Slutty Ondras Sex Log Ch 05

Well, two relatively major things have happened in my life since I last talked to you guys.

First, I've ruined another relationship and have broken up with Neil. I'll explain exactly what my part was in ruining it as we go along.

Second, my sabotaging of the relationship with Neil has finally forced me into therapy to try to figure out my issues with intimacy and sex.

For those of you thinking, 'Uh-oh, here we go with one of these sexless stories where Ondra bores us with a bunch of bullshit psycho-babble about her fucking issues!", stick around. You'll find that it's quite the opposite.

Remember, I went into therapy in the first place because I've spent the last ten years being a chain dick sucker and throwing my vagina at anyone who could achieve an erection, so all of that sex will get discussed right here as I work through all of my shit and open up to you folks.

Also, if you're thinking now that I'm in therapy I'll be "fixed" and stop fucking all these guys, so you'll no longer hear from me - think again. With the things I'm learning and accepting about myself now, thanks to the therapy, if anything I can forsee giving myself permission to take on MORE sex partners in the future, not fewer (You'll discover my reason for saying that shortly).

And, with what I told you the last time, you already know about a certain sexual maneuver that I would like performed on me as soon as humanly possible.

As some of you know from chatting with me here and on YM, that after my breakup I didn't do my typical hooking up with lots of guys on the rebound this time. Neil and I simply became each other's FB's, as his cock would end up in one (or all) of my holes about once every two weeks. But I was with this one guy a relatively short time after the breakup. I had been kinda talking to him whenever I saw him at this salad place I duck into for lunch when I'm near campus.I finally let him take me to dinner one evening and we ended up back at his place afterwards.

By the time I sat down on his sofa, he had pulled his pants down and his clearly raging hard-on was an unmistakable display of just how sexually excited he was. On the other hand, based on the tepid reaction going on in between these legs, I could tell that my own sex organs were not indicating nearly the same level of enthusiasm as were his.

After a couple of minutes of me administering (oh my God, I really am starting to talk like a nurse!) to him some pretty lackluster oral sex, I stopped and just looked up at him. I was sort of hoping that he would ask me if everything was ok, which would have been my opportunity to tell him that I wasn't really into it, but instead he took my stopping as a sign that it was his turn to perform oral on me.

I was wearing a black spandex mini skirt that night, which he worked upwards past my hips until it I was wearing it around my torso up above my belly button and then he pulled my panties to one side to begin eating me out. While he was licking me, I reached down to take off one, and eventually the other shoe and tried to just relax.

I must say that he was pretty good with his tongue, but despite what would have normally been oral good enough to result in at least one big orgasm for me, my pussy was not even getting that wet on its own. At that point, most of the moisture to be found down in my vaginal region was definitely coming from this guy's mouth.

I even tried to help matters along by sticking a couple of fingers in myself while his tongue was working my clit and then playing with my clit with my hand whenever his tongue happened to be someplace else on me. That did help a little. He didn't bother to take my panties off of me before he started fucking me, which ordinarily I would have objected to.

Usually, if I'm anticipating a really energetic session of sex, I'll want to get the most out of it and I wouldn't want my panties potentially getting in the way. This time, though, I really didn't care.

The intercourse itself was pretty standard fare, with me leaning back on the couch with my ass scooted forward toward the front edge of the cushions and him kneeling on the floor while he fucked my moderately wet pussy.

Now, I've been in situations where a guy will actually begin to lose his erection a bit if I'm not sufficiently lubricated for him. This time, however, I knew that would NOT be happening. His cock had been fucking rock hard since well before he released it from his pants, and I knew it was going to stay hard until it had gotten every last ounce of pleasure that it needed from my body, and only then would it be ready to terminate that pleasure in what would no doubt be a very satisfying and ball-emptying orgasm for this guy. I just didn't know when it would finally happen or where on my body, or in my body I would be taking his cumshot.

