Velvet Touch

Starting the New Year with a Bang Bang.

2012-01-02T00:01:00.005Z

It was New Year’s Eve and I was settled warm and snug in my bedroom waiting for the phone to ring. I was dressed in my new favourite purple figure hugging dress. Just because I wasn’t going out to play didn’t mean I couldn’t look good. For whatever reason I like to make the effort for my phone sex sessions, to dress the part even though my research partner can’t see me. It helps me get into and stay in character.

The character I was playing this time was a girl at a New Year’s Eve house party who was to catch the eye of my research partner. So for this role play I pretended to dance the night away in the middle of a room, drink in hand, celebrating the forth coming New Year. At this point a stranger, my research partner spoke of staring at me, eyes buried into my flesh, watching intently as I shook my slim body in time to the music. For a while I imagined letting him stare at me, playing it cool, paying him no attention whatsoever as he undid my dress with his eyes to reveal a sleek set of black underwear. As my research partner got into character he told me he was imagining watching me, all smiles as I danced away, thinking that he liked my dress, a dress, he said, that would look good on his floor.

Not ready to take my dress off just yet I told my research partner he’d have to wait to hear me strip. I told him instead he needed to approach me, as the girl at the party and do his best to seduce me. This was the only way he was going to separate me from my dress and indeed my silky soft knickers. I was intrigued at this moment, curious to see what lines my research partner would use to chat me up. I know he has a particular strategy he has used in the past. This entails talking to girls and then whipping out his mobile phone to show the girl or girls in question a picture of his huge cock. Suffice to say for my research partner seduction consists of ‘how about it?’. Still on the plus side at least he is upfront about what he wants which is lots of hot and heavy sex in whatever form he can get it. I like this about him, his gruffness, and his ‘no beating around the bush’ mentality. Better that than a charmer, full of empty promises and deceit. I dated a charmer once and he broke my heart into a million pieces. He told me whatever he thought I wanted to hear, not because he meant a word of his professed love but so that he could keep me in his bed until someone better came along. Hindsight, as they say, is wonderful thing.

Still the misadventure of that relationship is a whole other story and not the one I am telling you now. The story I am telling you now is about my night of phone sex passion that took place in my bedroom last night. So I, in character, pretended to dance the night away, hot and glistening in the room of the party. In our imagination my research partner and I locked eyes passionately. As we watched each other we drank in the sight of each other, my inhibitions diminishing with each sip of my drink. Soon my research partner spoke of making his way over towards me, two glasses in hand, his approach capitalising on the fact I had nearly finished my drink. He handed the extra glass to me and told me I looked beautiful in my dress. It was a good chat up line, every girl, including me likes a bit of flattery especially if the giver of this flattery is hot which my dear friend happens to be. As we shared our drinks we imagined dancing together, hands wrapped around each other’s bodies, fingertips stroking one another’s flesh with lips meeting and deep, sensual, hot and heavy kisses shared. In character we broke from kissing, the air thick with anticipation, we held hands and led each other out of the room. We made our way into the hall and up the stairs to an empty bedroom. My research partner told me that he would lay me down onto the bed and bringing his body so it was close to mine, kissing my lips and then my neck. I love having my neck kissed, to feel smooth lips on my skin and hot breath on my flesh, sensations that make my spine tingle and pussy ache.

By this point in the role play my dress was hitched up around my waist and I had my rabbit toy pressed hard against my clit. As I got wetter and wetter my clit throbbed, aching with anticipation as the role play continued. As we kissed and kissed in our imaginations my research partner slid his hand down my dress and undid my zip, pulling the material over my head to reveal acres of bare skin to discover and explore. My research partner spoke of touching my entire body and I told of my desire to undress him, to undo the buttons of his shirt, stroking his hard muscular chest and for my hands to gently pull at the material of his clothes to release his body from its fabric confines. Soon I described my hands moving lower, fingers stroking his thighs and lightly touching his hardening cock. As I was imagining touching his cock he told me how he would stand up from the bed, taking my legs and pulling my whole body to the edge so that he could lick my aching wet cunt, slipping off my knickers so that he could take his tongue and run the tip all of my clit, enjoying the sweet taste of my hot burning juice. As he talked of licking my clit he said he would take his fingers and push them deep inside of me, hard back and forth so that I moaned hard with pleasure and delight. His hot breath against my pussy driving me wild with lust.

Now I was possessed with desire. My toy was slammed hard against my clit and as my pussy began to squirt with thick hot sticky juice I knew I would come from clit play alone. I did as my research partner instructed and rode out the intensity of my ever building orgasm. The more I played the more I was over whelmed by the sensation that I was going to piss myself. It was strange but I was so turned on I just had to carry on using my toy to play with my clit. My screams got louder as did the moans of my research partner, his groans tipping me over the sexual edge as I continued to play with my rabbit eyes rocking gorgeously against my clit. I needed something inside me, something filling my cunt as I was about to come in place of the big hard cock I desired. I used my fingers that slid effortlessly inside my soaking wet pussy. Fingers inside me, toy on my clit, my body rocked up and down as I fucked myself hard, the need to piss was growing ever more intense, ever more urgent but I didn’t care as I screamed with pleasure, I didn’t care if I pissed out an entire pool of sweet hot cunt juice. I just went with it, rode the pleasure waves as they came thick fast and hard, flooding my body and making me shake. All I wanted to do was fuck myself, to hear my research partner down the phone line wank his cock hard as he got closer and closer to coming.

In time we both dramatically exploded, coming one after the other with immense sexual satisfaction. I did piss so much cunt juice that there were wet thick stains on my bed sheets but as my body floated on a soft fluffy post orgasm cloud I didn’t care. I was in utter bliss, starting the New Year with a fantastic bang bang and I fully intend to have started the New Year as I mean to go on.

Happy New Year!

Santa’s Sexy Little Helper

2011-12-25T21:51:00.002Z

Christmas may come but once a year but I and my research partner came many more times than that when we enacted our festive role play. The scenario was this; he played a frazzled, tired and frustrated Santa Claus, exhausted organising and wrapping presents for all the children, big and small around the world. I, on the other hand, played Miss Santa Claus, his eager, happy and hopefully sexy little helper whose job it was to look after Santa and to put a smile back on his face.

Dressed in my red transparent Miss Santa outfit compete with knee high patent leather boots the phone rang. It was my research partner calling as he always does of late, in the middle of the night. I had waited up for him, aware that it wouldn’t be difficult for him to play a stressed out Santa as his job is hectic and complicated at the moment. His voice sounded tired down the phone line as he got into character and bemoaned the stresses of being Mr Claus, as he said he just had far too much to do, too little time to do it all in and could I please help him to unwind. As Santa’s sexy little helper I began to help him do just that, asking him to slip off his clothes, switch the TV channel to Babe station, light some candles and lie naked on his bed. As he lay bare in his softly lit bedroom, warm from his heater I requested that he take some massage oil and rub it into his thighs, to press his fingers deep into his flesh and begin to ease the tensions in his tight aching muscles. As he rubbed away I encouraged him to focus only on massaging his thighs and the sound of my voice, forgetting everything else, passing the time chatting away, giggling and deciding which Babestation girls we liked best. By this point he was beginning to sound better already.

As the discomfort eased in my research partner’s thighs and his muscles relaxed I instructed ‘Santa’ to carry on massaging his body with sweet smelling oil. I asked him to run his fingertips to his balls, cupping and massaging them and as he did so he informed me playfully that they were full and heavy. He went on to state that he needed a really long phone sex session, ‘ a real session’ as he put it to satisfy his physical needs. Being Santa sexy little helper I said I would do my very best to help, I giggled as I spoke these words, my own aching wet bare pussy testament to my own needs and desire for good long hard phone fuck. As my pussy got wetter and wetter with my own sweet cunt juice I took my own pot of massage oil, a blend of Jasmine and Patchouli and poured some on my fingertips which I then placed on my hot swollen clit. I rubbed it side to side with the oil and ‘Santa’ did the same with his balls, massaging away as his cock grew hard and eager for play, his hard huge cock now showing off his new silver piercing.

As I played with my swollen sensitive clit I instructed ‘Santa’ to move his hands lower to his arse, to massage his oil into his cheeks, to really squeeze and press down at his flesh. As he moaned I encouraged him to take his new toy, a rabbit just like mine that he got because he had heard with his own ears just how much I have enjoyed this toy, and place it against his arse and let the ears of this toy vibrate against his arse. When he did this he groaned, a deep guttural moan that seemed to come from the very pit of his stomach, a sound that turned me on so much when I heard it down the phone line that I squirted instantly and felt sweet sticky cunt juice run down the length of my fingertips. I began to groan myself, hard and deep, when I next took my rabbit and placed its vibrating ears against my clit. The speed and intensity of the ears vibrating against my hard clit tipping me closer still to orgasm.

With both of us highly turned on soon I was asking ‘Santa’ to imagine what it would be like to have Miss Santa Claus’s mouth wrapped around his cock. To pretend that her long hair was tickling his stomach as she first licked and sucked on his balls, then licked his hard cock up and down until eventually took his whole cock deep inside her mouth and sucked long and hard. As he imagined this he wanted me to play a game of pretend too, to think about having ‘Santa’s’ fingers running up and down my body, finger tips on my pert tits and then down to my stomach soon making their way lower still until they tickled my thighs, finding their path to my red knickers and touching my clit through the material, fingertips getting wet with the mix of sweet cunt juice and sweet oil. These fantasies along with the steadfast rhythm of my toy continued to make me moan hard, I was desperate to slam my toy deep inside my pussy, to push it inside and feel my cunt filled and scream as I pushed it back and forth. As much as I wanted to do this ‘Santa’ insisted that I wait for that particular present, to play with my hot burning clit some more so when I did eventually cum it was loud and powerful. Loud being the key word in that sentence because it is how loud I am that really gets my research partner off. The louder I am the more he calls me a ‘filthy bitch’ and he loves me being that way. I, for one, also like how loud he is, he really loves what we get up to and he shows it which adds to how turned on I get.

I was a good girl and did as ‘Santa’ asked, taking my rabbit and placing it against my clit a while longer until I could no longer stand it and pleaded to be allowed to push it inside my cunt. After some time ‘Santa’ relented and let me fuck myself hard with my toy deep inside my tight dripping pussy. It was exquisite, all the better for being made to wait. With one hand I slammed the toy deep inside me and with the other hand I rubbed my hard swollen clit. I was screaming with pleasure, moaning hard and loud as I fucked myself forcefully, intent on cuming hard, encouraged by my research partner’s cries of pleasure that I heard down the phone line. I’ve been a good girl I told ‘Santa’ and ‘Santa’ agreed, asking if I liked my present. I screamed as I came and told my research partner I couldn’t think of a better present. ‘Santa’ said he could, that and even better present would be the pair of us coming many times over. So that’s what we did, fucked until the darkness of the night broke and I could see glimmers of light from my bedroom window. Merry Christmas everyone, I hope you are having a festive period that is as naughty and nice as the one I am having.

Once Bitten…

2011-11-06T19:55:00.001Z

As the sex soaked words filtered down the phone line I knew I was in for a good night. It was Halloween and an entirely appropriate spookily sexy role play was planned between my research partner and I. The plot of this role play? The plot, I confess, was a loosely based rip off of the cult classic film ‘Once bitten’. For those of you who don’t know the film the narrative involves a young male virgin desperate to have sex for the first time with his girlfriend but continually thwarted by her refusals. The lack of sex in his life he believes changes when he meets an older woman in a bar who piles him with booze and shamelessly seduces him. This older woman turns out to be a vamp countess who needs the blood of young male virgins in order to stay forever young and beautiful. This was all the plot my research partner and I needed to start our play and I must admit I was looking forward all day of the 31st of October to how my research partner, the players player, would play at being innocent and sexually inexperienced. Indeed I suspected it would be a real test of his role play abilities to act so against his nature and his vast sexual experience.

So there I was on the evening of the 31st of October alone in my bedroom dressed in my vampire garb waiting for the phone call from my, for one night only, innocent virgin of a research partner. When the phone rang a suitably shy and unsure voice answered me when I said hello. We pretended we were at a bar and I offered to buy my research partner a drink of something booze soaked and fruity, a rum cocktail. He stammered yyyyy eeeee ssssss, he would like that very much as I asked him to imagine his eyes running down the full length of my tight black dress. As I told him down the phone it was one of those slinky black dresses that hugged my curves but with out much effort at all could, with the right male hands, be easily lifted to reveal my sexy pink and black lacy underwear underneath complete with black silky stockings. Like much talk of my underwear my research partner said he liked the sound of that and as he took a gulp of coffee he imagined it was the cocktail I had ordered for him. Soon this innocent boy virgin was ready for another. His virgin character definitely needed that next cocktail as I continued in full vamp seduction mode, I wanted him good and drunk so I could take him back to my countess lair and take a bite of his flesh so I could feel his fresh innocent blood trickle down my throat, the taste of this bloody elixir that would keep this countess young and beautiful forever.

On and on I continued to ply my research partner with imaginary booze and on and on I flirted with him shamelessly. As the fictitious booze flowed in the heat and sweat of the imagined bar my seduction became more confident. I asked my research partner pretend that the countess was touching his arm and chest in the course of their flirtation, her fingertips stroking his flesh over the thin layer of cotton that was his skirt.

This premise made him take a deep breath of air and indeed I was getting turned on to as my took my rabbit vibrator and let its vibrations tickle my clit deliciously over my knickers. I felt myself get wet and my research partner mentioned shyly that I sounded excited. It was time to ditch the bar and I invited the young innocent boy my research partner was playing back to my place. I told him I had more booze there and when I suggested we would be more comfortable in a more private setting.

So off we headed for four play during the long taxi drive back to the Countess’s place. As they sat in the back of the cab the hostess took the boy’s hand and held it hers. As she stroked his fingertips she leaned her body against his and as his breath quickened she placed a finger on his lips and smiled as she asked him to take a deep breath and enjoy the taste of her sweet kiss. Her lips pressed against his and as they touched the boy felt a jolt of electricity coursing through his body. This older woman was nothing like his girlfriend, her kisses did not leave his body pulsating nor his cock so stiff and hard. Her touch was so self assured, she knew what she wanted and how to get it. The character my research partner was playing felt wonderfully helpless,deliciously dominated and gorgeously controlled. He was more than willingly to follow were she lead, to let her be his first and best sexual guide.

As the taxi pulled up to its destination the young boy’s heart pounded in anticipation of

the sex he was sure would follow. As the taxi stopped the Countess took his sweat soaked hand and lead him to her lair. It was a large house with a huge black door that the countess slammed behind her as she took the boy inside her place. She sat him down on her plush red velvet chaise longue and pored him a large drink of rum. As she took the drink to him he took a huge sip before she began to undress him. She kissed his neck deeply and with her hands she began to undo the buttons on his top. As each button came free she kissed the newly exposed flesh until he lay with his chest completely bare. She took his hands and placed them on her firm tits and squeezed his hand inside hers so he could feel the pert softness of her body. As he felt her tits his heart raced, a sensation made more acute when her long black hair tickled against his neck and then his chest. He wanted to undress this beautiful woman, to slip off her tight black dress and to feel her skin against his, the taste of her body on his tongue.

The inexperienced boy wasn’t brave enough to act on his desires, to initiate undressing the countess but that was just fine, the countess was self assured, more then able to take the lead, to run her hand along his bare chest and then move lower so her fingertips touched and stroked his hard cock through his jeans making the young boys head swim with lust and desire. As her hand stroked his throbbing cock she wrapped her other arm around his body and squeezed tightly making both of their pulses soar. Soon uncontrollable lust for both of them took hold and the countess was unzipping the boy, exposing his hard cock to the warmth of the room and to the sweet heat of her breath as she lowered her head to take him inside of her mouth. The countess, completely in controlled licked the boy’s cock lightly with the tip of tongue, enjoying the salt of his pre cum on her lips. As she licked his pre cum from her lips she began to suck his cock hard and with purpose. This is Halloween after all, and all boys especially this boy deserve a treat. So with that in mind she continue to suck hard, to feel his rock hard cock twitch in her mouth and she looked deeply into his bliss filled eyes. The inexperienced boy came quickly in the Countess’s mouth and as she swallowed she suggested the boy finish the drink she had made for him. He swallowed the drink quickly in the same quick fashion that the countess had swallowed his cum. As he drank the Countess began to slip off her clothes, to strip down to her pink and black lacy underwear and stockings, standing in front of the boy who she was far from finished with.

As the boy sat on the chaise longue the countess straddled him, wrapping her long legs around his waist, she kissed him softly on the neck and then took his hand and placed it against the warmth of her hot wet cunt, his hands touched over her knickers. With the Countess’s encouragement soon his fingers were inside her pussy, moving back and forth making her moan and the boys fingers became soaked with the sweet juice of her tight pussy. As the boy slammed his fingers hard and rhythmically into her cunt her moans of pleasure became louder and as the boy squeezed her tits with his other hand she began to squirt her luscious juice down the length of his fingertips. Now in the original film ‘Once bitten’ the countess lets the boy pass out and only pretends the next day that she has had sex with him. That was not the kind of vamp countess I was playing during this role play with my research partner. I had every intention of fucking him hard during the course of play as I took my rabbit toy and slammed it hard inside my self. So as the Countess became sexually heated by being fingered I was getting heated myself as I moved my toy in and out of my cunt hard. I continued to do this as my research partner wanked to my description of the Countess pulling her knickers to one side as she straddled the boy and plunging his cock deep inside her as she fucked him good and proper, riding him hard as she stayed on top to the soundtrack of both of their pleasure filled moans. And this is how this particular role play ended, with the character my research partner was playing enjoying every moment of losing his sexually innocence to the beautiful vamp Countess I was playing. On and on we fucked all Halloween evening and continued in to the early hours. This was the kind of Halloween treat I want every year, what about you?

At it like bunny rabbits part two: A review of the Jessica rabbit vibrator

2011-09-26T14:45:00.001+01:00

To begin with the Jessica Rabbit vibrator is huge, at least nine inches long and two inches wide at it widest point, where its rotating pearls reside. It is a much bigger and thicker toy than I am use to and when it arrived through its discreet packaging in the post I was a little intimated by its size. Despite its gorgeous pink girl friendly colour I wondered how I would fit this entire toy inside my tight pussy. I was unsure if I had upgraded to the right toy for me. Not that I had too much choice to upgrade, the faithful Golden torpedo toy I had been using before was quite literally disintegrating, falling apart inside me as I played and eventually squirted when I came. Its golden spray paint coming off inside me as I rammed it back and forth over and over again making an unpleasant mess for me to clean up when I should have been luxuriating in post orgasm euphoria.

