Monthly Archives: September 2010

Cooking Up Some Pure Sex

Most of my long standing readers know that I have a thing for cooking and a couple of saucy cooks, my favourite chef is James Martin and my favourite cook has to Nigella Lawson who is the full package.

She flirtiy combines cookery with naughtiness in a very delicious way, she would certainly have me licking my fingers. 😉

She was a guest on ITV’s Daybreak program and had them squirming in their seats with lots of references being made to her sensual and sexual presentation style. And as usual she didn’t fail to get them hot under the collar as she spoke about a cheesecake, look out for the “hint of inner thigh reference”.

Nigella claims not to be aware of her steamy presentation style. What do you think.

Glory Holes And Candles

Glory Hole ChurchNow the image above is not exactly what is conjured up in my head when you thin about glory holes. I wonder if the local church realised that they had made an epic mistake. Probably not because they just wouldn’t get involved in that kind of thing. Lol

Some months ago Alex and I visited a swingers club open day for a look around and were personally acquainted with their glory holes. Needless to say I didn’t touch any of the surrounds whilst we were there and washed my hands thoroughly when I got home.

I found the carpet a little sticky though. Lol

Cum In The Office

GirlHis eyes were fixed on the coat stand. His dark blue Crombie hung alongside his umbrella and bowler hat giving him ample distraction, inanimate objects to study while he dictated to his new secretary. Yet still his mind wandered …

“Where did I get to Miss Green?”

Miss Green rested the end of her pencil on her red painted lips for a moment and looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Dear Mr Jones, Reference you letter of the 3rd instance … that’s it.” Her chestnut hair flowed in gentle curls over her shoulders and ended between her shoulders. Green eyes flickered and teased him from a face that feigned innocence and promised a knowledge that made his heart race.

“Oh. Nothing more?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Then she did it again. She wiggled her hips, with the pad in her hand and pen on her lips she wiggled her hips in that so provocative way.

“I’ll finish it later Miss Green.”

“Are you a little distracted sir?” She asked.

“Yes I’m afraid so. You were doing that thing again.”

“Oh. I’m sorry …”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s very nice.”

She looked at his crotch and realised how nice it was for him. “Wold you like me to, er?”

“Please, if you would Miss Green.”

She sat on the edge of the desk and unfastened the flies of his bespoke business suite, reached inside and straightened out his constricted, throbbing member. He lay back in his chair, enjoying the sensation of her finger and perfectly manicured nails grasping then slowly stroking his shaft. He began to groan, precum seeping from the tip of his cock.

“Sir?” she ventured.

“Yes Miss Green?”

“May I?” She asked.

“Of course Miss Green.”

She stood up and pulled up the hem of her pencil skirt to reveal her stocking and silk knickers, the latter of which she pulled over her hips and let float to the ground before bent over the desk.

He stood and presented his cock to her pouting, swollen, moist pussy lips. As he pressed the tip of his cock against her labia there was a knock at the door. “Come.” He commanded.

“Not yet Sir.” Said Miss Green.

“Not you young lady!”

A junior secretary entered with a pile of folders. “The figures for Europe Sir.” She said unsteadily.

“On the desk girl. Haven’t you seen two people having sex before.” He said tersely.

“Only in the induction film.” She replied uncertainly.

“Well you better stay and watch. Can’t have you dithering like that.”

The girl stood, hands clasped in front of her and stared avidly at his veined cock as he pushed it into Miss Green’s expectant cunt. The yelp that escaped from Miss Green’s mouth as the hard cock was thrust into her made the watching girl lift her hand to her mouth and squeal with surprise.

He began a slow and steady rocking motion, his hips swinging with a metronome like regularity until he had divined what Miss Green’s body required of his hard member. The slick wetness of her tight passage gripped his cock and stimulated the sensitive nerve endings of his glans, frenulum and shaft. He could feel her muscular contractions already before her orgasm. She was aroused, by him? Maybe or maybe by an earlier dalliance with her own finger while preparing to take shorthand from him? He didn’t care. She needed his cock now and it was his duty as a gentleman to satisfy her.

He began a series of deep and powerful thrusts, not hard and brutal but slow and firm, reaching into the deepest recesses of her pussy. Her moans turned to groans almost immediately, the language of her body translating into a writhing, grinding series of wave like undulations that signalled he had tuned his lustful penetrating thrusts to her needs.

