Northern lights and sleepless nights: November 2008

Friday, November 28, 2008

Pumped

Wednesday. It was 3am when we finally collapsed into bed. It has just been one of those weeks. Pressures of the business have led to one late night after the other. On Friday night the town Christmas tree will be lit and there are special events all over town, with all the shops staying open late. We had a special window display to make ready for the occasion. To make things worse, we were also having an visit from the Health and Safety at Work inspector on Thursday so we had to make sure that everything was clean and tidy. By 3am, however, we decided that anything left un-dusted, un-scrubbed or un-tidied-away would just have to take its chance.

"Can I have an arm?" she asked as she rolled away from me.

I slid an arm under her head, the other curled around her middle and cupped her gorgeous soft breasts. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the touch of her naked skin on mine can get me hard in an instant - It's getting me hard now, recounting it and just thinking about those things. I pressed my hardness into the crack of her bum, wriggling and rubbing up against her as I made it fit just right.

"By Friday night the pressure will be off. We'll have a bloody good fuck on Friday night" I whispered in her ear as I pressed her tighter to me and stroked her face.

But she was restless. She turned onto her back, towards me, onto her back again. Her adrenalin was still flowing form all the previous activity; she was anxious and she was having difficulty coming down She grabbed hold of my cock as I fondled her breasts.

"Friday night" I repeated. "We'll take our time and fuck frontways, backways, every which way.”

Without saying a word, Heather suddenly sprang up onto all fours. I lay there on my back looking up at her, thinking she must be joking. It was past 3 o'clock, after all.

"I'm not going to be able to sleep until I get a fuck, so you'd better hurry up and get that cock inside me" she insisted. "I'm too pumped up".

"And you think the best cure for being pumped is to get pumped?".

I knelt up behind her splayed legs and gently parted her velvety lips with my fingertips, then gingerly I inched my cock inside her, not knowing whether she would be sufficiently wet. I shouldn’t have worried. She was soaking wet, and tight. I eased my full length into her, as deep as I could go, pulled slowly out again and then suddenly gave her everything I had in a bone-jarring, bed creaking, breath-gasping frenzy of fucking.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. A few glorious minutes of sweat and animal sounds and the smell of rampant sex. My final grunt was accompanied by a shriek from her and I collapsed on top of her. Just a few more minutes and we were both fast asleep at last., with the promise of a bottle of wine, ane early night and a really good session on Friday night.

Hold on, it’s Friday night already.

Must go.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

HNT: Ribbons And Bows

This picture really belongs with Monday's post but I thought I'd save it for a Half-Nekkid Thursday because you can see that Heather really is half nekkid in this one.

Happy HNT!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Shaved Totally Bare

”Go away, forget all about it and get on with your life”

That was the message I got from the Consultant yesterday after my 2-month post-operative checkup. In fact he didn’t understand why I had been booked in for the appointment at all, considering that all the tests I had been through had shown that the lump on my neck was benign.

”Well, the consultant I saw last time said he was a natural born pessimist and he just wanted an ultrasound scan after 2 months just to be absolutely sure”

"You want an ULTRASOUND scan?”

He looked at the notes and agreed with me; that was what was agreed last time. In any case, I wasn’t going to leave without my ultrasound. I had shaved specially, the first time my chin has been uncovered since 1984, and in the sub-zero temperatures I could feel a definite chill round my chops.

”Well, you’d better hop up on the table then”.

Despite his earlier misgivings, the consultant did a very thorough scan of the whole neck and throat. There was no sign of anything abnormal

We shook hands and left it at that.

-----*-----

An hour later I was waiting at a bus stop in a freezing city street. Again, I felt it most on my newly-bared chin. The original plan was that both Heather and I should take the day off and do some christmas shopping, but she had to stay behind for some of the morning so I drove to the hospital and she was to take the bus into the city later, where I would meet her for lunch.

While I was waiting there I got to thinking how much the mobile phone has changed things. Had she been delayed further, or some problem had arisen she could phone me or send a text. Then the thought struck me; why not text her to keep her amused on the bus? I know this is something a lot of couples do, send sexy texts to each other during the day detailing what they are going to do to each other when they get home or whatnot, but it’s something we’ve never done. We usually spend all our waking hours no more than a few feet from each other which rather defeats the object. I knew the bus could only be a few minutes away, but never mind, it would give her a laugh.

