Monthly Archives: January 2007

Things to Come – Part 3

The two previous parts of this story can be found here and here. And sorry, I couldn’t resist the image from Blink 182’s “Enema Of The State”.

Steven held Dianne in his arms in a vice-like embrace. His cock pressed into her stomach. His musk filled her nostrils as their tongues vied for supremacy, his always destined to win.

He was like a leviathan able to crush her, yet for all his strength she knew he would not harm her. Her softness tamed the animal in him, turning his anger into passion and his need to lash out at the world into a far stronger need to protect her. From what? Maybe himself, he wasn’t sure, his mind was still filled with the faces of the Russian soldiers he had seen, right before he ordered the strike.

One thing he was certain of was that he wanted her. She was feminine, delicate, perfumed like spring flowers, delicate and apparently vulnerable. Dianne was anything but vulnerable but his instincts were in charge now, the primeval drive that transcends thought and swamps reason. The urge that obliterates everything with its singularity of purpose. In this moment the heinous act that he felt resting on his shoulders was lifted from him, just for this moment in time he was the preserver, not the destroyer, the Vishnu, not the Shiva.

On a ship of three thousand souls they were now alone, the cacophony of the vessel and its inhabitants receded until they could hear each other’s heartbeats and quickening breaths.

Dianne slid her hand onto Steven’s hard, muscular ass, relishing the firmness, thrilled at its power. She slid a leg between his, rubbing her clitoris on his skin, smearing the moisture from her lips over his upper thigh.

He had untied her hair and now used a handful to turn her head this way and that as he imposed his oral mastery over her. She could feel the flow of sticky clear fluid on her abdomen as his glans slid against her.

She felt a hand grasp her breast, cupping it firmly, kneading it with such force and yet tenderness. She realised that he wanted to unleash his passion onto her, but feared what he might do, his desire boiled behind the gates of his self control.

She pulled herself from his kiss and pushed him onto his back. Then she looked him squarely in the eye, for just a moment, before leaning into his neck and biting him, hard, breaking the skin over his trapezius. Steven cried out in pain, yet she wouldn’t let go. Dianne raised her self slightly and pressed her pussy against his erection, then down his full length, only releasing his bleeding shoulder when she could go no further. He pulled her down, hands forcing her down onto his cock further than she thought possible.

A shriek, half scream half gasp escaped from her mouth as she walked the knife edge between bliss and agony.

“Fuck me Steven.”

He began to move within her, slow, long strokes. Her breasts rolled across his skin, her erect nipples tingling from the abrasion of his chest hairs. A warmth enveloped them, not the prelude orgasmic, it was an perfect calm, a crystal clear lake of serenity, an oasis in the searing desert of reality that they inhabited outside that moment.

He rose from the bed, matching her downward strokes with sure and steady thrusts. She wanted him to release himself to feel like she was being split in two. He would not. Instead he lost himself in their sex, grabbing her shoulders, forcing her onto his phallus with all his strength, but relenting before each stroke turned her pleasure to pain.

She raked his skin with her nails, but he could not be provoked again. He was in control. She wanted more but this was enough, he was using her and she felt pleasure in that, because she was using him too. In the turmoil in which they were immersed they were two people with only this moment in common.

Time became meaningless as they travelled together towards a climax. Not a screaming, legendary, ultimate orgasm, but a melting, soothing, shuddering, scarlet moment of shared elation.

They felt no urge to part as the climax ebbed and held each other until they fell asleep.


Giles slowed his gallop to a walk and composed himself a few meters from the doors to the infirmary. He strode through the door confidently. “Private Giles reporting as requested.”, he saluted the room in general, he was alone.

“I’ll be with you in a minute … “, a voice announced from a storeroom.

Corporal Evans appeared, apparently unaware of Giles’ excitement, detached and professional, only her cleavage, exposed by a provocatively unbuttoned blouse betrayed her complicity in this less than secret tryst.

“Put your rifle down.” Giles smiled and laid his rifle on a nearby bed.

“Now come here” he walked towards Stacey, cock already rubbing heavily against his thigh.

“Turn around.”

“Wha … but?”

“Turn around and drop your trousers.” He complied, she outranked him after all.

“Bend over.” He gulped and lay over the examination table chest resting on the vinyl covered surface, swollen cock waving freely.

He listened for a clue about what was going on behind him, strange sounds gave him an idea. It was confirmed when Stacey’s left hand came to rest between his shoulder blades and he felt the middle finger of her right hand, covered in lubricant slide onto his anus.

“Don’t move” she said quietly.

He finger started to massaged his tight hole. Giles felt her expert digit sooth and titillate the outer ring of muscles, relaxing and preparing him. Slowly her finger ventured in, his balls were rising, cock stiffening as his anal intruder gently inveigled itself.

Stacey moved her hand from his back and cupped his balls, squeezing gently, then slid from his tight sack, up the shaft of his penis to the tip. Her fingers became wet with his pre-cum, she lifted her hand to her lips and sucked them clean of the deliciously flavoured fluid.

She repositioned herself behind Giles allowing her to push her finger deep enough inside to rest on his prostate, her ultimate goal. His cock was so hard now, hidden from her view because of her position behind him gripped in her left hand as she masturbated him while massaging his “G-Spot”.

She feel his anus begin to tense, her finger almost became trapped as they constricted on her. The waves of muscular pumping in his groin thrilled her, she smiled feeling the moistness between her legs.

Her left hand continued to stroke his shaft, the first spurt of cum landing with a splat on the polished floor, the rest covering her hand as she cruelly rubbed the hyper-sensitised tip of his cock round and round with her palm.

Giles’ legs began to quiver. She removed her finger from his ass and left him collapsed in a heap on the floor, trousers around his ankles, cock oozing fluid onto the floor and a silly grin on his face. She stood astride him, licking the cum from her hand.

“Now … I think you need to examine me …”

And Here’s To You Mr Robinson

When I was in high school I had a thing for my best friends brother.  I’ll call him B for the post although that is not his real name.  Lol  He was about 5 years older than me and nothing much to look at really although he was bright and I have always been drawn to guys with intellect and intelligence.  I find them stimulating in more ways than cerebral.

He was a bit of a hippy with long mousy hair which more often than not you could not see him for.  He had an athletic build and a bit of bum fluff under his nose which threatened to join together and become a real moustache one day.

His musical tastes were somewhat unusual and I hadn’t heard of the bands he was in to, in fact the music sounded like something from another planet.  God only knows what I found so fascinating about him.  I don’t recall any of my friends at school actually finding him in the least attractive.

But I think I like him because he was just a plain Jane (or John?).  He didn’t stand there preening himself when there were girls around or showing off just to impress.  Quite and unassuming and studious, I think he went to Oxford when he left to study anthropology.

I would always wear something with a low neckline if I went round to her house, although I don’t know why my boobs were far from ample at that age.  I suppose it’s the thought that counts.  😀  He was in his room most of the time when I went to visit listening to his ambient sounds.  But on the odd occasion when he would materialise for a drink or the loo, I would make attempts to bump in to him on the stairs or in the kitchen.

All these attempts of mine were thwarted.  He never really paid any attention to me other than to be courteous.  And when I went home I would take my lurid thoughts about him to bed with me as I groped under the covers and touched myself.  I wasn’t very well educated in the pleasures of self love but I satisfied my naïve needs at the time.  

My gussets were usually more than a little moist and sometimes I would take to giving them a quick rinse under the tap before placing them in the wash basket to be processed by my mum.

Nothing ever came of my fixation and I fell for another friends brother shortly after.  He was a dark haired Irish guy, this time more my own age.  Only 4 years older.  Lol.  If anything I was persistent and wanted to experience the older man.

Again he had no interest in me so the chase didn’t last long there either.  What was it with me and older guys?  I obviously wasn’t attractive to them.  Girls there ages would have a well developed pair of tits and mine were only just beginning to round.  What would they see in me?  But it didn’t stop me from imagining them taking me.  Showing me the ways of love.  I’d lie awake at night and imagine them suddenly being captivated and tearing at my clothes in passion.

My last concerted effort to bag myself an older guy involved one of our neighbours.  I had a bedroom at the back of my parents property and the guy involved was over the back, his garden adjoined our next door neighbour.  Ideal, as his room was almost opposite mine.

To this day I don’t really know what he looked like.  From my room he appeared to be another long haired student looking type, tall and athletic.  (Sounds familiar, eh!)  He would quite often prance around his room headbanging, you could just make out the music through a small opening in his top window.  Usually Black Sabbath.

I would do anything to be stood in my window getting his attention, I even placed my record player in the window so that I coud stand there studying record sleeves.  He must have know I was after him.  Occasionally I would catch him taking a glance over to my window but he never acknowledged me.  No wave or act of recognition.  I wasn’t sure if he was shy, maybe he was.

I wasn’t, I got so desperate to grab his attention that one day I stood in the window in full view with just my bra on.  And for added effect I then started to dance too.  I’m not sure if he thought I was too young or he was gay but he pulled his curtain round to obscure the view.  I had been thwarted again.

That was my last attempt to get myself the older guy.  They would have to come to me in future…strange that is exactly what they did, my next two boyfriends were older than me.  Therefore proving that if you stop trying to make things happen they will.

Is this a stage all girls go through?  Did anyone else out there have a thing about older partners when they were younger?

Porn Baiting Sunday

We decided to take a trip out to a new shopping centre today for a change to normal routine.  Yes, that is how sad my life has become over the last few months, I now look forward to taking a shopping trip out at the weekends.

Anyway, I decided to take along some porn to read on route and to partake in one of my naughty little games.  I’ve only done it a few times but it’s good fun and the looks you get are sometimes priceless.

I took along a copy of Penthouse and Hustler for incar entertainment.  Although I must say the I was rather disappointed with the models, most of them had “stay put’s”â„¢ which do not do anything for me at all, in fact they tend to put me off wanting to fuck them.

