Monthly Archives: September 2006

Never Grow Up

Khaki SkirtWhen we first moved in together we began to experience each other “full-on” for the first time. We’d been an item for a while, but moving into our “You know we can only just afford this” first flat together was an intense experience.

First of all was the moving day. Although the flat was furnished, with some pretty seedy furniture, we had to move all our gear into it. It was at the top of a long flight of stairs that bridged a gully from the carpark to our flat. There was no other way in except for the fire escape, which was internal to the building and exited via the flat downstairs. So we couldn’t use that.

The upshot of all this was that we were well and truly tired out from tramping up and down stairs with bags and boxes, interspersed with trips to our former digs in Suzanne’s small, battered hatchback. In addition the flat was filthy, the previous tenant obviously ignorant to the dark arts of domestic duties and basic hygiene. So we had a lot of cleaning to do just to make the place liveable.

While I was eager to exploit our newly acquired privacy, and therefore bonking opportunities, I didn’t expect to see any action that night. We crawled into bed around eleven-ish I think. I fully expected a kiss, a grope and g’night.

I didn’t count on Suze. She felt my cock grow hard as she pressed against me and persuaded me, without much effort, into a goodnight shag. This set the tone for the whole of our 15 months in the flat.

That is not what I wanted to write about, this is …

A few weeks after arriving Suze started unpacking some old clothes, and so did I. There’s something about dressing up that does it for me. I love it when Suze gets made up and puts on something a little bit out of the ordinary. It doesn’t have to be glamorous, just different, or incongruous. Don’t ask me why, it just works.

I’ll save what I found in my bags and boxes for another time. For now, this is what Suze pulled out of the dressing up box  J

She was rummaging about, deciding what to put in the limited drawer and wardrobe space and what should stay in bin liners to be consigned to a pile in the corner of our bedroom. You know how it is, weeks after you move you’re still unpacking and finding things that you thought were lost forever.

A bundle of green fabric fell onto the floor. “What’s that?” I asked.

“Just some old clothes”

“Let’s have a look then.” I have a thing about green, it’s my favourite colour. Expecially khaki-green.

Suze held up the green top with black polka dots and a khaki green skirt. A short skirt, a very short skirt. I grinned.

“Put them on.”

“I’m busy”

“Pleeeeaaassee” I begged, “I’ll make a cuppa while you get changed.”

Suze relented. When I returned she was dressed in the two items of clothing and some white panties. I knew about the panties as she gave me a twirl and the skirt rose up to reveal them, laid across her firm ass cheeks.

I was already a little hot under the collar from the anticipation of what she would look like in the outfit, but standing wearing only those three items of clothing in our new bedroom was more than enough for me to feel the familiar rush of rising desire.

The skirt, even at rest, was only an inch or so below minge-base. Very provocative.

Her nipples stood proud atop perfectly formed pert breasts, the light cotton fabric of the polka dot top allowing me to see every detail. I placed the cups on the floor next to the bed and took her in my arms.

“You like them then?” She asked. I held her tight, my imprisoned erection pressing into her through my trousers. “That’ll be yes then.” She smiled and ran her hand around from my back to caress and tease the bulge in its fabric shroud.

My hand slipped down her back and onto her ass. I leant forward and kissed her, both of us knowing this was a prelude to some extra laundry.

I reached under her skirt to stroke her full firm ass. I gathered her panties in my hand and pulled them up tight into the crack of her ass, forcing the fabric to make contact with her anus and stretch across her mons. “Oooh” She exclaimed approvingly.

One of her hands stroked my back, under my T-shirt, the other let its fingers play on my neck while we continued to kiss.

Suze broke away and unfastened my trousers. The belt buckle clanked as it hit the floor. I sprang to attention, having chosen to go commando as it was late spring, summer approaching fast. I was glistening with pre-cum, always too good to resist and Suze didn’t.

She spent a few moments licking the tip of my cock as I resisted the urge to push myself into her mouth. I pulled her to her feet and pushed her towards the bed. But not on it, with a gentle push I indicated that she should kneel next to it.

I pushed her forward, and shuffled forward myself, trousers still shackling my ankles. She was laid on the bed, head to one side, skirt up exposing her white underwear, a damp gusset inviting my attention.

I dropped to my knees then pulled the soaking panties to one side. I pushed the tip of my cock against her hot opening, sliding past her panties, enjoying the feeling of them restricting my entry, yet knowing that our mutual states of lubrication would prevent any nasty friction injuries.

We exchanged no words, just animal noises, moans and groans, oohs and aahs. Slowly at first, with no acrobatics, or huge feats of endurance, or astounding displays of sexual ingenuity I brought us both to orgasm. The sight of Suze beneath me, fully clothed in unusual garb, sweating slightly as we approached orgasm  was such a  turn on. She lay, a willing participant but almost subservient to me. Not raped but definitely eager to be ravished.

I was perspiring too, the heat, the exertion and the fact that I was clothed, save for my half discarded trousers caused beads of sweat on my back. My T-shirt began to stick to me. It felt elicit, naughty, very, very sexy to be clothed, in the middle of the afternoon, with the curtains open, screwing Suze over the bed.

Suze had abandoned herself to me. I later found she had dribbled on the quilt cover. She’d simply let herself go, allowed me to fuck her until she came. When she did come it was with a low moan, half muffled by the quilt. I had held back until than and let my orgasm burst forth.

Our fluids mixed, our bodies met again and again as my hips slapped against her ass time and again. My crotch was almost as wet as hers, the combined fluids of our love-making dribbling and splashing over us, the bed and our clothing.

Well worth a bit of extra washing I think you’ll agree. And all from playing in the dressing up box. So don’t ever grow up. Follow your inner child if you want some fun. I can highly recommend it.

Pissing Post

Dog CockingAs I am a firm believer in giving credit where credit is due, I will start this post by thanking Miss Understood for inspiring this post.  She covered the subject in a very humorous and interesting way.

My earliest recollection of peeing with an audience was when I was a toddler.  I was out shopping in the town centre with my mum and I got caught short.  Don’t children always do this, you ask over and over if they need the toilet whilst there is one close by and the answer is “No, I don’t want one”.

