Blogged Every Day In May

Well, the challenge was to post every day in May, and here we are on the 31st with number 31 in a row. Somehow I’ve managed to get something out each day, although it has been by the skin of my teeth sometimes, and all without posting a single meme. Not that I disapprove of memes per se but I thought I would see if I could manage without, plus I haven’t really seen any good memes recently. Heather thought that posting sugasm listings was cheating but I told her what I always tell her on such occasions:

”If you think you can do better then write your own bloody blog”

I thought at the outset that I would draw on my little reserve of half-written posts and embryonic ideas for posts in order to find something to write about each day but in fact there is no shortage of subject matter, new topics keep popping up and my reserves are largely untouched. There is still a healthy backlog of things to write about. With the summer promising to be long and hot and the prospect of both kids effectively leaving home, I don’t think there will be any shortage of material any time soon, however, While I don’t think posting every day is going to be a regular thing from now on, this month has certainly shown that it can be done. This couldn’t have come at a better time because my daily routines have changed drastically here in May and it has helped me to settle into a new little niche where I can write undisturbed.

Respect to Angela-la-la (aka fussy bitch) for having the idea in the first place. It’s been a lot of fun (to write, if not to read). Heather also thought it was a great idea and gave me every encouragement to keep posting. I caught her logging on several times a day to see if I had updated, or to check out the latest comments.

I’ll be taking a little break for a few days now. Heather and I are away for a protracted weekend. It’s a business trip so hopefully it will feature our favourite kind of sex…TDHS (Tax-Deductible Hotel Sex).

That should be good for a post or two when we get back.

The Promise of Red Hot Sex

That's what we've had all week. The promise of red hot sex. If we could get to bed in reasonable time.

Needless to say, it simply hasn't happened. As previously mentioned, we have closed down the little outpost of our business and I have been busy shifting stuff out, moving display cabinets, demolishing partition walls and generally returning the premises to the state they were in when we moved in. It makes a change from my normally sedentary lifestyle but I have been getting home in the evenings absolutely knackered.

Heather, meanwhile, has decided to dispense with the services of our book-keeper. She charged a fortune for doing something Heather can actually do more efficiently. However, the work has to be done and this has led to some late nights this week.

And then there was Wednesday when we were out to a piss-up at a lovely old 17th century thatched pub with lots of food, drink and a New Orleans style jazz band. It goes without saying that was a late night.

Last night we were down at the other shop again. Both of us this time, to scrub the floors and do a final clean-up. It was 10 o'clock by the time we were finished and, as the summerhouse lies on the way home, we decided to stay there the night.

We sat on a bench by the waters' edge, just relaxing. Heather made as if to straddle me, but it was only in fun. It will have to be a long hot summer before it is warm enough for her to get her kit off outside after sunset.

We went in and enjoyed the strawberries and cream we had brought with us. We could hardly keep our eyes open although it was only 11. We decided to go to bed. We agreed that we were so exhausted that we were just going to go to sleep. We would cuddle up close and fall asleep in each others' arms.

As if.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We lay in a relaxed spoons position, Heather reaching behind her, fondling me. Me squeezing her bottom, nuzzling my stiffening cock up into the crack, trying to work out how to ease into her slowly and gently from that position.

I gave up. I sprang to my knees, pinning Heather down with one hand to her throat, spreading her legs with the other, and just rammed into her hard and fast. A little pause midway to pull out and rub her clit until she orgasmed and then I flipped her over and rammed her from the back until I came as well. It was all over in as much time as it takes to tell. It was rough and it was crude but it was so very very necessary.

As was the deep sleep we both fell into immediately afterwards.



Unfortunately, another consequence of being so very busy this week is that I have been bursting to write about the hot, taboo-breaking sex we had last weekend, but haven’t had the time to really do the subject justice. So you’re just going to have to wait.

Like the title of this post says, it’s a promise of red hot sex.

I’m a rotten tease like that.

Get Away

For the first six months of last year, Daughter and a bunch of her schoolmates formed a band which they called ‘HU Jam’, or just ‘The HU’ for short, named after the initials of the school. They had a lot of fun, playing various gigs at the school and also outside, but of course when the school year ended the band members all went their separate ways. The front-man and lead singer is now at a music college, the lead guitarist went on to form a band at his college which has won local talent contests and acclaim in the local press.

Before they split up, however, they recorded a few tracks of their own composition and this CD was sent into a national radio station, which was doing a series on the music scene in schools across the country. Daughter wrote the song, and it is her singing on this clip.

boomp3.com

She has stayed on at the same school this year, formed a new band, and is still writing and performing. Maybe I’ll post some of her more recent stuff another time. The picture is from the school website. She's the one one with her mouth open!!!

Sugasm #133

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 #134? 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

Giving a Damn“Something happened somewhere along the way, though. I began to care.”

Catalina loves “Better Sex Through Yoga”“I’ve tried a lot of things, as you can imagine, but there were even a few new things in there for me!”

Reality Check: Dealing With Assholes“Being able to decline a call is great but bills still need to be paid.”

Mr. Sugasm HimselfSugar Bank
E
ditor’s ChoiceThe Secret Lives of Plants

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

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Infidelity - An International Pastime
Misc. Letters
Rant: Strip clubs are for customers, not dancers
Top Ten Law Phrases That Sound Dirty, but Aren’t

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Mistress Claire Adams Dominates Sarah Jane Ceylon on Hogtied
Sasha Grey HotMovies Interview
Site Review: Into The Attic
The Ultimate Smoking Fetish Movie - Julie Simone’s Smoking Interviews 3

Erotic Writing and Experiences
And Closer Stil
lDoin’ It Like A Porn Star
Fucking the co-worker
Ode to Anal - Sebastian, and the anal bond
The Ruf Guide to Coital Stamina
She’s Got Teeth
Smoking please.
So… who are you tonight?
Subway Ride
The West End Experience

Sex Work
My Naughty Thoughts

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bedroom Radio #15: JohnBaku of FetLife and the G Twist Vibrator
Bouquet
Duck Race HNT
Flirtatious little bows -HNT
Guy fucks a black mouth in free video
Half-Nekkid @5:30 am
Hot Asian webcam girl made me cum hardJulia S. - Bellisssima
Missed Show Punishment Spanking - Video Clip
Mistress Seven and Mistress Porsche Lynn shopping
Mistress Zena trampling a lucky sub
Putu (Hegre-Art)
Video: Cock Teasing, Twice-Coming Fun!

