Monthly Archives: February 2010

Sex And Smoking

Smoking is something that is becoming less and less socially acceptable. The introduction of the smoking ban in every enclosed space in Britain except private dwellings has changed the behaviour of whole swathes of society. Not only do smokers now have to make their way to designated smoking areas to get their nicotine hit, but non-smokers now frequent places that they would have previously avoided since smokers have been forced to go elsewhere.

Whether you think the ban is a good or bad thing one fact that can’t be denied is that it polarises people. Much in the same way that smoking polarises people when it comes to sex. Some people find smoking sexy, some even have a genuine fetish for it capnolagnia no less! However, particularly  if you’re a non-smoker you may think of smoking as anything from mildly off-putting when factoring it into the sexual attraction equation to a complete turn-off.

The decline in the number of smokers has I think lead to a general lowering in the tolerance of smoking partners by non-smokers. I have been  a non-smoker, smoker and ex-smoker throughout my adult life. I can say with honesty that I have at times been mildly distracted by a partner smoking, tolerant of it and hugely conscious of the habit in partners.

Even as a smoker one thing I could never say was that I found smoking itself attractive. But each to their own when it comes to sexual turn-ons at least.

Eau De Cunt ;)

I’ve started going back to gym this week in earnest.  I’d just started to get going with it again when Alex’s car died and he had to use mine but I’m now back on the road and raring to go.

Mid morning is the best time to go because the pre work guys have gone and the only people in there are the older generation, housewives and young girls who are probably at college.

I’m working myself back in to it slowly, usually starting with rowing.  I love the rowing machines but unfortunately so do the guys.  The smelly guys who don’t know what antiperspirant is.  Enough said.  There I was getting in to my stride when a middle aged guy gets on the machine next to me.  Within seconds of him pulling away his aroma was filling the air.

It wasn’t pleasant and I was stuck there trying to finish my time and choking at the same time.  That’s the thing about using the equipment, once you start you have to finish and you can’t get out of the way of the smelly people.  I always make sure I smell sweet from top to bottom before I go.  😉

Next time I go I’ll have to take one of those solid air fresheners.  lol

Screaming Orgasms

It often occurs to me that I cannot come quietly. I’ve tried, believe me but the more I stifle my moans the less “natural” it makes the moment. It’s nothing new, I have been this way all my life. Perhaps it goes along with my personality, I like to be open and honest, it’s who I am.

To me being quiet and not expressing myself vocal during sex is like not being true to myself. Does that make sense. To be quiet would be…well, acting.

There are times when I have to force my head in to the pillow to stifle my cries of pleasure. For example when little nephew stays over. It’s bad enough coming down from an orgasm with the cat sitting next to you on the bed looking bewildered, let alone a small child standing by the bed. No, thanks. Best to be quiet or at least try. Lol

And when I am alone in the bedroom masturbating with any of my toys I still find that I cannot stifle my cries of joy, even though there is only me in the room. It has to be an involuntary reaction to pleasure, much like blinking is. I don’t think about the noises I make and some of them may sound strange, guttural, emotion conveyed through sound.

Expressing my satisfaction and pleasure via sound bytes is part of me. However verbalisation is a different thing altogether. I find this difficult to come natural. The reason being that I become self aware. Too many times have I heard the lines bounce around my head. You know the ones. The cliché lines that allegedly you should come out with at the appropriate moment.

This has all conspired to make me self conscious. I’ve said this before. There are certain lines that I just cannot say, despite the fact that they may be appropriate and indeed add to the experience for me and my partner.

I just feel slightly uncomfortable saying them. This limits my sexual dictionary. I tend to just use the minimum of words like, “fuck me”, “yes”, “harder” and “I’m coming”.

How about you. Do you feel comfortable having dialogue during sex?

Suze, Sex And Cars

In my younger years most of my “courting” (as they called it in England) had to take place in the car. It was the only safe retreat for you and your partner to get a little hot under the collar. When parents were around holding hands and a quick kiss was the limit, there was no hanky panky.