Minutes later when you are in the middle of nowhere they start asking to go.  My mother’s solution to this was to pull down my pants and suspend me over a grate in the road.  I know it sounds like a very strange practice but it was not unusual.  You would often find little boys pointing at the grate too but that’s another story and takes place after the pubs close.  😀

Of course as a child you get caught out a lot.  I used to take a pee behind a bush if I was out playing with my friends, bugger going all the way home when you can do it in the wild.  Citing!  (Sorry turned all Russell Brand there for a moment).  Despite what they said, you cold not wipe your pussy on leaves, I tried and it was no good and left me with a green gusset.  No, it wasn’t an infection, it was the chlorophyll.  LOL

The only problem with pissing whilst suspended only inches from the floor is spray.  You have to squat with your feet the right distance apart for the speed of the flow.  I’m sure there must be some wonderful mathematical algorithm for working this out, like

Piss Flow X Height From Ground = Feet Distance Apart

I almost always ended up with wet socks and shoes/sandals even worse all your foot got wet too.  Then of course there is the run off.  A clever little pisser makes sure that they pee on a hill so that the stream of urine runs straight down between their legs and away in to the distance.  If you adopt this technique make sure that it doesn’t run in to the path of oncoming walkers or your game is given away.  Follow the yellow brick piss road.  Hahaha

Never wet myself except for once, a boy I knew tickled me and I told him to stop or I would piss my pants.  He didn’t did he.  The inevitable happened and I wet myself.  It didn’t embarrass me because I told him to stop.  He looked a little stupefied though.  Fortunately I was close to home so I could go and change.

Here I have a confession to make, I have peed in the public swimming pool quite a few times as a child.  Don’t shout at me, it was too cold outside of the heated pool to go to the toilet.  My tactic to avoid discovery was to pee and twirl around at the same time, thus dispersing the tell tale yellow trail.  I’m not sure but don’t they incorporate a urine detecting dye in the water these days?  I was quite professional at it, nobody ever saw me having a crafty wee.  🙂

Family days out were always a nightmare as far as going to the toilet was concerned.  My father once in the driving seat of the car would stop for nothing or nobody.  If you wanted a wee he would make you wait until you were bursting.  His famous line would be, “can you just hold on until we get to the next town and we will find some toilets?”  Twenty minutes later, with no town in sight I would finally have to beg him to stop before I pissed myself.  Then finally he would relent and stop in a layby.

My choice of pee spots would depend on the orientation to the road of the car.  If we were parked parallel with the passing traffic I could pee squatting at the side of the car with unlimited choice of position.  I could pee near to my mother’s door, near to the back door and if I was feeling very cheeky next to the boot of the car so the approaching traffic could just see a bit of my pink ass.

This may sound strange to some but the sight of someone peeing themselves and watching that dark patch grow can be a bit of a turn on.  I like to get Alex to wear a pair of dark coloured boxer’s stood in the bath and watch him take a wee.  To watch the flow of urine slowly soak the front of his boxers until they cling to his cock, watching the stream issue from the leg of his boxers and cascade down his leg like a golden waterfall.  He likes to see me wet my panties too.  We both finish off with a shower and the inevitable shower fuck with me pressing my hands against the wet tiled wall as he piles in to me from behind.  I’ m getting wet just thinking about it.  😉

As a twenty something I had a boyfriend with his own council flat.  We came home from the pub one night, a little worse for wear after drinking I don’t know how many bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale which was obligatory if you were a rock chick.  And no fancy glasses, straight out of the bottle.

Anyway, I don’t know how many bottles we had managed to consume but by the time we got to his front door we were both dieing for a piss.  He took the toilet and I in my drunken wisdom decided to hop up on to the bathroom sink at the side of him.  I pulled off my panties and began to climb up there using the side of the bath for a step.

I started to release with an “Oooh!” whilst he pointed in a rather swaying fashion at the porcelain, steadying himself with one hand on the wall.  I seemed to be peeing for Britain it just kept on coming.  Then the next thing I know, the sink makes a groaning sound and starts to come away from the wall with me still sat on it.  Now, the sink is pointing towards the floor and I’m about to slide off.  I halted the flow and let myself drop to the floor.

When I recovered my composure and turned around, the sink was hanging off the wall.  Precariously held by two brackets which had all but come free from the plaster.  I couldn’t stop laughing and Joe my boyfriend couldn’t resist and began to join in.

It was most embarrassing having to call the local council and ask them to send over a repair guy to fix it.  I think I told them that I slipped, grabbed for the sink to stop me from falling and it came away from the wall.  I wonder how many times they heard that story.  LOL

I strongly advise anyone finding they need to go urgently and the toilet is in use.  Go in the bath.  It’s safer.  Except for this one time…

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Evilicious Blonde posted this and it got us thinking. We leave it far too long between podcasts. We don’t want the blog to become dominated by them, but we know how much some of you like to hear them.

Problem is while we have plenty to say when we’re writing, when it comes to podcasts, well we kind of dry up.


So what do you want us to talk about? What do you want us to say?

Something like this perhaps?

The Great Outdoors

We had a brief flirtation with summer again this weekend so we decided to take advantage of the clement weather and go for a walk.  Our house is situated in the greenbelt and there are many places to walk, our favourite one is just over the lane from us.

A walk across a couple of farmers fields (Don’t worry, they have public footpaths running through them) and we are at the top of a beautiful wooded hillside and the view from the top is spectacular.  You can see for miles and miles across fields and villages.

The wood is mainly deciduous, with oaks, ash, holly with bramble thickets and gorse interspersed between the ancient trees.  We climbed to the top of the hill before the decent down to the woods.  There was a father playing with his toddler and their golden retriever on the brow of the hill.

As Alex and I began to make our way down the hillside we heard the little boy say “Can we go down there?”.  We both turned to each other and smiled.  Just like kids, they always think that they are missing something.  😀

It was warm and humid and I removed my black jacket and tied it around my waist.  I don’t know why I didn’t leave it at home and just go out in my black cargo pants and khaki t-shirt.  That’s me, always practical…I thought it may rain.  LOL

The path we took meandered slowly down the wooded hillside, twisting and turning between overgrown gorse bushes and brambles.  We got about half way down when Alex led me by the hand off-piste.  He took an overgrown track to the left of the footpath and after a couple of minutes we were in a glade under the oaks’ canopy.  I must confess my heart skipped a beat when I saw the glint in Alex’s eye.

He pulled me towards him and began to kiss me gently at first and then with passion as his lips pressed firmly against mine and his tongue probed my mouth.  I was stood higher up the bank than him, which brought me face to face with him rather than him having to bend.  We were now kissing with fevered lust.  Alex seemed to be trying to devour me.

I broke away for air and to regain my composure.  Alex reached forward and lifted my t-shirt out of my cargo pants and up over my bra.  I was wearing a thin white lycra bra which Alex loves because he can see my nipple through the sheer fabric.  He tweaked my already hard nipples each one in turn and then glided his fingers gently across each cup.