Sex Advice
Advice: My Boyfriend Won’t Go Down on Me
Greater Intimacy Through Tantric Sex
On Desire
Reader Asks: I Haven’t Met Her, But Should She Leave Him?
Smelling Like Sweet Romance?? - The Dangers of Douching

BDSM & Fetish
Anniversary, fatigue and quickies
Another Interesting MorningArrival
Beating
Follow My Rules-Part II
Haunt Hunt, But No Goth Cunt
Learning My Limits (part 3)
My IMsL 2008 Trip – Part 6
Parachutes and Panties
Stock and Bonds, ch. 2
Summertime, And The Piggies Are Easy
Underneath

Silence

It’s odd that, for something that is essentially nothing, there can be so many different types of silence. It’s all in the state of mind of course.

For example, there is the angry silence, where the electricity in the air is tangible, where both parties glower at each other, daring the other to be the first to utter a word and make the smouldering anger explode into full fury again.

Then there is the awkward silence, the province of the timid and the tongue-tied. Fitful attempts at conversation interspersed with long painful pauses, not knowing what to say next or, more importantly, how to say it.

There is also the gut-wrenching agonising silence emanating from the telephone when that call you are waiting for is overdue, perhaps expecting one of your children to phone home to say that they are all right, have arrived safely, are on the bus and on the way home. And yet, unaccountably the call does not come and in the awful lonely silence your mind runs through all the dreadful things that might have happened, invariably discounting the most likely and most benign explanation.

And then there is the silence that comes when there is nothing more to be said, when two people have known each other so long, are so deeply in love with each other, that they can transcend words. The looks and touches that they give each other, the way they hold themselves and their very body language when they are around each other, rendering words unnecessary.

It was this last type of silence we enjoyed as we sat in the gathering twilight of yet another glorious day, warming ourselves by the embers of the little fire we had lit beside the barbecue. We had eaten well; drunk very well, had made love wildly and passionately and would shortly do so again, slowly and gently.

And just for that moment in time, mere words were simply not adequate to express our feelings for each other. They would simply have got in the way.

A Loo With A View

Without a word of a lie, I took this picture while sitting on the toilet in our summerhouse. There is something wonderfully liberating about being able to go about your essential business with gentle sea breezes wafting round your nether regions. In the summer I make a point of having both the bathroom door and the stable door wide open. There’s no one to see so why not?

When we eventually have the place rebuilt I am going to insist on two things: A loo with a view and a stable door I can bend Heather over.

Anybody else have an interesting view from their bathroom/bog/khazi/dunny/can? Don’t be shy, post it and drop us a comment to let us know.

Party Animal

Daughter got back from the city in the mid Sunday afternoon. She had been pushed backwards into a hedge, she had had beer thrown over her, she had cut her hand on a beer can while rolling down a grassy slope, she had drunk more than was good for her. In short, she had had a great time. We got home from our weekend in the summerhouse at about 6. When looked in on her, she was hard at work, revising for an upcoming German exam...

Son, who is traditionally the Heavy Metal wild child of the two, was, by way of contrast, the picture of domestic bliss. He had spent Saturday night watching the Eurovision Song Contest with his girlfriend. Maybe I'll buy him a pipe, cardigan and slippers for his birthday!

Not Dressed Like That, You're Not!

Daughter came home from school last night and announced that she was going to Carnival in the nearby city today. This is an annual event, the biggest of it’s type in Northern Europe.





Together with a couple of schoolmates she had sewed costumes and they are going as the Powerpuff Girls.

As long as she doesn’t get shown on the regional TV news tonight stupid drunk or showing immoderate amounts of T & A. Then she’ll have us to reckon with.

Yes, I know it’s hypocritical. I have no qualms about seeing somebody else’s daughter in a sequinned bikini or messing about in a fountain in nothing but a thong and a thin t-shirt, but when it comes to mine she’d just better keep her thick woolly overcoat buttoned right up to the neck… or else!

Senses

I choose not to open my eyes. For most of us, vision is so much the predominant sense that it swamps all other impressions. So I choose to limit my world to the six inches or so I can see through the lace curtains of my eyelashes with more than half-closed eyes. We had gone to bed as the morning sun cast the first long shadows across the lawn, and made love to the sound of the dawn chorus. We slept in each others arms and woke to a light somewhat akin to a blast furnace streaming in through the skimpily-curtained bedroom window signalling another glorious sunny day.

We made love again. Fell asleep again. Woke again with our bodies dappled by the sunlight shining through the newly-sprung leaves of the trees outside.

Sunday. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to see. We lay as we had fallen asleep, jumbled together across the bed, a corner of a kicked-off duvet pulled up to give a little extra snugness.

I feel her. I feel her warmth, the roundness of her shoulders and of her breasts. I feel her cheek brushing against mine. I hold her close and feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes rhythmically, contentedly.

I hear her too. Hear her breathing. Not quite asleep and not quite awake. The drawing of breath occasionally punctuated by quiet little moans. I hear birdsong in the trees, a squirrel pattering across the corrugated roof above our heads, I hear seagulls and, in the distance, the rasp of the eternal Sunday lawnmower.

I taste her. I can just barely touch her shoulder with the tip of my tongue to savour the saltiness I find there. But more than that, as I lick around my lips I can still taste traces of her left on me from the excesses of a few hours ago.

I smell her, and me. The smell of our juices that flowed so freely when I used her willing body as my playground. I bring my fingertips to my nose and breathe in her lingering musky essence. I bury my face in her shoulder again and am soothed by the natural aroma of her skin.

It’s nearly noon. We are both awake, have been for what seems like hours, but neither of us want to speak.

Neither of us wants to be the first to break the spell.

Doin' It Like A Porn Star

She gave me that look. THAT look. That wanton look that told me she knew just what she wanted and intended to get it. We were both already naked and I was sitting on the sofa. She came over to me, gyrating her hips and fondling her breasts, pushing them together. She straddled me, still gyrating. She was the pole dancer and I had the pole. She lowered herself carefully over me, sank down on me with a lascivious sigh, pushed her soft breasts into my face and thrust her hips in sharp little jabs while I grabbed around her bum and pulled her onto me.

She rose off me again, grabbed hold of my cock and led me into the bedroom. I stood obedienly by the bed while she went down on all fours, head down and buried in the pillow, bum jutting high in the air, legs splayed, cunt lips swollen and gaping wide with a gleam of moisture between them. No mistaking what she wanted me to do. I stood with one foot on the floor and one on the bed beside her. I pushed forward just enough to let the tip of my cock rest in her cleft and then stopped, stopped to run my hands over the perfect rounded smoothness of her bum and to hear her moan in appreciation, stopped to let the very tip of my glans be titillated by delicate fleshy ruffles of her inner labia, stopped to wet my thumb in my mouth and then press it onto her arsehole, then gently pushed again, infinitely slowly until my whole length was once more inside her.

Like a mighty steam locomotive slowly picking up speed I started to stroke faster and harder, first touching, then bumping, and at last crashing into her with jarring thuds at the end of each thrust.

”Oh my God” she moaned. ”That’s so good, that’s just how I need it. Oh my God, you’re hitting just the right spot”

And so it went on.

