When the Hurly Burly’s Done…pt.1
Phew. What a busy week I have had. Just a catch-up for you all; I have:
- Been to sunny Southern Spain with Mister and the Outlaws. It was warm and beautiful and I sunned myself much like the stray cats at the villa did for the best part of two days. I even went swimming in the sea. Then splattered and choked on the sea water for getting all excited for that very fact. Yes, I am that awkward at times.
- Had an arduous journey up through Spain in the Outlaws’ car for two days. We stopped off in a gorgeous 12th Century walled city and Mister and I wandered around the labyrinthine alleys, enjoying getting lost together.
- Eaten many a paella, langoustine, various other fishies and crustraceans with tasty glee. There’s something carnivorously fun about ripping open prawns (apologies to ILB if this stirs up feelings of queasiness).
- Returned and went shopping for pretty dresses.
But most importantly for the blog, I have an announcement.
I went to my first Burlesque show on Saturday night!!
My summary: It was gigglsomely wonderful and enjoyably entertaining. I will be going again.
It was at my birthday party back at my sisters last month when I broached the subject with one of my very good and oldest of childhood friends, C (she’d come down from the other end of the county to see me, love her!). Out of earshot from The Family I asked if it would be something she’s be interested in seeing. C is a very vivacious lady, with tons more confidence than I can ever hope to possess. Energy, she haz it. She is also a miles better singer and dancer than me, but that’s besides the point and something I don’t begrudge her for…honest. Anyway, I knew that she’d love the idea and via my Twitter acquaintances, I had come into the marvellous knowledge of a regular Burlesque night at one of the bars in a city not too distant from my secret location. Plans were made and things were set in motion. I was an excited little LadyP for that whole month until the night arrived.
I had gone shopping and bought a pretty purple halterneck dress to wear. Well, the flier said ‘Dress to Impress’, and there’s almost nothing I like better then donning the gladrags. Especially as I don’t have the chance to as often as I’d like. I had my seams aligned and off I trotted down to the train station to meet up with C in the city. It was rather bubbly to walk out alone in the seamed hosiery and I had a spring in my step. Glorious sun shining, my shades on – it was shaping up to be a grand evening.
It was that indeed.
We arrived at 8pm - it became very busy later on and we were thankful we got there when we did. Popular night, it seems. And getting busier each month, apparently. The crowd there was mixed. Younger, obvious students (ah! the nostalgia! We did sigh together at lost youth) into the twenties, thirties and even more mature members of the audience. It was amusing in the interval’s raffle to see the blushing 60-something lady win a set of chocolate willies.
The acts themselves didn’t start until a little after 9:30pm, so we settled ourselves in for a good catch-up session, gossiping about various family members, friends, who’s getting married/had kids as well as appreciating the scenery. Both the countryside (we were out on a little balcony overlooking a canal) and the views in the opposite direction. There were some beautifully dressed people – men and women. So many corsets (a robust Australian sounding lady commented to us that she was so strained inside the laces) as well as some handsome young gentlemen – a few in military garb which was very becoming. Then there were the idiosyncratic individuals. One guy had dressed to the nines in shirt, tie, flash jacket; later I saw him dancing in a feather boa – except he was wearing no trousers. I did hope he had some to walk home in. A stunning goth-ishlady had gone deadly-all-out for the black and red theme – long straight black hair, her pale skin accentuated with bright red lipstick. Her clothes echoed this with a corset and tight-fitting skirt. I kept finding my attention was drawn to her often. Many had gone for the vintage 30s, 40s look with the hair and accessories, which was was I had tried to do, but failed, as my hair sculpting techniques aren’t up to much, so I’d settled for a quirky half-pinned up do with the straightened hair. It did the job nicely I think.
The acts themselves were delightfully named (Miss Lucy Purr and Miss Amber Sweet for example). Each lady performed two or three dances each and of these I think I enjoyed the duet the most (two ladies, one dressed at a very feminine Elvis, the other a Monroe clone).
As this post has run on a lot, I’ll discuss the acts in full in the near future, as well as have a little musing on the whole ‘Is Burlesque basically just stripping?’ debate.
Laters!
Spoil Me, Please
It was my birthday yesterday. I like to dress-up nicely on such special occasions.
