This is the view we had from the bedroom of our little holiday hideaway in North Wales.
With a view like this to greet you when you woke, why would you want to draw the curtains?
Happy HNT!
Chicks With Dicks 2
2 hours ago
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Back Again
Just a quick note to say that we are back from our holiday. There's a whole lot to post about but I can imagine there will be a whole pile of crap to sort out at work tomorrow after ten days away, so it may have to wait a day or so.
In the meantime there is something to whet your appetites over on my other blog.
In the meantime there is something to whet your appetites over on my other blog.
Friday, April 17, 2009
I Have A Dream...
I have a dream. A vision of a brighter future for all mankind. I know the prediction I am about to make is radical and far-reaching in its effect. I know there will be some who will dismiss me as a harmless, or even dangerous, crank. They will cite the many difficulties that lie in the way of achieving the goal and try and convince you it is impossible, a foolish fantasy, a fata morgana.
Not that I would for one moment deny the practical, technological and even ideological hurdles that must be overcome. I am fully aware that what I am proposing will meet stiff opposition from certain big business interests. However, it is for the sake of all people, everywhere across the globe, that we must push aside the petty differences and narrow vested interests that stand in our way and work together I our common interest.
And I make now this bold prediction: One day, maybe not in my lifetime, but one glorious day, we will all only need one mains adaptor to recharge all our mobile phones, PDAs, digital cameras and camcorders, whatever their brand, and wherever we are in the world.
There: I’ve said it.
This is a heartfelt plea from one who has just spent a happy half-hour trying to locate and pack half a dozen different power supplies for the various items without which we simply cannot survive our holiday.
In a couple of hours we will be swallowed up in the belly of a big tin bird and exchanging the flawless blue skies of Scandinavia for the grey drizzle of Gatwick (I did check the forecast last night, and it don’t look to promising). We have decided not to take the laptop with us, that was a power-supply too far LOL. We are spending the greater part of our time in a remote cottage in North Wales, without broadband, so posting and commenting will probably be sparse to non-existent during next week as we go yomping up mountains and stuff. We’ve also arranged to meet a couple of fellow bloggers, which we’re really looking forward to.
Back on Monday week, or thereabouts!
Not that I would for one moment deny the practical, technological and even ideological hurdles that must be overcome. I am fully aware that what I am proposing will meet stiff opposition from certain big business interests. However, it is for the sake of all people, everywhere across the globe, that we must push aside the petty differences and narrow vested interests that stand in our way and work together I our common interest.
And I make now this bold prediction: One day, maybe not in my lifetime, but one glorious day, we will all only need one mains adaptor to recharge all our mobile phones, PDAs, digital cameras and camcorders, whatever their brand, and wherever we are in the world.
There: I’ve said it.
This is a heartfelt plea from one who has just spent a happy half-hour trying to locate and pack half a dozen different power supplies for the various items without which we simply cannot survive our holiday.
In a couple of hours we will be swallowed up in the belly of a big tin bird and exchanging the flawless blue skies of Scandinavia for the grey drizzle of Gatwick (I did check the forecast last night, and it don’t look to promising). We have decided not to take the laptop with us, that was a power-supply too far LOL. We are spending the greater part of our time in a remote cottage in North Wales, without broadband, so posting and commenting will probably be sparse to non-existent during next week as we go yomping up mountains and stuff. We’ve also arranged to meet a couple of fellow bloggers, which we’re really looking forward to.
Back on Monday week, or thereabouts!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Too Good For 'Em
I was rather taken with this, which featured in Private Eye magazine recently. It is taken from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle* from the year 1125 AD and so is probably out of copyright.
“In this year sent the King Henry, before Christmas, from Normandy to England, and bade that all the mint-men that were in England should be mutilated in their limbs; that was, that they should lose each of them the right hand, and their testicles beneath. This was because the man that had a pound could not lay out a penny at a market. And the Bishop Roger of Salisbury sent all over England, and bade them all that they should come to Winchester at Christmas. When they came thither, they were then taken one by one, and deprived each of the right hand and the testicles beneath. This was done within the twelfth-night. And that was all in perfect justice, because that they had undone all the land with the great quantity of base coin that they all bought.”
Clearly, Henry was a king who knew how to deal effectively with an economic crisis. It is an appealing thought than in more enlightened times than these, the likes of Sir Fred Goodwin would not be arrogantly hanging on to their bloated, ill-gotten pensions in the face of the misery they have brought to thousands, but would rather have been pleading to be allowed to keep their private parts.
