Monthly Archives: September 2008

Girls And Boys And Sex Toys

AlexSuzeI’ve been hunting around all day for a new toy. Not a sex toy you understand, but don’t worry I’ll get on to them later in the post. It’s becoming more and more apparent that I need a new phone for any number of reasons.

First of all the battery’s a bit temperamental, sometimes holding charge for days, then at other times dropping to nothing within a day. I don’t make many calls so that’s not what I’d expect. Then there’s the Blue Tooth headset. Until a couple of weeks ago it was crystal clear, now the sound quality is fuzzy.

Then there’s email.

I only have a standard handset, no mobile email and that is becoming a problem.

So I’ve decided to buy a Blackberry. That’s quite shocking for me because I never thought I’d have a real use for one of those things. But now I genuinely do so rather than just get another phone I’m taking the plunge into proper mobile email.

It struck me as rather peculiar today as I tried to find out when the new Blackberry Bold 9000 model will be available that for someone who has never had an interest in mobile phones aside from the business of making calls I suddenly became very interested in them as I spent my lunch hour chasing up the release date for the 9000.

Well it was yesterday apparently, but Blackberry have put it back by a week or so. And sadly I’ll be waiting to get my hands one rather impatiently. However I do have a genuine reason to buy one.

On to sex toys. At Last! You cry.

Necessity is the mother of invention so when I saw that the homepage of the Sex toys Buzz newsletter needed a little something extra I decided to add thumbnail images of the top referrer’s sites to the sidebar. It’s brightened things up and you can see where you’re headed (a bit) before you get there. It didn’t take too long but I think it does the trick.

If you haven’t seen the newsletter page yet you ought to take a look. If you subscribe to the Sex Toys Buzz newsletter you are automatically entered into a draw where you could win sex toys and adult products. Better still, if you have an adult site you can link to us and automatically get a reciprocal link from our top referrers list.

While you’re waiting for the first newsletter to be sent to your inbox (next month) you can read some of our sex toy reviews.

Tags: Blackberry, Blackberry Bold 9000, sex toys, sex toy reviews

Sex Toys Everywhere I look

Alex and I have a constant battle to keep our toys under wraps. I have a tendency to leave them out all over the house, especially in the office where I do my review write ups. This is bound to backfire on me one day I just know it, my parents will show up unannounced and cop an eyeful of my latest muse. Lol

In his attempts to cleanup and organise things Alex purchased some stackable storage boxes to put our collection in to. Just one problem they are transparent, you can see everything inside.

Solution, he decided to place the toys inside a black bin liner first. He’s not just a pretty face! 😉 This was a great idea but he shouldn’t have allocated toys to each box and then stacked them up in the corner of our bedroom.

Reason why…his sister turned up at the weekend with little nephew. Not a problem I hear you say. Thing is, little nephew went a wandering around the house as kids tend to do. I followed him upstairs and he was peering in to the side of the top box.

It’s amazing how quickly you can get a child’s attention when you need to.

Needless to say after he left we swiftly got the toys bundled up and boxed.

I thought I would have a look around at storage possibilities on the web and came across this idea. It’s a great idea especially if you want to keep your toys close to hand and your visitors would never know. Very clever.

Surrounded By Naked Flesh

AlexSuzeIt’s difficult to take a step back sometimes and get perspective on sexuality when most of your life seems to revolve around thinking about sex or writing about it. Or both. And when you’re not doing either of those you’re doing it … well, except for that rather annoying section of the day where you’re actually having to work for a living.

Getting those sides of your life mixed up would be a big mistake.

The reason I mention this lack of perspective is that I started reading what might be termed one of the more traditional agony columns on the website of one of our national newspapers last night. I was all ready to write a sarcastic and derisory post about it when I realised that I didn’t have the right to do so. Not that I don’t have the right to express my opinion, but when I considered what I disliked about the way the column was written I realised I was looking at it from the position of someone with considerable experience in the adult world.

That doesn’t mean I know everything. As in all aspects of my life I’m constantly learning new things about my own sexuality and that of others. And there’s the point. We all learn about sexuality at different speed, in different ways and from different mediums. Some people will never be able to accept what we do – write as adult bloggers. Nor would they countenance some of the sexual practices that we view as acceptable, or even indulge in.

We all have to feel happy in our sexuality and that applies if you’re a in a once a week on Sunday mornings type of relationship or swingers.

It’s difficult for the print media to keep up with the web, but they are spending a great deal of time and effort incorporating the new medium into their portfolio of content. The particular agony column I was reading had an email address and I happen to know that they now receive the vast majority of their letters via that email address rather than by paper letters.

In updating their output they have created a slightly odd looking column with increasingly non-vanilla topics dealt with by a woman who looks like your grandma and her faithful support team.

Although the writing style and tone of answers seemed at first inappropriate and strangely out of place I realised that it forms part of the adult information online. It’s the sort of accessible advice that people who would never dream of reading a blog like this can access without feeling they have somehow dirtied themselves. If it educates, informs and therefore increases the understanding of the whole panoply of sexuality within the general population then I’m all for it.

Lust In The African Heat – Part 1 of 2

He bathed the grazes on her elbows and cheek with cold water from a chipped enamelled bowl. The anger in her eyes melted away and transformed into tearful relief. He wiped away the first glittering from her cheeks, his tenderness making her more tearful, his humanity allowing her to drop her guard and released the emotion her ordeal had filled her with.

He held her, a comforting warm embrace, her head on his chest, body shaken by uncontrollable sobs. Eventually her shuddering emotions subsided and she turned her head upwards to look into his kind brown eyes.

They both felt it, they both knew it was probably just the stress of what had happened earlier making them feel as they did, but they kissed. Not a tender, loving kiss, not a kiss to comfort or to thank Michael for her deliverance. This kiss had only one meaning and in its deep tongue-filled depths it gave rise to a breathless carnal desire. His hands gripped her shoulders, gripping harder as their kiss progressed.