After a while my natural lubrication did improve, but never to the point that it was enough to match the fast pace at which his dick was traveling in and out of me. I mean, he was really fucking the shit out of me, although it was probably more pronounced because I wasn't "fucking him back", so to speak.

I just wish he was a little more observant and had thought to better match my movements in the very beginning. Then he would have been more gentle with me. I can't blame him, though. He was simply being a normal guy.

Meanwhile (God forbid I should stop talking about my vagina for five seconds), I kept having to wet my hands and deposit the moisture from them in between my legs and onto his dick as it slid past my fingers. He did pick up on my efforts this time, though, and at one point, even had me spit on his own hand to help me out.

Then, with the same fervor he had been using to thrust himself into me, he suddenly yanked his cock out of my pussy and started to cum on me. Remember folks, my panties were still on me the whole time with the crotch material pushed aside and resting to one side of my pussy.

For some reason, my first instinct was to put them back into their proper position covering my vagina. He was orgasming the whole time, so while I was doing this, blobs of his cum were plopping down onto my fingers and onto the front of my panties. He never said anything, but he must have wondered why I had chosen to cover myself up right at that moment. Maybe he thought I simply didn't want his cum on my bare skin.

Well it turns out that didn't matter, because when I went into the bathroom to freshen up, I discovered that the crotch of my panties was wet and slimy on the inside. Obviously he had started to cum before he pulled out of me completely and whatever semen he had deposited inside of me was now oozing back out of my pussy and creating a sticky mess in between my legs. I slid my wet panties down to my ankles, stepped out of them and sat down on the toilet to begin cleaning myself off down there.

I found some toilet wipes and used a couple of them to wipe away most of the cum. I still didn't know how much of it had yet to exit my vagina and I didn't want to wipe myself with toilet paper right away and have it break up on me, causing me to go home with little shreds of bathroom tissue all down in my crotch. Although it wouldn't really have mattered because I was probably going to jump into the shower as soon as I got home anyway.

I also knew I would not be putting my cum-soaked panties back on, and I didn't want this guy's male juices to still be trickling out of me and directly onto my miniskirt while I was driving home, so I reached down and stuck a finger in my vagina so I could coax as much of his remaining cum from my pussy as possible.

As I was washing my hands I noticed a woman's hair clip by the sink. As I looked around further I saw some panties, two bras and a bunch of makeup scattered about the counter. Being a woman, I, of course, had to investigate further. I opened the doors to the cabinet under the sink and found some feminine products and cotton balls.

I slid the shower door aside and saw moisturizers, cleansers and conditioners that obviously belonged to a woman, as well as a vibrator standing at attention at the edge of the bathtub! I couldn't help but pick it up (hey, I was going to be washing my hands again anyway). It said 'waterproof'.

Obviously this guy had a live-in girlfriend or a wife and I wondered where she was tonight while I was receiving the cumshot that should have been reserved for her.

Finally satisfied that I had gotten myself as cleaned up in between my legs as I possibly could without actually taking a shower, I glanced down at my discarded, cum-drenched panties and decided not to ball them up as I retrieved them from off the floor. Instead I would carry them out freely to let them get some air.

I said my goodbyes hastily and walked to my car, panties dangling from my fingertips. I felt awkward having discovered that I had just been an accomplice in this guy's cheating on his significant other.

I tossed my useless undergarment onto the floor of my car and drove home lacking the slightest idea of who the fuck I really was sexually and who I wanted to be going forward.

With my twenty-ninth birthday looming, I knew that if I was ever going to want a conventional romantic and family life, then it was time for me to straighten up and fly right and stop being the (to coin a phrase from Cal) "filthy fucking slut" which I had grown so accustomed to being over the years.

Continuing to be that slut would certainly be acceptable as well, but I suddenly felt a pressing need to make that decision one way or the other, at least in the short term.

Once home, I rinsed my panties out in the sink, flung them across the top frame of my shower door and prepared to get myself wet.