What are you talking about Suze?  I’ll tell you.  It’s today’s need for women to enhance themselves with the most un-natural cleavages.  Didn’t anyone tell them that their A cup breasts are beautiful and they should be proud of their perky little tits.  Nothing looks worse than a woman who can lay down, do a handstand and lay on her side and her breasts not move.  Boobs are supposed to move, yes they slip under your arms when you lay down and they dangle when you are on all fours being fucked.

Personally, I prefer a natural pair of breasts whatever their size and they seem harder and harder to find.  If things carry on the way they are, it won’t be long before natural breasts will become a pay per view and false ones the norm.  I hope I don’t see that day.

I digress.  So Alex is driving along and I am sat in the passenger seat reading my porn.  Well, mostly looking at the pictures.  Lol  For the best results you need to hold the magazine high, around chest height so that it can be clearly seen by passing vehicles.

We passed a middle aged guy driving his BMW with what appeared to be his wife in the passenger seat and as we came to a standstill for the lights he was avidly staring at me.  He was trying to work out what I was reading, then you saw the look of recoginition on his face as the penny dropped.  A wry smile crept across his face, I smiled back, his wife was oblivious.  🙂

A little further up the dual carriageway we passed a white van, the driver had his window down smoking.  As we passed I could feel his gaze upon me and I caught him gesturing and giving me a thumbs up in my peripheral vision.  Again I smiled and Alex was laughing at the side of me and reminding me just how naughty I was.

Can you get booked for reading porn visibly whilst travelling in a vehicle?  Who knows.  I just love to be a little naughty from time to time.  I flicked the pages and found a very nice brunette to look at.  I was just beginning to imagine sitting between her open legs when I noticed a small chav chariot next to us, it was full on young lads and they were looking in this direction, pulling faces and waving.  I could have been well in there if we were not in such a hurry to get things done.  😉  If you haven’t tried this, next time you are being driven by your partner get out your porn and see who notices you.

So, if you were passed by a car with a redhead reading a porn mag today, that was me and Suze says “Hi”.

Drive 4

The drive series was started because I spend a lot of time travelling, driving to be exact. To amuse myself I often try and imagine what my fellow travellers get up to when they leave their cars and carry on their lives.

This particular story comes out of someone I saw a couple of weeks ago while waiting to pull out onto a roundabout on my way back from a client. He was the passenger in a white Ford Transit. Obviously a builder, high-vis jacket and covered in cement dust, the open back of the truck filled with builder’s tools.

He looked at me in the strangest way. The driver of the vehicle was talking to him, about what I have no idea, but he seemed more interested in looking at me. It was that look that started me thinking. When I met his gaze he did not immediately look away, but he looked sad, distant, as if he was lamenting the loss of something he’d never had. If that’s possible. It wasn’t that he was looking at something unattainable, but that he knew he was already defeated, that any attempt to reach out to me, or any other man for what he wanted was doomed and therefore already a failure.

Maybe this is why …

James slammed the door of the van shut and waved a “See ya” to Frank from the pavement as he drove off. Friday night and a shower awaited him, then the ritual night at the “Three Tuns” with Steph.

His small flat was just big enough for him and that suited him. It was cosy rather than cramped, uncluttered, but welcoming. He hung his filthy yellow jacket on the hooks next to the door and stripped to his underwear on the mat behind the door. His clothes were bagged in a black bin liner ready for tomorrow’s wash. A quick detour to turn on the TV and select MTV Dance, then into the shower with the door to the living room open and the volume on the set turned up to a neighbour annoying level.

James allowed the shower to wash away the week. Not just cleansing him of the grime and soothing his fatigued, aching muscles, but the job itself. He would have been a designer but just like most of his friends circumstances and more specifically money had conspired to force him into a job at 16. He’d always intended to go back education when he had sufficient savings, as if that was going to happen. There was never quite enough to take the plunge and after all this time books and classrooms seemed unfamiliar and intimidating.

That’s what was driving him mad. He was becoming something he wasn’t. He’d once had dreams and the enthusiasm to pursue them. The job was sapping that from him, the people he worked with would never be like him. They were good people for the most part, hard working and stoic, just not like him. They would happily continue in the same jobs, the same trade until they retired. The realisation that had made him begin to loath himself was that despite his respect for them he would never be as content as they were in their straightforward, honest existences.

The shower began to wash away the discomfort he felt. Shower gel foamed on his muscular frame, dust and sweat replaced with a fresh glistening sheen as the water cascaded over his skin. The bathroom began to fill with steam, cloaking James in an ethereal fog. He slid his hands purposefully across his body towards his cock.

He cupped his balls in one hand and took his semi-erect phallus in the other. He masturbated slowly, enjoying the water from the shower head blasting the back of his neck as he squeezed and stroked himself. He slid his hand from his balls to his perineum, slowly, applying the pressure that always gave him a lump in his throat. With his cock now hard in his fist he moved his hand from his perineum to anus, pressing gently and moving around the opening in slow, circular motions.

His mind drifted to the plasterer who had started the previous Monday. He was Polish, straight off the boat from Europe, swarthy, olive skin suggesting some Mediterranean lineage rather than purely eastern European. James had seem him several times, working on the freshly boarded ceilings in the housing development they work working on, and unloading supplies from the delivery trucks. James didn’t know his name, which on one level didn’t matter, but on another robbed the object of his masturbatory fantasies of a soul. He wanted to know so he could imagine stroking his lover’s hair, caressing him, working his hands slowly over the plasterer’s perfectly defined six pack towards his cock …

He could feel the precursors to orgasm, the warm tingling in his groin and lower back. Reluctantly he stopped his auto-stimulation, he ought to save it for Steph.

He decided to name the plasterer Ben. Until he could find out his real name.


The pub was quiet when they arrived, but within half an hour had been filled with the familiar faces. They all told the usual jokes and spread the same gossip every Friday. All that changed was the subject of the gossip, stories without provenance and rumour of dubious origin about anyone and everyone.

James sat and listened, nodding, agreeing, being shocked at the appropriate moments. By the judicious consumption of beer from the bar and a few swigs of whisky from a hip flask he always carried (he refused to pay bar prices for cheap blended whisky decanted into single malt bottles) the evening evaporated. The relief of “Time Gentlemen (and Ladies) please!” allowed him to drag Steph from her enrapturing conversation with some woman he vaguely recognised as working at one of the local stores.

They walked back to his flat his arm around her shoulder, hers around his waist. Steph almost dragged James into bed. She left on her bra and panties, blue satin, trimmed with black that accentuated her classic curves perfectly. James slid into bed and slipped his arms around her, he felt comforted by her and protective towards her, but his slow acceptance of his true sexuality meant that each night he spent with her was becoming more difficult. He Loved Steph, and he felt like he was in love with her. She was certainly in love with him, but she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

He thought of the plasterer again as he fondled Stephs breasts through her bra. It had the desired effect, his cock began to stir when James imagined running his fingers through Ben’s hair. Steph ground her groin into his, loving the feel of a turgid member, readying itself for action.

James held her close both imagining it was Ben and not wanting her to see the look of guilt and sadness on his face caused by his duplicity. He slipped a hand to her bra clasp and deftly flicked it undone. Then he turned off the bedside light, leaving only the amber glow of the streetlights too illuminate the room.

Steph slipped off her bra and pressed her breasts into James’ pecs. They kissed, as they always did, with a tenderness and passion combined into a gentle sensual experience that Steph had not known from her previous boyfriends. It was at times like this that she wanted him to propose to her, something else that she’d never felt before.

Steph pushed him away to allow her to manoeuvre. Her blue satin knickers were discarded leaving them both naked. She slid down the bed and kissed the end of his cock before taking the now throbbing member into her mouth.

James felt Ben’s lips slide over his glans and a skilful tongue swirl around him. A hand that he wished was calloused and roughened by manual labour grabbed his balls in a firm grip. His hips began to buck and force his cock deep into Steph’s throat making her gag. For a moment she stopped, regaining her composure. She was shocked by the force of his thrust but also turned on by it. He could be a little too considerate at times and occasionally she liked to be fucked hard and used. Steph felt her pussy becoming wet and slid around to allow James access to her pouting labia.

His hand came to rest on her mons, two fingers parting her then slipping into her wet opening. He found her g-spot making her writhe almost immediately, he knew her body better than she did and knew he could make her come in just a few seconds. He needed release too, it was almost within reach. In his mind Ben was tasting the pre-cum that was now seeping down Stephs throat. The hand that James used to press Steph’s head almost cruelly onto his cock was in Ben’s jet black hair. When he began to pump his semen onto Steph’s waiting tongue it was Ben who tasted it.

Get Your Rocks Off!

How come as you get older your tolerance for drink diminishes?  When I was younger I could drink a lot more than I can now and wake up without a headache.  Mind you I did throw up quite a lot, so that could have something to do with the lack of the morning afters.  😀

These days, I don’t tend to drink every day like back then.  So I suppose your alcohol tolerance does reduce.  I used to drink bottle after bottle of Newcastle Brown and then headbang.  Not a problem…I don’t think I could do that now.  Ouch!

At the time I was going out with a guy who I shall call T to protect his identity (unless he reads this.  🙂  )  His parents had recently split up (dad had run off with another woman) and his mother had found comfort in attending a singles club and finding a fellow soul mate to sleep with.  I know…Consequently, at the tender age of ** (ha, ha, you thought I was going to give our ages away didn’t you.  😛 )  T was left the keys to the door of the flat he shared with his mother.

Only a couple of days in to T’s freedom I called round to see him, it was a Saturday or Sunday I can’t recall but it doesn’t matter.  We decided to check out his parents drinks cabinet.  I started with the Blue Curacao, does anyone apart from his mum drink that stuff any more?  Lol  I can’t remember, I think it tastes of oranges, not a bad taste but an awful colour.  I bet it would make for interesting vomit.  Errr, strike that.

