almost time.

Heat radiated between my legs as he shuffled towards me. My arousal or his? Not sure. His shuddering breath was cool against my arse, his touch firmer, more utilitarian now. Steadying himself. Readying himself.

My breath shuddered, almost matching his. Not all of that warmth was coming from me: I could definitely feel him inching ever closer. Far too late to turn back, now. No, I didn’t want to.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to see, needed to see, but for now I just needed to feel. My mind flitted, my ears strained, and my nerves were electrified. With so much going on, it was hard to savour this moment. His cock moved against me. Ready. I couldn’t tell anything about it, though. Time had stretched into forever as he was undressing – and now, I wish it would slow down some more. I needed to feel every sensation as I plunged into the unknown. The forbidden.

I knew I didn’t need any lube, no matter what he was like. I could feel myself, almost as much as his hands gripping my hips.

I held my breath, my eyes still closed.

Registered his satisfied grunt before I realised he was inside me.

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By *atesey68Man over a year ago

audley

This is good!

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Fantastic

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

Thank you!

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Wowzee.

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By *enninemarkMan over a year ago

huddersfield/manchester

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By *ustme34Man over a year ago

Bradford

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By *lderWiserNowMan over a year ago

Kettrin

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By *J GeminiTV/TS over a year ago

Northumberland

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By *aughtywifeyWoman over a year ago

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By *ndiiiMan over a year ago

Paisley Scotland

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By *xgroupCouple (MM) over a year ago

exeter

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By *usie pTV/TS over a year ago

taunton

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

Yes, it certainly did feel different. My husband stretches me as he enters me – as though we were made for each other. (What an oddly romantic thought, at a moment like this)

This man grunted quite a lot, his grip firm, but not nearly as much stretch. Just… not quite there. Not quite that feeling I was craving. Interesting. Still pleasurable – and the thrill of fulfilling my fantasy in no way diminished – but nowhere near as intense.

I had to remind myself to engage. Not just accept, consume. This isn’t like me. Not at all. But I’d frozen a little. Trying to control my sensory input. I dragged my concentration from the general to the specific. His balls slapped against me. The rhythm, in and out. Once I’d gauged that, I began to move my hips in harmony with him. Participate. The way sex ought to be.

And, of course, I hadn’t even looked. My eyes still closed, taking in the tactile. It’s not a natural thing, is it? Having to look to see who’s fucking you. Maybe it is, in someone else’s world.

Without breaking my stride, I looked up. His eyes were screwed up in concentration, face beet red. Not the face I was expecting, for a number of reasons.

One of Britain’s greatest power brokers: cool, collected, and ruthless. In this split second, there was more emotion on his face than in the previous ten years I’d known him. He’d always belittled my contributions, talked over me. The contrast was rather funny – and not a little distracting.

No, I won’t tell who he is: that secret goes no further than it has today.

It was a good thing he couldn’t see my face. I felt more from the amusement than having him balls deep inside me.

It absolutely didn’t ruin the fantasy, though. In some ways, this moment was delicious in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.

The next time he looked down his nose in a meeting – I’d remember this moment. Panting, his head flung back, gripping onto my hips for dear life. A very different side to him.

I glanced at my member of staff, who was smirking. She couldn’t see the screen; I presume she had the list. She could tell it wasn’t quite as I’d expected.

But I’m nothing if not an overachiever. Best make the most of it.

I locked eyes with his face in the monitor. As though I were looking at him in a mirror, him returning my gaze. Once more concentrated on his movements – not to take it all in, but to heighten his pleasure. My hips matching his thrusts, each stroke deeper and harder.

I didn’t say a word. It was very possible that my voice would identify me, so that was the aim tonight. Easily achieved right now, nothing hindering my self control.

His panting intensified, grunts turning into cries. After three more strokes, he almost screamed, pressing inside me before collapsing onto the bed. Spent.

I told a lie earlier. It was that final image I’d keep in mind when this guy next threw his weight around. I hoped the evening would improve, but that was certainly memorable.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Hot

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By *enninemarkMan over a year ago

huddersfield/manchester

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By *wscMan over a year ago

Exeter

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Great writing!

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By *heRazorsEdgeMan over a year ago

Wales/ All over UK

Incredible writing so far!

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

Thank you! Thinking about where it goes next (obviously I know in general)

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

We’d allotted a certain amount of time between ‘guests’. I had no idea what time it was – I was just letting things take their course. That’s what staff are for. I did suspect, though, that there was a bit of time to kill.

Maybe, now guest one had left, I should freshen up a bit.

The bathroom had also been altered. For starters, a full length mirror – in any other circumstance that would be a lot of fun.

I couldn’t help but staring into the mirror. My hair in its signature style, barely ruffled. It’s as though I’d not even dipped my toe into debauchery. Everything about my body was picture perfect – it was part of my job, after all, to be picture perfect. It took quite a bit of work.

The sight before me, I knew was one the press would pay quite a lot to see. They’ve tried in the past to take untoward photos of me, with very mixed public reaction.

