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Slutty Ondra’s Sex Log Ch. 02

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Keep score along with her as Ondra, a 28 year old slut in denial, graphically catalogs every ounce of semen and every drop of vaginal fluid from her sexual exploits in her remarkably descriptive sex chronicles. She discloses everything to her readers, from photographic details about past and present fucks to her own quirky personal hygiene and grooming habits.

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So guys, I got together with my nineteen year old college boy for the second time last night. After our hasty brush a week ago, I wasn’t sure there would even be a second time.

When considering what to do for an encore, I found myself craving something a little more on the “tranquil” side. And, with what I’ve told you guys about my last two encounters with men, can you blame me? So, after lecture one day, I decided to invite my classmate over to my place for dinner. That way I could feel relaxed and present in the moment.

The day of our date, I stopped at the market after my last class and then went home to get ready. I was rushed, so to save time I began to get undressed as I unpacked the groceries. By the time they were all put away, I was standing in the middle of the kitchen in my underwear! I don’t yet have curtains in my townhouse, so I snuck my way up to the bathroom in that instinctually woman-like, arms-crossed fashion (no bra that day), peeled off my panties and hopped into the shower.

I did the usual soaping and rinsing, then I grabbed my razor to sha…

Oh wait, time out guys!

I forgot to mention that I’ve decided to let my pubic hair grow out. Nothing too crazy, though, just some “foliage” around my pussy and a little bit of fuzz above my clit. I’m keeping my ass crack totally smooth for now. I’m a girl that’s always had a tendency to get really hairy in that region and if I were to completely let myself go down there, I’d have hair around my asshole almost long enough to braid! When I mentioned grabbing my razor earlier, I was referring to shaving my ass hair.

Now, to do this I perform a move that’s not exactly the most elegant on my part. I have to squat down like a baseball catcher, then reach underneath myself with the razor and run it along the crack of my ass. I feel really awkward and un-ladylike in that position, so sometimes I’ll blow off shaving my ass for weeks. But, with the looming potential of having company down there in a couple of hours, I re-soaped and went at it.

I used to date a guy who got off on shaving my exclusive parts for me. We just threw down a towel and I would lay on top of it on my back with my knees up in the air. Then, I’d spread my legs and ass cheeks as widely as I could and he’d foam me up and shave away. I suppose he thought that if he was the one taking my pussy and ass for a spin, he wanted to do the detailing himself. He tried shaving my legs once too but, no. Besides, I have a fairly spacious two-station shower in my master that has a built in bench where I can sit and shave my own legs in comfort.

By the way, it’s winter now, but in the summertime I go to my “groomer” to have my privates done. That’s probably way too much information, but you know there’s nothing I don’t tell you guys!

With all of the important shower stuff complete, I dried myself off and put on a short (and I mean short) satin robe that would definitely show EVERYTHING if I bent over far enough. I just bought it and I love it because it’s soft and comfortable. The fact that it’s so short doesn’t bother me because, not having dressings for my windows, I just need something to cover me up. Besides, I’m not planning on going out to get the morning paper in it or anything.

Next I had to decide which panties to wear. I glanced over at the ones I had just slipped out of before getting into the shower:

“Hmm, those would have been nice.”

But then I thought,

“Naaa, I couldn’t put those back on!” and continued to look for a satisfactory fresh pair.

After a few minutes of indecision, I said to myself,

“Oh, fuck it!”

And with that I had officially made the decision to host the dinner wearing my bathrobe. Yes, the same robe that I had originally bought just so my neighbors – in case they happened to be looking in my window – wouldn’t see my tits when I got out of the shower.

In the past when I’ve had guys over for dinner I’ve dressed in anything from a formal evening gown, to jeans and a t-shirt, to a full Maid Marian costume (What, I can’t have fun with a little role play?).

But seriously (and all my girls out there can relate to this), you know how sometimes you get out of the shower, throw on any old thing and, tongue-in-cheek you think, “Can’t I just go out like this?” Well my “this” was that bathrobe, so I went with it (okay MEN, you can uncover your ears now).