This was something completely new to me. From being rather self-conscious in the start, Heather has become more vocal during sex over the years, and especially now we no longer have children around the house to worry about, but she has never before been verbal in that way. Afterwards, as we were lying together in our shared post-coital haze I told her how much I appreciated her verbalising her desires, how much it turned me on. I wished she would do it more often.

”I know, but it sounds so corny. I think it makes me sound like I’m in a second-rate porno movie”

(Like, the idea of fucking a porn star would turn any guy off, right?)

Everybody does silly things during sex which they wouldn’t dream of doing at any other time. It’s all about throwing away your inhibitions and living in the moment.

Corny or not, I’ve waited years for her to talk to me like a porn star.

The Curse Of The Controllers

Warning! Do not fall foul of the curse of the controllers. It’s power is terrible to behold!

We have a competitor to our business in town. I’ll call him ’Donald’. Fair enough, competition is a good thing, it keeps us sharp and people like the feeling that they have a choice. As long as they keep making the right choice, I’ll be happy.

Some eight years ago we decided to open an affiliate business in a town about 15 miles away. At the time there wasn’t room in the original premises for both Heather and myself (we are equally qualified) to do what we do. The new place was never a huge money-spinner but it fulfilled a local need and kept me out of mischief.





Then, some four years ago our competitor Donald decided he was going to open up a branch of his business in that same small town. Sheer madness, we were only just making a go of it. We knew he had some strong outside financial backers but this was just shovelling money into a bottomless pit. Was he doing it just to hassle us? To try and drive us out of business? If there was to be any war of attrition he was going to come off worst, we were already well established and had by far the better location in the town.

Times change and after our rebuilding of our main premises there was suddenly room for me ’back home’. This, coupled with the retirement of our full time assistant down at the other place at the beginning of the year led to our decision to close the business there. While it didn’t exactly make a loss, we reckoned on me being able to earn more by not having to go down there every other day, coupled with the cost savings, which really amounts to the same thing. What really annoyed me was the thought of our competitor believing thet he had managed to shut us down, untrue though it would be. We closed at the end of April and I have been spending many happy days down there since in disreputable jeans and t-shirt rather than my usual respectable business attire, clearing the place out.

My joy was, therefore, almost unbounded yesterday when I picked up a copy of the local paper and there on the inside page, was a full-page advertisement from our respected colleague, Donald Duck, announcing that their branch in that town is holding a closing down sale. He's getting out too!

Heather, the rest of the staff and I were going round yesterday giving each other high fives and going

"YESSSS!!!!"

Sugasm #132

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 #133? 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

Fuck The Pope.“The Church would have you believe that abstinence should be sufficient.”

Good Boy“Despite my outward appearance, I still felt sexy as hell knowing what was underneath those misleading garments.”

May Masturbation Challenge: Progress Report day 10“At the Dee & Apollo household, it’s early on Day 10 of the May Masturbation Challenge. ”

Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)The US Constitution Erotic Coloring Book

Editor’s ChoiceUK Criminal Justice Bill Clause 63 - but what is “extreme”? - A Beginners Guide

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

BDSM & Fetish
Anal Attentions
D.I.Y.= Dom It Yourself
A different type of torture
Dinner at La Domaine
Hot Bottom Maintenance Spanking
Hot Mommy
Kiss and make it better.
Jumping the “Shark”
Punished. Bare.
Submissive Little Darling
Tied

Sex Advice
5 Advanced Vaginal Fisting Techniques
No More Bush
Sex: A Guide for Newbies-Chapter #1 The Vagina

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Closer
Cuntphobia
Erotic Writing 102?
In his arms (2)
A Man’s Wetdream
Mid Stroke
See you through my eyes
Sex on the Road
Sticky Heat
Stock and Bonds, ch. 1
Wear Nothing Beneath Your Housecoat
Why I Missed Work Today

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Busty Redhead Mz Berlin Dominated And Forced To Cum
Catalina loves Asking Mz. Berlin 15 Questions
Clone my what?
Jenna Haze HotMovies Interview
Telugu Condom Song

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bali Hai -HNT
Erica & Rachelle Drummond
InFocusGirls
January Seraph is so pretty in this corset and collar
Massage Therapy (video)
Megan Jones Free Photo Gallery from Digital Desire
The Perfect Fetish Picture
Video: Doin’ It on My Balcony

Sex Work
Fetish Fridays: Sploshing Revisited

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
1, 2, 3, 4! Sha la la la la la live for today
Art Personified
Believe to Understand
Book store surrender
Confessional
Corporate Outings, Sex Rooms, & finding out how Vanilla your boss is
Flicking beans
An Open Letter to You Who Troll Craigslist: For the Fellas
Seamen = fine. Semen = Not.
Twisted Childhood Tales, and What They Became

Pissed Off

Ever get one of those days when you / feel like you are wading through treacle? When you’ve got a ton of things you need to do but the turn of events and the demands of others just conspire to get in your way?

Today is just such a day, but then that goes without saying. It’s a Monday. People have been brooding over their little problems all weekend and then they all come in at once. They’re all demanding and unreasonable and impatient and just plain bloody difficult. You can’t sort their problem out, and the person who can is on the phone trying to sort some other crisis, while a third member of staff is hopping impatiently from one foot to the / other because they are trying to deal with someone who only you can sort out.

/

There’s no point starting anything requiring concentration because you are inevitably going to get interrupted, most likely at the critical moment and then when you get back to the task half an hour later, you’ve lost your thread.

/

Now, where was I…

/

Oh yes. I hate Mondays

I’m off out Karting tonight and nobody had better get in my way because I’m pissed off as hell and if anybody gives me any crap then their sorry ass is TOAST!!!!!!


Wondering what all the ///’s are for? That’s the number of times I was interrupted while trying to write this.

Scenes Around A Dinner Table

Well, it’s Sunday night and Heather and I have just come back from another glorious weekend down at the summerhouse. The kids didn’t want to come and we weren’t about to twist their arms! They both profess to be revising for exams although that didn’t stop daughter from going into the city on Fríday night to see her current fave band ’The Assassinators’ and then crash out at her friend’s place afterwards.

The result of all this was that half an hour around the table at supper tonight was the only time we were all together for the whole weekend before I had to ship Daughter back to school.

I’m sure it is the same in any family but some of the conversations just have to be heard to be believed. For example, Daughter was describing in all-too-graphic detail what happened yesterday when Son had made her laugh while she was in the middle of eating baked beans.

S: ”Yeah, you had baked bean juice coming out of your nose. It was gross. I filmed it on my mobile.”

D: ”I want to see that.”

S: ”What for? You were there when it happened. Anyway, you can wait till I put it up on YouTube.”

