150 Minutes In Blah

The Dalai Lama advises us that, at least once a year, we should visit somewhere we have never been before. This year, for me, that place was Blah.

Odd really, because less than five months ago I’d never heard of the place. Well, I’d heard of the town that Blah really is. I even have an old picture of a part of it in a book I bought in connection with the ‘other’ hobby I indulge and which is too shameful to mention even here. But It wasn’t until I read an account of a visit by Ordinary Girl to this place called ‘Blah’ that my curiosity was tickled and I started to read VI’s blog about all the strange goings on in that legendary place.

So here I was, driving into Blah on a rare, gloriously sunny evening. My first view of the place was of church spire from across the water meadows like a smaller scale version of Constable’s famous painting of Salisbury Cathedral. I purposefully had not asked for any directions. I pride myself in always being able to find a pub and I have a very good sense of direction. Sat Nav might be a fun toy but I would never buy one. I’d never use it. My rendezvous was in the ‘C.U.’ which I located without too much difficulty, having already clocked the other pubs which form the backdrop for most of Vi’s exploits.

I wasn’t at my best. For those of you who remember last Tuesday in England, it was the day when we finally got a bit of weather appropriate to July. I had been up in London for most of the day, had travelled back to where I had parked the car in a hot and crowded commuter train and unexpectedly heavy traffic had made me late. I was hot, flustered and perspiring. (and not a little nervous, if the truth be told). Vi was sitting on a stool at the bar, cool as a cucumber, her pint of Kronenbourg more than half finished. We recognised each other almost as soon as I entered the bar and she flashed her ready smile. Like spies exchanging identical briefcases we exchanged Tesco bags. For her; a bottle of vodka. For me; a box of Crunchy Nut Clusters. (Don’t ask!).

It’s a bit strange and also fascinating to meet someone you’ve read about and corresponded with but I won’t embarrass Vi by going at length about my impressions of her. Suffice it to say that the most striking thing about her, as far as I’m concerned, is her eyes. She has the most intense, piercing, beautiful eyes. I had wondered if she wore contact lenses to augment her eye colour but no, it’s all natural. And her nails. Finely shaped almost to points at her fingertips. Lucky the guy who gets to feel those raking across his back…

We continued from The C.U. to The Hovel and finally to The Cock. We talked about all sorts of things. About blogs and bloggers, the latest goings on in Blah, her dog-sitting adventures, what I miss about England. Vi is very direct, very matter-of-fact but still very easy to talk with and the conversation flowed as easily as the beer.

We went into the Cock in the hope of finding food, but the place was suddenly crowded. Then we were greeted by Fee, Crip and Mrs P., three regular players in the soap opera that is Blah. It was a little strange to put faces to all these names. Even stranger to discover that these characters knew about the blog and their part in it.

All too soon I had to leave. It was a long drive back to where I was staying that night and there was a busy day in prospect the next day. We parted company outside the C.U., each clutching our Tesco bags. As I drove home into the setting sun I reflected on the somewhat bizarre experience it had been. The time had just flown past. There was so much I had wanted to say, had wanted to ask. I could gladly have spent the whole evening in Vi’s company, and experiencing the reality of Blah. But at least now, when I read the blog I’ll be able to visualise the town, the pubs, some of the people.

They should put Vi on Radio 4 instead of ‘The Archers’.

Things I Wish I'd Written #34565

Every so often you find a post that simply oozes sensuality.

One that is complete and yet succinct.

One with insight, and the power to convey that insight via the written word.

One that conjures up a powerful mental image and leaves you wanting more.

One that says all the things you wished you could say yourself if only you had the words.

This is just such a post.

Reading it made me wonder why I carry on with my clumsy ramblings.

Dulce Domum

Winchester: 06.30 Thursday.

When the alarm on her mobile phone rang I was already awake. I folded her in my arms, nuzzled her behind her ear, manoeuvred my stiffening cock into the crack of her bum and whispered:

“Just wait till I get you home”

She mmmmmed in anticipation and stretched out, like a cat.