Michael pulled off her dress, ripping it further, but this time the tugging of strong hands at the fabric was welcomed and only made her more eager to free his swollen cock from his trousers. She pushed the enamel bowl off the kitchen table, it clattered to the floor, water running across the rough tiles. She lay back on the table and pulled her red knickers to one side. Wetting a finger in her mouth she slid it across her lips to ease his entry.

He stood between her legs, stroking his cock, poised at the gateway to her deep pink interior, its entrance flanked by dark brown, swollen lips. He nuzzled inward, sweet sensations pouring from his cock, through his central nervous system and into his pleasure centres. Her eyes urged him forward against her impossible tightness. He hesitated, but the desire he felt was mirrored in her eyes.

Then he knew, he was the first. He stopped “Are you sure …”.

“Yes” was her reply. She shut her eyes and bit her bottom lip. He pressed forward, through the resistance. She cried out, with joy and pain.

He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself and slowly, tenderly moved inside her. Eventually their passion engulfed them and the tenderness gave way to reckless passion, fucking as Michael had only ever dreamed off.

She watched Michael’s forearms, thick ropes of muscle tense under dark brown skin, criss-crossed with scars from his work in the mine. Her eyes returned to is face, to his eyes, gazing down at her. He released the table for the moment, slowing his thrusts. He pulled his shirt over his head revealing a broad, well-defined chest and abdomen beaded with sweat.

Michael reached forward and took a nipple in his mouth, sucked for a moment then took it in his teeth, biting with enough force to make her cry out. She raised her chest towards him, back arched, moaning. Michael broke away, feeling the approaching detonation as if he were watching a blasting code streak toward a charge, swift, unstoppable. At that moment there was only the thrust, the need to drive into her as he came.

In the final, climactic crescendo she screamed and the horror of the black pit of the mine called him back, dragging him from his dream. From the welcoming glow of then, to the damp despair the here and now.

Peter was screaming.

“What’s the matter?” asked a bleary Michael turning on his now dim orange helmet light and scrambling across the loose rock to Peter’s living tomb.

“Fuck! It was just a dream. I felt a rat was chewing at my foot. Just phantom pains I suppose. I can’t see me playing football again, can you?”. Peter smiled, but it was a weak smile, his face was now grey-white.

Michael dripped the last of the bottle of water they had with them into Peter’s cracked lips and watched him drift off to sleep, or was it unconsciousness. The smell from his leg was stronger now. Being trapped with a corpse until his own inevitable demise was not an appealing prospect. He returned to his pile of hessian and waited.


Hours, maybe days passed, Michael ceased to care. Peter stopped responding to Michael’s voice then even his breathing became silent. Michael didn’t turn on his light after that, he wasn’t scared of death, he’d seen too many friends die down here for that, but he did not need to be reminded of it by the white-skinned corpse only a few metres from him. The delirium of thirst numbed him to the point where in the blackness, dream and waking became one. He was thankful for that, the pure unfiltered reality would have been too much to bear.


They had split up after only those few months together. Bliss to oblivion in a dozen short weeks. Perhaps they were too different, Michael thought not, but persuading her to stay, to quit the job at the bar had proved to be impossible. He’d turned up there the night before and rowed with her. The owner’s heavies had thrown him out into the street and chased him off.

He sat, in the dark, past midnight, with a half-drunk bottle of beer in one hand. It had been ice-cold when he’d opened it but now it was warm and flat, no solace for Michael in the bottle. He stared into the darkness, watching the stars wheel past his open window.

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it.

Another knock, more insistent.

“Alright, alright …”, he rose and walked to the door. He had almost reached it when it was shoulder-charged open, the cheap lock flying across the room. Outside, silhouetted in the light from the single street lamp were shapes that he recognised from the night before.

There were no words, no explanations were necessary. He’d caused trouble in the bar and he needed to be taught a lesson, away from the premises of course, wouldn’t want to upset the customers. The five heavies didn’t get away without a scratch, Michael got in the first couple of punches, a broken nose, an eye that would swell up and leave its owner a Cyclops for a week. But five against one has only one conclusion. And as the beating went, blow upon cruel blow, on Michael realised that he was being taught a special lesson, to leave her alone. So perhaps the wild words he threw at her during the argument were not so wide of the mark? The bar owner did have his eye on her.

He felt the bones of his ribs crack, dull thuds of kicks to his arms as he shielded his head, the flesh deadened by the blows, only later would the flesh ripen into deep swollen welts and their accompanying deep biting agony. The real pain was the thought of her in his arms.

Hands pulled at him, sharp rocks in his back.

The blackness was pierced by dancing lights, the silence broken by familiar voices. Hands lifted him onto the stretcher, four men with blurred faces carried him to the foot of the top of the drift.

It was dawn, pale pink and yellow clouds were dotted across the sky. The sound of generators driving lighting rigs rang in his ears as he emerged into the new day. One of the mine’s ambulances waited, engine running. They slid him inside, a doctor followed, and a nurse. The doors were about to close when he heard a woman’s voice, beautiful, strong, insistent, a voice with an intent that could not be denied.

She crouched next to him and held his hand.

With a hard, dry tongue, through parched lips he expressed his joy for life in one word, “Elisabeth”

Lust In The African Heat – Part 1 of 2

Drip, drip, drip.

Michael stared at the peeling paint of the ceiling. The dripping tap the only sound not quelled by the midday heat. The surrounding bush was silent, wildlife sheltering in any available shade from the merciless glare of the sun.

She lay on her side, head on his chest, long beaded braids of black hair cascading across his chest. Her right arm lay limp across his belly. His arm held her to him, behind her back, hand resting on her full, firm buttock. His fingers slowly stroked the smooth dark brown skin of her ass.