If you were fortunate to have fairly liberal minded parents your guy may get to stay overnight. Not in your bedroom though, he was usually relegated to sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa downstairs with a duvet for company.

I had a couple of guys sleep over during my younger years. Trying to get down the stairs to meet up with them in the middle of the night was impossible. Did parent’s tamper with the stair treads to make them squeak? I actually tried to map the safe ones in my head but when I tried to execute my plan “squeak” went the tread. I would then have to retreat in case one of my parents was sleeping with one eye open.

When I became old enough to go out drinking I would often consume a little too much alcohol. I would creep quietly (at least I thought so in my drunken state) up the stairs and climb in to bed. Shortly after lying down it would start. The bed would become a spinning fairground ride, getting faster and faster. Until, you guessed it, I needed to throw up. It’s no fun trying to throw up quietly. Come to think of it, it’s no fun throwing up at all. Trying to creep in to bed afterwards was a nightmare. I swear every floorboard on the upper floor creaked.

So, in order to get a little privacy it was best to take a ride in his car (If your boyfriend could afford to buy one or borrow one) to a secluded spot. More often than not this resulted in a trip in to the countryside. Usually a car park. Some were quite famous for being used as a lover’s retreats.

On one such cold winter evening both me and Mr X drove out to a well know country car park and pulled up at the far end. There were a couple of cars already in parked up with their steamed up windows, we drove past them. This particular evening was so cold that we needed to snuggle under a warm blanket Mr X had been thoughtful enough to bring with him.

We both pushed our seats back as far as they would go and reclined the backs slightly, to make more room for manoeuvre. Things started off quite slowly with him leaning in to kiss me. Then we picked up tempo and started to unbutton each other. Mr X’s cock was a little restricted or at least that’s what he said as he pulled it free from his flies.

I wasn’t going to complain as I leaned over the handbrake to take him in my mouth. Fornicating in that car was so uncomfortable, something was always digging in to you (no I’m not talking about cock). You also had to be very supple to get in to some of the positions required to promote your love life. I’m not sure how I’d fair now.

We slipped out of our lower clothing, me just in a jumper and him in a sweatshirt. I climbed over the handbrake and straggled his legs, kneeling on either side of them. Mr X pulled the blanket around the both of us and we bravely removed our tops. Then we began to kiss deeply. I recall my hard nipples pressing in to his naked chest.

He pushed a couple of fingers inside me to prepare me for his cock. Yes, we didn’t hang around in those days, it was too cold. I reached between my legs and took hold of his erection (he was very ample). I’ve always been lucky like that. 😉

He finger fucked me whilst pushing his tongue deep in to my mouth and I wanked his cock for all it was worth. When he was hard as a rock I raised myself up and turned around. The easiest way to fuck was with me sitting looking out the windscreen, my feet in the footwell and hands on the wheel to aid my “cock bobbing”. He slid inside me and I did my usual slow grind with my pussy. Then I began to bounce down on his groin no longer able to contain my lust. It was a very squeaky car and with each motion the car groaned.

It got quite hot in there and after a while the windows would fully steam up. Which was good from a privacy point of view. Although no doubt the rest of the “lovers” could hear every moan. I continued to bounce up and down on his lap. The car was rocking in time and I was moaning quite loudly as he began to thrust upward giving me even more of his length.

It was at that moment that I thought I heard a tap. Yes, there it was again. Someone was tapping on the driver’s side window. Embarrassment enraptured both of us. What the fuck should we do? We had been caught in the act stark bollock naked, in a countryside car park after midnight. Was this the police? Oh shit?

Mr X wound down his window (yes, he didn’t have the electric windows back then). “Sorry to trouble you. Could you give us a push? We are stuck in some mud”. Came the guy’s voice. Both Mr X and myself let out a loud sigh of relief. I had all sorts of visions going through my mind. It’s amazing what you can cook up in just a few moments. We had been exposed (rather good choice of words I thought) by the local press for having sex in the countryside and my parents had totally disowned me.

We both laughed with relief, Mr X replied, “Just give us a moment and we’ll be over”. That was the last time we ever visited that particular lovers haunt. I don’t know why, the chance of that ever happening again was almost impossible. Wasn’t it?