Eighteen hours, six countries and a thousand miles of motorway later we were in the summerhouse on a wild and stormy night. It isn’t only Britain that's having a shitty summer this year. Despite my talk, all I was good for was to tumble into bed and sleep. I’m sure Lewis Hamilton could manage to shag half a dozen women right after winning a Grand Prix but then he’s young and good-looking and I’m just good-looking. Lol.

This morning, we both woke fairly early, fresh despite our fatigue of the night before. Daughter was still asleep on the other side of the partition wall but I was not to be denied. Heather just lay back and spread her legs and I fell upon her, clinging onto her like a drowning man. She wrapped her arms and legs around me and submitted to my pounding. The bed started creaking and, mindful of our daughter’s sensibilities, I pulled out and simply wanked myself while surveying my beautiful wife spread out there before me like a feast.

At just the right moment I tapped her on the thigh. She lifted her legs high up in an instant and I plunged deep into her just as the first waves of orgasm hit. A fraction of a second later and it would have been very messy indeed. I was coming and coming. More intensely than I would have thought possible, the sensation just went on and on, aided by Heather’s skilful flexing of her pelvic floor muscles. My breath came in great sobs. I wanted to shout out loud but she put a finger across my mouth, which I almost bit. I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm of such intensity. Having seen a bit of flooding this past week, I was doing a bit of flooding of my own. The single sheet of kitchen roll I had brought into the bedroom wasn’t enough.

We left it at that. I promised Heather I’d make it up to her another time and she smiled:

“Just you make sure you do”.

Little does she know that as well as the leg-spreaders that she knows I bought in England, I have also bought her a Rampant Rabbit - the Wave model. With daughter away at scout camp as of tomorrow, this should be a hot weekend regardless of the weather.

Hooray!

...for free wifi hot spots. I am discovering the joys of being able to blog while sitting on the...

Well, perhaps that is just TOO much information but it's nice to be able to keep in touch even though we're moving around.

Leaving London tomorrow, though. Don't suppose they have too many hotspots in rural Devon. Oh well, just going to have to get our walking boots on and breath in some healthy Dartmoor air (or more likely, rain).

Best T-shirt So Far

Seen adorning the chest of a biker chick in skin-tight leathers:

TATTOOED

In the places you love to lick.

Oh yes!!!!!

We're here!

Currently sitting in a web cafe in Bournemouth having just had a long walk on the seafront in blazing sunshine, eaten chips and ice cream just like proper holidaymakers and we're about to go for a pint or several.

Journey went as planned-11 hours of driving took us to the Channel Tunnnel and we made it to a brilliant pub in Pluckley, Kent where we were able to sit out in the beer garden and look out over the weald while supping our beer.

Life is good!!!

England-At Last

(Not Wales this year...sorry Alfie!)

By this time tomorrow we should be sitting in a pub somewhere in Kent enjoying a relaxing lunch, unwinding after our 12-hour drive. Can't tell you which pub, we'll just stop at one we like the look of. It could be in Sissinghurst, Lamberhurst, Goudhurst, Staplehurst or one of a dozen -hursts in that part of the world. I hope we'll be able to sit out in a beer garden but even if it's raining I won't care. It'll be ENGLISH rain.

We emerge, blinking, from the channel tunnel about midday. I naturally expect a full civic reception with bunting and brass bands on our arrival. Failing that; if you see us, give us a wave. We'll be the ones driving the black car.

Postings will be irregular to non-existent from now until about 1st August. See you all then!

OK

Note: I wrote this some months ago but for some reason forgot about it, being rather overtaken by events. It does, however, explain the recent upturn in our sex life and Heather's willingness to try new things so I thought it was worth posting anyway:

”I suppose I’m going to have a job wiping that smirky grin off your face tomorrow morning”.

I said nothing. I just gazed into her eyes and smiled.

We were lying in our post-coital haze, running our hands over each other, occasionally kissing lips, neck, shoulder or nipple. I was happy in the aftermath of the most powerful orgasms I have had in a long time. Heather, although she had not come, was telling me how she’s feeling happier than she has done for a year or maybe more.