He felt the need to wash, their recent exertion had left her asleep in his arms and him feeling the need to cleanse himself. He was also in need of a pee, but he didn’t want to disturb her, to break the divine magic of this moment.

Drip, drip, drip.

The damn tap wasn’t helping.

Drip, drip, drip.

The room began to slip into darkness. What? It couldn’t be that time already … then reality took him and the dream slipped out of his grasp, the damp darkness of the mine gallery had hold of him and the clammy fingers of despair held him again.

Drip, drip, drip water seeped unseen through the roof of the section of the gallery which they had called home for two days and hit the damp floor.

“Sir, are you awake?” asked Michael quietly.

“You tell me, and stop calling me Sir. My name is Peter” replied a voice from the dark. “Anyway, it’s bladdy difficult to sleep with half of Zambia on your leg.”

Michael turned on his helmet light, illuminating the prone Peter. Since the roof collapsed it had become clear that Peter’s left leg was trapped, covered, but unharmed, whereas the thigh and calf of his right were pinned. Michael scrambled across the loose rock on the floor of the gallery and examined Peter’s exposed right foot, it was blue-black and cold to the touch. Michael was sure he could detect a smell beginning to emanate from the leg.

“It’s looking OK … ” Began Michael.

Peter squinted back at him, blinded by the sudden illumination, “Oh, give it a rest mun. I haven’t been able to feel it for … ” He raised his watch into the light, ” … 36 hours now.” Peter paused for a moment, “But thanks for trying to cheer me up.” He settled his head back onto the rolled up bundle of sacks under his head. “So, finish telling me about her.”

“Not much more to tell, anyway I need to piss, hang on.” Michael knelt in the furthest corner of the galley, turned off his helmet light and a few seconds later filled the gallery with the sound of his splashing urine. He felt his way back to his own nest of sacking.

“I last saw her about a year ago. She was working on the east side of town, I didn’t approve of the job she took.”

“So she was a hooker, you didn’t mention that”

“She was no bloody hooker!” retorted Michael angrily, “That’s why I didn’t like the job she took, she was working in that bar, in that part of town and everyone thought she was a hooker. They’d treat her like one, offer her money. She said she could handle them, but no woman of mine puts herself in a place like that.”

“But she’s not YOUR woman now. And anyway, if you objected why didn’t you tell her to stop?” Asked Peter.

“On my wages? I’m a miner not a damn supervisor.” He spat out the word, filled it with contempt for the over-paid, self important bastards who lived in the air-conditioned houses outside the run-down dormitory town that the real workers inhabited. “We needed the money.”

“I tried to make her get another job, but she told me I didn’t trust her and we split up. I ended up sharing a room with six other guys. Her sister told me she got friendly with the bar owner and after that I didn’t ask about her any more. Her sister said they were going to get a big house and get married, all in three months …”. Michael sucked his teeth in disgust.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, but that’s history now.”

“Well the present isn’t too fucking great is it. Stuck in a collapsed gallery 250 metres below ground with a bladdy supervisor.” He added with an unseen smile, “And a South African supervisor at that.”

“Are you calling me a bigot?”

“Oh come on laughed Peter. I know what the guys on the faces think of us. Overpaid, lazy bastards. Am I right?”

“Too bloody right. But you’re OK. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way when the charges were detonated I’d have been under there not you. It should have been me under there.”

“So why were you here? The gallery had been cleared ready for blasting.”

“I saw something.”

“You saw something? … Let me guess, you spotted a diamond in the spoil?”

“A big one, as big as your fist. I saw it when I was loading one of the ore trucks, I hid it behind the roof support. I was collecting it when you arrived …”

“So how were you going to get it out of the mine? You know what the security’s like and what they do to the ones they catch.”

“There are ways.”

“I’m sure there are. Look we should rest. I know there’s air getting in here from somewhere, but it’s starting to smell a little stale, it’ll stay fresher longer if we rest and don’t talk.”

“OK” Agreed Michael. “We might hear the rescue team too eh?”

The complete darkness of the mine gave way to the cloudy grey prelude to a dream. Michael welcomed its coming, a sanctuary from the dark, damp deadly reality that his corporeal body now inhabited.

It was almost midnight in the east of the town. Michael was walking home after a night at the bar. He was drunk, sober enough to walk, but drunk enough not to care that his shift started in four hours and the blackest pit of Hades would be his workplace for the best part of the following day.

The sound of music from the bars began to recede into the distance as he walked toward his rented, shared room. It was still loud enough to mask the commotion in the next street, which is how he stumbled into the middle of the standoff.

She was literally backed against a wall, two muscular miners looming over her. Her dress was torn, eyes wide, not with fear but with anger. She waited until one of the pair came within arms reach then lashed out, nails biting into the skin of his face. He cried out, shouting at her, “Bitch!”, “Whore!”.

They both lunged at her, she screamed, kicked and punched as they wrestled her to the ground. Michael ran towards the pile of arms and legs, grabbing one of the miners and throwing him to one side. As he grabbed the second Michael felt an arm around his neck, pulling him viciously backward. A well aimed elbow to the solar plexus left his unseen attacker on the floor gasping for breath.

As he took hold of the second man the girl’s knee dealt a swift blow to the man’s groin. Michael dragged him away from the girl, where he lay on the ground, doubled up, vomiting from the burning pain in his testes.

Michael stepped backwards and felt the first assailant’s hand grasp his left ankle. He brought his right foot down hard across the man’s forearm, feeling a sharp crack followed by a howling scream from the arm’s owner.

Before her attackers could recover and take up the pursuit, Michael scooped up the girl and carried her the three streets to the communal kitchen of his rented room.

Image: Oppenheimer diamond, Smithsonian Institute.

