Monthly Archives: October 2008

Horny Halloween Girls

A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By a woman wailing for her demon lover!
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Kubla Khan, 1798-99

Peter opened the front door to be greeted by a comic tableaux. Four of his friends, dressed as if they had just stepped out of a certain Chateaux on lake Lucerne at the turn of the 19th century. Unfortunately they had stepped out into one of the intense but sporadic showers of rain that were lashing Yew Tree Manor. Rather soggy, they carried their luggage into the hall.

“The bloody car broke down just outside the garden wall”, explained Mark, “The weather I expect, though when you pay that much for a bloody car …”. “We’re here now”, interrupted Mark’s fiancé, Emily, “Let’s get dried off and get a drink.”. The suggestion of alcohol immediately raised the mood of the bedraggled couples, so Peter led them to the kitchen to open a few bottles of wine.

Equipped with bottles and glasses, as well as their luggage, the newly arrived couples retired to their respective bedrooms. “Where’s Kate?”, asked Luke, “Charlotte wanted to talk to her about arrangements for Christmas. You are still stopping with us, aren’t you?”.

“I think so”, replied Peter, “Kate’s asleep, I’ll wake her up and ask her. See you downstairs in half an hour.”

And indeed Kate was asleep. After their frantic screw over the kitchen sink she had retired to the bedroom. Peter had been concerned, her skin was cold and clammy as he helped her up the stairs to their room. She had lain back on the four poster bed and smiled at him. Not a loving smile, more a benevolent one, a “You served me very well”, type of smile. Peter had been quite disconcerted at the time, but once the moment had passed and she had fallen to sleep he wasn’t so sure. “It was just a smile”, he told himself.

Peter quietly let himself into the bedroom and lay next to Kate. He lay on his side watching her chest rise and fall. The urge to slide his hand up her leg and stroke her inner thigh above her stockings was difficult to resist, but he did. She needed her sleep.

Within a few minutes his eyes had closed, lids heavy, drained from the earlier sweat exertion. He began to breathe deeply and steadily, a contented post-coital slumber.

Kate’s eyes snapped open. She slid off the bed as smoothly and as silently as a snake. Gliding across the carpet and out the door without a sound, she left Peter to his dreams.

Mark and Luke’s voices drifted up from the kitchen below, they had spent just a few minutes straightening their outfits, so as not to miss any serious drinking time. The dark fairy saw a door ajar at the end of the landing. She cocked her head slightly, unblinking eyes studying the sliver of light emanating from the room intently for movement.

She was at the door now, and let herself in, as silent as a malicious whisper.

Emily was on the bed, on her side facing the door. Her eyes were closed. She wore red bra and briefs, nothing more. The dress, carefully chosen, now rather damp, was hung to dry from the curtain rail above the radiator in the window.

Kate walked round the foot of the bed and lay behind Emily. Their bodies were not yet touching but Kate’s hot breath played on the back of Emily’s neck. Emily stirred, “Mmmh, Mark!”. “Yes”, replied the succubus.

Kate slipped her hand around Emily’s waist and slowly drew her middle finger across Emily’s skin from the navel to her cleavage. “Do we have time?”, asked Emily. “Yes. We have all the time we need”, Kate assured her. Emily reached to the front of her bra and undid the clasp, letting her dark-nippled C-cup breasts to spill out.

Kate caressed each one in turn, squeezing the nipples, moulding crushing the mounds in her hand. She dug her purple painted talons into the tender flesh. “Mark!”, exclaimed Emily, surprised, but wanting more. Emily’s juices began to flow, excited by her insistent lover.

Emily turned over and looked into “Mark’s” eyes. “I want you”, she said, blissfully unaware that her desires were of no consequence.

Kate plunged her tongue into Emily’s mouth and her hand into Emily’s panties. Kate’s fingers slid down the moist slit and found the opening she sought. First one, then two, then three fingers penetrated Emily. One made her sigh, two elicited a gasp. Three made her cry out grinding more heavily into Kate’s hand and pressing her exposed tits into Kate’s dress.

Kate’s fingers massaged Emily’s G-spot, juices began to flow down Kate’s arm. Emily’s cries of ecstasy were muffled by the passionate and insistent mouth pressed against hers, her tongue seemingly bound tight by one, or was it two tongues in her mouth.

Kate’s wings began to beat gently, lifting the couple from the bed. Mouths tight together, Kate’s arm around her prey’s back and the other hand buried in the prey’s mound. Emily writhed as Kate massaged her pussy with the strength of one possessed and the knowledge of a woman who had explored her own body many times. When she came, juices dripping from her pussy, down her thighs. Kate held her close. Emily dug her fingers into Kate’s buttocks through the velvet of her dress. Kate left deep indentations with her claw-like nails in the bare flesh of Emily’s back. Only then did Kate’s wings beat slower and lower her to the bed.

Kate drew her hand out of Emily’s panties and across her inner thigh, leaving four red tracks …

Peter woke to the sound of Mark and Luke hammering on the door. “Are you two going to stay in there all night?”.

He roused Kate, and they made their way downstairs.

Halloween Harlot

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 1797-98

The house stood at the very top of a hill surrounded by trees, but visible from all sides. The trees, now leafless as autumn drew on and winter approached, seemed reluctant to grown near its ancient stones. The few that ventured close to its ivy covered garden walls were dark, stunted, twisted, unidentifiable specimens.

The garden wall was of red brick, ten feet tall and only perhaps a century old, yet in the dismal twilight it looked as old as the four hundred year old manor it surrounded. No, as old as the eight hundred year old foundations on which the manor stood.

As Kate’s taxi approached the house up the winding private track which served as access to the house she regarded the property with some satisfaction. “A perfect place to spend Halloween”, she congratulated herself. The house disappeared from view as the car rounded the final turn in the road. As the house reappeared, rain began to fall in huge drops, splattering against the windshield of the car. “Bastard weather!”, commented the driver. Then, “Sorry Miss”. “Miss!”, did he think he was driving an Edwardian Debutant to her “Coming Out” ball in a hansom cab? Kate smiled to herself, “Horrible isn’t it”.