Sex On Your Phone …

… But not if Apple have anything to do with it. Phone sex is nothing new, but adult apps on your phone are still at the early stages of development. The lovely people at Apple have proved once again that they want to make sure that you can’t get adult apps for the iPhone … Unless they say so.

So, what are the rules about adult apps on the app store? If I were being charitable I would say that it would appear that nobody knows and the banning of adult apps is totally arbitrary. If I were being cynical I would see the fact that Playboy can still sell their apps on the app store, whereas smaller players without such expensive lawyers and high profiles will have their apps removed.

Apple need to get their shit together if they are not to be seen as, one of those quoted in this story puts it, “puritans”.

Apple likes to think people view it as Jim Henson productions, colourful, full of joy, popular and family friendly. Maybe that’s why they don’t have an adult section in the app store with proper parental controls, maybe they just think that in the happy make believe world of Apple there are no adult apps and nobody consumes porn on their mobile device? Well you could say that, but if that’s the case and poor naïve Apple have just found out that people do like to look at rude naughtiness on their phones why have they let Playboy carry on purveying its apps?

Whatever your view on this particular news story Apple have cocked up. Those users and producers of apps who want adult have just been thoroughly pissed off and the anti-adult lobby are left with the most recognisable name in porn still able to sell its wares.

When SEXting Goes Too Far

When the story of the page 3 girl Rhian Sugden and Vernon Kay first broke I was sceptical as to who broke the story and if there was any truth in the story.  For those of you not reading the UK press, Vernon Kay model now turned television presenter has been linked to Rhian Sugden a topless model for sending her naughty texts.

Vernon is married to the beautiful Tess Daley who also presents on television, she most recently covered Strictly Ballroom.  Just to give our non UK readers the background to this.

I believe that Vernon was probably a little foolish to send her texts and a little naïve if he thought the story wouldn’t end up in the press.  This model is desperate for the coverage and so is The Sun who just happen to have broken it.

This may make titillating reading but could kill Vernon and Tess’ marriage and for what.  A bit of fun with a girl who is 14 years his junior.  I’m more inclined to think this was a bit of boyish fun which has been used to further the career of this young model.

See what you think, you can read the full story here

Fuck Till He Drops

All of us girls have encountered the post fuck lethargy that overcomes our male partner.  Although I must say that I’ve never had my guy fall asleep on me, well perhaps once or twice when it has been really late.  Lol

But it’s true guys do tend to become post shag soperiphic.  We girls feel chilled and de-stressed, sated and happy after a good session.  It’s a bit of a passion killer to turn around and find your partner is putting out the Zs, especially if you are ready to carry on and perhaps repeat the action.

Well there is no need to feel either disappointed or rejected the next time your man falls asleep post sex because it is perfectly normal.  It’s a physiological reaction to him climaxing.  The brain releases a cocktail of drugs including oxytocin which links to a pleasurable sense of relaxation and prolactin which is responsible for sleep.

You can read more about this phenomenon here.

Sexy In A New Skin

I’ve spiced up the Sex Toys Buzz members area. We’ve had so many new subscribers to the newsletter recently I thought I had better give it a spring clean. I think it’s a lot tidier than the old version and the colours are more attractive.

You can become a subscriber to the newsletter here – all subscribers are automatically entered into our sex toy giveaways. Each month a sponsor gives a lucky winner a naughty adult prize. If you’re not already a member sign up now!

Getting the Boys To Jack Off In Class For You

I don’t know how true this is because I couldn’t find a newspaper report about the incident, which I find a little strange because it would be all over our press here in the UK.

But I just read on that a biology teacher asked for his pupils to masturbate to produce a sample of sperm for examination under the microscope.  The school is at Camp Grande, Rio De Janeiro.

Consequently he is being investigated by the police after one of the students told his alarmed parents about the event.

If you have seen anything to verify this let me know because somehow I just can’t believe this could happen in a school.