He listened to her cavorting torso, waiting for the moment. He was always conscious of the girl at the side of the desk, watching, waiting, expectant of the ultimate climax but yet he focused on Miss Green with her stockings exposed to him, puckered asshole on show to him and pussy filled with his cock as he ground into her on the desk …

Her muscles began to clench, devouring his cock and signalling her imminent orgasm. He quickened his pace fucking her for his own pleasure now, knowing that she was already heading towards that inevitable petite mort that brings such blissful release.

And then it was there, her gripped in the paroxysm of joy that is an intense orgasm and him grasping her shoulder, pulling him onto his hard cock as if to ensure that ever drop of his issue is forced into the very core of her being.

Huge Milky Breasts, No Really!

Takashi MurakamiI’ve never been to the Tate modern in London but if I get chance I certainly will. I love art and even if it turns out to be a bag of crap it gets a reaction then art has in some way at least done it’s job.

Now, check this out Takashi Murakami a Japanese artist has produced some really weird shit. Weird in a good way, weird is good :o)

You can see his site here, or take a look at some of the latest works at the Tate Modern here.

Private Sex Show 2

Doggy Style On DeslThe DVD player sat on the shelf for a couple of days until its owner returned to pick it up. The bell above the door jangled its shrill note and announced her arrival just as the kettle boiled. He cursed the interruption but as he muttered under his breath he caught sight of her and realised it was the same woman he’d masturbated over a few days earlier.

He swallowed hard and composed himself before greeting her. He asked for her repair ticket despite knowing exactly which piece of equipment she had come to collect.

She paid for the work and a little awkwardly asked “Was there a DVD in the player?”

“I don’t know.” he lied, shuffling awkwardly, his flushed cheeks giving him away.

She was shocked for a moment then her pupils widened as her mind took in the realisation that he had seen her striptease and … the rest.

“Oh. Did you like it?” she asked.

“Yes.” He answered truthfully. He could see she was enjoying the thought of him watching her. “Who was the DVD for?” he asked, pushing his luck.

“Oh, whoever…” She said feigning a coy look and failing.

“You were very good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to show you?” His heart thumped, realising he’d over stepped the mark.

“Yes.” She said.


The door was locked, the sign turned to closed and he was in the back room again. Except this time she was there in the flesh. She wore a pair of jeans not the skirt and a T-Shirt not a blouse. Her hair was down, falling down her back in blonde cascades.

“Let me see what you did …” She instructed.

He unzipped himself and let his trousers fall to his knees. His cock was becoming hard, the though of reciprocating to the subject of his previous masturbation fantasy a turn on. When she unbuttoned her jeans and slid her hand into her panties, leaning back against the bench.

He sat in the chair, cock in hand and watched her hand moving inside her jeans. She watched him in return, fascinated by his cock and enjoying the sight of a man masturbating for her. He spread some saliva around his now shining helmet with his fingers before continuing to pump his penis with his fist.

Her fingers were obviously deep inside her moving less. Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, concentrating hard.

“I’m going to cum.” He said, his voice strained.

“What!” Her eyes snapped open. She pushed her jeans and knickers down over her hips. A wave of rich feminine scent seemed to instantly permeate the air when her glistening pussy was exposed. She turned, bending over the bench to present her round ass to him.

He stood up and shuffled across to her. At first he rested his cock between her butt cheeks and pressing his balls against her, but only for a moment. He needed to cum and she needed him inside her. He bent his knees slightly and leaned forward to reduce the height. It was awkward but pressed his cock onto her G Spot when he slid into her velvety hole.

The bench rattled with each thrust. She was on the edge of orgasm, her moans signalled that. He was unable to hold back and in three hard strokes filled her pussy with his semen. She gasped and whimpered her orgasm and gripped his now spent cock inside her.

Private Sex Show 1

It was after five and he’d shut up shop for the day. He set about making repairs to the pile of faulty electrical goods in the dingy back room. The DVD player was dead. He’d checked the fuse, just in case the customer had omitted to do so but that was OK. So he stripped it down. The fault was easy enough to locate, a badly seated connector. He rebuilt the player and pressed the on button.

