Bad Taste?

And Lo, it came to pass. Not so very long after having published my latest flight of fantasy, and printed it out, I handed it to Heather to read just as we were getting into bed one evening. She grumbled that if she was going to read it she would have to go and get her glasses (not really a sign of age-she’s always been longsighted) so I offered to read it for her.

When I had finished, all she would say was “You’d bloody well better make sure you have that Gin and Tonic ready for me afterwards. Or several”. But we did have a damned good fuck that night on the strength of it.

A couple of weekends ago we were tucked up in bed on a Saturday afternoon after our morning’s work in the shop (Scandinavia traditionally closes down at 12.00 on Saturday until Monday morning) and I leaned across to Heather and said “What about it?” She gave a resigned sigh (after all it wouldn’t do for her to appear too keen) but she got out of bed readily enough and offered her wrists, neck and ankles to be enclosed in leather before kneeling down on the bedroom carpet.

And then I acted out my fantasy to the letter: She clasped her cuffed hands in front of her as if in prayer, her lips described a perfect O as I emptied my load of semen slowly and deliberately into her mouth. She was my passive receptacle and, for this moment, my obedient slave. I instructed her to hold my spunk in her mouth, although her every reflex was telling her to spit it out. Then I wanted her to dribble it slowly down her chin until it dripped over her breasts, but she expelled it rather too hastily for my satisfaction so we’re just going to have to work on that.

As to the flogging I had promised her as her reward, it somehow didn’t seem right at the time, so we left it. I trotted downstairs to mix her G and T, heavy on the G with lots of ice and more than a dash of lime. Just how she likes it. She’s clearly got more sophisticated with age; when we first met she would be mine for a digestive biscuit or two, now I have to ply her with gin. I suppose that’s inflation for you. I poured myself a large Lagavulin 10 year-old single malt.

“If there’s one of these in it, you can do that again” she smiled as we sat up in bed, sipping our respective drinks. You didn’t taste nearly as bad as I was afraid you might”

I closed my eyes as I let the mellow whisky work its magic on my tongue.

“We’re definitely going to have to have drinkies in bed like this again” I said “It’s so delightfully decadent”.

“What’s more” I added after a moments reflection “It’s the most fun I’m ever going to have in bed with a ten year-old.”



And then she hit me.