When The Children Are Asleep...

We did have some time to ourselves this weekend, however it was 2am before we were ready for bed. But hey, it was saturday night. Normally we have to temper our bedroom activities when daughter is home but she had been fast asleep for hours. Heather had a ‘middle-aged moment’ just as she had got undressed and lay spread out on the bed to cool down. I lay beside her, my head level with her breast, nuzzling it and curling my tongue round her nipple. When she had cooled down a bit I crouched over her on all fours and went down onto her other nipple, enveloping it in my lips, at the same time positioning myself so that my nipple ended up on her lips. I love this position. We twiddled tongues and sucked and pulled and bit while my free hand was probing between her legs and hers had a firm hold of my cock.

After a while I knelt up beside her, the better to pinch the one nipple between finger and thumb, but she had other ideas: She shuffled down the bed until her head rested in my lap and slowly began to lick up and down the length of my cock before closing her lips around the head and sliding down to envelop it and I cradled her head as she nodded rhythmically back and forth on me. When her neck began to tire of this I repositioned myself again so that I laid across the head of the bed so that we formed a ‘T’ with my cock sticking straight downwards into her throat as if nailing her to the bed. I wiggled and thrust my hips to get ever deeper and she just took it all.

I pivoted round so that I was lying on top of her in a proper ‘69’, hoisted her knees up under my armpits and lapped away at the feast spread before me: A little clitoris for starters, fleshy labia to chew on and the main course of her luscious deep hole just inviting me to dip my tongue in again and again Then I rolled off and insisted that she straddle me instead. I drew in a deep breath, heavy with the scent of her as she lowered her luscious cunt onto my face and I reached round her bottom to pull myself onto her then, as she settled in, repositioning them to cup her dangling breasts and pull her nipples harder and harder as she came closer to her orgasm.



Some while later she was lying face down, stretched out, legs closed. I gently parted her bum cheeks, found a way in and gently entered her; pushing ever so slowly so that we could both savour the moment. I stretched out on top of her and kissed the back of her neck as I massaged her shoulders. As stealthily as a boa constrictor my one arm snaked around her throat and tightened just a bit and using this purchase I was able to slide back and forth up and down her body. Then, pulling her up onto all fours I half-knelt with one foot planted beside her, took a firm pincer-grip on her neck and slammed into her as she reared her head back and finally shot my load into her.


And then we were back to where we started. Her naked and spreadeagled on the bed, me half-sitting and cradling her head on my lap, not moving a muscle for fear of waking her. She looked so beautiful and peaceful in the half-light and I didn’t want to spoil the moment. I love it when she falls asleep in my arms, so I just sat there listening to the radio and watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts.

It was 3.30 am.

What Wouldn't You Do For Your Kids?

So how was your weekend? Ours was rather dominated by the demands of the kids. ‘Twas ever thus.

Friday night and Daughter was back from school. Not that we saw much of her, she was too busy getting herself ready to go out to her cousins’ who was having a birthday party, and who had lined her up with a blind date. The fact that she was home again by 11 seemed to suggest that it hadn’t been a total success, but she wouldn’t be drawn on the subject.

I spent the evening replacing the hard disc on Son’s laptop. Correction: I spent two minutes replacing the drive and the rest of the evening reinstalling all the software to get it working something like it was before.

Saturday we both work until 1pm. Then I had to rush back home in order to take Daughter out to an audition. There is a talent competition taking place in the beginning of March for young vocalists, organised by the local borough council. The person in charge is a music teacher in a local school and he is auditioning all the applicants himself to make sure that nobody embarrasses themselves ‘X-Factor’ style. For the competition itself the singers will be backed by professional musicians, with whom they will be rehearsing the day before. The first thing he said to Daughter as he ushered her into the school music room was ‘I’ve already heard good things about you’ which was a good start. It turns out that he plays in a band with the father of one of the guys that Daughter played in a band with last year. Music really is just one big family.

She had brought a friend along to accompany her on the guitar, and she launched immediately into a song I had never heard before by an artist who is not well-known yet in this country, let alone the rest of the world. I don’t know what it did to the music teacher, but it brought a lump to my throat. Then she gave him ‘Hotel California’ and Save Tonight’ by Eagle Eye Cherry but it was the first song that really made an impression. After she was finished he said “Well, there’s no question that you can sing. Just let me know what you want to perform on the night so that I can organise the backing group”. And that was it.