The taxi crunched to a halt next to the porch at the front of the manor. Kate grabbed her shoulder bag and stood, sheltered from the rain under the porch, while the driver lugged her two suitcases from the taxi to the door. She tipped him, far too generously, and had to raise a hand to her face to cover her smile. He actually raised his hand to his head as if to doff a nonexistent cap!

Reaching into her shoulder bag Kate retrieved an iron key and slid it into the oak door. Shit, it wouldn’t turn, she wiggled the key in the lock and tried again. This time, with some effort, it turned with a screech of metal on metal. Kate turned on her torch and tried to remember where the light switch was. Flicking the Bakelite knob illuminated the huge hall in yellow light from four aged light fittings high above her. One at a time she dragged in the cases from outside then shut and locked the door.

Two hours later she was showered, changed and eating a piece of celery in the kitchen, waiting for the first guests to arrive. Old though the place was her choice of venue had the benefits of modern plumbing. The wiring on the other hand did not inspire confidence. Every gust of wind from the intensifying storm outside made the lights flicker and fade.

The party was a select affair, three couples, all friends. Catering was a cold buffet and an oven full of nibbles to heat up for later. All prepared by a café in the village and laid out on the kitchen table when she arrived.

There was a knock at the kitchen door, Kate nearly choked on her celery. Cursing Peter for not using the front door she got up and made for the kitchen door, which led to the rear garden. It was secured by two iron bolts of great antiquity that required a real effort to open.

Pulling the door inwards Kate was surprised to find nobody there. She was about to close the door, thinking Peter had walked around to the front of the house, when she saw a figure silhouetted next to the yew tree in the centre of the kitchen garden. It struck her at that moment – the only tree in the garden.

“Peter. Get in here it’s freezing.”. The figure raised its hand and seemed to beckon Kate. “You must be joking!”, Kate shouted, “You know how much this outfit cost.”

He should know, he’d bought it for her. It could best be described as bondage fairy crossed with Morticia Addams. Predominantly black velvet with a purple satin panel in the front. Her firm breasts exposed almost to the nipple. Laced at the back and tight into the waist. Below the waist, short and more black velvet, cut up each thigh almost to the waist. At its longest not quite reaching her knees. Fishnet stocking and leather ankle boots with scandalously high heals. And, she had a pair of black wings, studded wristbands and collar to complete the look.

The figure beckoned again. “Oh, hell, alright …”. Kate picked up an empty metal tray from the table and raised it above her head. Against her better judgement she walked unsteadily across the wet stone slabs of the path towards the sentinel tree and it’s dark companion.

As she approached the tree seemed to grow in stature, a dark black mass against inky blue clouds. The figure moved toward the tree becoming indistinct as it did so, eventually merging with the great yew’s blackness.

Kate stopped. The din from the rain hitting the metal tray the only sound. Where had he gone? Her breath began to quicken, making her full bosom heave. What was going on. She felt the warmth leave her body, icy tendrils of foreboding slid over her pale skin.

She herd, no felt, someone breath a word almost silently in her ear. Kate turned dropping the tray as she did so. She was confronted by … nothing. Just the welcoming glow of the light from the kitchen. Glancing nervously over her shoulder she walked briskly towards the kitchen door only a few feet away, cursing herself for imagining things. Her chest, now wet from the rain, began to rise and fall more rapidly as the kitchen door seemed to recede with every step she took.

Then she felt it. A hand on her shoulder, rough, firm, holding her back. She raised her arm to shrug the hand away. She was now trying to run towards the door. Something held her leg and she stumbled, falling hard onto the stone path. She cried out, screaming at the unseen assailant to let go of her leg.

She tried to raise her face from the cold, wet stone but was held there by a great weight. She tried to scream for help but the words seemed to disappear as they left her lips, muffled in a stifling grey blanket.

Now helpless she felt fingers, stroking her exposed flesh. Rough skin tracing the curve of her calves through her stockings, her thighs and up under her dress. “No!”, she wanted to cry but the words just fell from her lips and evaporated in the greyness surrounding her. Tears welled up in her eyes as the rough hands approached their goal.

Then as she resigned herself to the imminent violation she felt a warm familiar hand on her shoulder. A soft voice in her ear, “Kate. Kate darling”. She sat up at the kitchen table with a start. Peter jumped back, alarmed at the speed of her awakening.

“Are you OK?”, he asked. “I must have dozed off.”, Kate replied. She stood up and stepped towards him. Her arms slid around his waist and her body pressed him against the Belfast sink in front of the kitchen window, “I had a terrible dream.”. She felt safe, protected and loved in his arms, with her head on his shoulder.

He began to grow hard against her. “I want you.”, she whispered in his ear. He raised his hand to her chin, pushing it up so her blue eyes met his. Her raven hair fell away from her face. “We’ll have to be quick, they’ll be here soon …”.

“No.”, Kate snapped, “Here now.”. Peter was shocked but also wildly turned on by this passionate little fairy commanding him to fuck her. She was unbuttoning his trousers and ripping down his briefs before he had chance to object. Not that he was likely to.

Kate grabbed Peter’s cock and said, “You know what I want.”. She turned on her heals, hitched up her skirt and bent over the sink. Peter needed no second bidding and pulled her tiny purple panties to one side. He slid straight into her with the first thrust and felt himself gripped by her in a way he’d never felt before. Her pussy grasping his cock demanding it’s attention, demanding to be fucked.

