I’ve already had a few responses to yesterday’s request for birthday stories. I’m going to post them all on this thread, as they come in; the story titles/authors will be listed before the jump and posted in full after it, unless they’ve already been published elsewhere! If someone clever knows how (in WordPress) to hyperlink the story titles in a way that allows readers to click on a particular title and jump straight down to that story, please get in touch!
The deadline for submission is 2300 BST, and I’ll announce the winner (along with their chosen prize) shortly afterwards!
- Birthday Story, by Bawdy Bloke
- Fantasy Birthday, by Vida Bailey
- Birthday Sex, by Ella Dawson
- Untitled, by Bangs & Whimpers
- Happy Birthday, by Anna Sky
- Bucket List, by Charlie Powell
- Another Lonely Birthday, by 5amWriterMan
- What should have been for his birthday, by Åsa Winter
- Happy Birthday, by Oleander Plume
- Birthday Story, by Codex Deconstructed
- Untitled, by Abby Cranky
- Just Your Presence, by Ian Jade
- It’s My Birthday, by Maria Merian
Birthday Story, by Bawdy Bloke
“And then, because it was my birthday she brought in her sister – the one with the bazookas so big they have their own time zone.”
Yes, Mark was what some might call a tad inebriated and what others would describe as steamingly rat-arsed, but his tales of celebratory debauchery were being lapped up by our circle of friends. I have no doubt that his wife did not invite her estranged sister into the bedroom, and nor did Paul’s wife find a Martian to striptease or Liam’s girlfriend have Anna Kournikova on speed dial for an extended game of hide his sausage in somewhere pink, brown or wet.
It was the waste matter of a cow’s husband, but we were celebrating: there was a birthday in the group and stories of sinful excesses were being replayed (and concocted) to suggest to the birthday boy what he had in store when he staggered home drunkenly to his unimpressed girlfriend.
And what of me? What was my story of birthday excess? I was the only person who hadn’t told a tale, but it’s hard to have birthday sex when you don’t really have birthdays. I was born on February 29th 1980, thus enjoying celebrations just one year in four, and having seen only eight birthdays in my life, the opportunities for orgasmic marathons has been quite limited.
There was one girl though: Clare Baxter. She had a devilish smile, with a deviously sexy mind to boot. She’d sit at her desk by the office window; the sunlight shimmering through her pale hair and lighting up her tight, flimsy blouse. Every day.
She got noticed by everyone; she was an “office temp” because she was a bored housewife wanting to get out. Her gorgeous appearance was on everyone’s lips as day after day, she’d walk around the office with unfettered bosoms hidden behind the soft pastel shades of her cotton blouse. We fought over the air conditioning unit; the cold air delightfully turning her nipples into pencil rubbers.
But she loved the game; the skirts got shorter as the weeks wore on, despite the covering of ice and snow outside. The blouses got tighter and the coquettish looks more sexualised, lingering over tented trousers with scheming glee.
We all loved working with Clare Baxter.
Until my desk was decorated with cards and balloons for my eighth (or 32nd) birthday. Her teasing rocketed up several notches, much like my erection. The bending over the photocopier as I walked passed, the blouse buttons undone and the sliding of her pen between her lips as she pretended to concentrate, was the subtle flirting. The e-mail sent to my phone of her naked body was less so restrained.
She had my interest, I wanted her: the unattainable woman enjoyed the thrill of the chase too much, blowing me a kiss instead of an answer when I invited her to dinner.
I had my response when a meeting request appeared on Outlook a couple of hours after lunch; subject: I need input from the birthday boy. Location: Meeting Room 5. Starting: now. And she was nowhere to be seen in our office.
I almost ran to the isolated suite; a small darkened room in the bowels of the building. The fair-haired bombshell was sat on the table. Waiting for me to arrive and smiled as I closed the door, and locked it. “You needed my help,” I asked with mock innocence, wheeling the video conferencing unit into the corner of the room, and collapsing the poster stand to make more space. I had plans.
“Oh yes,” she acted, unbuttoning her blouse with trembling fingers. “I have an itch, here,” she muttered, flinging her short skirt over her waist, to reveal her knickerless crotch. I gasped in shock; not in the sight of a bare pussy but in her brazen sexuality at work.
This felt so wrong, but so gloriously taboo. She wanted a reaction, holding a condom between her fingers as my hands reached for her body. Our tongues met as I looked down on the married woman, kissing her as my touch caressed her bare bosom.
She pawed at my clothes, dropping my trousers to the floor as my hands roamed over her skin. A squeeze here, a caress there. We traded nasal grunts and pants between the passionate kissing of our tongues; this wasn’t the culmination of a day’s foreplay but months. She knew I wanted her simmering my lust with her playful teasing day after day, but now we had unscrewed the lid of our pent-up desire.