It whirred into life and as he reached for a test disk to check the drive it started to play. It was an amateur DVD, he could see from the quality and camera angle. Slightly too low, tripod mounted. The shot was of a bedroom, totally ordinary, could have been anywhere and apparently empty.

After a moment the shot juddered as if the tripod had been kicked and a woman appeared. She was wearing a tight knee-length skirt, it looked dark blue though the colour balance was a bit odd so it could have been black. Her blouse was a shade of lilac. She wore glasses and carried a shorthand pad and a pen.

She was looking at the camera, it seemed she was a little unsure what to do next. She looked into the lens and pouted slightly, then raised the pen to her lips, resting it there. Her mouth opened a little and he saw a flash of her teeth.

She turned slightly to one side, showing the back of her head and her hair pinned up in a bun. She look a the camera again, over the top of her black rimmed glasses, head slightly to one side and sucked the end of the pen.

Her hips began to sway and he could hear the sound of a slow soft melody in the background that he couldn’t make out. It appeared to be coming from a cheap stereo system with no bass.

She turned away from the camera and bending forward put down the pad and pen on the bed. Her ass was round and filled the skirt to bursting point. He could see she was wearing seemed stockings now. She’d really made the effort.

His private dancer now sat on the bed and began to unbutton her blouse. When she opened the satin curtains she revealed a lacy black bra containing a voluptuous pair of breasts. His cock was stiff in his trousers. He decided that on balance it was best to release the throbbing member from its uncomfortable prison. He was dribbling precum, the unexpected and endearingly self-conscious striptease he was watching had his heart racing.

She slid the blouse from her shoulder then reached around her back and unhooked her bra. Her breasts where as big as they appeared, mature and not as pert as they obviously once had been but soft and inviting. He imagined sliding his cock between them and stroked it in time with his imaginary thrusts.

She played with her nipples for a while squeezing her tits and becoming less aware of the camera as the pleasure took over. She lay back on the bed, sliding her skirt up over her hips until it was a thick roll of material at her waist. Her pussy was shaved and already bare, stockings and suspenders a clichéd but effective accompaniment to her swollen pussy lips.

Her hand delved to her groin and parted the outer labia to reveal a pink and moist furrow inside. Her fingers slid up and down its length spending as much time inside her as they did rubbing her clitoris. His hand became more fevered in its pumping of his cock and before he reached a climax he felt his groin tighten. Hot spunk flew from his cock and covered his hand and trousers. He lay back in the chair shut his eyes and the feeling of cum still oozing from his penis and down onto his hand accompanied her groans as she came on the TV screen.

To be continued …

Cum Play…

CumI make no bones of the fact I don’t just enjoy sex I look upon it as a voyage which takes me on new adventures all the time.

One of my favourite “out of body” experiences has to be the tit wank.  Now that I proudly sport a C cup unlike in my youth when my A cups just didn’t create the desired wanking ravine required to bring off your fella.

I now rejoice in the ample cleavage I have and the enveloping fleshy mounds Alex likes to penetrate.  As I push them together grasping his hard member as he stabs in and out of them, flushed head shining and foreskin sliding I take in the unique view offered.

An occasional lick of his cock head keeps him lubricated and comfortable.

It usually doesn’t take long for Alex to jettison his creamy white issue all over my heaving tits.  Then there’s the question of what to do with it.  You can gather it up on your fingers and devour it, rub it in to your skin, after all it does contain an element of vitamin E or do you simply let your partner clean you up…

Pam And Steve – Part 2

Wet Breasts“I didn’t know you smoked.” Said Pam

“I don’t.” Replied Steve. “Well I had stopped. But I needed one today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry it’s my fault …”

“It’s not your fault that I have no will power. I’ll have a couple, realise I smell like an ash tray and bin the rest of the packet.” He laughed. “The hit’s great when you haven’t smoked for a while but the smell and the coughing in the morning I can do without.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to … well you know.” Pam said meekly.

“I enjoyed it. I’ve never done anything quite like that before and you told me what to expect and that you didn’t want anything more. OK, it was difficult to stop my self asking for more but that’s my problem. You can’t help being a sexy lady.”

Pam blushed and turned away.

“You are sexy. You’re just a bit strange.”

“Aw, thanks!”

Steve cocked his head to one side. “Hmmm?”

“OK, I’ll give you that one.”

“How about dinner. I promise not to smoke. No strings, just to make me feel better.”