FC: Hi sexy. I’m standing here waiting for you.

H.: I’m nearly there, sweeetie.

F.C. My chin is cold, but I’m hot for you.

H.: We’re nearly at the bridge…

At that moment the bus came into view over the bridge. As it stopped I stood back a little and, to my horror, saw Son, with his gf, getting off the bus and laughing like a drain.

Surely Heather couldn’t have shown him the texts… FUCK!!! she must have done, or he had grabbed the phone off her. He was still laughing uncontrollably and I was about to say ”What, and I suppose you’ve never sent a cheeky text” when it struck me that what he was laughing at was my bare chin. He has never in his life seen me without the beard.

-----*-----

”So” said Heather some time later. ”Now you know what it’s like to have an ultrasound scan. We’re quits.”

”Not quite” I replied. ”You didn’t have to shave when you had yours. In fact you would have been mortified if you’d have had to go for a scanning with a shaven haven, a bald beaver.”

Why is that, do you think? Why should women be ashamed to be found out making themselves attractive in that way to their menfolk. After all, when you’re being scanned in the ante-natal clinic you can’t really pretend you’re not sexually active.

She couldn’t answer that one.

-----*-----

Last Sunday I was at the summerhouse, closing it down for the winter. I stood for a while at the water’s edge in the gathering twilight, made more gloomy by the snow clouds hurtling in on a stiff east wind. It was a melancholy moment as I thought of how transient are any plans we might make for our lives. How quickly things can radically change, so what is the point of planning anything? What if, I thought, the tests I had in september were a false negative. What if some rogue cells are still inside me, waiting for their moment to come out of hiding, to grow, invade and overwhelm?

But now I feel I can put that all behind me. I am painfully aware that there are others who have not been so lucky: There is no rhyme or reason or fairness about this, but I feel that I have got my life back and I intend to live it to the full. I suppose I should be out getting pissed with my mates to celebrate, but unfortunately I don’t have any mates over here of the type I would want to get pissed with, so that will have to wait. In any case, my very good and oldest friend George picked us up from Gatwick when we returned to UK after my first hospital visit and the first thing he did was drive us to a pub we hadn’t been to these last 30 years, but in which I have spent many a happy hour in my youth. Thanks to him we were able to drink away our apprehensions and uncertainties. He is a true mate.

I’m going to show my appreciation in like manner next time we’re in UK.

Monday, November 24, 2008

Camera Shy, Part 1

This is a post I should have written several months ago, but I have been rather overtaken by events. I have just had a look at the post from May where I promised more salacious details of how another taboo was broken.

I must confess, I envy Alfie. Throughout his 45 year-long marriage he has accumulated a huge photographic archive of his beloved Emma. Heather, on the other hand, has never been keen on having her picture taken, and certainly not in a state of undress. This was a source of regret for me, because I have always been a keen photographer.

Of course, before the advent of digital imaging the scope for any sort of erotic photography was limited, so I could understand her reservations. After all, you could hardly drop the exposed film off at Boots for processing. There were 'discreet' mail-order labs which advertised in 'Amateur Photographer' but even so you had no control over where your revealing photos might end up.

Colour processing at home was a costly business and, unless you did enough of it to get very good at it, the results could be very variable. I did have access to a darkroom and could process monochrome prints quite happily, but didn't really have the facilities at home.

Then there were the Polaroid cameras-or more correctly 'Land cameras' after their inventor. I picked up one for next to nothing at a car boot sale and by chance got hold of some monochrome film for it from the bargain bin in our local camera shop, but to no avail. Heather would just not consent to be photographed while there was the risk of hard copy being found by current or future generations.

The acquisition of our first digital camera didn't impress her much at first either. Only now that I have been able to convince her that; a) Any photos will only exist in an encrypted vault on a memory stick known only to me and unlockable only on one pc b) she is beautiful and capable of creating a beautiful picture, that her attitude has begun to soften.