She leant back on her hands, looking up at the ceiling as I kissed her neck, leaving little red blotches as I went; my fingers slid along her wet pussy, swirling her clit over the top of my touch.
She panted, gasping for air. “Don’t, just …” Her hands tore at the blue packaging, reaching for my cock to unfurl the latex glove along my shaft, squeezing me into a mew of pleasure as her fingers danced over my glans. “Not got the time.”
The table was an ideal height, as I grabbed hold of her heeled ankles, sliding my cock along her crack. The click of the clock on the wall, the whirr of the fans on the machine in the corner, the buzz of the lights and the squeak of the table reminded me where we were. At work. I was fucking the married temp at work. The naughtiness of my situation made my cock stiffen. It was dirty. It was dangerous. We could be caught. It was exciting; it had my heart pounding and my mind agog.
I drove my prick into her; she squealed as I slid in. A rush of arousal swept through me, as her warmth enveloped my cock; her pussy squeezing and gripping the intruding manhood thrusting into her.
It was a headfuck, I craved the carnal sensations on my cock, savouring the sight of her legs spread in front of me. I watched the heave of her bosoms as I rammed into her. It was forbidden fruit, and my loins were grumbling with my point of no return. I was thrusting deeper and deeper, swelling the intensity of my arousal with every movement. I was squeezing my perineum. Desperate to delay my orgasm, to escalate and heighten the release.
She looked so sexy; ruffled hair, splayed legs, it drove me further and further towards my ecstasy. Sweat pooled on my brow as I panted and released with a cry, groaning as wave after wave of delight rippled through my body and the condom filled with my seed.
We giggled as we came down from our sexual high; I ate her out to an orgasm before we dressed, leaving the room for the toilets to make ourselves respectable.
Only, that wasn’t quite the end of it. She flaunted with me the next day, until we got called in to see our boss. The CEO had dialled into a video conference an hour early and saw the most surprising sight: two of his employees engaged in rampant debauchery a few inches from the camera.
Well, I never liked the job anyway. Clare didn’t either.
So as Mark turned to me in the pub and drunkenly asked, “so when did you get good birthday sex?” I just shrugged.
“I don’t have birthdays, do I?” I reminded him, a little aggressively. I could hardly tell him that I got his wife sacked from her job as we put on a pornographic show for the boss, could I? It might cause an atmosphere. Although compared to the Martian and the superstar tennis player, I’m not entirely sure I would be believed.
—
Fantasy Birthday, by Vida Bailey
Would I get you for the day? Let’s pretend I would. I’d arrive with my crepe pan, and groceries and some books, and make you crepes. The batter has to sit for a couple hours, so let’s go get your clothes off and take turns reading stories and getting your tongue some other exercise
Then I’ll make vanilla whipped cream with liquer in it, and chopped strawberries to put in the crepes.
And maybe eat some of the cream off your cock while we have them, because there’s something about sweetened whipped cream on nipples and other sensitive places that heightens sensation amazingly, I’ve found. And seeing as you’re not such a fan of blow jobs, it’s important that you know you don’t get to come, now. So, y’know, no pressure.
And then we go shopping. Here. For a little something for you for later. I’m thinking one of these. And I’d let you browse here. This looks like fun. How nice to walk around the glass cases of things, and I’ll stroke your ass and see how all the pretty toys are making you feel. I’d be disappointed if your cock wasn’t hard and still a little creamy in your underwear from earlier. So we’ll look, but this is really what I’m looking for. And as I’m suddenly inexplicably wealthy, it’ll make the perfect birthday present. Aren’t the cufflinks the perfect touch? Nothing really visible on the surface, except the little words Lelo to advertise to anyone who understands that you’re my little birthday bitch for the night as we sit down in a the nice restaurant?
But wait. I have had a yearning, since someone guided me through this shop, to see a man working on himself with one of these. I love the ridiculous flash of the gold plate, but really, I’m a girl for silver. I can’t imagine the loveliness of you leaning back, suit open, ass plugged with something pretty and ridiculously expensive, stroking your cock just like I tell you with one of these on your fingers. So elegant, so pretty. Wasn’t it worth sitting through dinner, sampling all those delicate and delicious tidbits with your ass stuffed, to get home and play with this cool, hard, unyielding bit of smoothness on your fingers? I want to see it pressing up and down your length while I watch you. Slowly, now, it wouldn’t do to rush. I want to stroke my clit and see you spill your come all over the smooth, warmed metal while it’s pressing against your frenulum.
Such a good boy. You’d be tired after all this activity, and the wine… I’ll just put one of these on the night table, for later, if you feel the need of sustenance.
No touching til I tell you you can, though.
I’m good at cupcakes (they usually look pretty, but they taste even better. I’ve yet to taste one I like as much as my own…) but I’m also good at massage.