After celebratory buns and cocoa back home, the rest of the day was spent recovering what files I could from Sons’ terminally knackered hard drive so that by late evening I could present it back to him as good as new and with twice the storage capacity. It seems amazing to me that he can set up his amplifiers and effects pedals to make his bass sound like the Second Coming, but he’s incapable of a little simple installation on a computer. Or maybe it’s just easier to let Dad do it. Dad doesn’t mind in any case.



The next day we were late up, for reasons which will become clear in the next post. Sunday was a beautiful day; a day which seemed to be making amends for the gales and lashing rain of the previous few days. Cold, but brilliant sunshine out of a cloudless sky. The kind of day when I could cheerfully taken off down to the summerhouse, if only to chop firewood.

No such luck.

Daughter had to be delivered back to school by 5pm as that evening the whole school were off to Norway for a weeks skiing and do you think she find her thermals? We spent that glorious Sunday turning her room, the spare room and eventually our bedroom upside down trying to find the thermal long-johns she hadn’t used since last year.

Eventually she was packed and delivered to school on time, but on giving a cheery “I’m back!” to Heather when I eventually returned I was greeted with a “How would you like to take another trip up there. She’s just rung to say she’s forgotten her thermos flask”

“AAAAARGH”.

My reward: My little girl put her arms around my neck and said “I love you, Daddy”.

The things we do for our kids, eh?



By the way, just in case you were thinking that we must be very wealthy and privileged to send our daughter away to private school, I would hasten to add that it is not at all like the system of private schools in UK and other places. Far from being elitist, these schools are very egalitarian with a philosophy based around tolerance and an awareness of the outside world. We pay something towards school fees but we also get an allowance from the state based on the fact that she is not taking up a place in a state school. That allowance is based on income, so less well off families can end up paying nothing at all. There are kids there from all walks of life and all different abilities all learning to get along together. When I see the changes that have come about in her over the last year or so I know that, for our daughter, it was absolutely the right decision to send her there.

Seven Things I Approve Of

I got this one from Vi. She says she didn't want to tag anyone in particular as she didn't want to be turned down...As if!



Hotel Sex: Of course I approve of any kind of sex, anywhere. But there’s something about hotels: It is almost as if they are made for the specific purpose of having sex. There is something a little naughty, a little illicit, about having sex in a hotel room even when it is with your long-term partner. With the way that our business has developed we now have a good team of colleagues around us who can run the place in our absence. The happy result is that we’ve had more hotel sex in the last two years than we had in the previous ten. I’m glad to say that there’s more hotel sex in prospect next weekend. I promise a full report later!

Blogging: Well, that’s a bit of a no-brainer: Of course I approve of blogging. I read quite a few blogs for quite a considerable time before I took the plunge and started writing myself. I enjoy writing creatively but in the past the very act of putting pen to paper has always made me very self-conscious, as if there was always someone there looking over my shoulder as I wrote. Thanks to the wonderful world of blogging I can put my efforts out there for others to read, or ignore, and I get to share in other bloggers’ writings and experiences

Railways: I love railways in every shape, form and description. I always have done. Right from when I was in a pushchair my mum would take me down to the railway station most afternoons to meet my dad from work. That was on the main line from Kings Cross to the North and Scotland and there were still steam locomotives pulling some of the big expresses. You could say I grew up with the sight and smell of trains

Long summer nights: We don’t quite get ‘midnight sun’ here at these latitudes, but as good as. At midsummer it never really gets dark and at weekends at our summerhouse we’ll stay up all night making love or simply enjoying the nearness of each other and not go to bed until the dawn chorus is well under way

Golf: Never played it, can’t imagine I ever will but I approve of the game of golf for the simple reason that it keeps so many otherwise boring people out of circulation for protracted periods every weekend.

Buttsex: A subject and a practice that is still surrounded by taboos for many people. It is fascinating reading round different blogs to see the attitudes to anal sex, both in the posts themselves and in the comments. There is a whole spectrum of experience there from ‘couldn’t live without it’ to couples who are just tentatively starting to experiment while in other cases one or the other partner may have had a bad experience or for some other reason simply will not countenance trying anal. It is interesting to read how many men dislike the idea of anal sex.

We have both been enjoying it for almost as long as we have known each other, at the beginning we used it as a crude form of contraception (You have to understand that HIV was not an issue then, it was that long ago. This is clearly not a thing I would ever advise now). For us it is a very special thing. It is capable of giving immense satisfaction but, hastily or clumsily attempted, can give great distress. We keep it special by only enjoying it once in a while, and then only when we have time to spend on preparing ourselves and getting thoroughly relaxed beforehand.

Pubs: An obvious one. What can I say about the good old British pub that hasn’t been said already? Hilaire Belloc said it better than I ever could when he wrote in 1925 “when you have lost your Inns drown your empty selves, for you will have lost the last of England”.