Then, not five minutes later, they were talking about their impending exams and discoursing knowlegeably on the ’Modern Breakthrough’ movement in late 19th century Scandinavian Literature, comparing the merits of the likes of Strindberg, Ibsen and J.P. Jacobsen. Suddenly, I was out of my depth, and that is a very strange feeling for a parent to have.

You want to keep them forever as kids, and yet it is a thrill to see them maturing into adults.

Inelegant Proposal

This is for Giggle: For some reason she wants to know the story of how I proposed to Heather:

From their viewpoint in the rooftop restaurant of their hotel, high up in the hills, it seemed as if all of Hong Kong was spread out before them. The neon glare of the city and the lights of countless boats bobbing on the water in Kowloon Harbour made the perfect backdrop for what he was about to ask her.

He had been sent out to Hong Kong by his company and had arranged for her to fly out and meet him. It had taken nearly all of their savings to buy the ticket, but there are some things that just have to be done properly. He fumbled in his pocket for the little domed box and opened it before her. The flickering candlelight lent extra fire to the flawless stone and as he drew breath to ask the question she already knew what her answer was going to be….

The wedding was everything she had planned for herself. As a teenager she had been to some function at this country club hotel and had determined there and then that, come what may, this was where she was going to hold the reception. She had even worked out exactly where they were going to stand for the photographer, on the lawns above the lake with the tree-covered hills as a backdrop.

As we stood on that very spot, Heather turned to me and smiled. At last she seemed glad that we had accepted the invitation. I put my arm around her and ran a gentle hand over her prominent bump. She had been dubious about flying in her condition and to Northern Ireland as well. Hell, people were still shooting each other over there in the early ‘90s, but Hayley was an old friend and a whole lot of the old crowd from Uni were invited. It was going to be one hell of a party.

“It was so romantic, the way Roger proposed to her”. She mused. “Why couldn’t you think of something like that”.

I was stumped for an answer. Money, possibly. We were both barely out of university at the time, both just starting our careers, both regularly overdrawn at the bank. Ignorance, too. With what I know now I would have done things differently. When I proposed to Heather I had little feeling for the subtleties of romance. We had been living together de facto for all of our time at University, had taken jobs close to each other and rented a flat together for the year after. Now that our financial future was more secure we could start to think about marriage. It was a purely practical thing. I didn’t realise that, even with the marriage being more or less a foregone conclusion, a woman expects. No, DESERVES, a romantic proposal.

At least it was memorable. We had spent the day in London, sitting the final part of our Professional Qualifying Examinations. We both knew we had passed and would soon be receiving our licenses to print money. From now on we were free to travel almost anywhere in the country or indeed the world and get a reasonably well paid job. We stepped off the train in Winchester, bought a bag of chips at the Chinese takeaway by the station to share on the way to the bus-stop and, as we walked down North Walls, I turned to her and said:

Well, I suppose we’d better get married, then”.

And that was that.


Footnote: Hayley and Rodger’s fairytale marriage lasted little over a year.

Number Twelve, Sandpiper Way

That’s the address of our little piece of heaven. Down to the end of the road, last on the right, overlooking the sea. It’s not just marketing talk either, you really can see sandpipers on the shallow stretch of water between us and the sand bar. There are Oystercatchers too, and Curlews with their haunting cry, Ringed Plover and Bewick’s Swans.

The garden, surrounded by trees as it is, attracts all sorts of wildlife. Everything from Hares, Hedgehogs, Red Squirrels and even the occasional Deer, to Dragonflies and of course a rich variety of bird life. Just this last weekend we were visited by Kestrel and Stonechat, a cock Pheasant that seems to regard our lawn as his exclusive territory and the welcome return of the Cuckoo. These are normally shy and elusive birds which you hear but rarely see. This one just sits on the topmost branch of our highest tree in plain sight, calling at the top of it’s voice.

This last week I have been rather erratic in reading my favourite blogs. The simple truth is that the weather has been so marvellous that, as soon as we have been able of an evening, we have just dropped everything and headed down to our little summerhouse to stay the night there. No kids; they’re both up to their eyeballs in exams at the moment, which probably explains why the weather is so hot. Daughter with the equivalent of GCSE’s and Son with what equates to A-Levels i.e. the ones he needs to get good grades in if he wants to get into university. Today He had Spanish while she had German. Despite Heather and I both having degrees in a life-sciences-related subject neither of them accept the help we have offered in biology. But then neither did we when we were their ages. So it’s just Heather and I sitting on the patio, sipping chilled cider and watching the sun go down, with only the local wildlife for company.

Can you blame us, making the most of the good weather as long as it lasts?

No jury would convict.


By the way, you may have noticed that among the bird species I made no mention of having seen any Great Tits….As if I would stoop so low to get a cheap laugh.

D.I.Y.= Dom It Yourself

Just a casual browse through the websites of any of a number of companies specialising in sex toys will turn up a wealth of articles aimed at the Dom and their Sub. Everything from furry handcuffs to beautifully crafted solid steel neck-rings which, once in place, cannot be removed. Not to mention floggers, gags, clamps and all the rest of it. Certainly some of these items are very expensive, although exquisitely made, but we have found that you can certainly have fun on a budget.

The hardware store is a veritable goldmine of items which can be put to uses not originally envisaged by the manufacturer. I use cotton rope for tying, but have also bought yards and yards of heavy chain. I like to attach great loops of it to Heather’s ankle and wrist cuffs and let her stand with it weighing her down before I finally chain her to the bed or stretch her out in the doorway prior to a good lashing.

Then there are these things:

Sold cheaply as tarpaulin grips, with their screw tensioning and wicked little serrations they make excellent nipple clamps. I put snap hooks on the end so that they can be quickly attached to chains or to each other, useful when joining nipple to nipple - hers to hers, or hers to mine for even more fun.

I mentioned the gag the other day, made from an airflow ball, the type used for golf practice, with a length of red ribbon threaded through it.



Or how about each wearing a pair of latex disposable gloves while touching each other all over (assuming you’re not allergic, that is). Heather loves that feeling.

The latest addition to our toy box got there by accident. We wheeled the barbecue out for the first time last Thursday down at the summerhouse and discovered that the wire brush we used to clean the grill was completel threadbare. Then I remembered that we had actually bought one last year and had never used it because the weather was so diabolical we didn’t barbecue once during the whole summer.

This brush had been on offer at the supermarket, the equivalent of a couple of quid (less than $4). It felt weighty in the hand, with a flat steel surface on one side of the head and a thousand little copper threads on the other. I wielded it and swung it, then laid it to one side. Heather caught that wicked look in my eye. We would have to find some other way of cleaning the grill.

Come bedtime that evening, we undressed in the lounge as we always do when at the summerhouse and sauntered through into the bedroom. Heather threw herself down onto the bed, arms and legs outstretched. I ordered her up again and told her to bend over, while I reached for the brush.

“I thought you were joking” she complained.