So, I’ll get one of these
as well, and you get to lie down and get thoroughly worked on while your cock recovers. It’s cocoa and vanilla, which is girly. but it’s my favourite, and it’ll go well with the divine vanilla chocolate smell of the cupcake.
You can’t have that yet, though, First after I’ve turned your back and shoulders to blissed out softness, and your cock to throbbing hardness again, I’m going to clip the cuffs on your wrists to the cuffs on each ankle, so you’re beautifully spread open in front of me. And it’s time to pull that shiny plug out ever so slowly, and use the sweet creamy wax to open you up. You tell me how many fingers you need, how deep you want them worked into you. And ask me for what you want. Ask nicely, and truthfully, and who knows, maybe you can get your cake and eat it too 🙂
—
3. Birthday Sex, by Ella Dawson
Unluckily for me, my birthday always fell smack dab in the middle of finals week during college. Without fail everyone would be too busy studying to help me celebrate the milestone, and my twenty-second birthday was no exception. After going out to dinner with my roommate and getting drunk on beer recommended by an overly friendly waiter, I wobbled on my high heels and went to visit my boyfriend at the library. He was still in the cubicle he had spent the last 48 hours in, in dire need of a change of clothes and a meal not cooked in a convenience store microwave. Deep into an English lit paper, I startled him when I eased—and by eased I mean tripped—into a seat next to him.
Immediately guilt rushed onto his face, which was covered in five o’clock shadow. “I’m so sorry I’m stuck here,” he whispered, trying not to disturb the surrounding students likewise buried in their books. “I have another four hours at least, I don’t know when I’ll be over tonight.”
I pouted, torn between birthday girl disappointment and girlfriend concern. We had already agreed he would give me my present once final week was over and we could really celebrate, but I had been counting on a quickie just to say we’d done it. “No birthday sex?” I asked while making an effort to smile and show I understood.
He frowned and closed the book he’d been copying notes from before I arrived. “Can we add it to the list of things I owe you?”
I thought about saying no. A part of me—a childish, greedy, and horny part of me—wanted to grab his wrist and drag him out of that chair and deeper into the stacks. In the heart of the library surrounded by books and metal shelves there was still be a chance someone might run into us, but the dust and yellowed pages muffled sound better than any walls. I didn’t even want birthday sex; I wanted to push him down onto his knees and guide his head underneath my skirt. I wanted to clutch the shelves and swallow groans as his fingers tightened on my thighs. I wanted to taste myself on his lips when I said goodbye and left him with his work and the echo of my body shaking in his hands.
“You’ll owe me one,” I said instead. I reached out to squeeze his knee before standing up. “I’ll leave the door unlocked in case you get back after I’m asleep.” He nodded and kissed my hand before putting his headphones back on.
At 3am, I got my day-after-birthday sex.
—
4. Untitled, by Bangs & Whimpers
You’d have received a note a few days before your special day, giving you the name and address of a hotel, including a room number. The instructions would ask you to bring your box of toys and be dressed smartly. On the designated day, you’d breeze into the hotel and check in as if you were a businessman in town for a short stopover.
Once you enter room 407 you’d find a kingsize bed and a small box on it marked EAT ME. Inside you’d find a little blue pill. You glance around and see a bottle of champagne and a single glass on the side table marked DRINK ME. Do you obey? We’d like to think you would. You walk through to the bathroom to freshen up and find a cloth bag with the label WEAR ME. You pull out a black silk blindfold and laugh to yourself.
You walk back to the bed and adjust your trousers, you’re already a little hard at the expectation of what is to come. You open the champagne, pour a glass, take the blue pill and lie back on the bed. After a little while you hear voices outside the door, you quickly tie on the blindfold, fumbling to make sure its on properly.
The door opens and slams shut.
“Well hello” says a female voice. You sit up, trying to work out where she is.
“Good evening” says another voice, female as well but a little huskier, you can’t quite place the accent.
“Thank-you for following our instructions” says the first.
“We do like it when you obey us” says the second.
“Are you ready for some fun?” they both ask, as one strokes your cock through your trousers.
“Yes, for sure” you find yourself saying, growing harder by the second.
“Then let’s see what we’ve got.”
You feel hands undressing you, your belt is slipped from your trousers, your shoes gently removed and your trousers unbuttoned. You feel two sets of hands caressing your cock and balls – it’s driving you mad not being able to see.
You unbutton your shirt and tie and throw them off. A tongue whirls around your nipple and another slides over your cock, you cry out as it feels so goddamned good. Then you can feel two sets of lips running up and down your shaft and you try to imagine what it looks like: fucking hot is your conclusion.
Then, suddenly, the blindfold comes off you and you can see two brunettes, sliding up and down your cock and meeting lips at the top. Their faces are obscured with harlequin masks and you can only see their red lipstick as it leaves marks on your dick. That image is enough and you close your eyes again.