So an upgrade was needed but the rabbit wasn’t my first choice. Initially when I landed on the www.sextoys.co.uk website I just wanted a replacement for my golden torpedo. I was looking for something similar if not identical to my trusted basic vibrator. Something with a fair bit of power to stimulate my clit with enough length and width to satisfy me with when I fucked my pussy hard. Essentially I wanted a newer version of my old toy minus the paint work coming off inside me. So I opted at first for a very cheap toy, the Crystal Clear vibrator that was under £3 in the www.sextoys.co.uk sale. When it arrived promptly in the post two days later I was eager to try the lady finger out. It was smaller than my old toy but thankfully its vibrations felt powerful on my hands. I knew at the very least I would enjoy its sensations on my clit and that it was the perfect size for fucking my arse with, a sexual activity I have grown to love thanks to the encouragement of my research partner. Indeed I did enjoy the clit play with the toy when I got down to phone sex with my research partner but when it came to fucking my pussy with it at less than an inch wide and five inches long it simply wasn’t big enough to get me off. I have a really tight pussy but to make me cum I need a toy that fills me, something wide enough that I initially have to force it inside, push it hard pass the lips and feel an internal pop deep inside my cunt. So while size isn’t everything clearly for me it is something. With this in mind I went back to www.sextoys.co.uk’s website and went shopping again.

Straight away I was drawn to the Jessica Rabbit vibrator having first heard all about it wonders on a re run of an old Sex and the City episode. It too was in the sale and looked a whole lot of toy for a mere twenty pounds. So I ordered one and once again it came quickly, two days later. As I have said once I had unwrapped my rabbit and took it out of its packaging I was intimidated by its size. It has a long and wide shaft that can rotate and in the middle of it shaft it has a large set of pearls that also rotate, making the toy about two inches wide at that point. However the best feature of the toy for me, what it is most famous for are its vibrating bunny ears. These ears vibrate at either a high or low speed and really did stimulate my clit sensationally when I had the shaft of the toy pushed deep inside my pussy. This is an amazing and horny, to have this huge toy slammed hard into my cunt and to have my clit played with at the same time. I preferred the low speed option with the bunny ears as I have a super sensitive clit, the gentle vibrations were definitely better for me. Its vibrations combined with the rotating shaft and swirling beads got me soaking wet at the rate of knots and the overload of pleasure from the clit play pushed me to the point of orgasm quickly and with force.

The only downside of the rabbit is because it is a bells and whistles vibrator, doing a bit of everything to your pussy gleefully at the same time the toy itself is quite heavy. This makes it tiring to your arm when, if like me, what you really want from a toy is a good hard pounding. The weight and sheer size of the toy make it difficult to fuck yourself hard with. However the rabbit is still a good buy, it offered me a welcome new sexual experience because of all the sensations it delivers through it rotating pearls and shaft along with its vibrating bunny ears do lead to explosive orgasms. The way I view my rabbit is that I am glad I have it and because of everything it does I plan to have lots of fun playing with its different options. I am also glad I have my lady finger which is perfect for light clit play and getting me in the mood for fucking my arse. However I can’t see either toy despite their merits becoming as beloved by me as my first ever toy, my golden torpedo because for whatever reason that toy was the prefect size, the perfect length and the perfect speed to get me off every single time. It’s just a shame its shame its paint is falling off. Back to www.sextoys.co.uk it is then in search of a vibrator I can adore as much as my old worn out one.

At it like bunny rabbits

2011-09-05T18:11:00.001+01:00

To begin with I would like to apologize to everyone who struggled recently to post comments on my blog. I did not remove them, it was the powers that be. I presume they did this because the context of those lost comments pertained to something I said about the Sex at Oxbridge blog. For what it is worth, I think as many others do that her blog is comical not least because of its lack of sexual content. My blog is graphic because I am actually having phone sex, it is graphic because I do indulge in the role play I write about and finally it is graphic because I enjoy everything sexually that I get up. I hope my readers do as well.

I also find the Sex at Oxbridge blog laughable because I don’t think anyone could seriously believe that she really is at Oxbridge. I had a run in with the writer of that blog many months ago. Sufficed to say I am left in no doubt that I am more than able to take her on and that the writer of that blog does not attend either one of the institutions she has affiliated herself with. This is because if she did, as she claims, attend Oxbridge she would have shown some ability to put together a better more coherent blog than she does.

Moving away from the Oxbridge blog I thought I would share with you how I got on with my degree. I got a 2.1 BSc. I really struggled at the end of the course to stay motivated and positive. This is because I knew I wasn’t going to get a first but by the same token I knew I wouldn’t get less than a 2.1. Being in that situation didn’t give me much to fight for, there was no pressure to really excel. I knew my 2.1 was guaranteed. So a 2.1 it is and I have been told that it is better to get a 2.1 than a first anyway. I have been informed by someone who hires and fires in their day job that getting a first can make you unemployable. This is because when you are interviewed with a first you are unlikely to get the job simply because the interviewer may think you are likely to take their job further down the line. I would be interested to know if anyone else reading this has heard the same or has anything to add to the subject.

Anyway in part celebration of my degree result and in part celebration of my research partner’s return to the UK (he’s been away working) I arranged a reunion bash. This bash was not just reuniting he and I for sexual high jinx but also he, I and the lovely girls who took part in a previous post, 21st Century Vera Lynn. The phone sex that took place that night was highly sexually charged and I was eager to get the girls involved again. I wanted the girls to help me welcome my research partner home and help me pamper and satisfy him. The other girls, as gracious and as fun as I remembered them to be, were happy to help.

My plan for the evening was to get all four of us together and to treat my research partner as a king, imagining that he had his very own play boy mansion surrounded by beautiful sexy bunny girls who were devoted, for that evening at least, to satisfying him completely. The sound of my plan was very much music to the ears of my research partner. So we began one evening last week, him with two girls in one room on his camp and me at the end of a phone line dressed up in my very own bunny girl outfit, fish net hold ups, high heels, sequined bunny ears complete with a cotton bunny tail pinned to my see through knickers. As I placed my toy vibrated directly against my clit I got ready to dish out instructions to the other girls as to how the pampering and seduction of my research partner should commence.

The girls, as instructed, stripped my research partner bare. As he laid stretched out on the bed naked each of the two girls took a foot each. They began massaged his feet with, what I told was, sweet smelling oil. As the girls massaged his feet we all relaxed and chatted, I enjoy the girls company so it was good to catch up. Indeed I can see the appeal of swinging as a consequence of these get togethers. This is because you get to chat and have fun and frolics with lots of interesting and sexy people.If you had asked me a year ago about swinging I would have been sure it wasn’t for me but the good experiences I have had with the girls have changed my outlook, I am certainly warming to the idea. As the pampering continued and the girl’s hands moved higher, to my research partner’s ankles and calves and to his knees. I asked each girl to massage the back of his knees firmly, to really tease and turn him on until huge cock became hard and twitched with anticipation. I encouraged the girls to move on to his thighs, to press their fingers into his flesh and sooth his tired aching muscles. When I decided the girls had teased my research partner enough I suggested the girls take their hands and with gentle feather light touches stroke his cock and his balls not forgetting to pay attention to my research partner’s favourite area, his arse.

My research partner let out a satisfied moan as his favourite girls teased and touched his cock, balls and arse. There were so many fingers and so many sensations that soon his cock released a squirt of pre cum which, not to be wasted, fell onto one of the girls finger tips who without instruction rubbed it into the nipples of her full large tits. This display made it clear it was time, as the girls put it, for my research partner to be “sucked dry.” One girl used her tongue to lick his balls slowly while her finger stroked his arse back and forth while the other girl, her body straggled across his proceeded to take his cock inside her tight warm wet mouth and suck him hard up and down. Mean while I remained at the end of a phone line, happily orchestrating the play. I enjoyed hearing my research partner moan and the girls giggle as I cheerfully got myself off with my toy vibrating hard against my clit. I was a happy girl as I felt my pussy get wetter and wetter and felt my small clit swell. My clit, eager for attention, was rubbed side to side with my toy, I heard myself moan, crying out with delight. This was just the reunion we all needed.

The mood was perfect as both my research partner and I laid back, him enjoying the sight of two gorgeous girls tending to his every sexual need and me getting off to the sexy sounds of their threesome and the feel of my toy vibrating against my clit. Yes, the mood was perfect especially as my research partner came for the first time in appreciation of the wonderful blow job had received. It was suppose to be the first of many orgasms for all four of us. The plan was to carry on, to have a full on, no holds barred, sex session and this would have happened had it not been for one thing. Just as I announced it was ‘ the girl’s turn’ alarms on my research partner’s camp began blazing, signally a power cut and within seconds the phone line we were all sharing was dead. It was a communication black out that meant the end of play time and that was that. I was left alone on my bed, hot and horny, all dressed up with no one to satisfy and no one to satisfy me. By the time the problem was fixed hours had passed and when my research partner called again I was all but asleep, my outfit lingering somewhere on my bedroom floor. As frustrated as my research partner was at least he had come once, it was the girls who were left hanging.

This is not to say my research partner didn’t make it up to me the following night. When he rang that night, naked, we watched babestation together and admired the girls on the screen. He rubbed his cock as I instructed him to, firmly, with loads of cream, steadily and with purpose getting faster and faster, pushing him towards orgasm. All the while he listened to my cries and moans as I fucked myself hard with my toy. Yes he made it up to me that night and if you ask me, fuck saying it with flowers, say it will many many orgasms. If you ask me if boys want to show a girl they care they should make it their mission to make her squirt. For me this involves having my clit stroked until it is swollen and rock hard, stroked fast from side to side until my cunt is dripping and soaked through. All the while I like filthy suggestions growled gruffly into my ears. My research partner knows exactly what I like and I know exactly what he likes, he likes everything sexual and hasn’t done anything that he didn’t like. The reason why we have such good sexual chemistry is because we are both willing and eager to experiment.We enjoy hearing the other person cum. I love listening to him groan and the energy he has to go all night long. I just hope he made it up to the other girls in the same way he made the interruption up to me. I will let you know if he did. Hopefully there will be another session with the girls soon. Uninterrupted this time.

Getting ready to play

Getting more comfortable

Wanna be my playmate?

Pretty please be my playmate !!

Let’s Get Physical !!

2011-07-29T20:39:00.001+01:00

I feel a little bit lost at the moment. I expected when I finished my degree I would be jubilant, happy to be finished, pleased I had stuck it out and not done a bad job at it. But no, happy is not how I feel, I just feel strange, like I now lack a purpose. I am sure this is because I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know if I should think about getting masters or perhaps do a law conversion course, turn my BSC into an LLB. What makes me hesitate about doing these things are worries about further debt, is it really such a good idea to be shackled with yet more loan repayments when the economy is so badly fucked? It’s a catch 22 all students without well off parents face. I could always try and get a full time job rather than just survive on part time hours. However it is not like the streets are paved with gold were I am from and there are hardly good opportunities a plenty. All I would like is the same as every other graduate, a job with prospects, chances to progress. I am not sure such a job will materialise but I’ll let you all know if it does. And it‘s not all bad, at least I have you guys still to chat to and share my naughty phone sex stories with while you still want me to share them.

Anyway because I feel directionless at the moment I have focused all my energies into diet and fitness. Spending my time working out (A Fame inspired fitness DVD) and avoiding carbs at all costs. This brings me to the most recent role play my research partner and I played out. He did this role play with me because he said he supports my fitness kick even if that kick does not, in any way, involve the quitting of my smoking. So we began a role play involving fitness, him playing the hot, muscular, altogether well put together personal trainer and me, his client, who had hired him to put her through her paces down at the gym and, as it turned out give her body a right good seeing to.

So as I waited for the phone to ring I slipped into my gym wear, black leggings, a long up T-shirt tied high up under my tits, trainers and leg warmers (well I have been doing a fame inspired workout DVD day in and day out for the last week so the leg warmers did demand to be worn.) When the phone rang my research partner and I both slipped into character and pretended we were at gym, made believe he was there to give me one- on- one personal training. He brought with him a CD player and pressed play. The sound of loud dance music thumped around the imaginary empty gym room. The beats pounded hard in my ears as he asked me to begin to warm up, moving my legs from side to side and tapping the floor with my feet in time to the music. ‘Time to get your heart pumping’ my research partner said with a smile in his voice. My heart was already pumping, not because of the exercise, I’d barely started but because it had been an age since I had phone sex with my research partner. Due to his job in the army he’s around and then he is not around, he comes and he goes and that is simply the nature of his work and the nature of our friendship. I enjoy his company when he is available and I’ve learnt not to miss him when he’s gone. Still it is good when he is around because the phone sex is heaps of fun. That fun was what I looked forward to when this role play began with my legs side-stepping to the beat. I looked forward to the sexual gratification that would follow because for whatever reason we always seem to have a good time together.

Anyway I stood in my bedroom side-stepping to the beat of the dance music playing. I started to warm up and on we continued with my research partner as the fitness instructor ordering me to contort my body into all kinds of weird and wonderful positions. He warmed me up and tested out the flexibility of my body. He had me touch my toes and then see-saw upwards so my hands reached for the ceiling over and over again, arms moving from floor to ceiling in time to the beat until the stretching and reaching made me dizzy and pant. The sound of my panting was a sound he very much enjoyed hearing, he said it reminded him of our ‘ extremely horny’ (his words) antics on Christmas day when all I could do was pant as I fucked my arse with my toy, stifling my moans because my brother was passed out on my sofa. I scolded my research partner for breaking out of character to which he quickly got back into character and made me give him 10 press ups followed in swift succession by 10 sit ups and 10 lunges. As I completed the lunges he asked if I was hot yet. Was I sweating? Was my pussy wet? I feigned shock at the last question, pleaded that as my fitness instructor that was an entirely inappropriate question and really none of his business. Quick off the mark my research partner asked that the state of my ‘downstairs’ could be his business if I wanted it to be and did I know that a sex session burns as many calories as a forty five minute run? He stated that he called it ‘shagercise’ and that was the type of workout that really did it for him. Since I had paid for his time ‘why not?’ he suggested ‘really get my money worth and try him out for a fuck?’

I played hard to get, declined my instructor’s first offer of sex and continue to work out, getting fit the hard way by running on the spot and them skipping with a rope. What I didn’t decline was his offer to take me to the sauna after the cardio work out, where we could relax and get hot together covered only in white towel, his towel wrapped around his waist barely concealing his huge and, as it would seem, hardening cock. We sat in the sauna together and, at first, we were not alone. We sat and got hot with sweat glistening off both our bodies until eventually we were there by ourselves. When we were alone we each stretched out on the wooden benches and this time I accepted my fitness instructor’s offer to get to know each other better. When he asked me to run my hands all over my silky sweaty hot body I did as he asked. I ran my hand along my neck and slowly with the moisture of my body guiding my hand’s path it found its way towards my pert firm tits. As I stroked and cupped my tits, feeling the hot sweat all over my fingertips I noticed now that my fitness instructor’s cock was hard and his hands were on it, gripping it firmly, rubbing it up and down. This sight fuelled my horniness and I watched him slowly wank. His eyes didn’t leave my body as my hand moved lower, finding its way through the slippery heat of my flesh to my aching burning pussy. I let the towel fall to the floor and spread my legs wide in the deserted sauna. I touched my swollen clit and let out a moan of pleasure and my fingers felt my pussy become wetter. Silky pussy juice ran along my fingers and I enjoyed the sensation of the sweet juice engulfing my cunt. As I played and he played our eyes locked together, I asked if he liked the view and the response was a resounding yes, did I like the view too? My answer was of course yes, it is incredibly horny not only listening to a man wank but also to watch, to learn how he liked to be touched. If he likes to be played with gently or if he is like me, if he likes to be fucked hard and roughly and talked dirty to.

As we intently watched each other play we decided the best thing we could do is move from the sauna and make our way to the Jacuzzi. We both parted, giggled, went to our respective changing rooms. He put on shorts and I put on my bikini, the Jacuzzi was deserted but there were still people swimming in the pool. We knew we would have to play together quietly or risk being caught. Climbing in together, I sat on his lap and I felt his huge cock against my tight wet pussy. His hands were around my waist but soon moved under the water to touch my cunt over my bikini bottoms. I felt the bubbles tingle against my pussy, fizzing against my clit. My hands found their way inside his shorts and I felt the full length of his beautiful gorgeous hard cock. Soon he swung my body around until I was facing his, legs wrapped around his waist, pussy pressed tightly against his shaft length, rubbing back and forth until my hands were pulling at the fabric of my bikini bottoms and at the material of his shorts guiding his hard luscious cock inside. Soon I was pounding my make believe fitness instructor hard in the warm water as I wrapped my legs around his muscular body in the midst of the fizz and pop of the frothy Jacuzzi bubbles. I banged him hard in this fantasy, really rode him wildly with a desperate need to come. Meanwhile back in reality I was at home in my bed, listening to my research partner’s deep eager groans down the end of a phone line. I was using my toy to fuck my pussy roughly, urging my pretend fitness instructor to really give me a good work out. My clit was on fire, sensitive to touch as my fingertips circled around the hard small swollen bean and wetness filled my pussy and its lips. I continued to slam my cunt fast and deeply until I was squirting sweet hot juice down the length of my toy, feeling my fingers warm with the stickiness of my juices. I was screaming as I came matched by the groans of my research partner. We came together and later laughed at the good timing. All in all it was the kind of work out that would encourage all boys and girls to work out down the gym more often.

p.s

Pictures will follow shortly

Eric Prydz–Call On Me

Strike A Pose

2011-06-02T16:01:00.001+01:00

She arrived at the address of the studio, hands and arms trembling as she closed the taxi door. She turned to stare at the different buzzers on the front entrance of the building she had been instructed to arrive at... She took a deep breath and pressed number 4 as she had been told to. She hoped her nerves wouldn’t show when the photographer came and answered the door. She said a silent prayer that he would simply let her in with a smile and would pretend not see just how unsure she was. She had only been scouted days before, approached by a model agency. She took the card she was offered and the very next day she was in the offices of the agency, in a whirl of discussions, and stylists and staff taking test shot polaroid’s. Before she was able to catch her breath she was here, where she stood now, at the studio of a photographer, about to do her first modelling gig. Her nerves were mixed with excitement, her optimism churned relentlessly with trepidation. All these emotions, rational and irrational, whirled around in her stomach. They made her dizzy and feel cold sweat on her body as each second spun by headily and without her feeling fully in control. Questions filled her mind. Could she cut it as a model? Was this a whole new world she was stood in front of? Would it change her life?