When we married, some 22 years ago, I was under no illusions about marrying into money. I knew that Heather’s father had his own business and that Heather, alone among her siblings, was the only one intrerested in carrying it on. But I also knew it was no gold mine and the fact that taking it over would entail leaving England meant that this was far from an ideal outcome from my perspective. But, right from the very start of our relationship, Heather made it quite clear that she intended to leave England eventually and that if we were to have a future together it would be with that precondition. We finally made the move eleven years ago.

When we took it over, the business was in pretty bad shape. A few years earlier a competitor had opened just down the street, in the knowledge that my father-in-law would soon retire and in the belief that there was no-one to succeed him, thus depriving him of a last few good years with a decent turnover. He had all but lost the will to carry it on and was becoming more interested in the contents of a bottle instead. He had become surly and difficult. Customers were drifting away. The premises were shabby and old fashioned.

To start with there was just us two and we did everything ourselves. Serving the customers, stock ordering, book keeping, writing advertising copy. The weekend before we reopened we worked long into the night with paint brush and roller, smartening the place up. What we lacked in equipment we had to improvise or make-do and mend. It was an uphill struggle and sometimes it was hard to see any end to it, especially for me.

Slowly, imperceptibly, things started to turn around. Today we have two business premises, one of which has been totally renovated with the very latest equipment. We employ four people with a fifth about to join us. More and more of the jobs which Heather and I had to perform are now devolved onto others. Heather has finally decided we can afford to let someone else take care of the book keeping and payroll. Turnover is growing year on year and old customers are returning , while we continue to attract new ones.

All this, though, came at price. It has been tough and it has been stressful. We’ve had very little time for each other. We were determined that the kids should not suffer from lack of attention so, if the kindergarten arranged a picnic in the woods one evening, we went along and just spent a couple of extra hours in the office later on that night. If Heather had some accounts that just had to be ready by Monday, I would take the kids to the pictures on Sunday afternoon to give her some peace. The time that was left for the two of us was often the time between us finishing in the office for the night and falling asleep. Heather hit a low a year or two back where she lost interest in just about everything, and sex in particular.



Last night I was lying the wrong way round on the bed, whiling away the time while Heather was in the bathroom by watching a video. Yes, one of those videos. But when she came into the bedroom I turned it off.

”What did you turn it off for?” she asked as she threw off her clothes

”I don’t need it now I’ve got the real thing. Anyway, you don’t always approve….Even though I know they sometimes turn you on. You are very difficult to figure out sometimes”.

By way of reply she threw herself on top of me with such a force that something under the bed made a loud cracking noise. She sat astride me and waved her chest from side to side so that her breasts brushed across me before she buried my face in them.

”Hey! There’s an echo in here…in here…in here” I shouted up from her cleavage.

She sat up and then almost immediately planted her mouth firmly on mine for a kiss that left us both gasping for air. Eventually she leaned back once again, allowing my cock to ride up into her soaking wet cleft and, with a little repositioning, sat down hard on it so that it burst into her as if piercing her for the first time.

Then she went wild. I don’t think I’v ever seen her so abandoned. She grabbed the bed-rail behind my head and see-sawed on top of me as if posessed. I arched my back in an attempt to get even deeper inside her and reached out for her thrashing breasts but she stopped me.

”No” she gasped ”take hold of my arms”.

I grabbed each arm just above the elbow and she took hold of mine. She threw back her head and leaned right back, thrusting her pelvis onto me in little sharp jabs. Pleasuring me and at the same time using me as an instrument of her pleasure.

Then she she pulled her knees up to her and squatted over me, her cunt gaping wide, and impaled herself slowly on me only to rise again and repeat over and over. I arched my back again as she received me ever deeper inside her. This was an altogether different sensation, slow and satisfying instead of a frenetic rush towards orgasm and her face took on a serene expression.

And then suddenly another burst of manic all-out fucking, more frenzied than the last. I held onto her arms as before and she just went insane with lust. I managed to synchronise with her jabbing thrusts, she shook one arm free of my grip and reached behind her to scratch just behind my balls and I started to come.