It was in early May, a weekend. We were in our summerhouse by the sea. Just me, Heather and my new digital SLR camera. Some days previously, while tying her up, I had dropped the comment that I could just imagine a close-up photograph of her wrists, crossed behind her back and tied with a single red ribbon. To my surprise, she didn't reject the idea out of hand. In fact, I got the impression that it rather turned her on. I said no more about it at the time, but made sure I packed a red ribbon, along with my camera, that weekend.

"How about that photo?" I said, as casually as I could.

Heather was dubious at first, so I reiterated the security measures: Dedicated memory card, never left in the camera and wiped as soon as the files have been transferred, dedicated USB stick with the images locked in a vault, only to be opened when there is nobody else in the house.
"You don't even have to get completely undressed" I reassured her. "Just slip your trousers and panties down a bit and pull up your top. I just need your lower back and the top of your bum".

She lay face-down on the bed, warm and dappled in the afternoon sun filtering through the trees, crossed her hands meekly behind her back and let me tie them with the ribbon.

I zoomed up tight on those crossed wrists and the loose ends of the ribbon covering the crack of her bum, taking shot after shot, shifting position, trying to get the lighting just right. Then I backed away a little, zoomed out and took in the whole of her body stretched out diagonally across the bed, trousers down, shirt up. This was pushing the bounds of our agreement, but she didn't seem to mind. She rolled towards me, wrists still tied behind her, and smiled as I carried on shooting.

I laid the camera down before peeling her trousers off. I didn't want to push things too far on a 'first date'. She spread her legs wide for me; she was soaking wet. Far from being an ordeal for her, it was turning her on to pose for me. She might deny it later, but her wetness betrayed her.

With her hands still bound behind her, I took one of her firm, plump nipples between my lips as I knelt over her, massaging her clit. She came in no time at all, shivering despite the warmth of the afternoon sun, and holding on to me, lying on her side. I pulled her in closer to me, encouraged her to lift one leg, and snuggled in between her thighs, slipping easily into her.

Then, when it was all over we just lay in the patches of sunshine on the bed, tracing fingers over each other's lips, cheeks, shoulders. There was nothing to rush out of bed for, we were free to just enjoy the moment.

I packed the camera back in its bag, ready for the next time, because now I knew there would be a next time. A whole new avenue of sexual exploration had been opened up.

Friday, November 21, 2008

It's An Ill Wind...

Or, in this case, a severe frost that does nobody any good.

It’s about minus 3 degrees outside at the moment. They’ve promised down to about minus 8 tonight. I suppose there are worse times for your fridge-freezer to go tits-up. All our weekend supplies of food are now inhabiting the back doorstep, along with a bottle of Chablis, nicely chilled, to go with the takeaway tonight.

So the electrician came round this afternoon and, after much frowning and sucking of teeth, decided that the thermostat had packed up, so off he went to his workshop to fetch one.

Guess what? He didn’t have the part.

“You’ve got a non-standard length of capillary tube there” he said, accusingly. “Most of them are 1½ metre. This one’s a good 2 metres long. I’m going to have to order the part in, it’ll take a few days”

Well, we thought what we had bought was a perfectly ordinary bog-standard, common-or-garden Electolux. Had it been some exotic appliance, like a Smeg, then I could understand. But who’d have thought that an Electrolux would have non-standard parts?

The moral is; if you’re going to Comet or Currys this weekend to buy a new fridge, don’t be seduced by cut price deals or interest-free credit. Never mind the energy consumption, ask the spotty youth selling you the thing whether it has a standard-length capillary tube on the thermostat.

He ought to be able to tell you right away.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

HNT: Office Work

All the best people read 'Northern Lights', even in the office.

Sometimes it can get them a little hot and bothered, I'm glad to say!

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

There But For The Grace Of You Go I

In a parallel universe, in another dimension somewhere, a fat middle-aged man with bad teeth, bad hair, and only a passing acquaintance with the dark art of doing the laundry, is sitting drooling over internet porn in his untidy bedsit after yet another night out drinking with his mates and looking forward to going train spotting at the weekend.

