u/Ok-Neat5744

Hello. I’m 40, from the UK. I like long walks, good books and filthy sex. I'm a Dom-leaning switch, hedonist and general kinkster. I don't even know any more.

You: kinky, eloquent, cheeky and fun. You’ll have a mind like a FetLife glossary and a book collection that’s encroaching on your living space like out-of-control house plants.

I’m one of those people who find so much about sex sexy: the devil I think is in the detail. So much of it is about the build up, the unspoken, the theatre of it, the urgency of it. If you get what I’m on about and don’t think this is rambling nonsense (or maybe even if you do), come say hello.

I also like other things – books, culture, gardening – so I'm happy to start there and see where we go. I should add that I'm taken and in a dead bedroom.

So, say hi. You could start with the last thing you read and loved (and the last thing that made you cum), if you like.

Right, here we are then.

I'm looking for the following: deep chats, slow burn, but total filth. I'd like you to be depraved, but utterly charming with it. I'd like to talk about life, good books, great films, birds, flowers, kinky fantasies, fetishes and memories, and everything in between.

Is GB4r4 the place to search for and find a partner with whom I align on culture, filthiness and availability? That seems unlikely, but maybe you'll prove me wrong.

There are more details I could share, but where would the fun in that be? Come say hello and let’s find out more about each other.

Right, here we are then.

I'm looking for the following: deep chats, slow burn, but total filth. I'd like you to be depraved, but utterly charming with it. I'd like to talk about life, good books, great films, birds, flowers, kinky fantasies, fetishes and memories, and everything in between.

Is dirtyUK4r4 the place to search for and find a partner with whom I align on culture, filthiness and availability? That seems unlikely, but maybe you'll prove me wrong.

There are more details I could share, but where would the fun in that be? Come say hello and let’s find out more about each other.

I'm a particularly disgusting mood, which isn't particularly surprising or unusual.

Apparently this post must contain a significant porn element so here it is: I like a lot, from arty weird stuff to dirty mainstream porn to amateur couples and solo filth. I prefer things relatively short and porn embedded Reddit (pornhub etc is blocked in the UK without registering and I can't be arsed with that). My limits are few, and I'm hope yours are too. It might be fun to start relatively vanilla and then see how far we can push it. Sharing back and forth is key.

I'm 40, male, from the UK. I like books, posting pictures of my hands, gardening, and being a bit of a freak. I'd like someone eloquent but totally disgusting.

Go on then.

I'm not prone to nostalgia, but I had a wave of it recently. It actually made me realised that I'm a happier, more relaxed, more confident person, more sure of my place in the world, than I was in my early 20s. Maybe youth after all is wasted on the young. But it also got me longing for a part of me that I keep under wraps.

By definition there's a mundanity to the everyday. That's fine, but the escapes from it are increasingly tame, only really briefly satisfying, never truly escapist. I've realised I miss a lot of things, but what I really miss is adventure: flirting, naughtiness, excitement. I miss getting dressed up, picking a low-lit cocktail bar, I miss the anticipation, the unknown, the dizziness of possibility, that transfer of energy with someone new, the electricity of touch.

I miss indulging myself, finding a partner in crime. I miss being a rascal.

Now I think at some point I am legally bound to state: I'm in a long-term relationship and I'm not looking to change your situation or mine. But I am looking for someone to connect with.

Sometimes it's tempting to rush towards the corners of our mind where the fun stuff lives (and you'll find that on my profile - alongside some hand pictures - and I make no apologies for that side of my personality).

But what I find far more exciting is the slow burn, an obsessive attention to detail, teasing, flirting, being cheeky. When I connect with people on a deeper level – when we can talk about good books or film or fashion – I have the most fun.

There's probably more I should write, but why not come and say hello instead.

I'm a particularly disgusting mood, which isn't particularly surprising or unusual.

Apparently this post must contain a significant porn element so here it is: I like a lot, from arty weird stuff to dirty mainstream porn to amateur couples and solo filth. I prefer things relatively short and porn embedded Reddit (pornhub etc is blocked in the UK without registering and I can't be arsed with that). My limits are few, and I'm hope yours are too. It might be fun to start relatively vanilla and then see how far we can push it. Sharing back and forth is key.

You know the April Ludgate meme: That's gross. I like it.

I'm 40, male, from the UK. I like books, posting pictures of my hands, gardening, and being a bit of a freak. I'd like someone eloquent but totally disgusting.

Go on then.

Right, here we are then.

