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"What is the most amount of times you've had sex in a single day?"

mrys said:
Nah I'm not WB. Just led an interesting life sometimes. With boring bits in between. Started life as a Jackaroo on sheep and cattle stations and moved on from there. Still love the silence of a camp fire and a great sunset. I'm enjoying my journey and the people I meet along the way.
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That's a book I'd like to read if you write it. Yes I prefer the outback especially monsoon season in the Kimberly.
 
Phoebe said:
Some of those stations are the sizes of countries would of been a hard job, but interesting too.
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It was a great learning experience. I was a private school kid in Perth who hated everything about it. 2 weeks after I finished school I left for a Jackaroo job in Leinster. Best thing I ever did :-) Maybe my parents didn't share my enthusiasm but to their credit they lived with my choice.
 
WildBrumby said:
That's a book I'd like to read if you write it. Yes I prefer the outback especially monsoon season in the Kimberly.
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WildBrumby said:
That's a book I'd like to read if you write it. Yes I prefer the outback especially monsoon season in the Kimberly.
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I'd like to think it would make a good book but I doubt I'll ever have the discipline to write it. The Kimberly is stunning, very few places come close to the timelessness of the Kimberley. If there is a god it's definitely his best work :-)
 
Master Yoda said:
She Tried to Fill a Wine Glass With My Cum—And I Didn’t Know How to Feel About It

She wasn’t my girlfriend. That was clear from the start. She wanted to be. I didn’t. I liked the setup how it was—friends with benefits, no strings, nothing messy. She was younger, smart, doing postgrad stuff in something I couldn’t even pretend to understand. And sexy in this quietly confident way. We got along. We fucked. That was it.

But then there was this night.

I stayed over. Nothing out of the ordinary—just casual. I was lying in bed half-scrolling, half-ready to pass out when she walked into the room with a wine glass. One of those big round ones that’s designed to swirl reds and smell oak or whatever.

She stood at the edge of the bed and said, calmly, almost academically, “If you can fill this up, I’ll drink it.”

And before I could ask what the hell she meant, she dropped to her knees and took my dick in her mouth.

No warning. No buildup. No slow seduction.

Just that perfect kind of suck—no deep-throating or choking sounds, just steady pressure, warm tongue, focus. She knew what she was doing. And it worked. I came quickly. She caught it, pulled back, and spat it right into the glass.

That act alone had me hard again instantly.

She looked up at me, smirked—not in a smug way, just proud—and went again.

Second time. Same deal. She sucked me until I finished, spat it into the glass, and sat back on her heels like she was collecting data. It turned me on in a way I didn’t expect. There was something methodical about it. Almost obsessive.

We took a short break. She gave me water. Then she started again.

By the fifth round, I was moaning and sore. She knew I needed a rest but didn’t stop—not out of cruelty, but like she was committed to this weird, erotic mission. By the eighth time, I was barely dribbling. She was still catching everything and spitting it into the glass. I was starting to feel real pain. Not sharp—just that dull ache in your balls that tells you to call it a night.

But I still didn’t stop her.

I didn’t want to. I was turned on beyond logic.

I gave up at number twelve. Couldn’t do another. I passed out.

The next night, I stayed over again. She walked in holding the same wine glass—cool from the fridge. It hit me like a drug. My body was sore, my cock felt raw, but my brain didn’t care. Just the sight of it had me hard.

Same deal. She went to work again. Slower this time. I struggled more. She was patient. We only got to seven. I fell asleep before we could try for more.

Now here’s where it got strange.

On the third night, I went to grab something from the fridge. There it was. The same wine glass. About a third full. Covered in cling wrap like it was leftovers.

I stared at it.

My stomach turned.

I walked into the room and asked her to throw it out. My voice was sharper than I meant it to be. She was quiet, didn’t argue. Just nodded and took it out of the fridge.

And I’ve thought about that ever since.

Was I being a dick? Did I overreact?

It was hot. So hot. Until it wasn’t.

Something about seeing it stored like that—like an experiment, or worse, a souvenir—just killed the mood. It felt clinical. Or maybe too real. I don’t know.

So let me ask:

To the men reading—have you ever been with someone who went that far to turn you on? Would you want to? Would the fridge part ruin it for you too?

To the women—what do you make of this? Was I ungrateful? Or just caught off guard? What do you think she was trying to show me?

Because honestly… I still don’t know.

All I know is that I haven’t had anything like it since.

And part of me still wonders if I threw away something I didn’t fully understand
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I read this thrice, i just think you were caught off guard but that lady seemed sexy and she really knew what she was doing.. Loved reading it.
 
Miss Monique said:
I wonder what the lady intended doing with it 🤔 Science experiment perhaps or measuring volume. Artificial insemination hence why putting in fridge. Just when you think you have seen or heard it all. Wait there is more
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The wonderful girl really was determined to fill that glass to the brim and gobble it up. I just did not have the heart to let her do that
 
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