Phantom Fucks – Part 2 of 2

Amy slipped her arms around Anthony’s waist underneath his coat. With one hand resting hard against her shoulders and the other in the small of her back he pulled her hard against his own body, her stomach pressed against his hardening crotch.

She seemed an inexperienced kisser, his invading tongue almost a surprise to her as it pushed its way over the battlement of her teeth. He found her a quick learner too, repulsing his onslaught with almost equal force. Teacher and pupil engaged in the lesson of deep kissing for a while, the world around them was calm and bid them not to hurry. Amy’s enthusiasm grew, indeed it was Anthony who eventually pulled away, the kiss leaving them both breathless.

They were invigorated, eyes alive, sparkling. Anthony’s heart beat loud in his chest. To know a woman wanted him was exciting enough but she was, well, something else. She seemed to have an innocence he had never encountered before, coupled with an intensity of feeling that he felt in his mind rather than perceived with his five senses.

Anthony looked around them, his hands still on Amy’s waist. They were on one side of a wide valley, fields filled the valley bottom within which nestled a small town. They stood in a clearing between the gorse that grew on the steeper slopes, shielded from the sight of all but the occasional bird that flew overhead. The ground was covered in soft grass, punctuated with small outcrops of rock.

He lay Amy on her back on the soft grass, propped up on one arm the other around her. He leant in to kiss her, his hand automatically straying to her breasts, feeling her hard nipples under her, her what would you call it? cotton blousy thing? He realise something was wrong, he did not belong to her. Then the moment passed as she arched her back pressing her soft mound into his palm. His hand strayed inside, touching her flesh finding a nipple and rolling it around the areola.

His hand strayed downward and into her bloomers, his middle finger delved into her thick bush of hair, hot and humid. He found her wet folds and slowly traversed the length of her pussy before returning to her clitoris. Anthony toyed with her for a moment, stroking her swollen clit, savouring the power he had over her as she bucked and writhed.

Then he drew his glistening finger to his mouth, tasting her essence. She looked shocked for a moment then, with his finger still in his mouth she kissed him, tongue demanding a share of the fragrant delicacy.

His breeches were bursting, and feeling her hands unfastening the buttons of his flies was almost a relief. She reached inside to coax out his stiff cock and its two companions, drawn up tight beneath it. She held it, exploring its soft skin, obviously excited by its hardness. her fingers drew back his foreskin, exposing his glans. Clear pre-cum oozed out. Anthony lifted a drop with his finger and placed it on her lips. Taken with this new tase she slid down and licked him, cleaning him of the clear nectar, eventually probing the tip with her tongue.

She rolled on to her back and removed her bloomers. Anthony rolled on top of her and pressed his cock against her pussy, rubbing it along the length of her lips, balls nestling into her moist curly nest. They watched each other intently, studying each reaction to every movement. While she enjoyed the touch of him against her labia, her true desire was written in her eyes. He wanted it too and so slowly drew back before resting himself at the smouldering entrance to her sex.

He pushed forward, every millimetre forming a deeper union between them. They held each other tight, Anthony having to rotate his hips to thrust into her. She began to moan, soft and joyous at first but soon louder and more insistent. Her hand reached behind Anthony’s neck and pulled him to her lips, her kiss open-mouthed and frantic. Anthony felt her hips rising to meet him, her heels digging into the turf allowing her to push her pelvis hard toward him.

She broke their kiss and began to shriek, Anthony’s final thrusts let loose what seemed like a river of cum, rippling along his cock inside her pulsing sex. “Amy …” was all he could say in one long quiet breath to the smiling angel below him.

He lay on top of her feeling himself soften inside, but not wanting to withdraw from her tender comforting embrace.

“AMY! AMMEEEYYY!” A man’s voice pierced their post-coital bubble.

“Father!” Amy exclaimed, her face terrified.


“Quickly, hide.” She urged him, gathering her dress and attempting to pull it on.

It was too late. A tall man built like an ox strode out of the surrounding gorse, a look of fiery malice on his face. “Slut!” he spat the word at Amy, then turned to Anthony who was attempting to button his breeches. Amy’s father raised his hand to strike Anthony, but as the blow fell Amy appeared between them. The huge hand struck Amy across her face, throwing her to the ground. She collapsed like a rag doll, head landing with a sickening dull thud on an exposed rock.