We put on the music, Motorhead, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath…the drinking went on all the way through the afternoon to the early evening.  We tasted every alcoholic drink in that cabinet and if we liked it we finished the bottle.  🙂  So with the music blaring out and the booze flowing we headbanged our way through most of the oldies and then later we banged.

I remember clearly he came up to me undid his flies, reached under my skirt and pulled my panties to one side.  He then spun me around and pushed me over his mothers favourite velour chair.  He was a rather large guy in more ways than one and he stretched my pussy as he entered me.  I cried out and he kept on pushing in to me.

It was strange kind of pleasure/pain and I wanted him so much that I grew to accommodate his girth quite quickly.  😉  He fucked me with vigour over the back of that chair and I was verbally appreciative as he took me.  Both of us were close to orgasm as we heard “bang, bang, bang”…it appeared to be coming from the floor below us.

T continued to ram in and out of me and we both came not wishing to be put off by the bloody neighbours down stairs, we were far too gone for that.  After he filled me with his see he withdrew, walked round the chair and slumped in to it with his cock hanging out of his trousers.

I pulled down my skirt and went to the bathroom to clean up the cum which had run down my inner thighs.  The next thing I heard was Paranoid booming out of the stereo.  T had turned up the volume and was now thrashing about in the room when I returned.

We made some dinner and then picked up where we left off with the free bar.  As the night progressed I got more and more devilish and I decided to have a bit of fun with the people downstairs.

I tied a coin to a thin piece of thread and dangled it out of the window.  I don’t know how they didn’t hear us laughing it was so loud, I nearly wet myself at one point.  When I had regained composure I moved the string so that the coin swung and banged in to the window.  I did this several times, making a tapping sound on the pane.

Then I heard someone lifting the latch to the window, so we quickly withdrew and pulled the window too.  We heard the woman below shout “who’s there?” and being more than a little inebriated we started laughing uncontrollably again.

When I look back now I suppose it was a naughty thing to do but if my mother hadn’t told me how she had done this to her parents when she was a kid then I wouldn’t have known about it.  Therefore it was all down to her.  Parents have a lot to answer for.  lol

Those Little Blue Gloves

Some of my ardent readers of my last post “Put Your Finger On The Button” made a guess at the other reason I keep my middle right finger nail short and hit the nail of the head.  Yes, I keep it short for anal play.  Not on me but on Alex and he loves it…If I didn’t keep it short it may pierce my rubber glove and scratch Alex’s anal passage. 

We both love to indulge in his anal pleasure.  The very thought of finger fucking him in the ass makes me wet.  Before we begin I just have to retrieve two items from the pleasure boxâ„¢, a large tub of petroleum jelly and my blue rubber gloves. 

I have tried lots of positions but the most comfortable is with Alex on all fours over my outstretched legs.  He leans over a pile of pillows to make himself comfy.  Next to me I place the opened tub of petroleum jelly and a toilet roll.

With my finger I scoop up a pea sized blob of PJ on to the middle finger of my glove and with my other hand I smear it around the length of my finger.  Esuring that there is a thick coating on the very end of my finger so insertion is easy (Alex has a lovely tight anus). 

When my finger is nicely coated in the lube I start to gently work around his anus with my finger.  Massaging his hole as I run my finger in a circle around his muscular opening, preparing him for entry.  This normally gets Alex in the mood, making him relaxed as he crouches on to the pillows, raising his ass in the air, opening those firm cheeks for me.  At this point my heart is usually thumping hard in my chest, I get so turned on at the thought of entering him.

I now begin to part the circle of muscle with my finger, it feels tight as it hugs my finger.  He groans as he feels me push inside him.  His cock is now growing between his legs.  I slide in a little deeper, making my way to his internal sphincter.  Alex is usually very relaxed and enjoying the sensation of my finger being inside his anus by now.  I take it very slowly, you don’t want to tear anything inside and your partner wants to feel pleasure not pain.

With my left hand I now start to massage his perineum by applying firm pressure and rubbing along it’s length.  I feel his cock twitch as he becomes more aroused, his cock is now dripping pre cum from the tip.  He now starts to let me know that he is really enjoying himself and moves back against my hand, forcing me deeper in to him and bypassing his internal sphincter.

His cock is now rubbing on my inner forearm as I massage his hard perineum, the very root of his growing erection.  I can feel him growing in length and girth as I continue to massage and push my finger in to his depths.  Any other finger simply would not reach far enough in to him.  I’m now over his “sweet spot”, his prostate gland.  I move my finger round inside in a circular motion, I love to tease him before the intensity of internal massage.

Alex is now fully erect and his cock is banging on my arm, alerting me that it needs some attention.  I remove my left hand from his perineum and take a firm grip of his hard shaft.  By now Alex is moaning and groaning with his eyes closed, fully stimulated, aroused and ready to be milked.  My hand starts to move up and down his erection, pulling his foreskin in rhythm with my movement.

He raises up on to his fingertips and pushes his head skyward as I push down against his prostate.  He releases a triumphant sigh as my finger moves over the bumpy terrain of his prostate.  I speed up my strokes of his cock.  My finger bends again to descend upon his prostate gland, I apply even pressure and begin to massage.  Alex starts to gently buck against my left hand, pulling his foreskin firmly back with each thrust.

I massage his prostate again with my finger and he lets out a whimper of delight.  I’m so wet by now, just watching him getting off on my attention.  My pussy is pounding and just begging to be entered but no…this is Alex’s time.

He is now fucking my hand and I’m gently rubbing him inside.  This is so good to watch…a man being totally absorbed in his own pleasure.  I almost cum just watching him enjoying what I am doing to him.

Alex fucks my hand and I massage away and he fucks and I massage and…then all of a sudden he ejaculates and it flies out over the bedsheets in a translucent ribbon.  Some spills on to my hand and I make a mental note to recover it with my tongue once he stops bucking.

With the final thrust and groan, he drops to his shoulders on the bed.  I slowly extract my finger, feeling his grip loosen around my digit as I withdraw.  He is now spent and content, with his arse sticking up in the air and I’m wet and ready to fuck myself with my purple vibe.

You can almost hear the pop as I extract my finger from his ass.  I take a piece of the toilet roll and roll my glove up in it.  He flops on to his side in a distant orgasmic haze and I reach inside my bedside draw for my battery operated friend.  I’m so bloody turned on it won’t take me long.  😉

Innuendo To In Your Face

Watching Suze pleasure herself the other night was something quite special. I said it in a recent post, there’s always something new to be experienced, always a new facet of sex that presents itself.

Until that night I’ve been the one administering the clitoral orgasms as it were. My digits sliding in Suze’s hot, wet groove. I’ve never been upset by her solo antics while I’m out of the house. Why shouldn’t she amuse herself, masturbation is fun and harmless. Pleasuring yourself and having someone pleasure you are two different things. They have different dynamics, different rules of engagement.

Then there’s the third way, or is it fourth or fifth or … well you know what I mean, another way.

Yes I’ve masturbated for Suze before, and we’ve played with toys, on each other and on ourselves while together. But Suze has never brought herself to a clitoral climax while I watched.

Suze’s clitoral orgasms take a while sometimes so you never know when one will creep up and take her. When I’m conducting proceedings it can be difficult to predict when the crescendo will be reached. One moment I can seem to be on the verge of making her cum, then her paroxysm recedes and only reaches the ultimate joyful, elusive destination later.

So watching Suze navigate herself towards orgasm with nothing more than a, now well practiced, finger was always going to be an edge-of-your-seat experience.

Just knowing what she intended was enough to have my pulse racing, and my cock hard. Watching her seek out the sweet spot and coax herself towards that often secretive ecstatic conclusion was doubly exciting. Added to that it was the first time I’d seen her indulge herself in a clitoral orgasm and you can imagine my state of mind.

The aroma of her pussy didn’t take long to perfume the air around us. We were both so turned on by the thought of what we were indulging in. Watching her fingers diving sliding around in the increasingly wet valley between her legs, body contorting in a slow motion ballet. Small movements at first as the sensations rippled through her body, but as she became more immersed in her pleasure she contorted on the bed. When she finally came it was like a lightening bolt. We both heard the storm approach, like thunder on distant hills but when it struck it took us both by surprise.

And like lightening the intensity of Suze’s clitoral orgasms is electrifying. Although I was there, gently caressing, sucking a nipple occasionally, I had been more of a voyeur. I experienced a pleasure which I do not seek out, but on the rare occasions on which such an opportunity has presented itself have found wickedly pleasurable.

With my cock in hand, moist with my own pre-cum I had waited for Suze’s orgasm, not wanting to peak too soon. It was all I could do to contain myself and as I suspect most men will tell you, postponing an orgasm means that when you finally release yourself the moment is so much more intense.

Sliding the skin back and forth over a firm shaft, fist buried in groin at one extreme, the skin pulled tight at the other extreme of my stroke pulls my scrotum forward. That’s a good wank. I had started slowly and deliberately, twice anticipating her climax, twice backing off as it became apparent she was not quite ready to cum.

Occasionally I’ll rub the end of my cock with forefinger and thumb, spreading my own glistening fluids over my glans. It serves a practical purpose, to lubricate, but it makes me  shudder too, especially after almost coming twice. By that stage I’m very sensitive.

When I saw her release I allowed myself to cum, by now it felt like my groin had knotted like a hemp rope. The muscular pumping of my ejaculation was intense, almost uncomfortable. Because of my synaethesia the sensation was accompanied by it’s usual burst of colour. Cumming like that after holding back feels (to me) like pumping blue-while opalescent pebbles from my groin and out through my cock.

So that’s how it looked from the other side.

Strange isn’t it, not so long a go it was a heinous act to admit to masturbation. But times change and it’s now become an openly discussed part of popular culture. I can’t imagine the BBC allowing jokes about wanking when I first watched TV. OK so I’d hardly be watching late night, post-watershed material at that age, but I do remember sexual references, veiled, hidden behind a coded language that I slowly picked up as I got older.