You feel one of them tongueing your arse and its delicious. Then you feel fingers exploring your hole then your own buttplug being inserted slowly and carefully.
“Time for some fun” one says as she lowers herself onto your grinning face. You tongue her gently, she tastes wonderful and you lap up her juices until your mouth is covered and her thighs are covering your ears.
Then you feel the other girl slide herself onto your cock and start to ride you. It’s too much. You almost pass out from desire and delight. The girl on your face comes first, quickly followed by you, then the girl on your cock. You all fall in a heap on the bed, laughing.
“One last surprise – but you have to wear the blindfold” they say.
Obligingly you hold your head up so it can be tied around your head again. You hear giggles and a shhhh sound as the door opens and closes again.
And there’s someone else in the room. You can smell something like aftershave but more subtle. And then there it is. A man’s lips around your cock.
“We’ll leave you to it” the girls giggle and close the door behind them. You rip off the blindfold to see a very cute, very toned young man paying very close attention to your balls.
‘Happy Birthday to me’ you think and lie back and enjoy your present…..
—
6. Bucket List, by Charlie Powell
I did it the day after my twenty-ninth birthday. I was hungover to the point that even dry toast seemed a challenge – perhaps that’s why it was so tame. But it’s hard to be original when the whole world is making the same list. No wonder flights are expensive when everybody within sight of thirty wants to see Australia and swim with dolphins. Anyone would think thirty was your last chance to travel the world, watch the sun rise or read a classic novel.
I didn’t want to attempt any of those things. Most of my university career had involved combining classic novels with seeing the sunrise. I wanted a list that was highly achievable, all full of ‘Try internet dating’ and ‘Drive an open top sports car to the beach.’ The kind of thing I could forget about until the week before my birthday and then tick off five items a day, essentially. So, mug of strong tea in hand, trying to work up the courage to stomach some carbs, that’s exactly the list I wrote. And then I put it to back of my mind.
The boy in my life had other ideas.
‘What’s this?’ he queried when we got in from drinks one night, leaning casually against the breakfast bar in my kitchen, glass of red wine in one hand and my list in the other. I was close to thirty by then, just days away, in fact, and the list remained unticked.
I looked up from the frozen pizza I was unwrapping. This boy was not my boyfriend. He was my once-a-week friend with benefits, fuck buddy, whatever you want to call him. Somehow, sharing my goals for the next twelve months seemed more intimate than ripping his clothes off. Still, if you stick a highly-personal list on your fridge, you can hardly complain when someone reads it, even if it was partially hidden by bills.
‘It’s my bucket list.’
‘You’re dying?’
I threw the empty pizza box at him. He caught it, easily.
’No, you idiot, I’m turning thirty.’
‘Same thing.’
I picked up my own glass of wine, and wandered over to join him. Running my hand across the front of his jeans I murmured ‘Well, you should know, Mr Three-hour Recovery Time.’
He stepped forward, pinning me against the bar. ‘Hey! I can manage three times in one night.’ His lips grazed the sensitive spot just under my ear and I groaned. I could feel him smile against my neck as he whispered ‘At least my bucket list was slightly more ambitious than “Visit three new cities in France.”’
The argument was playful, but the evening wasn’t going the way I wanted it to. I wanted him to take me to bed, to pour his wine between my breasts and lick them clean. I didn’t want to be standing there verbally sparring over who was better at list-making.
He sipped his wine thoughtfully as he scanned it. Silently, I prayed he’d find something that caught his attention before he got to the bottom, but I knew from the grin that spread across his features that he’d reached the end.
‘Really?’ he said, and I swear the hand that was cupping my left buttock gripped me a little tighter. ‘Anal, huh?’
Ever since I wrote the list, my feelings about doing it had swung between longing and dread. He’d mentioned it before, and I’d batted the suggestion away, but it seemed unlikely that I’d be able to do that for much longer.
‘It’s just a fantasy’ I said, feeling my cheeks burn.
‘If it’s just a fantasy, why is it on the list?’
Truth be told, it had never been just a fantasy. It had always been right at the top of my fantasy list, the one thing guaranteed to push me over the precipice when I was hovering just out of reach of my orgasm. I just didn’t know if I could explain that to him.
I grabbed the wine, poured myself another glass and knocked back half of it in a single mouthful.
‘Whoa, steady’ he said, taking the glass from my hand. ‘If you really don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.’
I took a deep breath. His cock was pressing hard into my stomach and he was looking down at me with a barely hidden smirk. I wanted him so badly I’d have bent over there and then. Holding his gaze, I cupped him and squeezed gently, feeling his dick jump in my palm. ‘I do want to.’
Upstairs, he pulled me down beside him, and kissed me deeply. His kisses alone could keep me wet for days. His hand coasted up my thigh, taking in my hold-ups, and then the warm, bare flesh above them. He dragged his knuckles over the soaked satin of my underwear and then pushed his fingers inside, stroking them over my slick lips once, twice before jamming them into me so hard that I moaned into his mouth. In and out they slid, and I pushed back against them desperately as he nibbled on my lower lip, goading me onwards.