*A popular daily newspaper of the time
“In this year sent the King Henry, before Christmas, from Normandy to England, and bade that all the mint-men that were in England should be mutilated in their limbs; that was, that they should lose each of them the right hand, and their testicles beneath. This was because the man that had a pound could not lay out a penny at a market. And the Bishop Roger of Salisbury sent all over England, and bade them all that they should come to Winchester at Christmas. When they came thither, they were then taken one by one, and deprived each of the right hand and the testicles beneath. This was done within the twelfth-night. And that was all in perfect justice, because that they had undone all the land with the great quantity of base coin that they all bought.”
Clearly, Henry was a king who knew how to deal effectively with an economic crisis. It is an appealing thought than in more enlightened times than these, the likes of Sir Fred Goodwin would not be arrogantly hanging on to their bloated, ill-gotten pensions in the face of the misery they have brought to thousands, but would rather have been pleading to be allowed to keep their private parts.
*A popular daily newspaper of the time
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Camera Shy 3
Continued from here and here
Having broken a taboo that had lasted as long as our entire relationship, that of being photographed nude or semi-nude, Heather began to discover that it was actually rather a thrill to see ones’ photographs out there on the web, attracting comments from appreciative readers. The summerhouse seemed a natural place for taking photos by virtue of its privacy and the large picture windows, letting in plenty of natural light. Mentally, we are a lot more relaxed down there as well. We seem to be far less inhibited in general when we are there and the sex is often better and more adventurous than when we are back home in town.
However, a summerhouse is only for summer. The heating and insulation arrangements are rather rudimentary so any attempt at sexual high-jinks during the winter months would most likely result in severely frost-bitten bits and pieces, and the winters are LONG at these northern latitudes.
So I decided it might be an idea to invest in some floodlights so that we could carry on photographing at home in the bedroom during the winter. Having got used to the idea of being photographed, Heather didn’t object. The problem, as always, was finding the time so set aside.
Eventually, one evening, we compromised. It was rather later than we would have wished but Heather was willing and I reckoned I could get set up fairly quickly. I knew what sort of pictures I wanted and what I wanted her to wear: Our favourite bra, matching g-string and suspender-belt, black fishnet stockings and gloves, red boots and, Heather’s idea, a red necktie. We threw a black, shiny, pvc sheet over the bed. Being a rush-job, we couldn’t find half the props I had wanted to use, I went mad trying to find the remote shutter-release for the camera and in the end had to give up and use the self-timer instead.
I photographed Heather in a multitude of poses in her underwear and then, bit by bit, without it. I paid particular attention to her gorgeous breasts and those breathtaking curves are enhanced by that particular bra.
I had her get up from the bed and sit in the armchair instead She was topless now and had shed the tie and gloves. I gently attached leather cuffs to her wrists and clipped together behind her back, then set the camera to self-timer and stood behind her, sliding my hands around her throat as the flash went off. I showed her the result and she seemed well satisfied, so we took a few more, first with hands fastened behind her back and then with her hands on mine as they closed around her neck, still cuffed together as if in a vain attempt to push me away.
With her hands now resting in her lap, I clamped her nipples, joining the to clamps with a red ribbon, then put the ribbon in her mouth and told her to lift her head, dragging her heavy breasts up by the nipples as I set the timer once more and then hurried back to grip her around her throat again. With that shot secured I moved over to the camera to prepare it again, but this time I stood beside her, curled my arm around her head and offered my cock to her lips. Impassively she parted them and took me in, just as the flash went off again.
And with that, the memory card was full, but the evening’s entertainment was far from over: With her nipples still clamped and her wrist till joined, I helped her to her feet, led her to the bed and pushed her down onto the PVC sheet. I hooked the red ribbon over her lower teeth again so that her breasts stood up, strapped the leg-spreader to her ankles, pushed the n-joy into her arse and commanded her to wank herself to orgasm. She hesitated, so I gave her a little tap on the side of the breast with the riding crop to encourage her. As she thrut her own hand down into her cunt and twisted and struggled to close her legs, I knelt over her, wanking myself. Eventually, by straining against the straps, twisting her hips and lifting her head back to pull and stretch her breasts she was able to give herself a screaming orgasm, but I gave her no time to enjoy it. While she was still crying and quivering I grabbed hold of the metal bar joining her ankles and, almost folding her in half, bore down on her and fucked her hard until, just on the brink of coming, I pulled out and sprayed my seed over her belly and tits.