My nipples were pulsing with the increased flush of blood to them, making them all the more sensitive to his touch.  I shivered as he gently rolled each one under his palm.   Then without warning he pulled my bra up over my breasts, cupped them in both hands and began to kiss between them.

My gusset began to moisten, I just hoped that they wouldn’t get too wet or the front of my trousers would become visibly wet and slightly embarrassing for the walk home.  He continued to kiss and rub his head between my cupped boobs.  Then his hand started to rub my mons through the crotch of my trousers.  He was driving me insane, I wanted to rip off my clothes and fuck him then and there.  But it was too risky, the trees are loosing leaves and the cover was sparse in some places.

I bent my knees to allow me to place my hand over his groin.  He was hard and straining to become free of his denim confines.  I rubbed my palm against his erection and then gave it a gentle squeeze.  He responded, twitching with excitement.  My breasts were now exposed to the warm and humid air and my nipples were aching to be inside Alex’s mouth once more.  I lifted my right breast up to his lips and he suckled on my pink/brown nub.

My knees began to give as he flicked and tugged at my nipple with his tongue and lips.  I was sure that my panties were now soaked with cum and I imagined a growing wet patch appearing between my legs as I moistened my cargo pants.

I leaned in over Alex and placed my head on his with my eyes closed to fully appreciate the electrical impulses being fired from my synapses in response to his oral ministrations.  Perhaps I could lower my trousers and panties to just below the knee, he could then fuck me through his open flies.  Then if anyone came we could quickly pull them up.

I was just toying with the idea of being fucked against a tree when I heard a twig snap.  Looking over Alex’s head I could just make out the figure of a woman climbing the hill.  “Alex, there’s someone coming”, I exclaimed but not so loudly that I could be heard.  I couldn’t believe it, every time we try to grab a bit of outdoor action someone spoils the fun!  It seems that the whole world is conspiring against us.

Alex withdrew his head from my cleavage, his chin glistening with saliva.  He pulled my bra back over my boobs and pulled down my t-shirt.  My bra felt awkward, no wonder he had pulled it down lopsided, I was hanging out.  😀

We started the accent back to the top whilst I adjusted my bra and tucked my t-shirt back in my trousers.  You couldn’t tell we had been up to anything…Oh no…the smiles on our faces just gave the game away.  LOL

With one final pull of my hand we stepped on to the crest of the hill.  As we stepped clear of the last holly bush we caught site of the little boy and his dad.  They were still there playing with the dog.  I didn’t dare to look the guy in the eye, I felt my cheeks flush with colour.  Did he suspect what we had been up to down there with us being so brief.  I know that is the conclusion I would have drawn from it.  Or is it just me and my dirty mind.

That Black Shirt Again

Last week’s HNT featured two things, the beautiful Suze and a black cotton shirt. I’m rather attached to both :).

Loving a person or thing can be seen as irrational. Let’s face it, love is in itself a weird concept for all animals except humans and possibly some higher primates. I think many animals demonstrate a kinship or kindness for each other, that I suppose could derive from their existence in a herd, pod or pack. This in itself is, I would contend, based on a tendency, amplified by natural selection, to be part of a group means that survival is easier.

Swans mate for life, but his has more to do with a strong bond between parents making for better survival chances for the young. Cygnets whose parents bond so closely and cooperate in their upbringing must have an advantage.

Love however goes beyond that. It makes people do things that defy logic and reason. However in humans I think some of this can be explained by empathy derived from our intelligence and the concept of self. That is we all want someone to care for us and mutually want to care for someone. If we feel their pain and can respond to it then our partner can do likewise. In supporting each other the ties between us strengthen and become part of each of us.

That said I think there is an irrational, no perhaps a better word is inexplicable, element to love. Something that can never be explained and indeed never should be explained. It is the closest thing I can identify as proof that this otherwise miserable, violent and often repugnant species called Homo Sapiens actually have a soul.

So, back to the shirt. The only person to hit the nail on the head re the shirt was Always Aroused Girl. She said it was the shirt I was wearing when we first met. It was.

The shoes have worn out, the jeans went threadbare and fell to pieces, but the shirt survives. It will never be thrown away. That shirt was bought one month before I met Suze, for a work colleague’s birthday pub crawl. I was wearing it when Suze first clapped eyes on me. I was wearing it when we first kissed. And yes we’ve fucked while I was wearing it a few times too.

Because of all that it has a significance above its physical existence. It is part of my life, Suzanne’s life, our life together. It is a collection of cellulose fibres and a few polycarbonate disks. It is faded from washing and a couple of buttons are missing. And there will never be another shirt like it.

When we first got together we spent a lot of time in cinemas. And although we’ve had some pretty good times in the cathedrals dedicated to the great god Hollywood we never actually got it on in one.

The nearest we came was watching a dire Don Johnson Film called “Hot Spot”. Within the first ten minutes we knew it was going to be appalling. Rather than leave and brave the cold February air we decided to stay and get intimately acquainted with each other.

It started with kissing, hands traversing our bodies, alive with anticipation. Discretely of course, the usherettes were mainly ensconced in the staff canteen or out the back having a crafty cigarette until they were compelled by necessity to sell over-priced ice-creams and bags of Revels to the punters. However just occasionally a disinterested spotty youth would meander up and down the isles making sure that the audience were behaving.

It was a midnight screening so the auditorium was virtually empty. We quickly became bolder than usual and the trusty shirt was tugged out of my jeans to allow Suzanne’s hand access to my stomach, where her nails traced an intricate dance. She worked her way up until she reached my chest, circling each nipple in turn and pinching each slightly before moving on.

We both slid low in our seats, pity they didn’t recline. I suppose people like us are the reason for that :).

I, and read carefully cos I’m quite proud of this, managed to unfasten her jeans one-handed and slide my hand inside. Unlike now where the garden is neatly trimmed she was as nature intended. The warm thicket of pubes was humid with her moistness already and I could smell her indescribably delicious aroma as my hand slid into her panties and my index finger insinuated its way into her hot slit. There was very little room for manoeuvre, she wiggled a bit creating just enough space for me to massage her clit.

To have slid her jeans down would have been inviting discovery, expulsion and possibly a chat with the local constabulary.

I was hard and soon dribbling, my cock pointing down the leg of my jeans, straining against the fabric, creating a growing pool of sticky damp fluid on the inside of the denim.

We continued this slow motion pre-coitus for the duration of the film. My obvious discomfort at my cocks continued confinement led to Suze releasing my trapped member by unfastening my jeans so my oozing glans poked from the top of my boxers and dripped its sticky issue on my stomach. She toyed with my cock and the growing lake of clear pre-cum throughout the rest of the film.