The one that eluded me until I was in my twenties originates from Kenny Everett. If you’re not British you may not know him; DJ, TV performer and general lunatic. His busty sidekick, Cleo Rocos, is currently a contestant in the UK Celebrity Big Brother house BTW.

Anyway, Kenny had a character called Cupid Stunt. Clue, it’s a spoonerism. Yes, you may now call me thick, it’s so bloody obvious 🙂

To his credit he was sacked by several broadcasters (twice from the BBC I believe), for pushing the boundaries. Top bloke.

Anyway, from smutty innuendo to blogging about it for all to see things have changed. And I love it.

Tags: masturbation,clitoris,clitoral orgasm,voyeurism,kenny everett,cleo rocos,big brother,celebrity big brother,synethesia,synaethesia

Just Watch Me Go

I don’t have many secrets from Alex and for that matter from my readers.  You are all well aware that I sometimes take to the bedroom for a little self pleasure in the afternoon with a good helping of porn.  😉

I’ve never kept this secret from Alex and he has often been able to tell me that I have been twiddling with my buttons.  Lol.  Apparently you can tell when there has been a lot of pussy rubbing happening, it tastes a bit rubbed up down there.  I wouldn’t know, it’s a while since I tasted some pussy.

Disappearing off to the bedroom with a DVD in my hand is a bit of a naughty indulgence I must admit.  Being on my own during the daytime allows me to do as I wish when I wish.  As I place the DVD in the drive and recline back on to the bed, I feel like a naughty girl and that adds to the pleasure of my own indulgence.

Sometimes I will rerun a particular scene if it makes me horny and rub my little button for all it’s worth.  I’m still getting used to the fact that no matter how I try to subdue and stifle my cries of pleasure as I cum, I just can’t.  The guttural moans and groans are heard by nobody other than my cat who sometime takes to lying at the bottom of the bed.  So why should I feel a little guilty that I orate?  Strange I know.

One other thing did occur to me as I settled down to masturbate…Alex has never watched me bring myself to a clitoral orgasm.  It had never occurred to me to do this when he was around.  After all, we usually fuck when he is with me.  Then just for good measure we fuck again.  😉

So it never occurred to either of us that he would probably delight in seeing me buck against my hand and arch my back as I came in front of him.

Well, Saturday night I made sure he witnessed my own self gratification.  Not just that, I wanted to see him enjoying his own body too.  We both lay on top of the bed, I began to massage my little nub and he took hold of his cock.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see his hand slipping slowly up and down his hard shaft.  This made me feel even more sexual and I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to climax.

In the blue light emitted from the porn playing on the television screen we both worked our sexual organs for each other.  I was vaguely aware of Alex groaning as he began to swell under his own ministrations, I felt myself slipping off the edge of consciousness as my pussy started to swell and my clit became rigid under my finger.

My attentions were now focused on me getting closer to orgasm.  But then from out of the blue and without warning, I began to feel a little uncomfortable and guilty for making myself this aroused.  I have no idea where this came from but Alex must have picked up on it and he leaned over and began to suck on my right nipple.  This helped me to refocus and soon I was slipping back in to the warmth of my ensuing climax.

I looked over to Alex and he was pumping his cock hard now.  This spurred me on, I really love to watch a guy wank.  To admire and absorb his technique for later use, to enjoy the ecstasy his own hands can bring.  I quickened my pace and watched the two gardeners fuck the lady of the house…then bang!  Without warning my spine arched, I started to moan in exaltations, my fingers dripping with my own juice.

Before Alex I writhed and twitched as my orgasm took me over.  I was completely oblivious to all around me.  Then slowly, slowly I began to settle back to reality.  Next to my side Alex was pumping on his cock, the head shone in the light.  A couple of hip thrusts later he was spewing his seed on to my stomach.

As the last of his spasms hit, I reached down and scooped some of his fresh semen from my tummy and licked it from my fingers.  He tasted so good…

Put Your Finger On The Button

Regulars to this blog will be aware that I have been under the weather with a virus for about a week now.  My symptoms have ranged from having a bad head and the usual aches and pains to the chest infection I am currently trying to fight off with the aid of some antibiotics.  Let me hear you say ahhhh!…Louder!…LOUDER.  Lol  No, seriously I think these tablets are now starting to work, I’m feeling a lot better than I have been.

I haven’t been going out much whilst I have been feeling so shitty, so my close friend V came over to see me.  I tried not to breath on her too much during her visit.  😀  She even brought me some flowers round, she knows I’m not a chocy fan so that was very nice of her.

Anyway…we were in the kitchen and I was making her a cup of coffee, when she suddenly said “I love your purple nail polish”.  “Thanks, it’s one I got from Boots a few weeks ago, I think it’s called tempetous storm”, I replied.  She went on…”You have lovely nails…Oh, what happened to that one?”.  I looked down and she was focusing on my right middle finger.  “I caught it and ripped the nail off the other day”, I lied.  Why did I lie you are all enquiring at this point.

Because, I couldn’t tell her the truth.  I always keep my nails well trimmed to enable me to touch type, I find if they get too long I start to hit the wrong keys.  The exception to this is my middle right finger, which I keep especially short.  Have you guessed why yet?  😉

There are a couple of reasons why.  One is, I always use it to bring myself to clitoral orgasm.  If the nail were kept any longer it would scratch my inner labia and possibly my clit too.  Ouch!

My technique is to find somewhere comfortable to recline, I prefer to bring myself off laying down.  Usually I lay on the bed.  Then I turn on a good porn DVD and settle back.  Oh, I nearly forgot to mention that I shut the bedroom curtains first.  Lol

I find it adds to the naughtiness to leave my clothes on but sometimes I just want to lay there completely naked, so that I can pinch my nipples or just simply feel my hands all over my flesh.  I’m now starting to relax whilst watching a woman being DP’d on screen.  I push my hand down my panties and rest my palm on top of my mons.

This provides good support and helps to prevent RSI.  😀  Can you imagine going to the doctors with RSI and having to explain it is caused by frigging yourself too often.  I digress.  I can now run my middle right finger up and down my slit to spread the moisture which has already started to lubricate my fleshy folds.  It’s best if you are nice an slippery at first, I’ve rubbed myself up the wrong way before when I was too dry.  It’s not good.  🙁

Using small up and down strokes I rub along my clit hood, at first it is fairly flat and featureless.  I use a firm but not to hard pressure to rub along the length.  Occasionally I find it becomes insensitive and I switch to rubbing myself from side to side to enliven my clit.  You have to be diligent and follow the feedback, my sensitivity relocate a bit when I am frigging.  So move with it.

Eventually my clit starts to swell and becomes a little hump which is now easier to stimulate as the engorgement enhances the feeling.  At this point I place one foot on top of the other and squeeze my buttocks together, this seems to focus the stimulation to the base of the spine.  This is the point where the pleasure sensors are located.

As I get close my feet begin to tingle slightly and my clit becomes extremely swollen and highly sensitive.  I adjust my fingering now, makings side to side moves, barely moving my finger and using a little more pressure.  The action is more like a flick from side to side but keeping the finger in place.

Within minutes of me reaching this state of euphoria I know an orgasm is imminent.  I quicken the pace and squeeze my buttocks together even harder.  Then it hits…my feet pulse and tingle, the electric wave climbs up my legs and in to the base my back.  As reflex action, I lift my shoulders and upper back from the bed and tilt my pelvis back.  I have tried to be silent when I cum but it is impossible, there alone in the bedroom I moan like a sated whore.  Twitching with each wave of my orgasm.  The movement from my finger is now slow and gentle as I milk the last of my cum from my vaginal walls.  Fingers wet, the aroma of sex now filling the room.

Little did V know that her enquiry would prompt a post for my adult site.  🙂  Also I haven’t told you the other reason for keeping my nail so short…

Chemical Messengers

I love smelling of sex. It’s like swimming in a sea of airborne chemicals that tell a story of passion. It varies every time we make love, sometimes dominated by the excreted fluids of one partner or the other. Often mingled with the tang of sweat, deodorant or perfume. It always brings a smile to my face, even hours after the event, walking into a room where we’ve made love.

I’ve written before how evocative smell is for me. Maybe that’s why I find it such an important part of the sexual act. It’s one of those stimuli that I feel is processed the least. Hearing and sight seem to be higher senses, linked to the sentient rather than sensory parts of the brain.

Taste and smell are like touch, low level, basic senses, hard wired, more immediate and visceral. I listen to you speaking to me and comprehend your words, I see your expression, watch your movements and understand you. In comprehending you part of you is lost, or at least obscured as my brain processes the data acquired by my eyes and ears.

To know you, really know you, I have to touch you, but more importantly smell and taste you.

It’s something that modern humans do too little of. In every day life sniffing someone when you first meet them would be looked upon as odd. But haven’t you caught the smell of a member of the opposite sex passing by, their perfume or aftershave? And underneath that, was there something else, something more basic? A real human smell, not concocted in the labs of a multinational conglomerate but manufactured by the human body. Maybe it wasn’t designed to attract you to them as pheromones are, just a true human fragrance and unusual because of its honesty in the cloud of manufactured chemical lies.

Unconsciously I’m sure we all react to those aromas. Though I suspect we are teaching ourselves to ignore them, allowing our intellect to override our instinct and in doing so diminishing our appreciation of other members of our species.

Every part of the human body has a smell all of its own. If you don’t believe me try exploring it. The skin is our biggest organ, it has a varied textural geography and a chemical landscape to match.

The next time you’re alone with your partner, take a long slow trip and explore the exciting sensual country that is their body. Stroke them, lick them smell them from head to toe and see where you both end up.


I had a conversation with a younger colleague today about swinging. And no, before you jump to conclusions, he doesn’t swing. How we got to the conversation in the first place is both circuitous and irrelevant, but what struck me was his lack of understanding of the swinging scene and his lack of experience sexually.