Freeing her was a long and painful process. As the temporary anaesthesia that the euphoria of orgasm provided wore off her nipples had to be eased tenderly from the cruel serrations of the clamps. Stiff leather straps had to be carefully unbuckled and cramped limbs eased. The butt-plug had to be gently twisted and released.
No words passed between us. Heather lay in my arms and I held around her head and comforted her, and in that position we slept.
Having broken a taboo that had lasted as long as our entire relationship, that of being photographed nude or semi-nude, Heather began to discover that it was actually rather a thrill to see ones’ photographs out there on the web, attracting comments from appreciative readers. The summerhouse seemed a natural place for taking photos by virtue of its privacy and the large picture windows, letting in plenty of natural light. Mentally, we are a lot more relaxed down there as well. We seem to be far less inhibited in general when we are there and the sex is often better and more adventurous than when we are back home in town.
However, a summerhouse is only for summer. The heating and insulation arrangements are rather rudimentary so any attempt at sexual high-jinks during the winter months would most likely result in severely frost-bitten bits and pieces, and the winters are LONG at these northern latitudes.
So I decided it might be an idea to invest in some floodlights so that we could carry on photographing at home in the bedroom during the winter. Having got used to the idea of being photographed, Heather didn’t object. The problem, as always, was finding the time so set aside.
Eventually, one evening, we compromised. It was rather later than we would have wished but Heather was willing and I reckoned I could get set up fairly quickly. I knew what sort of pictures I wanted and what I wanted her to wear: Our favourite bra, matching g-string and suspender-belt, black fishnet stockings and gloves, red boots and, Heather’s idea, a red necktie. We threw a black, shiny, pvc sheet over the bed. Being a rush-job, we couldn’t find half the props I had wanted to use, I went mad trying to find the remote shutter-release for the camera and in the end had to give up and use the self-timer instead.
I photographed Heather in a multitude of poses in her underwear and then, bit by bit, without it. I paid particular attention to her gorgeous breasts and those breathtaking curves are enhanced by that particular bra.
I had her get up from the bed and sit in the armchair instead She was topless now and had shed the tie and gloves. I gently attached leather cuffs to her wrists and clipped together behind her back, then set the camera to self-timer and stood behind her, sliding my hands around her throat as the flash went off. I showed her the result and she seemed well satisfied, so we took a few more, first with hands fastened behind her back and then with her hands on mine as they closed around her neck, still cuffed together as if in a vain attempt to push me away.
With her hands now resting in her lap, I clamped her nipples, joining the to clamps with a red ribbon, then put the ribbon in her mouth and told her to lift her head, dragging her heavy breasts up by the nipples as I set the timer once more and then hurried back to grip her around her throat again. With that shot secured I moved over to the camera to prepare it again, but this time I stood beside her, curled my arm around her head and offered my cock to her lips. Impassively she parted them and took me in, just as the flash went off again.
And with that, the memory card was full, but the evening’s entertainment was far from over: With her nipples still clamped and her wrist till joined, I helped her to her feet, led her to the bed and pushed her down onto the PVC sheet. I hooked the red ribbon over her lower teeth again so that her breasts stood up, strapped the leg-spreader to her ankles, pushed the n-joy into her arse and commanded her to wank herself to orgasm. She hesitated, so I gave her a little tap on the side of the breast with the riding crop to encourage her. As she thrut her own hand down into her cunt and twisted and struggled to close her legs, I knelt over her, wanking myself. Eventually, by straining against the straps, twisting her hips and lifting her head back to pull and stretch her breasts she was able to give herself a screaming orgasm, but I gave her no time to enjoy it. While she was still crying and quivering I grabbed hold of the metal bar joining her ankles and, almost folding her in half, bore down on her and fucked her hard until, just on the brink of coming, I pulled out and sprayed my seed over her belly and tits.
Freeing her was a long and painful process. As the temporary anaesthesia that the euphoria of orgasm provided wore off her nipples had to be eased tenderly from the cruel serrations of the clamps. Stiff leather straps had to be carefully unbuckled and cramped limbs eased. The butt-plug had to be gently twisted and released.
No words passed between us. Heather lay in my arms and I held around her head and comforted her, and in that position we slept.