I'm looking for the following: deep chats, slow burn, but total filth. I'd like you to be depraved, but utterly charming with it. I'd like to talk about life, good books, great films, birds, flowers, kinky fantasies, fetishes and memories, and everything in between.

Is dirty4r4 the place to search for and find a partner with whom I align on culture, filthiness and availability? That seems unlikely, but maybe you'll prove me wrong.

There are more details I could share, but where would the fun in that be? Come say hello and let’s find out more about each other.

Right, here we are then.

I'm looking for the following: deep chats, slow burn, but total filth. I'd like you to be depraved, but utterly charming with it. I'd like to talk about life, good books, great films, birds, flowers, kinky fantasies, fetishes and memories, and everything in between.

Is this the place to search for and find a partner with whom I align on culture, filthiness and availability? That seems unlikely, but maybe you'll prove me wrong.

There are more details I could share, but where would the fun in that be? Come say hello and let’s find out more about each other.

Right, here we are then.

I'm looking for the following: deep chats, slow burn, but total filth. I'd like you to be depraved, but utterly charming with it. I'd like to talk about life, good books, great films, birds, flowers, kinky fantasies, fetishes and memories, and everything in between.

Is GB4r4 the place to search for and find a partner with whom I align on culture, filthiness and availability? That seems unlikely, but maybe you'll prove me wrong.

There are more details I could share, but where would the fun in that be? Come say hello and let’s find out more about each other.

Talking to a hypersexual friend who – like me – can't really attribute their hypersexuality to any life event, trauma, chemical imbalance or change, or anything. Just built like that. There have been ebbs and flows over the years, sort of, but mostly it's just remained; life dragging around this ball and chain, sometimes glorious, most times not.

Is anyone else the same?

I closed my eyes, feeling my chest rise and fall, leaning my head back and taking in the sudden quiet.

I could feel her watching me, knew she had that feral look on her face.

I opened my eyes, shook my head and laughed. She flashed a grin, a mock angelic pose, tucking her hands under her chin.

Right now, she was the furthest from angelic: lipstick smeared, mascara ruined, the stench of sweat and sex and spit and cum. I felt my cock stiffen once again; I could smell and feel her wetness on me.

I watched, which she took as encouragement.

She slowly, purposeful spread her legs, her ass on the floor, her eyes fixed on me. I followed her hands as they drifted down.

She rubbed across her collarbone, delicate, deliberate, then slowly down her chest, grazing over her nipples with a shiver, to her stomach, her legs, her inner thighs.

She enjoyed putting on a show.

She grinned again.

I saw my cum leak from her cunt onto her fingers, saw her rub it, from lips to clit, using its wetness, circular motions that made her legs pinch together and her head tip back.

She moaned, desperate, depraved, insatiable.

I dropped from the bed to the floor.

On all fours I crawled slowly towards her, by cock stiff between my legs, and stopped when my face was at hers, our gazes fix. We smiled at each other and kissed.

I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the intensity of the moment, almost blushing at the filthiness of it, feeling a dizzying sense of arousal that nearly knocked me back.

If you she could sense it, she decided to ignore it or exploit. I felt her shift, then I felt her fingers in my mouth: the taste of my cum, her cunt, our sweat.

I leant in to kiss her, sharing the taste, swapping spit between our mouths. She darted forward, and I bumped clumsily onto my ass, my cock reaching upwards.

My hands automatically reached for it, I tug it at, watching it throb, looking at it glistening. She leant down and put her face beside it. I knew what she going to do, but this inevitability, this predicability, didn't strip it of any power.

She inhaled, deeply, taking in its scent.

I gulped, lightheaded with lust.

“You’re disgusting,” I said.

I watched as her toes curled, as her hands disappeared again between her legs, watched as she shivered, as her body shook with delight.

She took this, too, as encouragement.

Her tongue trailed from the tip of my cock to its base, and beneath it. She held the shaft and tugged firmly, with a control that surprised me, her tongue moving to my balls, moving below.

I could hear her breathing heavily, sense her dizzy arousal, smell her, taste her. She parted my legs and I leant back.

I felt as her mouth reached my below, slowly, carefully, my perineum, my asshole, kissing it, touching it. I heard her moan, felt her hand frantically rubbing her cunt.

I felt her tongue around my hole, I felt it inside me, felt her face pushing against me, trying to get deeper.

I took my cock in my hand, feeling its warm, its wetness, pleasure coursing through me, too much, too intense, too dirty.

“I’m disgusting,” she said. “Tell me I’m disgusting.”

And she was.

And I wanted her more than ever.

John Buchan was talking about fishing, but I’m thinking of an altogether more modern pursuit. That is: searching for horny strangers on the internet.