Peter felt himself bigger and harder than he had ever felt before, powerful and single minded. With only one purpose, to fill Kate with his seed. He steadily and assuredly brought her to orgasm, once, twice, three times. Her fairy wings wavy in front of him Peter came, and came and came. As he did so he growled, gasped, maybe even cried out, he was so consumed by his orgasm that he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that Kate writhed and bucked underneath him, slowly but with a strength that he didn’t know she possessed. Her body demanded his cum and drew it from him, hungry for every last drop of him. Her hands grasped the sink taps, knuckles white. And she screamed, loud and shrill.

Then it was over, the spell broken. That’s what it had felt like a spell. Peter staggered back and lent on the kitchen table while he regained his senses. Kate’s breathing began to return to normal. As she stood up something caught her eye in the garden as moonlight broke through the rain clouds and reflected off its shiny surface.

Her blood ran cold as she recognised the metal tray.

Dirty & Sleazy

You know I just couldn’t be arsed today, I have no incentive to work myself in to the ground with very little appreciation either verbally or monetarily from my boss. I think I may go on a go slow, I’ve spent too many weeks lately panicking over deadlines and Productivity.

Of late everything seems to be work and no play. Well, things are going to change…at least that is my current state of mind. Lol

To this end I didn’t do much today and tried to talk my way through most of the time with Busty and Horny. Although I didn’t get to find out exactly what happened in that Jacuzi party Horny and her ex went to.

They were discussing where they want to go for their holidays whilst I wondered if we may be able to take a few days away, if our budget allows it. Then I got distracted momentarily as Busty flung off her shawl thing that she has been draped in for days. And what a site she was. Picture the most figure hugging long sleeved, purple t-shirt stretched (and I mean stretched!) over her ample DD boobs.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her and thankful she was otherwise engaged in rearranging her shawl…

Where was I? Yes, talking about holidays. I mentioned that I would love to visit Amsterdam for its wide ranging culture. Both girls smiled and said simultaneously “I bet you would”, giggling. “No, I really would, you can see everything from the finest art courtesy of Rembrandt to a live sex show”.

“It’s not my kind of place”, added Busty. “I think it looks dirty and sleazy, not the destination I would choose”. At this point I became quite indignant but kept a cap on it. I wanted to say that not everyone has the chance to holiday in a four star hotel in Mexico. Which is I believe where she is headed with her vain bf next year.

Not that I don’t like her, far from it but sometimes people can be slightly…puffed up and indignant.

Anyway, what’s wrong with sleazy and dirty. Sounds like fun to me. 😉

Putting The Willies Up You

Another Halloween has descended upon us and it doesn’t seem like two minutes ago since I was giving the neighbourhood kids sweets to avoid their pranks. A few years ago they had a real mischief night around here, when we woke in the morning most of the street had been affected.

There were eggs and flour all over peoples cars, house windows and gardens. It look like carnage in a bakers shop. When they came round we turned out all the lights as we heard the sound of eggs pelting windows. I think we came off lightly, just my care got floured.

So from that night on, we now purchase sweets as an inducement not to create havoc on our doorstep. It’s quite sad really and not at all how it used to be. Money or treats with menaces is not good.

Moving on to more pleasant goings on this month. If you haven’t already joined the Sex Toys Buzz newsletter you better hurry up. Subscription automatically enters you in to the monthly draw where you can win free sex toys, nothing to pay not even the postage to your door.

This month we will be truly putting the willies up you, with 5 x Magma Phoenix’s to win. The only vibrator to heat up and get hard all in one magical action. It’s enchanted and just the thing for those cold Winter nights.

Today is your last chance to enter the draw for this month’s draw, so what are you waiting for ? Get over there and subscribe now. It’s definitely a treat! 😉

Naked Lesbians

Being a blogger you get used to spam comments. Thousands upon thousands of robot-generated comments about drugs, insurance, real estate deals and pornography appear in our spam filters every week. Most are pretty unimaginative. No, all are totally unimaginative, but occasionally you receive one that makes you chuckle.

This week it was one entitled “Naked Lesbians”.

Why do I find that so funny?

Because we have the Internet. Our blog is on the Internet. Your fucking comment, Mr “I’m going to be a multimillionaire by manipulating my Google Rank” is on the bloody Internet.

And if there’s one thing the Internet is good at is giving everyone who wants it access to free porn.

It’s about product differentiation.

You’ve either got to be big, or niche on the Internet these days. Preferably both. So you’re either Heff, Larry Flynt or your site is very specialist – say “Plain Girls In Flairs”, sorry if you’ve never encountered it that’s a quote from the hilarious “Ideal” by Graham Duff.

There are hundreds of thousands of sites out there with Naked Lesbians and nice as some of them are your new one is not adding anything to the online all-you-can-eat buffet that is Internet porn.

Hot Stuff On A Cold Autumn Evening With Suze

Another Halloween has descended upon us and it doesn’t seem like two minutes ago since I was giving the neighbourhood kids sweets to avoid their pranks. A few years ago they had a real mischief night around here, when we woke in the morning most of the street had been affected.

There were eggs and flour all over peoples cars, house windows and gardens. It look like carnage in a bakers shop. When they came round we turned out all the lights as we heard the sound of eggs pelting windows. I think we came off lightly, just my care got floured.

So from that night on, we now purchase sweets as an inducement not to create havoc on our doorstep. It’s quite sad really and not at all how it used to be. Money or treats with menaces is not good.

Moving on to more pleasant goings on this month. If you haven’t already joined the Sex Toys Buzz newsletter you better hurry up. Subscription automatically enters you in to the monthly draw where you can win free sex toys, nothing to pay not even the postage to your door.

This month we will be truly putting the willies up you, with 5 x Magma Phoenix’s to win. The only vibrator to heat up and get hard all in one magical action. It’s enchanted and just the thing for those cold Winter nights.

Today is your last chance to enter the draw for this month’s draw, so what are you waiting for ? Get over there and subscribe now. It’s definitely a treat! 😉

Fucking His Girlfriend

I’ve never thought of myself as a thrill-seeker. I’ve never gravitated towards dangerous sports or deliberately sought out risky situations. At least I used to think that.