The scared anxious young model need not have worried. My research partner played the role of the confident assured photographer perfectly. When he answered the door to the model, he beams a huge smile that served to wrap around her immediately, to keep her snug and warm in a thick all-encompassing blanket of reassurance. He put her at this complete ease with his twinkling kind eyes. Eyes that were accustomed to photographing beauty every day. He told her that he knew it was her first time, that they had all day to produce beautiful shots of a beautiful girl. That he would do nothing to rush her or do anything that she was uncomfortable with. His voice was soft and sweet like thick dark melting chocolate. She felt hypnotised, that she would believe anything he said to her, do anything he asked. She wanted the photographer to take charge of her, the more she heard his voice the harder and deeper she fell under what seemed like a spell. It wasn’t anything she wanted to fight. The more he talked the more she wanted to listen, to do as he instructed. To let him be her first guide in this new glamorous world.

He instructed her to change into the outfit he had picked for her. Tiny grey shorts that clung to her peachy arse and a transparent white flowing top barely covered her bare supple pert tits. The fabric lightly touched her pink hard nipples as she moved to pose for the camera. The boots he asked her to wear were long, grown up, boots that belonged on the legs of a much older, much more sexually confident, woman. When she put them on they were almost to her thighs with heels so high that as she stood in them she felt like a young leggy deer. They were grown up boots for a girl that was about to grow up. They were sexy and they made the young model feel sexy, like she was a different girl, older and more confident, use to being looked at and observed as a sexual creature.

She sat on the chair the photographer put in front of her and here she began to pose. She spread her legs and arched her back as the photographer took endless shots. She liked how she looked in those sexy boots. When the photographer smiled and asked her to lean across the chair, to lie back and slip her top off, to expose her small pert tits and pink hard nipples, to hold her transparent white top in hands as she lay back for the camera the model happily did as he requested. They smiled back at each other as the camera clicked, as she smiled down the lens. She continued to do as he asked, she undressed more and more. At his request she undid the buttons on her shorts, let her hands linger around her cunt as she toyed with the buttons.

By the time the model was slipping her shorts off to pose for the camera in only her black knickers and nearly thigh high boots both my research partner and I were eager to play. His hand, he told me, was wrapped around his cock, rubbing it slowly up and down as his balls filled and became heavy and tight. Heavier still as he listened to me play with my toy, pressing it hard against my swollen throbbing clit. I moaned loudly as my pussy became drenched with sweet sticky pussy juice, moaning louder still as my fingers, under his instructions, found his way inside my pussy. The young model wanted to please the photographer, do as she was told as she placed one finger inside her cunt and had another stroking her arse. This all made me hornier and wetter. It made me scream with desire, for my pussy to plead for attention. I was overwhelmed with the need to be fucked hard. To slam my toy deep inside my cunt. To be filled and satisfied. To fuck myself hard and to cum and then to cum and cum again. To hear my research partner reach orgasm over and over again, to hear him try and stay in character, to describe how he was no longer taking pictures of the model but instead approaching her.

Approaching her and then running his hands along her body, stroking her firm tight tits as she played with her pussy for both their sexual gratification. How he moved close to the young model and without a word placed his lips on her knickers and with his hand pulled them to one side so that he could use his tongue to taste her saccharine juice. He wanted to run his tongue over her hard clit and feel the wetness she squirted out upon his face as he slid a finger gently inside her tight begging cunt. As he licked, tasted and smiled she leaned forward and with her hands ran her finger around his belt and stroked his huge hard cock through his trousers. She made it twitch with her light gentle touch. She used her hands to slip open his belt and to undo his buttons until she could pull his cock free from his clothing confines. He had tasted her, had the silky wet feel of her cunt on his lips, she wanted to taste him, his pre cum, to know what his massive cock felt like on her lips and in her mouth. She took him deep inside her mouth, a long slow suck that made his desire greater. She didn’t want to rush; she wanted to savour the feel of his cock, to run her tongue up and down his massive length. Slowly at first, and then becoming faster and harder, sucking with the intensity he had taken so many photographs of her with until he came in her mouth, hard, balls emptying that had become so tight and full with sexual need. As he came in her mouth she came from his fingers skilfully playing with her clit and fingering her pussy roughly. The rougher he was the more she liked it and he knew from her screams just how much she liked it. That she was not such an innocent first time model now.

The more we acted out this role play the more intensely we were both flooded with sexual desire. We were both overwhelmed with the need to fuck over and over again. And that is how the night of this role play ended, two friends separated ,connected only by a phone line ,getting each other off, until they collapsed breathless into a sleepy calming satisfied sea of sexual bliss.

For Amy, this role play was a good suggestion. Lots of fun to act out and to write about. Thank you Amy and for all my other readers do keep the suggestions coming, this is all too much fun.

Do you like the boots?

Striking a pose !!

On my knees saying please !!

Come and get me !!

The Spy Who Loved Me

2011-04-16T04:09:00.002+01:00

The train journey I took coming back from London was the inspiration for this, my latest post. It was quite possibly the most entertaining train journey I have ever had in my life. In my carriage there was a guy loudly glued to his mobile. As the train whizzed along its tracks I was gripped as the show unfolded. His audience, we, his fellow passengers, got to know this guy a great deal better than we would have liked to. We knew who his friends were, who owed him money, what he was going to do if these people didn’t pay up, how much the ‘robbing thieving train company’ had charged him for his ticket and who his twenty bags were destined for. There were two posh lads sat to the other side of me, getting merry on mini cans of gin and tonic. They kindly were offering to share their cashew nuts with me. They looked shocked by the behaviour of this guy, expressed disgust that someone could discuss their drug deals so openly. I thought you haven’t lived boys, you really haven’t.

Now the twenty bag guy was entertainment enough, not least when the conductor came and he couldn’t produce his ticket, the one he had told all his friends on the phone and everyone in the carriage had cost him 133 quid. The conductor said if he didn’t produce his ticket he would have to get off at the next stop. The rants of ‘I've fucking paid!’ gave way, in the end, to tears, the sensitive side of our drug dealer displayed. Tears that only subsided when his ticket DID actually turn up, to the amazement of all, in the refreshment car. He’d dropped it whilst stocking up on cans of Stella.

Now this, as I said, was entertainment enough for me but in my carriage there was another source. There was a girl equally attached and loud on her mobile as twenty bag guy. I couldn’t help but over hear snippets of her conversation. The one snippet that got me was when she was slagging off one ‘friend’ to another.

‘You’d think with her being so fat she’d have bigger tits’ She said.

I thought I’ve heard the lot now. This girl was herself fat. Not overweight. Fat. This was a fatty abusing, by proxy, another fatty. Just to add to the comedy this fat girl proceeded to describe herself to someone down her phone as ‘an individual’. ‘An artist’ no less. I was almost pissing myself, taking the piss artist more like it I thought. Yeah right love, you are clearly an individual, plainly an artist as you sit in your standardized Goth, Emo, whatever you want to call it, uniform. You’re so right my dear, I’ve never before seen a fat girl in a crushed velvet dress, black tights, Doc Martens, bobbed black flat as a pancake hair who has gone to town with black eye liner. No your right love, never seen that before. I mean pretentious, nasty, a stereotype; you have clearly got it made.

Now I wouldn’t want anyone to think I told that story to take the piss out of the girl because she is fat. What I am mocking is that whilst no one should pick on anyone because of their size, as a fat person she is the last person who should be picking fault with how much someone else weighs, their tits or lack thereof. When I was fat I wouldn’t have dreamt about doing such a thing, I would not have had the cheek. And yes, I have been fat in my life. At my heaviest I tipped the scales at 13 stone and wore size 14 clothes. Prior to becoming overweight I had been super slim, size 6 clothes slipped on with ease. My weight was something I never really thought about, I couldn’t have told you what I weighed to the nearest stone let alone pound. I didn’t diet. For me, it was what it was. I was envy of many of my female friends who saw I could eat what I wanted and never appeared to gain a pound. I remember one occasion I rocked up our then local in my first pair of expensive jeans (there have been many since) and the mouth of one of my friends just dropped. She declared she wished she looked that good in jeans as she slapped my arse. They and I all concluded that I must have a super metabolism. However the truth of the matter was that because my family circumstances were so bad I wasn’t eating much of anything. I think the real truth was that during my teenage years I wasn’t too keen on living and as a consequence I wasn’t too keen on putting the fuel into my body that would keep me alive. Anyone can eat what they want if they don’t really want to eat very much of anything.

However, when I left home and became much happier, not having the shit kicked out of you does tend to improve one’s mood, a desire to eat took a hold of me with a vengeance. And eat I did. Pasties for breakfast, the same for lunch but this time with the addition of a chocolate muffin and at least one family size bag of sweets. Tea always came from the takeaway, kebabs, chips, sweet and sour pork, fried rice, lemon chicken, whatever I fancied that day but always followed by a huge slab of chocolate cake and cream. After four months of binge eating I woke up in a body I didn’t recognise. I lived in track suit bottoms because they were the only thing that fitted and, unwilling for a time, to confront what I had done to myself I refused to buy clothes that would fit. Bath times were the worse, during the day I could avoid mirrors and looked straight ahead as I pasted shop fronts, careful to avoid catching a glimpse of my reflection in their glass. I’d stay indoors, bury my head in books, and avoid human contact as much as possible. But at bath times, lying naked in the warm soapy water that was the one place I couldn’t run from the truth, the one place when I couldn’t hid from reality. The place where I cried. I was fat, fat, fat. I had a body I felt disconnected to, one that was someone else’s, one that didn’t belong to me, couldn’t possibly be mine. But it was. And I had done it to myself.

The turning point came when; tired of grey, washed out, worn out track suit bottoms I braved the shops in a bid to buy a pair of jeans. I landed in TK Maxx. I picked up a pair of Tommy Hilfiger jeans and because they looked huge I didn’t try them on. There really wasn’t any need. I wasn’t buying them to look good. I knew they were not magic jeans, that no clothes, nothing I did with my hair or makeup was going to make a difference. But I did have one expectation, that they would at least fit. They did not. That shocked me. As I stood in my bedroom, these clown pants squeezed somewhere around my thighs the horror that they would not do up hit me hard. I froze. This was bad and what’s more it had to change.

Now I don’t want anyone to misunderstand me, I am not attempting to bash girls who are bigger. Some girls do look great at a size 14, 16 even. Some girls end up with a Nigella Lawson -curves in all the right places- sexy silhouette complete with a naughty glint in their eyes that conveys unquestionably ‘I indulge in food, wanna find out what else I indulge in?’ I wasn’t one of those girls. I didn’t look curvy and sexy. I looked over stuffed, bloated and blob like, I felt old, like my youth had been robbed from me.

In a determined bid to nick my youth back, to become slim again, I threw away the take away menus, swapped cans of coke for two litres of water a day, shopped for fruit, vegetables and fish. I joined a gym and went five days a week. I didn’t do gentle exercise, I skipped yoga and tai chi and did high energy classes, sweated, braved the embarrassment of being the fattest girl in the classes, being the girl half dead, beetroot faced, struggling to breath not even half way through. This was all whilst the thin girls barely looked like they had broken a sweat. I pushed and kept pushing, I swam, did aerobics, step, kick boxing, circuit training, weighs, rowing, I did the lot, I did it all, week in week out because I wanted my body back. Nothing was going to stop me and nothing did stop me. I gave up alcohol when the weight stopped coming off, when I hit the inevitable brick wall with the gym I finished the job by switching to a low carb diet. When I fitted with ease in to a size 26 waist Diesel jeans I knew I had done it. I was me again. Indeed I think my weight loss journey is the reason why I don’t mind getting my body out in the pictures I put up alongside posts. These are pictures that a fellow blogger has on a certain forum referred to as ‘slut pics’. I am fine with those pictures, enjoy the fact that they are there. This is because the body in them is the body I have earned.

This brings me to a question that was put to me in a recent comment on my blog. ‘What do I think of other sex bloggers.’ I couldn’t answer that question in the depth I would have liked to because space didn’t permit but since I am here I can answer more fully. Each to their own, but the tame shallow antics of the spoilt and over privileged don’t do much for me. If I was having sex with as many random men as the certain other blogger mentioned above reports, men I don’t care about and men who don’t care about me I would want paying because I sure as hell wouldn’t be doing it for free. I don’t think it is cool and daring to shag around, to be any man’s for the price of a pint and a half providing you’re paying. I think all people do when they shag around is to sell themselves short, to make cheap look expensive. The best sex doesn’t occur during random encounters, it happens when there is friendship, when the people involved care about each other, are able to laugh and argue, trust and rely on each other. It is in this security that sexuality can be explored. In this space that boundaries can be pushed.

And in my friendship with my research partner I know I am transcending boundaries other people find hard to understand. The subject came up with an acquaintance of mine, someone from the upper classes who said with a tone entirely unkind ‘He’s a bit more than your friend.’ ‘No actually’ I said, ‘we are friends and that is the way it is.’ I left it at that with that person, there was no will in me at that time to explain why this friendship takes the form it does. Why I think its form is dictated by our shared social class. It is something that particular person wouldn’t understand the first thing about. What I would have liked to have said is that I think the nature of our friendship is hinged on the fact we both share disadvantaged backgrounds, our families are not the best. However what people like he and I do have is our friendships. These friendship probably mean more to us than it would for people who have tight knitted family support. Whilst others can turn to their families when the shit hits the fan people like he and I turn to our friends, we turn to them and we turn to each other.

Indeed our phone sex adventures had their genesis in an act of friendship. He was in a great deal of pain due to injuries he had sustained, sleep was elusive. A friendship we share with a certain doctor made me aware that regular orgasms would help him. There wasn’t much I could do to help my research partner with the other problems he faced but helping him to cum, to get some sleep that I could do. That I wanted to do. It wasn’t his idea, it was mine.

What started out as an act of friendship grew into something we both enjoyed. It got more and more fun as we experimented with role play. It was at this point my research partner made it clear he thought I had a real talent for phone sex, that he should know, he’d spent enough money on phone sex lines and what’s more he knew many people in the military had done the same. At this point an idea formed. That if he was right couldn’t I set up my own phone sex line business? I thought ‘Why not?’ If am good at it then it makes sense to make money out of it. So that became the plan. I started my blog in a bid to advertise this business I planned, as way of drumming up trade for the phone sex services I intended to offer. This is why, to answer a question posed to me in my comments, I called my friend my research partner. It is because that is what he was to me, he was my partner helping me to research phone sex with a view to doing it for a living. However plans changed. This is entirely down to all the wonderful support I have received with this blog. However I kept calling my partner in sexual misconduct my research partner in posts simply because I always had.

Anyway the train journey I recounted to you earlier had me chuckling for days. It made my research partner laugh when I told about it. As we chatted it transpires that it had always been a fantasy of his to have sex on a train. After my long train journey I could see exactly where he was coming from. I had to admit as I sat on that train, internally chuckling about my fellow passengers my mind had wandered to thoughts of sex. I did think it would be fun to discretely play under the cover of a coat or blanket, to whisper filthy suggestions in to another person’s ear as the train steadily and with purpose rocked its way to its destination. But that’s just me, laughing makes me god damn horny. Indeed the men who have been able to separate me from my knickers are the ones who have made me laugh. The only type I have regarding the opposite sex is kind and funny.

On the basis of talk about sex on a train we devised a role play between us that did involve exactly what two people could get up on such a journey. Indeed before we started the role play I listened to Madonna’s ‘justify my love’. Her words ran through my mind and made my pussy ache … ‘I want to make love on train, cross country.’ Oh yes Madonna, I thought, your so right, damn right, too right, right fucking now, hard, rough, bodies pressed tightly, restricted in the only private space that can be found these days on most trains, the bath room, taken from behind, filth growled in my ear ‘sexy bitch, tell me what you want.’ ‘Your big hard cock rammed deep inside, fuck me hard, make me sweat and shake, make my pussy beg’ Skirt pulled up, knickers pushed to one side, my hands reaching behind to undone buttons, pull at zips… Can you tell I was horny long before this particular role play even started? In fact truth be told had my research partner not called sharpish I would have to have had a play without him. For whatever reason my filthy thoughts had left me gagging. Pussy tingling, eager and wet. It felt like a long wait for that particular phone call.

I kept myself busy during the wait for this particular call. I dressed to get undressed. A close fitted cardigan, tied with a bow at its collar, the bow mirroring another bow, one that sat on the arse of the tight grey pencil skirt I was wearing. Well it’s always nice to wrap presents. Running with this idea, how sexy wrapping paper can be, how hot it is to wear foxy underwear I wore a lacy basque and silky knickers, chosen because of their soft feel and cute girly bows. Stockings and 1940’s style shoes completed the look. I kept warm and got into character by slipping on the closest thing I had to something that looked French, the coat and beret featured in the pictures. Crucial to the arranged role play was the scarf I wrapped around my neck. It has a butterfly print on it. This printed scarf was how my British spy counterpart would identify me, how he would exchange information with me. How he would get to know much better the French girl he knew only before as codename Butterfly. With this signal there was going to be little need for conversation, it was going to be all about the action.

When the phone rang we both quickly and with desire slipped effortlessly into our characters. Within thirty seconds we had both turned back time and found ourselves in the 1940’s wartime France. We pretended to be on a train heading for Paris, exchanging discreet glances as we both stood in the buffet car. As my character, Butterfly moved from that part of the train, without the need for words, she was followed. There was much the pair needed to communicate and not everything that they desperately wanted to express to each other had anything to do with the war effort. As Butterfly slipped into her sleeper cabin she sat and waited, watched as her counterpart walked past. She was aware she would have to wait to make his acquaintance, later when there were less people watching, less eyes to observe and guess at what they had planned.

Soon he came, breaking the rules, failing to be as discreet as possible. It didn’t matter in that moment, they both sensed the urgency. There wasn’t much need for words as Butterfly slipped off her coat and undid the buttons of her cardigan. She revealed her tight basque, stood with just this on and her tight pencil skirt, her slim curvy body cut a perfect hourglass image. As she teased a piece of paper from the bra cups of her basque, paper that contained the information this British agent needed her fingers brushed against her tits, lingered on her hardening nipples. Her eyes locked with her spy counterpart, the information she had shared with him wasn’t the only thing he wanted. The other things he wanted, those of a hot intense sexual nature, were betrayed by the intent in his eyes. The spy couldn’t disguise his sexual desires. Despite his training, orders to remain professional at all times, to get the job done, reminders that lives depended upon him, he couldn’t hid from her how much he wanted her. How much he wanted to feel her body, to know her intimately. His true needs were betrayed by how deeply he inhaled each breath and the presence of his huge stiff as a rock cock barely contained by his trousers. All this made it plain that he wanted to fuck. To fuck and be fucked. To forget in that moment the fucking god damn awful war. He wanted to forget, in that moment he desperately wanted to get lost in the feel of her, to think about nothing but her touch. To forget what had gone before and instead soak up what it felt like to touch her, to smell her smell, to feel both their bodies get hot and glisten with sweat, to feel both their hearts pound and hear their pulses race.