Monday, April 13, 2009
We're Back
Well we're back after our (very) long Easter weekend. We have been away since Thursday morning and there has been time for seeing family, both Heather's and our own in the form of Son and his gf. There have been late nights and lazy mornings. There has been time for some heavy-duty relaxation, and of course there has been plenty of time to enjoy each other at very close quarters without interuptions. We were lucky enough to have sunshine most of the time, but with a stiff, cool breeze blowing right off the Russian steppes we didn't quite manage to have a naked breakfast on the patio any of the days, but it's maybe a little early in the year just yet! Never mind, it's also quite cosy with a roaring log fire in the lounge and some hardcore porn on the video.
I have also had time to write a few of the posts that I have had rattling around in my head for a while, but haven't had the opportunity of late. I'll be posting some of them soon, so hold onto your hats!
Back to work tomorrow, but again it is a short week, and we're off on holday on Friday. As far as we're concerned, it can't come soon enough!
I have also had time to write a few of the posts that I have had rattling around in my head for a while, but haven't had the opportunity of late. I'll be posting some of them soon, so hold onto your hats!
Back to work tomorrow, but again it is a short week, and we're off on holday on Friday. As far as we're concerned, it can't come soon enough!
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
A Penance
We had a wonderful extended weekend, last weekend. We are open in our business 5½ days per week, closing at 1 pm on Saturdays. For those living in UK or the USA this might sound strange – when I was in retail in England it was drummed into us that ’Saturdays are for Selling' – but outside of the big cities, Scandinavia closes on Satuday afternoon. We have worked out a staffing rota which means we are free every third Saturday. Unlike the rest of the staff, we don’t take a day off in the week but now that we can confidently leave the day-to-day running of the place to the others, we can allow ourselves a free day now and again. Then someone came up with the brilliant idea of taking that free day on the Friday before our free Saturday, giving us a long weekend every three weeks. We took the first of these last weekend. We went to our summerhouse on Friday morning, intending to spend the entire weekend there, and were delighted by the glimses of yellow that had appeared since last time, from the minature daffs we had put in around the edges of the lawn.
The daffs are just as colourful as last year. Don't they know there's a crisis on?
Not content with just one long weekend, next weekend is Easter and there is a public holiday from Thursday right through to Monday. We are open on Saturday as normal but, as we worked last Easter Saturday, it is someone else’s turn this year. In theory we could head off down to the summerhouse on Wednesday night and not come back till Tuesday morning, so if there is a gap in my posting to this blog, you’ll know why. We don’t have web access at the summerhouse and in a way I don’t really want it.
Two long weekends in a row! But it doesn’t end there, for the following Friday we are off to UK for ten days to finish off the holiday that was so abruptly cut short last September. Just Heather and me, without the kids, spending some time in the company of Family, of good friends, and alone in a little cottage in the heart of Snowdonia.
But there is a price to pay: There is always a price to pay. A kind of penance, if you will
We got back on Monday morning to a madhouse. Two of our assistants have the week off this week, a third has a regular day off on Mondays, so it was just Heather and myself against the world. Plus, someone had let all the crazies out again. We had to deal with crap like the irate woman who said accusingly ”I came down here on Friday but you WEREN’T HERE”. Well pardon us for having the temerity to take our first free day since New Year without running it by you first. It didn’t let up all day and by the end we were totally drained. Today is shaping up to be much the same and tomorrow could be even worse as people rush to get things done before the Easter break. Easter is a time for visiting family or having family over to visit. There are gifts to buy, and gifts are a substantial part of our business. At our local supermarket they say that the week before Easter is busier than the week before Christmas. At least we have got some help again today and tomorrow, and then we’re all off for a well-deserved rest. Ok, we’re having lunch with the rest of the family over at Heather’s parents’ summerhouse on Thursday. We have to take a whole day out of the calender every Easter, and Whitsun for that matter, for the big sit-down meal that lasts interminable hours. Another penance.
But in a fortnight, it will be just us two, alone, among the mountains.
I can’t wait.
Not content with just one long weekend, next weekend is Easter and there is a public holiday from Thursday right through to Monday. We are open on Saturday as normal but, as we worked last Easter Saturday, it is someone else’s turn this year. In theory we could head off down to the summerhouse on Wednesday night and not come back till Tuesday morning, so if there is a gap in my posting to this blog, you’ll know why. We don’t have web access at the summerhouse and in a way I don’t really want it.