Thinking back now I believe I have identified four occasions where I deliberately put myself in risky situations. The common theme is that they all involved women. Two of those were where the respective girl’s father’s didn’t approve, in both instances not because of my reputation – sadly I didn’t have one LOL – but for other less valid reasons.

The other two cases were because the girls I went after were already involved. There may have been more but I don’t remember them. What I do remember was that around the same time as my pursuit of the girl I’m going to write about another girl was absolutely throwing herself at me and I really wasn’t interested. More fool me, because she was a very nice girl. Perhaps I just wasn’t attracted to nice girls.

And that is why I’ve titled this post “Fucking His Girlfriend”. One final thing, I’ve just remembered a third occasion where I went after someone else’s girlfriend … Ooh I’m a bad boy.

It was late summer, early autumn. We were both in the upper sixth and her name was Mandy. Well it is for the purposes of this account. I went to school in a large village. The comprehensive school I attended still felt like a grammar school despite the influx of new and idealistic teachers. It had a large catchment so you tended to mix with girls from villages that you’d never meet otherwise, from villages miles away.

Mandy and I were out after school. We’d been rehearsing for a school production and were walking home together in a round-about way. We enjoyed each other’s company but as friends. I thought that was all she wanted, though I had different ideas. Not surprising, teenage boy, bright, bubbly, friendly girl with a lose perm and nice tits. There’s only one place my mind headed every time I thought about her …

Because I thought she wasn’t interested and knew she was already involved I kept things at a platonic level. Except I hadn’t. It was probably a combination of the lingering looks I kept giving her the pregnant pauses that seemed to become increasingly apparent in our conversations as things were left unsaid and the occasional joking sexual remarks I made that made it plain to her I was horny as hell for her.

It happened when we were sitting on the dry stone wall behind the church. She caught me staring at her and for once I didn’t pretend I hadn’t been. I kept looking at her grey eyes. She put her hand on top of mine and leant forward, eyes shut, lips expectant. It was very, very innocent.

I hesitated. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she was already with someone, she had never been interested in me. Yes I admit it I was naïve she had been thinking about me for a long time but not likely to deliberately two-time her boyfriend. Quite how long she had thought about me or how much she had wanted me I never found out because despite of what happened next we never talked about it. And until this post the only person I ever told about it was Suze.

The kiss told me all I needed to know about her feelings. We slid off the wall and hidden from view got involved in a long and grope-filled clinch. She didn’t mind my wandering hands, in fact she seemed to welcome them. Maybe it was the waiting that made both of us abandon caution.

Before I knew it she was struggling to sit up and removed her bra, which she did in that magic, without talking her sweater off sort of way that men find so amazing. She slid it out of the left arm of her grey pullover and dropped it on the ground. She lay back down beside me where I resumed my fondling of her breast, unhindered.

Her nipples where hard, almost as hard as my cock. She held it through the black denim of my jeans, gently rubbing, her nails scrapping against the fabric.

Her fingers started to scrabble at the button on my waistband. I helped her out, it was after all the gentlemanly thing to do. Then, in a very un-ladylike fashion she yanked at my trousers and underwear until they were round my ankles.

“Please screw me.” She asked. I smiled, not at the thought of the totally unexpected and much longed-for shag, but the fact she referred to it as screwing. She always did refer to sex as screwing, not sex, or shagging, or fucking. Screwing.

I helped her peel back her tight blue jeans and pink panties. She removed them both completely. Then she straddled me. She rubbed herself along the length of my cock, not to arouse me but in an effort to guide me into her pussy. I was incredibly aroused, but inexperience on both our parts meant the angle was wrong and she had to reach down and guide me inside her.

Mandy bounced up and down for a few minutes, enjoying my hands cupping and squeezing her breasts under her sweater. We both wanted to feel me fucking her, that was obvious, glorious though it was with her riding my cock, curly hair catching the late afternoon sunshine. We both needed to feel me fucking her.

We rolled over, managing to keep my cock inside her, just. The screwing began in earnest. Until I started to think about this I had forgotten how innocent it was. Almost devoid of technique but full of enthusiasm I pumped away, encouraged by the appreciative moans and squeals she emitted. I remember her hair spread behind her head on the grass, eyes closed, mouth open.

I felt her pussy tighten on me and simultaneously become suddenly wet. Her moans got louder, had I not been approaching orgasm myself I would have probably worried about someone hearing us. But I was cumming and did so with a sense of such immense satisfaction that I was probably grinning from ear to ear as I rolled onto the grass beside her.

About a week later I was stopped in the street by three guys, all around my age. They blocked my way on the pavement and made it plain they had something to tell me. I can’t remember the words they used but the meaning was “Stay away from Mandy. Or else!”. She had obviously hadn’t told her boyfriend exactly what had happened, but must have mentioned me a little too often. I brushed them off with a “Yeah whatever” type of attitude, which seemed to disarm the situation more than perhaps a flat denial of any wrong-doing would have done.

Looking back it could have gone a lot worse, or maybe a lot better. I wonder what she’s doing now?

Public Sex, Cottaging And Dogging

Deputy Chief Constable Michael Cunningham from Lancashire Police has released new draught guidelines’ recommending that the police must only arrest people having sex in parks and public toilets as a last resort.

Mr Cunningham believes that officers should not take on the role as “moral arbiter” and turn a blind eye on dogging and cottaging between consulting adults. And that they should study specialist sex websites for an insight in to what is happening in the local parks, car parks and public toilets. I may have to retrain for the police force. 😉
He said that officers should respond to complaints in context and avoid “knee jerk” reactions as they alienated the gay community. Mr Cunningham went on to say “In any event it is not for the police to take the role of moral arbiter, the police role is to ensure that any complaints are dealt with fairly and professionally and that where individuals are engaged in lawful activity they may do so safely.”
It was suggested that “Officers must consider other measure, such as closing the area, putting up lighting”, and I thought this was the best suggestion…”Or CCTV”. They would then be able to televise the action on pay per view and raise some badly needed police funds. Sorry, I couldn’t resist that.
If you want to read the full story it’s here.

