The Dirty and the Dirtiest Pt. 01

In 2014, I moved from Melbourne to Sydney to work for a fantastic government-owned corporation that managed Australia’s top two tourist destinations. I still owned my townhouse in Melbourne, which was tenanted and managed by a professional real estate agency.

In 2016, I flew to Melbourne ostensibly for a finance conference but took time to inspect my townhouse with the agency’s representative. Tracy Zhang met me onsite and showed me through my townhouse. Luckily, the tenants were at work, but the place was a tip. The general lack of respect for themselves and my property, my first home that I lovingly renovated several years earlier, was depressing.

Over the next year, my property manager sympathised and worked closely together to exit these tenants and install a better class of renter. During our correspondence, I detected faint flirting on Tracy’s behalf. I subtly reciprocated, and she started sharing personal details such as age, relationship status and the unique attributes she finds appealing in potential suitors. This conversation was made via text message in 2017, while the professional side of our relationship continued via email.

At the same time, the “magic” of Facebook had me reconnecting with an old online dating flame. Amanda was a young woman with a filthy appetite whose tastes included fisting, hard anal and golden showers. She had gotten herself pregnant with a guy close to her age and named the boy after me. I had not seen or spoken with Amanda since 2013.

It was fortuitous that Amanda messaged me in the winter of 2017 because I was invited to speak at another conference in Melbourne in late September. I planned to meet with Tracy and inspect my townhouse again (with the new tenants). My filthy mind was working hard, trying to angle some action with either Tracy or Amanda.

It was easier to talk sex with the latter because Amanda naturally brought it up once we chatted again on Messenger. With Tracy, our WhatsApp chats retained a specific boundary that remained flirty but respectful. There was no overt sexually charged discussion between us, but we artfully elicited details from each other from our respective trenches.

One cold late-August evening, I was enjoying a pint of Guinness at the local Irish Pub when Amanda pinged me.

“What are you doing, handsome?”

“Hi A,” I replied, “At the pub chilling out. You?”

“I’m bored,” She said, and before I could respond, she added, “And horny, LOL.”

“Get your boyfriend or husband to service you.”

“I would if I had one or the other, or both.”

“So, what happened to you and Keiran?”

He was Jason Jr’s father, and the last I heard was about to move in together. Amanda said they lived together for two years before realising their match’s futility. Keiran still enthusiastically provided for his son, and they shared custody, with Amanda being the primary carer.

“How long have you been single?”

“A few years now,” She replied.

“That’s a lot of DIY, LOL,” I said, “What’s the online scene like?”

“I found a few men there,” Amanda tapped, “But it’s not like it once was.”

Very true. I was active in the NSW scene, but with the vast skew of men to women, it was challenging to discover interested women who had the pick of the litter. I imagined that single mothers would have difficulty finding a worthy partner, but one-night stands would constantly be available.

“Yes, but I want quality over quantity,” she said, “Besides, no one satisfies my tastes as you did.”

“We did some wild things together.”

“Things that I haven’t done since, LOL.”

“Really?” I asked, incredulous at her response, “You didn’t convince Keiran to scratch your itches?”

“He’s a great father but a lousy lover.”

“With massive testicles,” I joked.

“Lol, that part was alright,” Amanda agreed, “As soon as Jason Jr was born, I went on the pill.”

“No more unexpected bundles?”

“I don’t regret having Jason Jr, but future pregnancies must be planned, LOL.”

“What are you now, 28, 29?”

“28.”

“Plenty of time to gift Jason Jr with siblings if you want,” I observed, but felt I was being slightly patronising.

“You mean my eggs are still fresh, LOL.”

“Yep,” I chuckled, “And there is also time to play the field and find a man that shares our tastes.”

“That other man doesn’t exist,” Amanda cried, “Oh, why did you move to Sydney?”

“Believe me, now I’d love to be in Melbourne and do some nasty things with you.”

“It’s freezing here,” She said, “Getting nasty in the park would not be pleasant.”

Amanda referred to Hedgely Dene Gardens in suburban Melbourne, the mutually convenient meeting place for our hardcore trysts.

“I guess not,” I tapped, “You still live around there?”

“No, I’ve moved to Eltham, so my parents can look after Jason Jr while I work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a Bunnings checkout chick,” Amanda said, referring to the national DIY chain.

“You enjoy it?” I asked.

“Meh, it keeps a roof over our heads and food in our tummies,” Amanda replied, reinforcing that the last four years had been about child-raising rather than career ambition.

