Randy Rachel: Cockhunter

Randy Rachel: Cockhunter

“The weekend starts here!” That was how Jools Holland would introduce the music programme The Tube at 6pm every Friday night in the early 1980’s.

But when did last weekend begin? When I left Jens house wearing tiny tartan miniskirt and a new pair of black fishnet stockings? When I kissed my husband goodbye before I drove to Jens house? When I hid the sports bag containing my secret outfit in the boot of the car the day before? Was it the previous Friday when I spent 4 hours cyber-wanking with a stranger…telling him all about my crazy sex life? Was it 5 years ago when I realised that my husband alone couldn’t satisfy my sexual urges? Or was it 20 years ago when I was 17 and discovered the power that stockings have on the male of the species?

I was really starting to buzz with excitement as I drove the 4 miles to Jens house. She greeted me with her customary kiss on the cheek and handed me a large glass of wine as we went upstairs to get changed into my sexy clothing.

My husband thought that I was going to wear the smart pair of long black shorts and a pretty revealing top (which we’d already argued about) that I left the house wearing for my night on the town with my best friend; but he was wrong.

Jen was already dressed and made-up: a brown pleated skirt that finished about 4 inches above her knees with a figure hugging cream cotton cardigan unbuttoned to show just enough cleavage and a little bit of her frilly pink bra. The out fit was finished off with her obligatory tan stockings and presumably a suspender belt and panties that matched the bra.

“Hi!” Jens’ husband Dan called from his office along the landing, “I hope that you two aren’t going to get up to any mischief tonight.”

I looked along at the open door which was directly opposite the room that I would be using, “As if!” Jen and I both giggled as innocently as possible.

Jen and Dan had the type of marriage that I need but don’t have. It’s ‘open’ and every know and again Jen needs a night out sampling the delights our local town has to offer and I know for a fact that Dan has fucked two women that I’m acquainted with as well as countless others.

As I opened my bag Jen waved her digital camera.
“You remembered!” I giggled.

“Of course I have…you naughty girl!” Jen grinned as I unzipped my shorts.

When I’d rang her on Tuesday night I’d confessed to having an ‘on-line affair’ on MSN Messenger for the last couple of Fridays; cyber-wanking with a guy I’d met on a stockings fetishist site. I’d already sent him a couple of naughty pictures that an old boyfriend had taken and I’d kept hidden deep inside my laptop; but he wanted some new ones from tonight as I got dressed into my fishnets.

I took the packet of stockings and my skirt out of the bag then dropped my shorts to the floor; nonchalantly stepping out of them without closing the bedroom door. I could feel Dans’ eyes on me as Jen began taking snaps. I took the black fishnets out of the packet and slowly pulled them up my legs; having to bend over a couple of times hoping and expecting that Dan would be staring at my arse.

“What are you two up to now?” Dan’s husky voice cackled behind me, making me jump.

“Rachel’s got a special friend that she wants to send some photos to!” Jen teased.

“A… special friend?” Dan whistled, “Do I know him?”

“I doubt it,” Jen said as she knelt in front of me and took a photo between my legs, “she met him on the internet.”

“That’s a bit dangerous.” Her husband warned me, now standing about two feet away from us in the door well casually drinking a cup of coffee.

I shrugged my shoulders, “What’s life without a little bit of danger?”

“My thoughts exactly.” He said as he smiled at his loving wife who was still photographing me as I finally fastened my skirt and checked everything was fine in the wardrobe mirror. It was. With one final ‘touch of my toes’ to make sure that my stocking tops and thong would visible from the right angle; for the camera (and Dan) I was ready for a night on the town.

I’m told that I’m an exhibitionist and ‘attention seeker’ – I can’t deny either! I’m the type of girl who wears low rise jeans with a hi-rise thong (accidentally of course). My boobs (now 34c) first arrived when I was 13 and attracted a lot of attention from the older boys at school and the Youth Club. When I was about 16 the other girls at school caught up with me in the boob stakes and I no longer got the male attention that I craved; so one night I borrowed a pair of my mum’s hold-up stockings and wore them with a short skirt to a party. The effect and interest I received was way beyond what I’d hoped for. One after another nearly every boy there wanted to dance with me then snog me, making sure that their hands immediately went up my skirt. Over the next few months word went out that I wore stockings and I was never short of a boyfriend. Obviously most boys wanted to fuck me; but a couple were more than happy just looking at or stroking my nylon covered legs and stocking tops. At first I thought that this was quite weird; but after a couple of months I gradually got more and more turned on wearing stockings knowing the effect that something so simple has on the male of the species.