In my continued preparation güvenilir bahis for the night’s events, I found that my incessant primping and preening was putting a possible crimp in my ability to fulfill the evening’s culinary requirements (Who the hell talks like that? What I meant was that I was spending so much time doing my fucking hair and trying to look cute for the guy, that I was running out of time to cook dinner for him!).

The meal was simple, however, and I had it ready in 35 minutes, right at the time he was scheduled to show up.

About fifteen minutes later I heard him knock and I opened the door to greet him. He was immediately apologetic, saying that he knew not to show up to a girl’s (how cute was he to call me a girl?) house when they say to because they’re never ready on time and that he waited in his car for a while, etc.

I interrupted him,

“It’s okay, you’re fine.”

He came in, took off his shoes and sat down at the table as I popped open a beer for him.

We complained about school as I prepared to serve the meal. I could tell that he was preoccupied with watching me slink around the kitchen in my short little robe, with my ass barely covered and my tits jiggling around. I had to keep adjusting the robe’s overlap to keep them from flying out.

I walked over to him and leaned in to put his plate down in front of him. As I stood over him he asked me,

“Do you want to, like, go get dressed or something?”

I think he felt badly because he thought I had simply run out of time to get ready. He probably pictured me running around like a crazy woman, frantically trying to get myself together. I quietly asked him,

“Do you WANT me to get dressed?”

So, that settled, I sat myself (robe and all) down to his left at the table.

During dinner the conversation eventually turned to what had happened between us the week before. This got a little awkward and from his perspective I could see why. I mean, here he was in front of a woman he still barely knew, that came over to his room after class last week, gave him oral sex and left a disheveled mess.

What was he supposed to say, “Thank you.” as if I had just given him change at Starbucks? Or maybe, “I had a great time.” Yeah, no shit you had a great time!

So I finally recycled an old joke and said, “Well, last week you made me gag on something and this week I’m making you gag on my cooking.”

After a laugh, I got up to start clearing the table. As I walked into the kitchen, my eyes began to well up with tears. My sadness told me that I had some serious matters to reconcile within myself; things that most women have probably had to address at some point in their dating lives.

On a night that was so pleasant and potentially leading to some pretty incredible sex, I was sad that this wasn’t going to be our first time together. I had killed some of the romance with my decision to be intimate with him last week.

If I did end up getting serious about this guy, I suppose that I would always look at this very night as our first date and now that first date had been cheapened a little by the fact that we did some stuff in his dorm room the week before.

I wanted to go upstairs to my bedroom to collect myself, so I ran past him and told him to feel free to come up whenever he wanted. When I came out of my bathroom, he was sitting on my bed wanting to know if everything was okay. I didn’t say anything, as I was not yet fully over my “moment”.

I was experiencing a wave of ambivalence at that point. The purely physical Ondra was obviously attracted to him and, on a normal night, would not have rejected the idea of sleeping with him, especially since it had been a couple of months since I had gone all the way with someone. Plus, the purely unscripted nature of sex with a new person is always exciting. But the emotional woman inside of me was having a hard time keeping pace with what my sex organs wanted.

I knew that I wasn’t going to just put the brakes on the whole evening, but if we were going to be having intercourse that night, I was bound and determined not to have it be a rushed endeavor. I had been throwing my body around like a crazy person lately and that needed to stop.

The belt of my bathrobe had slipped open without me realizing it and my breasts were already pushing the satin material aside as I sat on the bed next to my would-be lover. I stood up to let the robe fall completely off of my body as he pulled his sweater off over his head.

He hadn’t seen me like this before. No harsh fluorescent dorm room lighting, no mascara-stained cheeks, no partially unbuttoned blouse, my breasts free and unencumbered by the limitations of a bra, no sticky panties riding up my vagina (although I was the only one who knew about that the türkçe bahis last time), no stale body odor that came with sitting in classes all day; just my squeaky clean, naked body standing in front of him.