Well, there we are. That's my seven in no particular order of importance. Now, who to tag? I hesitate to ask, but Selena, are you up for this?

Sport For All

Neither of us are particularly sporting types. Heather played football in a local ladies team as a teenager. I did a bit of judo until a brace on my teeth put a stop to that. Televised sport usually leaves us cold as well, but this week is the Men's European Handball Championships in Norway (if by some slim chance you hadn’t noticed). Now handball is just as popular as soccer over here and our national team is doing rather well in the championships. So much so that they shifted the 7 o’clock news on telly by an hour tonight to show live coverage of our team thrashing Poland, the current European number two team.

However, no matter how riveting the game, we can both do without the post-match analysis and with 15 minutes before the news was due to come on, Heather turned to me.

“Want a fuck?”

Now that's our favourite sport: I was in the bedroom before she was, undressed and ready for a quickie. We would just have time for one before the news came on. She came in and sat on the edge of the bed with her back to me so that I could flick her bra strap undone, then she leaned over and stroked her tongue and lips up and down the length of my steadily rising cock…

An hour later I drew myself back to give one final devastating thrust back into the mess of fluids I had just deposited inside my wife….and slipped out. I guess it wasn’t as long as I thought it was, at least not any more. With it was withdrawn a large viscous blob of our combined juices which trickled down onto the sheets. I sat back on my heels between her splayed legs and laughed out loud. Heather, whose own orgasm had barely subsided, reached languidly out for a tissue. Too late; much too late.

We lay there and cuddled for a bit, but with large areas of the bed uninhabitable and supper to get we decided to get up and get going. We could even catch up with the news, even more delayed.

Great inventions, these hard-disc recorders.

Anything Worth Watching On The Telly?

Spot the difference:



Before





After

We have just had a satellite dish the size of Jodrell Bank installed on the side of the house, so that now we can see UK freeview terrestrial channels via satellite: BBC1-4, ITV1-4, Channels 4 and 5, even dear old S4C (Oh how I’ve missed ‘Pobol y Cwm’). Plus half a dozen channels of bored housewives playing with their tits (Don’t think I can phone them for a live chat from here though).

Question is: I’ve been away from watching UK TV for so long that I don’t know what’s worth seeing any more. Re-runs of ‘The Sweeney’ and ‘The Professionals’ on ITV4 are a given of course, and you don’t have to remind me about ‘Corrie’ and ‘Eastenders’. I hear good things about ‘Torchwood’ and I’m sorry I missed ‘Life On Mars’ but anybody got any tips on what is unmissable? What do you set the video for when you go out?

Footnote

One of Heather’s reservations about going to the Erotic World show was the inevitable: ”What if we meet someone out there we know? What will they think of us?”

“Exactly what we’d think of them; They’re just out for a laugh and a good time.” Was my reply.

Well, we did. We met her brother and his wife. Not the ones we were out with the night before where she is a cook; the other brother. The one with the enormous chopper.

We had a laugh about it with each of us saying “Thought we’d meet you out here” to the other and then went our separate ways. It turns out that they had invested in, amongst other things, a radio-controlled vibrating love-egg.

We were down at their place last night for dinner, with the rest of the family, to celebrate my niece’s birthday. We couldn’t help a few in-jokes and sniggers between us, and of course nobody else at the table had a clue what we were going on about. We were just having a quiet joke about the potential for activating the thing in restaurants and suchlike when into the dining room wanders other brother in law’s five-year-old carrying an enormous remote control for a toy truck.

Well the four of us just fell about laughing, with shrieks of “Look out, that thing’s got a range of over a mile” and suchlike and SIL giving a range of facial expressions like she was being vibrated to a happy death. We were in hysterics and meanwhile, Heather’s mum and dad, SIL’s mum and dad and the rest of the table were just completely mystified as to what was going on and of course that just made us laugh even more.

We’re going to have to seriously consider getting one of these. It seems they have the power to liven up even the dullest party.

Ups And Downs

“Your arsehole was wide open this morning…You were gagging for it.”

“Mmm… Maybe.”

“It still is. You just can’t get enough, can you?”

“Try it and see”.

As a way of ending an argument, the above exchange was certainly different, but surprisingly effective.

Although we left the pub in good spirits after the disappointment of the Erotic World show, we started arguing almost as soon as we got inside the door at home. It was really too silly for words. Heather wanted me up in the bedroom and right NOW!!! I misread the signals and carried on sorting out some little thing I was doing, Heather felt rejected, I told her she was being stupid, we both started shouting and after a brief spat came the prolonged stony silence. I went out, slamming the door behind me and stayed out all evening. It is embarrassing to look back on now, it was just so childish. We were both a little bit drunk.