It was during that shower - some time in between scrubbing the previous evening's application of antiperspirant from my underarms and running my soap-filled hand in between my legs to clean away the last remnants of sweat, saliva, vaginal secretions and stale semen left on me after the wanton fucking I had just done - that your girl here made the decision to start therapy.

*****

As far as my actual treatment goes, my therapist tells me that because I traumatically lost my father at age ten, my inner self has never matured past that age and to this day remains deathly afraid of being abandoned and getting my heart broken again - even in friendships. I fear that anyone to whom I get close will eventually leave me like my dad did (although I can hardly blame him for dying).

So, how does this relate to men, their penises and my vagina?

Well, a woman who has a normal balance between her physical and emotional selves will meet a guy she's attracted to, get to know him, slowly develop feelings for him and then have sex with him as an expression of those feelings.

But because of my abandonment issues, I am anything but normal. If I waited to develop feelings that deep for a guy before I allowed myself to be intimate with him, I would already feel too vulnerable and be pulling away from him before we even had sex. I'd end up never having sex with anyone!

Instead, my M.O. has been to pick out a guy I find attractive, become intimate with him right away and then move on before I get too emotionally involved, but not before the guy has received the benefit of fucking my brains out between one and, let's say, a hundred times. That's what happened with Neil. I never gave him a chance to hurt me or make me really happy either.

I've also been known to go through phases when I just suck different guys' cocks and handle the penetrative portion of my sex life exclusively through my extensive collection of vibrators, dildos and butt plugs, but those phases don't usually last more than a few weeks.

Since high school my sex life has consisted of the type of blatant predatory, or some call it "sport fucking", which has historically only been associated with the male species. Well, I must have a lot of male traits because I've done more mindless, recreational fucking in my lifetime than any male I've ever known.

My dating life has been fraught with short to medium-term sexual relationships, one night stands and bouts of oral sex given to random guys on random days - anything which enables me to remain emotionally detached.

Once I touch a dick, IT becomes more important to me than the actual person it's attached to and the basis for my entire sexual identity lies in making sure that particular guy's dick is kept happy, hard and satisfied and that I drain the cum from his balls whenever he needs them emptied. That is the sole purpose of my sex life while I'm with him (I'm glad I have a female therapist, because this is the way I actually talk with her too).

I've always prioritized the physical aspects so that I wouldn't have to deal with the emotional ones. So, sucking cock, licking balls, rimming, eating cum, taking facials - that's where my bread's always been buttered.

Although coming home to an empty house at 6:30 a.m. after a one night stand with my panties shoved into my purse and my bra on backwards (okay, now I'm just being silly; even on my drunkest nights I can still manage to figure out that my tits are in the front) does get a little lonely sometimes, for me it beats the alternative of constantly agonizing over being dumped or spending one angst-ridden night after another wondering if a guy's really into me.

For him, he gets an open, willing sex partner who's cute, loves to suck cock, will accept a dick in all three of her holes without blinking and who won't stick around long enough to become annoying.

Now my sexual beginnings are really starting to make a lot more sense to me. Of the four of us girls, I was actually the last one to have intercourse with a boy. By the time we graduated high school, four or five boys had already fucked Cara, two or three Kimberly and Chloe and I had been with the same guy, Steve R., to lose our virginity. But, unlike my three girlfriends, I was busy giving oral sex to several of the boys from the other high school. I'd say that I sucked five or six of these boys' cocks over the last three months of my senior year, most more than once.

To be honest, my telling you in the past that Cara was really the school slut only told half the story. Although I was not yet as prolific in the intercourse department, I was every bit as familiar with the male genitalia as she was. For those of you who adhere to a high standard of what is acceptable behavior for a teenage girl, by your definition, in high school both Cara and I were total sluts. There's no way to sugar coat it - just complete and utter fucking sluts!

I knew a bunch of the students at that other high school because I had gone to the same elementary school with them years before. I had remained friends with some of the boys since then, but the girls that I knew seemed to change when they got to that other place and as soon as I began socializing with "their boys", I couldn't help but feel like an intruder. It was like something out of the movies when I would go into their territory.