“You know,” Amanda began, “There’s a park between Bunnings and my house that I walk through every day.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Yeah. There’s a railway line on an old wooden bridge that spans the creek,” A dirty confession was coming, “Last summer, after work, I sat underneath the bridge, pulled my pants off and masturbated to fantasies I have of us.”

“Do you pee too?”

“Sometimes, LOL.”

“You’re a nasty girl!”

“The nastiest, and I need you to sort me out.”

“What are these fantasies you speak of?”

“Hm, our pee and anal games.”

“They were hot, sizzling encounters!” I confessed, my cock stirring in my jeans.

“You were the last person I did anal with,” Amanda tapped.

“You’re missing out,” I replied, “What about pee?”

“I know, right,” Came an indignant reply, “I’ve had some GS encounters since, not as good, though. What about you?”

I briefly outlined an experience with a woman from an online dating site who was big into anal and water sports (although she termed it squirting or female ejaculation). Still, we lived over 450 KMS from each other, so an ongoing dirty relationship was never viable.

“She sounds like a keeper, LOL.”

“We destroyed some hotel rooms in our brief time together,” I said, reminiscing on our antics in the towns of Gulgong and Cardiff.

“I wish you, and I were destroying hotel rooms, LOL,” Amanda said, “I’m so fucking ripe right now that anal fisting isn’t out of the question!”

“You’ve been anally fisted?” I was shocked at this new level of nastiness in this 28-year-old minx.

“I can fit my whole hand inside my butt when I’m in the mood,” She said, “But I would prefer yours.”

“My hand won’t extend to Melbourne, sadly,” I lamented, “Can you send me a photo?”

“If you promise to come to Melbourne and fuck me, I will.”

A kernel of an idea was forming in my now stout-addled brain. I would accept the invitation to present at Melbourne’s 2017 financial crime conference at my own expense. After inspecting my property, I could try my luck with Tracy and meet with Amanda.

“I’ll be in Melbourne during the last week of September.”

“Are you for real?” Amanda was salivating, “Can we meet?”

“Your place or mine?”

“Either, both, I don’t care,” Came her rapid-fire response, “Just as long as you fuck me as you used to.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll make it memorable.”

We chatted some more while Amanda confessed she was masturbating at the other end of the phone. She orgasmed and went to bed, leaving me high and dry.

I made the necessary travel arrangements the following week and contacted Tracy to arrange the inspection. Our covert text messaging continued, and she expressed excitement at the meeting. The next three weeks were agony, with Tracy’s subtle and Amanda’s outright flirtation bombarding my phone almost daily.

At last, the day of departure had arrived. I packed my work gear, grabbed my suitcase and went to the airport. By 9 PM, I touched down to a normal Spring shower in Melbourne. An hour later, with a six-pack of VB and some KFC, I was in my hotel, bringing Amanda off via text messages.

Thursday was the second day of the conference, and I received a message from Amanda around lunchtime.

“You know,” She tapped, “Tonight’s late-night trading.”

“Yes?”

“I usually work till 9 PM and home half an hour later, but I could finish earlier if you fancied bringing forward our reunion?”

Initially, Amanda and I planned to spend Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning together. Her parents agreed to take their grandson with them on their weekend getaway to Lakes Entrance. Two sessions with Amanda were luckier than I deserved, but I would not turn down her generous invitation.

My conference commitments did not permit me much wriggle room if I met Amanda at the appointment time. I checked Apple Maps and noted a substantial hike from the train station needed to be factored into my planning.

After the day dragged on, I extricated myself from the social event at the end of the conference. Following a freshen-up at my hotel, I caught the train to Eltham from iconic Flinders Street Station just as dusk fell. While the day was pleasant, there was not much sunshine, so I rugged appropriately.

Roughly an hour later, I strolled through the pretty village of Eltham and made my way to Bunnings on Bridge Street, perhaps 10 minutes away. As I turned off Main Road in the fading light, I noticed a substantial wooded parkland on either side. Given that Bunnings was a short distance from me, this must have been where Amanda lived out her fantasies.

The DIY store was making a brisk trade when I arrived. I entered the foyer a little before 8 PM and scanned the surroundings but did not recognise Amanda from the staff who buzzed around the warehouse.

“I’m here,” I tapped and waited patiently.

Suddenly, two hands wrapped themselves around my eyes.

“Guess who?”

With my vision restored, I spun around and presented a gorgeous woman I did not initially recognise. Amanda laughed at my stupefied expression. The last four years had been extremely kind to her. The 2017 model of Amanda seemed taller, thinner and more confident than the earlier version I knew.