Hear me out, though. What if it was, actually, really good? What if we created something thrilling, unique and filthy? Something that took us out of the drudgery of the everyday, the steadiness of routine, and created something light and fun but regular and exciting?

What I’m looking for, therefore, is someone I can connect with on a deeper level. Let’s talk about birds, books, kink. Let’s share shit jokes and nasty fantasies. Let’s find the devil in the detail. Let‘s surprise ourselves.

Anyway. That’s enough for that. Say hello

I closed my eyes, feeling my chest rise and fall, leaning my head back and taking in the sudden quiet.

I could feel her watching me, knew she had that feral look on her face.

I opened my eyes, shook my head and laughed. She flashed a grin, a mock angelic pose, tucking her hands under her chin.

Right now, she was the furthest from angelic: lipstick smeared, mascara ruined, the stench of sweat and sex and spit and cum. I felt my cock stiffen once again; I could smell and feel her wetness on me.

I watched, which she took as encouragement.

She slowly, purposeful spread her legs, her ass on the floor, her eyes fixed on me. I followed her hands as they drifted down.

She rubbed across her collarbone, delicate, deliberate, then slowly down her chest, grazing over her nipples with a shiver, to her stomach, her legs, her inner thighs.

She enjoyed putting on a show.

She grinned again.

I saw my cum leak from her cunt onto her fingers, saw her rub it, from lips to clit, using its wetness, circular motions that made her legs pinch together and her head tip back.

She moaned, desperate, depraved, insatiable.

I dropped from the bed to the floor.

On all fours I crawled slowly towards her, by cock stiff between my legs, and stopped when my face was at hers, our gazes fix. We smiled at each other and kissed.

I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the intensity of the moment, almost blushing at the filthiness of it, feeling a dizzying sense of arousal that nearly knocked me back.

If you she could sense it, she decided to ignore it or exploit. I felt her shift, then I felt her fingers in my mouth: the taste of my cum, her cunt, our sweat.

I leant in to kiss her, sharing the taste, swapping spit between our mouths. She darted forward, and I bumped clumsily onto my ass, my cock reaching upwards.

My hands automatically reached for it, I tug it at, watching it throb, looking at it glistening. She leant down and put her face beside it. I knew what she going to do, but this inevitability, this predicability, didn't strip it of any power.

She inhaled, deeply, taking in its scent.

I gulped, lightheaded with lust.

“You’re disgusting,” I said.

I watched as her toes curled, as her hands disappeared again between her legs, watched as she shivered, as her body shook with delight.

She took this, too, as encouragement.

Her tongue trailed from the tip of my cock to its base, and beneath it. She held the shaft and tugged firmly, with a control that surprised me, her tongue moving to my balls, moving below.

I could hear her breathing heavily, sense her dizzy arousal, smell her, taste her. She parted my legs and I leant back.

I felt as her mouth reached my below, slowly, carefully, my perineum, my asshole, kissing it, touching it. I heard her moan, felt her hand frantically rubbing her cunt.

I felt her tongue around my hole, I felt it inside me, felt her face pushing against me, trying to get deeper.

I took my cock in my hand, feeling its warm, its wetness, pleasure coursing through me, too much, too intense, too dirty.

“I’m disgusting,” she said. “Tell me I’m disgusting.”

And she was.

And I wanted her more than ever.

This will either sound familiar, or it won't. But if it does, I'd like to chat. You can fight it: you can go cold turkey, delete Reddit, delete the apps, give up masturbation, take up mediation, embrace your inner calm, but... it doesn't work for long, you always come back, the urge is too strong, your will is too weak, the temptation is always there. Shit like this doesn't help.

I'm sure this is a fairly controversial post, but I speak from experience, so... fuck it. If you can't stop it, embrace it. But why struggle alone?

I'm here to meet and chat to those who have spent a life-time struggling with their libido, made terrible decisions, wasted whole days edging away, watched the grossest porn, done the nastiest things, felt bad, felt good, and gone round and round again.

I guess, in a way, we can be each other sponsors... here to help each other, but the absolute worst at it. How do I want this conversation to go? I don't know, but I'd like to chat and see what dastardly memories, fantasies and kinks we unearth. Sounds fun, right?

I closed my eyes, feeling my chest rise and fall, leaning my head back and taking in the sudden quiet.

I could feel her watching me, knew she had that feral look on her face.

I opened my eyes, shook my head and laughed. She flashed a grin, a mock angelic pose, tucking her hands under her chin.