Meanwhile, in yet another version of reality, a harassed, careworn middle-aged man in a maroon cardigan, bowed from years of fighting and worry and backbiting, sweeps a cat and a pile of old copies of the ‘Daily Mirror’ off the one vacant armchair in the lounge of the little terraced house they inherited from her parents. He is locked in a loveless marriage with half a dozen kids to show for it. The youngest two have not yet left home, the eldest already has two of her own, dropped off for the evening while she goes out. Again. Worries about the youngest, and when she’s going to come home pregnant. Six children, not one of them conceived in love: Lust, carelessness, hope, duty, boredom and desperation, but never once love.

And then there is this reality, and I can’t help thinking ‘what if…’ What if I hadn’t taken a year off before I went to university? Heather and I might never have met under the same circumstances. What if our eyes hadn’t met across that crowded room on that first day? What if she had taken the decision that there was no potential in the diffident person she saw that day? What if I hadn’t plucked up the courage to go with her when she left that party? What if we decided just to be ships that pass in the night, that we’d had a good time but to leave it at that and go back to the lives that had been planned out for us? What if, after she had decided there could be no future for us, I had not believed that we had something worth fighting for? Worth making sacrifices for?

We all change with the years. Heather has brought about changes in me I hadn’t thought possible and, if I have changed her, I hope she feels it is mostly for the better. All I know is that had she not come into my life and made herself an inextricable part of it, then I dread what I might have become, for what I am today could so easily have been the me I sometimes envisage inhabiting one of those parallel universes which, thanks to her, are now forever locked away and inaccessible from this place that we call reality.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I

Simon & Garfunkel, Kathy's Song

Monday, November 17, 2008

Ordinary

We’d spent the day clearing out the attic. Throwing out all our old crap to make room for newer crap. It was hard, dirty work. By the end of the day we were tired, grimy with dust and covered in cobwebs. No Sunday roast on this occasion, we just ordered in pizza, then Heather took herself upstairs for a long hot bath. I told her to keep the water in so I could also clean up before bed. She chose to stay and watch..

Then we lay there, on top of the bed, glowing and warm, her skin fragrant from the bath oils and soft to the touch. We held, we kissed, and then suddenly we were struggling in each others arms, each battling for posession of the other’s mouth, lips nipping and pulling at lips, tongues pushing and twisting for supremacy and the right to invade the other’s space.

Breathless, we pulled apart again. At my request Heather positioned herself across the bed halfway down, lying on her front. Her tongue gently teased the tip of my cock and then her lips closed tenderly around it while one hand massaged my balls and the other latched onto one of my nipples and pinched it hard, pulling and twisting. She carried on lavishing attention on my cock by licking long and langorously up and down its length, stopping midway every so often to take the shaft between her lips like a dog with a bone. She knows just what I like.

In the meantime I could do very little except lie flat on my back and moan my appreciation, the only part of her that I could reach being one shoulder. Eventually, however, she got up on all fours the better to move her head up and down over me, and I was able to thrust a hand up between her legs and into her soft damp haven.

I could easily have carried on like this for hours, but it was getting late and we had to be up early in the morning. Heather grew suddenly impatient. She sprang up, wheeled round and went down on all fours again, facing away from me, thrusting her bum in my face.

”Fuck me now” She demanded. ”Just bang me a good and hard”.

So I knelt up between her splayed knees, cast one momentary, longing, glance at her tight little arsehole, spat on my cock to wet it and drove it into her soaking, expectant cunt. A few hard, bone-jarring jolts, then a frantic rutting at frightening speed, back to the slow deliberate pounding, then back to the frenzied fucking. We were both well-primed and neither of us lasted long. Heather reached back between her legs and was certainly stroking my balls; whether she was pleasuring herself as well, I don’t know. But I do hope so. We certainly both peaked at the same time, she gasping as I pumped my load into her and doggedly kept going in an attempt to prolong her pleasure as much as possible.

I didn’t want to pull out. I didn’t ever want to pull out. I wanted to be a part of her forever. I sank back onto my heels and pulled her with me, still joined.

"If we'd have had more time, I'd have fucked you in the arse tonight" I whispered.

"Mmmmmm" she purred, and nodded.