Butterfly had much the same idea and much the same determination. She wanted to forget the danger she faced daily and instead focus on something good, the electricity between them and the chemistry it was clear they shared. Her hand moved along her leg, over her skirt, she reached behind and undid her zip, let the material fall to the floor, stood before him, her curves wrapped in silk and lacy. He watched, eyes wide, sat drinking the sight of her in as she put her leg on the corner of the small bed. As she ran her hand along her leg she felt the lace of her stocking tops, got turned on by the silky feel of the material and the tension of the suspenders holding them up. Her hand soon found its way to her pussy. She touched it over the silk of her knickers, felt her swollen clit throb at the gentle touch, panties moist with her already hot and dripping cunt. She knew she wanted to be fucked, the desire contained in the eyes of her counterpart added fire to her own. When he asked the words she had been waiting to hear ‘What do you want?’ She was quick to tell him. Quick to tell him how she imagined his breath on her neck, his lips kissing this part of her as his hands moving along her body, squeezing her tits hard, finding their way to her pussy, to her aching clit where she wanted him to play, to stroke and caress until her pussy begged to be filled with his massive stiff cock. She told him how she wanted to feel his cock on her tongue, to taste him, to open her mouth wide so she take his cock inside deep, to suck long and hard, to suck at first with the rhythm of the train and then to get faster and faster, harder and deeper.

She undressed him to his underwear, tied his hands with her scarf. Let him watch as she touched herself, legs spread wide, a full naughty no holds barred filthy view. She wanted him to hear her wetness as she stroked her clit back and forth, to look deep into her eyes as she slid a finger inside, let him imagine what it would be like to squeeze his cock inside her silky tightness. “ Tu me rends humide” she told him. She wanted him to see how much the tension; the danger had turned her on. For him to hear just how much she wanted his cock deep inside her pussy. For him to know how much she wanted to fuck him where he sat, to straddle him, for his cock to fill her, for her wetness to cover his stiff hard on and drip down to his balls, balls that slammed against her as she rode him fast and hard.. “Je te desire” she whispered. She wanted to fuck him hard, she needed to, to feel him as she ground harder, faster, longer and deeper, rougher than the rocking of the train. There was only one destination she was interested in them reaching and it wasn’t anywhere in France. She wanted for them to reach the point where they were both exploding, were the urgency, the need, the sheer physical desire reached its peak and they came together, breathless, her juice gushing down the shaft of his cock, his balls, emptying, releasing his hot sticky load . For them to cling together, her legs wrapped around his hard huge body, their sticky wetness, their sweat and heat bonding them together in that place, just for that moment.

By this point in the role play both my research partner and I were gagging. We both wanked hard and fast, fucked ourselves for everything we were worth. The toy that had been vibrating on my clit during our play, making me smile, was soon in my hand. I slammed it hard and deep in to my pussy that was begging for attention. I came, I gushed, he came, shot his hot load, we did it over and over again, the need for more and more of the same sweet sexual joy testimony to just how much this particular role play had turned us on. How it meant we both needed an all night long, sun starting to come up, birds beginning to sing seeing to.

Encore une fois became the motto of the night.

Waiting for tickets !

Slipping into something more comfortable

Hopping on and off trains wasn’t the only thing I hopped on !

You’d think I’d be cold ….

But I felt hot, How about you?

Your Thoughts

2011-04-03T09:20:00.002+01:00

Thanks for voting in my poll.

Just to let you know there will be a new post coming soon !

Give me an F...

2011-02-20T23:17:00.000Z

My research partner and I have become aware that some of my more recent posts have got a little off track. Recent I hear you laugh? Yep, it has been a while since I have posted. The only thing I can say in my defence is that a lot has been happening. I will give you a clue, this blog tells the story of some areas of my life. However there are stories within and around these stories and one day, not promising, I might just get round to telling all. But for now I am sticking to telling stories about my phone sex life because those are the one's that put a smile on my face. They are the ones I love to think about, plan, execute, dress up for and tell you all about as my knickers get more than a little wet.

With this in mind my research partner and I chatted. During the course of this chat we accepted that due to recent pressures we had become just a mite bit lazy. That we were no longer engaging in the role play we once did. Don't get me wrong the ideas were always there. Indeed a long list of fantasies were in place to play out and indulge in. It was just a matter of neither one of us having the mental energy to select a fantasy, pick a scene, play a character and run with the sexual high jinx that would ensue.

However, now that life is back on more of an even keel the naughty minx in me has emerged with a renewed thirst for word bound sexual adventure. This has not escaped the attention of my research partner. After we discussed the idea of getting back into the role play swing of things it was firmly agreed that we should as it has been so much fun in the past. After this conversation he called me the next day. He called wondering if I had any thoughts as to what we should do next. That's always been a dangerous question to ask me, have you had any thoughts? I told him I had. I told him that I had just the right outfit for the scenario I had in mind. That I would like for him to pretend to be an American football player to my cheerleader. That I, as this cheerleader, during the course of my cheers and tricks would watch him intently on the field. I would not take my eyes off him as he tackled for the ball and ran hard and fast to avoid being tackled himself. As he got hot and sweaty, muscles aching from the physical force of his exertion, I would be shaking a whole lot more than my pom poms to get his attention. Not that I,of course, would get his attention at this point. He'd been a man on a mission, playing hard to produce the touch downs his team needed to be victorious.

As I told my research partner due to his inattention to her in his football player role the cheerleader would decide that more direct action was needed by her. She planned to get exactly what she wanted and exactly what she wanted was him. Just like he had been focused on scoring touchdowns she was intending to score herself. As he washed away the mud and sweat from his big hard muscular body as he showered after his triumphant game, letting the hot water fall over every inch of his imposing manly frame, soothing his tight muscles the cheerleader would watch and wait in anticipation. She would hide where no one could see her in a dark corner of the shower room. Here she would sit drinking in the sight of his hard huge body, feeling her clit swell and her pussy ache as she played quietly, feeling its wetness and her lips becoming thick and responsive to her touch. Here she would discreetly sit, her desire for him growing and intensifying as she waited for the rest of his team to leave. She wanted the rest of the team to fuck off so she could join this particular American football player in the shower, where they would be all alone in the midst of the steam and the heat of flowing water. Him getting clean was making her mind race with incredibly dirty thoughts, stroking her clit in slow circles was the only thing preventing her from pouncing on him sooner than intended.

And of course when his team did depart she approached him without a word. She let the water from the shower fall onto her, its heat mirroring the heat from her own body, drenching her tight cheerleader uniform so it clung to her slim curvy athletic body. As the hot flow of water made her uniform transparent, her hard nipples and the shape of her pert upright tits were made visible. This naughty cheerleader, in silence lowered her head and took the football player's cock whole into her mouth sucking deeply and firmly, her eyes fixed on his face as he closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure. Her hand moved from around his waist where she had gripped onto to his flesh so she could suck hard on his ever hardening cock. Her hands moved towards his arse. She continued to suck hard as her hands moved lower purposefully, They squeezed deeply against his arse until she was massaging his flesh and gently slipped a finger inside. The intensity of his pleasure as a consequence of her playful hands and eager tongue was felt in her mouth as his cock twitched over and over again with delight.

At this point my research partner insisted that I stop telling him about my plans, because he was working, he told me that he now had a raging hard on which ordinarily would be fine but for the fact he had important people to speak to through the course of his job. As I said he did ask me to tell him what my thoughts had been, I had only done what he asked. I thought he would have appreciated my obedience and my new found willingness to follow orders. However, to be fair maybe on that particularly occasion it was amusing for me to wind him up sexually given the night before he had declared I was putty in his hand. Maybe so, I don't deny it. But two can play that game. And its not like I didn't feel a little bit sorry for him, left helpless, with a huge hard on, having to give the veneer of professionalism to the people he had to talk to. I have sympathy, I have recently discovered that it would probably be quite hard for my research partner to hide an erection. In all the time we have been friends he has always told me he doesn't have a big cock, OK, I thought, thank you for sharing. However, he took it upon himself a few weeks back to send me a picture of his cock when he was hard. All I will say on the subject is lying bastard, it is HUGE! That picture did go some way to explaining his sexual confidence, he has always been, excuse the pun, cocksure and now I know why.

Now I know that it may sound strange to people who are reading that a male friend would send a female friend such a photograph. But in my world, amongst my circle of friends, it is not in the least bit strange. Lots of my male friends have sent me such pictures, indeed requests for feedback from a girls perspective are not uncommon. I think half the time the men in my life do so in order that I will return the favour and send them pictures of my pussy. For the final time boys, IT'S NOT HAPPENING. You will just have to take me at my word that it is super tight and ace in general. Not even if I get my clit pierced, which I have decided I pretty much am doing at some point, am I passing out photos.

Anyway, light hearted games to one side, yes I did leave my research partner with a hard on and horny thoughts to drive him to distraction with. But I did promise faithfully I would pick up where I left off with the fantasy later on that evening. And I am one girl who is as good as her word. So when we spoke later into the night I retold the fantasy to my research partner, reminding him exactly what it felt like to be in the shower room after the game, what it was like to be silently seduced by a horny cheerleader who wanted nothing more than to feel his cock in her mouth and to have his hard muscular body pressed against her. As she sucked his cock hard deep and fast, her finger in side his arse he was helpless and horny, body shaking, cock quivering as the commanding single-minded cheerleader sucked him to orgasm, enjoying the taste of his cum filling her mouth. The first touch down of this sexual game but by no means its last.

As the cheerleader released his cock from her mouth the American football player peeled away her wet uniform from her body. As he scooped her up, her naked wet tits were pressed tightly against his hard ripped chest. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, her pussy aching to be touched, licked and fucked. He whispered in her ear 'your turn.' Those words alone made her gush. He took her to the locker room and sat her on a bench. Here he ran his hands over her glistening tits and moved his hands down her small slim body until he was touching her pussy lightly over her knickers, feeling the heat of her eager cunt. He slipped a finger inside her knickers, felt her hot juice on his fingertips, enjoying the sensation of the silky sweet juice as it covered and ran down the length of his fingers. As he touched her swollen hard clit she screamed with pleasure. Her eyes pleaded with him to peel away her panties and to run his tongue all over her pussy. He did so, tasted her sweetness, felt the heat of her cunt on his face and as he licked her clit he slid a finger lower to her arse, teasing her with light touches until she was ready to have that finger inside, to have the intensity of those sensations made her pussy beg to be fucked. For his second hard on to be used to fuck her hard with, to bend her over and slam her rough from behind. To make her squirt so that her juices ran down the length of his cock and were felt on his balls. To cum hard, to be satisfied and to be exhausted by the intensity of the pleasure experienced by both.

By this point in the scenario my research partner and I had cum more than once. We were quite convinced that the mental effort required to engage in role play, acting out different characters was, as we should never forget again, worth the effort because the sexual get off is more intense. I encourage everyone to try phone sex and/or to experiment with role play. Take my word for it, it is good. Especially if like me you are abusing 02 unlimited and therefore costs nothing more than a £15 a month top up.

Give me an F…

I told you that you’d like my pom poms..

Time to play in the shower me thinks…

Smells Like Teen Spirit

This Christmas

2011-01-09T20:22:00.001Z

This Christmas I voted with my feet and stayed put in my own home with my own cat. I did not return to the bosom of my ever loving family. This is not because I dislike them; I only dislike one of them. In fact au contraire, despite what has gone on in my childhood I do quite enjoy the occasional company of, for example, my mother. Whilst we cannot spend a great deal of time in each other’s company, not least because she is not what I want and likewise I am not what she wants. Both of us have accepted this. Neither one of us have any intention of changing to please the other, not even slightly. She thinks I am a smart arse madam with far too much to say for herself whilst she, on the other hand, reads the Daily Mail with grand aspirations. Not a great deal of wiggle room there. But still, whilst I cannot speak for my mother I, for one, am just tickly boo just fine with the state of play. Every now and again we can have a civil chat, we have been known, on rare occasions, to push the boat out and go so far as to have a laugh with one another. It is, for example, a source of no end of amusement for me to know that the only loving relationship she has ever had in her life is with her house. She loves it beyond measure, it is her baby. It is loved and cared for in ways that never occurred to her to care for her kids with. I know it should hurt but the absurdity of loving dead, gone, never been alive bricks and mortar with such intensity cracks me up. My older brother is the same way. Rumour has it a friend of his whipped out his mobile phone to show him pictures of his new baby. My older brother, not to be out done, got his phone out and proudly presented pictures of his new kitchen. You know, like it was the same thing. I swear to God you could not make this shit up.

I would have quite happily returned to my childhood home this festive season but for one huge stumbling block. My mother could not guarantee my older brother would not be joining us. That possibility hanging in the air like a hang man’s noose made of barbed wire was enough for me to decline spending Christmas day there. My other brother and I spoke with one voice; if he is going to be there we are afraid we won’t be. So my other brother gratefully came to my house. I know it was the season of goodwill and all and as my mother was quick to point out, abide weakly as she is not devoid of all sense, he is still your brother, that you may find my refusal to break bread with him petty. But take my word for it, I just can’t.

I don’t think my refusal to see him is born out of fear but my research partner says that a big fat lie that I insist on telling myself. Either way I prefer not to think it is that, I prefer to think it is because he just makes me feel sick. If he had just hit me over and over again I think I would hate him less but the torture he inflicted upon me was a two pronged attack. You get used to being hit, you accept it in much the same way as you accept you will brush your teeth twice a day. Yet someone gleefully revelling in your suffering, taking a long hot bubble bath soak in your pain, becoming rejuvenated, energised,made alive by your misery, feeding on it like an eight course banquet, just as full up, swollen and satisfied by it is a hard thing to get your head around. For example, there would be times when he would be out so I would think it was safe to sit in the living room and watch TV. He would come in unexpectedly, sit in the living room with me. As I would quickly and quietly try to leave, a sick smile would spread across his face until his face was engulfed by it, eyes twinkling and he would say with a timber of laughter in his voice ‘Anyone would think you don’t like me.’ It was like the child psychologist said when he was 12, ‘He knows what he was doing, he enjoys it.’ Mind you, in retrospect, I find his dual use of physical and mental violence impressive, not least because he has not, as of yet, mastered joined up writing.

However, what he did and said is not what bothered me, there is one question that nags at me, creeps into my head as much as I do somersaults in my mind to avoid it. It is the question I dare never to let myself ponder on and it is this question ‘Why was I so worthless to my parents that they let it happen?’ I asked my awful question to my mother once and once only, it didn’t go well. Here response as she carried on drying her dishes was to shrug her shoulders, back still kept to me, no decency to even look me in the eye and she said ‘Well, I didn’t think it was affecting you that badly because you were doing well at school.’ Not affecting me? Not fucking affecting me? I was half dead and wished I was was dead, NOT FUCKING AFFECTING ME? Oh you did not just say that bitch. In that moment I was flooding with hate, a rush of anger so intense I have ever felt the like of it before or since. I had kept my month shut for her, I did not dial 999 for her, because she had drummed it into me that if her son went to jail, you know where he belonged, it would kill her. I flew at her, knocked her square on her arse. Thankfully I was able to stop myself and walk away but in that moment I didn’t want to hurt her, I God damn wanted to bury her.

My dad heard the story I swear he was proud, beaming in fact. He laughed, said by God she had that coming, that when he was married to her he frequently used to think about wringing her neck, wished he had. It was a daddy daughter moment hallmark do not make cards for. You know your family are all kinds of crazy when… While I am not proud of taking a pop at my mother I don’t think I am ashamed of it either. The way I see it is this, she, without remorse, knocked ten bells of shite out of me when I was a toddler, dragging me out of the bath by my hair when I was three and she can’t deny doing it because my dad caught her at it, well if she wanted to hit me then hit me now, hit me now, now that I am grown, five inches taller than her and have been known to kick box for fun. Funnily enough she doesn’t seem keen. But that’s the thing, if you abuse your children, let them be abused, neglect them, betray them do it at your peril because they will grow up and chances are they will be bigger than you when they do.

So my brother came to my house and we had our Christmas dinner together. And it turned out quite well, I didn’t burn anything and I did have cooking tips provided from various sources. The trick, I have discovered, to make really good roast potatoes is to par boil them and then put them in the fridge. If they are stone cold when they hit the hot oven fat they will come out super crispy. I even nicked an idea from Marks and Spencer™ and made cheese and leek mash. That was, even if I do say so myself, really rather nice. However, I defy anyone to say they had an odder conversation as they tucked into their tea than I did. I was sat, knife and fork in hand, ready to attack my meal when my brother made an announcement. He’d been thinking he said about going to see an escort. Now this in itself I do not fine shocking. He has this year split up with his girlfriend and I can understand why he would want to fuck a fit girl. His ex-girlfriend was a size 32 and while I know he cared a lot for her I don’t think he enjoyed the physical side of the relationship. I think he deserves a medal for having the courage to attempt having sex with someone that size; it must take some quite adept mental gymnastics to bring yourself to do it. Not that she had any self-awareness or saw herself as she really was. I know this because she did once hold an Ann Summers™ party where she held up a picture from the catalogue of some chiffon underwear and declared to me that my brother should pay for it as, and I quote, ‘because he gets all of the pleasure.’ I swear my jaw visibly dropped, the preposterousness of her words leaving me lost for words.

So no, I don’t find the idea of him thinking about using an escort shocking. It’s much more honest and a great deal more moral to employ the services of a hooker than to meet a girl down the pub and tell her anything she wants to hear in order to separate her from her knickers. My research partner does describe himself as a player and I do tease him about it, calling him Alfie and such like but what I really think is that, joking aside, he is not a player by my definition of the term. He doesn’t lie to girls, he doesn’t make promises, he is just the sort of man that likes women and they like him so there is never any harm done. However what I did find shocking is what my brother thinks he can get an hour with an escort for a mere £100. The type of girls he is thinking of, and to be fair, he has been watching a lot of Secret Diary of a Call Girl© lately as it has been repeated on ITV2, do not turn up for £100. Still, he’s always been an optimistic and I don’t think I would change that about him.