As the credits rolled and with a quick shuffle to adjust our wardrobe before the lights came up, we were off. Suffice to say that was not the only action the shirt saw that night. I’ll tell you about what happened on the journey home later this week.

So what inanimate object means that much to you and why. Because I’m really interested.

Life As His – Missing In Action

Life As HisLast night I visited a blog that I have grown to admire over the last 18 months, since we started blogging, “Life as His”. Anissa’s been a little irregular at posting recently, we all have real world commitments so I didn’t think too much of this.

I even sent her an email last night, as it had been 11 days since her last post and asking her for some input on something Suze is working on.

Today her blogs are gone!

Does anyone know what has happened to Annissa?

Annissa, if you’re reading this, please contact me, even if it’s just a comment. If you want to do it privately, my email’s on the sidebar. We would like to know that you’re OK.

Alex & Suze

Caught In The Act

Have you ever quite literally been caught with your pants down?  It has happened to me more than once and fortunately I have managed to bluff my way out of all but one occasion, when there was no doubt about what our onlooker had just witnessed.  Here are some encounters I can remember clearly, others may come to me in time and I will tell you about them at a later date.

The first time it happened when I was sat astride my boyfriend in his car down a lonely lovers lane.  Or at least that’s what we thought it was at first.  It turned out that there were several cars around which we hadn’t noticed amongst the trees. 

We were in the throws of passion with me doing my best reverse cowgirl when there was a tap on the windowpane.  😀  Here is the full story.  It made for a most unusual night.  Nobody made any reference as to why we were down an unlit country lane late in the evening.  Surreal really!

On the second occasion I was at my boyfriend’s house whilst his parents were out.  I can’t remember where they had gone but they were away for the night.  Their house was a bungalow and Carl’s bedroom was at the rear far end of the property.  The house had a long rear garden with mature trees and a path which led to the gate at the end.  The gate opened on to a bridle path, which was rarely used.

This was useful for making an escape from early arriving parents.  😀  On this particular warm and balmy evening we were in his room listening to music with the windows open and the voile curtains occasionally wafting in the warm breeze.

One thing led to another and we both ended up naked on top of the bed.  Carl’s cock was hard and I had lost my inhibitions with the help of the alcohol we consumed earlier.  I threw my right leg over him and lowered myself down on to his erection.  He was quite a large guy in more ways than one and it was hard for me to take him all.  Practice makes perfect.  LOL

When my insides and most of my internal organs had adjusted to accommodate his more than adequate length I began to move slowly up and down his shaft.  I remember concentrating so hard on taking him in that I drooled on to his chin through not swallowing.  I can picture him looking up and laughing at me even now.

Within minutes I had stretched to fit and was bobbing quite happily up and down on his erection.  The wind was blowing the curtains slightly open every now and then which helped to cool our hot bodies.  I came as quietly as I could aware that the window was open and he pinched my nipples as I bucked on his cock.

“Chew!” came the sound.  I looked at Carl and he looked quizzically at me.  Without a word I raised myself off his now softening cock and made my way to the window, where I thought the noise had come from.  I pulled back the curtain and I nearly jumped out of my skin and let out a brief scream as I spotted Barry, Chris’ friend about a foot away from the window.

It was quite obvious that he had decided to come over the back way to see Carl and then to his delight found us fucking in Chris’ room.  I didn’t know quite what to say I was embarrassed.  I told Chris that Barry was outside.  We quickly got dressed.  It was so funny at the same time as being one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  We were jumping around the bedroom trying to put get our jeans on like a comedy duo.

To this day I have never asked Barry what he saw.  I’m too afraid that the answer would be “everything!”

In my early twenties I saved up enough money to go to Scotland for a week with my fella.  John was a keen fisherman and I am sorry to say that I stupidly played second fiddle to his tackle.  Hehehe.  I’m not quite sure why I agreed to go knowing that we would be spending the whole week fishing.  But hey, love makes you do strange things.

We were lucky to pick one of the best weeks to go up to Scotland too.  The weather was constantly hot and we were able to fish every day.  Goody, goody.  😀  He used to sit rod in hand whilst I used to search for mine in his trousers.  LOL

One afternoon the weather was blissfully hot and we were on the banks of the river Anon in the middle of nowhere.  Nobody else in sight, not even the sound of a car.  Mind you it had taken us a while to trek from the car through some woodland and down the embankment.  Time and effort well invested.

I managed to undo his flies and coax his cock out of his jeans.  This is how keen a fisherman he was.  I actually got down in front of his seat and began to suck him off whilst he held on to his rod changing glances from his float bobbing up and down to my head doing the same on his erection.

Eventually he got so hard that he had to relieve himself.  He put down his rod and I slipped my panties off casting them to the side.  I found a patch of soft grass and lay back with my legs spread in readiness for him.  He pushed his jeans and pants down to below his knees and knelt in between my legs stroking his cock at the same time.

He placed his hands either side of me and I reached down to guide him inside me.  As I did so a voice could be heard over the other side of the riverbank.  He pushed himself up and started to pull up his trousers and pants.  Just in time.  Two guys came walking up the embankment on the other side of the river, rods in hand.

I think we were lucky and didn’t get spotted on that occasion.  And to my delight he didn’t feel like fishing there after that encounter.  So it wasn’t all bad was it?



My Silk Pyjamas

My Silk Pyjamas

My silk pyjamas, are they an indulgence?
I suppose so, but I love the feel of them
Silk has a texture like no other fabric
A look like no other

I slide into bed and feel them against my skin
I want to touch them
My hands explore the ripples in the material,
tracing the curves of the flesh underneath
I am roused, rising, the mere act of touching fuelling my inner fires
Is this an illicit pleasure?
This tactile safari over muscle and skin.

My hand reaches down one leg as far as  I can reach
Now back up and down the other, avoiding the obvious destination
For now
I’m hard, hard as steel, silk and steel a delicious juxtaposition
I can resist no longer, my hand dives in

I feel the arousal, so obvious, yet clandestine in its silken shroud
Unseen, every touch is amplified
My rapaciously horny mind seeking sensation
My other hand reaches up to squeeze a nipple

You gasp

I love it when you wear my silk pyjamas


EmpedoclesTo the elements it came from
Everything will return.
Our bodies to earth,
Our blood to water,
Heat to fire,
Breath to air.
“Empedocles”, Matthew Arnold, 1852

I have a strange affinity with fire. You can draw your own conclusions regarding what that says about my psychology. I have been told I have a fiery personality. OK I have a temper on me, but that’s not what I’m talking about, and I’m certainly not going to throw myself into Mount Etna like Empedocles.