When we went to bed around midnight, things were a little better between us, but we still each wanted to get our point across, to make the other understand how we had been wronged. As if it really mattered. We’re just as stubborn as each other. Finally, after a couple of hours of going round the same old arguments Heather rolled to me, planted her lips on mine as the only way of shutting me up. It was something we should have done hours previously because we suddenly let go all of our tensions . My hand darted between her legs; she was wet. Of course she was. After the great sex we had had that morning I couldn’t understand how it had all gone wrong. I commented on how willing she was for buttsex that morning, as a stealthily slipped a slimy finger round into her arse once more. She moaned a deep, satisfied moan. She was just as ready to receive as she had been earlier, which is unusual.

I wasted no more time. A generous dollop of lube (We really should have bought some at the show, we’re rapidly running out) and I was into her, full depth, no holding back. I fucked her from the back, from the front, from the side. I fucked her with her legs up over my shoulders, and with them curled round my back. I crushed her close to me and gave her little jabs with the pelvis. I did press-ups into her as she hoisted her hips and spread her legs wide in the air. I grabbed the bars at the end of the bed and pulled myself back and forth on them as I rammed into her. Then at last, kneeling up behind her, I grasped her hips and pulled her hard back onto me and spurted deep into her before sinking back with head bowed and wrists crossed over her back as the enormity of what I had done, the power and the lasciviousness, all overwhelmed me.

I don’t want that feeling of being overwhelmed ever to go away. I don’t want our anal sex to become so commonplace that it loses its power to leave one deeply satisfied and yet helpless. It’s not a thing we’d be able to - or even want to - do every day, let alone twice in one day. But on this occasion it was a great way both to start and end the day.

After all the ups and downs of the day it was a case of ‘All’s well that ends well’

As Erotic As A Wet Teabag

After our good start, we were well set-up for the rest of Sunday, or so we thought. I had convinced Heather that we should go along and have a look at the ‘Erotic World’ fair in our nearby city. This is an annual event and in the past has attracted crowds, not only of participants but also of protestors, including a preacher walking up and down outside carrying a full-size wooden cross and a whole busload of women weeping and wailing for the poor lost women being exploited inside the venue. Perhaps it was a tad insensitive to schedule it for Easter weekend, so this year’s event was moved to a cold, wet weekend mid-january. In any case, large crowds were still predicted, with exciting stage shows every half hour and a tempting array of merchandise to suit all tastes from countless trade stands was promised.

How does one dress for such an event? For myself I went for ‘smart casual’; chinos and polo shirt. I had toyed with the idea of putting in the enormous ‘diamond’ ear stud á là David Beckham. (Well, cubic Zirconia of course), but opted for a more discreet little one with a black stone instead. Heather wore a bra to augment her finest assets, with a tight-ish blouse over the top and a denim skirt and ‘Fuck me, but fuck me discreetly’ boots. A chunky, spiky, flax and silver necklace that could resemble a piece of BDSM kit finished off the ensemble.





We felt out of place the moment we stepped in there. Instead of the seething throng of enthusiastic free spirits, out for a good time, what we found was as sad a handful of spotty social misfits as I have ever seen outside of a train-spotters convention (and I am a recovering train-spotter, so I know what I’m talking about). Grubby men in grubbier t-shirts, either alone or in the company of women in grey shapeless jog pants pulled up high as if taking part in the 'Ms. Cameltoe 2008' contest.

The sales stands turned out to be mostly multifarious manifestations of the same company, although there was a stand promoting the local S&M club where a wimpish-looking man and a stern woman glowered out from behind a display of whips, chains and collars. They looked bored shitless, I'm sure they'd rather have been spending their sunday afternoon in a nice damp dungeon somewhere. Otherwise, everybody was selling the same stuff, and it was all pretty much rubbish. I had it in mind to buy a good quality pair of nipple clamps but could only find glorified crocodile clips. I did find a reasonable leather collar with good heavy rings attached but Heather was emphatic:

"We’re not buying anything here”.

I could see her point. This really was not the place for buying items designed for our most intimate pleasures, spread out as they were on tables, being handled by all and sundry.

At one end of the hall you could get your photo taken being cuddled by a real live nude ‘porn star’, that is to say the 19 year-old waif who could be seen being given a good rodgering on the flat screen beside the booth. A bargain at a tenner, or if you wanted to spring fifteen quid she’d put a dildo up her as well.