“Tonight, pick me up at eight.”


Steve swirled the red wine in the ridiculously large glass. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

“No it’s very nice, thank you for bringing me here. I’ve walked past it dozens of times and never even noticed it was a restaurant.” She bit her lip, considering if she should speak her mind and if he was ready for what she had to say. “I want you again. Like last night.” He felt her foot stroke his calf through his trousers.

“Oh. I thought you didn’t do foreplay.” Her foot stopped moving for a moment and then continued its slow rubbing.

“I don’t.” Said Pam seemingly puzzled. “It just felt right.”


The night went as it had previously, Steve burying himself in her cleavage, this time framed in a white blouse and thoughtfully front-fastening light blue bra. She came even more quickly this time. He hardly had time to get into the sucking of her nipples before her body arched and her stifled shrieks signalled her orgasm.

He watched her for a moment, reclined on the sofa, eyes closed and with a satisfied smile on her face. He pulled himself to his feet but instead of heading to the bathroom he opened his mouth to speak. He knew what he wanted to say but she had told him what he wanted was off limits so he shut his mouth again.

Pam opened her eyes. “Are you going to take care of yourself?” She asked in a soft apologetic voice.

“I suppose I was.”

“Sit down, do it here so I can watch.” She pulled herself into a sitting position.

Surprised he unzipped himself and pulled out his hard penis before sitting down. “I thought you didn’t get off on anything but your boobs?”

“I don’t but wouldn’t you like me to see you cum?”

Steve started to masturbate, with fingers wrapped around his shaft he toyed with himself for her. Her boobs were now half covered by her blouse which had fallen over them but if was only moments before she reached inside to pinch her own nipples, exposing her soft mounds to his gaze. She was enjoying this more than she realised, fondling herself wasn’t just for his benefit.

He wanted to cum on her tits. No he wanted to fuck her but he would have made do with a tit wank. However both were out of the question, he knew that so encouraged himself with the site of her fingers caressing her breasts while he brought himself closer and closer to climax.

Pam was enraptured by the sight of his soft skin sliding across the hard shaft of his cock. The smooth head of his penis appeared and disappeared inside his foreskin. It was shiny now, lubricated with the clear fluid that always precedes ejaculation and it glistened in the low lights. Her aroma had now made its way between her legs, hot and female in a deeply animal way. They could both smell it and were excited by its potent and honest declaration of her carnality.

“Aaah!” The orgasm caught him unawares and rather than extend the pleasure any longer he was forced to slowly stroke his cock in time with rhythm his body now dictated. A tiny fountain of viscous white semen erupted and splattered onto his hand. He was lost in his own pleasure but was sure he heard Pam gasp.

The warm glow of his climax faded and he became aware of Pam beside him. “I enjoyed that.”

“So did I.” Chuckled Steve. Just not as much as I might have enjoyed you he mused.

Shaven Muff, Poor Girl

Just to be straight here I do feel sorry for the newsreader. I think she genuinely did have a very sheltered upbringing. Too sheltered I think. Though how she got through school and college without finding out what a muff was I don’t know.

The Fucking Thin Line Between Pain And Pleasure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pam And Steve – Part 1

The coffee shop was almost deserted the booths that once hosted gatherings of hippies and beatniks now housed a new generation with smart phones and laptops. They were attracted by the free wi-fi as much as the fine coffee. The staff clattered and sloshed their way through the washing up after the lunchtime rush creating the perfect cover for what she was about to ask.

She cradled her cup in her hands the last remnants of heat from the inky espresso seeping into her fingers. She could trust him couldn’t she? He’d been a colleague for a year and a friend for a little less.

“So what is it you wanted to ask me?” He enquired, his interest piqued by her suggestion of a late lunch and liaison in this characterful beverage emporium.

“I think I’ve known you long enough to call you a friend.” She began uncertainly and stopped for a moment trying to read the expression on his face. His Brown eyes stared back at her kind and expectant, some might say excited. Shit this could go the wrong way she thought, but ploughed onward. “You are open-minded right?”

“I like to think so.” He smiled and suddenly became uncomfortable as the possible directions the conversation might take occurred to him. He tried to defuse the potential for embarrassment he perceived with a jokey wink. “Well my ex-girlfriend used to say so …” And immediately realised his mistake from her expression which now hovered between surprised and offended.