I pulled her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her and covering her soft shoulders with kisses, still not wanting to let her go. But eventually, inevitably, I clumsily reached for a tissue and we separated. Heather stumbled to the bathroom to clean up and, as so often happens, I have no recollection of her coming back.

Just an ordinary day and an ordinary night, just like countless others, so it would seem.

But she has the gift of making the ordinary very special. Every time.

Happy Monday

How is your Monday shaping up? If it's anything like mine then it's a bit of a come-down after the weekend. Have a look at these if your day needs brightening up.

How Was Your Cereal This Morning?

How To Handle A Problem Neighbour

The Ass Family

Boy Genius!

A Good Reason To Wear Pyjamas To Bed

Tattoo Of The Year

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Sugasm# 152

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 #153? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Sugarbutch Star: Maze - The Girl in the Red Dress“She’s the kind of girl who brings out the worst in me.”

treat or … fuck“He looked like I had just given him a car for Christmas and he gently took my hand and led me upstairs. ”

A Life Exposed and Amplified“We were breaking the rules and being dirty.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
I told him I loved him. He gave me a pen.

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.)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Break On Through
Eiffel Tower
Fast Jenny
A Few Orgasms Before Bed
Geisha
Goodbye, my Love
lustlustlust
Mexican Girlfriend
Mixing business and pleasure
Mistaken Identity
Unblemished

Sex Advice
How to Have Anal Sex with a Big Penis
Is Fantasizing Wrong?
Is Sex Without Oral a Dealbreaker? You Decide.
Lasting Longer in Bed

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Georgia Jones wants to go for a ride
HNT. Forest Nymph
HNT! (One more cherry, popped.)
Kamila - The Restoration
More from the knee socks series
PSA: Breast Cancer Awareness
Seductor

Sex Work
Dating Civilians 101

Sex News, Reviews, & Interviews
A New Twist on an Anal Sex Toy
On Tuesday, Vote for Equality

BDSM & Fetish
-3 Days
Bad Girl
The big dodge
Blind date: Impressions of a Dom
Dirty Boy
egg scissors
Do you want to cum? How bad?
Jake gets Punished in Spanking Movie
Kneeling In Style
Long Night in Thee Cow Shed
Marked: An Open Letter
Mistress by Proxy, part 2 : the slut
The New Bath Brush
Pimping him out
Pondering Piercings
Quickie

Sex Humour
Friday Poem: Achy Achy Cunt

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
HNT-Time
Hubby’s Halloween Hit. Confession #167
The Space Between
Two women, two stories

Friday, November 14, 2008

Not Real, But Fun Anyway

As usual, my head is bursting with things to post and I just haven't the time. However, I have put up a little thing on my other blog. The one I use to express to Heather all the things I would like us to do together. I tend to print them out and leave them on her pillow for her to read.

Whereas everything on this blog is true, everything over here is fantasy...until we decide to make it reality

Despite not having updated the other blog for months (either lack of imagination on my part, or all my fantasies are fulfilled before I get a chance to write them down) I have a follower over there. If you enjoy a well-written dirty fantasy then go and have a look at this.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

HNT: Double Eclipse

Her breasts almost completely in shadow as they catch the last rays of the dying sun.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Mirror, Mirror

When we took over our business from my father-in-law, we inherited a large mirror, about 6’ by 3’ which adorned one wall, behind a display unit. When we had the place re-fitted it became surplus to requirements but it seemed a shame to throw it out, but what to do with it? It was an unhandy thing to store, we needed an unoccupied expanse of wall to prop it up against.

Then I had a brainwave. We took it up into the bedroom and parked it, along with its slightly skinnier brother, behind the bed. I did have an idea of mounting it on the ceiling but I wasn’t confident I could do it securely and I didn’t relish the thought of a half hundredweight of glass crashing down on us when we were asleep, or engaged in any other bed-related activities for that matter. Also, it’s not really the kind of thing you would ask your local builder or handyman to do, this is a small town after all. So behind the bed it stayed. You can just make it out in this picture

Now the next bit you are going to have to imagine. I don’t have a picture and even if I did I wouldn’t publish it. Heather’s favourite position for sex is undoubtedly doggy, and I’m certainly not complaining. The view, however, is somewhat limited. The curve of her back, the delightful roundness of her buttocks, the fringe of her hair high on her neck as her head bows down: All of these are agreeable sights to be sure, but YOU CAN’T SEE HER TITS! This is where the mirror really added something to our lovemaking, the sight of her lovely breasts, hanging down and swaying in time with me pumping into her from behind.