The girls at their school wore white blouses under green sweaters with solid grey skirts and white, knee-high socks, while we wore white blouses under blue sweaters with blue and grey plaid skirts and dark blue, knee-high socks. Although we both wore white blouses, that was where the commonalty came to a screeching halt. The two schools hated each other - especially the girls, so, as you can imagine, after class you didn't see a lot of plaid-skirted asses running around on their school grounds and vice versa with their solid grey mini-skirted asses on our campus. They called us tramps and ho's while we called them stuck up bitches and spoiled little daddy's-girls (Ok, I still fucking HATE them, even today!).

Looking back, I know that we were justified in calling them the names we called them and, in my particular case, I guess their names for me were accurate as well.

Isn't it funny how the stakes change as a young girl comes of age? In sixth grade I was competing with those same girls over who would win the most candy for being the best tree climber. Now in high school, the tree climbing task was replaced with the task of sucking some boy's hard cock and, instead of candy, the prize was now a mouthful of his thick, warm, cum. It was nice to finally be all grown up and I never did care that much for candy, anyway.

Well, if I thought I was popular with the boys back in sixth grade, because I could run as fast as they could and play the same games they played, sucking their dick's, licking their sweaty ball sacs and swallowing endless loads of their gooey spunk made me REALLY popular with them in high school.

Mine were the very first blowjobs that any of them had ever received and for some of them it was a life-changing moment. Not because I was so good at giving oral (in fact, I really didn't know what I was doing yet), but because the knowledge that they could get a girl to perform that type of an act on them - something that so many of the other girls found disgusting - gave them all a profound confidence boost. I witnessed one boy go from shy and quiet to outgoing and charismatic with a great sense of humor in a matter of days after I started blowing him. I'm glad too, because he was really nice and everyone deserved to experience his great personality.

Although it would make for a more interesting story, I can not tell you that I ever pulled a train, with boys lined up waiting their turn for me to suck them off. It was always just one-on-one, sometimes with different boys on the same day - one right after school and perhaps another one later that night when we were hanging out in the park.

I could do this without any emotion and without having to see any of them at school all the time. As soon as I'd start to like a guy a little, I'd move on to the next one so that my emotions stayed protected. None of the boys seemed to mind.

There I'd be in some out-of-the-way spot, like down on my knees in the bushes behind the school, feverishly sliding some boy's cock in and out of my mouth and licking his fucking hairy, smelly balls (a lot of them didn't bother to shower after gym class), trying to hurry up and make him shoot his load before anyone showed up. Each boy's orgasm was a teaching moment, each cumload swallowed a lesson learned about male ejaculatory fluid and the vast differences there can be in the amount, consistency and taste of it, both from boy to boy and from time to time with the same boy.

Having spurt upon spurt of cum from some willing boy's erect penis explode into my mouth? Those were by far the easiest of the lessons. Other lessons were considerably more harsh. Like discovering how cocky boys can become once they think, or in my case, know, that you're easy. One of them actually acted like he was the one doing ME a favor by 'letting' me blow him and after we'd finish, he would pretend he didn't know me when he got back around his friends. I later found out that he started the trend of everyone at that school calling me by the last name "Swallows", which is a crude and insulting variation of my real last name.

I got a used car for my eighteenth birthday with about a month left to go in the school year (a 1999 Honda Accord), so I no longer had to be on my knees all the time to bestow my oral gifts upon my male friends. But while my knees were appreciating the break they were getting, my mouth, on the other hand, became even more solidly booked during after-school hours, because the boys and I now had a semi-private place to be a sexual with each other.

The first fingers in my pussy, the first lips to suck on and teeth to bite on my nipples (other than my own) were all experienced in that car. But finger me as they may, none of the boys were skilled enough yet with their hands or patient enough yet in their approach to ever bring me to an orgasm.