My clit pulsed under his fingers and I shuddered as I came. My orgasm hadn’t fully subsided when he rolled me gently onto my front and began drawing my wetness backwards, circling my tight hole with his finger.
‘Be gentle,’ I protested weakly.
‘I’m always gentle,’ he said, or at least that’s what I think he said: his words were muffled because he was dropping soft, enticing kisses across my shoulders as he said them.
I relaxed. I dropped forward onto my forearms and crushed my face into the sheets. I heard him spit on his fingers, and then he edged one gently into me.
He gave me a couple of seconds to get accustomed to the sensation of fullness and then he drew his finger back and thrust it forward again. And again. And again. And when I was fully opened up to him, he added a second. I moaned softly.
Rain hammered on the skylight and the sun was coming up: it would almost have been romantic if he hadn’t been scissoring his fingers in my backside. And yet somehow, it was romantic, trusting him enough to do something this intense. I pushed myself back up onto my hands and knees and turned my face back towards him. His mouth reclaimed mine, his fingers slid free, and his cock replaced them, hot and insistent.
‘Touch yourself,’ he whispered, as he inched forward. ‘Stroke your clit and make yourself come.’
I didn’t want to. I wanted him to touch me, wanted him to be the one to push me over the edge again, but he was winning this game. I didn’t move my hand? He didn’t move his cock. I gave in and slid two fingers into my pussy. He thrust deep.
’Tight, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘I’ve never been with a woman with a cunt as tight as yours. And every time I’ve fucked you, I’ve thought about how your arse will be even tighter, and imagine pumping it full of my come.’
His filthy mouth had always been the clincher.
Afterwards, we lay there, side by side, barely touching. The rain had stopped, and the early morning sun was streaming in.
‘Corrupting an innocent on your pre-40 list, was it?’
He tweaked my nipple idly. ‘You’re not so innocent…’
‘No.’
‘I can tick something off, though…’
‘Oh?
He smiled. ‘Stay up and see the sun rise.’
—
7. Another Lonely Birthday, by 5amWriterMan
Tight and silky to the touch of my toes. Arousal creeps along as I pull them up my right leg, then repeated for the left. A final stretch over my crotch and I snap them into place against my waist. I bend over and run my hands over their silky sheerness, from my toes to my crotch. I linger at my crotch, inhaling it’s musky odour and enjoying the sensations of touch that trigger an erection. My one hand continues frolicking my crotch while the other begins to explore my chest, particularly my suddenly perky nipples. I squeeze and pinch, taking pleasure from these minute sparks of pain, triggering increased sensations in my erection.
One hand, taking full reign over my erection, absorbs the sensation of the silk stocking against its flesh. The other hand travels back to my crotch and rubs the silk stocking into the opening of my anus. This sends another surge of euphoria and my body involuntarily reacts with a loud moan. I use both hands to rip a small hole to expose my anus and feel it tense at the touch of my finger against its opening. I lick my finger and bring it back to the opening, slowly pushing in until I’m knuckle deep. I feel my prostate and push against it. Another rush, another moan. My other hand, with its strong grip on my erection, begins to pump my cock in tandem with the pulsating finger in my hole. I let go of my erect cock, spread my legs, and insert a second finger into my hole. The sensations magnify exponentially, making me light-headed, and I experience a rush through my cock. Suddenly, my cock explodes a massive load of ejaculate all over the stockings and my body. I groan uncontrollably and continue to harness the feeling by keeping my fingers locked in my hole, pressing harder against my prostate. I use my second hand to grab some ejaculate, spread it around a finger, and insert a third finger into my hole. The pain of inserting a third finger makes me shriek but my body adjusts very quickly and I’m soon returned to a greater euphoria. I pump harder and faster, tensing my sphincter against my fingers, trying to milk as much sensation possible. Within seconds I feel a second rush through my cock and I’m covered with more ejaculate and sweat. I slowly remove each finger and relish in the painful pleasure of their removal. I take each finger and lick them thoroughly, ingesting the musty, sweet and salty taste. My body feels gloriously spent as I fade into a slumber.
Happy birthday to me sings in my dreams. Alone, happy, and satiated on my birthday.
—
10. Birthday Story, by Codex Deconstructed
Ah, Juliette, you made me weak. You were, at least for a while just another new starter at work, baffled by all the procedures and complexities that made everyday such a ball ache. You were the youngest we had had in for a while, probably your first job, all naive as you skipped toward me on a daily basis eagerly wanting to find out how to do something or where you could find out. That distinctive sweet perfume I learnt the smell of, I could always if you had just came up behind me. Those first few months I would often gaze in your direction when you were busying yourself, speculating at what your work uniform was hiding underneath.