However, there is something about a fire that draws and captivates me. No wonder the ancients had it as one of their four element. Now I’m not a big new-ager so someone can probably fill me in on what it says about me in that respect too.

I can lose myself in the glowing heart of a conflagration, drift through the incandescent plasma of a flame. I find it quite spiritual. Is that the right word? Anyway. I’m going to try an experiment here. If you were an element Earth, Air, Fire or Water, what would you be and why?

I know the Zodiacal signs have one of the four elements associated with each of them but disregard that. What do you feel you are? And what sort of lover does that make you?

Perhaps just as importantly what sort of lover do you attract/repel? As Empedocles would have termed it, the Philia (Love, φιλíα) and the Neikos (Strife, sorry I’m not sure of the spelling of this one 🙁 νεικος ?) of your relationships.

Mike’s Adventures in Porn Land – Part 4, Mike’s Job Interview

Old Hall HotelFor fans of this thread, sorry it took so long to get back to it. I enjojy writing it and have one more scenario to write. If you’re unfamiliar with the story so far check out the archives for May 2006 on the old Blogger blog dated 9.12 and 22 May. 

Quaint as it was Mike concluded that the VW Microbus was not his transport of choice. Michelle and Sandrine chatted in French in the front seats, while he was consigned to sit on the back seat over the engine. His teeth chattered as they bounced over the decidedly rustic driveway that wound it’s way towards the Old Hall Hotel at Southington.

They had paid at the door and entered the function room where the disco was being held where he bought Michelle and Sandrine a drink each and promised to return when he had answered the call of nature. He followed the signs out of the disco and into the corridor that ran along side it. As he made his way to the gent’s toilets he passed a notice board, a hand-written sign caught his eye, “Concierge Required”. He stopped and read the ad, full time, wages far in excess of what he earned at the store. He made a mental note of the manager’s name then continued to his original destination.

In attempting to get back to the disco Mike turned the wrong way down the corridor and nearly collided with a woman emerging from a room on his right.

“Oh, sorry”, he apologised.

“That’s quite alright”, she looked him up and down appreciatively, “You were looking for the disco?”

“That’s right”, Mike said, but stopped noticing the plaque on the door, “Are you Miss Keane?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I saw your ad on the notice board and I’d be very interested …” he stopped, wondering if he’d overstepped the mark, been a little too forward. Damn! He could really do with some extra cash and he could have blown this opportunity.

Her face broke into a smile, “Well, that was quick, I only put the notice up this afternoon. Come in, come in”. She pushed open the door.

Her office was like a set from the TV series UFO ( High kitsch, complete with a white shag pile. She was wearing an ankle length white cotton dress, embroidered on the front. Her bottle-blonde hair was freshly styled, curly locks cascading over her shoulders.

“Take a seat”

“Thank you Miss Keane.”

“Call me Randi”, she purred.

“Huh?”, if it had been a film, Mike would have turned to a camera and smiled.

“It’s my nickname, I’m actually called Rachael but … it seemed to fit when I was at college”, she shrugged, “How about you, what shall I call you?”

“It’s Mike, Mike, er, er “Mike realised his surname escaped him. It was like chasing a frog, every time he thought he had it, it hopped just out of reach. Perhaps in this world he didn’t have a surname.

“Mike will do just fine”, Randi leant back, her bottom against her desk in front of the now seated Mike, legs slightly apart under her dress. “What makes you think you would be a good concierge?”

Mike described his customer service skills while Randi played with her tresses, winding them around her fingers. Mike’s mouth went dry, he should have been used to this by now but it was still a thrill.

“Well …”, said Randi, her words soft and enticing, ” … you sound like a very helpful young man, but your experience is not in the hotel business. But I see something in you I like.” She stared at his crotch, smiling at the growing bulge. “The question is could I use your obvious talents in my, er, organisation?”

Mike gulped.

“Do you find me attractive Mike?”

He looked down at his lap, then back up at Randi and smiled. Mike stood unbuckling his trousers. Randi slinked across to the centre of the office, her hips summoning Mike as he hastily stepped out of his trousers.

She turned and faced him, then dropped to her knees. As soon as he was in reach she yanked down his underwear and grabbed his throbbing cock. She sucked on his member like an industrial vacuum, consuming ever last inch of it almost immediately. Mike’s eyes rolled into his head, a stupid grin spread across his now upturned face. Her nails dug into his buttocks, pulling him towards her, ensuring his member was engulfed entirely.

Suddenly he felt his cock released. “Fuck me you stud!”, it was only his rising excitement that stopped him collapsing in fits of laughter. She turned away from him and dropped to all fours.

He lifted her dress like the unveiling of a sculpture to reveal two round, firm buttocks. He tugged her knickers down, tearing them as he did so. “Oooh yes!”, she cried approvingly, “Give it to me hard.”

Mike rubbed the shining end of his prick back and forth along her slit for lubrication, then lined up to dive into her pussy. He felt the tip begin to enter her opening, then come up against sudden resistance. “Aahh, not there stud. Perhaps later.”, Randi smiled and winked at him over her shoulder.

He withdrew from her anus and plunged into his intended goal, her hot wet pussy. “Mmm. Ooo. Aaa. Aaa” was the appreciative acapella.

Her hair cascaded down onto the carpet, forming a golden veil around her face. His balls slapped against her wet lips, the humidity ever increasing. Her straight arms suddenly collapsed, her face now pressed into the deep pile, muffling her moans, hair now spread around her head like a halo.

Mike slowed his thrusting, teased her with his cock, pulling out, tickling her opening with his swollen glans. She rocked back, attempting to slide herself back down his shaft. He pushed her away, gently, but firmly and slid out fully. He slid between her legs, rubbing his glans on her hot swollen lips, enjoying the friction of her thighs on his shinny plum. She gasped as he tortured her clit, gently stimulating it with his very tip.

He drew back, and with a grunt that was almost a roar slid into her again. This time he was relentless, she began to cum the sensation of being filled by him and his perfectly aimed thrusts leaving her no choice but to surf the orgasmic wave. He felt it, the pulsing of her pussy and the wetness that drenched him.

He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back. This time he did roar and drove into her, cumming like an express train. She wailed and thrashed, feeling his climax, driven into a wild sexual frenzy. His pelvis stopped its rhythmic pummelling long after his loins were empty, animal reflex refusing to subside, even when his cock became so sensitive that it felt like the skin had been flayed from its tip.

Strawberries And Cream

Strawberries And CreamVibrating Clitoral Stimulator And Penis Ring With 5 ½” Vibrator.