The stage show turned out to be a bored stripper who couldn’t even be bothered to strip. She came on stage nude and faffed about with a fan while Christina Aguilera pumped out of the speakers to either side of her. I glanced at Heather, and again at the stripper with her fake tan, fake boobs and fake blonde hair. I knew who I'd rather be spending time with and turned away.

"Can we go soon?" Pleaded Heather above the pounding beat and I nodded, so we did what any right minded person would do under the circumstances: We went to the pub. The English pub I have mentioned before.

"Tacky" Was Heather's verdict as she downed her cider. I could only agree. instead of the trade show I had expected it was more like a travelling fair, a circus, pitching up in a different town each weekend but with the same crap merchandise, the same tired performers and the same tacky sideshows. They've probably already booked the venue for a return visit next year.

I think we'll just stay home and fuck instead.

Sunday: Starting The Day Right

Last Sunday was an odd, unsettled day. We woke late, having had a fair bit to drink at Heather’s brother’s house the night before, coming back home and continuing drinking until about 2.30 am when we fell into bed and just passed out.

Sunday morning, when we eventually surfaced, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in a dozy, dreamy sort of way. We were in no hurry, so for an hour or so we were just cuddled and fondled and kissed. Twice Heather fell asleep while stroking my cock then woke and carried on as if nothing had happened. When I finally ventured my hand in between her legs, she was slippery and ready for me so I just eased into her for a little while just to feel her closing tight around me. But we had the whole morning before us and we didn’t want to rush things to a finish just yet.

I pulled out again and, with her knees still drawn up, I settled my head in between her legs, my face pushed into that sweet wetness, and licked. I teased her clit, savoured her labia, dipped into her delicious cunt. Heather rolled over onto all fours so that I could lie on my back and slide up between her legs. As she pressed down on me I cupped my chin in my hand and slid two fingers up along the front wall of her cunt while licking and sucking her clit. The area around her g-spot was swollen and easy to find. Instead of rubbing it directly I slid one finger to either side of this little bump repeatedly back and forth as I carried on licking. In her growing excitement Heather pressed herself harder and harder down onto my face until I feared she would crush my nose completely. In the end I had to stop. There is, after all, a limit to how far one is prepared so suffer to pleasure ones beloved. The other night I foolishly laid a finger across her mouth as she was about to come and she nearly bit it off.

I repositioned myself so that I was kneeling beside her, intending to finger her to her orgasm first, and hooked a couple of digits up inside her, to the accompaniment of sighs and moans. I carefully added the other fingers and then withdrew one to give an exploratory push into her arsehole. To my delight it was already relaxed and welcoming so without too much further ado pushed two, then three fingers into her, assisted by generous dollops of lube. Then, kneeling up behind her, I gave a couple of thrusts into her luscious cunt and then gently applied the tip of my cock to that puckered rim. It plopped in without difficulty and Heather let out a huge sigh of relief or pleasure, or both.

Any thought of letting her come first was abandoned now. I just hammered away inside her and she just took it all, pushing back on me as I plunged into her, slapping my balls up against her as her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps. I keep telling myself that If I can just hold out a little longer, keep sliding in out of her without precipitating my headlong rush to orgasm I might be able to get Heather to come first and for me to come with her contracting on me. One day maybe but not this time. It was close. Very close indeed, but not this time.

As it was, after I had come I was able to slip my thumb into her flooded rear passage, the rest of my fingers in her soaking wet cunt and my little finger curled round her clit. With a bit of pinching, bottom-biting (at her desperate request), slapping and nipple pulling she finally got her release as well.

We didn’t lie in that puddle of each other’s fluids for long. We went to the downstairs bathroom and showered together, then got ready for what we had planned for the rest of the day.

But that’s for another time.

Sugasm #114

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #115? 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

Sexay“You bite my tautish thighs passionately, and drag my thong off with your teeth.”

Resolved“Naked now, I turned her towards him, running my hands across breasts, midriff and down between her legs.”

Afterglow“She’s hot, where only seconds ago in the throes and tears of her ecstacy she shivered.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Pimpin’ Presidents

Editor’s Choice
“ Coming out” for spankos

More SugasmJoin the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

BDSM & Fetish
The business trip - Chapter Four
The Captive Princess
Dark Odyssey Summer Camp: final roundup
Fetish: Fifteen Fifty-Word Stories
Higher the voltage
Hot Summer Night
Immobility
In my place
Pro-Dommes: Good Or Bad?
Profile of the Week“Put Your Mouth On It”
Three Boys in three days… Part 2

Sex Advice
What to Do If Your Man’s Penis Is Too Big

NSFW Pics & Videos
I Feel Myself
Fucking on Film
Lucy C
Pornsaint Ashlynn Brooke
Sexy New Years Eve HNT

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Brotherhood Of The Traveling Panties
Filling Your Bondage Toolbox: Advanced - The Stainless Steel Anal Hook
Happy January 2008 Blogiversaries!
Interview with Jen Cross on gender roles, butch/femme, sexual abuse and writing
Lesbian Psychotherapists, Part 1
Masculine, Sexy, and 100% Naked - Welcome to The Garden of Adam!
My Cat Watches Us Shag!!!