No joke. My curiosity had been aroused.

I started with the flat side, slapping the cold steel onto her bare rump, but quickly turned it around. I wanted to see what the wire would do. I started very gently at first, just tapping he bottom really but it had an instant effect. I was very careful to administer good clean blows and not to drag it across the skin. I was putting very little power into the swing, really only letting it fall under its own weight. I covered her bottom with a thousand little pinpricks before progressing to the more delicate skin of the backs of her legs and she bit her lip under the shock of each blow. Then, as I increased the intensity and the frequency of the treatment lip biting was no longer a panacea. She shouted out, nearly screamed, I reduced her to tears before I relented but never once did she ask me to stop.

With her still bent over the bed, but now soaking wet, I rammed into her and fucked her hard and fast. Relenting only to jam a hand into her and finger her to her orgasm I put one foot up on the bed, grasped her hips and pulled her back onto me as I slammed into her again and came with a loud yell.

We slept wonderfully well that night and woke refreshed to another glorious sunny day. The wire brush was still where I had left it, on the bedroom chair. It has a permanent home in the bedroom now, we’re just going to have to get another one if we need to clean the grill again.

A Wilt Moment

In one of the ’Wilt’ novels by Tom Sharpe, there is a marvellous episode where the eponymous hero manages to convince himself that he has worms when it turns out all along that his wife has been discarding her used dental floss in the toilet bowl. I had a similar experience the other night.

It all started just after Christmas in Marks and Spencers in Oxford. I was trying on a new pair of trousers and was feeling pretty pleased with myself because they were two sizes smaller than those I bought in the summer. The changing room was equipped with two mirrors, enabling one to admire oneself from behind and as I bent forward I saw to my dismay that the hair was thinning over the back of my head. I had finally got myself down to a reasonable weight and now I was going thin on top. Nature can be a bitch sometimes.

Don’t ask me why I am bothered by this. Heather says she doesn’t notice it and there is no reason why I should want to be attractive to other women, but I still find myself tentatively fingering the back of my head trying to assess the damage on a daily basis.

Fast forward to last Monday night. We had just got back from the summerhouse having been living down there since Thursday and Heather decided to have a soak in the bath after her hard travails in the garden. I told her to leave the water in for me afterwards. Sadly, our bathtub is barely big enough for one of us, let alone two.

Now I shower every day, we have a purpose-built shower cubicle in the downstairs bathroom, but very rarely soak in the tub. The other thing you need to know is that I am rather short sighted. Without my specs I cannot see clearly more than about 18” from my face. When I had finished and the bath water had run out I grabbed the shower hose to wash away any stray hairs remaining in the tub. I have learnt after all these years of marriage that women find hairs in the bathtub repellent for some reason.

I looked down into the empty bath expecting to find a few errant wisps and recoiled in horror ar the sight of a great dark mass of hair lining the sides. I am under no illusions that I am steadily losing hair, but it is starting to come out in CLUMPS. I’m bloody MOULTING.

I went into the bedroom to find Heather and bemoan my hair-loss to her. She smiled. Guiltily.

“Oh, sorry. Perhaps I should have warned you” She said.

“ I shaved my legs while I was in the bath”.

Sugasm #131

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 #132? 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
Kink
“A bill outlawing the possession of “extreme pornography” is set to become law next week.”

M is for Mine
“You comment on my wetness.”

The Story Behind the Waxing
“I tend to go to people that I trust really know what they are doing when it comes to my pussy.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Keeley Hazell Regrets

Editor’s Choice
The sadistic impulse

More Sugasm Join 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.)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Being the Receiver…
Desperate boy.
A Parity of Madams and Whores
Trapped
You say trannyboifag, I say trannyboifag

Sex Work
At Least My Vibrators Don’t Judge Me
Sex Worker Solidarity: Gracie

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Blowjob in the showers
Clarity
Drunk and horny
Flash #1 - Greedy
Two Minutes and 52 Seconds
Unicorn Sighting

Sex & Politics
Um. Pornography is in focus?

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Another Gratuitous Picture Post
Back with HNT!
Half-Nekkid at the Beach
Lilaceous
Mirror Mirror
Monica - Drop On Jacuzzy
Pornsaint Kylie Ireland
Strange Sex Fantasies
Teen bobs on Ron Jeremy’s cock
Video: Long Distance Lovemaking

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Catalina loves Melvin Moten, Jr. (An interview with the fetish photographer behind Erocrush.com)
If You Were a Sex Toy, What Would You Be?
My IMsL 2008 Trip – Part 4
The Sexiest Form You Might Ever Fill Out
Shall We Play A Game?

BDSM & Fetish
Cerebral Trainee Subject: Susan
A day of torment (pt 2)
Dining Table Punishment Spanking
Dionysian Tales
Harmony Rose Is Dominated On The Training Of O
Other World Kingdom visit - Part 4
Submissive Little Darling
The Submissive Male Construct and Nice Guys
Weighty Matters

Sex Advice
A Little Lesson on Figging…
Sex Dates for Parents
Vaginal Fisting: What It Is and How to Do It

Sibling Rivalry

All through their childhood our kids have never really got on. They squabbled and fought and bickered and argued most of the time. Son always regarded Daughter as the irritating little kid sister, while Daughter wasn’t going to take any crap from Son. Especially bad was when we were going anywhere in the car. With those two on the back seat you never knew when a shout or scream or full-blown punch-up would erupt to distract you from your driving. I remember after one particularly nightmarish journey they were both promised that they would be sent to their rooms as soon as we got home and could stay there until they were prepared to calm down. Daughter was duly marched upstairs and Heather and I went down into the lounge to flop out in the armchairs. About ten minutes later I heard the telltale scrape of her door being gently opened and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of something fluttering down the stairs. It was a drawing - she’s always been very good at drawing – in black felt tip of a beautiful princess imprisoned at the top of a tower. We had to laugh.

Fortunately, things have calmed down a little now. They have both had the experience of living away from home at boarding school. They are both musical and, though their styles of music are totally different, they can respect each other’s talents. They can talk to each other on equal terms.

When we went to England for Christmas last year we went for a big family walk on the beach on Boxing day, I suddenly noticed that the two of them had gone on ahead of the rest of us. I have no idea what they were talking about, but it is clear from the pictures I took that beneath it all there is a real affection between them:

There are bonus points for anyone recognising the town in the background.

Genius Inspired Title

I saw this sign the other day for a recently-established house insulation company. They rejoice in the name of ‘Grøndahls Insulation Technology’.

While I wish them every success, they might like to reconsider their company name and acronym, should they expand their business into the UK.



While I'm on the subject of odd pictures, there were some who didn't get the idea of the price sign on the poster outside the kebabbery. The picture wasn't as clear as it could have been, so here's a close-up of the cock-up.

What Are We Going To Do When The Martians Invade?