Watching Him Fuck The Babysitter

AlexSuze.comWhen I was about 10 years old we lived next door to a family that we all got along with. They had a son of my own age and his younger brother. I think he was about 5 at the time. I used to spend hours of my time in the company of the older boy, who I’ll call Mike for the purpose of this story.

He was a tall thin, rather athletic blonde guy. Not typically my type, if I had one at that early stage of my life. I seem to remember he irritated the hell out of me with his keen interest in football. It seemed that I came second to the “beautiful game”. Even at that tender age it’s annoying when you want to kiss and cuddle and the guy just wants to watch football on television.

I was a little like a footballer’s wife. LOL. It got to the point where I even played football with the lads just so that I could see more of him. Ah, I hear you say. I remember being quite randy even at that age. Although we did no more than let each other have a look and the odd grope.

He had a keen interest in my pussy but I wanted him to play with my immature buds. Although small with inverted nipples my tiny breasts liked attention. We spent many a summer’s day investigating one another but although sexual in nature these events were very innocent. If that isn’t an oxymoron. Perhaps due to the lack of knowledge and understanding of my own sexuality.

I recall I used to have periods of feeling randy but not quite able to do much about it. Yes, I knew the ultimate pleasure was to have a hard cock inside me. I’d had the talk and there was no mention of birds and bees or trains and tunnels. Mine was complete with full anatomical terminology. So, no room for confusion.

Anyway back to the story. Our parents would go out together at the weekend and leave us some money to buy our tea from, you guessed it, the chip shop. Being kids we more often than not didn’t visit the chip shop at all. All of us possessed a sweet tooth. So we would go to the local store and spend all our money on sweets, cakes and anything that took our eye.

In actual fact this was a good math lesson for us, as we picked up the tasty treats we would work out how much we had left to put towards the next goodie. It’s strange we would do this nearly every week but the local shop keeper never spilled the beans about our unhealthy purchases. Maybe he had shares in the local dentist’s practice. LOL.

We would get back just before the minder arrived and hide our stash. The minder who I will refer to as Penny was always late showing up. She was a little bossy but we didn’t get to see much of her (you’ll find out way later. Don’t be so impatient. 🙂 ) so we didn’t mind. As kids by comparison to today’s youngsters we were pretty well behaved and quite mature in attitude.

Penny made herself a coffee, then came the predictable knock on the door. She opened the door to see her latest screw stood on the doorstep. This particular “guest” stood out, for once he wasn’t rough looking. Most of the guys she courted were quite frankly, minging. This one was tall with brown hair and as I recall nice smiling eyes. She invited him in for a coffee. I can hear you all saying “Yeh, like that’s all he’ll be getting”. Well, you’re right.

No sooner had he got the coffee mug in his hands than Penny was saying “You will be alright If we just go upstairs for a bit?” We were familiar with the routine by now. She would disappear upstairs for most of the evening. Occasional strange sounds making there way downstairs. We didn’t care, it gave us the privacy to eat our “tea” without the risk of discovery.

Unbeknown to us, Penny was renowned for being the local bike. If you are not familiar with this terminology, it means she let anyone ride her. It’s kind of strange how you find things out in later life. I also nearly dropped myself right in it once. I had never met any of Penny’s family but at a party talked at length to her younger sister. I didn’t know at the time, I was just about to say, “yes, I do know her, she’s a right bike”, when a friend pointed out rather hastily that this was her sister Mary. Phew, how close was that?

On this particular Friday, I don’t know why, I decided to creep upstairs and take a look at what they were up to. Probably because for once she had asked a good looking guy round. Whatever the reason, I just wanted to be a voyeur. No, not quite a voyeur, I was curious as to what they were doing although I suspected it may involve sex.

Carefully I climbed the stairs, I knew where all the creaky ones were and avoided them. Both Mike and his brother were occupied eating the rest of our goodies. As I approached the landing I noticed they hadn’t quite closed the door to. I put my eye to the crack in the door and began to scan the room. It was quite gloomy, with just a table lamp for illumination in the corner on a bedside table.

There was enough light to make out the bed, which fortunately was clearly visible through the crack, I just needed a more panoramic view. I gently pushed the door opening the crack just enough to have an unobstructed view. My breath became quite fast and deep with the excitement of what greeted my eyes on the other side of the door. He was kneeling naked except for his t-shirt on the bed and she was laying with her back towards the door completely naked. Her head was moving backwards and forwards in front of his groin. The penny (get it Penny. LOL) then dropped, she was sucking his cock.

Penny was not an unattractive girl, not stunning but about 5′ 6″ and curvaceous with a rather ample bosom. It must have been an arousing image for me, I stood there and felt warm and excited but naughty at the same time. Which probably heightened the whole experience for me. Penny was bobbing her head up and down on his cock, accompanied by his groans and her deep throated hmm’s.

This was my first voyeuristic experience, I knew it was wrong but I liked it. I stood in perfect silence except for my breathing, which I tried hard to control. It was very difficult because I was obviously getting extremely turned on by this sexual act. I had never seen a woman sucking a guy’s cock before. I had yet to discover pornographic mags.

The guy said something to Penny, I couldn’t tell exactly what because Mike and his brother were making too much noise. Then she manoeuvred herself on to all fours, with her ass pointing towards him. I watched as he pushed his big fat hairy cock (he had a thick bush of brown pubes around the base of his cock. I had never seen a hairy one before.) in to Penny’s pussy. She let out a loud moan followed by “Yes”.