I use the past tense on purpose. The mirror behind the bed is no more. No, I didn’t get over-enthusiastic and crash the bed-end into it, incurring at least seven years bad luck. It has gone to a good home. Our local youth club has just lost a great chunk of its funding from the local council, economic cutbacks and all that, and this at a time when their premises are badly in need of renovation. . Instead of rolling over and accepting it, the kids and their youth workers produced flyers and visited houses and businesses round the town appealing for furniture, paint, materials, tools and so on so they could do the job themselves. One of the things they specifically appealed for was a large mirror to mount on the wall of their dance/fitness studio. Well, when it’s such a good cause, and the kids so enthusiastic, how could one refuse? They came over mob-handed and took a load of old tables and chairs off our hands, but they were over the moon when I mentioned the mirror. It was exactly what they were looking for.

We’ve still got the smaller mirror, though. It doesn’t quite peek above the mattress but it has just about the same dimensions as the bedroom door. When I get a bit of time I intend to mount it on the back of the door. That way, when I hang Heather up by the hooks on the fitted wardrobes either side of the doorway, I will be able to see her face contort as I attend to her back and shoulders with flogger or riding crop.

Friday, November 07, 2008

An "Eeeeew" Moment

We were out for a walk the other evening, Heather and I, and she stopped up by the window of the clothes shop just round the corner from us, as she often does.

She pointed to a bra and panties set on display. All lace and bows and push-up.

“What do you think of that?” She asked.

“Mmmm. Nice”. I replied.

She directed my attention to a loose-fitting t-shirt and baggy cotton pants set, meant to be worn as pyjamas.

“How about those?”

“OK I suppose, but you never wear pyjamas”

She never wears anything in bed, apart from hideously impractical bras, basques, lace-up high heeled boots, pvc gloves, suspenders and fishnets, leather creations consisting of nothing more than straps, studs and buckles…you get the idea.

“Not for me, for your mother. For Christmas.”’

“I hope…” I started, slowly “…that you weren’t asking me if the bra and panties would suit my mother, because I really don’t want to go there”.

And I tried very hard to dispel that image from my mind.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

HNT: One Sunny Summer Sunday Afternoon

"...Her hands crossed behind her back and tied at the wrists with a single red ribbon, her pale skin dappled by the afternoon sun..."

Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday everybody!

You Can't See The Fireworks From Here

It’s a clear starlit night tonight, a half moon hanging low in the sky, no wind. Not really cold. Almost a perfect 5th of November. For my taste it doesn’t matter a bit if it’s a little bit foggy, the muffled bangs and flashes all around just seemed to add to the atmosphere of mystery on Guy Fawkes night.

But no matter how clear the weather, I can’t see the fireworks from here.

It’s funny because it’s one of the things I really miss, not living in UK. Christmas we have here of course, and it’s every bit as jolly as the British version if not more so We have bonfires at midsummer and enough fireworks to re-enact a fair-sized war on New Year’s Eve, but it doesn’t have the same cozy atmosphere as bonfire night. Where I used to live, the whole village would meet up in the car-park at ’The Saddlers Arms’ and then walk in torchlight procession to the village green, where the flaming torches would be hurled onto the bonfire as a prelude to the firework display. The little kids would hold sparklers in their mittened hands, their eyes wide with wonder. There would be soup and hot dogs. It was one of the times in the year when there was a real sense of community.

Even if we saved up fireworks from the previous New Year, we don’t have the space for a bonfire at home and we can’t hold a fireworks party at our summerhouse, despite having plenty of room there. Bylaws prevent the lighting of bonfires and the letting off of fireworks by the coast, except at midsummer or New Year, in case someone should mistake them for a ship in distress and we get a visit from a rescue helicopter or a lifeboat or something. Instead, as a gesture towards the day, we had soup and hot dogs for supper tonight, but it wasn’t quite the same.