Hot Chicks In Uniform

Nurse Mary by *Drakenborg on deviantART

I was channel hopping the other day and happened across a re-run of “On the Busses” follow the link if you’re too young to remember the show, or it never aired in your part of the world. Like a lot of comedy of its time it was very peculiarly English in its humour and has dated to the extent that it’s unwatchable except as a TV curio. It’s even gone past the point where I can get nostalgic about being sent to bed before it came on because it was too risqué.

What got me thinking was not the music hall performances and jokes, or the bawdy, single-dimensional humour and even shallower characters, but the uniforms. I can just remember when bus drivers wore uniforms, not just black trousers and a corporate blue shirt, but full uniforms. Polished buttons peaked caps, the works. Same for the police, they still have a dress uniform, but that is incompatible with their role as a modern police force. It’s knife vests and utility belts replacing the jackets and truncheons.

I actually rather miss the uniforms, you knew if someone had a uniform they should be listened too, had some authority. There’s a classic Radio Times cover from the 80s, the week they first showed the apocalyptic drama “Threads“, based on the effects of a nuclear attack on a British city. It was a still of a man carrying an army issue SLR against a chain link fence, his face was bandaged and he wore a uniform. He was keeping some of the survivors of the attack penned up in a stockade. He wasn’t a soldier, he was a traffic warden, even the most hated pavement-pounders in England were seen as authority figures were society to break down.

So what’s the point of this semi-maudlin walk down memory lane? Well, there’s always been a fascination in this country with uniforms, maybe it’s elsewhere in the world too. In the UK it seems to be a very strong fascination with what lies beneath. Is that starched shirt and tightly buttoned tunic holding in a wanton sex maniac? Is that hair, so tightly pinned into a bun on matron’s head concealing a matchless passion that once unleashed would consume any man in its path?

It’s a fascination/fetish that’s reinforced by films and the media, though over time the way in which it has been portrayed has changed according to the decade. Looking back just after WWII uniforms were ubiquitous, police, fire fighters, ambulance drivers, nurses, traffic wardens, bus drivers, bus conductors, bus inspectors, doormen the list goes on.

The horrors of the first world war began the ascendancy of the power of the working man, but did not shatter the structure of British society. The hell of the trenches, the mud, disease and death meant the survivors refused to be subservient to the traditional ruling classes. It did not however lead to revolution as in Russia or the desperation that drove the German people to embrace National Socialism. The order of society evolved rather than collapsed and authority figures remained. Granted the lampooning of authority thrived as it has done throughout English history, but it acted as a safety valve preventing calamitous changes.

The second world war finished the process that the 1914-18 war had started. Now it was open season on authority figures. I’m not going to drone on about the undermining of traditional values, because some traditional values were complete rubbish, no, this is where I return to my original thoughts about uniforms.

The “Carry On” films, The Goons, Python and satirical humour in the printed media and on TV all slowly undermined the authority of uniformed figures. Almost without exception they did it by one of two means. Depicting uniformed figures as objects of ridicule (because they were stupid, pompous or out-dated e.g. The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp Powell/Pressberger 1943) or making them into sex objects.

We’re now at the stage were uniforms mean something different than they did 50 years ago. You can now buy a uniform to go to a party as a naughty nurse or a WPC. You can buy it in rubber if you like. Military style latex couture is both fashionable and widely available on the web.

Our attitude towards uniforms is a blend of the comic and a sense that by say, having sex with that WPC you are somehow breaking out from the confinement that society places upon us all. Maybe you have a thing for black leather trousers, boots, long coats and riding crops? Is it that you want to be dominated, oppressed and shown no mercy? Or is it just a bit of fun?

When a uniform forms part of a Scene in sexual play it can be a powerful totem, a visual shorthand for each participant’s role and a sensual augmentation during the scene. Whether it’s leather rubber, or PVC a uniform can become a necessary and integral part of the Scene.

Well it’s late and I’m knackered but if any of you have thoughts on this I’d be very interested to hear them.

Tags: uniforms,uniform fetish,Michael Powell,Emeric Pressburger,Colonel Blimp,The Life And Death of Colonel Blimp,On the Busses,Carry On films,Carry On Nurse,Carry On Doctor,Carry On Seargent,power exchange,BDSM,D/s

Outdoor Sex And A Little Culture

AlexSuzeSaturday promised to be a good day as far as the weather goes so Alex and I decided to make the trip to Chatsworth House in Derbyshire for the day. They were hosting some large art installations in the grounds which I wanted to take a look at.

But I also thought we may be able to find some secluded area to try some naughty installations of our own too. The possibility of finding some hidden glade to have a bit of outdoor fun in fuelled the idea to visit. It was so long since we last indulged in some wild in the county sex.

The last time we fucked in the open we had an accident on the motorway which left the car irreparably damaged and both of us thanking our lucky stars we were still alive. It had been a great day at Fountains Abbey. We had taken a route off the beaten trail and found a secluded ditch atop a hill full of fallen leaves and very quiet.

I had dropped my trousers and Alex had left his on with cock pocking through flies. I leant towards the embankment placing my hands on the earth whilst he slid in from behind and fucked me hard.

There were distractions which both fuelled and caused minor diversions to the proceedings but we both enjoyed the wickedness of the moment. Knowing people were passing by on the footpath below, oblivious to our love making up the hill. It was a warm day and everything was just right.

How could we have known that on the way home a tyre would blowout on the way home which could have killed us both.

That’s a while ago and we fancied trying out a little naughty outdoor fucking again, this time without the bad ending. A warm day fucking in the countryside appealed to both of us.

We arrived to a rather full car park just after lunch with the sun burning its way through the mist which we drove through on the way. It was warm, bright and sunny and we were both as randy as hell.

After fighting our way though the queues of people all with the same idea of enjoying probably the last day of sun before winter, we entered the gardens. It was busy but not overly so, considering the number of cars in the car park, this place can absorb quite high numbers of visitors without being too overwhelmed.