I’m sure he has a huge amount of experience if you count it by the number of times he’s done the deed. He’s a bright, friendly, funny university graduate, in a relationship and, one assumes, sexually active.

This is not a criticism of him, but he didn’t know the first thing about swinging. I’m no authority, but I’ve been around the block a few times, and indulged in a variety of sexual play. You absorb knowledge, accumulate information along the way. It’s getting rarer and rarer that something surprises me in the world of sex, sex blogging or sex in the media. I often encounter something that interests me academically, or occasionally arouses me in a way that I had not anticipated. But surprise, no. I accept pretty much everything as part of the tapestry of the sexual, sensual world that I enjoy.

I had genuinely forgotten what it was like to be in that position, everything new, fresh vistas in every direction. Strange because I was talking to an acquaintance on Friday about a similar subject, how the thrill of the first time can never be relived.

When everything is a first-time I think it is difficult to imagine what else could compare. True the adrenalin rush of a first time is special, but it’s like running towards a goal on the horizon, you sprint to get there, only to find that beyond it there is another horizon. New experiences, new sensations to indulge in.

When you begin that first time seems the ultimate goal, your final destination. But when you get there you can see things from a different perspective, further and wider, a broader landscape that offers more possibilities than you had previously believed possible.

Everyone has their own idea of sexual nirvana, but I think it develops over time. For me there is no such thing, because tomorrow will bring something new, different. Better or worse? Who knows, but to assign nirvana to a single state of being for an individual or couple implies stasis, one might even say stagnation.

At best that state of being is transient, a blissful glowing firestorm of joy and truth, at worst it becomes a prison where the sweet fruit of passion rots on the branch that should sustain it.

I’m not suggesting change for change’s sake, but that as with all things in life our sexuality should develop and embrace the inevitable changes in our relationships, bodies and circumstances.

I’m So Excited!


I received an email from the lovely Nina today and I got the biggest surprise.  She informed me that our site was up for an award over at Girlspoke.  The news took me by completely unawares, we hadn’t submitted the site for the award.

Which means that some kind person/people out there deserve a special Suze hug for putting us forward for this.  As readers will be aware I have been under the weather lately and this really lifted me.  So a big thanks to whoever put us forward and to those of you who have voted so far.

So, if you love this site and would like to show us just how much, click the button above and register your vote. Then when you’ve registered your vote for us, check out the other sites up for awards in other categories and place your vote for them. Nina’s also up for an award (Hint Hint 🙂 )

BTW, today’s “normal” post is below.

The Invitation

This is a continuation of the events described here and here

I took one look at Carl and though about it for a moment and then stood up.  I wasn’t going to let him get away, after all I had waited a long time for this moment and now it was handed to me on a plate.  Sometimes luck smiles on you.

Carl took hold of my hand to reassure me and we both made our way to the front of the bus.  I didn’t dare to look to my sides and capture the look on the faces of my colleagues.  That would wait until next week at work.

We alighted the bus on to a frosty pavement in front of a Victorian 3 storey house.  It struck me that Carl may have slightly more going for him than I first realised.  Lol  I had dreamed about living in one of these grand old houses with more floors and rooms than you know what to do with.

He linked his arm through mine and walked me down the tiled path towards the house.  Reality then hit.  There were several door bells on the entrance wall with small names written in biro under them.  This was shared accommodation.  That wasn’t the end of the disappointment, there was more to come.  He proceeded to lead me up several flights of stairs to the very top of the house.

As we reached the last level a green door appeared in front of us.  This must be his I thought to myself.  He opened the door and gestured for me to enter.  It was gloomy except for the orange glow afforded by the streetlamp outside.  Carl turned on the light.

I was inside what appeared to be a small flat.  The room had a two seater sofa, television, stereo and a small coffee table.  Carl took my coat while I continued to look around.  “Well, this is my little flat”, he offered.  “Can I get you a glass of wine or something?”, he asked.  I told him a glass of white would be nice.

He walked in to the adjacent kitchenette which was separated from the living area by a small wall with a worksurface on top.  It looked like a breakfast bar.  He opened a cupboard and retrieved two glasses.  The  “The bathroom is over there”, he said pointing to the white glossed hardboard door opposite.

I opened the door and took a peek.  There was barely enough room to sit on the pot and close the bloody door.  Most definitely biju.  🙂  If he was in the kitchenette, that would make it the “toil….ette”  Lol.  I decided to wait until it was absolutely necessary to take a leak before using the bathroom.

Carl passed me my drink and we took a seat on the sofa.  It felt like I had fallen right through it, do you know the feeling when you sit down and the padding actually disappears from under you?  “It’s small but it doesn’t take much looking after”, he assured me.  I think he had noticed the look of disappointment on my face.  I smiled, not wishing to offend him.

He took my glass from me and placed it on the table with his own.  “Now, where were we?”, he asked leaning in to kiss me.  His tongue played with my tonsils whilst his hand moved around my back and he gently pulled the halter neck undone.  The fabric loosened and then slipped away from my breasts. 

I swung on the knot in his tie and lifted it over his head and discarded it on the floor to the side of the sofa.  I moved on to his shirt, undoing each button in turn then pulling off the garment and throwing it on the floor to the side of the sofa.  I remember clearly his groin had white marks all down the front where we had screwed on the coach.  I smiled knowingly.

He took hold of both my breasts and kissed each erect nipple in turn.  My heart started to pound and I was sure he could here the rapid beat of my excitement.  “Just a moment”, he said standing up and unfastening his trousers.  I joined him in front of the sofa and steeped out of my dress, placing it on the back of the sofa.

Carl slipped out of his trousers and stood before me in his boxer shorts.  “I’ll put some music on”, he announced as he fingered his way along a line of CD’s on the shelf above the stereo.  “Can we listen to this?”, I enquired, passing him The Smiths Greatest Hits.  “Sure”, he replied placing the CD in his player.

Isn’t it great how alcohol takes away any inhibitions?  I was now stood next to Carl wearing just a pair of stockings and a thong.  The music started to play…”Panic on the streets”…I certainly wasn’t, had I been sober I don’t think I would have found the situation so easy to handle.

Two arms embraced me and Carl’s lips met mine once again.  We kissed deeply and passionately.  My heart was still beating fast and now my pussy was pulsing too.  That thong of mine was now soaked in my own juices.  I could feel Carl’s hardon pressing in to me as he pulled me closer to him.  I pulled him on to me grabbing his buttocks in my hands.

He manoeuvred me around to the back of the settee, resting my buttocks down on the top.  He parted from my lips and bent slightly, taking up my left nipple and sucking hard.  I groaned with appreciation and slumped against the sofa.  He teased my nipple, flicking it with his tongue and then he twisted it between his fingers.  It hurt a little but was pleasurable at the same time.  He kissed my stomach and continued on his descent down my body.

He stopped when his head was level with my groin and with his right index finger he pulled my thong aside.  He gently ran his finger down my slippery slit and then took it to his mouth to taste my sweetness.  As he ran his tongue over his fingers he looked up at me with such a horny smile.

I wanted him, none of the preamble, just good hard fucking.  He started lap at my puffy labia, my excitement had made them swollen and engorged.  Ready to fuck.  I took his head in my hands and guided him back to my mouth.  We kissed again but with more passion this time, I cut my lip in the excitement when our teeth collided but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered…

I reached down and pushed my hand under the elasticated waistband of his boxers and let them fall to the floor.  His cock popped up and caught my inner thigh as it bounced in to position.  At this point I couldn’t see my prize and because of our close proximity I couldn’t take his manhood in my hands.

Carl broke away from the kiss and hooked the left side of my thong, pulling it down over my hips.  It hit made a rapid decent down my legs, made faster by the weight of the body fluid soaked gusset.  I kicked it to one side.  Carl lifted me up on to the back of the sofa, my legs were now dangling over the edge.  I put my arms around his neck and placed my feet either side of his naked body on to the breakfast bar.

He started to nibble the left side of my neck and I leaned away allowing him better access.  I felt his fingers touch my inner labia, then he ran them up and down my slit and coated the tip of his erection with my fluid.  I then felt him push his cock inside me.  My breathing quickened with the anticipation of that wonderful first thrust.  Carl pushed himself inside me and groaned his satisfaction.  I sat perched on the edge of the sofa and I recall thinking for the first time in my life and thankfully the last (touch wood) *Is he in yet?*

I had never been in this situation before, the other guys I had fucked were obviously adequately endowed or knew how to use it.  But Carl seemed to have neither quality.  I can’t explain just how disappointed I was, I had waited for this moment for so long and now I felt deflated.  He was moving in and out of me and moaning and groaning very appreciatively and all I could do was wonder exactly how he could be enjoying the moment so much when I couldn’t feel a thing.

It then struck me that I had to join in, I couldn’t sit there emotionless.  I started to groan in time with his thrusts.  Let me tell you if you have never had to fake it before it is extremely difficult to act out.  Not only did I feel a total fraud but it was so alien to pretend, I felt very uncomfortable doing it.  I had to keep telling myself that it was for his sake, I didn’t want to put him off sex forever.  Well, he continued to fuck and I continued to buck against him and moan in time with his rapid thrusting.  And fortunately it didn’t take him long to cum.  With a final thrust and a groan, he collapses on my shoulder breathless and spent.

I on the other hand felt a sense of guilt and deceit, coupled with an underlying feeling of being dirty.  Don’t ask me why but I felt like a “working girl” must feel after her punter has just cum.  I of course lied about the experience and made my excuses shortly after a quick clean up and left.

Funny how sometimes you feel it would have been better not to know how would be to fuck a work colleague and this was one of those times.  Before our tryst I could enjoy the scenarios I created in my head involving him and myself.  Get off thinking just how good it would be…now all I felt was disappointment and like damaged goods.

There were a couple of very strained weeks afterwards at work.  I made every excuse in the book not to see him again and as luck would have it, he got a job working for another company he had applied for some weeks before.