Both men stood looking down at Amy’s motionless form as blood began to flow from one of her perfect ears.

Anthony opened his mouth to shout “No!”, but at that moment the world seemed wreathed in a grey fog. The fog thickened and he seemed to be drawn away from Amy and her father. Soon they disappeared into the mist and an inky darkness took Anthony.


The cry echoed through the undercroft, breaking the “trance” that the show’s psychic had just slipped into. The female presenter stopped mid-gush and, for the first time in the show’s history, looked genuinely frightened. This wasn’t a hammed-up scream, it was full of desperation and fear.

When they reached the chamber where Anthony lay the cast and crew stood for a moment in silent shock. One of the celebs started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck, I think he’s dead!” Observed the psychic, then earned himself the prize for the day’s dumbest question. “Do you think we ought to call the police?”

“You think?” Mocked the presenter and began to make a mental list of newspapers who would pay for this story when the inquest was over.


Anthony slowly regained consciousness. He felt cold at first, bloody cold, then a strange sort of warmth filled him, and as it did the darkness gave warm to a dim glow. It strengthened second by second until he could make out a figure. It was Amy. She held out a hand, “Come with me Anthony.”

“After what happened last time?”

“This time it will be just us.” she took his hand. “Forever.”

Phantom Fucks – Part 1 of 2

“What do you mean makeup? It’s going to be fucking dark!”

“You’ll have to do your piece to camera before you go in to the dungeons Mr Reed…”

“Dungeons! Blood damp cellar under a condemned chicken packing factory you mean.” Reed scoffed at the trembling 18 year old makeup girl.

Grudgingly Anthony Reed harrumphed his way to the chair and flopped into it. Relieved that he had complied, the make up girl, Hannah, hastily prepared the aging star for his appearance on “Celebrity Ghost Catchers”.


Four D-List celebrities stood in a circle with the show’s two presenters. The red brick arches above them dripping with moisture seeping from the derelict factory above. Or medieval castle, whichever you chose to believe. One an over-fake-tanned man with bouffant white hair and a theatrical looking coat, the other a thirty-something ex-Children’s-TV presenter, renowned for her screaming.

“Please, everyone, all join hands.” Instructed the tangerine coloured medium.

They did, Anthony gritting his teeth and remembering what his agent had told him … “Look Tony, there is no eight series of “Extreme Pub Quiz” for you to present. The format’s dead. Take the money from the frigging production company and be thankful you’re not doing panto with Jim Davidson.”

The lights were turned off and the squeaky presenter started her usual monologue of “Oooh there’s a strange feeling about this place … what was that noise! … there’s a definite chill …”. Anthony fought back a chuckle, submerging it under the comforting weight of the cheque from “Frantic Productions”.

After several minutes of mounting, well what the show’s producers would have liked to think of as tension but Anthony decide was the same stuff as mounts up in the corner of a stable, the psychic suddenly threw back his head with a jerk. From his mouth came a contorted high pitch falsetto voice “Ooooooo, please sir don’t leave me alone down here I only took that apple cos I was starvin’ for sure.”

Anthony covered his laugh with a cough, why were the ghosts always bloody cockney, they were in Stoke for goodness sake. “Sorry.” He explained “I have a tickle in my throat.”

“That’ll be one of the spirits trying to communicate through your voice.” Said the one of the other celebs earnestly. Anthony seemed to recognise as a former news anchor who’d been photographed doing a Sharon Stone, getting out of a limo at a film premier with a short skirt on. Sad cow.

The show presenter then decided that they should all take their guttering candle and the mini-cam they had been given and sit in a different section of the labyrinthine undercroft on ghost watch.

Anthony elected to make his way deep into the cellar, out of earshot of the rest of the guests and crew. He sat in an alcove in a room at the end of the deepest corridor and placed the still rolling camera on the floor facing the wall. Time for a recreational ciggy he thought.