“So good to see you,” She gushed and hugged me tightly.

Confused at first, I just stood stiff like a plank of wood typically sold in Bunnings’ timber yard before I returned the hug.

“You look great!” I spluttered, feeling Amanda’s svelte frame in my grip.

When we disengaged, I passively marvelled at the Aphrodite in front of me. Amanda sported an impressive wavy hazelnut mane that spilt over the lapel of overalls. She wore the standard-issue red t-shirt, green shorts, and tradie boots. Amanda was quite the tom-boy but retained all her femininity.

“Shall we go?” She asked, giggling at my stunned reaction to our reunion.

“Oh, sure,” I stammered, “Lead the way.”

“You fancy a drink?” Amanda asked as the heavy evening air stung my eyes.

“That’d be nice,” I replied, thinking it appropriate to break the ice before getting nasty.

“There’s a nice little bar just over there,” She said, pointing the way.

The wine bar was warm, dark and intimate, with a handful of drinkers. Within minutes, I plonked a bottle of chilled oak-aged Chardonnay on the table in our booth and poured two glasses.

“You didn’t recognise me, did you?” Amanda giggled.

“You’ve changed!” I admitted.

“After moving back home, I invested in myself,” She explained, “I joined a gym, got my job at Bunnings, and I’m at TAFE, studying part-time.”

“Wow, well done,” I admired, “What motivated you?”

“Pregnancy and giving birth made me chunk up,” she laughed, “One day, I looked at myself in the mirror, didn’t like what I saw and joined the gym.”

Amanda went on to justify her other life choices using similar logic. She impressed me with her motivation.

“It’s a high crime that someone so beautiful and accomplished is single,” I joked, hardly crediting my good fortune.

“Compliments will get you everywhere,” She replied, draining her glass.

“I see you’ve retained your love of wine,” I observed, picking up the bottle.

“I don’t drink often,” She said, “A glass or two at dinner with mum and dad, but rarely in a social setting.”

“You let me know when you’ve had enough,” I said after refilling her glass.

With that, Amanda looked at the glass, picked it up, winked at me and downed it in one swallow.

“What a buzz,” She giggled after witnessing the impressed look on my face, “And I’m now ready to play.”

“You are?” I asked, struggling to empty my glass.

I rarely, if ever, leave a drink behind, but with Amanda already exiting the bar behind me, I had little choice, and a full glass of wine remained as I shuffled out of my seat in pursuit of Amanda.

“Where are we going?” I asked as a light sprinkle of rain tickled my face.

“Come with me,” Amanda replied, wrapping her hand in mine and eager me across the road.

“Reminds me of old times,” I chuckled about the rain.

“Every time it storms, I set aside time for a play,” Amanda said, “and I come hard.”

“You must play a lot, then?” I joked, referring to Melbourne’s unpredictable weather.

Four seasons in one day is the running joke in these parts.

“Through here,” Amanda pulled me off the road and behind Bunnings, we appeared to be walking in the park I passed by earlier.

As we briskly strode through the park, I heard it first before I saw it. Suddenly, the illuminated snake of a Metro train rumbled on a single track, carrying a few passengers that undoubtedly had their heads buried in their phones.

As Amanda tugged on my hand from the darkness, I could see the shape of a railway bridge looming—her special place.

“Be careful here,” Cautioned Amanda, “There’s a steep drop coming up.”

Grabbing her phone, Amanda turned on the torch to reveal a muddy slope to a rapidly running creek.

“Where are we going?”I laughed as I sidled down to the water behind my companion.

Reaching a small ledge underneath the wooden railway bridge, Amanda turned around, gripped me tightly and kissed me hard.

“Fuck!” She gasped after releasing me, “I’ve waited for that moment for four years.”

True, so had I, but her kiss was intensely urgent.

We continued kissing passionately, and our hands deeply explored the other’s bodies. Simultaneously, the rain became heavier, and the bridge did not provide adequate shelter. Options were limited since it was a college night, and her parents’ house was out of bounds.

“My mum will be reading Jason Jr his bedtime story,” Whispered Amanda after glancing at the time on her phone, “So, we don’t have long.”

“Is there anywhere drier?” I asked, shivering at a sudden chill.

“Not with the time we have,” She said, “Let me suck your cock.”

Amanda dropped to her knees and tugged at my jeans. I leaned against the muddy ledge as my jeans fell to my ankles.

“Oh, yeah!” I exhaled as Amanda wrapped her juicy lips around my cock.