Two long weekends in a row! But it doesn’t end there, for the following Friday we are off to UK for ten days to finish off the holiday that was so abruptly cut short last September. Just Heather and me, without the kids, spending some time in the company of Family, of good friends, and alone in a little cottage in the heart of Snowdonia.
But there is a price to pay: There is always a price to pay. A kind of penance, if you will
We got back on Monday morning to a madhouse. Two of our assistants have the week off this week, a third has a regular day off on Mondays, so it was just Heather and myself against the world. Plus, someone had let all the crazies out again. We had to deal with crap like the irate woman who said accusingly ”I came down here on Friday but you WEREN’T HERE”. Well pardon us for having the temerity to take our first free day since New Year without running it by you first. It didn’t let up all day and by the end we were totally drained. Today is shaping up to be much the same and tomorrow could be even worse as people rush to get things done before the Easter break. Easter is a time for visiting family or having family over to visit. There are gifts to buy, and gifts are a substantial part of our business. At our local supermarket they say that the week before Easter is busier than the week before Christmas. At least we have got some help again today and tomorrow, and then we’re all off for a well-deserved rest. Ok, we’re having lunch with the rest of the family over at Heather’s parents’ summerhouse on Thursday. We have to take a whole day out of the calender every Easter, and Whitsun for that matter, for the big sit-down meal that lasts interminable hours. Another penance.
But in a fortnight, it will be just us two, alone, among the mountains.
I can’t wait.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Sugasm #162
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 #163? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom
This Week’s Picks
Justify My Love“All I could think of was to have his arms around me so that they could make everything right.”
Tied Naked In A Field Of Grass“Growing up on a farm has its advantages.”
On Machismo“It’s very weird, this rigid interpretation of gender in America.”
Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Compassion: The Angry Family
Editor’s Choice
Heat
More SugasmJoin the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
BDSM & Fetish
brock’s Task
Golden Spike
Impish
Let’s try how it works
Playing Safe
Ritual
Roommate’s Revenge
Sleeping with Daddy
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Beneath Him
He Likes Me
In The Shadows
Jenniffer from AFF
Red Pajamas
Stripper Sex. Stripper Fuck. Stripper Fun
Three Views of a Nude
Watching Girls IV, Personal Invitation
Work Violation
You Ask
Sex Humor
Dancing dildo’s and other sundry details…
Sex News, Reviews, and Interviews
Mistress Kara Chains, a wicked toy, and my naughty behind
The Mistress Manual review
Pixazza + Adsense for Porn & Adultworld
A review on 32″ curved Walnut and Maple Cane by Wycked Synsations with Sera Miles.
Sex Toy Review: ShowerBabe
Think of Your Sex Toy Chest Like a Golf Bag
Top Five Tuesday - Sports Edition
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bijou - All woman
Nicole Scherzinger Sexy Maxim Photoshoot
Within Temptation -HNT
Womanizer (in sign language)
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Admonishment Comes at a Heavy Price
Advertising: Sex, Commerce and Sexual Turn-Ons
Caveat, Qualifier, Disclaimer … An Escort to Remember
HNT ~ Blood Makes Noise
Is Kink Oppressed? Is it Oppressed like ____?
Labels, identities, and asking
This Week’s Picks
Justify My Love“All I could think of was to have his arms around me so that they could make everything right.”
Tied Naked In A Field Of Grass“Growing up on a farm has its advantages.”
On Machismo“It’s very weird, this rigid interpretation of gender in America.”
Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Compassion: The Angry Family
Editor’s Choice
Heat
More SugasmJoin the Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
BDSM & Fetish
brock’s Task
Golden Spike
Impish
Let’s try how it works
Playing Safe
Ritual
Roommate’s Revenge
Sleeping with Daddy
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Beneath Him
He Likes Me
In The Shadows
Jenniffer from AFF
Red Pajamas
Stripper Sex. Stripper Fuck. Stripper Fun
Three Views of a Nude
Watching Girls IV, Personal Invitation
Work Violation
You Ask
Sex Humor
Dancing dildo’s and other sundry details…
Sex News, Reviews, and Interviews
Mistress Kara Chains, a wicked toy, and my naughty behind
The Mistress Manual review
Pixazza + Adsense for Porn & Adultworld
A review on 32″ curved Walnut and Maple Cane by Wycked Synsations with Sera Miles.
