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Strings. Chapter 4 The Vault


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

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

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 ‘Spotlighted’ 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 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 a 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 explain 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.

CuteLittlePixie 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.’

Anal Sex, Blindfolds; Bondage; Bukkake; Chains; Collar
and Lead, Defilement, Dildos, Domination, Gags, Gangbangs;
Hair Pulling; Handcuffs, Master/slave, Oral Sex, Paddles,
Shackles, Submission, Spanking, Threesomes, Urolagnia,
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

I read her personal data, Cute 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 CuteLittlePixie.

‘The Cute 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 Derbyshire
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 CuteLittlePixie

‘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 CuteLittlePixie.

‘Dear Pixie, Thankyou 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

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 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 CuteLittlePixie
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?


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 Dolfinsoft….’

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, but not too quickly or too slowly.
I didn’t want to seem panicked or 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

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 AllBusinessNetwork
had my marital status, which is the only website that references
Dolfinsoft. But I admit I had not expected my personal,
Vault and business lives to be connected, so I do need to
update ABN 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 ABN 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 ABN 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 and then compounded this when I suggested 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

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

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 dum 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. 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, I was not comfortable with
my deception and 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 expenses, 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 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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