Amanda’s oral technique was just how I remembered it, hard, deep and sloppy. Each time her head hit my pelvis, she grunted in satisfaction.

“Tastes so good,” She squealed on one occasion she came up for air, “Force my head down.”

I grabbed the back of Amanda’s head and forced my cock down my throat. Her body froze as she struggled to breathe before coughing and gagging. When she withdrew, Amanda spat a generous amount of saliva across my shaft and balls.

“What a magnificent cock!” She whispered as her hands worked the spit into my cock.

Amanda sucked my pole for a minute or two before standing up and unbuttoning her shorts.

“I’ve got three holes, and two need filling before I go home,” She cooed.

I reached down to Amanda’s pussy, and she was dripping, and I also noticed that she had shaved below recently.

“Fuck me,” She ordered, bending over and resting her arms on the muddy ledge.

I shuffled behind Amanda, spat on my hand and wiped the saliva on her shaven cunt, an entirely superfluous act.

I entered Amanda’s post-natal pussy easily and noted how loose she was. Nevertheless, her passion, situation, and horniness compensated as I fucked Amanda quickly. Minutes later, she came hard, shuddering and groaning.

“Fuck, that was good,” Moaned Amanda, “Just like old times.”

We kissed.

“Use my arse for your pleasure,” She urged when our lips parted.

I dropped to my knees, parted her toned butt cheeks and stabbed Amanda’s wrinkled hole with my salivating tongue.

“Oh, yeah,” She sighed, and a shiver rippled through her exquisite frame.

The sweat and funkiness of her arsehole flared my nostrils, and I felt my cock jerk several times at the expectation of fucking Amanda’s peach.

“I’d rather you use your cock,” Exhorted Amanda after I inserted my middle finger inside her spongey bung.

“Here it comes,” I said, rising to my knees and pressing my engorged cock head against her backdoor.

“Don’t be stingy with the length,” Amanda encouraged, “I want it all.”

I pushed in firmly, and as the O-ring reluctantly yielded, Amanda drew in a sharp breath of air. The heat and the constriction were unbelievable.

“Nothing beats a real penis up the butt,” Giggled Amanda as she twerked her globes, “Don’t spare the rod!”

I touched her arse cheeks and used my thumbs to part the flesh as my shaft pierced Amanda’s ready defences.

“Oh, yeah,” Amanda moaned as she wiggled her impressive hindquarters, “Better than any fantasy!”

The rain had increased in violence, and our clothing was getting damp by the minute. However, the decreasing temperature was offset by the physical action.

As our bodies slapped together, I undid Amanda’s work apron, letting it fall into the mud below. I reached under her Bunnings shirt, unclasped the bra and freed her beautifully rounded breasts. They seemed larger and firmer than I remembered. As I attempted to reach around and suck on a nipple, my cock slid out of Amanda’s arsehole.

“Stick it back in!” Came a stern order.

“Sorry,” I giggled as I eased my prick back inside Amanda’s rosebud.

Her hole had relaxed to the point that Amanda accepted the entire length of my manhood.

While Amanda was somewhat animated from each anal pistoning, she made little noise, but there were occasional high-pitched squeaks. Not so with me. My cock felt so good inside her wrinkled hole that each thrust elicited audible groans of ecstasy.

As her muscle loosened, Amanda became so excited by the scorching feeling of my meat in her can that she dropped even more octaves, and I felt an orgasm building.

“Deeper,” She implored, repeatedly, “Harder!”

I placed my hands on her hips and drove my stinky cock far inside Amanda’s dirt box as humanely feasible. As I did so, my balls tightened considerably, and I knew my orgasm was not far away.

Amanda drove her body against my pelvis, allowing me to twist and contort her body into whatever twisted perversion I could dream up.

“Come on, Jason,” Amanda screeched, “Fuck me as hard as you can!”

By now, I was slamming her back door with the same savagery as her pussy. One of her hands pulled an arsecheek aside while the other was underneath, working her sopping clitoris. My hands alternated between her hips and breasts.

Amanda turned her head and looked towards me. She wanted to taste her arse on my cock. That’s the sort of pillow talk I enjoyed with her. Those words tipped me off.

“I’m about to blow!” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“Perfect!”

Amanda’s pucker forcibly ejected my greasy pole, and she squatted on her haunches with perfect ease. I took hold of my slimy cock and jerked it hard.

Yelling above the rain, my orgasm struck with the force of Thor’s hammer, and my balls spat rope after rope of steaming sperm across Amanda’s pretty face. Her tongue ticked the head of my cock as my nuts ejected their filthy contents.