Anyway once Christmas dinner was eaten we watched a brilliant Deal or No Deal™ on Channel 4, the guy playing was mad about Liverpool Football Club so I was on his side right from the get go, when he got £75,000 I was chuffed to bits for him. Then I started to think, once I had an hour’s lie down, about getting ready for going out. I’d gotten tickets to go to my local and I thought it was better for my brother to be out and about as opposed to sitting in thinking too much about his ex. So to my local we went. I was a good girl and stayed sober, drinking Archers Peach Schnapps™all night. Well, I didn’t have much choice really, I had promised my research partner I would come home in a fit state to chat because, as he said, I was no good to him pissed. And it was great to be that girl who walks home from the pub sober, who remembers her night, who all the guys in the pub think is dead classy because she is not pissed and has come out in clothes that don’t make her look like she is touting for business. Yep, I very much enjoyed being that girl. I went so far as to flash a wicked smile to a 70 year old bloke who was eying me up as I walked passed him to go from my table to the door to smoke. Well you have to admire, nay reward the spirit of the guy, that age and still looking at the talent. I was as pleased as punch with myself that I had not let my research partner down. It wasn’t a time to push my luck, he hasn’t appreciated me teasing him in previous posts and I don’t blame him, I should have been more mindful of his position. He has however, punished me in some wonderful ways for being a ‘naughty bitch’ but those stories may well have to keep for another time because just for now I am telling you about how my Christmas day unfolded.

So on two feet I arrived home and as luck would have it my brother within five seconds flat passed out on my sofa. It was perfect. I slipped a blanket over my brother, got his shoes off then closed all the doors, dived into my bedroom with my Kenco and Marlboro Lights™ to the ready and let my research partner know I was back and sober as promised. Now my research partner did very selflessly say that we didn’t have to get up to anything as he was aware I had a house guest. However on checking my house guest it was clear he was well and truly passed out. Not surprising really, he had been on double Jack Daniels™ and Coke™ all night. Therefore I felt prepared to take the chance, that if I was quiet my research partner and I could get up to some fun. Quiet my research partner laughed, you? But no, quiet I was because quiet I had to be and it did bring a completely different feel to the phone sex session. I didn’t get undressed, just slipped my knickers, tights and shoes off. To be honest I didn’t want to take the dress off because I had, by that point, bumped its status up to one of my three favourite dresses. This is because lots of people had said how good I looked in it. But that’s Jane Norman™ for you, generally the right side of sexy.

So knickers off my research partner and I settled down to have a chat and a play. We had both been looking forward to it, I because I knew fine well I was earning my way back into the good books and he because he had been stuck doing paper work all day long. He is a perfectionist on the quiet so he does take the time and pay attention to detail so things are just so. You can see why the Army is a good fit for him as a career. Anyway I don’t know if it was all the flattery I had been on the receiving end of during the evening or if it was because I was just chuffed that I didn’t disappoint my research partner but as I slid my hand up my dress to touch my already aching pussy I found myself deliciously dripping wet, a fact I whispered down the phone to my research partner which was enough to set him off, tell me more he said, so I did.

I told him how as I touched my pussy my fingers were instantly soaked in hot sweet juice, that my clit was hard and just placing a finger on it, stroking it only ever so lightly was making me gush and spread my legs wider. He encouraged me to spread my legs as wide as I could and run my finger all over my pussy so I could enjoy the feel of the wetness on my fingertips. He asked me to run my wet fingers lower, to use my finger tips to massage my arse. I was in such a good mood that despite the fact anal has never really been my thing, I was quite cheerfully going along with his suggestions, placing a finger inside and moving it back and forth. But’s that my research partner for you, he has one of those personalities, a manner and a tone of voice that are very persuasive.

Well I did go along with his suggestions and enjoyed, despite myself, all the anal adventures we were embarking upon, even graduating to using my toy in place of my fingers. I don’t deny it, it was a huge turn on, I went along with it all willingly enjoying every minute of it, feeling my pussy ache hard as the sheer eroticism of it became over whelming, hushed tones describing graphically for my research partner what I was doing, what it felt like, exquisite being my word of choice and what it was doing to my pussy which was, in the end, making it scream to be fucked. A pleasure my research partner denied to me at first, he was enjoying hearing me fuck my arse, telling him all about it and it was a delicious torture, a wonderful tease to be made to wait. When I had his permission to do what I longed to do to, to slam my toy damned hard and deep into my cunt, the relief, the pleasure, the intensity and instant satisfaction I felt doesn’t lend itself to words, it was just beautiful. Scream was what I wanted to do, instead I just moaned, controlling my breathing as my research partner suggested so I didn’t get carried away. He knew it was one of those nights, when I was liable to scream the house down and wake up neighbours if he didn’t keep reminding me to remember where I was and who was in the next room. So I very quietly fucked myself, muffled the screams that kept threatening to escape and whispered my joy to my research partner who had the luxury of being as loud as he liked. It took moments for me to cum; it was fast and hard and ended my Christmas day perfectly.

I hope my research partner is no longer vexed by me. However I would not like people out in cyber-world to think that the banter we share is anything other than that, it is shared. It goes both ways and sometimes it cuts both ways. My research partner has been known to make me cry. Once. Way back when we were having a chat and this is how it went down. Back in the day when we first started playing around with phone sex. He said he found my approach matronly. Could you say that again? I said you are a bit matronly. That is what I thought you said. You aren’t saying anything, say something. Give me a minute, in my head I was screaming, can’t speak, too insulted, too completely and utterly insulted. I felt like I had been on the receiving end of a hard, fully committed kick to the gut, the type you don’t expect, that both stuns and winds you, annoying, pain in the arse tears burning my eyes. Have I upset you he asked? No, what ever gave you that impression, scooby fucking doo? I need to go the toilet I said, are you crying he asked? Nope, not admitting to that, I just need a piss I said, is that alright with you? As it goes I wasn’t going for a piss and I wasn’t going to cry either, I was going to sit quietly for a minute, run my hands under a cold tap, take a moment to gather my thoughts.

When I returned he said I have really upset you haven’t I? Well, yes, yes you have. You have just aged me three decades in three seconds flat. Matronly denotes an old battle axe woman with tits around her stomach who wears industrial strength support bras. Is that how you see me? Cheers mate. I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant I find you bossy at times. Bossy I can live with I said, matronly is entirely different, never say that to another girl as long as you live, not unless you hate her, want to put her on her arse and never want to see her again. Do you not want to do the phone sex thing anymore, I wouldn’t blame you he said. I was thinking whoa there cowboy, lets not be hasty, I will get get over it, it just stung a bit. And that is the thing about banter, it can sting, it is funny because it touches the truth, sometimes it is a tickle, it can be a light pleasant brush that brightens your day and sometimes it floors you like a sleigh hammer and puts you on your arse. The truth is sometimes mother fucking painful and raw. However the rule with banter is a simple one. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it. If you take the piss, fair is fair, you have to take your share. Anyway I hope my research knows I am sorry for sharing his stories that were not mine to tell. I didn’t know they were not for public consumption or I would not have done it. However when I started this blog he told me I could write whatever I wished. I hope he remembers he likes me really and Liverpool girls are…

Juice FM

The best part of fighting is…

2010-12-05T21:21:00.001Z

When I was a kid I hated fighting. My role in my family, such as it was, was as the ‘reasonable’ one. I’d like to say reasonable child but that would kind of suggest that there were reasonable adults around. There were not. My mum and dad’s divorce was bitter. My mum thought she had the upper hand because although my dad, largely on his own, had paid for the house, she had the kids so got to keep the house until I turned 18 which when I was four was a long, long way away. My mum’s argument with my dad was simple. She wanted to move to a more expensive area, make herself middle class. Think Hyacinth Bucket. My dad on the other hand, after becoming an outright homeowner, wanted to enjoy life, take holidays, trips to Alton Towers and generally give the lot of us a nice childhood. With Maggie as her role model, think breaking the miners, out the door my dad went, divorce papers handed to him, off to a shitty rented room with a landlady, if memory serves correctly who was 75 if she was a day complete with about ten cats and two dogs. That was his punishment and the nervous breakdown that followed for not agreeing to her terms.

His revenge was awesome. When he got better, and it did take some time because he had been married to her for 14 years, he did well and truly get his own back. He got a better job which meant more money which meant nicer everything. Cars, house, clothes, holidays, everything. To this day I still like BMWs because he got a silver one around this time. He lived it up; he used to drive past my mum when it was raining, when she had bags and bags of shopping from Somerfield as it was then, smile and wave. He didn’t just leave her to it; he left the lots of us, brought up the family of his then girlfriend and had a very nice life indeed, not least because he was in the pub four nights of each and every week. In fact he spent so much time in the pub during my childhood and teenage years that if ever my mum wanted to communicate with him she would send me to his local and get me to pass a message on.

Yep, my dad left my mum with the kids and the house just as she wanted and rubbed his new found good life right in her face; her anger at her plan backfiring in a way she never imagined knew no bounds. He wasn’t suffering as she had hoped, he wasn’t suffering at all, he had never been so happy. Over joyed isn’t stretching the term. It was her suffering now and didn’t we all know it. With no husband to make miserable she set about making her children miserable. And by miserable I mean that every time my dad drove past her in the rain, smiling and waving as she struggled with too many bags of shopping, from that point onwards, with every step taken from that moment till she trundled home her anger would mount. When she got home she started looking for targets. Which one of her kids would she strangle and batter today? It didn’t really matter, it could have been any one of us, she wasn’t fussy in that way. My older brother, who I, in no affectionate manner, have, since being a kid, referred to as ‘Satan’ did not react well to these indiscriminate beatings. When he got big and strong with no small help from steroids he became much more vicious than my mother could ever hope to be. He is my mother’s favourite because no son could she have produced more in her own image. He smashed the house up and whoever got in his way on a disturbingly regular basis. It was both funny and awful but more awful really to have the police round the house every second week and to be part of THAT family. You know the type, the one that drags house prices down.

While I was never my mother’s favourite target for battery, like I said she didn’t really have a favourite, it was always whoever was closest and I always had the good sense to hide in my bedroom. However I was my brother’s target of choice. I am not saying he didn’t hit my other brother, because he did and hard but I was the one he wanted to break. While I don’t wish to play at amateur psychologist I’ve started, in recent years, to think the reason he smacked me around was because he couldn’t hit my mother. He wouldn’t hit my mother, not because the knuckle dragging, Rockport wearing vocabulary of 600, missing part of link chav would believe it was wrong but because he knew he would do it once and in ten seconds flat he would be homeless. He could, on the other hand, hit his little sister to his heartless content. It wasn’t like anyone cared and it wasn’t like I stood a chance. I am six years younger than him, half his size, no more than seven stone at the time. All in all it’s pretty easy to twat a girl like that around. Oh and yes, I did tell a teacher when they were shouting at me yet again for being late and only having 13% attendance and yes they did do something. Social services did get involved; they removed me from my mum’s house and only let me go back once my mother assured them that my older brother had moved out. He moved back in ten days later. I kept my mouth shut after that point, not feeling particularly protected by the child protection register I had been placed on.

What I find extraordinary is that it’s not the beatings per se that I remember. There were obviously a few standout ones that were of note either because they were more vicious than usual or absolutely degrading but it’s not the physical violence that is really echoed on my memory. It is feeling embarrassed. I remember going to the pub with my first boyfriend when I was 15, hidden away in a dark corner because I in no way looked old enough to be in there. Maybe I was jumpy or something because I remember that boyfriend very clearly turning to me and saying ‘being out with you is like being out with a battered woman.’ I wanted the ground to swallow me up whole. I felt so embarrassed. Guess some things are harder to hide than others but God knows I was trying. It is fucking hard work, make no mistake about it, hiding being a nervous wreck and it took more energy, in the end, than I had to spare. I was a burn out by the time I was 17.

Mind you on the upside at least he referred to me as a woman. That was quite nice of him given I looked 12. However as my research partner has said that made the whole relationship even more wrong given this boyfriend was 21 at the time. He has used the word ‘paedo’ on more than one occasion. Funnily enough so did my major friend. When that was first said to me I was adamant that the relationship I had with this guy, and it lasted 2 years, wasn’t like that. However, now I am a bit older I am starting to wonder, what did a grown man want with a kid who looked every bit a kid? If me being an innocent, vulnerable, childlike virgin were the things that got his rocks off then that is sick. Not that I am traumatized by the experience, the sex was fucking fantastic. In fact the sex became, in the end, the only reason I stayed with him for so long. He realized this in the end, when we split he said I had only been using him for sex. I lied and said it wasn’t all about the sex because I didn’t want to upset him anymore than I already was. And it wasn’t a complete lie; the sky TV in his bedroom was also a draw. I don’t want it to sound like I didn’t care for this guy because I did, there were feelings and there was friendship, there just wasn’t love on my part because I didn’t have the energy to love at that that age. Like I said, burn out at 17.

All I knew was that I had to save myself, no one was coming to help, there was no rescue party on its way, it was on me. I had to do it. I wanted out because he was pressuring me into getting engaged and that didn’t fit with my plans of getting the fuck away from my brother for good. Moving in with my boyfriend wasn’t nearly far enough away. I wanted to be somewhere where he could never find me and there was no chance what so ever of bumping into him. Even to this day the sound of his voice makes me want to vomit. I knew I would never become the person I could become if I stayed in spitting distance of him.

Anyway I don’t think my research partner can talk about age. When he was 15 he was shagging a 32 year old woman who had been his childhood babysitter, in what way is that any better? Like, what the fuck? Was she eying him up at seven when he was playing with toy guns, rubbing her hands with grubby intent, thinking to herself ‘One day cutie pie, one day.’ I mean she was 32 for fucks sake. I was in town weeks ago and I got a poppy off two boy cadets. They were about 15. I thought how cute with their little berets and everything, just like the one I had when I was a cadet. I did not think, ooh, hold me down, lovely fresh meat there, I’d love to jump their bones and break them in. No, no, I did not think this. This is because I am an adult woman and I am attracted to adult men, not little boys who should be playing on PlayStations and fuck all else.

Anyway I am not, as a general rule, a big fan of fighting. I fight when I have to and I don’t take on battles I can’t win. Think of me more as a happy, smiling sort of girl, I am at my most happy when everyone is getting along. For this reason the odd spats I have been having with my research partner that the last two posts document have troubled me. I know he isn’t mad at me (at least I am fairly sure he isn’t) and the reason we have been sniping at each other is because we have been catching each other at bad times. His job role in the army has dramatically increased and the poor man is exhausted. Given that he has been so stressed, what I decided he needed more than anything was a holiday. I also thought it would be nice to take an imaginary break because the best part of fighting is of course making up. So while I don’t think the army are going to give him time off anytime soon to go to Mauritius in our heads that was where we headed.

So while I waited for my research partner to call I slipped on my favourite turquoise bikini and got myself into the holiday spirit. I imagined what it would be like to go skinny dipping in an actual ocean as opposed to my normal haunt, the local canal after a night out on the beer. I know, I think I quite like getting my tits out as well.

Anyway on that note, I was very much in the mood when my research partner called. Straight to it, I didn’t feel the need for any polite chit chat, I asked him to imagine lying naked on a deserted sun drenched beach. I could tell by his soothed reaction that this was just the kind of break he needed. The naked bit was his idea, apparently so he told me, he does that on holiday. Never in my life have I seen a naked man on a beach, I’m not objecting, game on if they are fit; I have just never seen it. According to my research partner stripping off on beaches has worked in his favour and by this he means he has cheerfully lay there, topping up his all over tan, rubbing sun lotion in and he has been approached by various women for sex. ‘What is a man to do but give the girls what they want? Yes Alfie. Quite.

So there we were, together on a hot sticky deserted beach, he a bit sunburnt and me in my favourite bikini, well at least the bottoms, I might like to flash but that doesn’t include everything. Aftersun lotion to hand, me very willing and more than able to soothe his raw scorched skin. I started with his thighs, gently massaging the cream in, just gentle enough not to cause his baked flesh too much pain but firm enough not to tickle. As I massaged each thigh in turn I turned my attention to my research partner’s chest. Tease, he laughed, laughing because he wouldn’t have it any other way. Like a lot of men he likes his nipples tugged and played with and that I can relate to. In the midst of hot horny actual real life fucks I have had in the past I have been known, in the heat of the moment, to demand, not ask, I mean demand, that my sexual partner bite down on one of my nipples. I have no idea what that is about, when not super horny that idea does nothing for me except wince but in that moment, just for that second, that added pain is as erotic as fuck and makes me cum extra specially hard.

Tease my research partner I continued to do. With his words and suggestions I could tell he wanted me to get quicker than I wanted to, to the point where I pay attention, in no particular order, to his cock, balls, perineum and arse. I was in no mood to rush, this was a holiday after all and no one rushes when they are on holiday. That is the whole point of taking them. So I took my sweet leisurely time as I soothed his sunburn and as I toyed with him as well as his nipples. I did cheekily describe my tongue lingering on the tip of his cock just for a second which made him declare slightly more forcefully this time that I was in fact a tease. If only he didn’t love it!

However, all this teasing had made me a very horny girl indeed, I could no longer ignore how wet I had become nor the ache from my pussy, my pussy was insisting that I do something to satisfy its desires. Luckily, like all good girl scouts I had come prepared with a handy selection of toys. Fuck shoes, I have discovered amassing a collection of sex toys is the way forward (Think PlayStation for girls, a show that can also entertain boys as well as any shoot em up game). I knew which one I wanted, the new one with fresh batteries, turned up to full speed. This was not an occasion where there was any need to take things slow. I placed it against my pussy much to my clits delight, I let it rock back and forth while I got back to my research partner, who was hard, and needed a graphic vulgar description of a good hard rhythmic wank. As his voice changed, deeper and slower he was clearly turned on, it was time for him to hear me satisfy myself utterly. To slam my toys deep inside my pussy that was nothing short of pleading for it by this point. I knew I was going to come hard and fast as I rammed that toy deep and hard inside myself. My research partner at first said he was just going to listen to me cum but not cum himself so we could keep going a bit longer into the night. However, he said I was screaming so loud he couldn’t help, resist as he tried, to do anything other than cum. And fall asleep two minutes later. Bless him, the man’s overworked. A good holiday was just what he needed!

