I would never have guessed that one small encounter on a beautiful hillside overlooking my historic home city of Edinburgh would lead me on a personal journey of discovery such as I could never have imagined. In a short time, I would be following a path that not only led me to university but into a world of chains, whips, leather, pain and pleasure. It would be a road that tested my resolve and stretched me, literally and figuratively to my limit. An exciting, winding adventure that would end in my total submission!

It all started at eighteen with a rather innocuous walk with two rather handsome male friends from school. I had known them for about 5 years, and recently it had become obvious they had a bit of a crush on me. What I was unaware of was that both had wagered with each other as to which one would be the first to get me into bed! They could never have known what would materialise this chilly November afternoon, nor could I have foreseen the long-lasting effects of what would take place within sight of Scotland’s historic capital.

As often when traversing this beautiful area, we stopped on the path to take in the far-reaching views north and west across Edinburgh and over the Firth of Forth towards the hills of Fife. The Lomond Hills are locally and seductively termed as the ‘Paps of Fife’ simply because, from what was our vantage point, they look just like the breasts of a reclined woman with nipples hard and erect. Often, my friends had commented on what a fantastic pair of tits could be found in Fife! Although my two companions were not aware at the time, my own nipples were going to be a replica of what we could see in just a short time.

As we took in the far-reaching vista of Arthur’s Seat and, in the distance, the Forth Bridges, one of my friends commented that ‘there were few better views in the world.’

Now, I knew, this was the opportunity to go for it! I had been waiting for an occasion to invite one or both guys to make love to me.

The majority of my female friends had had their first taste of sex months ago and had told of the wonderful experience it was. They had berated me for not allowing someone, anyone to fuck me. It’s not that I was unattractive or had no desire for sex. I had plenty. I had gone very moist between my legs on many occasions as they had regaled the stories of their sexual adventures. Why should I not have a bit of the action I had regularly thought? I often lie in bed at night, imagining what such an experience would be like, especially with a handsome guy.

I stood tall at five feet ten inches, had a very slim but athletic frame, and weighed just over eight stone. A size 8 to 10 dress, I was reasonably plain, at least by the standards of the day. My long, flowing, dark auburn hair I knew matched my brown eyes, and I wore little makeup. To be honest, I neither liked its feel on my skin nor the look it gave me once applied.

The only negative side was my breasts. How embarrassed I had been as a young teenager when they had commenced forming. This embarrassment had eventually turned to excitement as I saw some of my less attractive peers proffering theirs in fun before spellbound boys in our class. Their’s, however, seemed to be very much larger than mine and were often nicknamed ‘melons’ by those guys who took an interest, which was most.

My breasts, though, seemed to remain stagnant and, in my opinion at least, totally underdeveloped. A point that was not lost on either sex in my school year. ‘Titless,’ I was nicknamed! Not that such supposed insults hurt me, I had a thick skin and knew when I looked in a mirror that my own features, this little setback apart, rivalled and maybe even surpassed the looks of the majority of other girls I knew.

I was also popular. I was not sure why. I could be witty, as a multitude of lines given in punishment by my distraught teachers would testify. I was also intellectually bright. I had a desire to learn and was therefore conscientious in my studies, ensuring all set work was completed on time and to the best of my ability. Maybe this, along with my plain demeanour and shy retiring nature, just attracted certain types of boys in my direction.

I had often been the subject of interest among some who would hang around me, walk me home or wolf whistle from a distance. I had enjoyed this attention, I admit. I had held several boys’ hands as we walked home after school, or spent weekends exploring Edinburgh’s varied delights and the many incredible walks that led right from my front door.

I had even responded positively to a request from three guys who wanted to pour custard down my top. I have no idea why they wanted to do so, but the idea piqued my imagination. Many times, for some reason, I had had a craving to be made messy. This desire still gets me wet today, many years later. I enjoy what is termed ‘Wet and Messy’ play, or ‘WAM’ for short.

I had self-experimented in my bath with tins of baked beans, chocolate sauce and the like and enjoyed pouring these items over my naked body or running them through my hair. The opportunity, therefore, to allow someone else to add to my fetish was not to be overlooked.

On the day in question, we had met up in some woods close to home. I had taken a change of clothes and a couple of towels in anticipation of the mess I would endoubtedly get into. I had stood, as requested, hands on my head as my three male companions had tipped two tins of custard down my suntop.

The feeling had been so exciting that I had asked them to actually rub some onto my tits below my bra. Hands touching my breasts for the first time had greatly aroused my senses, and in such a state, I had almost demanded they empty a tin down my knickers. One of my friends then took a quick half-mile walk to the nearest shop to replenish their supplies and fulfil my request.