Right now, she was the furthest from angelic: lipstick smeared, mascara ruined, the stench of sweat and sex and spit and cum. I felt my cock stiffen once again; I could smell and feel her wetness on me.

I watched, which she took as encouragement.

She slowly, purposeful spread her legs, her ass on the floor, her eyes fixed on me. I followed her hands as they drifted down.

She rubbed across her collarbone, delicate, deliberate, then slowly down her chest, grazing over her nipples with a shiver, to her stomach, her legs, her inner thighs.

She enjoyed putting on a show.

She grinned again.

I saw my cum leak from her cunt onto her fingers, saw her rub it, from lips to clit, using its wetness, circular motions that made her legs pinch together and her head tip back.

She moaned, desperate, depraved, insatiable.

I dropped from the bed to the floor.

On all fours I crawled slowly towards her, by cock stiff between my legs, and stopped when my face was at hers, our gazes fix. We smiled at each other and kissed.

I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the intensity of the moment, almost blushing at the filthiness of it, feeling a dizzying sense of arousal that nearly knocked me back.

If you she could sense it, she decided to ignore it or exploit. I felt her shift, then I felt her fingers in my mouth: the taste of my cum, her cunt, our sweat.

I leant in to kiss her, sharing the taste, swapping spit between our mouths. She darted forward, and I bumped clumsily onto my ass, my cock reaching upwards.

My hands automatically reached for it, I tug it at, watching it throb, looking at it glistening. She leant down and put her face beside it. I knew what she going to do, but this inevitability, this predicability, didn't strip it of any power.

She inhaled, deeply, taking in its scent.

I gulped, lightheaded with lust.

“You’re disgusting,” I said.

I watched as her toes curled, as her hands disappeared again between her legs, watched as she shivered, as her body shook with delight.

She took this, too, as encouragement.

Her tongue trailed from the tip of my cock to its base, and beneath it. She held the shaft and tugged firmly, with a control that surprised me, her tongue moving to my balls, moving below.

I could hear her breathing heavily, sense her dizzy arousal, smell her, taste her. She parted my legs and I leant back.

I felt as her mouth reached my below, slowly, carefully, my perineum, my asshole, kissing it, touching it. I heard her moan, felt her hand frantically rubbing her cunt.

I felt her tongue around my hole, I felt it inside me, felt her face pushing against me, trying to get deeper.

I took my cock in my hand, feeling its warm, its wetness, pleasure coursing through me, too much, too intense, too dirty.

“I’m disgusting,” she said. “Tell me I’m disgusting.”

And she was.

And I wanted her more than ever.

This will either sound familiar, or it won't. But if it does, I'd like to chat. You can fight it: you can go cold turkey, delete Reddit, delete the apps, give up masturbation, take up mediation, embrace your inner calm, but... it doesn't work for long, you always come back, the urge is too strong, your will is too weak, the temptation is always there. Shit like this doesn't help.

I'm sure this is a fairly controversial post, but I speak from experience, so... fuck it. If you can't stop it, embrace it. But why struggle alone?

I'm here to meet and chat to those who have spent a life-time struggling with their libido, made terrible decisions, wasted whole days edging away, watched the grossest porn, done the nastiest things, felt bad, felt good, and gone round and round again.

I guess, in a way, we can be each other sponsors... here to help each other, but the absolute worst at it. How do I want this conversation to go? I don't know, but I'd like to chat and see what dastardly memories, fantasies and kinks we unearth. Sounds fun, right?

I cut her tights open with a bread knife. She asked me to, handed me the knife, but it felt like taking. The civil part of the evening was over, the pleasantries, a sit-down meal, a bottle of wine, any residual awkwardness, done with. We loaded the dishwasher and I grabbed her by the waist, turned her, kissed her, lifted her onto the surface. A glass fell and smashed; we left it shattered, wine spilt. She hitched up her skirt, spread her legs, tugged at her crotch, twisting her fingers into the mesh of her tights, pulling it apart; it stretched thin, diaphanous, exposing grey underwear, already wet; she tugged again - nothing, hopeless - returning to their shape.

I smiled; she laughed, reaching behind her to the knife wrack, taking a blade by the handle; I seized it, waved it by her face, mocking, maniacally, grinning and lowered it, sawing at the fabric, the serrated blade cutting easily, uncleanly, ripping through joins and seams... puck puck puck puck, slicing it open, slowly, then suddenly, exposing a growing stain. I pressed my hand against it, feeling the warmth; she leant in, heavy breathing, her head on my shoulder, gasping.