Teaching me a lesson

2010-11-24T06:27:00.000Z

My research partner has been somewhat annoyed with me of late. Over the summer, without essays, exams and research projects to fake findings for (well you can work out from past research what the numbers are supposed to look like so repeating the same stuff appears a bit pointless to me) he has had me pretty much at his beckoned call. I was always available to him for late night fun and frolics. However, now uni is back in session I have fresh calls on my time. Not just in the form of essays and reading but from other friends who, I’d like to think, also enjoy my company. As a consequence of this for one arranged session with my research partner I was asleep and for another there was a complete communication breakdown so I wasn’t around for that one either, I went to the pub instead. My research partner was not impressed at my unavailability so he decided to teach me a lesson.

The scenario planned involved two sixth formers, a boy in lower sixth suggestively seduced by a sexy student from the year above. The whole thing was supposed to kick off in the common room with me, as the older more experienced student asking the less experienced lower sixth boy if he needed help with his coursework or anything else, hint, hint, for that matter. She, after all, had done the work the year before so she knew what she was doing and not just with the coursework. She felt sure she could find plenty of ways to help him, in fact she could take him back to her house where, as luck would have it, her parents were out, take him into her bedroom and if she could just bend over far enough she was sure she could dig out her old course work from the bottom of her drawers. He would find exactly what he needed there.

It should have been a straight forward session. Note the use of the word should but as I said earlier my research partner was determined to teach me a lesson. And if the man sets out to do something he does it, no ifs, buts, maybes or excuses, it gets done. I will give you an example of just how stubborn and determined he is. Years ago he was on a training exercise, the word to pay attention to here is training. He wasn’t in a warzone, his life nor anyone elses was on the line. It was just practice but when the person in charge told him to treat it like it was a warzone he took that instruction and followed it to the letter. Everything was going just tickety boo fine, nice sunny day and all that, bit of a jolly, until a dog from the other side caught a whiff of his scent. The dog was a highly trained valuable part of the other side’s team and no doubt a much loved companion of its handler. Given that it was a training exercise the sensible thing to do would have been to let the dog catch him, for my research partner to have a giggle and resign himself to the fact that you can’t win them all. Had he done that no one would have died. The dog did catch up with him but my research partner wasn’t going to be taken alive and certainly not by a fucking dog so as the dog is chomping down on his arm he is meanwhile knifing the poor sod to death for doing the job it is trained to do. He left the dog for dead, he didn’t have enough time to escape and put it out of it’s misery so it did suffer for some time.

However, he did successfully complete the exercise, not quite in one piece mind as the dog, prior to its slow painful death, had managed to take a huge chunk out of his arm and left him with nerve damage that still troubles him to this day. I know it is important to win things and I freely admit I am a competitive little sod myself, I don’t like to be beaten but there are limits. I wouldn’t sacrifice a chunk of any of my limbs to win anything. Clearly its not all about the death, pain and damage, it’s the winning that counts. Silly me. I bet there were men holding the distraught handler down when my research partner eventually rocked up at base camp. I can just imagine my research partner, pissing with blood as the handler is screaming at him, tears flowing ‘It was my fucking dog you bastard!’

So as you can see determined and stubborn are words you could reasonably use to describe my research partner. So when he set out to teach me a lesson he was pretty much going to do just that and he did that by being as difficult as he could manage. He made it tough for me to keep the scenario on track and to get it to where it needed to go, which was, as planned, the sixth formers bedroom. Here she planned to show the boy all about what girls like, how when they unbutton their school shirts they reveal firm perky tits encased and pushed up by cute little bras. How their tiny knickers can be seen as they bend over in their too short for anywhere, never mind school, skirts.All girls have worn such attire. In fact at my school the uniform for the girls was red dresses, who else thinks that wrong? 15 year old girls all wandering round school in tight red mini dresses, talk about turning us all into little lolitas. Granted some of the girls at my school didn’t need much help, there was one girl who had the most massive tits who would wear her very short red dress without a bra. I don’t think she had to do a scrap of coursework that year because there was a queue of horny little lads all too eager to do it for her as they stared down the front of her dress that concealed not very much. Nothing against the girl, her tits were ace. I looked on with envy in the showers, looking at my tits, and we are talking nipples on ribs here, and thinking grow you bastards, grow! Just do something so I can at least have something, anything to put in a wonderbra. They changed the uniform the very next year.

The sixth former also planned to show this young boy how girls like to play with boys, making them hard and eager, wrapping their fingertips firmly and tightly around their cock as they move their hands up and down over and over again, applying cream so the experience is slippery, slick and oh so satisfying. She also planned to go into quite some detail about what girls do to please themselves sexually, think show and tell with the aid of a vibrator. She planned to describe vividly for the young school boy just how hard and how rough she liked to fuck herself with said vibrator. As you can see I had mapped the whole thing out, I had put some thought into it, not least because I did feel bad that I hadn’t been around previously when my research partner had called. The problem was my research partner, excuse the pun, wasn’t playing ball. I will give some examples.

When the scenario began I approached the young inexperienced boy my research partner was playing and asked him if he would like some help with his coursework? No was the reply, no reason, just no. Alrighty then (Ace Ventura Style), why don’t you want any help? I don’t like girls. I responded ‘ Do you like boys then?’ Fine I thought, if it’s that time of the month and he wants a homoerotic experience we can go there if we must (Game of Top Gun Volleyball anyone? A homoerotic film with a heterosexual subtext if ever there was one). But no, he didn’t like boys either, he didn’t like anyone. Okay dokey then, doesn’t it get lonely I asked? No, was the answer, I have pet snails. Ah ha I thought, so you like pets, I have a pussy that would love to meet you. All he had to do was come back to my place where she will be waiting to say hello. In the end my research partner relented, he went back to the girls place as part of the role play. This is because while he is a stubborn man he is also a very horny man. This is why it is important for girls to make friends with a man’s cock. That’s because even if its owner is annoyed with you he is still your friend. And why wouldn’t the cock still be your friend? No other girl has ever paid him so much attention, really thought about his needs, really got to know him for him, no bullshit, no games, just really taken the time to understand him, made him feel loved and cared for. So while his owner is annoyed with you the cock is thinking, fuck you mate, I am off to see MY best friend, got a problem with that? No, didn’t think so. Besides by the time the cock has cum a few times the owner’s brain has been flooded with that many happy chemicals, the desire to drift off to a contented sleep becoming oh so strong the owner’s brain has completely forgotten what it was in a tis about in the first place. Important life lesson here. Make friends with the person in charge. If you want to achieve anything you need the organ grinder in your corner, not the monkey

On this subject I was seeing a rugby player on and off for about a year. It was on and off because I was going through a difficult spell so I cut off contact with him for a while. When I got my shit together I decided to surprise this rugby lad and announce my return by turning up at his club on a day I thought he would be practicing. However he wasn’t practicing, he was off at another club playing a match. I rang him up, told him where I was. His instructions were very clear. I was not to talk to any of the remaining lads who were there, under no circumstances let them buy me a drink. He was on his way, in fact he did say if the guy driving the coach didn’t start driving a mite bit fucking faster he was going to kick the guy off and drive the thing himself. And why didn’t he want me talking to the lads there? Because he said, he knew what they were like. I was laughing my head off, could it be because he knew what he was like I asked? ‘Precisely’ he said. This is a clear example of how a man’s cock does the thinking from time to time. He should have been mad at me for disappearing from his life, told me to fuck off. Did he hell because his cock was in charge at that particular moment. In fact he never said a word on the subject, except to say he was glad I was back.

And you have got to love rugby lads. I worked as a barmaid for a time in a pub where big groups of them would come in on a Friday and Saturday night. So it would generally be just me on my own with them as my boss would make the excuse he had paperwork to do. You can manage can’t you? He always used to ask not waiting for a reply. It was just me and them, one of me, lots of them. I felt like prey, all the other girls who worked there refused point blank to work a shift with these lads on their own.The other girls wanted danger money, a bouncer at the very least. I don’t know what on earth they thought that would achieve. One solitary bouncer on his own against a large group of big, burly, built like a brickshit house rugby lads who each and every week get routinely hurt on a pitch, you know, for fun. The bouncer would have had more reason to be worried than we did. However, manage I did because I quickly started to understand how groups of rugby players function. There is always a leader. Always. So if you can take him out with a few sarcastic comments which the rest of the group think are hysterical he is no longer their leader. Take this guy out I had to, he was the ringleader of a group of horny little wolves who saw me as nothing more than a tasty bit of meat. So while said leader goes off into a corner before the big bad mean 9 stone size 8 GIRL makes him cry into his Stella the rest of the group make you their defacto leader for the night. And once you have this position you can make the whole group do anything and I mean absolutely anything. Sit, stand, bark, fetch, chase a ball. Absolutely anything. I am not a bitch and I have no desire to make any man my bitch. In fact I could not think of anything I would like less. I do like men and enjoy their company. These guys as individuals were often lovely. I knew this because sometimes they would come in for a beer and chat on their own on day shifts I did on a Sunday afternoon. However when they are in a big group, fuelled by 15 pints of stella and god knows how many shots a little girl like me on her own needs to watch her back and her arse and her tits. I did what I had to survive my shift. It was me or them and it wasn’t going to be me.

On one such night my boss, who was ex-Navy so we got on, made an appearance. He saw that despite how many of them there were I had the thing well and truly in hand. He was pissing himself, asked how far I thought I could take things. I laughed back, and said ‘All the way, baby!’ He asked for a rum and this meant the bottle, settled himself down and declared watching this was better than the match anyway! This experience taught me that you don’t have to be big and hard to be a leader you just have to be funny. That and wear a low cut top. These rugby lads were so busy laughing and drooling that I could maintain some sort of order. One of the group told me as he ordered a round, ‘I wank about you’ I thought I am sure you do mate, I am sure you do, now could you pretty please collect some glasses for me, I can’t keep up with the way you lot drink. Make no mistake, tits and arse really do sell beer and if your funny, well it’s a dead cert profits are going to be up. In this respect my dad has trained me well, to compete with him when he is on form you have to be at the level of a stand up comedian.

Back to what I was talking about, by the time my research partner and I have reached the part of the fantasy where the school girl was doing a strip tease for the young school boy my normal research partner had been returned to me by what ever aliens had temporarily abducted him for tests. Everything needless to say went great from this point. He enjoyed it as the sixth former slowly undressed him and applied cream to his cock, that was chaffed through over zealous teenage boy wanking. He was more than happy for the teenage girl to take off her cardigan to reveal a very tight white shirt which barely caged her bulging cleavage, happier still as she undid buttons so he could see still more of those perky tits and nipples that showed evidence of becoming hard. As the bra came off, the groan he let escape made that young girl just that bit wetter so, pulling her knickers to one side she lightly ran her fingers over her pussy so she could offer him her finger and let him taste her excitement. She used her pussy juice so that her fingers would be slippery when she next wrapped them around his cock, firmly wanking him up and down to his delight.

However, his delight was about to become somewhat more intense from the sheer pleasure of being sucked hard and rhythmically by an older girl who knew exactly what she was doing as she took him deep into her mouth. She let the boy shoot his load into her mouth, planning to show him next how she liked to slam her tight wet cunt hard with her toy in anticipation of round two when he got hard again and ready to fuck her pussy in much the same savage animalistic raw horny manner she was using with her toy. As the scenario moved to talk of grinding and fucking, with the girls legs wrapped firmly around the boys waist it became clear my research partner was cuming again. The young girl encouraged this by telling him she wanted to feel his cum shoot deep inside her, tipping him over the edge into an explosive orgasm. So explosive he was asleep five minutes after but at least he did manage to clean up the bucket load of cum he shot out before he drifted quickly to the land of nod. The teenage children were no longer children in need. A post about a school girl and a school boy was the closest thing I could come up with to mark the event of children in need.

Let’s hit it ….. I mean the books silly.

All this studying has made me hot.

That’s better. Are you better?

Well Biology is a school lesson :)

Looking for Mr. Horny Devil

2010-10-31T19:10:00.001Z

When I was a kid I loved Halloween. I took it seriously. You can blame J.K Rowling for that, Harry Potter has a lot to answer for, as do my parents. Given how dysfunctional my childhood was I don’t think, in retrospect, it was any wonder that I enjoyed pretending to be someone, anyone else. So in my bid for a bit of escapism, I would spend all the pocket money I got putting together a Halloween costume, a costume that more often than not consisted of black bin bags cellotaped together with stuck on pieces of kitchen foil in the shapes of half moons and stars. Yep, I loved dressing up when I was small and as this blog is testimony to, now that little girl is all grown up she still loves playing pretend, its just the adults call it role play these days and unlike when I was a child the fun to be had is entirely more saucy. The get off isn’t coming up with a clever costume like creating a transformer get up from cardboard boxes and paint nicked from the school art rooms, the get off these days is to be had behind my closed bedroom door and is, as you know, far far naughtier.

In honour of my favourite holiday I persuaded my research partner to take part in a Halloween themed scenario. I am not sure persuade is the right word however. In my bid to be organised I did sent him one text and the word ‘one’ is the key word to remember, I sent him one text to check his availability over the weekend which he didn’t reply to. When he did get in touch he did mention that he did get the text only he referred to it as a text that ‘bordered on desperation’ His words, desperate? One text is desperate? Can you tell I didn’t, at first, find his comment in any way funny but you can bet he thought it was fucking hilarious. Needless to say this particular role play session didn’t get off to a good start, as my research partner said he had heard of angry sex he had just never had it before. But the back biting and sniping that we exchanged does illustrate a point I read about not so long back. People think love and hate are set in opposition to each other but when you think about it the opposite to love is never hate, its indifference. You still have to care in order to pour in the energy necessary to hate someone, when you are indifferent you don’t, as the word suggests, give a shit. My point is this, if someone can wind you up as much as my research partner and I wind each other up it is because, as friends, we care about each other. Everyone say ah. Keep saying ah as I get down and dirty and tell you all the explicit raunchy details of what, excuse the pun, went down in this Halloween themed instalment of our phone sex chat.

So okay, okay this session didn’t start off with the usual sexual sizzle I describe to you, but in the end it did go with a bang from below the waist. The scenario went as follows. My research partner and I were at a fancy dress party and that, I as a naughty, naughty witch would seduce and entice the shy little devil my research partner had come as, making him, with all my spooky charms, wicked curves and love potions a very Mr horny devil indeed. As Mr horny devil my research partner very much enjoyed playing hard to get, refusing my initial advances to sit at my spooky table and get to know each other in the devilishly wicked ways I could show him. I even offered to show him exactly what I could do with my broomstick but to no avail. He wanted to make me work hard for this one which is of course exactly what any self respecting devil would do.

Eventually I did manage to lure him away to my seclude little coven, with it being the witching’ hours all the other witches were out. Here I undressed him just enough to apply an extra special love potion concocted just for him. And his cock did like it when this sweet smelling potion was rubbed onto the shaft of his cock, from base to head and smoothed all over his swollen balls that were lightly cupped and squeezed as the potion was applied. And the potion was indeed potent, the naughty witch could tell she had out done herself in conjuring up the mixture from the faint moan of pleasure that escaped from the resisting little devil, she could also tell how much in need of attention the horny devil was in by how tense his thighs were and how much relief he experienced as she pressed her finger tips deep into his flesh in order to relax those tight burning muscles.

As they both noted being very bad as witches and devils are, was a stressful business. They both had to find all kinds of naughty ways to unwind when their dastardly endeavours were done for the day. The horny little devil was very interested in how the naughty witch destressed herself. As she told him when the other witches were in the coven they helped each other relax, rubbing potion into each other’s bodies, from the neck, shoulders, hands cupping pert full tits until they moved down to the stomach. Then lower still, stroking and squeezing tight arses, fingertips finding their way to wet tight pussies that ached for attention and swollen clits that begged to be touched. ‘What,’ the excitable horny devil asked, ‘did the naughty witch do when the other witches were out?’ ‘Well,’ she said ‘when she was alone and felt the need to relax and release some tension she had a box of magic toys she used on herself. ‘Where on herself?’ The now very horny devil asked. ‘On her cunt of course!’ was the naughty witches reply. The horny devil asked the naughty witch to describe her cunt so she did, she told him it was small and tight, always shaved and symmetrical, with a small pink clit that wasn’t so small but instead swollen and enlarged when she herself was horny and in need of sexual relief. The horny devil wanted to hear more about her clit so asked her to touch it and then let him taste her sweet wetness. She readily agreed and once he had tasted her she showed him just how excitable they could both become watching her play with her clit with one of her special magic toys.

The horny devil was eager to be told just how she played with herself, pressing the toy hard into her clit as her pussy responded with a gush of wetness, in readiness for the toy to be slammed deep inside her. So turned on was she that she couldn’t bear to play with her clit for too long, her cunt begged to be filled and she soon gave in. Screaming with pleasure and relief as she rammed it deep inside, harder and harder she banged herself with it knowing she was going to cum very quickly from sheer sexual need. The horny devil had much the same need as he wanked himself hard to the sound track of the naughty witches cries. They both came quickly, orgasms intensified by the prior disagreement they had before they became the naughty witch and Mr. horny devil respectively.

So that’s what I got up to this Halloween, How was yours? The link below I hope is suitably in keeping with the Halloween holiday spirit.

Voodoo Child

Fancy getting naughty with me?

Since it is Halloween, I thought my pussy could make an appearance !!

Politically Sexy

2010-10-09T15:46:00.000+01:00

I cheered along last week with Ed Milliband’s speech. There was nothing in it I disagreed with. I nodded, I clapped, I got wet and horny because finally there is someone in charge of the Labour Party who speaks my language. Someone who has a vision and more importantly a plan for a new and better future. A good society? Oh yes please. Its what we need, New Labour fucked up by branding itself diet Tory, it adopted Conservative ideas of deregulation, Thatcherite lets leave it to the market policies that have led squarely to this fine economic mess we find ourselves in. Yep, it was a fuck up. No point saying otherwise. However the Tories plan of more of the same is barking. What is the definition of madness? Doing the same things over and over again and expecting a different result.

Ed Milliband is right to fight for change. I predict that when, in two or three years time the doomed from the start Con-Dem-nable fiasco of a Government we have now crumbles under the weight of its own insurmountable ideological conflicts, a renewed, re-engerised sparkly different, perhaps, fingers crossed, a more old school Labour will storm the election. You do have to wonder what was going through Nick Clegg’s mind when he did his deal with the devil and agreed to form the coalition. What chance did it ever have when the two parties are ideologically opposed ? The history books do kind of say quite clearly it can’t work and it won’t work. You have to wonder where were his friends ? Why didn’t someone give him a gentle nudge in the ribs and say ‘Maybe not mate’?