Not quite petite, maybe best described as not yet fully grown up, definitely womanly but still with some puppy fat clinging to her cheeks, long slightly dishevelled light brown hair and a small perfectly firm ass. You once joked that you followed me round so much that I should have you on a leash. You had no idea…..
There is something in me that loves it when girls need direction or a bit of guidance. Juliette was having a few problems with her boyfriend. She was only 19 and having only recently finished studying the pressures of proper living etc were a bit of a surprise to her. Her boyfriend, possibly a few months younger than her was still living the high life and that was taking its toll on their relationship. We often shared lunchtime together and while I would happily spend the hour buried in my laptop she would always perk my interest with her conversation. On one particular occasion she was complaining about how he had gone out again the night before and came in late. She was sick of it, and before I could offer some advice she was already planning on how to ditch him.
The following week was my birthday and 5 or 6 of us had planned to come back to mine after work for some drinks. Juliette was there wearing a pretty summer dress that was a little too short when she was sat down.
Having people around to my house is always potentially a little awkward. I have a girl I know who likes to drop by unannounced in the hope that I service her somewhat submissive needs and knowing her she would do her best to come round at the worst possible time.
The drinks began to flow and as the night wore on I began to relax. It was getting late and people began to leave until it was just Juliette and I discussing how she could get home. Offering up the sofa we stayed up and drank a little more beer, the phone rang and it was my sub.
The conversation was difficult and longer than I’d wanted, giving her instructions without Juliette figuring out exactly what I was doing was a tough ask, my main aim was just to keep her from coming round.
“So was that your girlfriend?” Juliette inquired, looking perhaps a bit confused.
“not exactly, we have been together in the past but its not really like that”
“So, does she do exactly what you tell her to” she said, in a way that mirrored the curious questioning I get from her at work. I guess I hadn’t been as subtle as I’d hoped.
“Yeah kind of” I wasn’t sure really how much I wanted her to know
“I get that..” she shuffles closer “I can see how that would be a turn on” She leans in for a kiss and I have to decide what I am going to do in a second.
I put my hand on her collar bone with my thumb on her throat “If you want me, you play by my rules”
After a short pause she nods as her mouth gasps, pushing herself in to my thumb “I’m in your hands”
I stand up and take her hand, lead her over to the sofa and tell her to kneel down facing the seat. I remove my belt from my trousers and wrap it around her wrists behind her back, I kneel behind her, sweep back her long hair to reveal her neck and whisper in to her ear “you may want to bite down on the cushion”
I can feel her wet cunt through the lingerie she is wearing, through her gritted teeth she is beginning to pant, I pull the fabric to one side and rub the pre-cum around her clit. He panting is turning in to moans and she begs me to fill her.
I pull her underwear down to her knees and push the dress up over the ass I have been thinking about at work. Her body is beginning to rock enthusiastically against my fingers and my patience is beginning to wane.
My cock now exposed, I tease her with the tip for a few moments, her unable to see what I’m up to. I plunge in, ball deep, pushing her in to sofa. She recovers her balance before I force her back down holding on to the makeshift restraints around her wrists, my thighs twitching with the sudden onset of pleasure and dominance.
I speed up, using her as my fuck toy, taking my advice her head is buried deep in to the cushion biting down hard. Her dress rides up, revealing her perfect slender body, I can feel her cunt tightening around me, she starts to buck and she tries to lifts her self from the confines i’ve created for her, I fuck on relentlessly knowing she is close, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back, all she can manage is a frantic, staccatoed, feral “please let me cum… please”
I’m beginning to falter, I’m no longer holding anything back, still with fists of her hair in my hand her screaming starts low and builds to a glorious crescendo as her body gives way. I can’t contain myself any longer, and with the final thrusts in to her exhausted body, cum streams from my cock deep inside her.
—
11. Untitled, by Abby Cranky
I can’t recall a single incidence of me getting the arse ridden off me on my birthday? I’m sure I’ve had the sex, I just don’t think it’s been THEE sex of my life.
However the term birthday sex does something to me, it gets me excited and it gets me hot. This is because not once, not twice but 3 times someone I’ve been causally seeing has revealed, after we’d met up, that it was their birthday. And all three times they had ditched their friends or plans or… actually I don’t know but the bottom line is the same: I’m the girl you want to fuck on your birthday.
And I will god damn make sure you have a good time.
Birthday One – I met him in a club in Dublin at Christmas. He was from Manchester. I took him to the VIP area (I knew the Dj) then I took him to my house for a house party. I was going to sleep with him anyway, but after we’d shown him a good time, fed him champagne and other treats, he followed me to the loo and told me he was having the best birthday ever. So of course he got a blow job there and then and I made our excuses and we left. Announcing to all that I was going to give him his birthday present.
I used every condom I had and made sure he got on that Ryanair flight a very happy man.