He began to slap up against her ass with each stroke and I thought I was going to burst as my heart nearly beat out of my chest. To say I was really getting turned on was an understatement. Just as things were beginning to hot up I nearly got caught in the act too. Mike appeared at the bottom of the stairs and I just managed to catch his attention before he shouted after me.

I reluctantly made my way downstairs and he enquired, “what have you been doing?” Do I tell him or not? What would you have done?

Tags: voyeurism

Heels, Hot Tubs And A Bit Of Swinging?

For the first time in ages we all had a chance for a quick chat today at work. The boss was away and you know the rest… Horny doesn’t tend to open up much about her private life past or present but today she wanted to take us in to her confidence and talk about her abusive marriage.

I knew she had been married although she never really talks about him or the relationship. Today was different we were all chatting about previous boyfriends and situations. She divulged that he had been cheating on her with another woman and found out because the other woman’s husband called her.

They both decided to meet up and catch the pair of them together. This culminated in them going to a nightclub and discovering them in a booth together. Now horny isn’t a violent woman, in fact she it totally the opposite but apparently she punched the woman and was escorted off the premises.

Busty and I were quite astonished when we heard the story but as if telepathically joined we both started to applaud her for her forthright action. Then we all giggled.

Horny then admitted despite his obvious weakness for other women they did have a good relationship. She started to tell us that they once went to a hot tub party. She wore a skimpy red bikini and black stilettos to walk down the garden path.

We were intrigued as the tale unfurled and I was waiting for the naughty detail.

“Hot tub eh…” I remarked. “Tell me more”.
“I’ve got the pictures somewhere I’ll have to bring them to work”, she offered.
“Do you have the DVD too”, I added with a giggle

Everyone fell about laughing. Then the telephone rang and the story was cut short. That bloody phone rings every time we start to talk about anything a bit spicy.

So tomorrow I will be attempting to restart that conversation and find out what happened. I’m starting to think that Horny is a bit of a dark horse. 😉

The Sexual Lens Reflex

He could see the outline of her body through the thin cotton of her short dress, cast into silhouette by the bright summer sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows of his studio.

Click, zip went the Nikon, its motor wind and 100 frame spool capturing a 125th of a second of photons through an f16 aperture onto Ilford Pan-F.

“Which one’s yours she asked?” throwing another pose for his hungry lens.

Click zip, the camera’s mirror rose and fell, shutter curtains raced in front of a silver emulsion to fix the image of her erect nipples and exquisitely shaped breast, subtle hidden beneath the gossamer fabric.

“The white Lancia.”

“Oh.” She sounded under-whelmed.

Click, click.

“It’s an Integrale.” He felt a little deflated.

“OK” She turned to face him, legs apart, hands on her hips, her mouth curling into a snarl just for his optics.

Click, click click.

Yes he wanted to fuck her. She was feisty, intelligent, with a damn fine body and a pair of tits that would keep you occupied all night. But she didn’t appreciate his car!

At the end of the shoot he dropped the rolls of film into his bag and waited for her to get dressed. Like most of the models she didn’t bother with the screens, just go naked there in front of him. He watched her without disguising his appreciative stares. She was performing for him, he was sure of it.

They hadn’t got along and they weren’t going to end up in bed together, they both knew that, but it didn’t matter. He sat down in a chair and drank his cold coffee. He enjoyed watching her bending down to pick up her blouse, her pussy peeking between her tanned thighs, and she enjoyed presenting the plump lips, covered in carefully trimmed pubic hair.

He couldn’t work out if he liked her breasts better exposed or partially concealed. He decided the latter, her semi-obscured boobs, glimpsed between the half-open blouse made his throat dry.

She had her knickers on now, a white g-string. She stopped and looked at him, his eyes scanning her body. “Do I do it for you?”

“Yes.” His hand shifted, nervously covering a bulge in his jeans.

“Don’t be shy. I like being watched.” She smiled, then with a practiced ease licked her cherry red lips. “I like to watch too. Can I see?” her eyes stared at his crotch.


“Get it out for me then. I want to see what I do to you.”

There was a moment, a second or two where the whole world pivoted around his next move. Should he tell her to go home, or, or …

He unbuckled his belt and slid the jeans to his knees along with his white boxers.

His cock throbbed its appreciation at the semi-clad model, balls tightening, ready for whatever was to come.

“Don’t get any ideas about fucking me, you’re cute but you’re not my type.” She knelt on the floor a couple of metres in front of him, raised her knees, spread her legs and pulled the g-string to one side. She revealed a glistening pussy, which she then spread with her fingers.

“Now wank for me while I frig for you.” She said huskily.

He sat mute and held his cock motionless. She tossed her hair back and let her mouth open, drawing slow deep breaths. Her fingers slid between the folds of her pussy, one moment rubbing her clitoris, pulling back its hood, the next delving inside her.

He felt the urge to pump his cock with his hand, the precum he was exuding augmented with his own saliva to lubricate his foreskin. The comforting tightening of his balls encouraged him into a slow, languorous rhythm. The spectacle of the model becoming increasingly aroused bringing him closer to the edge.

She was pushing her fingers deeper inside her now, trying and failing to push four fingers inside herself. She settled on drawing the fluid that was flowing freely from within her pussy across her clitoris and rubbing herself to a hip-bucking climax that had her shrieking.

Through a blurry post-orgasmic haze she had the presence of mind to watch him reacting to her climax. His hand quickened and concentrated on short, swift strokes at the head of his cock. His eyes rolled and she held her breath until his hand slid all the way to the base of his cock, once, twice, three, four times, each stroke accompanied by a spurt of viscous cum.

They watched each other for maybe ten minutes before they stirred to clean up and leave.

At the door she gave him a peck on the cheek and with an expert wiggle of her hips bid him farewell. How many times would he wank over the pictures he now had of her? And how often would she imagine him doing just that while she frigged herself senseless with her favourite dildo?