There was a subset of the population who posted online about wanting to fuck me. Detailed posts – illiterate, crude, and graphic. Most of the people around me are horrified and, of course, security has to be involved where there’s a credible threat.

But privately, I find it rather hot. When my husband is away, sometimes I imagine those fans. Meeting them, in a way that I could before I rose to fame. Devouring them in a public bathroom. Being overheard by more fans as I’m bent over a sink, my dress roughly lifted, moaning like we would in private. Others barging in, cocks springing from trousers, taking them all. I’d be airtight, with a queue. Loads of cum dripping down my leg for the rest of the day.

The blood rose to my cheeks, and I found my fingers wandering. One finger circling my erect nipple, squeezing. Goosebumps formed a trail as my other hand moved down my stomach, even my own touch arousing as I imagined a strange man ramming his bare cock into my arse, several others wanking as they waited for their turn.

And tonight I’m being almost that filthy. The thought sent my pussy throbbing, and as my finger brushed my clit I shivered with excitement. An orgasm wasn’t far off. I decided to do the ridiculous, the unthinkable.

I pushed my hair out of the way, then got my phone from my bag. I’d give the fans what they wanted – of course, they won’t know that. I propped the phone and set it to film. I’d remove the sound later. Post it online anonymously.

Keeping my face and hair out of the way of the camera, I put on a show. I wondered how many it might reach – hundreds of people watching my naked body? Thousands? The thought was intoxicating. Them furiously wanking to the sight of my hard nipples, my pussy engorged, the jolts of pleasure rushing through me as I made myself cum. Them imagining the taste of my juices. Wanking over me, without knowing that it’s me.

I couldn’t get caught – this kind of exhibitionism is, of course, well outside anything that could possibly permitted, even in these extraordinary circumstances. I allowed myself five orgasms, turned the phone off, and put it away.

Not a moment too soon.

A soft knock on the door. “Five minutes until guest two. Best get prepared.”

I was more ready for him than anyone knew. Unless, of course, the people in the room heard me.

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By *ustme34Man over a year ago

Bradford

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By *eroLondonMan over a year ago

Covent Garden

³ bloody weeks I waited for the next episode. It's about time!

You scribe it well.

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By *enninemarkMan over a year ago

huddersfield/manchester

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

Awesome. Who can it be?!

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

This time I wanted to look him in the eyes as he entered me. Man two.

Or at least look directly as his face on the screen.

The rustling of clothing was more rapid this time. I knew who guest two was before he got onto the bed, though – he exchanged pleasantries with the guards. His voice was unmistakeable.

Not sure how I feel about this one. I honestly didn’t think he’d come, although he was definitely one on my bucket list. Like everyone tonight, he was wealthy, connected, famous, and powerful. I’m quite fond of him, and he’s always treated me kindly. I’d never imagined he’d be an exceptional lay, though. (And yes, of course I’ve imagined all of these men fucking me. What else am I supposed to do in some of those meetings, other than imagine the world’s most scandalous gangbang?)

A longer pause, this time, before he got onto the bed. More crinkling too, I assume in the assortment of condoms.

He didn’t steady himself when he got onto the bed. He kissed up my leg slowly, like a long lost lover rather than an anonymous fuck. It was completely unexpected, but worked better than he could probably tell. My nipples were like bullets, the brushes of his lips sending chills through me. By the time he reached my inner thigh – I hadn’t yet seen his face tonight – I was panting. Tantalisingly close to an orgasm: closer than I thought my leg could get me.

As he moved his face in view of the camera, his expression was one I’d not seen before. A steely look in his eyes, flushed.

And as soon as I saw him he was gone from view. The next thing I registered was an explosive orgasm. His tongue on my clit.

I lost control. I moaned, my back arching. So much for staying quiet!

He probably wasn’t down there very long. I’m not sure. Time wasn’t entirely real - the best way to be, in these sorts of situations.

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By *enninemarkMan over a year ago

huddersfield/manchester

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By *outhEastPaulMan over a year ago

Thames Ditton surrey

Just trying to work out the complete picture - So a hotel bedroom with a full screen ceiling to floor wall to wall across the complete room guess must be a locked door in cut around bed and with an opening over the bed with just enough space for you to lay there with say belly button the dividing point - Am I close !

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By *naswingdress OP Woman over a year ago

Manchester (she/her)

"Just trying to work out the complete picture - So a hotel bedroom with a full screen ceiling to floor wall to wall across the complete room guess must be a locked door in cut around bed and with an opening over the bed with just enough space for you to lay there with say belly button the dividing point - Am I close !"

The great thing about fiction is, you fill in the details yourself. A custom made divider over the bed with a hole the woman goes through so she can be accessed but her face not seen. A member of staff sitting behind her who also can't be seen.

Other details of it - that's for you to fill in in your mind.

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By (user no longer on site) over a year ago

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By *sprey6Man over a year ago

Here!

Well I have all the details laid out in my mind, thanks to your intoxicated words x

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