It was one of the slowest, most protracted, most painful, most deeply satisfying orgasm I have ever had. It lasted and lasted and I shouted and shouted and Heather just carried on steam-hammering away relentlessly until I had to beg her to stop.

She threw herself, exhausted, on top of me, we rolled to one side together and intertwined arms and legs with each other, trying to get closer and still closer to each other as if trying to meld into one entity for evermore. We didn’t want to ever let each other go.

Then, as we lay, dreamily tracing our fingers over each other’s naked flesh, she started to explain. She was feeling better than she had felt for a very long time. This evening she had been going over our turnover figures for the half year and they were up on the same time last year, and by a generous margin. She had seen a very promising candidate for a much-needed extra member of staff and she had been feeling of late that a huge burden had been steadily falling from her shoulders.

Though she never showed it, she had been seriously depressed at times over the last few years and this had expressed itself in a loss of her previously healthy appetite for sex. She had been seeing it more and more as a chore, especially when combined with the many late nights. All I can say is that she hid all this all very well. Tonight was her way of saying that she was back on track, that she was more relaxed and more confident about the future. She apologised to me for perhaps not living up to my expectations.

I was speechless. When words finally came all I could think of to say was to tell I loved her more than I had words to express, and always had done, and always would do. I looked deep into her eyes and she into mine. She smiled.

”We’re OK, aren’t we?” She said.

”Yes.” I replied. ”We’re OK”

Not Quite According To Plan

Just like Glastonbury, Roskilde Festival, where Son is at the moment is somewhat of a mud bath. However, when he phoned yesterday morning he dispelled any worries his parents might have had about his well-being. His voice was steady, self-confident, reassuring. He was having a good time, his army boots were well up to the conditions, he hadn’t spent all his money yet and he would ring in a couple of days.

Then it was time to drive Daughter to her festival, a smaller local event with only 18,000 happy campers as compared with Roskilde’s 75,000 or Glastonbury’s 175,000. When we got there the festival site was having it’s own private rain storm; it was absolutely throwing it down. It felt wrong putting her out of the car in all that rain, with all her kit for the next four days in a couple of black binbags. But she had her wellies on and sploshed happily off to meet the one of the schoolfriends she was to share a tent with.

So we’re childless again. After the mandatory trip to the supermarket when we shut up shop, and the mandatory viewing of the early evening news I declared that there was nothing else worth watching on the telly so we might as well get on with something else and stood up purposefully. Well, we have a ton of work which we need to get sorted before we leave this weekend, and a ton of washing to do before we can pack. We could have started getting supper on the go, but did we? Of course not. Heather followed me straight into the bedroom. We both knew just what we needed after a long and stressful day. A slow, gentle relaxing fuck before we made the supper. We undressed and lay side by side on the bed.

The humid weather and general stress had given Heather a dull nagging headache. I could see the deep furrows in her brow and started to massage her forehead with my fingertips. She started to relax almost straight away. I extended the circling of my fingers to include her temples, her cheeks, her lips and then started popping the occasional finger into her mouth where it was received by her probing tongue. She started circling my nipples with her fingertips and then rolled over onto her front so as to envelop them with her lips, reaching out for my cock as she did so.

She drew herself onto all fours, leaning in so that her breasts dangled over me. She brushed my chest with her nipples and then moved up to allow me to ensnare them with my lips. I reached out between her legs to find that she was already good and wet. A finger, then two, then three slid into her slippery opening while the thumb sought out her clitoris. A stray little finger slipped into her arsehole and I started to pump gently with that hand.

”You can stick your cock in there if you want” she murmered and pulled herself free of me. (Roughly translated; "I need your cock in my arse NOW!"). I rolled to one side, positioned myself behind her, and slammed into her soaking cunt three or four times. I always do this; even when her tight silky-smooth anus is on offer I will always dip into her cunt first, partly for lubrication but also because I just love being there. I eased the head of my cock into her little rosebud and got the customary sharp intake of breath and plea to be careful. I stopped there for a while, half in-half out and drizzled a stream of lube down the crack of her bum and onto my shaft before easing in the rest of the way, then I pushed into her with deep slow strokes, massaging her bum cheeks and the small of her back as I did so.