Birthday Two – I’d been having outrageous sex with this guy who’d just broken up with his long term girlfriend. I was very happy to make up his lost time for him. He unnecessarily took me for a nice dinner (I love guys who do things the right way, just because) and I felt that it deserved tequila after that. And we went back to my house where my housemate was in the sitting room with her friend recovering from a hangover. We fell in the door and into the kitchen. As soon as the door closed I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth. Within 3 minutes he had me bent over the kitchen table fucking me from behind with me biting down on his arm and within 10 he as lying on the kitchen bench with me straddling him. They could have walked in at any second. The guy went out of his way to get me to let out a squeal. I was drunk, I’ve no idea if I did or not.
Nobody got any sleep that night and he got something he swears he never got before – a blow job that ended with me swallowing his come. It’s the very least I could do.
Birthday Three – this has to be my favourite. Instead of meeting me at the hotel he arrived 2 hrs early and at my office, casually telling me to find somewhere to fuck him. Christ he could get me to do anything. We do manage to have sex in my office. I’m having the best day of my life. When we arrive to check in, giving the details to reception I discover that it’s his birthday. He hadn’t mentioned it because he hates his birthday. Not this one pal. I have 3 bottles of Prosecco with me and some of the best sushi in Dublin ordered.
I work in an office, he doesn’t and I knew he wanted an ‘office look’ scenario. I had bought a see through white blouse and a small flip up black skirt, killer heels and stockings. But before I could change into them, we got randomly upgraded to a penthouse so it was straight in the door up to the balcony to fuck outside where the whole of the city could see us.
Can this get better?
Yes it can.
I change and come back to the room where he is sitting on the couch. Before I can do anything, he tells me to get his drink and bring it to him, on my knees. When I get to him he tells me to lean forward and put my hands flat on the table. He flips my skirt up and makes and appraisal noise at the sight of my underwear. I moan as he strokes me, he slaps my arse and tells me he didn’t give me permission to make noise.
He teases the fuck out of me before letting me have his cock in my mouth. Then teases me to the point of insanity before he actually fucks me.
We have sex twice more in this vein before we move it to one of the bedrooms and I get out my bag of tricks.
See, I knew he had a pegging fantasy – I’ve never done this before but I want to, oh so fucking badly. And I think it’s about time I had some control this evening.
I am between his legs sucking his cock and working a finger into his ass with my spit. I tell him to get on his knees and beg me to fuck him. He complies. But he’s not getting it yet. I leave him there while I get the strap on perfectly on me. I tap it off the cheeks of his ass and tell him to turn around and look at it on me. He’s still rock solid. I tell him to rub his cock as I rub lube onto mine. As I rub mine I bend down and take his cock in my mouth again. Then I tell him to get on his knees again. I tongue fuck his ass again working a finger in there too. Then spitting on his hole I get my tongue and two fingers. I tell him to beg for my cock, he does. And finally I give it to him.
I love the noise he makes. I get him to turn around and I fuck him like that and I love the look on his face even more.
He comes like this on my tits.
We have sex again, he’s in control when I tell him I have to pee – we’re quite drunk and we’ve had a lot of riding. He asks can he watch, or would I (there’s a slight hesitation but he continues) be willing to pee on him. I’m not sure if I can but want to do anything he wants tonight. He’s extremely adept at being persuasive without you knowing it. I sit to pee he comes and kneels by me and starts to rub his cock, I’m surprisingly into this. I stand up and pee on him and I fucking love the noise he makes.
He tells me this is an actual fantasy come true. I am delighted to be the girl to do that.
I know we have sex again before I pass out. And again the next morning before we check out.
I had one of the best nights of my life and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t asking for his money back.
I couldn’t give a shit about my own birthday but I do care about yours. I want to be your fantasy on your birthday
*I just remembered the best sex on my birthday. It was so good I thought he was an escort, paid for by my friends. But we’re sadly out of time.
—
13. It’s My Birthday, by Maria Merian
“It’s my birthday!” I blurt, then blush.
Oh my god, why did I just say that out loud? How pathetic can you get? Hi cute bartender, it’s my birthday and I am sitting here drinking alone. Business trips on your birthday are not that fun. I wish I at least knew one person in this town. I wonder if Gina from college still lives here, I should check Facebook…
Interrupting my thoughts, a drink I’m sure I didn’t order appears in front of me.
“What’s this?” I say as I look up into the bartender’s eyes. Blue, I note.
“For your birthday, on the house.” he says with a little wink. OK, maybe this evening is looking up. I know it’s a bartender’s job to flirt with the patrons, but he is adorable and sexy and who cares? I smile back and hold his eyes as I take a sip.