At exactly 12 noon on the first Wednesday in May every year the warning sirens right the way across our little kingdom are sounded for five minutes. This system was set up during the Cold War and is now used to warn the populace of impending danger, be it Fire, Flood, Chemical spillage or Alien Invasion. Once a year they test the system to make sure it still works. Everybody knows this; everybody has grown up with this. Hell, even I know this and I’m a bloody foreigner. To jog people’s memories, it is mentioned on news broadcasts and in the papers the day before. THE SIRENS WILL BE TESTED AT MIDDAY TOMORROW, THERE IS NO CAUSE FOR ALARM. DO NOT PHONE THE EMERGENCY SERVICES AS THIS WILL BLOCK THE PHONE SYSTEM FOR THOSE IN REAL NEED.

Pretty clear, I’d have thought. Again, the procedure in the event of an alarm is to stay indoors, close all doors and windows and listen for announcements on the radio or from police patrols giving instructions over their loudspeakers. It says this in the front of the telephone directory, among other places. Nowhere does it say to phone the emergency services to find out what the hell is going on.

And yet every year, at just after midday on the first Wednesday in May the switchboards are jammed with people phoning to find out why the sirens are sounding. This leads me to wonder: If that happens during a well-known and well-advertised practice drill, what’s it going to be like when the shit really does hit the fan? The telephone system would be completely paralysed with people trying to find out what’s going on. When the little green men finally come, they’ll find an entire nation on the phone, trying to get connected to the emergency operator.

Does It Get Any Better Than This?

“Does it get any better than this?”

The question was rhetorical, born of deep contentment as, replete after an impromptu barbecue and sipping a glass of chilled Chardonnay, I leaned back in my chair and took in the scene.

We were sitting on the terrace outside the summerhouse at the end of yet another perfect day. All this week the weather has been hot and sunny and every day we have rued the fact that either Heather or myself was due to be at one meeting or another every single evening when all we really wanted to do was relax down at the summerhouse. Then, yesterday morning I got a phone call, telling me that the meeting scheduled for that evening had been cancelled. Heather’s last appointment in an otherwise busy day had also cancelled, giving her a chance to pop over to the supermarket and grab some things to throw on the barbecue. The only question left was; were we going to take bedding with us so we could sleep down there? We both had early starts this morning, but even so it wasn’t really a hard decision to make.

So there we sat, the two of us, warming ourselves by the embers of the barbecue and the cast iron bowl of blazing twigs beside us, the cares of the day and the challenges of the morrow temporarily forgotten. As twilight became night we lit candles on the table. The calls of the woodland birds all around us was replaced by the sound of the incoming tide and the occasional screech of squabbling seagulls out on the sandbar. We talked about silly inconsequential things, or just said nothing, enjoying the deep stillness of the evening.

And then we moved indoors to the warmth of the lounge, cozy in the firelight. We stripped off without bothering to roll down the blinds, because we can, and as I sat there on the sofa she came to me, straddled me and eased herself down onto me, proffering first one breast and then the other for me to suckle on.

Does it get any better than this? Our evening was about to get better still…

Two Minutes and 52 Seconds

Thinking about it, my aims may be very different from others who read sex blogs. I am not reading to be titillated, I suppose. Now, there is a challenge. Is it possible to write an absolutely honest account of sex and still be arousing? Anyone up to it?


'Barbed Wire Boudoir', 17th March 2008



Well, seeing as May has already brought with it some blogging challenges, why not this one? Hopefully it shouldn’t be too difficult as I like to think that my self-deprecation is a part of my winsome charm. If it were not so then I might have chosen another nom de plume, possibly the Scandinavian Stallion, rather than the Fat Controller. No, Heather does not orgasm the instant I enter her. In fact I’ve never known her to come purely vaginally at all. No, she doesn't have three or four orgasms in quick succession before gushing all over the bed. Nor does she greedily swallow my boiling hot semen and then, craving still more, lick my cock clean of every last drop.

Despite this, we still manage to have great sex. Sex which I think is worth writing about.

Now please do not think for a minute that I am dismissing the writings of multi-orgamic, gushing, spunk-loving bloggers out there as being no more than flights of fantasy or wishful thinking. Far from it, everyones’ experience of sex is different and to be honest I am sometimes a little envious when I read other’s experiences. I would love Heather to melt into a helpless orgasmic blancmange every time I give it to her hard from behind but I know that just ain’t going to happen, thats just not how she’s put together. What she needs is careful loving attention to her clit and that I am more than happpy to give her.

Right from the outset of doing this blog I wrote in my profile ’Everything you read here is true’. There would no point in it being otherwise. I can’t write erotic fiction, others are much better at it than I, so I have opted for a more reportage style. On the other hand, how do you really report the experience of sex in a detached, dispassionate and factual way? How do you describe a feeling that is like nothing else on earth except in terms of similie and metaphor. How do you coldly analyse senses and feelings when they are temporarily put on hold. When all sights, sounds and even pain are blocked out as your whole being becomes focussed on one goal and one only?

Approaching the problem from another direction, a purely mechanistic one: How do you make ’Two minutes and 52 seconds of squelching noises’ sound arousing? Well, here goes.


I am normally the first into bed of an evening. I lie waiting for Heather while she finishes up in the bathroom, comes into the bedroom, finishes undressing, takes the glass from the bedside table, retraces her steps into the bathroom to fill it, comes back in, remembers she has left her mobile phone downstairs, slips on a dressing gown and goes to retrieve it before finally snuggling up in bed beside me.

This evening it was different. When I got into the bedroom she was already in bed. Or, more accurately ON bed. Naked on top of the rumpled duvet, all pink and rounded and inviting, arms stretched out but one leg drawn coyly up to cover her pubic area from my gaze. I crawled across the bed to her and crouched over her, kissing neck, breasts and finally lips while she reached down between my legs and took hold of my cock.

I worked my way down her body, kissing as I went, until I ended up with my nose in her pubic hair. Anyone who tells you that giving cunnilingus through a mat of pubic hair is at best unpleasant and at worst impossible probably hasn’t tried it. Heather is hairy and proud of it and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The way the hair captures and disseminates her scent is deeply arousing to me, and that is part of it’s function. I spent a while just breathing in her musk.

The gentlest tap on the backs of her legs and she hoisted them up in the air so that I could lie across her and bury my face in her cunt. I went straight for the clit and rolled it around with the tip of my tongue. One arm lay across the backs of her legs to keep them there while with the thumb of the other hand I dipped inside her and smeared her juices down over her perineum. All the while I could feel her tensing, hear her sharp intakes of breath. She clearly liked it when I slid my thumb over her perineum, so I switched around, dipping my tongue into her cunt juices and brushing it down to the very rim of her areshole while my thumb covered her clit and massaged it. The increasing frequency of her sighs were all the enouragement I needed to tell me I was doing the right thing.

