January 1st 2017
Dear Diary,
Well, I did it again. New Year’s resolution nailed within half an hour of the clock striking twelve. And why not, eh? Why set targets that take all year when you can get immediate results?
It’s Saskia’s fault. This year, last year and the year before. All her. She’s a bad influence. She arranged things in advance this time – practically sold tickets. Brazen slut! She’s terrible but you’ve got to love her. You should have seen what she was wearing last night. Absolutely gorgeous. She outshone me. As you know, my dress was similar but I don’t have her pert boobs and heart-shaped arse. Heads turned all night for her.
Not that I didn’t get my fair share of attention; lots of wolf-whistles, a few adventurous hands on my arse. Nice. Yet, surprisingly, neither of us got the catty ‘slut’ comments this year. The whole pub knew what we’d got planned and nobody objected. Shame really. I’m fond of a little notoriety and Hannah Johnson’s blatant disapproval was priceless. I’ve never seen anyone go so red.
Oops, sorry Diary. I’ve just spilled coffee on the page. I was laughing and totally missed my mouth. Ironic, really.
I digress. New Year’s Eve, The Anchor. There we were, me and Saskia, in the thick of it when I got a tap on the shoulder. Rob. Says he’s worried. He’s got money riding on the outcome and wants to know if we can really beat our time. My reassurances weren’t enough – it’s his pub, his flat, his reputation – but he snapped up my offer of an action preview. Fair enough.
Rob’s flat above the pub looks different when it’s empty. Quite spacious. Tidy too. I sucked him off in his kitchen, against the wall. It didn’t take long. I sucked him with my hands behind my back, just to practice. It was fine. Didn’t slow me down at all.
I like Rob’s cock. It’s big but doesn’t stretch my jaw uncomfortably. And yes, I swallowed. I do with Rob. He tastes good. Is that because I like him?
Okay, wandering again. Back to last night…
Our target: seventeen blowjobs in less time than it took to blow sixteen cocks last year. Let’s not forget the extra challenge of having our wrists tied behind our backs. Saskia’s idea. Bonkers, if you ask me. Talk about sabotaging your game plan. We both serviced three cocks at a time last year. That’s how we got through them so fast. But Saskia insisted.
The time to beat was twenty-two minutes and forty-five seconds. That had been some going for sixteen blow-jobs and it was a whole two minutes quicker than 2015. And that, of course, was for fifteen cocks. We were rubbish, weren’t we? Beginner’s nerves, I think.
Anyway, Saskia’s pride and Rob’s money were riding on that time. I, of course, had my personal goal. My New Year’s resolution. Written in this very diary in the notes section. “I will be the biggest slut possible and go wild.”
Yes, I know, I write the same resolution every year but it’s what I want, isn’t it? I mean, why force yourself to give up chocolate or vow to torture your body at the gym every day? Does that actually make anyone happy? Not me. My resolution is fucking good fun and it’s achievable. I’m shockingly good at accomplishing it.
And so is Saskia. Tart.
I’m waffling again…
Okay, here’s how things went down. At five minutes to midnight, Rob escorted us both upstairs. The flat was rammed: seventeen hand-picked men and half the pub as onlookers. Talk about squashed! I’d no idea you could fit so many people into one room. There were twice as many as last year. The noise and smell were incredible – testosterone heaven with a soundtrack of grunts and groans. I had hands on my tits and cocks pressed against my arse. Ooh, I love all that.
The champagne was flowing courtesy of Rob.
I can’t describe the excitement. It was more intense than last year. The ‘seventeen’ lined up in the middle of the room, erections bulging in their jeans. You could see them straining against the fabric. Wow! Such a turn-on. I recognised most of the men but not all. That was good. I like variety.
While our men were lining up, Saskia, the slut, flashed her boobs. Now, technically, that’s action before midnight so it’s cheating. No-one minded. They lapped it up and I reckon it made our job easier. Seventeen trussed-up trouser snakes twitched the second her boobs bounced in front of them.
I left my top on. I know, a coward. Again. Maybe next year….
The countdown had reached five when Rob tied our hands. I remember salivating at that point. When I dropped to my knees, I ought to have been nervous but I wasn’t. No word of a lie, I couldn’t wait to see those fat cocks unleashed and have them in my mouth. I have a confession too: having my hands tied added to the thrill. Weird that. Saskia was right. She nudged me just before we started. Asked me if I was ready.
I’d never been more ready in my life.
Happy New Year? Too fucking right. Start as you mean to go along, start with a bang… why do people say that? They’re meaningless clichés unless you actually live them.
I’m proud to say, I did.
At the stroke of midnight, that randy crowd watched seventeen men scramble to unzip and thrust their cocks at Saskia and me. I tell you, it was chaos. I got the first cock in my ear and the second nearly blinded me. The third hit home. Mushroom tip in mouth. Lips sealed. Suck. We had a record to beat.
Time’s a strange beast. It kind of stopped, like it did last year. It’s an amazing feeling. All the noise merged into a sort of rumbling growl and the people became a writhing, faceless mass. All I could think about were those cocks; getting them into my mouth, sucking them, feeling the pulse of throbbing veins against my tongue. Then there’s the come hitting the back of my throat… I adore that: creamy sweetness filling my mouth before the roar of the crowd when I open wide to show them.
Fun times. Saskia loved it too. She’s always in her element surrounded by horny men. She sucked more cocks than me. Ten to my seven, I think we worked out. Ah well, between us, we did a good job. And do you know what? We beat our time. We sucked off seventeen in twenty-two minutes and thirty-one seconds. How about that then? Result.
When Rob announced our time, Saskia couldn’t stop grinning. She kept spitting come at me and leering with a blissed-out look on her face. Bless her. She’s such a slut. We had a blast last night, me and her. We always do. First the contest, then the celebration. We drank loads, did some wild dancing and sucked a few more cocks. It had to be done, didn’t it? Best New Year ever.
One problem – my dress is ruined. It’s got blobs of dried come all over it. It looks like it’s been dipped in sugar frosting. Icky! Oh, and Rob’s asked me on a date. Should I go?
Hell, the time… I’ve got carried away writing and Saskia will be here any second. I’m not changed yet and she’ll want to get going. We’re off clubbing. I know, out again. She’s such a bad influence.
So, my dearest Diary, that’s it for now. It’s been an eventful New Year and, if all goes to plan, the year will only get better. You see, I’m going to take my New Year’s resolution seriously for once. Aim long term. You have it here in writing, a world exclusive: I’m going to be the biggest slut possible and go wild – all year long.
I’ll be sure to keep you updated x