This is what was lying underneath my clothes at work yesterday:
Shhh…you won’t tell on me, right? It’s our little secret.
More to follow soon on the extra treats I got from Mister.
I’ll Tell You No Lies – Question Time Once More
I thought I would go down the Lent route for this week’s question – and remember: please do think of your own posers to throw at me. I was offput that nobody asked me a question last time, especially as I had some great responses to what I put to you! Again, if you want to find out a little more about me do feel free to ask me (almost) anything. It could be sexual or it could be general questions about my favourite type of… curry for example. You may like to know what I really hate in bed. I have few qualms. Check out my other posts in this vein to get the feel of things. If you’re a new reader this is the perfect opportunity to explore the character, likes and dislikes of yours truly, Pandorah.
What would you find challenging to abstain from for 40 days?
For me, I think I would opt for simply the act of kissing. I adore having a smooch with Mister. He’s such a good kisser. When we first met I had had very little experience with the male species. Late developer, I had never kissed a boy before him. Boys are scary to me. Well, ones that show an interest in me are at any rate. Timid old bird I am at heart. I may flirt like hell at times, but to take initiative on those feelings freaked me out. On our first date together, I thought – What have I got to lose? and went all out in ‘The First Kiss’ we shared. Tongues and everything. Mister was taken aback at the brazen-ness. Since that moment I have fallen in love with the notion of kissing. Especially with my man. Be it a peck on the cheek, the most sensual, slow and desirous kiss where your hands are in each other’s hair, roaming over their body, slipping under clothes to have that contact with flesh, or even kissing other parts of their body (especially kissing certain parts of their body!). I often fantasise about being involved in a clinch with a lady and mostly what we are doing is kissing – there is innocence and sin mixed in together in the movement, the emotions and flutterings that are in kisses and it is that what I would sorely miss.
I look forward to hearing your thoughts – and get your thinking caps on for a bit of a more dialogic involvement guys and gals! I wanna answer some juicy questions!
Raising the Stakes pt. 2
For Part one, see post below. Oh, go on. I enjoyed writing it.
***
I was in a state of utter submission. Mentally as well as physically. He had so nearly broken me and there was little else left to hide. Or so I thought.
Still tied, face down with my limbs drawn out X-style to the bedposts, my breathing had become deep and protracted. It was the last vestige of any control I could have over myself as he imposed himself expertly with the tasseled whip and with his palm. And teeth. No, I mustn’t be forgetting his bites. On my neck; on my shoulders; on my buttocks. Once quite sharply that made me yelp a little. I had retreated into myself and my main focus was to channel my thoughts into breathing slowly so the sting wouldn’t become too much. It wasn’t pain. I won’t call it that. Pain, for me isn’t a good thing. Pain infers no acknowledgement of the other person. One-sided and purely sadistic. He knew what he was doing to me. He did it for mutual benefit. He made me ache. He made my skin burn and glow. Tingle with desire. Pain, never.
What he did next was to remove that last, singular act of control I had. He made my breathing go wild. He, aptly, raised the stakes. Pausing in his actions, I was dimly aware that he had moved away from the bed. You have to understand that I was quite lost by now. My hands loosened their grasp slightly from the bedframe and I attempted to shift my head over in his direction only to be met with my dark hair clouding my vision. Peering through the strands I was just in time to see him return to the bed with something in his hand. I couldn’t tell what, although I was certain it was a toy. But which one? I felt him place it between my legs, resting there, not touching my skin. Just there for safe-keeping.
…what have you got there?
I managed at least to growl out a few words.
You’ll soon find out.
He had yet to take full advantage of my exposure. His spanking and whipping had had their desired effect and I was well and truly aroused. Twice the tassels had strayed to my pussy and caught my clitoris. *Eek!* that did sting. It was sharp and yes, painful. He recognised it was too much for me and didn’t go there again. Not content with the heightened state I was already in, Mister took things to another level by introducing some tingly lube to the equation. This was the Durex Play brand and, whilst mild, worked a treat. Its tingle took a few seconds to register after application and then I was right back there grasping at my restraints and twisting.