The exhibition taking place in the grounds was both interesting and diverse and was mainly on the lower levels of the grounds. So we decided to head up in to the hill hoping for some privacy and a chance to do some outdoor petting.

It seemed it wasn’t to be, every path and turn which although looking secluded did not deliver. There were people at every turn and summit looking around. We kept on trying to find the elusive hideaway in which to copulate but it seemed that other forced were bound to keep us apart.

In the end we gave up trying and Alex gave me a deep and meaningful kiss whilst pushing his hands inside my trousers and down my panties. He then massaged my clit in the middle of a leafy enclave. Within minutes we could hear someone approaching and abandoned the experience.

But a cup of tea in the café didn’t quite make up for it. Has anyone any suggestions for good places to make out without the dogging fraternity or onlookers. 😉

Girls Hunting

The full moon hung in an inky blue-black sky casting stark shadows across the dusty white soil of the “Dorset County Wildlife Reserve”. The air was still and warm, silence only broken by the chirping of insects and the rustling of game as it crept through the undergrowth. Until, in the distance a raucous steel and aluminium interloper dared to desecrate the peace.

The six girls sat in the rear of the Land Rover, three on each side facing each other. To a casual observer they looked like schoolgirls in a khaki uniform. Dusty brown shirts, shorts and leather boots. What would have surprised our observer were the six Lee Enfield rifles, held by the girls and clamped upright between six pairs of shapely knees.

They stared through each other, their minds racing forward in time. The excitement and expectation was palpable. One girl bit her lip and smiled slightly as she imagined what the night might have in store. Another’s fingers entwined in the canvas strap of the rifle and formed a fist, her fingers becoming pink and white as the makeshift tourniquet bit into her flesh. Her only reaction to the pain she inflicted on herself was the slightest flaring of her left nostril. She twisted the strap even harder.

The Land Rover thundered to a halt the brakes emitting an ear-piercing squeal. A stout matronly woman hopped out from behind the steering wheel with a sprightliness that defied her ample frame. “Come along girls!”, she chirped. “We don’t have all night.” She added, inaccurately.

The girls scrambled over the tailgate of the Land Rover, rifles slung over their shoulders and formed a rank, facing the stout woman.

“Now girls, this is the first full moon since your 18th birthday.” The girls shuffled impatiently.

“STAND STILL” trilled their portly drill sergeant. “This is an evening that I’m sure you will remember for the rest of your life.” She said solemnly, and paused, for effect. “I know I remember mine.” And a smile lit up her face.

“Now go and enjoy yourselves, but try not to hit one another. Your mothers would not let me hear the end of it.”

“Yes, Miss”, replied the girls in unison and with not a little derision in their tone.

The girls paired off and melted into the scrub, while “Miss” returned to the Land Rover.


Miriam and Rachael knelt in the long grass about four hundred metres from the Land Rover. They had spotted movement in a patch of bushes some ten metres upwind, and could smell the musky aroma of their quarry. They had been trained to recognise the scent, all girls were, and know to its originator’s habits and behaviour.

Rachael stroked Miriam’s neck as they assessed the mood of their prey. Miriam’s hand strayed onto Rachael’s leg, nails gently tracing a path from knee to the hem of her shorts. She wished for a moment they were not on the hunt, but that they were back in the dorm. Hearing Rachael pad quietly across the floor, feeling her lift the sheet and slide in with her. The heat from their bodies combining as their arms encircled each other. Legs woven together as pussies rubbed against thighs.

But tonight they had other matters to attend to.

Miriam motioned with her hand, indicating that Rachael should move forward and to the side of the bushes. She did, taking note of the wind as it began to swirl between the undergrowth.

Miriam held her breath, if it smelt them it would make a break for it and hide deeper in the reserve. They could spend all night tracking it, or worse still lose it all together.

But the wind did change. There was a snarl from the dark recesses of the bushes and a dark shape bounded out of the gloom.

Rachael froze, but Miriam raised her rifle and fired instinctively. She hadn’t been tri-county riflewoman for two years running for nothing. The plastic bullet issued from the barrel of her rifle and sped towards the beast with perfect accuracy, it struck the back of its knee and felled him. The beast let out a vicious snarl. The blunt tipped round would leave it limping for a few weeks but no permanent damage had been done.

Rachael launched herself on top of the thrashing mass of sinew and muscles. She cast aside her rifle and ripped open her shirt. She straddled his waist and her exposed naked chest was bathed in the light of the full moon. Miriam was there a moment later, pinning his arms with her legs, buttocks thrust into his face, facing Rachael.

The growling from the prey became les quarrelsome and deeper as he smelt Miriam’s sex. She was wet, the anticipation of the moments to come had given rise to a delicious river of liquid desire inside her. Rachael leant forward and kissed Miriam. Reaching forward Rachael tugged open Miriam’s shirt exposing a pair of curvy breasts with provocatively erect nipples.

The beast was growling, now supplicant but still potently animal. Rachael stood and removed her shorts. Her naked sex and its thin strip of dark brown curls glistened with her moisture. The man’s penis was stirring as his instincts and hormones recognised and reacted to the chemical signals washing over him from the two aroused girls.

“It’s bigger than I imagined” said Rachael, her voice excited.

“I was told the ones in the biology lab were a little on the small side.” Remarked Miriam, “You first, I think he’s nearly ready.”

Rachael took his cock in her hand. Gingerly at first, but with growing confidence and enthusiasm she stroked his growing erection until it was harder than she had ever imagined it would be. The man’s hips rose and fell, his balls tight against the base of his stiff shaft.

Rachael lowered herself onto his pulsating member. “Aaaa!” she exclaimed as the tip opened the flesh folds of her ravenous pink pussy, “Ooohh yes” as she felt the resistance whose demise would mark her transition to womanhood. With her lust overcoming the icy rivulet of doubt trickling down the back of her neck she pushed herself down onto his cock opened the door that can never be closed.