Deeply satisfying as this was, I wanted more. I pulled out and asked Heather to roll over onto her back. She did so more than willingly and tucked her knees right up into her chest to ease my entry. I was into her straight away this time and she gasped. I let her folded-up legs take my weight as I bounced up and down on her with increasing enthusiasm. We didn’t have to care about the creaking of the bed, there was no-one to hear. No-one to hear her cries either, or my grunts as we both came closer to orgasm. I was afraid that the whole thing might become too intense for her and that I would have to pull out of her before I had a chance to come, but at the same time I wanted to prolong the pleasure as much as possible. Looking down into her face, contorted by the tantalising approach of an orgasm which I knew she could never have by this means I wondered how long she was going to be able to last. Fortunately, Heather has a way of getting me to come quickly if she’s becoming uncomfortable and needs me to get on with it.

She tweaks my nipples.

It works every time. If I’m just about to come, holding on for the last drop of pleasure and she touches my nipples it’s as if she pulls a trigger and I just start spurting helplessly. A useful little safety valve. I came with a final animal grunt and pulled out almost immediately to capitalise on her being so very close to her own orgasm, letting her anal sphincter deal with any stray juices as best it could.

She clamped my hand between her legs. I clamped her breast with my free hand and she was soon arching her back and throwing her head back, crying out in release. I stroked her face and comforted her as the spasms died away.

And then we lay there in the half-light. The CD we had put on in the background had long since finished. We should get up soon and make the supper, then go for that long walk we promised ourselves. Her breathing grew heavier and more regular. I’d let her snooze for maybe 15 minutes, then we’d get up. The wicked thought entered my head that when she woke, as she surely would as soon as I changed positon in the bed, that I would fuck her all over again, and THEN we’d have supper.

In the end it was she who woke me. It was just gone 1 a.m. We had to get at least something to eat and get the computers turned off. I staggered bleary-eyed into the office while Heather took care of supper - not spag. bog. as planned but a piece of ham on crispbread. I had never eaten crispbread before a couple of months or so ago but inspired by a bloggy friend I now find I quite like it and haven’t touched white bread for ages. I’ve lost 2 stone already and if things carry on this way I’m going to have to find myself a new name (as well as some new trousers).

I wondered whether we were going to be able to get back to sleep again but I needn’t have worried. We obviously needed that extra sleep. Guess we’re working too hard.

Eeeeeewww!!

These sweets are very popular in this country, although they do have an odd taste which takes some getting used to.

Imagine the potential for breaking the ice at parties. How about this for the greatest chat-up line of all time:

"Hi gorgeous, you look like you need some Spunk. Would you like a taste of mine?"

For some strange reason the product is not marketed in the UK

Beauty And The Beast

NOTE: Some people might find some of the following account disturbing. Please bear in mind that the acts described are 100% consensual and done in the context of a loving and trusting relationship.


It’s been somewhat of a hectic weekend, with the prospect of a hectic week.

Friday was Daughter’s last day of term. She’s back there next year but a whole bunch of her friends are not, including the rest of her band. Predictably there were floods of tears all round when we came to pick her up.

We all drove straight to Eelfort to drop Heather off. She was meeting her old college leaving class for a 30 years reunion piss-up. I was assigned to drive back into town and pick her up later. Much later and somewhat the worse for wear. No nookie in prospect then.

Daughter was still gloomy on the drive home so we stoped by our favourite chinese to get some takeaway. As Eeyore (almost) said: ”Nobody can be uncheered by a chinky takeaway” It worked and we drove home in better spirits, she even resumed playing the ’yellow car’ game on the motorway. I still have the bruises to prove it.

Son and Girlfriend were off to the Roskilde Rock Festival on Saturday, along with some others from their school. Gf’s dad had accumulated enough frequent flyer miles to give them a pair of free tickets down to Copenhagen and the rest were supposed to follow in a minibus with all the tents. When the minibus finally arrived at our place mid-afternoon to pick up the baggage it turned out to be full of hot chicks. I wish I was eighteen again.