I rubbed her through the fabric; feeling her body respond, her chest rising and falling; her wet mouth against her neck; her hands down my back, nails digging in, legs gripping around me. Fuck, she moaned, fuck, fuck, fuck, her breathing quickening, sudden panting, moaning, writhing, squeezing; collapsing on to me. I grinned at how she always came so quickly.

She climbed down, kissed me, more confident now, a mess now, she muttered something, and turned away from me, hitching her skirt back up, spreading her ass. I bent down, kneeling, kissing her gently, the back of her legs, knees, her lower thighs, slowly to her her ass; she bent further; inviting me, begging me, silently demanding it; I let my tongue brush her asshole, tasting her, feeling her shiver, shake; pushing in my tongue.

----

I stood up, stroking my cock, throbbing, dripping, wanting; brushed my fingers against her asshole, feeling the wetness of my mouth, of her cunt; a finger sliding in easily; fucking it, teasing it, exploring it. That mutter again, inaudible wants, moans, needs; she reached forward, grabbing a jar of vaseline from the windowsill, fumbling it open and sinking her fingers into, reaching behind herself, rubbing it on her asshole; 'do it', she managed.

I pressed my cock against it, slowly, firmly, pushing it into her, watching her hole swallow it, disappear inside her, feeling her gasp, shake with pleasure, gasp, gasp, gasp, fuck; slap, clack, clack, clack, picking up the pace, spreading her, reaching around and rubbing her, listening, feeling, her gasping, moaning, bouncing backwards, forcing my cock deeper inside her, fuck, fuck, fuchkkkm,, rubbing her self on my fingers, feeling her cummmm again, shake, again, a wet mess, slipping out her; staring at her, fascinated by her, watching her, too far gone, lost in it, turning, dropping to her knees…

I cut her tights open with a bread knife. She asked me to, handed me the knife, but it felt like taking. The civil part of the evening was over, the pleasantries, a sit-down meal, a bottle of wine, any residual awkwardness, done with. We loaded the dishwasher and I grabbed her by the waist, turned her. I kissed her, lifted her onto the surface. A glass fell and smashed; left it shattered, wine spilt. She hitched up her skirt, spread her legs, tugged at her crotch, twisting her fingers into the mesh of her tights, pulling it apart. It stretched thin, diaphanous, exposing grey underwear, already wet. She tugged again - nothing, hopeless - returning to their shape.

I smiled; she laughed, reaching behind her to the knife wrack, taking a blade by the handle. I seized it, waved it by her face, mocking, maniacally, grinning and lowered it, sawing at the fabric, the serrated blade cutting easily, uncleanly, ripping through joins and seams... puck puck puck puck. It sliced it open, slowly, then suddenly, exposing a growing stain. I pressed my hand against it, feeling the warmth. She leant in, heavy breathing, her head on my shoulder, gasping.

I rubbed her through the fabric; feeling her body respond, her chest rising and falling, her wet mouth against her neck. I felt her hands down my back, nails digging in, legs gripping around me. Fuck, she moaned, fuck, fuck, fuck, her breathing quickening, sudden panting, writhing, squeezing… collapsing on to me. I grinned at how she always came so quickly.

She climbed down, kissed me, more confident now, a mess now, she muttered something, and turned away from me, hitching her skirt back up, spreading her ass. I bent down, kneeling, kissing her gently, the back of her legs, knees, her lower thighs, slowly to her her ass. She bent further, inviting me, begging me, silently demanding it; I let my tongue brush her asshole, tasting her, feeling her shiver, shake… pushing in my tongue.

----

I stood up, stroking my cock, throbbing, dripping, wanting. I brushed my fingers against her asshole, feeling the wetness of my mouth, of her cunt. A finger slid in easily; fucking it, teasing it, exploring it. That mutter again, inaudible wants, moans, needs. She reached forward, grabbing a jar of vaseline from the windowsill, fumbling it open and sinking her fingers into, reaching behind herself, rubbing it on her asshole. ‘Do it', she managed.

I pressed my cock against it, slowly, firmly, pushing it into her, watching her hole swallow it, disappear inside her, feeling her gasp, shake with pleasure, gasp, gasp, gasp, fuck; slap, clack, clack, clack. I picked up the pace, spreading her, reaching around and rubbing her, listening, feeling, her gasping, moaning, bouncing backwards, forcing my cock deeper inside her. Fuck, fuck, fuchkkkm, rubbing her self on my fingers, feeling her cummmm again, shake, again, a wet mess, slipping out her. I stared at her, fascinated by her, watching her, too far gone, lost in it, turning, dropping to her knees…