Not that I am complaining about Clegg’s own goal, I happen to think he has done Labour a huge favour. Given the party a chance to regroup and rethink. In fact carry on doing a bad job Cameron, use the recession as a vehicle to push through your right wing agenda, make all your cuts to front line services, fuck how many soliders die because numbers have been cut, same for the police, fuck all that so long as you get your way and push this country so far to the right people are clinging over the edge for their lives. I hope the collapse of your Government is both spectacular and spectacularly painful. Team Milliband is waiting to pick up the pieces and its going to happen faster than you think.

I do see the Tories as the enemy and they are, make no mistake unless you want a fractured broken future for Britain. A future, mad max style, where the rich get richer and everyone else suffers. A Britain where access to education is based on an ability to pay rather than ability. It’s not hard to imagine how bad things could get, look at the States. We take for granted, as UK citizens, that we can, thanks to Old Labour, see a doctor whenever we need to. If the Tories could get away with it don’t think for one second this would remain the case. No, we would all be paying for our own health care more and more until one day you would wake up and realise you are blind because you cannot afford treatment. The insurance company won’t pay out because they define your diabetes as a pre-existing condition. It happens everyday to countless Americans. If you want a UK without libraries, parks, welfare for those genuinely in need (and that could be you one day), a broken down NHS and shit schools vote Tory. Hell, why not go the whole hog and subscribe to the Daily Mail? It’s a bonus if you don’t have an education when you read papers like that and The Express anyway. It makes their bullshit easier to swallow without being sick.

I had to laugh when I heard a story about the Millibands, apparently when one of them was an undergraduate their dads work featured heavily on one of their reading lists. How cool would that be! Ring, ring, ‘Dad, my mates and I are a bit unsure about what you meant here, go over it for us, this is the essay question.’ I compare this to my own circumstances. My dad is a klepto. No seriously he is. He steals from B & Q, put one bit of pipe inside another bit and it really does become buy one get one free. He’s nicked from Greggs. One day I was queuing up inside a very busy Greggs for a cheese pasty (they are the best!), I innocently turned to my dad and asked if he wanted anything. I should have realised something was up, when he was smiling like a cheshire cat, ‘No, no, I am fine’ he said. We got outside and he cheerfully pulls out a chicken club baguette. He very much enjoyed his free lunch, I could tell. However, you have not heard the best of it yet. He has been known to steal from a charity shop. A CHARITY SHOP. As in one day we were having a look round and when we got outside he gleefully showed me his swag. The look on my face must have said it all because he just pointed to the sign ‘Help the Aged’ and shrugged his shoulders in an enough said fashion. What can you do? You try to bring them up right, failing that nail stuff down but you can’t watch them twenty fours hours a day now can you? Still at least I am studying something that I understand at University: Crime. I promise you my childhood was pure comedy. Black comedy. I learnt to laugh because crying meant I had no friends.

Speaking of friends I thought I would tell you a little bit about how a nice girl like me ended up having phone sex with her mate. The story is not completely unrelated to the politics I hold. Yep, I sit on the left because I want to live in a fairer society. If Iam financially successful in the future I intend not to use the services of any clever accountant that can get me out of paying forty percentage tax. I will happily pay up because I want others to have the opportunies I have had, for kids in the future, who just like me, have grown up on benefits, to be able to go to university or pursue whatever path is right for them. In years to come I do not want privileged voices to be the only ones that can be heard. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against people who grow up in wealth, no one chooses their parentage but I do want voices like mine around. Just to keep everything honest, to remind them when they feel smug and self satisfied that they would have had to have tried hard to fail. Conveniently enough one of the links at the end of this post will send you to a new comic, well he is new to me anyway. By God he is ever so posh and ever so fucking funny. I have watched this link god knows how many times but I have had to stop because my ribs hurt.

Anyway, I am left wing, I shared my sweets and expressed Marxist ideas long before I understood it was someone else’s concept. My politics stem from the fact I do care about others and it is this caring that led me down the phone sex road. I shall explain. A friend of mine, about eighteen months ago, who we will call Major because that’s what he was at the time, was having a hard time. By hard time I mean he had had a leg, half his stomach, two fingers and one ball blown off when he went and saved the lives of three other people he served with. Oh and one innocent child so the word ‘hero’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. When Micheal Moore, in reference to the US military in his home town, says that it is the people who have the least who give the most for their country he is so right. I look at Liverpool. Army Recruitment offices are present in every single town… apart from the affluent ones.

The worse part of my Major friend’s injuries were the stomach problems, so much so he couldn’t eat a lot of foods. He was in permanent pain but couldn’t take anything for his injuries as such medication would have killed him. One day we were chatting about his injuries, he was getting a new leg fitted because he had wrapped the original one around the head of the superior officer who had been fucking his other half while he was having his body parts blown off. You have to love the symbolism, ever a sarcastic bastard my Major friend. Even he admitted he went a bit far tying the guy up and knocking his teeth out with the false leg but would you fuck a girl when her bloke’s nickname is ‘headcase’? No, no you wouldn’t. Anyway in the midst of this conversion he spat out what was on his mind, would I talk dirty to him over the phone one night so he could have a wank and get some sleep? At first I said ‘No, DEFINITELY NO, I just didn’t think I could do it.”

However, one night I got a phone call at stupid o’clock in the morning, I answered, my friend sounded delirious, explained he hadn’t slept in three days, the pain was bad. In that instance I told him to stick BabeStation on, let me get a coffee, a smoke and then we would get started. I gave the man the best filth I could muster untill he came. He slept for a day, his pain was better, it became a regular thing. I quite enjoyed doing it. I don’t deny it felt good knowing that I was making a real difference to the life of a friend who had had some pretty shitty breaks. Plus I think, not that I know this first hand, that I have made my Major friend a better shag. This is because during the course of the phone sex we had I did impress upon him the importance of foreplay. The joy of the tease, the pleasure of slowly getting there, that the mind has to be turned on for the body to be able to respond, for it to be satisfying.

Now lets fast forward to my current research partner. He also has injuries and more lives than a cat for that matter because he took eleven bullets, still stands on two feet and still does his job in the Army. His boy bits were injuried in a similar manner and having some experience in this area I did ask one day if he was taking care of himself, rubbing cream in like he is supposed to. He said he wasn’t but he would if I made it fun. At this point I told him the story of why I was no stranger to phone sex and I could make it fun alright. He was a bit surprised because he said he had always believed I was somehow straight laced, a notion we both laugh about now.

This just goes to prove that not every mucky minx shouts about their sexuality. In my real life I keep my sexual self to my self, I don’t discuss what I get up to with people other than with my close friends… oh and you guys. So you can imagine, boyfriends think it is Christmas come thrice when they evenually discover how my dirty dirty brain really works. And having a super tight pussy does not hurt a jot. I do try to put guys at ease, explain that I expect them to cum quick the first few times, its one baby that takes some time to get use to. If you can’t speak openly and honestly with whoever you are sleeping with, be able to laugh then perhaps they should not be sharing your bed. I am a firm believer in getting to know someone before you have sex with them, there is nothing cool or daring about sleeping around, all you are doing is making cheap look expensive. And putting yourself in danger. What if you hook up with a guy and because you know him so well its fine that he has drugged you in preparation for the gangbang him and five of his best mates have in mind? Guys need to careful as well. When you think your luck is in and you get the chance of going back to some Goddess’s place you might also get the chance of handing over all your cash and valuables to that particular goddess’s very big, very hard, male mates. If you want to keep your fingers and teeth. It goes on.

So that is the story of how a nice girl like me started out in the phone sex world. The reason I decided to do it as a job is because why not make money out of it? When you are poor your options are not your own as I understand all too well, living as I do, in a flat with electrics that might kill me and a kitchen roof that a joiner reckons could fall down at any time… lets hope not on my head, eh?

But I wouldn’t want to mislead you and let you think that all the phone sex sessions my research partner and I engage in are all sexual high jinx and fantasical role play. They do happen and I love telling you about them. However there are a particular type of session that we have that I haven’t yet shared with you. These sessions are chilled out, laughter filled, babestaion on in the background affairs that require nothing more than a generous pot of body lotion. Sometimes the outfit featured in the pictures goes on, sometimes it doesn’t. It depends upon our collective sexual mood.

During these types of sessions I describe how I would massage him in between discussing our days. I tell him how I would cover his cock in endless layers of lotion and circle the base of cock with my fingertips, running my hands up and down, lightly teasing the head with feather light strokes. I describe how I spread his legs and tickle his inner thigh making his balls ache for attention, all while we discuss the different girls on Babestation. Lolly Badcock is a personal favourite, that girl just looks like a good fuck, oozing naughtiness from everyone of her pores. She does it for me because she smiles constantly and has a wicked glint in her eye that just lets you know she could persuade any boy, any girl to be very very bad any day of the week. Lolly would make the most well behaved dog break his leash.

At some point during these sessions after I have described graphically the blow job of his dreams, balls licked and sucked like sweet precious ripe cherries. Legs spread wider still as a hand moves lower teasing his arse until a finger finds its way inside to massage his G spot. All while his cock is sucked with all the deep throat confidence a blow job queen such as myself can bring to the proceedings. And God, giving a blow job makes me feels sexy, if they are tyed up at the time so much the better. I love lying a man down, Kissing his thighs, his stomach, hair ticking his nipples as it flows across his chest. Teasing his thighs apart so I can run my tongue over his balls and play with the skin beneath. The beautiful sight of a rock hard cock is one which I relish, desperate to feel it on my lips, to taste pre cum on my tongue as I tease the head in preparation for taking it deep, deep into my mouth. Long hard slow sucks to begin with, using my tongue to apply pressure to the length as I suck, circling the head with my tongue as I move upwards and then downwards. All until it is time to suck harder and faster, using my hands to wank the base so they feel like their cock is deliciously contained in the warmest tightest, sweetest feeling cunt they could dream of. That reality comes later as I have explained above.

Yep, I love blowjobs. Love them. I think I have even invented a technique all of my own. Its called the helter skelter and works as an appetizer if you will, a tease before the main event. It involves running your tongue from the head to the base in a spiral fashion, just like riding down its namesakes fairground slide. And by God, if its done right, that cock should bloody well want riding by the time it has savoured that particular sexual course.

Of course what I have learned about my research partner is that while he does love hearing exactly what I would do to him what really tips him over the edge is hearing all about what I am doing to myself. How I love to keep at least a pair of ever so pretty and silky knickers on and perhaps wear one of my many pairs of knee high, high heels boots. He loves to hear how I run my toy all over those silky panties, teasing my pussy with the promise of feeling that toy directly against my swollen pink clit at some point soon. He loves to hear how my body shakes when I give my cunt what its is begging for, to listen to the gratifying moan when I slam that toy inside my tight and so so wet pussy. So wet and tight he can hear the tell tale clicky sounds beneanth the ever louder screams as I ram that toy in and out, fucking myself hard, using my other hand to rub my clit back and forth. I am getting so good at turning both of on during these sessions that, much to the delight of my research partner, I often squirt when I come now. My pussy is so wet by the time I have exploded that the inside of my thighs are dripping with sweet juice. The taste and smell of which I love as I enjoy my coffee and smoke that is very much needed after a session like that. We both have to come back down to planet Earth after all. No it wasn’t an earthquake, we are just getting really good at this.

And there you have it. From the response I have had from including pictures with the last post I have decided to make their inclusion a bit more of a regular thing. It seems people liked the last post and you have my research partner’s commanding officer to thank for it. I was having a chat with him, as you do with a two star general and he told my research partner I sounded less scouse and more like I was from the country. From that remark that particular scenario was born. Thanks George. I hope you like Miles Jupp as much as I do and as for the inclusion of the second link ‘I want to be a Popstar’ by James at War. I am having a laugh at myself here. If I could sing, even just a little bit I SO WOULD. Mind you, given The Saturdays performance during the Help for Heros concert not being able to sing doesn’t appear to be quite the dealbreaker it used to be, Autotune anyone?… mmh I wonder, I can dance.

This is how we do it in these here parts.

2010-09-22T17:39:00.001+01:00

As promised I am back to tell more tales of the celebratory phone sex sessions that my research partner and I engaged in once he received his promotions. As I alluded to in my last post there was one session that really stood out, if Carling made phone sex calls... A shining bright star of a session that was a winner on two crucial fronts, firstly it was funny as fuck and secondly it was as horny as all hell.

The scenario involved my research partner pretending to be a stranger with car trouble, caught in the rain for hours as he scoured the English Country side, desperately wandering around seeking help. I played the role of a helpful young farmers daughter who, when she found the distressed stranger on her father's land, quickly brought him inside. She got him out of his wet clothes, gave him a warm cup of coffee and asked him if there was anything he would like to eat... you're getting the idea.

Now I was already pretty damn turned on before this session began because for all the scenarios I do dress up at home. It helps me get into character!!! For the dominatrix scenario I really was doing it in knee high boots, gorgeous black see through knickers and fuck all else. For this country role play I also dressed for the occasion, as the pictures show I was wearing a tiny denim skirt, a checked shirt and had my hair tied into cute girly bunches. Which brings me to why I was turned on before we even began, as I slipped that little skirt on I realised it was a bit too big. Game on, that skirt is a size 8. So yes, as silly as it sounds that made me hot and wet, horny and happy before I even spoke to my research partner.

However, I have digressed. Getting back to the scenario, my research partner sat in the young farmers daughter kitchen, stripped to his underwear (Well she didn't want him to catch his death, that's not particularly hospitable now is it?) Cup of coffee in hand, she informed the grateful stranger that her father was away at market but he had always told her to make guests welcome in his absence, was there anything she could so to make him more comfortable she asked. Well, the stranger said, his feet were really sore after all the walking he had done, would she rub them? In fact his whole legs ached, from his tight thighs to his throbbing calves, would she rub them firmly up and down, up and down, up and down. The farmers daughter eagerly obliged, glad she could help the stranger sat in her father's kitchen.

As she rubbed away, loosening his tight burning muscles they chatted idly about country life. The stranger was keen to know how she amused herself in such a remote and isolated location, there really wasn't a soul to be found for miles. The farmer's daughter told him of all the fun she had sitting on her father's tractor as she made her way round the fields, how it shook and vibrated, rocking her tight wet pussy all the way to orgasm. She said she would show the stranger the tractor but with the weather being so bad it might be better to stay indoors, not necessarily dry but certainly warm and in a certain place between her legs burning hot. What she could show him, however, was another piece of machinery, her shiny gold vibrator that she used to please her pussy on days such as today when everyone should be inside. The stranger remarked that he could think of at least one place he would like to be inside, hard as he was as he had glimpsed at the perfectly white cotton knickers the farmers daughter was wearing, barely concealed by such a short and revealing piece of clothing. However, just for now, he and his aching hard cock would be happy to listen and watch as the farmer's daughter showed him exactly how she amused herself on days when the weather was bad.

And show him she did, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen floor, inches from where the stranger was sat. She ran her toy all over her white knickers, enjoying the feeling of them becoming damp. When she had teased her pussy and the stranger sufficiently she pulled her knickers to one side, she ran her finger tips all over her pussy, enjoying the feeling of the wet juice on her fingers, using them to pull her clit hood back and with her other hand she pressed her toy directly onto her clit. Her deep moan and the look of lust in the stranger eyes confirmed that he did like how they did things in these here parts.

The harder she pressed her toy onto her clit the quicker her pants became wet and the louder she moaned. Her pussy, soaked with sweet juice, begged to be filled. She plunged her toy deep inside and let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and pleasure. The stranger moved from his chair, joined her and placed his cock by her mouth. She took his cock deep into her warm wet mouth and with the same rhythm that she fucked herself with sucked him slowly, using her tongue to tease the head of his cock, light flicks of her tongue that made his cock still harder and left the taste of pre-cum in her mouth. As the speed the hand she was fucking herself with increased so too did the voracity in which she sucked on that cock, her spare hand caressing his balls and stroking the sweet spot of skin underneath. As she fucked herself harder and harder with her toy, the waves of pleasure eminating from her stomach letting her know her orgasm was close she paused for a second, using her finger she plunged it inside her pussy and offered it to her guest to suck. She wanted her taste to be on his lips as he came hard in her mouth, the sound of her screams in his ears as he shot his hot sticky load right to the back of her throat. And yes, they both came. Loudly. The country way of doing things advocated by both.

I hope you like the pictures I have included. I thought they might help those reading my blog to visualise the scenario I have described for you. To those who follow in far off lands, welcome back to those who are home and welcome home soon to those who are on their way back. Well done on making it through your tours!

Oh and for Peter, hope you like the link I have included just for you. I remembered you said that you liked Blur. I have no idea why you doubt my sincerity, of course my research partner and I are grateful for everything you tried to do. Dead grateful. ;)

My pictures..

For Peter...

I didn't mean to be away for so long

2010-09-16T21:34:00.000+01:00

It is true, I didn't mean to be away for so long. However, life has a habit of throwing curve balls at you when you least expect it to so please forgive me. Take me at my word, I had things to attend to and for whatever it is worth the world is a better place for the hand I have had in certain recent events. However, I am glad it is over so I can get back to the serious business of laughing my arse off.

You would think writing a sex blog would be a fairly harmless pastime, that some girl having nothing more than a giggle in her bedroom couldn't possibly create too much fuss. Oh readers you would be wrong. Whilst I cannot say too much for fear of incriminating those who are less than innocent, sufficed to say all was well that ended well. It all did have a happy ending, good did triumph over evil.

And it wasn't even a movie.

I would love to share the story, I would but now is the wrong time. Maybe in a future post because believe me I would love to give due credit to those who jumped on board with my ideas. To salute those who, for no good reason other than a desire to see justice be done, acted on blind faith ,at some risk to themselves and their careers to make sure that the battle could and was won. They know who they are.

Anyway there is stuff I can share with you. These include the celebratory phone sex sessions that my research partner and I have shared. There is nothing like moving up a few ranks to make a military man horny which is, of course, exactly how I like my research partner... ready, willing, able, action ready and rifle to hand. In fact there have been several sessions of note for precisely this reason since my last post. I am trying to think which one I should tell you about first. I think I will tell you about the sessions in order.

The session that took place to celebrate my research partners new pips reunited him and I with girls he had previously been training. I would like to tell you it was complete sexual high jinx, as explosive as the previous dominatrix scenario but in all honesty that would be a lie. It was a more sedate affair as sex often is when all parties are mentally drained and are grateful they are still in one piece. With this in mind the session we embarked on was more about restoring mental and physical well being as opposed to cuming countless times. The girls were very kind and under my instruction massaged my research partner's body from head to toe. They used their collective fingertips to ease his tense stiff shoulders working their healing hands down his body across his tight burning thighs until the pain vanished.