Sex Toy Review: ShowerBabe
Think of Your Sex Toy Chest Like a Golf Bag
Top Five Tuesday - Sports Edition
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bijou - All woman
Nicole Scherzinger Sexy Maxim Photoshoot
Within Temptation -HNT
Womanizer (in sign language)
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Admonishment Comes at a Heavy Price
Advertising: Sex, Commerce and Sexual Turn-Ons
Caveat, Qualifier, Disclaimer … An Escort to Remember
HNT ~ Blood Makes Noise
Is Kink Oppressed? Is it Oppressed like ____?
Labels, identities, and asking
Sunday, April 05, 2009
All Change
We got a new Prime Minister today, in our little kingdom. The outgoing incumbent, Anders Fogh Rasmussen, who succeeded Poul Nyrup Rasmussen (no relation) in 2001, has accepted the post of Secretary General of NATO, and is replaced in office by the erstwhile Finance Minister, Lars Løkke Rasmussen (still no relation). Can you see a pattern emerging here? It seems that an essential prerequisite to becoming Prime Minister over here is being called Rasmussen.
Mr. Rasmussen, Mr Rasmussen and Mr. Rasmussen
Mr. Rasmussen, Mr Rasmussen and Mr. Rasmussen
Perhaps the current leader of the opposition, Helle Thorning Schmidt, should consider changing her name to Rasmussen as well if she wants to be in with a chance of leading the country. At least she hasn’t made the mistake of taking her husband’s name when she married. That would hardly be a recipe for success, for her father-in-law is none other than British opposition leader with a history of failed attempts at toppling Margaret Thatcher as Prime Minister, Neil Kinnock.
Mrs Helle Not-Rasmussen and Mr. Neil Not-Rasmussen (relation)
Friday, April 03, 2009
Losing It In Style
”I read in the paper the other day” She said, as she traced lazy curlicues with her fingers among the hairs of my chest, ”That people in general are not getting enough sleep”.
I thought this was a bit rich, considering it was well over midday and we were still in bed.
”It said” She persisted. ”That it is puting a strain on relationships, what with men dozing off in front of the telly as soon as they get back from work, and women falling asleep during foreplay”.
”Well, there’s one way to get around that problem” I said, climbing on top of her.
”Cut out the foreplay!” We said in unison…
”You wicked, wicked man” She whispered, as I gently withdrew my thumb from her semen-drenched arse and dragged a fingertip longingly over her slippery clit one last time, causing her to shudder amid the aftershocks of her orgasm.
It was now well into the afternoon. The change to summer time had been heralded by mild, springlike weather and we hadn’t yet turned down the heating to suit the milder weather, therefore our bodies were glistening with sweat. As I had squatted behind her, grabbed her round the throat, and jabbed my cock deep into her tight but welcoming arse with little pelvic thrusts the sweat had dripped from me and pooled in the little hollows of her back. Now, as we lay together, we felt delightfully sleazy with the slipperiness of our bodies, and the smell of our sex, and the recollection of what we had just done with each other.
I don’t know why it is, but there always seems to be something going on at the weekend when the clocks change. When we lived in the UK, and especially in the years B.C. (Before Children) we would very frequently visit our friends George and Kat up in town at weekends, or they would come to us for some good Hampshire air, not to mention ale. Without consciously planning it, we always seemed to be together on the weekends when the clocks changed. In the spring we would reason that if we were going to lose an hour we might as well lose it in style and this would be the cue for drinking late into the night, while in the autumn, the gift of an extra hour was clearly an hour’s extra drinking time and would be the cue for drinking long into the night.
Alas. Those happy days are no more, but it just so happened that last Saturday night we were invited to a birthday party. And no ordinary birthday, either. Heather’s oldest friend, Lene, was celebrating one of those birthdays that end in an ’0’. More than that, she’s half way to the birthday that ends in ’00’. Like Heather, she doesn’t look 50. We’re all still overgrown teenagers really, although we didn’t get to prove it on Saturday night.
I remember Lene and her husband, Poul, held a party at their place some years back where the first thing that greeted the guests as they came in the door was a big glass bowl full of a variety of condoms. No such luck on Saturday night; it was a sit-down meal sort of thing for family and friends. A very good meal, it has to be said but, with the obvious exception of us overgrown teenagers, everybody just seemed so OLD and sensible. Even Poul, who was a legendary troublemaker in his time, is now a respectable family man with a thriving business. I don’t really know what I was expecting: Certainly not a full-scale swinger orgy, but perhaps something a bit more lively to prove we’re not ready for the knacker’s yard just yet.
