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quality story from b3ta.com:

Thinking about it, a hundred-or-so people have seen my c*ck over the years. And some of them - a pitifully small percentage of those people – actually wanted to see my throbbing cervix scratcher; whereas the others sort of had it thrust upon them...

On the road one time in my job as a travelling salesman, I was staying in a Travelodge somewhere in Shropshire. It was one of those courtyard jobs – the type you can see loads of windows of the other guests if you happened to be looking out the window. And this was just what I was up to – late at night, about 2 am, having rifled through the room for any porn some kind soul may have left behind and finding f*ck all, I found myself with my head stuck out the open window having a cheeky fag.

It was quiet. Dead. It was a weeknight and the place was almost empty (who the f*ck chooses to go to Shropshire?), so I was happily ******* on a cancer stick and surverying the courtyard below. It was dark. It was peaceful. I was bored almost to f*cking tears and considering binding my happysack with my belt and shoving an orange in my gob for something to do.

Then, across the courtyard, a light came on. I looked up and saw her. A beautiful – correction - a half-decent-looking – correction - well, a woman. She was stood in her window, apparently gazing out at the courtyard in much the same way I was doing. And she was completely f*cking starkers. My hand instantly reached for my knob, an impulse, a reflex reaction. Then I suddenly remembered I had the light on in my room. sh*t – she can see me!!! I can’t just have a bit of super-special-solo-happy-time. She’d see me. And more importantly, I might get arrested.

Then this woman’s gaze appeared to settle on....

... oh, sh*t...

...on me.

She was staring right at me, the gentle summer’s breeze playing through her long dark hair. Her fullsome breasts with deep, dark super 3D nipples heaving in the moonlight. And the weird thing was she didn’t move. She didn’t draw back and turn the light off, or at least cover up her wabs. No, she just stood there, regarding me with a serene look on her – actually quite beautiful face. And this is how we remained for several more heartbeats. Her gazing at my face, me gazing at her tits.

Then a thought struck me - she wants me to look at her!!! (Ok, I admit it; I’m not the sharpest tool in the box but I tend to get there in the end).

I allowed my hand to slip down to my groin, I rubbed the wee chap for a bit, feeling him straining against the fabric of my trousers like a zepplin trying to escape from under a blanket. I felt a sharp pain in my other hand, f*ck, the fag had burned down to my fingers. Flicking the stub away, I slowly and as sexily as I could manage after spending most of my considerable food allowance in the Beefeater next door, undid several buttons on my shirt. Still the woman, my kinky nightime accomplice, my partner for the evening, gazed back at me.

f*ck it, I thought. She’s showing me the goods, its only fair to reciprocate. So I speedily loosened and lowered my kegs and stood there at full mast, feeling the gentle kiss of the almost celestial summer’s breeze kissing and lapping at my balls.

And then I had a w*nk.

And then, suddenly bored and wanting to watch footie and eat pizza, I waved goodbye to this lovely lady (she probably wouldn’t have been so lovely if she wasn’t starkers, but there you go), I drew the curtains and went to bed.

It was bloody awkward the next day when I went to settle the bill. The lady from the night before was checking out at the same time. Someone was with her; f*ck, her husband!!! I silently whimpered and came close to filling my pants with stinky arsewater. Then she turned and I got a good look at her. And I very nearly properly shat my pants. I felt something strange, something odd, something I don’t feel very often – I felt DIRTY....

I felt like the biggest tw*t in the world. But then I redeemed myself, I made sure I stepped out of the way as she walked passed.

It’s the only right and proper thing to do when someone’s tapping away at the ground infront of them with a long white cane....
Last edited:


Entertainment 7wenty
Oct 24, 2003
Probably my favourite b3ta story, not even by Spanky.