The bus managed to crawl about 30 miles before it broke down so the passengers had to make their way as best they could by train while the driver went back to get a van for the baggage. When son phoned us at 1 am from the queue outside the gates they still hadn’t turned up but he had met a bunch of Australians. He always manages to do this, he always finds a bunch of English speakers to get drunk with. Last year it was the Irish.

Daughter meanwhile had gone off for the day for an end of term get together at a local amusement park followed by a big last bash of a party in a nearby town, sleeping over with one of her erstwhile classmates. In short, we were alone again. The summerhouse beckoned.

The grey clouds that had hung around all week had finally cleared and we had a spectacular sunset. Out on the water we sighted a couple of sailing ships making their way south for the start of the Tall Ships Race. Out on the lagoon between us and our strip of beach a flock of four swans alighted on the mirror-calm water. Then, suddenly, what we had ben waiting for. A luminous orange sliver at the horizon, swelling and filling before our eyes to become a huge fat full moon hanging over the water, throwing the low-lying dunes into silhouette. We don’t have the most stunning scenery in the world, but the sight of that moonrise, with the northern sky still ablaze from the setting sun was simply breathtaking. We held around each other in silence, words seemed superfluous.

And then I decided it was time to explore our dark side:


I was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, when she came to me. She always undresses in the living room. I commanded her to take off her glasses and turn around. She hesitated, apprehensively.

”You want me to be in charge in the bedroom” I reminded her. ”So you’ll do as I say. Turn around”.

She turned and I tied the chiffon scarf over her eyes, then buckled on the wrist and ankle straps. She stood impassively with her hands demurely behind her back as I tweaked and rolled her nipples to plumpness, then guided them in turn between the serrated jaws of the nipple clamps and tightened until she winced. I took the red rubber butt-plug wuth the horsehair tail and draped it over her shoulders, sweeping it gently, almost imperceptibly down and across her breasts. I moved round behind her and slowly worked it down between her shoulder blades, down the curve of her spine and into the small of her back before gathering it up and lashing her a couple of times across the shoulders and then reaching around her and lashing her breasts.

I guided her to the bed and told her to lie face down and spreadeagled while I chained her wrists and ankles to the bedposts, pulling the chains tight so that her knees and upper arms were pulled clear of the mattress and securing them with little brass padlocks. Ropes are for sissies, I prefer heavy duty chains that weigh you down and feel cold on the skin. I placed two pillows under her stomach partly to alleviate the pressure on her clamp-encumbered breasts-I am a merciful master-and partly so that her bum jutted up in the air and her labia protruded out between her outstretched legs, for ease of access later.

Kneeling over her now I worked the rubber gag into her mouth and buckled it up tight behind her head. As a final touch to add a little more spice to her sensory deprivation I gently inserted a pair of earplugs in her ears. From now on the only sounds she would hear would be the blood singing in her head and the sound of her own voice as if heard from a distance. The damping of sight and hearing would serve to amplify the screaming of her remaining senses. If I were quiet she wouldn’t be able to hear where I was in the room or indeed if I were in the room at all.

I undressed carefully, then stood still and in absolute silence. I wanted her to lose all sense of the passage of time and I am very patient. Very slowly I took the horsetail and played it on her inner thighs, slowly drawing it up between her bum cheeks. Then I took it away again and waited.

Again with the horsetail, this time on the shoulders and the neck and the breast that was exposed under her arms. Again I took it away and waited.

She did not hear the swish of the riding crop through the air that might have given her a split-second’s warning. The flat leather tip slapped squarely on her right buttock and she yelled into her gag. A wait, just long enough for her mind to start wondering and then another blow, harder, on the same spot. A prolonged whipping with the horsehair raised a myriad fine red striations diagonally across her back. The constant irritation from those lightweight lashes distracted her attention from the fact that I was subtly changing position, lining up. The leather smacked into her inner thigh, first one side, then the other, then a strike up between her legs onto her swollen and exposed cunt lips.