Halfway down the reefer he started to feel quite at home. Each time he drew on the roach-end of the spliff it illuminated the vaulted ceiling of the room with a comforting orange glow. He held the smoke deep in his chest for a moment.

A dark shape appeared in the doorless entrance to the chamber. “Don’t worry darlin’ I’ll put on a bit of a show for the cameras in a bit when I’m mellowed out.” He added, “Just tell em the smoke’s ectoplasm.” He began to giggle.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked the shape.

As he drew on his exotic cigarette the shape moved forward, resolving itself into a figure. She was dark haired, shorter than the presenter and pale skinned. He thought he recognised her but couldn’t quite place her.

“Oh, I see. Surprise guest eh? Well the show’s getting a bit tired so I suppose they have to throw something in other than objects floating across the room on black cotton.

“I’m Amy. Who are you?”

Deciding to skip the indignant “What do you mean? Don’t you recognise me?” speech he replied “Anthony. Nice costume by the way, they splashed out on that didn’t they? Not the usual moth-eaten props … ” His voice trailed off, she was looking at him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. It was a sort of good-bad chill. It disturbed him, but the intensity of her stare was quite captivating, almost a come-on. She must be ten years his junior, but what the heck!

As he was about to unleash the famed Reed charm assault a piece of cannabis resin dropped out of the roll-up and burned its way through his shirt, searing the skin just above his navel.

“Fuck, fuck, shit!” He threw his spliff to one side, it sizzled and was extinguished by one of the shallow pools of muddy water on the beaten earth floor. Anthony rubbed his now very sore stomach, “Another shirt ruined …”

“Are you hurt? Let me see” Amy moved toward him her hand slipped inside his shirt. Her fingers were cold, ice cold. Their eyes met and for a moment he could see the veins beneath her skin, skin like rice paper dissolving in a waterfall of light. First the veins and arteries pulsed with blood, then black tar oozed from their rupturing, rotting walls. Flesh fell from her bones and her sensuous dark brown eyes melted down her cheeks leaving only pitch black holes.

He closed his eyes, threw his head back and opened his mouth to scream, but the darkness swallowed the sound. He shut his eyes and waited for, well he didn’t know what.

Moments passed, a warm summer sun warmed his upturned face. He became aware of birds singing and the sound of leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. Anthony slowly opened his eyes and lowered his head to find himself gazing at Amy. Her skin was warm and full of life, cheeks flushed, unlike the pale white phantom in the undercroft. Her eyes were the same, dark and soothing, the eyes don’t lie.

She stepped back, away from him. Amy turned and asked, “Unfasten my bodice.” He did, uncomprehending, slowly unlacing the garment. What was he doing? Where was he? When was he?. She slipped out of the light blue gown and turned to face him dressed , rather immodestly in her cotton undergarments, bosom heaving, eyes wanting him.

He reached out and took her in his arms. Their lips met and all his questions were forgotten

To be continued …

Girls In Sexy Underwear

Alex SuzeStraight men like women in sexy underwear, but what qualifies underwear as sexy. What types of underwear are sexy and why is the whole idea of underwear such a turn-on.

As I see it underwear is sexy because it’s the last thing you get your hands on before the pure, unadorned and unadulterated flesh beneath. It emphasises a woman’s femininity and augments her already beautiful form. The English comedian Ben Elton once questioned this point of view by pointing out that at it’s most basic underwear function is to stop you skidding your trousers. However he was at his most PC at that point in his career and anyone who morphs ina few years from anarchist/Marxist to bowing and simpering for the Queen isn’t someone you should take as an earnest and reliable source of insight.

In literal terms Ben Elton is right, but in all other ways he cannot be more wrong. All female underwear, except for the most frumpy, shapeless and unflattering produces in most men an immediate reaction. It’s an association with sex, exploration and fun. Even “big pants” can objects of desire since Brigit Jones’ Diary.

The fact that “big Pants” don’t have to be a turn-off underlines that everyone has their own idea of sexy in underwear terms as they do in all other areas.

I have a thing for smooth cotton bras. I love them because their simplicity allows the wearer to show off their breasts, covered but with their shape displayed in all its glory. Yet I like more complex bra designs, be they frilly, brightly coloured or enhancing, and all for different reasons.