New Girlfriend

When I was 19, I started dating a girl named Rachel who I met down my local. We’d been seeing each other for about 3 weeks when I sensed there was a problem ‘between the sheets’. Rachel didn’t say as much, but I could sense it and there was an underlying doubt in my mind that she was not impressed with my sexual performance, so to speak. No matter what I tried, she didn’t seem satisfied, and I could tell that she was blatantly faking her moans and groans of pleasure. It hit me hard; I was only 19, my girlfriend thought I was useless in bed, and as the relationship progressed a few weeks further, I found it more of a chore to put in the effort when having sex as I knew that she wasn’t enjoying it. ‘If only she’d tell me or show me what she likes’ I thought to myself time and time again, ‘then this relationship would be perfect’.
I was in a position that I hadn’t found myself in before. I couldn’t go to my mates and ask for their advice; I had far too much male pride to do that, and I knew that if my suspicions should come out then they would rip the **** out of me non-stop. Knowing them, they would have offered to have a go on her themselves. I also couldn’t ask Rachel’s friends because, well, that would just be strange. Sitting in my room one night after I’d got back from Rachel’s house, I decided to go and talk to the only person that I thought would be able to give me advice; my Dad.
Now, this in itself was a big thing for me. We’d never had ‘the chat’, and we didn’t really talk about things like this with each other, apart from the odd ‘Don’t get many of them to the pound’ comment my Dad would make in the car when we drove past a busty female pedestrian. I inhaled deeply and went to the front room, where my Dad was watching the TV.

“Dad”, I said quietly. “I...erm...Can I talk to you about something?”

My Dad, eyes remaining transfixed on the TV, muttered “Yes” and so I began explaining to him in great detail about my fears; about how I didn’t think I was satisfying Rachel, about my constant worry that she’d leave me for someone else if I couldn’t please her in the bedroom and that I didn’t know what to do to make things better. It was a long outpouring of my feelings, and I had to check twice that my Dad was actually listening to me as he remained focused on the TV. After I’d finished, he finally looked at me,

“Son, you don’t need to worry about things like that”. He took a sip of his coffee before he continued, “What you need is a pillow.”

“A pillow?”, I was confused.

“Yes son, a pillow. When you’re doing the dirty, slip a pillow underneath her bum. Works all the time, you can’t fail to hit the spot, she’ll love it. Trust me, when I first started dating your mu..”

“THANKS DAD!” I cut him off before he could go any further and retired to bed optimistic about my future with Rachel. The following day was Friday, and we were going out for drinks before staying the night at my house.

Friday came and drinks were enjoyed. We had a good laugh and my sexual fears and frustrations temporarily disappeared. It wasn’t until the walk home that I started to get a bit nervous about doing the deed again, but my Dad’s words of advice the night before were still ringing in my ears. We eventually got home and I checked the front room to see if my parents were still up. There was no sign of them, so I assumed that they were in bed. Rachel and I headed upstairs, and being quite merry, it wasn’t long before we were kissing passionately, and undressing each other, whilst trying to keep quiet so that we didn’t wake my parents, who were asleep in the next room. Before I knew it, I was on top of Rachel’s perfect, naked body and thrusting away. As usual, I was getting nothing in response, so heeding my Dad’s advice, I reached for pillow. I withdrew temporarily, and lifted Rachel’s legs and pert bum off the bed, sliding the pillow under her. Within seconds I was back inside her sponge cavern and was starting to build up a nice rhythm. I then saw something that will stay with me to the day I die.

My Dad stealthly rolled out from under my bloody bed, gave me a quick thumbs up and crept, on all fours, out of my room. The thing that perplexed me the most was his grin – he looked so pleased that I’d done what he told me to do. It was enough to end my night’s action. I feigned a headache to Rachel (who fortunately didn’t witness any of this) and we went to sleep. All I could think of whilst I lay in bed was my Dad’s big, cheesy grin; like a Cheshire cat.

I got a lock on my room after that.



his greatest!

Big Jake
This was the most scared I've ever been in my life.

I really did think I was going to die, and worse still, I thought I was going to be on the front of every tabloid newspaper the length and breadth of the land, possibly abroad too. During my ordeal all I could think about was my poor parents and how they would cope with the swarms of reporters asking probing questions. I imagined my distraught mother having a nervous breakdown...

And all because of Big Jake.

A few years back I used to knock boots with a girl named Emma. Nice girl, scouser, bit erratic but incredibly kinky. Nice arse too.