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
And the Winner of Best Hot Safer Sex Scene Is…
Disgusting Comment
Friends Who Fuck
I’m Easy
Impertinent Question of the Week: What Song Did You Lose Your Virginity To?
Sex: Is That All There Is?
Yeah, But What About Swallowing It?

Sex Work
Sex Worker Confessions: The English Courtesan
Sex Worker Solidarity: Secondhand Rose
The Ugly Side of the Sex Industry

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Big Bad Wolf
Cuckolding happens as we write
First anal…continued
Guest Poster #1!!! - Siren presents “Slick Stuff”
Rampant Ruf
Sex after Marriage: The First Time
She smiled when I kissed her
So, I hacked it off
Unicorn Sighting
Warmth
Yellow Sofa

Imagination

Enforced celibacy can do strange things to the human mind. Or at least to my mind. While we were away at Christmas I dreamed up all sorts of sexual fantasies for us to enjoy.

I’ve just posted one of them over on my other blog, the one where I keep my fantasies. If you’re quick you’ll be able to read what I have in mind for Heather before she does!

Afterglow

We lie on a crumpled sheet that not long before had been meticulously smoothed down. The duvet with its flower pattern lies in a psychadelic ball beneath our feet. The air we breathe in the darkened room is warm and heavy with the scent of sweat and ylang ylang, of her and of me. Of sex.

She's hot, where only seconds ago in the throes and tears of her ecstacy she shivered. Her skin glistens in the glow from the radio. I can smell her perspiration and long to lick it from her, but a hand passed lightly across her abdomen is all the bodily contact she can bear right now, a hand that cannot resist the lure of further down, where her smooth stomach funnels down and is decorated with a proud mass of hair, now somewhat matted from our exertions.

I had knelt up behind her as she sat on the edge of the bed while I massaged her neck and shoulders with soothing oils. I knelt beside her as she lay face down and I ran my slippery hands all the way up and down her back. I knelt astride her legs as she knelt on all fours, inviting -no, craving - penetration. I knelt beside her and clasped her to me as, overwhelmed at last, she collapsed and the tears flowed freely. I knelt once again behind her as her legs intertwined with mine, pulling me closer onto her until I too found my release.

And now, as I lie on the bed I realise how tired I am. It is only now as I have the opportunity to relax every tense muscle that I realise that I am aching all over from the day’s work.

She’s cooler now, lying on her side curled up as if a foetus again. And I am to play the enveloping uterus, offering warmth, protection, security. I wrap my arms around her. The hand that had closed round her throat or roughly grabbed her hair and jerked back her head just minutes ago is now resting on her breasts, marvelling at their smoothness and softness. The hand that so recently smacked her until she yelped and then was thrust inside her is now lightly brushing her pubic hair. She’s blissful, serene, trusting. She knows that these hands will not hurt her now. Nor ever will again unless she wish it.

Despite ourselves, it’s late. Despite reminding each other several times during the evening that we had to get an early night, each reminder being reinforced with a pointed look and a half smile. But there was a lot to take care of, and there'll doubtless be even more to do in the morning. The glowing segments of the digital display deliver their verdict with atomic accuracy. 2 am. We both crave sleep, but crave this closeness more. I tuck my knees in behind hers and rest my head on her neck, the remains of my hardness still sufficient to press into the small of her back. Even though it's dark and she's facing away from me I can imagine her smile as she feels it. I ask he if she has worn a necklace with a leather cord today. She says she has and asks why. Above the all-pervading scent of the ylang ylang massage oil I can still smell the leather on her neck.

We talk of all sorts of things, important and inconsequential. Gradually her speech becomes more slurred. She misses out whole sentences or maybe it is just me that has missed them. In a moment of lucidity I realise that I had been talking gibberish. An image flashes into my mind of an arab dhow being sucked into a whirlpool while I stand on a beach and watch and then another image comes to me, of my wife laid out before me naked and surrounded by slave girls as in a harem, while I pump literally gallons of my semen over her flat, almost concave, stomach.