“I think I’ve made a mistake.” she said and grabbed her bag to leave.

He reached across the table and held her wrist. “No, please, I’m sorry. I want to help if I can. I’ll just sit here and keep my mouth shut while you tell me what it is I can do for you.”

She spent the next five minutes explaining about her special need. How her partners could never come to terms with it and how he could help her. Afterwards he couldn’t work out how he had kept his jaw from hitting the Formica table in front of him. Or why he agreed to meet her at her flat that night.


He pressed the intercom clutching a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine, slightly crushing the former and nearly dropping the latter as he craned close to the microphone to announce his name. The lock buzzed and he stepped into the lobby. The stairs of the Victorian house beckoned him to her first floor apartment.

The door clicked as he approached it and he was greeted by her in a red satin dress, knee length and stretched across her chest in  such a provocative way that a limp formed in his throat. “Pam, you look lovely.”

“Thank you Steve. Come in.” She looked quizzically at his presents.

“It didn’t feel right just to turn up with nothing.” He explained.

She had specified that he simply arrive, no meeting at a bar, restaurant or club, no preamble just turn up and give her what she wanted.

“I understand.” Pam said softly. “I know this is a bit odd. Come into the lounge.”

Pam led him into her homely living area and sat on her sofa, patting the leather next to her to encourage him to sit in arms reach. He placed the flowers and bottle on the table and sat, half turned towards her. “This is so good of you. Shall we start?”

Before Steve could answer she slipped first one then the other lace-thin strap from her shoulder leaving the satin only held in place by the shape of her boobs. His eyes rested on the mounds with their hard nipples all too evident under the red fabric. He tore his gaze from them, feeling guilty for his fixation and looked her in the eyes. “No, you look at them. I want you to look at them. Do you like them?”

He mumbled a wordless affirmation that he did. “My nipples are hard already.” She went on. “Do you want to see them?”

Pam didn’t wait for an answer but slowly peeled her dress over her boobs. Steve held his breath as he watched first her cleavage uncovered and then the edges of her nipples, the dark skin of her areola teased him from behind the satin. She paused for a moment, watching his anticipation and waited for his tongue to finish its slow traverse of his lips.

Much to Steve’s relief she pulled the dress down to her waist so he could see her breasts in their full glory. They were a full C maybe D cup, soft and natural with nipples that pointed towards him and seemed as if they were begging to be sucked. He raised a hand unsteadily towards them, pausing a few centimetres away, look Pam in the eyes. “Yes. Steve, Yes.” It was a plea as much as assent, encouraging and begging him to touch her two most erogenous zones …

This was her problem. Of all the areas of her body her breasts were the centre of her sexuality. Not a problem you might think but her arousal, her sensuousness and the core of her desire was all centred around her breasts. At first boyfriends loved it, a girl who couldn’t wait for them to get hold of her chest. But soon they tired of it because she loved the guys to touch, squeeze and pinch them, she had no interest in vaginal sex, or masturbation or oral sex. Not even the urge to feel her partner’s penis between her tits, spraying cum on her naked flesh …

Steve rested his hand on the heavy mass of her right breast and squoze it. Pam was electrified, writhing with pleasure. For a moment he thought she was exaggerating, playing the part to encourage him but as he began to explore he learned that what she had told him in the coffee shop was true; For Pam it was all about her tits.

With that realisation he began to experiment, first with his hands, then his mouth. Every different sensation solicited a different reaction. Kneading and squeezing them made her squirm and push back against his hands. Pinching her nipples made her pull away, not to be free of his thumb and forefinger but to pull the nipple taught and strain against the tormenting pincer movement.

Licking the flesh of her chest was like a skin safari, each millimetre a different texture and flavour, each long, lingering stroke initiating a different thrill of pleasure in her now flushed and trembling body.

He cupped both breasts in his hands and accompanied by Pamela’s moans sucked and licked her to a screaming crescendo that he was sure afterwards the neighbours would be complaining about. She came, just from the attention he gave to her breasts she came. He could smell it, the rich feminine aroma that was unmistakeably and reminded him of his own needs.

He slumped back on his arm of the sofa and realised that the hard dribbling erection in his jeans was the problem which Pamela and her boyfriends always encountered. He had though it would be fun and maybe lead to something more but she had explained it to him. Tits, nothing more.