The girls held each other’s forearms, steadying the other. Miriam watched Rachael’s face as her virginity became a memory. She was privileged to witness the moment, yearning for Rachael to witness her transition as much as she needed to feel the man’s shaft inside her.

His hot breath on her thigh was driving her wild, his unkempt beard abrading her soft skin as he struggled against his captors. Rachael’s eyes began to roll as she rode the feral cock. His intense musky scent filled her with base desire. She felt an orgasm build deep in her belly, the sensory tempest bursting from her mouth. An exultant shriek of joy cast into the night as her pussy spasmed on his captive cock, reaffirming her sovereignty over it.

The bucking animal the girls now rode came with a guttural snarl. Rachael released Miriam’s arms and dug her nails into the man’s exposed chest.

Quiet returned to their enclave of the reserve. As it did so they became aware of the sounds of the other four girls engaging in the culmination of their pursuits.

“That was amazing” said Rachael quietly, her head on her Miriam’s chest as Miriam stroked her hair. “He’ll be ready for you soon, I can’t wait to watch” said Rachael softly.


In the Land Rover “Miss” smiled at the sounds of animal carnality rolling across the reserve and began to write the first of six letters …

24 July 2316
Dear Mistress …

I am please to inform you that your daughter … is now a Sister in the Order of Lemnos…

Italian Erotica And Eight Naked English Girls

We just took back an adult DVD by the studio Film Erotica “Made In Italy”. You can read the review I wrote about it over at Sex Toys Buzz. It has some great girls in it but to be honest it wasn’t my cup of tea. Take a look at the full review and see for yourself. There’s plenty of girl-on-girl action and groups scenes but … well something’s missing.

Anyway, while you’re over there you could join the Sex Toys Buzz newsletter and be in with a chance of winning free sex toys and adult products too.

Girl Next Door Porn

We went shopping today and on the way back we popped in to the sex shop to swap a couple of DVDs. I was quite surprised that it was rather busy. There were the usual single blokes in the DVD section, but also three couples including ourselves. One couple older than use by about ten years and another in their early twenties.

I would have loved to have seen which DVDs they had selected but thought it might be seen as a bit peculiar if I took an interested and tried to read the titles on the covers, or maybe asked. LOL

Funny isn’t it, online I don’t have a problem with asking what you as readers or fellow bloggers like when it comes to pornography. But face to face the only place where you can discuss that sort of thing freely is with close friends or at gatherings of like-minded people; Say munches or adult shows. Even in the bloody sex shop doesn’t indicate that you can assume people would be open to a friendly enquiry.

In fact when I paid for our DVDs the young couple were behind us. The look of shock when I turned to face her was priceless. I looked her straight in the eye, I suppose she expected me to skulk out with my head down. Pity that people still feel that going into an adult store is a bit iffy.

Anyway, as I said I thought that it would be interesting to see what they were watching. There’s a big market for amateur porn, maybe that’s what they had purchased. Then it struck me. These couples might not be, erm, couples. Maybe they weren’t with their partners and they were out shagging the girl next door!

Makes you think.

My Blue Eyed Muse And Masturbation Material

Paul NewmanAs a child and in to my early teens I remember being besotted by the young and very, very handsome figure of a man, he had blue eyes, stunning good looks and appeared to all the world to be such a great level headed guy.

He always came across as being 100% genuine and self effacing, not one of the usual Hollywood film stars who are self-aware to the degree of obsession. He was quiet, open and very easy to get along with. And lets face it, his looks transcended time and if he had been my age like so many other girls “I would”.

His name…Paul Newman.

I feel compelled to write this small tribute about him and how he enriched my life because there aren’t many people like him out there in that glittering world.

And even though he was too old for me, the image that I saw of Paul on the screen be it in his numerous acting roles or his interviews he came across as the kind of guy I could settle down with and indeed love to wake up next to each morning (in his younger years).

I just finished reading a tribute to him in the Telegraph which states:

The actor made his screen debut in the poorly-received 1954 sword-and-sandal epic The Silver Chalice. He was so ashamed of his performance that when the film was to be shown on television he took out a newspaper advert to apologise for it.

And that for me sums up this man.

He stayed faithful to his lovely wife Joanna Woodward for 50 years and that must have been difficult looking like he did. He also founded “Newman’s Own” a product line including pasta sauce and salad dressing whose proceeds went directly to charity, not a penny went in his own pocket. He is renowned for his work for charity and the franchise raised £108 million in donations. What a great guy.

But my personal memory of Paul will be his role in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and that is how I will always remember him.

RIP Paul 1925-2008


Pussy Ping Pong Competition

We thought this video deserved a few views, because of the shear effort involved in making it and sense of fun it has. Then there’s the question – What did the neighbours think?

Leather Boots And Bondage Fantasies

We walk a thin line in some of our fantasies. An example that springs to mind is the use of military uniforms and fantasy scenarios. Uniforms symbolise power, a power that has to be respected and obeyed without question. The penalty for not obeying is swift, often severe and occasionally arbitrary, depending on the nature and mood of the person exercising that power.

It’s therefore not surprising that uniforms and accutriments reminiscent of the most oppressive regimes and belief systems often turn up in some fantasies, particularly those which involved BDSM. This fuels the belief of those who do not understand it that BDSM is in itself intrinsically sympathetic to totalitarian and uncontrolled sadistic behaviour.

Power exchange and the exploration of sensual pleasure can be extreme in its application, but that does not imply a lack of control, far from it. Control in such situation is everything and without it, what begins as an exploration of sensuality, becomes an exercise in exploitation.