Now of course that is not all we did. You know me better than that by now. My research partner was not the only person who had aches and pains, we three girls had aches all of our own, aches deep between our legs that only suggestive words and the use of fingers and toys would take away. We were not cruel, my research partner was welcome to listen and watch as the girls and I talked and played. Indeed he was all ears and aching cock as the suggestive words became more suggestive still, as the sounds of pleasure got louder when the toys were pressed against the collective clits harder and deeper, rubbed back and forth until all our pussies were begging for something to be plunged deep inside.

And yeah we fucked ourselves silly with our toys, in fact at one point I think the girls were fucking each other with their respective toys. But we are not heartless girls. We did remember there was an officer present and that it would only be right and proper to acknowledge that. And by acknowledge I mean one girl lick his balls while the other girl used her girly soft tongue to lightly lick the head of his cock until his balls were so full and throbbing that only taking it deep into her month and sucking it hard up and down would satisfy his ever growing desires. In fact he must have needed the satisfaction she was providing because if memory serves correctly I believe he shot his hot sticky load into her warm tight mouth. Which by that point wasn't the only warm tight place that he wanted to stick his eager cock, one girl rode him hard on top and the other girl he later fucked senseless from behind doggie style.

I like the way the army celebrate victories.

There have been other sessions since this one but as it is late I will tell you about them next time . However, just to give you an idea of what is to, excuse the pun, come there was one quite horny scenario that took place in the country. It will make you want your car to break down more often.

One final thing, I have not shared my thoughts with those in charge about what I make of the battle that unfolded as a consequence of my blog. In fairness they haven't asked for my thoughts. But fuck it, I am going to have my say as I have been told they follow what I write. So for whatever it is worth (now the job is done that probably means not very much) I have included two links that encapsulate what I would like to say.

A 21st Century Vera Lynn

2010-09-04T17:13:00.000+01:00

A 21st century Vera Lynn you ask? Well what transpired not but two nights ago brought new meaning to the phrase "entertaining the troops".

I am sure those people that follow my blog have worked out that I am a girl that does not shock easily, so when my research partner suggested that it would be a big get off for him if we did a scenario which involved me acting as a dominatrix to his tied up and tormented slave I was not shocked and nor was I surprised. I had long suspected that this might be his bag despite previous denials to the contrary. In fact, I was sure of it because in his job within the army he is in charge of a lot of people, responsible for their welfare. Why the fuck wouldn't he want to kick back every once in a while and let someone else do the thinking for him? Why the fuck not let a girl take charge? And if she happens to look cracking in a pair of knee high boots, knickers and fuck all else so much the better. Game on.

And the game was on. The scenario was planned but delayed countless times due to conflicting schedules and unfortunate acts of God that got in the way. However, the delays turned out to be a blessing in disguise. This is because in the midst of all these false starts new people came to join the party. I have referred to these girls in a previous post, the one that has the DILLIGAF video attached to it. These girls, in the windy wilds of wherever, are, in actual fact being trained as I write this by my research partner. He has been sharing this blog with these girls as a way of passing the time when their training is finished for that day. They asked if they could get in touch and so I proceeded to exchange emails with them, in which I said I was very pleased they liked the blog and good luck with their training type thing. However, what the girls really wanted to do it transpired was to join the party, Do I entertain girls? Well, I'll give it a go I thought and guess what my research partner and I agreed, the more the merrier.

Now I am fairly certain that I bit off more than I could chew, playing domintrax for the first time with not just one person but two girls and one guy. However, this in no way detracting from the fun that was had nor the multiple orgasms shared. I think my research partner died and went to heaven that night as the girls did completely as instructed, stripping him naked and tying him up, teasing and tormenting him by touching him softly and allowing him to watch while they pleased themselves and each other. His poor cock stood hard and firm as they fucked each other with toys. He had the sound of their pleasure ringing loud in his ears and the sight of naked wet pussy in front of him, too far away to touch but near enough for him to smell. Only when he had been very good and taken his mistresses punishments like a man, then and only then after being spanked was he allowed any relief for his aching eager cock and swollen balls. Only a little relief mind, as one girl licked his hungry cock up and down while the other took his balls into her mouth, slowly sucking them one at a time.

However, ladies first. As his mistress and her two willing bitches decided we were not ready to let him cum just yet. The more he suffered the more he would like it when we released him from his torment and let him shoot his hot sticky load. No the girls, me included, were all going to cum first and let him listen to what we would all do to each other, how we would lick each other's pussies up and down and use our long girlie finger tips to press and rub our clits until they throbbed and we were dripping wet with sweet juice. He listened as we told how our pussy's ached for the feel of fingers being placed deep inside, How we would do it slowly at first until we begged to be finger fucked harder.

And listen he did, as we played and talked our way to orgasm, each girl with a toy fucking herself hard. He listened, all he could do was listen, until we decided it was his turn. And when his turn came attention was lavished on him and his whole body. As his chest was kissed and nipples lightly nibbled by one girl, her hot breath felt upon his neck and the smell of her pussy on her finger tips, the other girls took his cock deep, deep in her mouth. She sucked long and hard on his grateful cock whilst her fingers found their way to his g spot which she stimulated gently with her fingers moving in slow certain circles. When he came, his body shook with relief and he floated for a while on his waves of pleasure.

We all had a smoke.

However the party was far from over. Each girl took a turn fucking him, riding him hard on top while the other girl and I continued to discuss what we would do to each other. He could hear every word as he was taken to orgasm once more and still more after that.

Now the best thing about this party was that every one had a good time. Indeed, I thank the girls for their kind emails that told of how much fun they had and how they would like to repeat the experience. Mistress Yasmin is pleased, please come again, and again, and again.

I am adding a link to this post because I recently started listening to the new Eminen album. There was a track on it which I think is the perfect sound track to that night. Also there is a particular line that sums up how I feel about my research partner,yes it really has been time to "to put the damn clamps down and show that hussy who is the man."

Cadet Bonetti reporting for duty Sir !!

2010-08-29T01:07:00.000+01:00

I would like to say, given my research partners job in the army that this mornings role play session was all his idea. But no, no, it wasn't it was all mine. Some hard as fuck girls in the windy wilds of wherever inspired this particular scenario.

I reported for duty, stood to attention and waited for my dressing down. I was told my hair was simply not neat enough, not per regulation guidelines so it had to be shaken free, let loose from its unimpressive bun. My shoes, I was told, had clearly not seen polish in recent times and I was really going to have to do something about that. Indeed, as there were no polishing rags to hand I would just have to improvise with my knickers, which once removed, wet with pussy juice could be used to apply something approaching a shine on those toes that were not twinkling. As for my uniform 'had I met an iron? Would I like an introduction?'It was so piss poor that it would simply have to come off... slowly and don't forget the bra, call that white, clearly you need introducing to a washing machine as well.

Naked cadet Bonetti was feeling quite sheepish at this point, seemingly there was nothing she could do right. However things picked up when she moved onto weapons training, Cadet Bonetti found that she had numerous hidden and inventive talents when it came to handling a rifle. In fact she had polished the rifle by hand, like the shoes, remembering to put a layer of polish on and then take it off over and over and over again, long hard licks with her tongue, careful not to neglect the ammunition carriages with her fingers and mouth. She remembered her training, that a gun is, after all, only as good as what it is firing and scored points for incorporating that. Things definitely improved when she got complimented on how well her mouth and hands had become acquainted with her weapon and she sucked her way to promotion.(I am sure she is not the first.)

No longer a cadet but a private it was time for her to play with her privates. After all those shoes were still no where near good enough to be seen on god's acre (the parade ground) and without polish to hand hot wet pussy juice would just have to do. Indeed I would have to play long and hard with myself, really show that superior officer, if he was still in any doubt at this stage, that there was something I could do ... and well. I rubbed intensely back and forth and pressed my toy hard against my clit, increasing the speed steadily. Private Bonetti's pussy ached, desperate for her toy to be plunged deep deep inside her, to feel it pounding her back and forth. But no, not yet, 'Your a horny bitch aren't you Bonetti?' he asked ' Yes Sir, fuck me, Jesus fuck Christ, oh my God yes, yes , yes I am Sir' she replied. And wet she got, dripping and soaked through, feeling it glisten on her thighs and through her fingers tips which was a good job too. She had to or she would never have got wet enough to give those shoes the shine required. She didn't want to get kicked out after all, these dressing downs are far too much fun.

By the end of duty Cadet Bonetti felt safe in saying to herself that her position was secure for the moment at least. Although she was told that her progress would be monitored closely and that there would have to be many more such inspections. She was sure, with the feel of her juice fresh on her Superior's fingers and her taste still on his tongue that they would be seeing much much more of each other. I swear its enough to make a girl join up or is that just jump on?

For those girls I mentioned earlier I have been thinking about you and the perfect song sprang to mind. As for the boys 'How can you trust something that bleeds once a month and does not die? That's older than I am, I think you need some new material.

This is the song, please sing it girls !!

Could you come into the bosses office please?

2010-08-25T19:43:00.000+01:00

Employee appraisals, no one likes them. Mine always go along the lines of 'Could you laugh a bit less and work a bit more?' I have tried to make the argument in such settings (yes, with a straight face) that laughter is good for morale and therefore increases productivity across the board. Honest, that is true, it has been proven. To which one particular boss, quick on his feet, did snap back 'It's lucky you make a good cup of tea young lady, kettle now.' When he said 'young lady' what he really meant was 'jail bait' because I have always looked a lot younger than I actually am. I smiled back with the most wicked seductive smile you can imagine, voice an octave or so lower and said 'Everybody is good at something, I'll just get your tea.' As I walked away I was thinking to myself yes, yes you can watch my arse as it wiggles out of your office, as long as you keep paying me for predominately having a laugh we will all be happy bunnies.

Given that I get mixed reviews during employee appraisals, when my research partner in sexual misconduct suggested that it might be fun if he played boss to my temp I was a little unsure. No one enjoys evaluation... or so I thought. Still my research partner is the type of person whose ideas you will entertain, who you will follow... but only out of curiosity!

Anyway what unfolded was completely unexpected, fucking raw, dirty, horny as all hell, best by a clear country mile phone sex we have ever had. When I returned to planet earth, reacquainted myself with my surroundings, yep, still got two arms, two legs, those fingers are mine, noticed that the cat was giving me funny looks, I did begin to try and break down what actually made it all so damn good. Now I have two theories. The first could be that, as a rule, I like to call the shots sexually. I do like to be in control, to do undressing, control the pace, they are getting their orgasms- but only when I say type of thing.

During last nights phone sex adventures I was not the dominant person at the party, probably for the first time in my life. I made like a good temp and did exactly and only as told. Layers of clothing were only removed at the bosses discretion. I only touched myself when I had his permission, the toys appeared simply because the boss made it clear he wanted to see his employee perform. God, it was wet when I think about it, horny. I have resolved to submit more often.

Now for my second theory as to why it was so damn hot. I changed my batteries in my vibrator and, in all sincerity, my pussy thanks you Sony. Fucking hell it makes a difference. Those new batteries for my vibrator are the equivalent of Viagra for a geriatric. Indeed I can't wait for my very new toy to arrive. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful Pabo for the knickers you sent me, they are black, lacy, a size 8, you remembered! They are generally pretty damn lovely but please can I have my new toy? Please! Pretty please!! Its been weeks since I first asked you, a girl's got needs!

Does anyone need a nurse?

2010-08-21T21:25:00.000+01:00

Squeezing a phone sex practice session in during the wee small hours of yesterday morning my research partner made a suggestion. The scenario he had in mind was for me to pretend to be a very young, very innocent, very inexperienced trainee nurse. A bit of a school girl fantasy with a stethoscope thrown in for good measure. However, I am a game girl so I was happy to play along and see what would happen.

It devolved into hilarity fairly quickly. I was staying in character, I simply asked if he had a sore bot bot and would I be being a good nurse if I rubbed some cream in? Now in my head someone innocent would refer to the arse as a bot bot because it is child like, as he said, fucking right its child like, like a five year old child, this wasn't where I wanted to take this thank you very much!

Still, laughter aside, he explained very gently to this young naive trainee nurse exactly what she should do to herself and to him, that she should think of what was between her legs as a playbox, that it should be teased and rubbed, made so hot and wet that it is dripping and that he, of course, should watch. All good. Everything was going quite smoothly with a very relaxed vibe, the nurse had magiced some toys by this point and was fucking herself hard as instructed. Like I said it was all going smoothly until he turned round to my character and said ' 'I am enjoying hearing you playing with your box but its time to tell you its proper name, its a CUNT!' I really hope I am explaining this properly and nothing is being lost in translation because I swear to God it was as funny as fuck. All in all I am not sure how erotic the whole experience was but if it is possible to laugh yourself to orgasm thats what we did last night. In fact Ive been chuckling about the whole thing all day, so much so that when Dad popped down to see me he did ask 'What's tickled you?' What could I say? Well Dad...

This brings me to my next point, why my dad came to visit. We don't live in the same town anymore so I only really see him every couple of months. Still, thanks to O2 Unlimited we can chat on the phone as much as we like so its not all bad. Anyway the reason he treked to see me is because he needed to lend a few quid, no bother, at the end of the day, if United Utilities get paid late this month I think I can live with it. Indeed I'll look forward to the nice reminder letter they send out if you are half a second late paying.

However it would have been much quicker and easier had my brother, you know the one who has found God, if he had just handed some cash over. We all know for a fact he has money simply because he never spends any. I swear to God when he takes a £10 note out of his mothball infested wallet the Queens head reaches for sunglasses. Going to the pub with him is a hoot, for some reason that no one can fathom it never seems to be his round.

A little incensed that he had refused to help my dad I rang my Brother up, we chatted for a while and I did mention to him that the bible does talk about storing up your treasures in heaven and not in fact on Earth. I might have also said that if i am ever on fire, remind me not to ask you to piss on me.

And this, my friends, is my problem with God botherers. I am not talking about the people who have faith and quietly go about doing good work like helping the homeless and taking care of the elderly, people like that should be admired. In fact people like that should be taken to an island somewhere and asked to breed like rabbits so the world is a nicer place.What I am talking about is happy clapper, flag waving, speaking in tongues, want to baptise you in the nearest school swimming pool born again bastards who are so very filled with the holy spirit that there is clearly fuck all room left for any humanity.

Anyway I don't know what went wrong with my brother, when we were kids if you didn't share your sweets willingly you were made to. And by made to I mean the sweets were taken off you and you had to watch everyone else eat them. As my dad use to say with a smile and a wink, that will teach you. And still to this day I can't get my head round people who don't and won't share, people who constantly say 'thats mine.' I don't understand why people will willingly share their beds with whatever partner, do all kinds of weird and wonderful things sexually but if their partner wants to borrow their ipod, well, frankly, its just a step too far.

Listen to this song and hopefully you'll be laughing along with me.

Stick your head out of the trench and you are going to get shot

2010-08-18T23:20:00.000+01:00

I knew that when I started this blog it would not be everybody's cup of tea. It was never going to be to everyones taste a girl talking explicitly about her sexual antics and talking dirty down a phone. I knew that I may take some abuse, I wasn't expecting it so soon.

I was, for a little while, a bit shell shocked that a person who has never met me and will never meet me could harbour so much hatred towards a girl (i.e me), who lets face it, he had only exchanged a few emails with. Now I am up for a bit of banter with most men, I am from Liverpool, girls where I come from are not known for being slow with their tongue (interpret that how you like!) and we can give as good as we get. However I draw the line at being subjected to what can only be described as misogyny. Rants along the lines of all women are bitches. Lines of questioning that leave you with the impression that this person just might install hidden cameras in a girlfriends place in case she ever got ideas of getting out of line. Better to know eh? Just a bit of peace of mind?

Honestly if anyone doesn't like what I write, don't read it, please don't read it, I never asked you to. If you find a girl who likes to talk about sex impolite, find a girl who doesn't like to talk about it. If you are really lucky with this girl who doesn't like to talk about sex she won't want the light on either. I like sex, I love talking about it, so there.

Just quickly I would like to share something that has had me laughing my arse off. My Brother has recently found God and is attending to church in the hope of finding a nice wholesome Christian girl. As my Dad said to him, no son, your right, its nice to hold hands, its enough. As I said to my Brother while I wish he had told me he was gay or had always felt like he was really a woman, you know, something I could understand, in time I would come to accept his faith.

Things didnt go to plan...

2010-08-14T21:23:00.000+01:00

What's a girl to do... I was all set to get in some further phone sex practice last night when events conspired to make it impossible.My cat was sick and needed looking after so that had to take priority over brushing up on my techniques.

I swear my cat is going to give me a heart attack, he practically lives at the vets at the moment, the precise nature of his health problems, a mystery as of yet, to all concerned. Some days he is full of beans, his usual PTSD self, hissing and growling and generally looking in need of an AK47.Yet on other days he can barely breathe and does not have the energy to raise his objections to the world in the ways I have grown used to and fond of.

For anyone out there, please feel free to say a prayer for my pussy ;)

This is all starting to get competitive...

2010-08-11T17:26:00.000+01:00

Let me explain why things are starting to get competitive. As I have mentioned I have been getting in as much phone sex practice as possible in readiness for when my new venture is up and running. However a strange twist in the sessions has occurred. They are becoming marathons of what can only be described as unadulterated filth, games of verbal sexual chicken to see how far each party will go and who has the best imagination. I think I am winning but I am expecting a rematch in the very near future.

As for when the venture will be fully up and running, hopefully very soon. For anyone following I am going to be posting more information about who I am and what services I will be offering on my website which you can find here.

Dirty Weekend

2010-08-07T19:28:00.000+01:00

I haven't been online much in the last few days as I've been catching up on sleep as and when it has been possible. The friend I mentioned who is helping me perfect all the naughty sex chat I want to offer has an even wackier sleep pattern than I do. This is due to his job in the army so when it's practice time I need to be awake... thank god for Kenco and a steady supply of Marlboro lights.

I'd like to say its a tough gig, that lack of sleep is getting to me but I am enjoying every second of this adventure. I don't think phone sex is something you could engage in as a profession if you were not passionate about all things sexual and were not a naughty minx by nature. What has surprised me is that it's kind of providing a creative outlet for me, an opportunity to be imaginative. It is deeply satisfying turning someone on to the point where they cannot help but to come without ever touching them or have them touch or see you. It does just go to show that the most powerful sexual organ is the brain.