When I wake next morning those dreams are still as clear and vivid as if they had just happened and she is still lying in my arms. She stretches out, offering me new opportunities for me to run my hands all over her. She reaches out behind her and guides my head towards hers, straining until our lips meet.

"I needed that" she says.

"The sleep?" I ask "Or the fuck?"

She kisses me again.

"Both".

So This Was Christmas (and what have we done?...)

She was spread out on the bed, naked and vulnerable and I crouched over her like a lion guarding its quarry against rivals, stooping down every so often to devour neck, throat, breasts or lips.

This was our first night back after a week of enforced celibacy. We had had a fine Christmas together with the whole family in my sisters house in the West Country but it wasn’t really conducive to any sort of sex. There were thirteen of us including all the kids in a not-especially-large 17th century cottage. It’s not as if we were cramped, we were actually very comfortable but when you can hear your brother snoring from the next room coupled with all sorts other sounds from all over the house you don’t really want to add creaking bedsprings to the mix.

We arrived on the day before Christmas eve. That’s right; the day when fog caused 250 or so flights from London to be cancelled. We arrived at Gatwick three hours late, having spent an extra half hour in the air over Sussex at no extra charge while they found a slot for us to land so I suppose we got off lightly compared to some. We’d already arranged a rental car so we were soon on our way towards Bournemouth to spend the night at my mums before heading further west on Christmas Eve.

It was a very enjoyable traditional Christmas. The first time my mum has had Christmas with all her grandchildren together at once. Possibly also the last, ours are growing up so fast and will soon be going their own separate ways. We had a big roast beef dinner on Christmas Eve, followed by a trot up to the little parish church for the midnight service. On Christmas day itself the younger kids were of course up at the crack of dawn, but fortunately there are enough of them for them to play contentedly among themselves without disturbing the rest of us. Dinner wasn’t until 3pm, just time for all right thinking folk to head for the pub for a swift one. I don’t have a local any more but if I did it would be this pub, where my brother in law is a regular. We go in there every time we come over to UK. and the landlady recognised us and greeted us as old friends.

Dinner was very traditional with both turkey and roast pork, roast potatoes and parsnips, homemade red cabbage, sprouts, sausages, stuffing and all the rest. The pudding was flamed in cognac and was the best I have ever tasted, together with homemade mince pies that absolutely melted in the mouth, served with custard, ice cream or real Devonshire clotted cream…or all three.

Boxing day we thought we’d go out and get some exercise so we all piled into our various cars and drove down to Dawlish Warren where we took a long walk along the beach and up in the dunes. The weather was fine, not too cold and no wind to speak of so we spent several hours out there, burning off a few calories and giving the kids a chance to let off some steam.

In the evening we tried out one of my presents: Granny Racing. It’s bit like scalextric except that instead of racing cars you have white-haired old ladies in wheelchairs. Completely tasteless of course, but great fun. We organised a knockout granny racing tournament which had everybody in fits of laughter.

You can always wish for more time: One more day and we could have spent more time with my mum, another and we could maybe have gone up to London to see the lights, yet another and we could have visited more friends and maybe taken in a panto. But we had to get back; we had commitments and so did the kids. Their social life is more hectic than ours these days. As it was we managed a day seeing old friends in Winchester and one in Oxford seeing family and a little bit of shopping.

So here we were, in bed after our journey home, kids asleep and the first chance for any sex at all in over a week. Not that it could be too wild or involved. We had one half-day to work before the New Year break and the staff, having all worked during our absence, were all off.

She reached for my cock with both hands, gripping and stroking the shaft with one hand while rubbing the palm of the other over the head, a truly delicious feeling. I reached for some lube to enhance the sensation, but then stopped. We’d do that another time. Tonight I wanted it in her mouth. I guided her head downwards and she took me in her mouth and treated me to a long and luxurious blowjob while I just lay back and enjoyed it.

When she eventually surfaced again I pressed my lips to hers and kissed her long and deep and hard, savouring the taste of me on her. I reached down between her legs, letting her pubic hair tickle the palm of my hand before grabbing hard at her fleshy mons, causing her to gasp as I pulled upwards. Despite this promising start, despite her yearning for release she was very hard to bring to orgasm: There was just too much pent up tension there and she could not properly relax. The ideal would have been if we had hours to spend on each other so that we could slowly shed the accumulated tensions of the week one by one like layers of clothing, but we were on a time limit, we had to be up early next morning and that knowledge and the need to finish quickly only made matters worse.