“Wow, what IS this? It’s amazing!” It really is, spicy yet somehow floral, it burns going down and leaves my mouth a little tingly. In between slinging drinks for the few other patrons at the bar, he proceeds to tell me all about cinnamon infused whiskey and anise seed syrup, champagne and ginger and sugar. We flirt over herbs and spices as he brings me a mint and chamomile cocktail. His voice is incredible, low and playful, making his ruminations on cucumbers and gin sound like cool caresses at the back of my neck. I shiver.
Three drinks and two hours later, I am hot and beaming. Bad mood gone. Birthday salvaged. Time to go back to the hotel on a high note (and fantasize about Cute Bartender while sliding my vibrator around my clit).
When I reluctantly get up to leave, he says “I’ve got a break coming up, let me walk you to your hotel.” It’s only two blocks away but I’m reluctant to part from his company and the escort would be nice. And maybe…if his break was long enough…?
As we start down the sidewalk he puts my hand in the crook of his arm, whispering something amusing in my ear as he does. I shiver again and lean into him, turning in invitation, feeling his erection against my hip. Oh, this is getting very interesting… I slide my free hand down to stroke him through his jeans, lifting my eyes to his as he sucks in a breath. “How long do you have?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers.
“Fifteen minutes,” he whispers into my neck, hands snaking around my ass, pressing me close. I whimper with disappointment. Not enough time for him to get to the hotel, fuck me properly, and get back to work. “Don’t worry, I have a plan,” I feel him smiling as he kisses my jaw, moving to cover my mouth with his before I have a chance to ask about a plan. Jesus, he can kiss. I can definitely do this for fifteen minutes.
He breaks away, breathing heavily, his cock hard as a rock against me now. Too many clothes! I feel him grab my hand and lead me around the corner into the blind alley behind the bar. “Umm, are you sure this is safe?” I stammer. It isn’t too disgusting, but it’s not exactly pristine.
“It’s fine, the only other person who uses this space is watching the bar right now.” Then he pushes me up against the brick wall and slips his tongue into my mouth. Hard. Yes, OK. The alley is perfect, gorgeous, love it!
He starts to unbutton my shirt, gives up and rips it open, pulling my bra down in the process, immediately lowering his head to my tits. Sucking and teasing and biting like they are air and he is drowning. I’m practically coming at this alone. I know we don’t have time and I can’t wait. I fumble at his waistband, trying to get his shirt off and his fly open at the same time. FOCUS! I focus on his fly, the important part after all, and gasp with relief and hunger when I see his cock spring free. So, no underwear then, for some reason that makes me giggle. Everything is so frantic and fast and my giggle turns to a moan as I slip my mouth over the head of his cock and slide my lips along to the base. I grip his ass to hold him there, adjusting to his size (!!!) as I hear him laugh a little and moan, “You’re not one for taking it slow, eh?”
Slow? We only have 15 minutes, which of course I don’t say, because my mouth is full of cock. I can feel him getting harder (how is that even possible?!) and after a few seconds, he cups the back of my neck with his hand and pulls me up his body. I don’t want to leave my current post, but then his mouth is on mine and I hear him opening a condom wrapper. Then, faster than I think is possible, his fingers are pulling up my skirt and, oh Jesus, slipping my panties aside and sliding right into me. “God, you’re so wet,” he rasps in my ear, which makes me even wetter. I reach down and grab him, sliding one leg up around his hip. He gets the hint.
Suddenly I’m slammed against the brick wall, his cock pressing into my pussy, he braces himself, grips my leg at his waist and slows down so I can feel him spreading me bit by bit as he pants in my ear. I’m connected to the earth by one toe on the ground and my shoulder blades digging into the wall. My hands grip his shoulders and hang on for dear life. The upward thrusts and his grip on my leg have me desperate to come. He can tell and pants, “Come for me, birthday girl.” With a scream and a whimper I do. He follows immediately after with a groan and a shudder and the only thing holding us up is the brick wall and his dead weight against my chest.
“That’s most definitely the best birthday present I’ve ever received.” I say, after I stop seeing stars and can breathe again. I feel him smile against my neck, “good.”
9 replies on “Birthday Sex: your stories”
Ah, fuck ya, wordpress, you haven’t posted my cupcake. Stupid WordPress. You wouldn’t get that with blogger 😉
Very nice, ladies & gents x x x
[…] This is an entry for Exhibit A’s Birthday Bonking Competition […]
I agree with Tabitha, great work here!
These are fantastic! You should have short deadlines more often, it brings out the naughty genius in people.
Who won?
I’m getting to that!
[…] on holiday, I turned 34. Last year, I marked the occasion by inviting people to send me their own birthday sex stories. I’m taking a (possibly indefinite) break from running competitions, so that wasn’t an […]
[…] For my birthday two years ago I ran a mini writing contest, in which I asked people to send me their experiences of – and fantasies about – birthday sex. Judging it was great fun, though not nearly as enjoyable as actually reading through the various submissions. […]