Her skirt had ridden up and he could see the white panties underneath, just a glimpse. He knew they would be soaking wet from her orgasm and slowly let his eyes trek across her body. She was a beautiful mature woman sensuously cursed, breast to die for and now he came to really take in her face for the first time outside work he realised what an attractive woman she was. Her chestnut brown hair lay around her head and framed her resting face, eyes closed.

Steve tried to get up without disturbing her and crept to the bathroom. He closed the door and unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock. Clear precum dripped from his foreskin and glistening in the halogen lights as he drew back the soft covering. He steadied himself against the cool tiles with one hand while stroking his erection with the other. In a few moments he was shooting streams of white cum into the bowl and gasping for his conciliatory climax.

Outside the door Pam listened to his gasps and the splash of his sticky wet seed.

Up Skirt Surprise

TV Up SkirtsI can understand voyeurism but have to say that as with all things on the Internet it’s possible to take things too far. And of course the extremes of porn on the Internet are very extreme.

You see my take on the up-skirts panty shot is that it’s the surreptitious flash of what’s hiding up there that is the turn on. The glimpse of something that would normally be hidden. It’s the same with a flash of stocking or the inadvertent opening of a blouse as a woman leans forward. There’s infinitely more eroticism in that than a girl wearing stockings with legs akimbo with no preamble or a woman taking off her blouse and scooping her tits out with no self-consciousness.

Some things like that are difficult to quantify, but with the up-skirt picture (which I have to say have bee over-done to hell) I think there should be a minimum length for skirts. It’s easy for the photographers to get a show of a girl’s crotch if the skirt is only six inches from waistband to hemline but that has no appeal at all. I would say mid-thigh is the shortest to be properly arousing and then only with the quickest of flashes.

All that said the up-skirts panty shots always disturb me somewhat because of their implied lack of consent, even when they are obviously staged – so they aren’t something I seek out – there’s much better and more exciting stuff out there.

I’d actually much rather first feel what a woman has on under her skirt than stick my head, or a camera up there though that wouldn’t work on the Internet LOL

UK Porn Frenzy

Sam FoxThe UK has always had an uneasy relationship with pornography. It’s always been around in one form or another, but never so readily available as today.

A prime example of this is the availability of pornographic movies, first on film, then video tape and now DVD. Or to put it more accurately illegally available on Film and VHS tapes, then about ten years ago becoming legal and regulated as R18 VHS and DVD.

I’m always amused to remember what I heard about the chief censor from the 1950s and 60s who would insist on viewing the most explicit of movies on his own so as not to corrupt other members of the BBFC. I assume he got through a lot of Kleenex.

Use of the obscene publications act and ever changing BBFC rules meant that sometimes sexually provocative and slightly explicit films were OK, and at other times were very illegal. As a consequence film producers could only guess at whether or not their film would be passed as an 18 certificate (previously X rated), much of the outcome dependent on the release data and what guidelines were in force at that time. The ultimate hypocrisy and possibly final nail in the coffin of the old arbitrary classification regime was when video nasties started appearing.

Snuff movies and those like “Cannibal Holocaust” showed just what happens when you ban a genre or cut it to ribbons without consistent guidelines – people seek out the movies underground. Like the horrendous video nasties you could get porn under the counter and while most was tame in comparison to the R18 we have today a 1980s porn movie was not subject to regulation and therefore potentially exploitative of the performers.

I was watching a documentary about Ben Dover, iconic British porn star, a few weeks ago. His first movies were filmed in a camper van, illegally and in the gonzo porn style. He observed that when he was appearing in that genre of porn it was a) more exciting and b) far more difficult to get hold of. Because of that porn was more titillating and much more of a novelty. I can see his point.

While acknowledging the fact that some porn of the illegal era might be questionable in its treatment of the performers I would have to say that porn was more exciting back then. The production values weren’t as high, the acting was just as poor, but it was all somehow more natural. Now as Kenny Styles mentioned in the recent interview by Suze some producers fall into the trap of becoming repetitive and boring (“the sausage factory”  ), simply because of the number of titles they have to churn out.

We can never go back to the days of surreptitious under the counter porn, the ravenous nature of Internet Tube sites has seen to that. But we must reward those producers and directors that create imaginative, innovative and therefore ultimately more arousing porn rather than those who simply repeat the same, stale formats over and over.