So, if there is one lesson to be learned from all this, it’s that sometimes dreams are best left as just that…

Things to Come – Part 2

A little explanation is perhaps in order here. Suze has pointed out that my stories are getting darker recently. But don’t worry, there’s sex in this instalment and even more in the next part.  🙂  You may have already worked out where this story is leading, if not, all will become clear soon.

Rev.8:  7 The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth: and the third part of trees was burnt up, and all green grass was burnt up.

Tuesday, 4 August 2048

The expeditionary force of the army of the New Russian Federation arrived off the coast of Britain with the rising sun. Brigadier Steven Brown VC of the first battalion Royal Engineers watched the motley assortment of ships weigh anchor off Lincolnshire with bitter regret. They were still a force to be reckoned with, tenacious as ever, proud and undefeated in battle, yet hitching a ride on a mixture of aging military vessels and commandeered merchant hulks.

Steven recalled how his father had once remarked to his mother, “Felicity, it’s a scandal, ambulances with empty tanks, but the bloody army never seems to be short of fuel or anything else.” He had been right of course and if the nations of the world applied their resources to healing, rather than squabbling over the remains of the planet then how much suffering could be avoided?

Prime Minister Collins had announced the redeployment of the majority of the Russian land forces to England a few months before “A historic moment and the dawn of a new era for relations between our two countries … Providing protection for us from the new threats across the world …”. For “threats” read the United Korean and Northern Chinese Empire. The Russians we supposed to be getting medical supplies and technical assistance for their bio-decontamination programme in return.

Two hours later and most of the twenty thousand strong force had disembarked. Steven waved to his pilot, finger skyward, describing a circle in the air. The Harrier GR12’s engines began to rotate and come to life. Steven brought the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the massed ranks of grey-green uniforms one last time.

He raised his radio to his mouth, “Bear trap set. Go.”. He sprinted for the aircraft and clambered up the ladder, kicking it away from the fuselage when his first foot was in the cockpit.

Somewhere off the coast of Denmark seven hatches opened on the SSBN Vengeance, heralding the end of the Russia army. The MIRVs rained down across bases in Russia and the disembarking Russians in Norfolk.

The Russians were unable to respond, their missiles spent subduing China in the Asian wars. The empty maws of the silos now dark and impotent.


Steven climbed out of the aircraft feeling sick. He wished he could have flown the aircraft back to base, at least then he would have been occupied, not contemplating the mass murder he had just been party to. He pulled off his helmet and headed towards the embarkation station.

“Brigadier. Brigadier!”, the junior medical officer shouted after Steven. “I need your film badge to check your exposure.”

Steven tore the yellow badge from his flight suit and threw it over his shoulder at the fresh-faced medic. “There’s really no need for that …”

Steven turned and threw him against the wall, smashing his helmet against the brickwork next to the man’s head. The MO winced as the visor shattered, throwing shards of plastic across his face.

“Do you think I care about how much radiation I got from that fucking massacre I just took part in?” He glared into the medic’s eyes. The cloth on the MO’s crotch began to darken as his bladder failed him. “I just killed two hundred thousand men on two continents with four words. Do you think Prime Minister Collins is proud of me? DO YOU?”

It took three red caps to drag Steven away and sit him in a room with a single metal-framed chair at its centre. Empty metal shelves lined the walls, the dust on the shelves held the silhouettes of boxes recently removed. The final evacuation of the British Isles was in full swing.

Steven held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. Only his anger at what he had done prevented him from weeping.

His few minutes of solitude where ended when a woman entered the room. “Brigadier”, she saluted. He looked up. The scrapped back brown hair tied in an excruciatingly tight ponytail and intense expression could not disguise her classical good looks. She was feminine in a severe cat-like way, that and almond shaped grey green eyes made his pupils dilate.

“Captain McKlusky, senior MO”, she proffered her hand “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, fucking marvellous. What sort of question is that? How do you think I feel?”

“Believe me Brigadier, self pity is not the way to deal with this.”

“You didn’t major in psychiatry did you? Spare me the PTSD speech. For your information this is self-loathing, not self-pity. I’m just a bloody sapper but just because I took a few bullets crossing the Yangtze I get the ever so slightly dubious honour of organising a massacre the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Cairo offensive in 2033.”

“You’re a hero.”

“WAS a hero. Now I’m a murderer.”

She bent forward, flipping out a torch to check his pupils. He couldn’t resist staring down her open shirt. “Hello ladies!”.

McKlusky slapped him hard across the face.

He rubbed his cheek, smiling wryly, “I probably deserved that.”

“You did, the next time you treat one of my staff like that I’ll give you a prostate exam you’ll never forget.”, she turned to leave. “Let me know if you experience headaches, fatigue, nausea …”

“… what about any stiffness?”

McKlusky turned back towards Steven. She licked her lips slowly, “I find that’s quite normal for my male patients.


Wednesday, 5 August 2048

Steven emerged from a whisky induced coma to the sun streaming his cabin’s porthole. The door was propped open. A young private SA-85 slung across his chest watched him wake up, obviously posted to ensure he didn’t injure himself or anyone else.

“Are you OK, Sir?”, asked the private, “Anything I can get you, Sir?”

Steven smiled, US training. “How about a bottle of whisky, then, another bottle of whisky. Oh, and one for yourself.”

“Sir, General Hague said you could have anything but alcohol, Sir.” For a moment the private almost smiled. “I think it might have been something to do with you throwing up on his boots.”

Steven squinted to read the soldier’s name badge, eyes still suffering the after effects of a good malt. “Giles? That’s more like it, act like a human not a soldier.”

“Sir?”, Giles was confused, this was Brigadier Brown VC, hero of the South China campaign telling him not to be a soldier.

“You see this?” asked Steven, pointing to his chest. “See it? It’s a Victoria Cross. Everyone thinks it’s made from metal from captured Russian guns used against us in the Crimea. Do you know that’s bollocks? You see the guns were originally Chinese and never used in the Crimea. I suppose the symbolism is still quite apt in a way, let’s face it I killed a few Chinese lads in my time, now I’ve got a couple of hundred thousand Russians to add to that. D’you think the light Brigade would have been proud of me?”

Giles didn’t know what to say. “Er, er well …”

“Don’t worry mate, I used to be a soldier, now I’m just a fucking murderer.” Devilish realisation painted a broad smile across Steven’s face, “Did I really tell Hague that he was an idiot?”

“Yes sir, apparently he went purple, according to one of the lads in the galley. That was just before you threw up and passed out.”

Steven chuckled to himself.

Giles snapped to attention. Steven heard footsteps approaching. From just out of sight a vaguely familiar voice said “Giles you’re relieved.”


“Report to the infirmary, Corporal Evans needs to give you a quick exam.”

Giles hurried off, past the owner of the voice.

“Hello McKlusky, come in.”

“Dianne, please.” The MO slipped into the cabin and closed the door. She touched the intercom panel, “Infirmary. Stacey, Giles is on his way down, keep him occupied for a couple of hours will you, and lock the bloody door this time, the last time I walked in on you both.”

“So you do house calls too?”

“Only for heroes.”, she sat on the bed next to Steven.

“I’ve told you I’m no hero. I used to be a soldier, now I’m not sure what I am.”

“The King’s going to knight you, well, that’s what one of Hague’s secretaries tells me.”, she rested her hand on his.

“Well tell him not to bother.” Said Steven dismissively.

“Oh shut the fuck up!” Dianne planted a full, passionate kiss on his lips, her tongue probing his mouth.

Hands began to unbutton his jacket and shirt. The heavy smell of sweat and whisky seeped from every pore on his body. “I could shower …”

“… later.” She moved down his body, kissing his chest, exploring the contours of his toned body. She reached a rough knot of scar tissue on his left side, across to a surgical incisions on his stomach, then down to his belt buckle.

Steven slipped his hand inside her khaki shirt and squoze her plump breasts. She pushed against his palms, wanting him to crush them in his muscular hands. A button popped on her shirt and all pretence of foreplay disappeared. Clothes flew across the cabin until they were laying together on the narrow bunk, naked.

“Your bedside manner’s far superior to your psychiatry.”

Things to Come – Part 1

Friday, 14 January 2022

Christopher paced up and down the corridor outside the delivery suite. He wanted to be in there with his wife, but apparently the danger of infection was now too high. The last thing he wanted was to lose this child, their previous attempt at starting a family had resulted in a miscarriage in the summer of 2020.

Felicity had known there was something wrong with the pregnancy from the outset. The doctors had reassured them both, all the tests were fine. They would be proud parents in time for Christmas. That summer was the hottest on record, then again they always were, every year the mean temperature rose.

Maybe it was partly the hot summer one bright June brought searing cramps, then devastating pain and haemorrhaging that took their child and almost took Felicity. The hospital didn’t have enough blood. He’d had to slip a roll of 500 Euro notes to the shifty SHO before she’d call up the two litres they had given her. Thank goodness she was O positive, anything more exotic and he’d have lost her too.

And now he would miss the birth. The doctors and nurses shuffled around in biohaz suits. For the first week Felicity and the baby would be in isolation from everyone, including him. That was the world they now lived in.

Antibiotics were failing humanity, and that was just the war on bacteria. The viruses were different every year. There had been the bird flu of 2008, then the Ebola in 2012. The UK population now stood at about 9 million, it’s lowest level for two hundred years. But the British Isles had been left relatively unscathed. The Channel, traditional defence against invasion of all kinds, had served to isolate the country from the plagues that had left Europe almost empty of human life. The only breach in those defences had been closed when the Channel Tunnel was sealed by the army demolition teams in 2015.

Half of the lights in the corridor ceiling were out of action, the cluster outside the delivery room viewing window flickered intermittently.  Christopher stopped in front of the window and stared at the curtains that prevented him from seeing his wife. There was a moan, it was Felicity, then a cry, a new voice. His melancholy turned to joy as he heard the first sounds from his newborn son. He rapped on the glass. Minutes passed, he banged again with his fist.