If I’m lucky, though, I might be able to enjoy a bang later on.

Monday, November 03, 2008

Blowing My Mind (and other bits)

“You’re looking indecently cheerful for a Monday morning” said Heather. (Well, she said it in her mother tongue, but that was the gist.)

“Yes”, I replied. “It’s amazing what a blowjob can do”. (This in English, out of respect for any members of staff who might have been within earshot).

I must confess I have been pretty down for the last few days. Work has been crowding in and taking over our ‘us’ time. I know I shouldn’t complain, after all it’s money in the bank. But then, to cap it all we had an unannounced inspection from the Health and Safety at Work people and on top of all the other things we have to do, we now have to do risk assessments for just about everything that goes in the business. I wouldn’t be surprised if we are made to put a warning notice above the washbasin along the lines of; ‘Danger. Water. May cause death by drowning. Prolonged contact with the skin may cause wrinkling. If ingested, drink copious amounts of water and seek medical help’.

But Sunday was a good day. It was brilliantly sunny, though frosty, and we decided that the weather was too good to stay indoors at home and do the accounts or tidy up in the storage area or whichever one of the thousands of things that need to be done was the most pressing. Instead we went down to our summerhouse. The house itself was cold, with no hot water, but we amused ourselves for several hours in the garden, clearing out brushwood, sawing logs and digging, or taking a break, sharing a chilled bottle of cider and enjoying he view out over the intense blue ocean. It was just good to get away.

It was dark by the time we returned, and after supper, Heather settled down to her accounts. I was looking forward to a long hot bath for each of us and an early night, but she was soon immersed in her spreadsheets and invoices instead of warm water laced with sumptuous oils. I was somewhat disappointed. I had made a point of drinking pineapple juice with supper and had hoped the significance of that hadn’t been lost on her. Heather was apologetic, but she really wanted to get the bookkeeping up to date

Clearly, fate was smiling on me however. She suddenly ran into a problem that she couldn’t work out without speaking to the accountant, As far as I recall, Belle de Jour wrote about telling inquisitive neighbours and friends that she worked at an all-night accountancy firm to explain her nocturnal comings and goings (sic), but our accountant Charlotte is not so accommodating and cannot be called upon at 10 o’clock on a Sunday evening. So: Game over. How sad

I persuaded Heather to take that bath instead, and bought her up her favourite drink: G+T, heavy on the G and with a splash of lime. I made a point of pouring myself another glass of pineapple juice at the same time, just to get the message across.

That message wasn’t lost on her, though she’d pretend that it was –all part of the game of course – and as soon as I had taken a quick bath and were both stretched out on the bed she scooted halfway down and took my still soft cock between her lips, letting it slowly inflate her mouth. She turned away again, but only to take a drink from the glass on the bedside table. I didn’t know whether it was water or gin she had in her mouth as she slid her lips over my cock again. It was gin. With an ice cube. Very decadent.

She played me like a musical instrument and it was a virtuoso performance as I lay still and let her work her magic on me. She pressed all the right buttons. She wanked me fast and furious, and then soft and slow. She took me in deep, then barely closed her lips around the very tip. She swirled the soft underside of her tongue across the glans and tickled just behind the ridge with her fingertips. It was that which finished me off. The tickling sensation grew and spread from the tip right down the whole length of the shaft, down the legs and up the spine. My legs started shaking uncontrollably, just as they did on that very first night we were together, I arched my back, closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. My whole body went rigid and at last threw my load down her throat with an exultant shout. I hardly noticed as she quietly withdrew to the bathroom to spit and rinse. I was still shaking, eyes shut, when she returned. I had just experienced, without parallel, the most intense orgasm I have ever had.

Now Heather would be the first to admit that she’s not normally all that keen on giving blow jobs, but she really put everything she had into this one and for that she deserves all my admiration. She even admitted that maybe it didn’t taste quite as awful as she feared. So the recipe for success is clear: If you should ever see a couple in a hotel bar some time and he orders a large G+T for the lady and a pineapple juice for himself, you’ll know what Mr and Mrs Controller will be getting up to later on.

Trouble is, I could get used to this.