He started to unzip his pants, but I stopped him. Truthfully, I didn’t want the foreplay portion of the evening to be all about his dick. Ordinarily I’m perfectly willing to start things off that way, but I had already done more than enough of that a week ago when I had his cock in my mouth for the better part of an hour. My jaws had already felt the fatigue. My eyes had already shed gag-induced tears. My oral reflexes had already been stretched to their absolute max for this guy.

This time I (over here, ME!) needed some attention and I’m not ashamed to say that I did tease him. I wanted him to fully appreciate the gravity of a woman completely surrendering herself to a man. As he sat on my bed, I made him stare at me while I stood there caressing myself, fondling my tits and sliding my hands in between my legs. I slyly crawled past him to lay down on the bed and spread my legs. As he leaned in to begin eating me out, I needed to feel a desire so strong eminating from him, that if he could have completely inhaled me he would have.

Well, inhale me he did – and that was ALL I let him do. As tough as it was for me to resist, I didn’t allow him to use his tongue on me. I simply wanted him to feel my warmth as I repeatedly pressed my wet pussy with its silky, newly-grown hair against his face.

The idea of making this guy sniff around down there on me admittedly gave me a rush. I was getting off on making him memorize the unique aroma of my pussy. I wanted him to completely internalize the feminine scent of this woman he was about to be with.

When it did come time to fuck we took our time with everything, but our sex was less romantic as it was methodical – wonderfully methodical!

When we were in missionary, I put my hand on his stomach so he would stop fucking me for a second. At that point his dick was still in me about half way. I reached down and used my fingers to gather up some the juices that were running from my pussy down to my asshole and then I smeared those juices onto his dick before he slid it back onto me. He would pause to let me do this all throughout our fuck session. Sometimes my wetness was so thick that it would take a while for me to get it all off of my fingers and onto his cock, but he always waited for me.

It’s like we were working together to recycle every last drop of my pussy’s lubrication. That’s what I meant when I said we were methodical together. We each knew what needed to be done at any given moment. Not in some syrupy, sappy way, but in a raw, “let’s micro-manage every detail” kind of way.

I loved seeing my thick, gooey vaginal fluid congregating at the base of his cock. And every time he would pull out of me, it would take on a different look. Sometimes it would distribute itself evenly across the exposed portion of his dick and other times it would form itself into a single, thick, milky-white, dime-sized clump of goo somewhere on his penis. Still others it would blob onto my pussy and make my clit all sticky and wet.

Sometimes I’d rest both hands on either side of my pussy so that his cock rubbed against my index fingers as he was fucking me. Then he’d tease me by pulling his dick out of me really slowly, but only to the point where I could just begin to feel the head trying to squeeze itself past my fingers.

Once he was sure I had gotten a good, long feel of his bulging head stretching my pussy lips, he’d ram it all the way back inside me really fast. We did that so, so, so many times in a row, maybe twenty or more! And I was talking to him about it the whole time too, saying things like, “Keep it there for a second” and “Ok, push it back in me now.”

Occasionally I like to play with my pussy while I’m being fucked, so I drew some of my thickest saliva onto my tongue, licked my fingers and began rubbing my clit with my hand. He kept fucking me in long, fast strokes as he held himself up in a pushup position, so that just his hands and feet were touching the bed. I finally let out a “Fuuuuuck” as I came the first time. It was probably more like “Fuuuuuu”, because with all the teeth clenching and breath holding that I tend to do when I cum, I don’t think I ever actually finished saying the word.

Now, I have to let you guys in on something. Before, I sort of downplayed the point about me “sometimes” playing with myself during sex. It’s really more than just sometimes; like way more; like all the time; like every second! I don’t know if it’s a nervous condition or what, but while I’m getting fucked, I always have to be feeling around my vagina, stretching back my pussy lips, playing with güvenilir bahis siteleri my clit, reaching down to check how wet my ass crack is, etc. I think it’s some sort of obsessive compulsive thing.