One fateful day I was off work with a busted foot. Had the ****er in plaster and could only hobble about. Emma had gone to work and I was seriously bored by eleven o'clock.


After a bit of Richard & Judy, I remember limping to the bedroom. I thought about lying on the bed for a marathon **** session (watching Judy on the TV had that weird sexy effect on me), but I just didn't feel up to it. I was too bored to ****, this was ****ing serious!

Eventually I settled in front of Emma's dresser. I hit on an idea - basically I figured I could while away a bit of time thumbing through her sexy undies drawer, just sort of feeling the fabric, perhaps having a bit of a smell, reminiscing about the times I'd seen Emma wear the frilly, flimsy, lacy erection inducing gear.

And that's what I did. For about a minute.

And then I found Big Jake.

Now, I knew of Big Jake already - I'd been lucky enough to see Emma ram him up her vertical smile on several occasions. Big Jake reminded me of happy, loving, and downright squelchy times.

Ahh, Big Jake! I thought, as I got him out the draw and felt the weight of him in my hands. Nice. Felt a bit like I imagine a good heavy club would feel. Only Big Jake was jet black, veiny, and had a motor your average 125cc motorcycle would be proud of. Emma had picked Big Jake up in Amsterdam. He was, quite frankly, ****ing HUGE and FAT, fat like an American fat.

And that's when the thought went through my head...

God, how I wish I could turn back time, put Big Jake back in the draw, and go back to a bit more Richard and Judy before a lunchtime ham sandwich.

But no, not me.

I thought: I wonder what it feels like to have a **** up your arse? I mean, several million gay fellas can't be wrong, can they?

And the thought stuck in my head and crystalised.

I considered having a go on Big Jake in the bedroom, but thought: what if I **** myself? So decided somewhere easier to clean would be more practical.

Moments later, I'd hobbled over to the bathroom, stark bollock naked except for my foot cast, my clothes tossed about the flat in *ahem* gay abandon. I found myself squatting in the empty bath, using the sides for support, with Big Jake greased and ready to go below me, humming like a bandsaw.

Then I lowered my arse over him, and when he was tickling my ring, in a sudden and incredibly painful split second, my ****ed up foot gave way and I slipped-


**** me!


I had never felt that much agony in my ****ing life...

It was like being fisted by the Statue of Liberty, with the tourch on fire.

I nearly passed out, but somehow managed to keep it together. My teeth were vibrating from the raw power of Big Jake, it was ****ing horrible. When Emma had him in her she was usually howling... but not in the same way I was now.

Eventually, when the ability to move my arms returned, I managed to reach down between my legs and switch Big Jake off. My brain stopped buzzing. It stopped feeling like I was having an epileptic fit. I was weak and sweaty and had a fake **** up my arse. Not a very pleasant feeling...

And there I stayed, for a good fifteen minutes, lying prostrate in an empty bath with Big Jake buried deep in my colon.

That's when I started thinking about the tabloids.

Then I started to panic. And when I panic, I take the only sensible course of action. I cry.

Eventually, after lots of crying and failed attempts, I managed to free Big Jake from my raw ring, which had sort of spasmed and clamped Big Jake in place like a steel vice.

As soon as he was out, I did an absolutely amazing **** in the bath that looked like a large coiled brown python, and then I collapsed on top of it, smearing splashy **** up the walls and even managing to get a few flecks on the ceiling.

After a few more frantic minutes of crying, I could feel the movement ebb back into my legs.

Took me ages to clean the place up... What with the broken foot and sore arse.

When Emma came home that evening she asked me what I'd been up to.

"Oh, the usual," I smiled back nervously. She didn't seem to notice that I couldn't sit down properly.

Couldn't exactly say: "Oh, I impaled myself on your twelve inch dildo in the bath, could've ruptured some internal organs and died in a slick of my own ****, blood, **** and vomit."

And I have to admit the next time Emma used Big Jake infront of me, all I could do was wince inwardly...

...maybe I should've cleaned him properly before I put him back in the drawer???
Feb 17, 2004
These superb stories have reminded me of the Football365 Kriss Akabussi thread. Anybody know if that's still going too?

Awooooggggaaaa :p