Uncensored – The Most Explicit Music Video Ever

Duran Duran’s “Girls On Film” was never like this. In the early eighties you would have seen Mary Whitehouse of the UK’s viewers and listeners association screeching her condemnation of the video above. In all honesty it’s not exactly subtle, a pleasure to watch, but not subtle.

It did make me rather nostalgic for real 35mm film cameras though. I’ve got one packed away in my old camera bag. It’s a Yashica FXD, a little worn but filled with memories.

Film’s different from digital photography. It’s less immediate, but more personal. I take thousands of images with my digital cameras, and discard many of them, because they cost virtually nothing to produce. With film there’s the cost of processing and printing to consider. So even though I used to process and print most of my own photographs my shots were perhaps more considered.

The camera theme got me inspired to write a story. More of which coming up :o)

Exploring Every Hole

It’s impossible to write about an aspect of sex in anything but a purely academic way unless you’ve experienced it. But that doesn’t stop some people trying.

I was commenting on Mistress Milliscent’s blog when I first started thinking about this. She’s a woman who very much understands herself and her own sexuality. That is surprisingly rare considering the supposedly enlightened times we live in. Despite all the information that’s available on the Internet and the increasingly liberal attitudes of the public most people have never ventured beyond what has always been regarded as “normal” sexual practices.

It’s still difficult to come out if you’re gay. BDSM and D/s relationships are seen as at best odd and at worst deviant. This forces people to make a choice; Either try exploration and risk possible ridicule and discrimination or play it safe and ignore you inquisitiveness about “other” forms of sexuality.

We have boundaries in our sex , they are defined by what we want to experience, not what anyone else thinks we should or should not try. What we write comes from personal experience, giving an authenticity to our writing that I like to think is obvious when you read it. That applies to everything we write from the sex (when, where, how and what have you) to details like my recent two-part story “Letting Her Squeeze It” here  and here.

The description of smoking is from personal experience. I used to smoke, I remember the paraphernalia associated with the habit, the hit of the nicotine, the effect of tar on my lungs, the deeper timbre of my voice and the hacking cough it gave me in the mornings. You don’t get that from watching other people, or hearing about it second hand.

The photography references in the story that I’ve posted for this evening are from personal experience too … as is the experience of watching someone masturbate in front of me while I jerked off.

Keeping Those Boobies Warm

Bloody hell, what happened to the weather! Only a few days ago the sun was shining and it looked as if we were in for a bit of an Indian Summer. How wrong can you be. This morning the car was covered in frost and it made my nipples stand out like chapel hat pegs. Lol

So along with the cold snap comes the big cover up. No more skirts and t-shirts, trousers and jumpers take their place. Today I wore a red v-neck jumper and black trousers with short boots underneath.

Cold weather brings out the nipples and to counteract that I usually wear a padded bra, my little nubs can still be seen pushing through the fabric but they aren’t quite as obvious. And it helps keep you warm.

The down side to the change in the weather is that Busty has taken to wearing a large black woolly wrap in the office. This completely conceals her ample cleavage from view. She is wrapped up in what can only be described as black swaddling cloth all day. 🙁

Not very sexy. I thought the office was fairly warm today but obviously not hot enough for her. My mission this week is to find where the thermostat is secreted and turn it up. Ogling her was the only thing that got me through a stressful week at work and now I can’t even do that.

And to top the lot there is no eye candy at the greasy spoon I go to at lunchtime. The last woman or should I say bride of Wildenstein was nowhere in site this week. Instead they have a young lad who I think is the proprietor’s son. Don’t even go there…he is a little bit thick and not at all my type.

I’m getting the feeling this Winter is going to be a long one.

Deep Throat The Director’s Last Cut

Gerard DamianoGerard Damiano was once a hairdresser but came to produce some of the most well known porn films ever committed to celluloid. The 47 titles he was involved in included “The Devil in Miss Jones,” “The Satisfiers of Alpha Blue” , “Never so Deep.” And “Deep Throat” staring the legendary Linda Lovelace.

Damiano allegedly wrote Deep Throat especially for Lovelace. It was shot in only 6 days, yet has endured for decades. He put his success at directing down to being a “nice man”, which he regarded as an essential when you’re asking women to do “nasty things”.

Gerard died at the weekend after suffering complications following a stroke. The final cut by the great editor in the sky leaves the world without one of the few truly legendary names in adult film, one less recognisable personality in an increasingly amorphous industry.

Gerard Damiano 1928 – 2008

Made To Measure Masturbation

This post was inspired by an email I received yesterday evening. It was from a young lady asking my advice on sex toys I had tested. I’m always happy to impart my knowledge of the products I test and whenever possible offer advice.

She said she had tried the Rock Chick and found that the toy was too big for her because she was quite petite. Also that the rigid construction of the toy would not allow her the flexibility to make it fit better. When the clit stimulator was in the correct position the g-spot end would be somewhere behind her ass.

It then occurred to me that these toys are very often non-adaptable and the “one size fits all” approach doesn’t work for small ladies. I never had to worry about it being 5’7″ but I have tried the occasional toy which didn’t fit me anatomically either.

For her my advice was that she tries the G Rock which is more pliable and gives the same g-spot and clit stimulation or the We-Vibe which she can wear and share with her partner as long as they remember to use lots of lube to avoid him grazing his cock.

Perhaps the adult toy manufacturers could take in to account the different proportions girls have and make a small, medium and large in some of these double stimulation sex toys.

If we don’t openly discuss these issues then how are the toy manufacturers ever going to know that we have suggestions to improve their product lines. I’m always happy to help with advice when I can, you can find my email on the sidebar if you want to approach me privately or leave a comment on this post.

Bad Sex For All

AlexSuze.comI was mooching around the Web and thought I’d look into the history of the condom. Nothing too deep just a quick skim of the top few search results.