While she was still recovering from the shock I had dropped the horsetail and picked up our old faithful leather flogger and set about her back and shoulders with renewed energy, her body convulsing with every stroke. Then I straddled her bum and set about her shoulders and the sides of her breasts with the riding crop. Her cunt lips, plump and parted were glistening wet and inviting and I rammed myself into her, put a finger up at the same time to wet it and then screwed that finger into her arse, I spat on the plug end of the horsetail as the only lubrication she was going to get and pushed that none too gently into her arse instead. Then I pushed her black tail to one side and rode her hard, that brood mare of mine, whipping her again and again across her shoulders and slamming into her as her sobs became convulsive.

The tears were flowing freely by the time I came, but I did not relent. I knelt up behind her and stuck my thumb into her, into that confluence of our fluids, and pummelled my hand hard into her, taking her clitoris with my remaining fingers. I know it is agony for her to come without being able to close her legs. I could see her straining and writhing against her chains as she shrieked and wept and bit down onto her gag.

In the quiet that followed it was time for tenderness at last. I removed the blindfold and the earplugs, released the tension of the chains so that she slumped down onto the bed like a ragdoll. I smoothed her hair and kissed her tear stained cheeks.

”By the way, I forgot to give you your safe word” I whispered. ”It’s ’You Bastard’”

”You bastard” she laughed. She was beaming, radiant, grinning at me through bleary eyes.

Gently, lovingly, I peeled her corrugated nipples from the cruel jaws of the clamps, released her shackles, eased out the butt-plug. We had indeed lost all track of time The dark of night was over and we were moving towards a new dawn. I went to the back door and drank in the chill air. Birds were singing and a mist was rising off the lawn as it got lighter by the minute.

The beast had been put away in his box again and beaty had returned. I came back to bed, snuggled down beside my beloved and slept until well into the new day.

I Can Do That

She half curled on the bed, pushing her back into my stomach and I slid my arm under her neck.

”I just need a cuddle. Will you just cuddle me?” she pleaded.

”Of course. I can do cuddles.” I reassured her.

”By the way, I can also do holding, and touching and stroking.

I can do talking and listening and whispering and growling.

I can do rubbing and caressing and scratching and tickling.

I can do pulling and pinching and tweaking and twiddling.

I can do licking and sucking and nipping and tongue-flicking.

I can do smacking and tying and whipping and hurting.

I can do good old fashioned hard shriek-the paint-off-the-walls fucking

and whether it’s a bloody good rodgering you want, or just a quick shag, I’m your man.

Should you suddenly be overwhelmed by the need to have a stiff cock deep inside you and afterwards feel the warm semen trickling down the insides of your thighs, all you have to do is ask”.

She giggled and thanked me politely.

I let the tip of my tongue harvest the salty remnants of the day’s perspiration from the nape of her neck and I could feel the thrill running through her warm body.

And she fell asleep in my arms.

So Many Posts...

...So little time

My head is buzzing with ideas for new posts right now, I've got until the end of the week to get them all written down before we leave for IN-GER-LAND (not Wales or Scotland this time, unfortunately) and stuff like WORK keeps getting in the way. Bear with me if it all seems a little disjointed. I may have to hold some posts over until we get back.

Meme

I got this one from Vi. I can never resist a good meme:

WHAT WERE YOU DOING TEN YEARS AGO?

We were on holiday, visiting England for the first time as tourists having moved away the previous year. We were kid-free as my brother and his family had just been to visit us and had taken our two with them when they returned home. We took the boat to Harwich and spent a couple of nights in a hotel in Ely. I remember being most offended at being accosted by someone in Cambridge (a city I know very well from my youth) offering punting trips on the Cam. I mean, did I really look that much like a bloody tourist?



SONGS TO WHICH YOU KNOW ALL THE LYRICS:

Queen: Bohemian Rhapsody

Led Zeppelin: Stairway To Heaven (doesn't everybody?)

New Radicals: You Get What You Give

Gabriel Fauré: Requiem (well, any requiem mass really, but I know the music for the Fauré)

Flanders and Swann: The Slow Train


plus just about all the songs for the characters in Camberwick Green and Trumpton.