Here was the trump card. If he gets his hands anywhere near my clit, my breathing will start to change. It becomes stilted, uneven when he pushes me beyond my normal boundaries. He toyed, he played, literally had me wrapped round his fingers. He knows which movement will make me gasp this way, and which other flicks will make me moan deeply. When he got me to this stage, he brought in the little friend that was lying between my legs, waiting for its chance to shine.
I gathered as much that it was something to penetrate, but other than that I still was unsure. Then it clicked. It wasn’t hard, like my vibrator, and it was too long to be my little buzzing bullet. Other than that, all we have is….ah. Clever boy. He had brought out the New Toy. My heart leapt in excitement as well as anxiety.
You see, the other month, I saw fit to explore a new avenue of toy. An area we hadn’t yet been to. I bought a few anal toys. To be precise, a butt plug, a little vibrator and a jelly-like pliable and soft double-ended probey thing. It was this third little beauty Mister had decided to break me in with. This is about 5 inches and at one end has four little nodules of ascending size with the other, longer end designed for something deeper. This end was currently being very slowly and deliberately thrust in and out of my pussy. And doing a damn fine job of it (I am a bit of a cock-lover and anything that penetrates will have me in throes very quickly). My voice was low and purring, it was a nice change to the fast paced clitoral stimulation a few minutes ago. Then, of course, the devil, he increased pace with this until my body was awash with flowerings of intense exhilaration. I felt the tingling through my every fibre. To remind me of where things stood, every now and then Mister added a little spank.
He stopped. I knew he was thinking, deliberating about the next obvious step. Noticeably absent, he had removed the toy from my wet folds. Then I felt it. Lightly at first, he began to run the other end up to where we had never really ventured properly with intention before. I was still a little tense, despite everything he had done to break my will, my head was still able to be in a place where I realised that, woah, this is new and different and do I really want to go there? Do I want him to go there? I mean, sure we’ve talked about it and thi….Oh yeah, ooh, that’s actually kinda nice, I wish he’d be a bit braver with it and push in a little fur…ah, there he goes.
Breakthrough!
Mister explored the anal with Pandorah. And It Was Good. Huzzah! Let the choir sing! I was flooded with mixed emotions – relief, excitement of the giggly kind (he’s stuck something up my arse! Teehee!) a tinge of humiliation as well as pure, utter warm and fuzzy loving pleasure. It swamped me. It floored me. Sure it was a little odd; unused to something being There. But it wasn’t bad. Oh No. To double up the happy place I was in, he added his fingers to the mix and carried on flicking my clit with his thumb at the same time as having his fingers inside me.
What I ultimately crave for is him, his cock, inside me. By the time he got round to it, we had been going for well over an hour and a quarter, maybe longer – which is a lot for us to spend on foreplay. Although is it really fair to say that what we had just been through wasn’t technically ’sex’? From where I was lying, I had been pretty much fucked.
Later, looking back as he held me, my shuddering frame trembling from interspersed aftershocks, I noted how, during our exploration, he on and off checked in on how I was, whether it was comfortable for me. Conscientious is a word I’m not overly keen on. It brings to mind school reports I had as a younger girl. But tonight it was a word that echoed in my head as I thought about what he had just done to me. For me. Mister is a passionate lover, a forceful and determined one too. He is also always, always caring of me and loving.
This is what makes the both of us Belong to one another. That trust I feel when I’m with him, what I can feel safe having done by him. What he feels comfortable allowing me to do to him, too.
It was a great hand he played there. I think I should go for the long game more often.
Must I Paint you a Picture?
Dipping the tip of the soft brush into the well of massage oil that the candle had created, I started by tracing out my initial on the centre of his back. Between the shoulder blades the massage oil swept over his skin smoothly to form my mark. It’s not a complicated letter so he guessed it fairly quickly. I followed this warm-up with his initial – he was pretty good at this game.
Holding the brush between my teeth as I rubbed over my first attempts, I took hold of it once again to replenish the supply of oil. Time for something a little more complex. A word this time. Letter by letter I spelt it out as he named each brush-stroke’s delicate formation.