Dan got a good look up our skirts as we flashed our arses when we got into the taxi that would take us to town.

Fifteen minutes later the taxi dropped us outside of Wetherspoons pub. As usual on a Friday night it was packed to the rafters and we had to fight our way to the bar. We hadn’t been in the pub two minutes when I felt the first hand glide up my leg and tickle my arse. This was going to be a good night!

I’ve been happily married to Dave for eight years and had remained painfully faithful for the first three; but I quickly realised that my husband alone couldn’t satisfy my lustful cravings.
I’d been a wild child since I tasted my first cock at 14 and had notched up nearly 40 different lovers by the time I met my future husband. He’s fantastic in every way and when we make love he always manages to give me an orgasm; he knows exactly which buttons to press and which order to press them in; but….but; every so often I need more. I need raw, passionate, sweaty, dangerous sex. I need to be fucked and fucked hard. I absolutely crave sucking on the thick cock of a man that I’ve probably only met less than an hour before who will shoot his spunk into the back of my throat.
Thankfully this doesn’t happen every week or every month for that matter. This time the gap had been 9 months; since the works Christmas party (but that’s a whole other story!). The ‘need’ had been building up for weeks and I’d hoped that my dalliance on MSN Messenger would be enough to satisfy me but it actually made the craving worse!
Sadly after eight years I don’t feel I can get what I need sexually from within my marriage and the only people who understand my desires are Jen and Dan.

In the first hour we bumped into some old friends who we chatted with but my eyes kept drifting towards a group of young boisterous guys in the corner near the stairs. I’m 37, married and have a very good job in financial services and these lads were as rough as they come. 5 or 6 had shaved heads and a couple had those Mod/Paul Weller feather cuts. They all appeared to have tattoos on their arms and wore branded designer tops and jeans. They were supremely confident and gave off the air that they feared no one.

Every few minutes I would look across and catch the eye of the tallest meanest looking one who had a missing front tooth. He returned the smile a couple of times but made no effort to come and talk to me. He was about 6ft 3ins and stocky with it. His nose looked like he could have been a boxer or just had a lot of fights and his arms were covered in football tattoos with an English bulldog on one fore-arm.

Obviously after drinking two glasses of wine at Jen’s house and three bottles of lager in Wetherspoons; I eventually needed to pee. Just my luck (and theirs) the toilets were on the first floor and I would have to walk up the stairs that they were standing under.

Just as I planned, they could see up my skirt when I’d got about 10 steps up. The first one wolf-whistled then the rest joined in by grunting and howling like dogs. I tried to hide my smile but it was difficult.

When I returned he was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase.

“What’s your name?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

“Rachel. Why?” I replied as I twirled my hair between my fingers like a smitten.

“You look pretty hot.” He grunted into my ear as he bent forward so I could hear above the noisy bar, “you know…with the stockings and everything.”

I feigned embarrassment, “You couldn’t see up my skirt could you?”

“Like you didn’t know.” He rolled his eyes skywards, “Do you want a drink?”

“I’m with a friend.” I smiled and looked for Jen, who was about 12 feet away with her tongue down the throat of some black guy that I’d never seen before.

He bought me a drink and we made polite conversation. That’s not exactly true. He told me his name – Dean and he was with a Stag Party celebrating a friend’s 21st birthday; while he drooled over my Wonderbra enhanced cleavage and kept his hand up my skirt stroking my naked thigh above my stocking top.
At one stage he pointed out his friends – Gaz, Shay, Alex, Mish and I can’t remember the rest of their names as there were so many of them.

“Are you married?” Dean asked when he spotted my gold wedding ring.

“Yes,” I replied suddenly hiding my hand, “is that a problem?”

Without asking he leant forward and forcibly kissed me. I responded in kind and our tongues quickly curled around each other like two snakes in a basket.

Out of nowhere one his friends parted us, telling Dean that they were all going to another bar.

“Where’s good?” he asked me, as a slightly shorter black skinhead tried to manhandle him away from me.

“HaHa’s!” I laughed as another skinhead grabbed his other arm and forced him out of the door.

I soon met up with Jen and we compared notes; as women do.

We almost immediately drank up and made our way to HaHa’s. Sure enough Dean and his friends were near the bar. Only this time they were getting ‘the evil eye’ from a group of local lads.

Jen and I bought our own drinks and I made ‘goo-goo eyes’ with Dean for 15 minutes or so until he broke away from his friends to join us. We chatted and drank for nearly an hour until I realised that we were in an isolated part of the bar. It was all getting too much for me as we began kissing and snogging like teenagers. His huge hands were like shovels as they wandered all over my body – squeezing my tits and stroking my thighs and arse.