The curtains were drawn back and he was greeted by a stern stare from the midwife inside. In her white suit and respirator he could only see her dark brown eyes and a glimpse of olive skin, but it was enough to know that she was not pleased about a mere father interrupting the vital work she was undertaking, delivering a new life into the world.

Behind her he could see felicity, tired, hair soaked with perspiration, cradling their son in her arms.

“Congratulations Mr Brown.” A voice crackled over the intercom, it was the midwife. She had an accent that hinted at Spain, a refugee, one of the lucky ones that got across the channel. “They’re both quite well.” Christopher could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes, successful births were so rare these days, perhaps it was relief. Or maybe joy, there was precious little of that either.

Christopher felt light headed, he staggered back against the corridor wall opposite the window. He slid down, crouching on the dusty floor and began to sob. Tears of joy for his new son mixed with a bitter despair at the realisation that the world in which his son would grow up in was becoming a world that Dante himself would have recognised.

His mind retreated to the previous spring …
… a warm wind blew up the Humber estuary from the North Sea. They had laid out their blanket and picnic on a sand dune. The sky was sapphire blue, flecked with sparse, high cloud, the unforgiving sun demanded factor 80 and still the UV prickled their exposed skin as they lay together. The food and drink had been a treat, fresh and very expensive ham from government “surplus” as Christopher euphemistically referred to his black market purchases, and wine from the Edinburgh vineyards too.

The towers of the bridge still stood, now marooned in the middle of the five mile wide estuary. The on-ramps had been all but destroyed by the hurricanes and the brown water of the river lapped around the sections of roadway that had fallen from their cables. It was a miracle that the towers of the bridge had not crumbled under the weight of the main suspension cables. But no, it stood as a monument to man’s ingenuity and his inability to control the planet and his effect upon it.

It was a sad place, almost abandoned, only accessible by cycling up a strip of high land that had not been inundated. And therefore secluded.

After eating and finishing the bottle of wine they held each other, one studying the other’s face intently as they did when they had the time. They had a three day pass, but two of the three days would be taken up travelling and only today, the second day, would be theirs to spend as they wished.

They had met at the height of the 2012 epidemic, macabre how life’s milestones were now marked by world events. Felicity had started school the week before 9/11, her mother died a month after the London 7/7 attacks, Christopher’s brother had been caught up in the first nuclear exchanges of the Israel/Iran war, incinerated by the airburst over Ben Gurion.

They tried not to imagine what might happen next. Despite all the horrors that had gone before, the lack of resources, food, water, fuel meant that all the remaining states still vied for control of key parts of the planet, albeit with less vigour than they had before. Their armies were weak and ill-equipped, populations sparse and weary of conflict.

The breeze lifted strands of her hair and let them drop over her face. He had to kiss her. His hand slid around the back of her head at the base of her skull, making her tingle with anticipation. Her lips pursed in readiness and were pressed to his, gently but firmly. Her hand rose to his face and stroked his cheek, already showing signs of re-growth after his morning shave. It was impossible to get hold of decent razorblades these days.

They were in the open, wide vistas stretching in each direction, but not a soul to see them. His hand reached down and lifted the hem of her long linen dress, exposing the pale skin of her thighs. He broke from her lips and, turning, slid down to her cotton covered mons. The crotch of her panties was already wet, she had been waiting for him to take her since they began eating. The rich perfume of her was intoxicating, pure, unsullied, born of love and lust.

He rubbed his face between her thighs, forcing her legs apart. His stubble rasping at the fabric and scratching her soft skin. She reached out and found a gratifying bulge in his cotton trousers. One by one she popped the buttons on his flies, then slid her hand inside to grasp his cock. She could feel his tip, wet with precum, felt him draw breath as she spread the viscous fluid round his glans.

She lifted her hips to aid the removal of her underwear, kicking them across the yellowing grass when they were below her knees. He dived back towards the neatly trimmed thatch between her legs, tongue seeking out her hot opening, his chin impaling her clitoris with stiff hairs. She coaxed his stick prick out of his trousers, wanting to see and taste the wetness oozing from him.

She pulled at his member, almost making him lose balance and collapse on top of her. Her tongue lapped at him, tasting, massaging, devouring his cock. She could feel him working on her opening and labia, he was lapping now, drinking down her juices in long strokes that ran from clitoris to anus.

Her teeth snagged his frenulum, gently, painfully, just the way he liked it. Now he had to have her, he raised his head and drew his throbbing sex from her mouth. Now they were face to face, her pussy exposed to the warm breeze, swollen and wet. He positioned himself above her, arms either side on the dry grass. Then with a single smooth movement pressed the tip of his cock against her labia. They resisted for a moment before allowing him to slide into her, every delicate contour of their sex’s interacting to produce a symphony of moist, breathtaking sensation.

Moments became hours as he moved in and out of her, slowly, firmly, forcing her to take all of him. Stretching her ever so slightly. They stared into each other’s eyes again, each watching the other’s joy as he quickened his pace. When he came he cried out but never broke away from her gaze. Their orgasms met and merged, each feeling the other’s, and as they ebbed a single tear welled in her eye and rolled down her cheek …

… Christopher returned to the present with a thump, an orderly ran over his foot with a trolley piled high with refuse sacks. “Sorry mate”. The green-clad garbage collector whistled his way to the next junction and turned left, out of site.

The floor of the corridor was littered with rubbish and coated with dust. It mirrored the entropy of the city outside, abandoned buildings, power cuts, water riots. Entropy engulfing the world.

So why did they want this child? Perhaps the hope that something might change.

It would. Soon.


After leaving your comment, don’t forget to check out the Alex & Suze Interview over at Padme’s place.

Plugs & Promos

We have been posting our daily entries on ABH now since July last year and they have provided us with some excellent traffic over the months.  Not to mention the great review which Dark Scribe did of AlexSuze a while ago.  And we strongly believe that one good turn deserves another…

If you haven’t already been over and registered with them you really ought to.  It is a wonderful blogger resource, we have also discovered some excellent new blogs and bloggers over there too.

Louis and his team are currently asking for bloggers to submit their images to “Pic Of The Day”, where they will be featured and their blog given a bit of free promotion.  I know that you wouldn’t want to miss out on that!  🙂  Up to now only myself and the naughty Mistress Sky have participated.  You should check out her “Sky On Saturday” images, they are guaranteed to get the juices flowing.  😉  I wish she lived closer to us.
So go over and give them your support now, it costs nothing and you will not only make new friends but promote your blog at the same time.  What is there to loose apart from a few minutes of your time.

The Silent O

I have been slowly developing a cold these last few days and been subjected to every icky symptom along the way.   All say Aghhh!  😀  It started off as a pain in my back just under my shoulder blades and I thought I had pulled a muscle but it turned in to a bloody cold and chest infection.

You don’t want to know what I have been coughing up.  Lets put it this way, they were solid enough to bounce.  Lol.  Anyway, enough of that I don’t want to bore you with the details.  Although I would like some sympathy.  😉

The effects of my cold have now manifested themselves in my chest area.  Stop it!  You naughty people, I have had all the “can I rub something on that for you jokes already”.  😀  Also I have lost my voice, well most of it has gone.

Normally this would not bother me but I love to be vocal in bed.  Not just giving instruction but to convey my inner elation as I am being fucked.  I don’t do silent fucking or orgasms, I never have.  Strange but it seems unnatural for me to be stifled, hence the feeling of imprisonment when I’m aware that the neighbours are in the bedroom adjacent to ours. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of our very active sex life but it’s more a defensive mechanism.  I don’t want to inflict sounds of our very pleasurable fucking on neighbours who may not appreciate it.  At times I do question this based on the fact that they smoke weed most of the time and turn their microwave on at all hours of the evening.

I can hear you all shouting “how do you know they use the microwave”.  Haha, it interferes with our television if we aren’t watching porn, so there.  Lol. 

I digress.  Yes, I don’t like to be fucked in to next week and not be able to show my appreciation verbally.  But this fucking cold has stolen my voice (it’s amazing, I never feel too ill to fuck.  How is that?)  So Alex is giving me some of his best action and all I can do is…squeak.  I try to tell him “Yes, fuck me harder” and it comes out as something resembling a mouse on steroids.

There are some upsides to this cold’s effect on my voice though.  Occasionally it goes quite deep and sexy.  I bet you can’t guess what happens then.  😉


“Would Sir care to sample our new fragrance, Aromatiqué?”

The voice captured his attention as he walked past the end of the perfume counter. It had a timbre that, despite his inclination to tell her that he was “too busy, but thanks all the same …”, made him stop and take interest.

“It’s quite new!”, she exclaimed, quietly, yet with a bridled enthusiasm bubbling beneath. She was dressed in a knee-length skirt-suit, lilac in colour. Classically styled, knee-length and nipped at the waist, black heels, black stockings. Her dark brown hair was scrapped back into a neat ponytail. Her makeup was heavy but subtle in comparison to some of her colleagues on the adjacent makeup concessions.

He blinked, realising that he’d appraised her in the blink of an eye. He didn’t do that sort of thing and hadn’t even been conscious of looking. She reeled off the virtues of the perfume to his glazing eyes, his wife would have appreciated the spiel no doubt but to him it was just words.

She concluded her pitch with ” … care to take a tester strip?”

Now this was one thing he did know about, having once bought his wife a bottle of expensive fragrance for Christmas and finding that on her skin it smelt like tomcat piss. “I’ll have to bring my wife in to test it out, those strips can be very misleading ..,”.

Before he’d finished she’d sprayed it on her own wrist and begun waving the card strip to aid the evaporation of the alcohol base. “Perhaps you’d like to sample it from my skin?”

“every woman’s skin is different, I don’ think …”, the perfume hit him. Not just the scent she had sprayed on her skin, but the delicate smell of her. His nostrils flared, pupils dilated and a tingle shot down his back to initiate an unexpected stirring.