Perhaps, instead of gift vouchers for the local clothes shop, we should have bought the Birthday Girl a couple of male strippers.
Anyway, as the second hand on my radio-controlled watch reached 2am, faltered a little, then reset itself to 3, the minibus we had ordered turned up to take the contingent from our town back home and we were all still more-or-less sober. It was about 4 by the time we finally got to bed and we just crashed out, my arms round Heather's neck, her hand on my cock, too tired to fuck but happy in the knowledge that we had all of Sunday to do whatever we pleased.
Happily, when we’re in the privacy of our own bedroom we can still carry on like a pair of teenagers.
I thought this was a bit rich, considering it was well over midday and we were still in bed.
”It said” She persisted. ”That it is puting a strain on relationships, what with men dozing off in front of the telly as soon as they get back from work, and women falling asleep during foreplay”.
”Well, there’s one way to get around that problem” I said, climbing on top of her.
”Cut out the foreplay!” We said in unison…
”You wicked, wicked man” She whispered, as I gently withdrew my thumb from her semen-drenched arse and dragged a fingertip longingly over her slippery clit one last time, causing her to shudder amid the aftershocks of her orgasm.
It was now well into the afternoon. The change to summer time had been heralded by mild, springlike weather and we hadn’t yet turned down the heating to suit the milder weather, therefore our bodies were glistening with sweat. As I had squatted behind her, grabbed her round the throat, and jabbed my cock deep into her tight but welcoming arse with little pelvic thrusts the sweat had dripped from me and pooled in the little hollows of her back. Now, as we lay together, we felt delightfully sleazy with the slipperiness of our bodies, and the smell of our sex, and the recollection of what we had just done with each other.
I don’t know why it is, but there always seems to be something going on at the weekend when the clocks change. When we lived in the UK, and especially in the years B.C. (Before Children) we would very frequently visit our friends George and Kat up in town at weekends, or they would come to us for some good Hampshire air, not to mention ale. Without consciously planning it, we always seemed to be together on the weekends when the clocks changed. In the spring we would reason that if we were going to lose an hour we might as well lose it in style and this would be the cue for drinking late into the night, while in the autumn, the gift of an extra hour was clearly an hour’s extra drinking time and would be the cue for drinking long into the night.
Alas. Those happy days are no more, but it just so happened that last Saturday night we were invited to a birthday party. And no ordinary birthday, either. Heather’s oldest friend, Lene, was celebrating one of those birthdays that end in an ’0’. More than that, she’s half way to the birthday that ends in ’00’. Like Heather, she doesn’t look 50. We’re all still overgrown teenagers really, although we didn’t get to prove it on Saturday night.
I remember Lene and her husband, Poul, held a party at their place some years back where the first thing that greeted the guests as they came in the door was a big glass bowl full of a variety of condoms. No such luck on Saturday night; it was a sit-down meal sort of thing for family and friends. A very good meal, it has to be said but, with the obvious exception of us overgrown teenagers, everybody just seemed so OLD and sensible. Even Poul, who was a legendary troublemaker in his time, is now a respectable family man with a thriving business. I don’t really know what I was expecting: Certainly not a full-scale swinger orgy, but perhaps something a bit more lively to prove we’re not ready for the knacker’s yard just yet.
Perhaps, instead of gift vouchers for the local clothes shop, we should have bought the Birthday Girl a couple of male strippers.
Anyway, as the second hand on my radio-controlled watch reached 2am, faltered a little, then reset itself to 3, the minibus we had ordered turned up to take the contingent from our town back home and we were all still more-or-less sober. It was about 4 by the time we finally got to bed and we just crashed out, my arms round Heather's neck, her hand on my cock, too tired to fuck but happy in the knowledge that we had all of Sunday to do whatever we pleased.
Happily, when we’re in the privacy of our own bedroom we can still carry on like a pair of teenagers.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
HNT: Bracelet
I featured this necklace last week. It is one of our favourites. I like it because with its chunkiness and spikes it has a sort of s/m flavour to it.
It was handmade in Greece and Heather has had it for quite a while now. A few weeks at a trade show we were lucky to find the matching bracelet so naturally I had to photograph Heather wearing both (and nothing else!)
Happy HNT!
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