I have no problem stopping a guy so I can manage some issue with my pussy or assess the current state of my vaginal fluids. I’m always pulling my pussy taught too. Not tugging on the lips, but more like what you would do when you’re shaving down there and you want to stretch the skin to get a closer cut (even though you shouldn’t do that – bumps).

I’m compulsive about my orgasms also and I’m continually rubbing my clit to give myself one. Of course I can have them without doing that, but I get really impatient sometimes. Not with the person who’s fucking me, but with myself.

One guy I dated would say, “Uh-oh, there she does getting greedy again,” whenever I would start in on my clit. He called me greedy for making myself cum with my hand instead of waiting to have a natural orgasm. He only said it jokingly though. He was actually a great guy. Hmm, I wonder what he’s up to now.

It was nice to be with a someone who got on board with the program quickly and didn’t mind me fiddling with myself so much. I’m sure men must have a vision of their ideal lover and I bet that for a lot of men, I AIN’T IT! Looks-wise sure, but actions-wise, I doubt it. I guess guys expect me to be so overcome with ecstacy that I wouldn’t have time to do all of my quirky movements in bed.

Not that they’re expecting me to just lay there and be taken, but I think I am a bit surprising to some guys the first time they have sex with me. They’re probably thinking, “Okay, what’s she doing now? Should I stop? Should I slow down?” But this guy seemed to have gotten me right away, which is kind of shocking for a nineteen year old.

Now that I’ve established I’m neurotic about my pussy and its fluids, I’m sure it’s no surprise that I also obsess over the guy’s moistural (I think I just made up a word) contributions to that part of my body during sex. I like it when a man pulls out of me and shoots his load all over my pussy. I just love feeling those thick wads of warm cum plopping down in between my legs and into the crack of my ass.

If I had a sexual fantasy, I guess it would be to get fucked by an endless line of guys while I’m spreadeagle in a gyno exam chair, with each guy pulling out of me and shooting his load right onto my pussy. I’d have clumps of cum in my pubic hair and my hands would be playing around with the cum from all of the previous guys while the next one fucked me. My ass crack would be drenched with all of the excess jizz and it would be dripping off of me onto the floor.

There was no endless line of guys in my bedroom that night, though. Just my classmate. Before he came, he actually asked me where I wanted it. I didn’t answer him and just criss-crossed my ankles against his back. As he was shooting his load inside me, I started having another one of my “moments”. I began thinking about how rough he had been with me during parts of the blowjob I gave him last week. I remembered how he had grabbed my head and was literally slamming my mouth onto his cock. For a second I thought to myself,

“Not only did you NOT leave his room the minute he began to get aggressive with you, but you continued to blow him until he came AND you swallowed his load. So, a week later, you make him dinner, let him fuck you and now you’re taking his cum inside of you. What the fuck is wrong with you Ondra?”

Angry with myself and him, I wanted him off of me immediately. I kept my composure, however, and politely asked if he minded not staying over for the night.

“Do you want me to leave right now?” he asked.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” I replied.

I threw on my robe as he got dressed, walked him downstairs to the front door and he left. As soon as the door closed I thought I had made a mistake. I felt that way because I was no closer now to knowing how much he really liked me than I was before. I should have waited to see if he would decide on his own to spend the night with me. At least then I would know just how invested he was in me. By asking him to leave, I had given him an easy out just like I had done last week. He probably just went back to his dorm and had a beer with his roommate. Feeling desperately incomplete, I once again fought back tears.

As I sobbingly did some last minute straightening up before going up to bed, I noticed some smudges on the hardwood floor. It turns out that his cum had been running out of my vagina and down my leg the whole time. It had traveled all the way down to my feet and I was tracking it around the house with me when I walked.

Exhausted, dehydrated, tearful and depressed, I just didn’t have the energy to deal with it right then and I decided to go upstairs to bed. As I reached to turn off the downstairs lights, I glanced down at the floor one last time and thought to myself,

“Oh well, I guess I’ll have to clean that up in the morning.”

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