Room Service With Extras – Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They fell asleep.

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

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

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

She was Poppy.

Room Service With Extras – Part 1

Bikini GirlIt’s a fact that in some seaside towns in England there’s a tendency towards the gaudy and the tasteless. Normally you would have to concede that taste is a subjective thing, a complex interaction of upbringing, culture, fashion and the life experiences we all have. Taste is varied and as individual as every one of us, from the most reserved to the most flamboyant.

But in the case of these towns, and in particular some of the B&Bs taste is something for other people. It’s partly because many of them were decorated in the 1970s and have not been updated since then, but mainly because even in the 70s the owners had an eye for pattern and colour that would make most people wince. Add to that a tendency to collect ornaments of the cheapest and nastiest kind, mass-produced prints of terribly painted pictures and nylon bed sheets and you have hell on earth.

So why do they survive? Because they’re reasonably priced and some of the UK population go back to the same establishment year after year. They’re as familiar as a comfy pair of slippers and just as unlikely to surprise you.

It was late spring, about seven in the evening and the tide was in. There was little wind and the waves that there were lapped gently against the Victorian built granite seawall. A silver Mondeo drove slowly along the road behind the prom. Its driver was becoming concerned, he should have booked something in advance and almost at the end of the two kilometres of seafront he had seen nothing in the bay windows of the villa style houses but “No Vacancies”.

Just as he drew parallel with the stacks of deckchairs chained to the railings on the seawall a sign jumped out and filled him with a warm relief “Vacancies”. He parked in the next side street and trudged back to the door of the “New Haven” B&B with his laptop in one hand and overnight bag in the other. He stopped in the porch and was about to place his bags down on the tiled floor when the door was opened. The orange glow of low-wattage tungsten bulbs spilled out and enveloped him, that and the smell of shepherd’s pie and floral air freshener.

He guessed from her appearance that she was the landlady. She looked around fifty-five but dressed twenty years younger. Twenty years ago she would have made jaws drop, not to mention trousers, and she still retained that look in a more mature and quietly seductive way. Her eyes were still young, a piercing blue. Her initially cautious smile softened and widened as she examined her new guest, deciding she liked this nice young man in his neat business suit.

“The sign says you have vacancies?”

“And you’re very lucky we do. Just the one room, probably the last in town.” She giggled, a schoolgirl’s giggle. Unsure how to react he smiled nervously and followed the landlady inside.

Her name, it transpired, was “Mrs Robinson” Could it be anything else? “… but you can call me Rose.” He felt obliged to reciprocate “Peterson, er, Kevin …”. Being after six thirty she apparently couldn’t oblige him with a hot meal, but promised to bring a sandwich to his room.

“That would be great. ” Peter was grateful for an evening meal that didn’t come out of a packet with a golden “M” on it. “I don’t suppose you could give me about half an hour or so could you? I really need a shower.”

“Of course Kevin. Please, follow me.” And he did through the psychedelically wallpapered hallway and up the stairs with a carpet that would have felt at home in a 1960s rock stars acid trip. He passed the glass clowns in alcoves and pressed on down the flock-wallpapered landing to his room for the night.

Kevin hung up his suit and managed to shower in the smallest cubicle he’d encountered outside his parent’s 2-berth caravan. Apparently en-suite meant in the corner of the bedroom, but he wasn’t complaining. It refreshed him and alleviated some of the stress of the day. In fact he didn’t even care that the TV didn’t have satellite, Channel 5 was fuzzy and BBC2 seemed to be missing altogether.

Laying back on the lumpy double bed in his bathrobe with his arms behind his head he started to drift off to sleep. A knock at the door pulled him back into a room now lit by the TV and the quickly setting sun.

“Just a minute.” He made to get up, but the door opened before his feet touched the ground. A woman entered, not Mrs Robinson, but a woman in her mid-thirties. She was slightly shorter than Kevin shapely and wearing a light red dress, cut in a deep V to expose the tempting valley between her boobs.

“Mum said you were hungry. I hope you like tuna” She looked at him, blinking occasionally, with dark brown almond shaped eyes.

Kevin took the tray she was carrying from her. “Thanks, that’s perfect. So you’re Mrs Ro … Rose’s daughter? I can see the resemblance.”