M
I
N
E
That made him exhale in mild amusement. Sensing his playfulness, I quickened the pace of each letter of the next word to see if I could catch him out. Each time a word was correctly guessed, I praised him with a loving rub over his oh-so-yummy back. This was fun. I was enjoying myself. Wanting things to progress further, I spelt out my next command for him.
T
U
R
N
O
V
E
R
He quickly complied.
Good boy.
As he turned, his erection was plain to see. He is always so turned on by my massages, and he was enjoying this new experience at least as much as I was. My eyes always linger on that spot after he turns over. He looks so damn good when he’s naked and aroused. It was hard to keep focus. I brought the candle over and gently tilted it to test its dripping capabilities. Again, it was very mild in temperature and when he tried it out on me the following night I was surprised at just how mild the heat was – barely noticeable above body temperature, tepid if you wish.
The candle itself is held within a glass container and the screw-thread of its lid caused the oil to drip down the side of the glass, which was a little messy and didn’t quite have the effect of a proper wax candle. An unfortunate side-effect is that it habitually came into contact with the sheets/duvet cover and created an oily patch, so if you look into going down this route – be prepared for messy bits! But unless you’re retentive about making a mess during sex, this shouldn’t dampen your spirit of fun.
I played with the oil, letting it fall onto his chest, stomach and of course the nice temperature allowed me to drizzle a few spots onto his cock – a delightful sight, all slippy and slidey once my hand had been there. Honestly, my mouth was watering after this and a sneaky few light kisses and licks up his shaft and head may have escaped my lips. I’m proud to say I’m a lot more generous than I used to be when it comes to oral sex, having started out with a slight aversion to it, I am now finding myself yearning to go down on him sometimes. I think his compliments have helped mightily. Apparently I’m very good 
Anyway…
Mister showed his appreciation for my attention to detail by going and switching on me – as he usually does – fired up from the massage he manoeuvred himself over me and returned the favour of the massage with his own, wonderful talents on my breasts and then turning me over onto my back. Feeling the warm oil made a welcome change from the at times chilly stuff we’re used to. I do so hate the cold. Cheekily, he dripped the oil over my arse making me wriggle as it slid between my buttocks, following the liquid’s movements with his own fingers, trailing over my skin then down between my legs. My moans were low and guttural – the sound of a highly turned on LadyP. The heady mix of the oil’s aroma and Mister’s concentrated focus on my pussy led to a series of intense orgasms, leaving me gasping into the pillows and clasping onto the sheets.
All I can say is – if you haven’t tried it, go and buy a massage candle. They are wonderful. Really, really wonderful. It sets you at ease, relaxes you and leads into some very fun, sensual sex. And who knows, it may even lead to try out wax-play.
Bringing Kink Back
I was bound.
Bound and face down on the bed.
Bound, face down and naked. I was horny as hell. And I was smiling. He just couldn’t see it, my head between the pillows.
I could feel the heat permeating up through my body. He’d tied my wrists together and knotted the blue cord to the metal bedframe. One of my greater pervertible creations – an old dressing gown tie. Long and strong, it was also kind on my skin. Which was handy as Mister was going to make me strain against the binds that held me. He was going to make me pull the cord but it wasn’t going to give way like others we’ve used.
With my eyes closed, I waited and listened to hear what he would bring to the bed. He was rustling about our collection of boxes and bags we keep squirrelled away. I had already told him that I was his tonight. That I was to be used however he wished.
My mind wandered whilst I waited. The last time we brought the kink out, I was in the driving seat. I had explored the kitchen utensils for the first time with him. Jointly, we had made the executive decision that wooden spatula = good, but small wooden round-headed hard spoon = not good for smacky Mister time (I think it has something to do with the spread of impact of the spatula versus the centralised force of the spoon). I got a little carried away.
Apparently.
I thought it was jolly good fun.
He brought me soon out of my reverie with a bang. He had chosen the tassly whip. Such a good choice. As it passed over the flesh of my buttocks, the initial sting had to be soon suppressed as he delivered another, better-aimed blow across my skin. The first flinch amused him – I could hear the slight exhalation that I could imagine was accompanied with a smile. After each series of blows he smoothed them over with his warm hands, soothing out each welt almost. He focused on my arse to begin with before surprising me by aiming a hit over my left shoulder-blade. He had never done that before. He was taking a leaf out of my book.