Colour can trip certain memories and feeling. A certain encounter with a girl, a picture in a movie or a book, whatever it is the sight of a particular colour underwear may set off a whole train of thought, a fantasy or a memory of a memorable liaison.

On the whole I don’t like intricate designs. Our house is minimalist in décor, we don’t dress ostentatiously, but sometimes Suze wears underwear with the most exquisite detailing, lacy, or embroidered and this too is a turn-on. Yes I like the simple underwear, but showy, theatrical designs too. Yes it can depend on my mood, but the type of underwear I find when I undress Suze can dictate the mood too.

In signalling Suze’s state of mind through the style of her underwear she can consciously or subconsciously modify my mood and thus change the way we make love.

How about you guys? What sort of underwear does it for you?

The Pussy Of Power

Sticky Vicky

We decided to  spoil ourselves by going out for a pub lunch to our favourite countryside haunt. I wish it was closer to home but I suppose that would make us visit more often and we simply couldn’t afford to.

It’s a typical moorland pub, old fashioned, atmospheric, frequented by the locals and best of all not part of one of those dreadful chains of theme pubs. Alex and I sit in there and time just stops for a while, it’s therapeutic.

We took the corner table and to one side there was a group of four old ladies on a day out and across the other way there were two couples. Alex and I sat opposite each other.

I caught a glimpse of one of the girls in the foursome to the side of us. She had the most humungous pair of boobs, just like to melons secreted under a low cut white t-shirt. My mouth must have dropped slightly as I homed in on them. There is no doubt in my mind, I certainly am a boob girl. 😉

She wasn’t a looker but and I never thought I would say this…you could forget about that as you got lost in her fleshy mounds. Being ever so careful not to arouse suspicion I gestured with my eyes for Alex to give her a glance. A quick turn of his head to scan her and then return his amazed gaze back to me.

I can dream can’t I.

I was shaken from my predation by the sound of the oldest lady sat to the other side of us saying “And I saw Sticky Vicky when we were in Benidorm”.

At that point the silence was broken as I started to giggle, then he joined in and within moments we were trying to hold back the laughter. I didn’t dare look to see if she realised that we had just overheard her naughty confession. I found out later from Alex that she also said “She had no clothes on…I thought I was seeing things at first”.

I’ve heard of Sticky Vicky but wasn’t sure exactly what all the fuss was about, I knew that she was an adult entertainer of some sorts. So when we got back home I decided to Google her and see what she got up to.

Within minutes I had found several clips of parts of her act on YouTube. I read somewhere that she is now in her 60’s and still performing. It’s quite impressive, anyone who can remove bottle tops with there pussy has my vote. I also found out that her daughter is now following in her footsteps and taking part in the act.

Nothing quite like passing on your knowledge to your offspring. Lol

Multiple MILFs

I do wonder sometimes if we shouldn’t be using different terminology for women in porn. No, correction I wonder that a lot because some of the terms are plain inaccurate or assume certain attributes about a performer, pigeonholing them.

MILF is one such term. There has to be some better way to describe a sexy older woman because MILF has become over used and a bit tired. Until we come up with another term MILF will have to do.

If you like MILF porn you should check out Suze’s review of Brazzers’ Mommy Got Boobs over on Erotic Buzz.

So does anyone have any suggestions for alternate names for sexy older women you’d just love to …

Double Anal

Being a relative anal newbie I can’t help at be in awe at someone who can manage to take two cocks in the ass at the same time.

I have only managed to successfully take Alex’s cock up my a few times.  It requires you to be 100% relaxed for it to work properly, otherwise your anal sphincters fight against the penetration making it painful.

Looking at the image above I can only imagine that this is achieved with the help of something like Anal-Ease which both acts as a muscle relaxant and anaesthetic all in one.  I’m not in to participating in any sexual practice which requires me to numb my ass so I suppose I will just have to stare at this in wonder. And perhaps wonder why?