I opened up the packaging and removed:

1 X vibrating clitoral stimulator
1 X 5 ½” multispeed vibrator
1 X sachet of lube

The clitoral stimulator comes complete with a detachable adjustable harness, which comprises of 4 elasticated straps to keep your little treasure in place.  It smells very floral when you take it out of the box, very girly indeed.

It is made of a very pliable jelly with a bullet mounted at the top and a hole for sticking you know what through.  😉  Attached is a multispeed control unit that takes 2 X 1.5 volt AA batteries.  These are rather cleverly housed inside a hinged top unit.  So no having to retrieve the top cover when you drop it.

One thing did occur to me…I need a battery charger for Christmas.  Hehehehe. Only joking, make that a bumper pack of batteries, in common with all the toys I’ve encountered you should not use rechargeables. This toy’s instructions specify alkaline cells (a la Duracell).

Alex was still in the shower when I started to unpack my new toy.  So I thought what the hell, I’ll just give it a quick try while I’m waiting.  🙂  I used the image on the box to work out how to attach the clitoral stimulator as there are no instructions as to how to wear it.  Which is a shame.

Attaching the straps is a little awkward at first but I should imagine after the first application and strap adjustment it should get easier.  You have to attach one set of straps over your hip and up through your thighs and the other set around your upper thighs.  I’ve lost you now haven’t I ?.  😀  Ok, imagine a climbers harness or one of those that the air/sea rescue people wear when they are being lowered by a winch.  You got it!

I could hear Alex whistling in the shower so there was still time to kill.  With the harness on and batteries retrieved out of my bedside drawer I was ready to go.  Don’t let anyone say I’m not practical.  LOL

I turned the dial on the clit stimulator and must admit to being very excited at the thought of some clitoral stimuli as I come on my clitoris quite often.  Not wanting to rush things, I turned the dial slowly on and OMG…It was like sitting on the washer during spin cycle but 10 times better.  Up went the speed and I lay back on my pillow with my legs spread wide.  If you have a sensitive clit this is the toy for you.

My pubic bone resonated as the bullet worked it’s magic and I began to moisten.  I reached over for the vibe on the bedside table and naively tried to insert it.  Not a good idea.  The soft jelly of the “o” ring gripped it and would not allow me to insert it.  Ahhh! That’s why they give you the lube…silly me!

I could hear Alex stepping out of the shower as I reached over for the lube sachet.  My clit was now pulsing with every rumble from the vibrator and must have been very swollen because of the sensitivity.

Breaking the top off the sachet, I put a little on my finger tips and rubbed it around the vibrator.  It is very viscous and you only need a little.  When the vibrator was sufficiently lubed I pushed it between my legs and inside my swollen wet pussy.

It felt so good to have both the vibration of the clit stimulator and the vibe deep inside me at the same time.  I began to fuck myself with long steady motions, savouring every thrust.  At this moment Alex walked in to the bedroom and was very eager to join in.  “I see you couldn’t wait to get started”, he said with a smile and semi erect cock waving in front of me at eye level.

My reply was a simple moan as I continued to work the finger vibe in and out of me.  I needed more.  I was about to reach for my jelly vibe which would have fitted the “o” ring perfectly when Alex knelt on the bed at the side of me.  It was my guess that he wanted to fuck me.  Something just told me so.  It could have been that huge bulging erection which was bouncing in the air to the left of my head.  Alex can be so subtle at times.  😀

I removed the vibe placing it on the bed and upped the clitoral vibration to max.  Fuck! I almost came then and there.  I raised on to my hands and knees to my favourite doggy position and Alex sidled in behind me.  “You’ll need to use some lube to push your cock through the “O” ring, I advised.  He reached over and proceeded to lube up his cock as I looked eagerly and vocally over my right shoulder. 

I’m telling you, this stimulator has to be used to be believed.  My pussy was so wet and swollen that it felt like it was going to pop with the tension of the blood supply.  The next thing I knew Alex was pushing his cock in to the ring and centring himself up for my cunt.  It’s a little like precision drilling you have to make sure the alignment is correct before thrusting.

He began to slowly pump in and out of me and the combination of his cock filling me and the vibration on my clit brought me to orgasm straight away.  I pushed my head in to the pillow as I  vocalised my elation.  Alex was spurned on by this and began to bang at me harder.  This was a mistake because the fucking, whilst moving the stimulator around on my clit which felt good, made the alignment almost impossible and he kept coming out of the ring.

After a couple of misses we decided it would probably be best if we screwed with me on my back.  I rolled over and placed my legs over his shoulders.  He pushed between my legs and began to fuck me again.  This time the “O” ring stayed in place and he built up a good rhythm.  I came again within moments of him thrusting.

I reached down between my legs and pressed the bullet against my clit and rolled it gently around as he pounded at my pussy.  Then came another orgasm, swiftly followed by another.  I seemed to be in an orgasmic ocean with breaker upon breaker hitting the spot.  So much so that I almost didn’t notice Alex take one last pained thrust and come with a shuddering rapture.

After the heavy breathing had stopped and we came back down to earth I asked Alex if he could feel the vibration from the clit stimulator.  He said he couldn’t.  So next time I have an idea … where’s that Xfactor cock ring?

Avatar, Gravatar, Thingymajig

SuzeWho wants one of these?  Girls stop looking at Alex’s dinkle!  Oh, go on then as the boys are currently checking out my chains.  😀  Well this blog is now Gravatar enabled, which means I will be able to see all your familiar pictoral representations once again since switching to WordPress.  And boy have I missed being able to see your images and graphics over here.

If you set up one of these Gravatars it will be globally available to be displayed on any blog which is Gravatar enabled including WordPress, Haloscan, Moveable Type and many others.

AlexJust pop over here and set one up today  It’s quick and painless to do and very quickly approved for use.  All you need is an image 80 x 80 pixels in size and away you go.

So don’t hide in the shadows of anonymity, lets see you beautiful people out there…

I’m Going For The Snip

Scissors and strap-onHa!  That got you all looking didn’t it?  No Alex is not off to have his pipework re-routed.  I went to the hairdressers for my quarterly visit for a trim.  Now I have my hair long there is no need to have it regularly styled (in fact, what is styling?  LOL)  I cut my own fringe and just have the ends trimmed off regularly.