FIVE THINGS YOU WOULD DO IF YOU WERE A MILLIONAIRE:

According to my accountant I am already a millionaire, at least in the local currency. But don't get too excited, a million groats goes nowhere these days.

I would hire a brewery for a night and invite all my friends (including you!) to come along and help to prove that I really can organise a piss-up in a brewery.

I would bring about the total destruction of my enemies, corrupt public officials and sundry oppressors of the poor.

I'd visit Canada. Heather has relatives over there.

I'd visit Australia. I apparently have relatives there, although they went out there a long time ago and somewhat against their will.

I would buy an aircraft and learn to fly it.

FIVE BAD HABITS

I am a Walkers Cheese and Onion Crisp junkie

I eat peanut butter straight out of the jar with a spoon. If a spoon is to hand. If not I just use fingers.

I pick my nose incessantly (but would wash them before helping myself from the peanut butter jar, and vice-versa).

I scratch my toenails on the woodwork at the end of the bed - This drives Heather POTTY when she's trying to sleep.

Is masturbation really a bad habit? Your views, please:

FIVE THINGS YOU LIKE DOING:

Sex

Blogging and reading the other wonderful blogs out there

Drinking

Travelling by plane or train

Sex

FIVE THINGS YOU’LL NEVER WEAR AGAIN:

My All Saints Primary School regulation cap and grey belted macintosh. They're WAAAY too small for me.

My railway uniform: Blue serge trousers, waistcoat with pocket watch, whistle and carriage key, regulation railway cap.

Speedos. Heather objected when my gut began to hang over the waist and they became invisible.

My 'City University' T-shirt. Daughter has pinched it now.

Pyjamas



FIVE FAVORITE TOYS:

My laptop of course

My '73 MG Midget (off the road right now but someday?)

Heather. And before I get a howl of feminist protest, I'm also hers.

My model railways.

The njoy.

Sugasm #86

Sugasm #86

Mon 2nd Jul, 07

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

Want in Sugasm #87? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Ménage“Sometimes, she’s even more the centre of things than he is, since she is a more recent addition to the dynamic, and since we both adore her.”

Money and Sex“And then in walks sex, #1 potential button pusher of all times.”

Denied - 11“There’s a click, and a lifting of restriction, and cool, soothing moistness.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself
The Skeptical Pornographer: The G-Spot.


Editor’s Choice
A fitting for a marriage


More Sugasm Join the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Sex News & Reviews
Fun Factory Layaspot Mini Vibrator ReviewNEW Designs Throughout the Shop!

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Adult Meme: Q & A
A Brief History of Literature
Cockwhore 101 - Spitting
Have You Ever Used A Vibrator So Long That Even After You Stopped It Still Tingled?
Internet fuck buddy
Is it in yet?
It’s Behind You! Hurry Before It
Lesbian Sexuality 101
Q & A For (More Than) One (I Hope!)
Persian “Lover” - Part Two
Read Me
TMI, Anyone?
What if today was the last day?

BDSM & Fetish
BaitBeer bottles and nipple clamps
Daddy’s little girl
Featured Fetish Film: Lez Go Retro (Lingerie, Nylon, Lesbian)
Ms160 celebrates a birthday
Oh, Sweet Release! (Kinda)
Parking again
Scenes From My Bedroom - Part 1: TakenSpace

Sex Work
The Art of Teasing

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
BodyPaint - Pictorial Presentation
Breann McGregor Undressed Nude Pictures
Deep Tongue Lovin
’LSG Models’ Latest Erotic Photos and Video
San Francisco Pride Pix

Sex & Politics
The no porn pledge (And my response to other misguided people)
Watching Big Love…

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Dirty Talking Girl
Hot Summer Nights are a Voyeur’s Dream
I know u want to
In Love With Her Best Friend
Laid
Saved By The Bell
Sexual Dreams~ ~#1
Silver Screen
Sleepy Time
Sweet Release
Unfinished
When Joe Brought Suzy Home 3