It’s just another way in which those who do not understand sexuality beyond the most vanilla of its expressions sometimes seek to demonise that which they do not understand. Granted there are people who disguise abuse as BDSM, but thankfully these are few and far between. Unfortunately propaganda is a powerful thing. During the last two world wars it was used by every country to inspire their citizens to great feats of selflessness and self-sacrifice and to instil a hatred of the “enemy” to ensure a united country/alliance and therefore the ultimate victory of their ideology.

Even today propaganda persists and is used as a tool by our governments. After the tragedy of 911 I remember seeing a BBC TV special about anti-terror technology. It was absolute bullshit, but meant to reassure the population that the atrocities of 911 were unlikely to be repeated because of the apparent new security measures that had been adopted. I was appalled at the time, but looking back I can see how the powers that be could think it was a necessary piece of propaganda to help reassure the population.

The problem with propaganda is that it’s intrinsically biased. It’s therefore very easy for the media to depict what they decide are non-normal sexual practices as deviant and damaging. Just as they did in early 2008 with Max Moseley. The Internet makes the dissemination of this sort of propaganda all too easy.

Deliberate propaganda aside sloppy writing and bad research mean that gleaning information from the Internet about sexuality is fraught with danger, so beware!

Free Sex Toys Just For You, Did You Hear That?

Sex Toys Buzz’s Buzz Club has now been up and running for a few weeks and is gaining interest from the readers and fellow bloggers alike by the day.

So far we’ve had a number of bloggers enrol, you might want to pop across and say hello:

Betty Rocket

Curvaceous Dee

DH Spicy

Fat Controller



Secret Chick

In case you don’t know what it is all about. If you join and subscribe to the newsletter you will be given numbers for a monthly sex toy draw. In addition if you have a blog and link to Buzz Club you become eligible for extra numbers.

So what are you waiting for there is no competition to enter, no story to write, no review or publicity piece. Just a draw and your chance to win some wonderful toys every month just for being our friends.

The only down side is that you may become addicted to sex toys just like me. 😉

Boobs Bursting Out

I have no idea why but my boobs seem to be getting too big for my bras. The first time it came to my attention was Tuesday when I put a white fitted t-shirt on to wear for work with a pair of grey trousers. When I checked myself out in the mirror I noticed that my cleavage was bubbling distinctly over the top of my bra cups.

At first is occurred to me to dismiss it as my bra shrinking due to washing but I don’t wash them hot and certainly don’t air them in the dryer. So it can only come down to one thing they have increased in size.

I’m currently a C therefore I’m heading for a D and a little fearful I must admit. Traditionally larger cup sized bras have looked like something a professional shot putter would wear for support. With reinforced cups and scaffolding. Lol I know that styles have changed over the years and I’m probably being a bit silly and after all I should be grateful having come from humble 32AA beginnings.

You just can’t please some people can you. 🙂

Also today I noticed that I’m not the only one. Horny had the same problem, in fact I think hers was spilling over the top more than mine. Whereas Busty’s were just huge! No change there then.

Could they be putting something in the water at work? If so I could do with bottling it, I would make a fortune.

Late thought…If the roll of tummy over the top of jeans (particularly low waisters) is known as “muffin top”, then what is this condition called? Any ideas.

Messy Sex

The competition to sell you stuff increases by the day, so ad agencies are forced to be more and more innovative all the time. Some of this innovation succeeds in ways that they probably couldn’t imagine.

The video above is an example. While it’s obviously supposed to engage with the indulgent side of ice cream/chocolate consumers it also makes for a very slick sploshing video.

If you’ve not encountered the term before, sploshing is a sexual fetish in which someone derives pleasure from watching or being involved in the use of food, mud or other such messy substances. Very often it involves pictures or videos of young girls covered or being covered in say chocolate sauce, cream etc etc. It’s also referred to as messy play.

I can relate to it in a very small way, we’ve all tried a little bit of rude food in the bedroom, haven’t we? But I can’t claim to be an expert. It’s quite a specialised fetish though there are a number of sites on the Internet who cater for its devotees.

The thing is there are a number of videos on You Tube about sploshing, and some that definitely count as sploshing videos, but were never meant as such. The most noteable example of is this video of Zoë Salmon, presenter of BBC TV’s Blue Peter children’s magazine show. I don’t know why they made this video in the first place but sploshing fans everywhere must be thanking their lucky stars they did.

If you really want to see a specially made sploshing video, have a look at this:

Tags: Sploshing, messy play, messy sex, Zoë Salmon

School Discos

AlexSuzeI love autumn. A lot of my childhood memories seem to be set in this season. That means that around this time of year the light in the early mornings, the mist enveloping the hills as I drive to work and the deep red sunrises and sunsets make me feel deeply nostalgic for my younger years.

Of course a lot of those memories involve my loves and lusts at school.

One that I think most of us share is the fascination and excitement that accompanies reminiscences about school discos. It’s hardly surprising is it? Young people, overflowing with hormones, party clothes, music, it’s always going to be sexually charged by the time the sixth form disco comes around.

As late summer through to Christmas seemed to be the season for such events I think I have at least part of the explanation for my love for this time of year. I’ll have to recount some of my experiences at a later date.

One thing I haven’t experienced is a relatively new phenomenon (at least in my experience) the school themed night at nightclubs. I suppose it’s an event where you can do all the things you used to do illegally, just legally … smoke, drink have sex … and all in school uniform. I can certainly see the attraction. Anyone been to one?

Suburban Sex Dungeon

I was intrigued to read a story on the Telegraph website about a detached house in the suburbs of a sleepy street in Preston, Lancashire. The bugalow is central to allegations that it is being used as a sex dungeon.

Apparently neighbours thought that it was owned by a disabled man who ran a website business and they assumed that the traffic was due to this. Lol The site which is described itself as being The House Of Pleasure or Pain is run by Mistress Storm 44 who describes herself as not giving any sexual services but being a natural born sadist.

I checked and the site appears to be down. 🙁

The police, council officials and fire service had their attention brought to the premises and amongst concerns were…wait for it…fire hazards involving the use of candles for waxplay in which candles are dripped on to a client.