We tried every position, I pushed every button I could think of and at last she broke down into a shrieking, wailing orgasm of frightening intensity. It just rolled on and on and I was tempted to just jump on her while she was still in the throes of it and finish myself off while she was still contracting onto me. But I had other plans. I always have plans.

I reckoned that a week without so much as a decent chance for masturbation would leave me primed and full of juices and that was a chance too good to waste. As soon as she was able, I motioned her to lie across the bed with her head hanging off the end and to push her breasts together. I stood astride her head, squatted slightly and wanked myself off onto her tits. Just as planned the flood of semen, gathering in her cleavage, ran along her throat, under her chin and risked dripping onto the floor from behind her ears.

Heather complained of not having had as much cock inside her as she might have wished. Had I thought of that I would have provided her with the unfeasibly large rubber one to keep her happy. She’s got a point of course, she might have reasonably expected to have her insides flooded, but with such quantities being anticipated I just felt I needed to splash it around a bit.

I hope she understood.

Easy Like Tuesday Morning

(With apologies to The Commodores)

She stood with her back to the fire and slipped down her red satin pyjama trousers to warm her bare bottom, while lifting her top just to please me. Then she turned, put her hands on her knees and thrust her newly-warmed bum towards me.

“Well”, She demanded, “Are you going to get on with it?”

“I thought you’d never ask”

“Do you want me over the back of the sofa, or shall we go into the bedroom?”

By way of reply I was already struggling out of my shirt, kicking my jeans round my ankles. It was warm here in the living room, and besides, the curtains were open as were the blinds, giving a view out over the slate-grey sea, and an even more interesting view in for anyone who happened to be passing along the footpath at the end of our plot and who chanced to look this way, unlikely though it was on this cold and blustery first day of the year.

We had slept in late, eaten a leisurely breakfast and then just sat there warming ourselves by the fire. No radio, no tv to interrupt the peace. No kids. We could have been sitting there for hours, or maybe only minutes. Time seemed to have no meaning. No conversation was necessary, we did all the communicating we needed with a squeezes of the hand, glances and smiles. We sat there and looked out at a watery blue sky, shot through with streaks of angry grey. We had watched as the day started to fade and die before it had even really got started.

We pushed and shoved the furniture around so that she could stand, bending over the back of the sofa and I could stand behind her. Little dips of the knees from both of us to get the height just right and I settled into a steady rhythm with my balls slapping into her. Her breath became shorter and shorter, as did mine, but I knew she was never going to be able to come in that position. She can never relax enough to really let herself go for fear that she might fall in a heap on the floor. I’d take my pleasure first for a change and then devote my attentions to her.

Whether it was the effect of the booze the night before, our general dreamy state or my advancing years affecting my ability to shoot at a moment’s notice I’m not sure but after a protracted (and admittedly very pleasurable) session of banging away inside my beloved, it became clear that nothing very much was happening. Heather sensed this too and, as I eased out to just change the angle a little, she straightened out and laid down across the sofa with her legs high in the air. In this position, with her bum supported up on the arm, I could just fall on top of her and everything ended up in the right place and in a very few moments I was lying, spent and happy, giggling like a fool and nibbling her ear.

She didn’t change her position as I knelt on the floor beside her, slowly parted her labia with my thumb and dabbed my fingers in our combined juices. She didn’t take long to come, but when she did, the intensity of it shocked me. Every muscle of her body seemed to contract as her body went rigid. Her head thrashed from side to side and she shrieked out loud despite herself, almost in tears as the tension finally broke.

It had suddenly become dark. The last of the day had slipped away and we decided to let the fire burn itself out while we packed up to go home. But it had been a good New Year. We had eaten at home with Daughter and one of her friends. Kangaroo steaks as a change from the traditional cod in mustard sauce. At ten we had left them to it and retreated to the summerhouse under an artillery barrage of fireworks. At midnight we had left the warm sanctuary of our living room to stand on the lawn and watch the sky lit up with ever more fireworks as we sipped our champagne. The sporadic flashes that had been going on all evening climaxed to a continuous blaze of light, illuminating the clouds from all around. There were even flashes from way out to sea, or were they from as far away as Sweden? However the wind had taken on a bitter edge and we didn’t stay out for long. Much wine and a couple of rotten old films on the tv later and it was 4am. Heather headed for the bedroom and I followed. She was lying on the bed, naked and spread out. Inviting.



And now, back home and with only a few hours sleep until the holiday season was over for good and we were plunged back into our daily routine once more, she was again lying in my arms, satisfied and sleepy.

“That’s three times in the last 24 hours”, she murmered, dreamily.

If I didn’t know better I might suspect she was trying to keep some sort of New Year’s resolution.