I walked in to the uni-sex salon or do I now call it a bis-sexual salon.  I’m not sure.  But my hairdressers snip both ways.  The front of the salon is for the guys and the backrooom (wink) is for the girls.  It didn’t set out that way, we all used to eye each other up in the mirrors.  No, we didn’t.  This hairdresser’s is not one of the trendy ones and the cliental reflect that.  Myself included.  LOL

Tracey spotted me as we walked through the door and left her client to greet us.  Alex took a seat as I now take care of his style with the electric trimmers.  She helped me in to a gown and took me through to the back of the shop with a “how are you two?”.  “Fine”, I replied realising that she would be returning to the middle aged peroxide blonde.

I took my seat on the black leatherette and chrome chair and fastened adjusted the gown so it didn’t just hang on the floor.  Tracey was finishing off the womans hair, she gave her the last tease with the comb and then asked, “would you like some laquer to keep it in place?”.  “Yes dear”, replied the middle aged bombshell.  😀

She sprayed her hair liberally to keep in those curls and with a couple of pats stood back and tilted her head to one side awaiting a response from the womam.  She shook her head in agreement that she was pleased with the result.  Tracey finally picked up the hand mirror and angled it around her head so that she could pass the back and sides too.

The woman rose from her chair and untied the gown, then picked up her handbag and began to brush the hair from her shoulders.  Isn’t it amazing how the offcuts of hair always manage to slip under the gown and get on to your shoulders?

Tracey guided the woman to the till, where Angie proceeded to take payment.  “Right, lets put this over your shoulders”, she said placing a towel around me.  We walked over to the sinks and she began to wash and condition my hair.  I sat up and she wrapped my hair in a dry towel and guided me over to a chair by the mirrors.

She rubbed my hair vigorously and then removed the towel.  Then she started to comb through it with the wide toothed comb. 

“So, how are you.  Have you got a job yet?”  (she always remembers me and my personal details.  It’s an incredible talent, they must have hundreds of customers).

“I’m fine but I still haven’t found a job”.

“I’m sure something will come up for you”.  She cheerily replied.

She continued to comb though my hair and I felt every knot as she did.

“How is your house coming along?”.  I enquired.  She has an ongoing house renovation project and both her and her boyfriend are currently living with her parents while the work is done.

“We are nearly there now, just got the kitchen units to put in and the man is coming to do that on Wednesday.”

“Great, it sounds like the end is finally in sight”.

“Hopefully!. Are you going away this year?”

“No, we can’t afford too at the moment”.

“Oh…we just got back from Teneriefe last Monday.  It was good and the weather was very hot”.

She must have felt a little unsettled at asking me if we would be taking holidays because she quickly changed the subject.

“Did you do anything nice at the weekend?”

“Yes, we invited Caron and Richard over to our house”.

“That sounds good”.  (how did she know?)

“They err…swing you know”.

“Do they?”

“Yes, we met them online via one of those special sites”.


“We had only seen their pictures via emails but when they turned up…Wow, she was a looker.  Huge tits and a lovely smile.”


“We were so lucky to find a couple that we not just felt comfortable with but also wanted to fuck so badly”.

“You’re not shy are you?”, she replied a little colour appearing in her cheeks.

“We had a few drinks and things began to take off.  I took Caron upstairs slipped off her clothes and laid her out on top of our bed.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth was now open as she hung on my every word.  It’s the first time I have known a hairdresser be speechless.  😀

“I always keep my toys next to the bed, so I opened my drawer and grabbed my strap-on.  Caron smiled at me approvingly”.


I had you all hooked for a moment there, some of you must have been questioning the validity of this piece whilst trying hard to believe it really happened.  Unfortunately it didn’t.  It was inspired by an alleged documentary about swingers that We watched on Men and Motors one night earlier this week.

The program was purely fictitious and obviously aimed at the male market with it’s cliché content.  They focused on two couples and one single girl and filmed them both in the workplace and at home, then out at a swingers party.  Now ordinarily this would have made good viewing but it had no credibility at all.

This was for several reasons, as I recall:

Most of the guys who attended either around watching.

The girls only took on additional female partners and I’m sure there are a lot of swingers who would like to go MMF (MFM?) as swinging is not just about lesbian sex.

The interviews seemed to be scripted and wooden.
Participant’s houses seemed quite bare as if they had been rented specifically for the purpose of filming.

All the swingers interviewed claimed that their family knew nothing about their activities.  But they shot a guy on the golf course telling his mates what he got up to.  And the one that inspired this piece was one of the female partners having her hair washed at the salon and telling the hairdresser all about her swinging exploits.

I’m sure if you don’t want the whole world to know you swing you wouldn’t go on a television program and be filmed in action.  Give us some credit, we love to see what goes on in this lifestyle but don’t try and make fools of us by hiring unknown porn actors to ham it up for us.  LOL.

Hot Off The Press

Hot Off The PressOver the past 17 months I have tried to open eyes and with regular fetish posts.  I have brought you everything from foot fetishism to looners.  It has been an interesting aside to my normal writings here at AlexSuze and I know that some of you have really enjoyed being enlightened and perhaps some have been tempted off into new areas to explore.

I believe this world is all about discovery and that being educated gives us choices in lifestyle.  This will remain a feature here on AS as long as I can keep finding new fetishes to bring to you.  If there is anyone out there who would like to share their fetish or even submit a post about it please contact me I would love to hear from you anonymously or not.

Now back to business.  Who loves to read newspapers?  No, who really loves to read newspapers…and touch them and smell that newsprint.  Hold your hands up higher I can’t see you.

This one caught my eye today.  There is a sight which devotes itself to newspaper fetishism, with pictures of both male and females in various states of undress reading them.  At first I thought it was a joke site but it looks real, charging 12 cents per view on its images.

They don’t charge a joining fee for the site, if anyone has paid per view would you drop me a line letting me know if this is a valid fetish site.  If I have wetted your appetite and you would like to take a look the site is  I suppose it is good clean fun and when you are finished you can use the paper to mop up the mess!


Ivory BasqueThe second Christmas we were together I bought Suze a new outfit. It was an ivory coloured basque with suspenders, panties and some matching stockings.

At the time I remember writing on the gift tag “To Alex, from Alex”, as a joke. After all, I would be the one looking at it, right?

Suze loves nice underwear, she says it makes her feel feminine and special, glamorous even. She likes getting ready for a night out (I just about remember the last time we had one of those, I hate being broke), dressing up, making herself up.

I think it’s mainly because she doesn’t feel the need to spend hours each morning in the bathroom beautifying herself. Nor does she have to wear designer clothes to go to the supermarket, and normally she wears no makeup.

So when she does get dressed up/made up I suppose she feels like a different person.

Which is why, at the time, the joke I made was a joke. Since then I have come to realise it said more about my immaturity than I could ever imagine. Now I can’t help but be reminded of the line from Melanie Griffith in “Working Girl”, “Couldn’t he just once buy me something I can wear outside the bedroom”.