Their eyes were locked together. “Special isn’t it?”, she asked. “Surprising, different, I’ll certainly consider it …”, his mind raced forward, the images it conjoured up scared him, made him feel guilty for imagining them. “… but I must go now.”

Breaking her gaze felt like a physical wrench, turning his back on her seemed to dissipate the feeling, but left him feeling as if he had turned to face a gale for a moment. It passed and he continued to the underwear department to pick up some new boxers.

He returned ten minutes later head down determined to get back to his desk before one o’clock so he could check his personal emails. But he looked up, just as she did. She had just finished talking to an old couple, who wandered away, sniffing at the thin strip of white card she had given them.

He walked towards her, “I think I would like to buy a bottle.”

“Of course Sir, come with me”


She waved her hand in the direction of the display, “These are empty display boxes, we have a problem with shoplifters I’m afraid. If you’d like to come with me to the stockroom …”. She led him behind the displays and a few meters down a brightly lit corridor. She stopped at a door and unlocked it with a key hanging from a chain on her belt. She stepped inside, a moment later, “Could you hold this for me?”.

As he crossed the threshold into the stockroom the door slammed shut. He turned to face her. “What are you doing?” But the question was irrelevant, she simply stood and waited for him.

He looked into her blue-green eyes and felt himself bewitched again. Slender tendrils of her scent wrapped themselves around him and drew him to her. Light as gossamer, strong as steel they pulled at him until his lips were millimetres from hers.

“What are you waiting for?” she said, a smile playing across her lips, chest heaving with anticipation.

Hers were the first lips his had touched since he married his wife twenty years before. Well the first that his had touched with the passion and intent that he did now. His tongue probed her mouth almost immediately, wanting to taste her, as well as smell her rich scent.

His arms slid behind her back, hers were limp at her side, waiting to be taken. Not that she didn’t want to grab him and tear off his clothes, far from it, the images of her shredding his shirt with her nails, popping his buttons, kept playing through her mind as he ravished her.

His hands grasped the cheeks of her ass. Oh, he had strong fingers, she was sure he’d leave marks where the fingertips had been, such was the force he used. She imagined the ten discoloured patches developing on her skin. She would check later in her cheval mirror.

His animal was unleashed, touching her, smelling her with short, hungry sniffs at the skin of her neck.

She began to moan, spurring him on to even greater forcefulness. He slammed her into the door and began to pull at her blouse, destroying it in his impatience to touch her waiting breasts. When his powerful hands took possession of the orbs it sent shards of icy-electric excitement slicing through her body.

He sucked her nipples for a moment, then a slight movement of air brought a new element to the assault on his olfactory organ. He looked at her, his lip curled into a snarling smile and he dropped to his knees.

He began to lift the hem of her skirt. It hugged her hips, so she allowed herself to help him. Even her self control was deserting her now. They both knew what she wanted and to delay would send her insane.

He nuzzled into her crotch, nose pressing the wet black panties into her hot swollen mound. He tugged at the inconsequential triangle of silk, discarding its tattered remains on the floor.

In one long slow, probing movement he licked her sex from between her hips to clitoris. “Aaaaaah”, was the only possible reaction she could have had.

He dragged her to the floor and buried his head between her soft thighs, stocking tops and suspenders rubbing his ears while he devoured her. He opened her inner lips with his tongue, exploring their delicate geography with a tenderness that seemed at odds with his animal passion. It was just a prelude to his lingual symphony.

She grasped her own nipples, stroking and squeezing them as she felt the muscular animal lick, tickle and probe her. His face was wet with her, the heady scent filling his nostrils and driving him to even more frantic efforts. Her moans of pleasure merged into one ululatant exaltation.

With his face dripped with her moisture he slid to one side and lay his head on her inner thigh.


She returned home triumphant. Just a few more adjustments and it would be ready …

… increase the speed of entrapment with a few more drops of this … reduce the intensity of their passion, just a little, by reducing this …

By four in the morning it was complete. The small vial of the final version of Aromatiqué stood in the test tube rack amongst hundreds of prototypes. She slumped in a leather armchair and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of her stills, refining a steady supply of exotic essences.

And she dreamed of testing the ultimate Aromatiqué, today’s blend had been amazing, tomorrow’s would be legendary.

Put It Right There…

Alex mentioned in his post yesterday just how good it was to have time together over the Christmas period.  No interruptions, no work, no outside influences, just the two of us in a cocoon of love and lust.  No make that LUST!  😉

There is one sexual act which we both enjoy but rarely participate in, tit wanking.  I love to do this to Alex but I prefer to have him cum inside me when we only have limited time to play.  So tit wanking takes a back seat to internal combustion.

The first time I gave Alex a TW I applied baby oil to both of my breasts to aide his sliding in and out.  I rubbed it all over my boobs, lay back on the bed and Alex straddled me.  This is where the problem began, my tits were so slippery I was having difficulty pushing them together whilst he worked his erection in and out of the valley between them.

We did managed to pull it off, or should that be pull him off.  Lol  But it was difficult and I think Alex wasn’t as aroused by it as he could be because the friction which would normally rub his frenulum to orgasm wasn’t as stimulating.

A plus for using baby oil is its resistance to fluids.  When he spewed his semen all over my oily tits it sat in blobs on my skin rather than dispersing and being absorbed.  Therefore, plenty of time to gather up his spunk on my fingers and devour it without it drying up and being wasted.  😉

So there is both a plus and a minus for baby oil.

The next time we tried using melon flavoured lube.  I know it’s a strange taste to go for but I gave consideration to having to suck his lubed cock clean afterwards.  Anything sweet would have been too sickly for me, I have a savoury palate.  But you can’t get lube in cheese flavour.  Or can you?  Lol

This worked well, I could push my boobs together and keep them in place until Alex’s release.  He also got more feedback from the lube, it not being quite as viscous as the baby oil.  But this had a negative aspect.  Stickiness, the lube we used when it dried became sticky and not very pleasureable to have on your skin.  Although, melon was a good flavour choice.  Tasty and not too sickly.

Our next choice was spit.  And out of all the lot it was the best for us.  Alex pushed his hard cock between my boobs as I knelt in front of him and began to work in and out.  As he did so, I spat down on to the tip of his glans, providing just the right amount of lubrication.  As he moved in and out I began to move my tits up and down to meet his thrusts.  And lots of plus points with this one, a plentiful supply (providing you aren’t dehydrated), directional handsfree application and costs nothing!

Not having any lube or baby oil on my breasts allowed me to sense when he was becoming dry and I cold then apply more saliva to his helmet.  I just love to watch a hard cock appear and disappear between my breasts.  The more he fucked them the more blood seemed to fill his erection, it was nearly purple and shining with the tension of the increased blood flow.

As he steamed in and out of my breasts I could feel his foreskin being drawn backwards and forwards.  As I watch him my own sex responds and pulses in synchrony with each thrust, I become engorged and moist watching him masturbate using my own flesh.  For me this is far more exciting than any porn film I could watch and as the tension builds and he throws his head back with his ensuing orgasm I just want to push my fingers deep inside my cunt and finger fuck myself.

He begins to shake and almost convulse as his fluid makes it’s way down the length of his cock and explodes all over my chest.  I shake my head back as he starts to spurt, hoping to avoid getting his sticky fluid in my hair (it’s a bugger to comb out).  His thrusting slows as he squeezes the very last drop of cum out of his cock.

I scoop up his deposit on my fingertips and raise them to my mouth savouring the taste of him as he collapses on the floor, satiated and spent.

Now it’s my turn …


Some moments in your life are special, the Christmas/New Year holiday was one long special moment. They were a period where we both became lost in each other, spiritually, emotionally and sexually.

We achieved that state of being by simply spending a few days with each other, without the spectre of work hanging over us. There may have been some post-Christmas glow involved too, but I think that was a minor factor in creating the right conditions for us to become fully synchronised with each other. What really did it was the feeling of freedom that came from the longest unbroken period of time we’d had together for quite literally years.

If you’re a long-time reader you’ll know that we have a pretty good relationship. Not perfect, but loving, caring, passionate and committed. This was something else, something extra, and it made me do a lot of re-evaluation. Hence the soul-searching post earlier this week about the rut that I think I’m in career-wise.

We spent a lot of time in bed. Not unusual for us I know, but it was whenever we wanted to be in bed, not dictated by work, friends, family, or any of the other demands on my time.

When we were in bed, everything was just so relaxed. And naughty. We lay there in the middle of one afternoon, watching “The Grinch”, with Jim Carey, for no other reason than that it happened to be on when we turned on the TV. The afternoon was overcast and therefore the light in the bedroom was dim.

We snuggled together and things just took their own course. I got hard, she got wet. Our tender caresses turned to urgent embraces. The light touch of fingertips transformed into demanding grasping hands, exploring and probing. All in the matter of a few moments.

There was no premeditation, planning or preamble. Our sex does “just happen” as a rule, but usually we know roughly when. That’s the constraints dictated by real life.

Without that constriction everything flows more naturally and instead of the admittedly lively and often energetic sex that we do enjoy anyway, we entered another realm.

It was as if the whole world had ceased to exist and all that mattered was us. I’ve felt like that before but not as intensely. The power of this sense of absolute union and bliss was amplified because of how it contrasted with our normal daily existence, the existence which does have constraints, and rules and other demands on our time and attention.

So as we made love and fucked, and we did both in equal measure, nothing else mattered. We had a reawakening and became drunk on sensory stimulation and the knowledge that nothing was out of bounds.  Over those two days we screwed again and again. Always in our little bubble. It was a simultaneously comforting and passionately animal place to be.

We tried things we’d never tried before, little things, no great sexual athletics just the sort of sensual play that requires total relaxation and unlimited time.

It was an amazing time and out of it I think I have learned three things:

I love Suze more than I have ever loved her (and therefore any woman).

I have only scratched the surface of my creativity and to coin a phrase (you ain’t seen nothing yet).

This year things are going to change.