Well bugger me!

I think a lot of us may qualify for a fire check then, hey just think of all those hunky firemen coming round in uniform to access your property…

Tags: BDSM, dungeon, domination, submission

Red Satin Bra Part 2 of 2

“Unzip me”, demanded Poppy. She was standing with her back to him, the red dress clinging to her every curve. He reached up from his seated position on the bed and slowly drew the zip down from the nape of her neck to the firm roundness of her ass. She shrugged the garment from her shoulders revealing her red satin-clad cheeks.

Kevin ran his hands across the smoothness of her buttocks, palms coming to rest on each hip, fingers reaching round to draw her ass towards him. He kissed her through the silky material, then up to the indentation at the base of her back, his lips now replaced by a tongue, tasting her flesh, leaving a moist trail up her back as he rose to his feet.

His hands moved from her hips around to her front, up her stomach and onto her imprisoned breasts. She pressed her back into his chest as he crushed the soft mounds, her head arching backwards and to one side, exposing her neck. Kevin kissed her neck from shoulder to ear, then back again, the kisses metamorphosing to nibbles, then bites. She yelped, but did not pull away, instead she reached back with one hand and held his open maw on her exposed flesh, teeth almost breaking the skin.

She could feel the heat of the blood in his cock pressed against her back. As his teeth left her shoulder it became the focus of her attention, so much so that she hardly noticed when he unfastened the clasp between the cups of her bra. Only when Kevin pinched her nipples to the point of biting pain did she stop the instinctive, gyration of her pelvis against him.

Her hands joined forces between her legs, one pulling the satin to one side, the other invading her swollen wetness. She tingled as the fabric curtain was drawn back and the air cooled her pouting lips. She groaned as her fingers traversed the sensuous ravine.

Kevin turned her round and gently laid her on the bed. Poppy’s legs were splayed to allow her access to her needful pussy. Kevin watched for a moment while she rolled and wriggled on her back, red bra cups still flapping on and off her chest, hands working with an earnest passion on her sex. He stroked himself, considering the possibility of cumming there and then, spraying this total stranger with a creamy white stream.

No, he needed to fuck her, to be the architect of her impending climax, to fill her as she reached the Zenith. He lay on the bed with her and crouched astride one leg. The other leg he held high in the air while he teased her pussy, closely trimmed pubic hair glistening with her excitement. Sliding into her was a journey of some seven inches, a slow journey, to be savoured and remembered.

Poppy’s hands moved up to her breast, kneading them, letting Kevin attend to the fiery desire between her legs. Kevin watched his cock disappear between her lips, the thrill of the encounter enhanced by the sight of his thick, veined member sliding past a soaking wet red pair of panties.

The wall in the guest house may have been thin but that was not going to stop Poppy from vocalising her enjoyment. Kevin was past caring about Rose, even though she might hammer on the door at any moment. He responded to the increasing volume of Poppy’s moans by thrusting frantically with hard, deep strokes. The form ferociously he drove into her the most she seemed to want “Yes! YES!” was all the confirmation Kevin needed to continue the powerful, but unsophisticated fuck.

Poppy seemed to reach orgasm several times, or was it just one long orgasm. Her eyes rolled, her inner thighs were wet with her own juices. She moaned and shrieked, no longer able to form on her lips. Kevin’s balls glowed with anticipation, he held back for a few thrusts but that was all. One final thrust and then his hips ground against hers.

Kevin collapsed on top of Poppy, still impaling her on his cock. Her leg curled around him.

They fell asleep.

In the morning she was gone. When he entered the dining room for breakfast she served him, with tea, ensuring that he could see down her white blouse. She smiled and winked before moving to the next table.

He left soon after breakfast, his client would not wait. And anyway, she’d said it herself, it was just a fuck. No regrets. He paid Rose in cash and bid her farewell on a day that promised to be warm and bright.

It was autumn, Kevin slipped into his local sex shop to treat himself to an “artistic” DVD. The plasma screen inside was showing previews. “Not bad” he though as the dark haired girl walked into the room, “Funny camera angle. Nice ass though”. The scene cut to another angle, slightly obscured, the girl sat on the bed, crossed her legs, the red dress rode up exposing a knee. Another cut, another angle, she was rather cute, she was rather familiar, as was the briefcase at the end of the bed.

She was Poppy.

Fuck Me Book Fuck-Up

When Erotica Went Bad …

I agreed to review several books for a publishing house and I’m currently on my second and OMG! Now you all know me by now, I’m open minded and love to read erotica especially in my lunch break it’s a naughty indulgence and a step away from my job even if for a short while.

It’s a book of short stories relating to sex and submission and to be honest should really be entitled, strange plots and extra terrestrials. I read the first story and thought it a little odd but then I went on to read another and another and well, to be honest I have never read such a load of rubbish in my life.

Not only are the plots crazy, I know they are supposed to be fantasy but there is something very strange going on in the heads of the authors. For example one is written about a posse of cowboys who infiltrate a brothel, the soul aim being to free the ladies who have been corruputed by the madam.

The writing is so cringe-worthy, with cowboy references throughout and the terminology for anatomical parts, euphemisms and acts is hilarious. It reminds me of a rather badly executed Carry On film and must have been penned by a guy with a passion for chaps. And I don’t mean he was gay. Lol

Another was about a guy being abducted and seduced by the queen of the fairies. Now this good have been a good plot but it was more like a union of Playboy and Disney and I found myself asking why they actually took pen to paper.

This book should be exciting and stimulating but I find it to be a complete waste of a good read. I’m not knocking fantasy stories but please…don’t pass off some really bad comic book plots as erotica.

Hence I will not be naming said book but I do urge you not to put your hands in your pockets for this one. It’s dire.

Now, where is the other book they gave me.