Because despite the fact that she enjoyed wearing it and the seeing her in it effect it had on me. And despite the fact that she felt sexy and glamorous in it … I had bought it for me. OK so a lack of imagination at that young age, and  the knowledge that she would want to be wearing it while I fucked her can be presented in some way as mitigation, but when I think about it now it bothers me.

Here’s the thing. If you give someone a gift and you were thinking about yourself when you gave it, isn’t that selfish?

I suppose it’s a bit like the series of comedy sketches by Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse depicting two aging DJs “Smashey and Nicey”. One of them “Does a lot of work for charity”, but, “Doesn’t like to talk about it”. Of course he finds time to mention it in every show, I seem to remember him depicted as a deity of sorts tending to sick children in one sketch. Or was that Michael Jackson at the Brits? I forget.

Anyway, the point is giving your time or your money to charity is to be applauded. But then telling everyone about it makes people wonder about your motivation for giving in the first place.

Take for example Jimmy Saville, he used to be very high profile in his promotion of children’s charities/hospitals. In itself this was great and his style. He has quite a unique style :). But then again there’s another celeb, I think it was Norman Wisdom (apologies if it isn’t him), who would quietly slip into his local hospital, put on a porters uniform and simply work as a porter. Each to their own.

So there we are, back to motivation again. I’m not saying that either style of giving is more or less valid or useful to the causes in question, just different.

OK so the choice of present was not the most heinous of sins, but it does make me feel uncomfortable, even now.

Evolution – Crime and Punishment


This story forms part of the Evolution series, about how, in the not too distant future the world is ruled by women, men being relegated to the status of animals, or at least lower class beings. If you want to read more from this series you can find them in the old AS Blogger Archives, currently available via the button at the bottom of the screen.

“I don’t want to see you again until every one of those bats is treated.” Miss Carter had instructed. Emma could see her now, hands on hips, dressed in a blue tracksuit, humiliating her in front of the other girls.

Emma sat, back to the wall, beneath the dim light bulb in the sports equipment storage room on a pile of hessian sacks. A dim, bulkhead light, its glass diffuser a perfect collector for any number of unfortunate insects, her only illumination. She forlornly rubbed linseed oil into the distressed willow of the cricket bat in her hand with a cotton cloth. Her nostrils were filled with its aroma. Only the rubber gloves that Miss Carter had insisted she wore prevented her hands being impregnated with it. Well, she thought, it had been a heavy tackle, and Heather would probably be hobbling around for weeks because of the way she’d fallen, but that’s rugby. Perhaps Emma shouldn’t have grabbed her by the hair and made her eat grass though. Still it wasn’t fair. She consoled herself that in only a few months she was 18 and would be leaving for university.

Emma glanced at the row of lockers against the wall to her right. There was something jammed behind them. She took off her gloves and reached behind the lockers and extracted the yellowed and torn magazine.

The image on the cover made Emma gasp. It was a man, muscular and tanned, wearing only tight swimming trunks. His head was turned skyward and he was standing on a set that purported to be an open air shower on Caribbean beach. The water was running down his oiled limbs and torso. Emma stared at him, his muscular arms, broad shoulders, powerful trunk, wet trunks, the bulging member in the trunks …

Her heart was racing as she leafed through the tattered periodical. In the first of a set of photographs he had acquired a female companion. She was also dressed in beach attire, she knelt at his feet, perfectly manicured hand resting on his inner thigh, a mere centimetre away from the outline of his semi-erect penis. Her mouth was slightly open, tongue licking cherry-red lips.

Emma felt a glow in her groin, a warm, welcome wetness, the tremors of anticipation.

In the next photograph the companion had freed the tip of the man’s cock by pulling at the waistband of his swimwear and seemed surprised to find his glans “staring” at her. Emma’s hand slid under her short skirt, coming to rest on her cotton panties. She rubbed gently at her slit, already feeling the humidity rise through the fabric and her lips becoming very sensitive to her touch.

In the next image his cock and balls were exposed, the waistband of his trunks forming a sling under them. The girl’s tongue quivered, tip millimetres away from him in a provocative close-up.

Emma listened for sounds outside. There was silence. She put the magazine to one side and slipped off her knickers. Quickly she returned to the images and, holding the magazine in one hand, caressed her wet slit with the other.

The girl was licking the man’s shaft. Emma stroked her labia majora back and forth, the deliciously viscous wetness becoming wetter with each movement.

Next the girl took the man deep into her throat. Emma rubbed her clitoris between two fingers, tugging it gently between index and middle finger. She liked the sensation that gave her sometimes, intense to the point of pain. Just sometimes.

There were a few pages missing, and the next images showed the couple engaged in sex in a variety of positions. Emma laid out the magazine at a double page spread of the girl sat astride the man as he lay on his back. The page strap line was “Lucious Linda Loves to be a Cowgirl”.

Emma knelt on the floor, knees wide, her hand sliding in and out of her fiery hot, wet entrance. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes tight shut now, except for the occasional glance at the image in front of her. She thought of the man’s thick hard shaft impaling her, stretching her pussy. Here fingers tried desperately to simulate a sensation that she so longed for, but had yet to experience.

Her mouth was open, but no sound emerged, that would invite discovery, just the quick, shallow breaths that heralded an imminent orgasm.

When it came she was on her own. There was no man to join her in her exaltation or to fill her with his seed. But that was of no consequence. She luxuriated in the afterglow, bathed in its syrupy sense of well-being.

Her eyes slowly opened to see a familiar silhouette, hands on hips.

“Emma, you wicked girl!” Shouted Miss Carter. “Where did you get this disgusting filth?”. She pulled a notepad from her top pocket and scribbled a hurried note on it. Tearing off the top sheet of paper and giving it to Emma she said “Take this to the Headmistress immediately, she’ll deal with you.”

Clutching the note a tearful Emma walked briskly out of the storeroom, her inner thighs cooling as the breeze this created rushed beneath her short skirt.

Miss Carter picked up the magazine and slid it back behind the lockers, ensuring that it was just visible for anyone sat on the pile of sacks with their backs to the wall. Then she made her way to the headmistress’s office.

As she approached the door she heard the first crack of hand on buttock and smiled. Thanks goodness that these girls had such a dutiful headmistress who knew how to correct their waywardness. And thank goodness she could watch.

5 Years

The Twin Towers 



5 years
5 centuries
5 millenia
The passage of time will not erase their memories
And because we remember those who died on that day
And all who fell before and since, named and nameless
There is a chance the killing will stop