In my fantasy world I would have licked and massaged Heather to the first of several orgasms, but the truth is that she cannot really come unless her legs are pressed tightly together. A radical change of position was called for: I lay flat on my back beside her, my head by her feet, then lifted my ’inner’ leg so that it lay over her chest, and she did the same. In this position we are in an entirely relaxed posture, ideal for mutual masturbation. Now I could slip two, then three, fingers up inside her, the thumb covering her clit and the little finger free to take care of her arse. On this occasion I didn’t push it right in, I just crooked the finger and let the knuckle press up against the opening.

The thought crossed my mind that we could just lie here and wank each other off, she twisting on my hand and me spurting over my belly under her ministrations, but there comes a point where nothing but penetration will do, for me or for her. I had her lift her legs again, laid crossways on my side and slid into her. Somehow I managed to find her clit with my thumb again and alternated between hip-thrusting and hand-jiggling: I just can’t do both at the same time and maintain any sort of rhythm. Then, as her breaths grew shorter and sharper again I pushed up inside her as deep as I could manage and rubbed her to her orgasm.

Now I have no idea how intense Heather’s orgasms are in relation to other people’s but they have always seemed pretty intense to me, on the other hand she has never been one for multiple orgams, being quite content with one big one. This one just went on and on, gaining a momentum of its own as I started thrusting with my hips again and took hold of a nipple, squeezing it as hard as I dared to take her even higher.

It wasn’t a simultaneous orgasm. Heather had peaked and I was letting her down gently by the time I came. I’m not sure simultaneous orgasm is all it’s cracked up to be anyway. I’d much rather take care of her first then finish myself off afterwards. Double the pleasure.



So there you have it. A completely factual account of the most recent of the thousands of times I have made love with my wife. Completely devoid of hyperbolae, similies and metaphors and with adjectives shorn to the bare minimum.

I enjoyed re-living the experience…how was it for you?

Well Durrr

You've probably seen signs and posters in shop windows where the price field is just a series of white 7-segment units and you black out the relevant segments with a marker pen to leave the price you want showing. A simple and elegant solution to putting your own price on a mass-produced poster.

However, our local kebab takeaway clearly had some difficulty grasping the concept. Advertising their burger and fries for 49 Groats they succeeded in blacking out the '49' instead.

Unless that symbol means something in Arabic.

Sugasm #130

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 #131? 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

Gross Spelling Errors Turn Me Off“Here are a few other word issues that come up in sex writing that throw me off and drive me crazy.”

L’Artiste“I want time to sip my whisky, to drink you in as you unveil yourself, as you offer your body to my steady gaze.”

Learning My Limits (Part 1)“It hurts. It’s gorgeous. ”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
24-Months of AVN Online, $0

Editor’s Choice
The Few, The Proud, The Pornless

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
Catching Up on the Back Story
Cut to the chaste
A date with Lumpo
Damaged Lovers
Desire beyond reason but within bounds
Follow My Rules-Part 1
His Slut
It’s just a through and through
M
Messy Kitchen Figging and Thrashing Video
On firePoints of Order
The Promise
What a way to start the day!

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Leave It to Beaver
Masturbation Month Is Here!
New At Nuts4chic - Pick Up Lines That Make You Groan
New Jimi Hendrix SEX Tape out Now!!
Rascal Wear Leather Wrist And Ankle Cuffs Review
Sex Toy Review of The Rude Boy For Babeland

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Audrey Bitoni and Angela
Bedroom Radio #14 “Sex 2.0 and Spanking”
Half-Nekkid on Silky Pillow Cases
Half-Nekkid Thursday: Flashing the Neighbors
Pictures ( a bed & 2 guys!)
Sasha Grey (Goddess)
Scarlett Johansson - Fucking Hot Babe in Red

Sex Advice
Putting the “Play” Back into Playing with Yourself
Strap-Ons 101

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Confession
Denial.
Encounter
I want….
A Perfect Ten
Possibly the best, so far
Switch
Tease and Denial are NOT Reciprocal
Under My Thumb

Sex Work
Reality Check: Asshole Clients

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Am I or Aren’t I?Green eyed monsterThe Inevitable

Candle In The Window

The 4th of May probably doesn't mean much in most other countries, but over here it is celebrated as the date on which British and US forces liberated the country from German occupation in 1945.

Although official government recognition of the date was scrapped ten years ago, many ordinary people including us still commemorate it by lighting candles in their windows on the night of the 4th as a symbol of freedom.

This rather impressive display was in a neighbouring flat this evening.

Have You Got A License For Those Legs?

Friday night was the equivalent of Senior Prom night for Son. It's just before the end of normal school and they are about to go into the revision period before their final exams. We were invited along for a reception on the lawn at the front of the college before going into the sports hall to watch the students as they took part in the formal dance, then outside again for photos before we parents left them to it and things got a little more wild. Naturally, all the girls were dressed up in all their finery and the boys in their tuxedos.

Except Son of course. He has to be different. He likes to pay homage to his Scottish ancestry by wearing his kilt for formal occasions. He was showing more leg than most of the girls there. And his girlfriend wore a black dress with a leather lace-up corset. A stunning contrast to most of the girls with their Barbie doll dresses and fake tans.

The Refugees

It used to be a regular tradition on Friday nights that after the kids had gone to bed, or at least to their rooms, Heather and I would wind down from the week over a pizza, a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine. Then things began to change. The children began to get a social life. It started slowly at first. One Friday evening a month we would have to turn out to fetch first Son and then, after he had gone away to school, Daughter home from the under-16’s alcohol-free disco in the neighbouring town.

These days there are not many weekends where either one other is not out to some party or gig somewhere or other and it is of course one or other of us that has to turn out at increasingly uncivilised hours to increasingly distant destinations to fetch them home, thus putting a severe limit on what we can allow ourselves to drink while enjoying a kids-free evening. Therefore we were very pleased to find out last Friday that both kids were out to separate parties, both taking place within staggering distance of home. Daughter was home for the weekend and had brought a couple of schoolmates with her. They were due to go to a party at another schoolmate whose father lives in town, but was away. Son plus gf was at a college bash. It seemed as if we could look forward to an evening of boozing, wild sex and a long undisturbed night’s sleep as we ordered in pizza, demolished a tub of triple-choc ice cream and then took a chilled bottle of Asti Spumante upstairs to go and enjoy a video (no, NOT one of those. It was ’Chocolat’ with Juliettte Binoche as it happens. I’m not a complete clod, you know).

What happened after the film I described yesterday. When we finally fell asleep it was secure in the knowledge that neither of the kids would need fetching. They each have keys and could make thir own way home.

At 2,15 a.m. the phone by the bedside rang. Heather took it as it is on her side of the bed (smart thinking, eh?) and, still heavy with sleep, I tried to piece together what was going on from what I could hear of the conversation.