“Everyone says that, it’s Poppy by the way. ” Her eyes had started to look him up and down, Kevin felt a little disconcerted. “So”, she continued, “what brings you here?”

“Business.” Kevin suddenly felt disinclined to reveal too much.

“What sort of business?”

“I’m a management consultant.” Kevin shuffled from foot to foot. “Look, I’m keeping you, ere, thanks for the sandwich, and thank your mum.” He smiled, hoping to bring the conversation to a polite end.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Poppy.

Kevin found himself looking at the curve of the smooth skin of her neck, contrasting against the rich brown of her long hair. “Nothing, I just feel a bit awkward talking to you, dressed, well not dressed. And your mother outside, somewhere, and …” his voice trailed off. Poppy had turned to the door and dropped the latch.

She turned to face Kevin, “Better?”


Poppy took the tray from the dithering Kevin and placed it on the hideous lace covered dressing table. She sat on the edge of the bed, and crossed her legs, the hem of her dress riding up over her knee. Kevin was dumb-struck.

Poppy patted the bed. “Look I’m bored, you’re on your own … I just wanted a chat.” She smiled a sweet smile which melted Kevin from his immobile state and drew him to the bed beside her.

“So, erm, are you and your mother running this place on your own?” Shit that sounded like a cliché, he may just as well have said “You girls up for a threesome?”

“Yes, that’s right, dad left us with the B and B but not much else so since he died we’ve had to manage on our own.” Kevin felt a little tactless for asking, but she seemed surprisingly up-beat about their circumstances. Poppy continued, “Oh, did I say chat? I thought you might be up for a bit of casual sex? No strings you understand, I haven’t had a good seeing-to in months and I’m in danger of getting RSI with the amount of masturbating I’m doing. I’d close your mouth if I were you, it makes you look a bit simple.”

“Wa? We? Woo?” Replied Kevin.

“Oh for heavens sake.” Poppy kissed the wide-eyed Kevin on the lips. He returned her kiss, hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm as the sight of her red satin bra peeking out under her dress and taste of her lipstick mitigated any fears of discovery he might have. His hand came to rest on her upper arm, eliciting an approving “Mmm”, finally thought poppy “He’s got the message.”

Her hand sought out his knee and disappeared under his robe, stroking the hairs on his thigh, creeping upward towards his groin. She found a handful of pulsating flesh, soft skinned and slightly humid from his shower, but firm and growing as her fingers encircled it.

Kevin moved one hand to her waist, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh he found there through the thin fabric of the dress. His other hand pushed her dress up and exposed a smooth thigh. His hand slid up until it found a round buttock then squeezed leaving a five-fingered impression. Poppy expressed her appreciation more loudly this time, breaking from their kiss and letting out a giggly “Ooooo!”

“Now look at that!” Poppy was looking at his cock, now erect and crowned with a single drop of pre-cum. She collected the glistening jewel on the tip of her finger and tasted it, the look in her eyes changing from playfulness to one of lust.

To be continued.

Hot Italian Ass

Pamela CamassaForgive the obsession with things Italian but I found this earlier and it one of the most provocative images I’ve seen for a while.

Yes she’s Italian, and boy is she hot.

Amo l’Italia

Tuscan VillaWe went out this morning with the intention of buying some new trainers for Suze and came back having booked a holiday in Italy. It counts as a) possibly the most random shopping trip ever and b) one of the most expensive. Actually discounting the cars and houses we’ve bought, the most expensive shopping trip.

And I feel good. Very good.

In the past we’ve always been a bit over cautious about spending on holidays and stuff like that because we’ve never wanted to spend money we haven’t got. Sensible, but it has meant we’ve had fewer holidays than we might. OK, so we don’t have any debts apart from the cars and the house (which are an unfortunate necessity) but there are lots of places that we want to go.

We had intended to go and pick up a few brochures and have a think about it for a bit but we spotted a new villa in the middle of Tuscany and Suze was obviously taken with it. True to form she said we’d have to think about it but I told her that we weren’t going to do that and whipped out my credit card. The deposit is paid and the next summer we’re off to Italy. It’s the first totally impetuous thing I’ve done for years and it feels good.

Suze has been to Italy before when she was a teenager. I have never been and we are both looking forward to our own villa in the sun and our own private pool. I bet you can’t guess what Suze wants that for … hehehe