I term the history of the prophylactic as cyclical because it was initially meant to protect the wearer from disease. Later it became a barrier against infection and a means of birth control. And in latter years with the increase in the diversity of contraceptive methods and the spread of HIV/AIDS it has returned primarily for many people to its prophylactic role.

With the advent of HIV/AIDS in particular and a steady increase in other STIs the condom should be more widely used than ever. However objections to condoms on religious or moral grounds is preventing this. The Comstock Law of 1873 typifies the stupidity of this attitude to condoms. In a life filled with dictatorial moralising the law is the summit of brainless conservatism.

Attempting to prevent the use of condoms to stop people from having what some might consider “the wrong kind of sex” is never going to work. If someone is going have sex not being protected means they’ll simply be at higher risk of disease or unwanted pregnancy.

No not an in-depth look at condoms and their history, there’s plenty of material on that subject on the Web. Just a few random thoughts …

Terrence Higgins Trust

Tags: history of the condom, Anthony Comstock, Comstock law, contraception HIV, AIDS, STI

Fucking Over The Photocopier Paper

It’s been a month since he sat in the room with his stern-faced boss and the prissy little spinster from HR. Both staring at him disapprovingly across the desk. He’d been found out. Not because he was any more of an offender than his colleagues, but because they were a little younger than he was. A little more technically savvy. “Browsing History”, what was that then.

It was a small firm, they didn’t monitor Internet access, but the boss knew how to click the “History” button on a browser and so Ted’s fate was sealed. Apparently he should have been setting an example to his younger colleagues, he felt like pointing out that his younger colleagues were running their own eBay businesses in company time, but thought better of it.

Now sitting in his car on his way home from spending the day in the library he wished he had. Little bastards. He spent a few a few minutes a day perusing a few porn sites. Whereas that little fresh-out-of-school shit Kevin bought and sold who knew what on the auction sites all day.

Ted’s key slid into the lock and opened the door onto his knew guilty little web of deceit. How could he tell Margaret that he’d lost his job at 56? Even worse why he was dismissed? The money wouldn’t last forever, He’d have to tell her soon.

He only got chance to peruse his favourite sites on a Friday now, when she went out with their daughter to the bingo. That was why he’d been browsing at work, so Margaret wouldn’t discover his growing addiction to pictures of half naked women in stockings and tight business suits. And they were women, mature women, he didn’t regard himself as a pervert lusting after “Barely Legal Teens”.

He settled down in front of the PC in his dressing gown and submerged himself in his alternate reality.

He found the site by chance, a click from a link, from a random site. For a moment he thought it was her, the spinster from HR. It wasn’t, but it so easily could have been, right age, right hairstyle, right disapproving look.

He started to get hard at the thought of her. Spinster she was, but old maid she wasn’t. About 47, hair always plaited, nice curvy figure and a chest that promised much more than a handful when released from her bra. He knew she wore stockings too, he found her adjusting them in the stationary store once.

He thought about it now, mind alternately switching from the images of the increasingly undressed model on his screen and the brief, awkward encounter of six month’s previously. She’d had her skirt hitched up, stocking top and full, milky thigh exposed. Classic pin-up girl shot. She wasn’t Betty Page, but she was there, a few feet in front of him.

Sliding doors, if things had been a little different.

He closed the door and slipped his key into the lock, the tumblers rolled and sealed them into their unfolding scene. She looked at him skirt still high on her hips, chest beginning to rise and fall. A heaving bosom, ripe and full.

He feels himself swell against the fabric of his business suit, clichéd but classic, the juxtaposition of the respectable and the sordid, the clean cut and the dirty thoughts.

She licks her lips, wetting them slightly, they seem fuller in the glow of the single, yellowed, dusty bulb. She leans back against the shelving, a box of ballpoint pens overturns, several of them fall to the floor.

Ted stands in front of her, an inch away from her swelling chest. Looking down he can see her lacy white bra down her blouse. She’s opened more buttons than usual, did she plan this? Maybe, she doesn’t push him away, or object.

“Ted”, she says, haltingly “What are you looking at?”

“Your tits …” He realises he can’t remember her first name ” … Miss Heath.” And somehow addressing her like this makes him feel hotter. She’s more taboo, more dangerous. The hard cock in his trousers needs to be released now, but he wants her to do it. He hints by pressing it against her stomach.

Without taking her eyes from his she reaches down and unzips him. Her hand reaches inside to find the hot swollen cock that longs to be touched by her oh so prim and proper fingers. Her hand eases him from his trousers and holds him firmly. Her mouth forms an “O” of surprise, as if she didn’t expect to find a hot, hard rod of flesh in his pants.

The sensation of his skin being drawn back to expose an already moist head makes him draw a short breath and smile.

His hands grasp at her ample breast through blouse and bra making her moan appreciatively. Then he fumbles open the buttons to gain better access. Joy of joys it’s a front-loader! Her tits spill out into his waiting hands, full but not as saggy as Margaret’s, dark nipples erect and appreciative. Definitely not like Margaret’s.

He toys with them for a while as the owner of the magnificent chest slides the skin of his cock back and forth. Then he’s ready to take her, she’s ready too and leans over the boxes of photocopier paper, hitching up her skirt.

His hands pull her pants down to her knees, With satisfaction he notes that their crotch is wet with her pussy juice. He plants himself in her, gliding into her with a satisfying friction. She moans, “Oh, oh” and becomes more appreciative with every stroke. He can feel the glow rising in his groin the familiar and welcome precursor to release.

The rushing, pumping flood of hot semen follows within seconds. She welcomes it with “Oh yes Ted, I’m coming,” as thanks for his sticky gift.

Then he’s back in front of his computer, cock in hand, covered in his own issue. The model has a but plug in her ass now and is toying with the idea of inserting a huge dildo. Not Miss Heath, she’d never consider such behaviour.

Well, maybe next time.