Planting Your Seed

We’re off out to do something completely mundane this afternoon, buying seeds to grow our own vegetables. Stop it, I know where your minds have drifted off to, LOL. We’re hoping that the local garden centres are quiet and still accessible because as is the nature of garden centres they are further out in the countryside than we are and prone to lots of snow.

However before that happens I have to take a call from a naughty lady and this time it’s not Suze. You’ll find out who it is when her latest interview goes live on our sites.

Oh Fuck, Forced to Watch Porn DVDs All Day

We woke up this morning to a scene that could have been mistaken for Finland. There is almost five inches of snow and it’s still falling fast. The cars are just big white lumps on the drive and the road is totally covered.

I switched on the TV to see if the rest of the UK is having the same trouble and was a bit disturbed when I got “No satellite signal is being received”. Hmmm. So I reset the box and got the same error. Either the density of the falling snow is too great to allow a strong signal through ofr the dish is covered in snow.

Either way it looks like it’s going to be a night of watching DVDs …

Tickle Cock

I had to laugh tonight at the news presenters Christa Ackroyd and her male counterpart, who’s name escapes me, struggled with the presentation of a feature on the BBC News.  They featured a report about an underpass in Castleford, West Yorkshire.

The railway bridge known as Tickle Cock Bridge was being featured and they had to tie in to the story by regaling other naughty named localities.  When they got to Wetwang the male presenter couldn’t suppress his laughter anymore and he started giggling being joined shortly after by Christa.

She then remarked that was the end of their television presenting career.  You can read the full story about the bridge here.

Well Hung Over And Fucked

Well, fucked in the bank department. I have a new (second hand) car on the drive and a huge hole in my bank account. If I thought I was skint before I was sadly deluded, now I really do have no cash. Couldn’t be helped of course because the gearbox in my last one was about to grind itself into a pile of metal filings and it wasn’t worth repairing.

As for hung over, I most definitely am. I was really tired last night and although I did drink more wine than I usually do on a Friday night it was nowhere near enough to account for the intense hangover I had this morning. It’s been years since I felt that ill. It must have been the fatigue. At one point this morning I did doubt if I would be able to go and pick my new car up.

All sorted now though so I might just pop to bed for an afternoon snooze 🙂

She’s A Filthy Sticky Girl

The lock on the door clicked and she was alone. Twenty minutes to herself without interruption.

She hitched up her skirt and slipped off her knickers before sitting back in the soft leather chair. Her hand reached into the freshly opened box of chocolates and selected one by touch. Her other hand came to rest on her mons, stroking it gently. A calm prelude to the tempest to come.

She a took bite from the dark confection, cherry and Kirsch flooding her taste buds. The warmth of her body turning it into a thick, comforting, serotonin inducing, slow-motion river of sensory bliss.

Her fingers slipped into her warm, wet groove and the fusion of fingers and pussy began. Her digits would not leave their moist partner until their danse de la petit mort was over.

She rubbed her clitoris at first gently, then harder, vigorous, urgent and needful of fulfilment. Each time she felt herself needing more lubrication she would dip into the well of her pussy, a well that would never dry up.

She reached again for a chocolate. White truffle deep and opulent filled her senses. Her toes curled. The cocoa and clitoris combining to make her squirm. Two little beans of disparate origin conspiring to fill her body with warmth and pleasure.

Her tongue licked her lips exposing the melting chocolate to the air. The scent of chocolate and pussy became heavy around her, a soft cloak of blissful molecules cosseting and comforting her.

With white truffle still lingering a tidal wave of expectation began to form. A soft wave of roaring orgasm approaching in the far distance growing louder by the moment. Her fingers rubbed and flicked a clitoris that was ready to unleash the rip tide and drag her into the undertow as it broke across her.

She closed her mouth, attempting to stifle the moans. Almost succeeding, clamping her thighs together trapping her hand. She convulsed and twisted onto her side mouth now open in a soundless “O”.

Moments later she stood up. Washed her hands in the sink and went out into the shop. Customers would not server themselves and the two girls she employed would be overwhelmed if she didn’t muck-in. And with good reason, she did make the best chocolates money could buy.