It turned out that one of the friends that Daughter had brought with her had got EXTREMELY drunk at the party and had pretty much passed out. When she came round again all she wanted to do was to go home. Our home wouldn’t do, it had to be her home, in the city some 20 miles distant where we normally have to drive to at dead of night to pick one or other of the kids up, only this time it was a delivery. Her parents couldn’t come and fetch her as their car was in for repairs, she didn’t want to crash out at the party, she didn’t want ot sleep it off at ours. In between bouts of puking she kept wailing that she just wanted to go home. Well, what can you do? All I hope is that if daughter ever finds herself in a similar situation that someone will rescue her.

Heather took chauffeur duty and I slept on. I didn’t even hear her come back and slide into bed beside me, an hour later. Next morning, when I woke, Heather warned me not to be shocked at the inert body lying on the mattress in the hallway just outside our bedroom door.

”She was there when I got back” she explained.

”Why didn’t she sleep on the sofa in the lounge? I queried.

”No idea”

I soon found out. In addition to the body in the hallway there were three in the lounge and four in Daughters bedroom including one in bed with Daughter. It’s a good job I didn’t need to go to the bathroom during the night. I would have fallen over the girl in the hallway, or trodden on her, and it’s not always I bother with a dressing gown.. It would have been a hell of a shock for both of us.

Later on, as eight hungry and somewhat hung over young people took it in turns to sit at the kitchen table and deplete our supplies of fresh orange juice and Coco Pops, I got the whole story. Of the two girls who were due to stay the night, one had been taken home. The extras were refugees from the party, which had begun to turn somewhat nasty so, instead of crashing there as planned, they sought refuge with us. All seven of them.

The body in Daughter’s bed turned out to be a boy from school.

”Well, at least he kept his underpants on all night” Said Heather, philosophically.

”So did I, the first night we slept together.” I reminded her ”I seem to remember it didn’t stop us getting up to all sorts of stuff.”.

She just smiled at that memory.

And you can read that story here.

The Promise

On Friday night we had the house to ourselves for a change. I fully intended to make good on my promise to Heather, made earlier in the week, to tie her and she did nothing to indicate that she had changed her mind as I led her into the bedroom, grabbed a few bits and pieces out of our goody bag and had her undress and lie face down on the bed. I crossed her wrists behind her back and bound them together with a red ribbon, tied with a bow. I traced my fingertips up and down her back and grabbed handfuls of her bum cheeks and she moaned with pleasure.

The first blow was right on target. A resounding open-handed slap on her left buttock that caused her to cry out . I smoothed my hand over her gorgeous round bottom again, and again stopped and lifted my hand. Her breathing came shallower, faster, anticipating the slap that did not fall. I amused myself listening to her frightened little breaths. I waited for the breathing to return to normal before landing another ferocious slap, this time on the right buttock, immediately followed by another on exactly the same spot. Then another lengthy pause, another slap.

I straddled her and passed the improvised ball gag down over her head. It is a thing I have made myself from a golf practice ball with a length of red ribbon threaded through it. I tied it tight around the back of her head and turned her to face me. Her lips now made a perfect, projecting, ’O’ with a large empty space in the middle. I locked my lips onto hers in a grotesque parody of a kiss, then teased round and round the circumference of that O with the very tip of my tongue.

I knelt up again:

”Time to get this ribbon off you” I whispered. To see her made helpless with just a length of pretty ribbon was exciting but her hands crossed behind her denied me access to the expanse of her back.

”Time to stretch you out”

I fastened the leather straps of the leg-spreader to her ankles and lashed it to the end of the bed with rope. Leather cuffs went on her wrists and each was tied to a corner of the bed, also with rope. She was now splayed out, stretched as tight as I could pull her. I flicked her across the behind with the riding crop, teased it between her legs before landing a proper slap with the flat leather end. I took hold of the flogger and twirled it’s leather fronds up against her cunt, taking cruel enjoyment in her sharp intake of breath, her preparing herself as best she could for a blow that could fall at any moment. I trailed the flogger up and down her spine; Teasing, tickling; then twirled it around just millimetres above her so that she must have felt the rush of air over her skin and lowering it so that the tips just grazed her. Then, suddenly, a gyration of my whole arm and I was measuring out it’s length across her back, diagonally from left buttock to right shoulder blade. She shouted through the gag in pain and helpless rage as I lashed her again and again and again, patterning the pale skin of her back with angry red stripes.

I threw down the flogger, mounted her, and fucked her hard, grabbing handfuls of her hair for purchase. Then I climbed off her, flogged her some more and gave her another hard fucking as she strained and twisted against her restraints.

I saved the most exquisite torture till last. Heather needs to press her legs tight together when she orgasms. With her still stretched out I pushed the Rabbit deep up inside her and turned it on full throttle, holding it in place so that the ears played relentlessly on her clit while the rippling shaft ground up and down on her g-spot. She twisted and turned, shouted and screamed as the rabbit ground her inexorably into a state of half-agony, half-ecstacy. Despite her ankles being firmly held apart she managed to force her knees together and came at last with a despairing cry. In the stillness that followed all that could be heard was the muffled sound of the Rabbit, still grinding away inside her.

I unclipped the ropes from her wrist cuffs in order to turn her over so that I could fuck her from the front, took a brief interlude sitting back on my heels, wanking myself with the tip of my cock nestling between her slippery engorged labia and, just at the point of coming, fell on top of her again so that I plunged deep into her to release my load.

Maybe one night I’ll refuse to take off the wrist and ankle straps. I’ll let her sleep in them so that we can start all over again on waking, but with the kids due home at least by morning that would have been impractical on this occasion. Packing away and cleaning up took a while but as we had started early it was still before midnight when I wrapped my arms around her and we fell asleep

That our night’s sleep was not undisturbed is another story…

Blog Every Day In May

BLOG EVERY DAY IN MAY!
Like a pensioner on laxative, it may not be merry but it will be regular!

Big changes are under way in the Controller household. As of 30th April we have closed down the little outlying branch of our business that used to be my province 3 days a week. Mainly because business is so good at Head Office that there is more need for me there, plus our full time employee who used to staff the place retired at the beginning of the year and we really don't feel like expending the time and effort training up a replacement. Better to concentrate our skills under one roof now we have the room for it thanks to our rebuilding.

So this leaves me busier than ever and with even less time for regular blogging, so what better time to get involved in a commitment to put up a post every day during May? I got the idea from Vi, who got it from Angie, and I think it's brilliant. I am full of admiration for bloggers such as Alfie and Alex and Suze, and indeed Vi herself up until recently for the way they manage to put up quality posts pretty much every day. I have never been able to do that and I don't know where the extra time is going to come from but I'm going to give it my best shot. If the quality begins to suffer just give me a figurative dig in the ribs.