By this time the arousal I had built up was tangible. I felt as though I was exuding waves of heat from my skin – from the welts, from my sex. Even before he had started, the anticipation had made me wet, now he was in his stride I was extremely slick, I could feel the moisture dripping between my labia. He, of course, upped the game and began to make me squirm further by moving his finger to toy with my lips. Dipping in and out of my pussy, up to my clitoris. Here was where he really worked his mischief. Alternating between swipes with the whip, he lightly brushed against my clit, quickly wiggling just the tip of his finger for a few seconds – enough to make me moan and gasp – before rushing away to spank my arse. He did this a few times and then I started to growl. I needed more. But I was in no situation to complain. He could have stopped at any moment to spite me and there wasn’t anything I could do. My hands were preventing me from it.
It wasn’t long until he too felt that the urge which I had being enduring for what seemed like an age become unbearable. He momentarily left to gather for himself a condom to return and enter me from a much missed position – me face down, legs slightly apart as his own straddled me. His cock pushed in – little resistance met either mentally or physically from me. He had plied me well for his intentions. I imagined he would thrust away until the inevitable result, but once more he had a trick up his sleeve.
He stopped and started. After a few delicious thrusts he withdrew to kiss and bite down on the back of my neck then plunging back within me. By this time I was completely lost, my low moans gradually building in pitch, fervour and speed. Breathing ragged, he pulled at my long dark tresses causing my back to arch up to meet him.
Needless to say he had me coming within moments.
***
As we rested, he and I, my breathing gently returning to its normal pace, I realised I hadn’t even noticed I was still tied to the bed. With an appealing glance to him he carefully released my wrists. Yet I didn’t move them from their position for a few moments.
I’m a natural submissive, although I am quietly eager for my turn to hunt around and rustle through the bags and boxes.
Bidden
There are days when Mister realises I’m just begging for it. For him. He doesn’t need to be told, permitted, allowed or requested. He just does it.
All went relatively well over what potentially could have been a stressful Christmas which turned out to only have one family upset on Christmas Eve (result!). We’ve now officially returned to our flat in Devon on the English Riviera from visiting family in the deeper, darker parts of Devon (we don’t stray far from the tree) and spent a lazy evening on the sofa.
Mister knows very well how affected I am by a spanking. Even a light tap or thwack on my behind is enough to start me going. Many are the times when his casual pats turn into something a lot more strong in nature and passion. Consequently, my hopes were raised when, after curling up with him in front of the TV, he began in this manner this evening.
I don’t know what it is, perhaps the implicit connotations of being punished for being bad, doing something I shouldn’t – transgressions, but as soon as he lay his palm on my ass I got that familiar and welcome flush of heat rising from below. Adrenaline, excitement and arousal. My pussy woke up immediately. Nothing gets me wetter more quickly than a good spanking. As usual, he started out lightly, after each contact he stroked along my flanks and the inside of my thighs.
‘You’re misbehaving again,’ I said to him. I like to give a slight impression non-compliance with his actions. Even though we both know I want it and will never stop him.
His other hand crept up to feel my breasts before slipping under my top to unhook my bra. Again, a small murmur of disapproval swept over my lips, a light chastisement perhaps.
‘You’re lucky I’m so loose with you,’ I half-whispered, adjusting myself neatly into his body, pressing against him. Cock-tease that I am.
Twisting around, I caught his crystal blue eyes staring straight at me – he does this every time. He watches me, my movements, my expressions. Intently. My own eyes, half-lidded now after his careful attention, smiled back as I kissed him. Kisses after foreplay has started, for us, have more depth to them. They’re not the shorter, anticipatory kisses at the start of foreplay. The blood has already started to rush, and my mouth is more sensitive to his lips on them. I savour those kisses.
By now he had eased his hands into loosening my jeans and knickers and was enjoying toying with my slickness his spanking had delivered.
‘Stay there,’ he spoke to me – No worries, I wasn’t in any mood to run anywhere. He returned with a condom and resumed his toying. Fingers dancing on my clit, lightly, gently all the while watching me. His face close to mine – I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Breath that was deepening with my own.
‘I’m going to fuck you now.’
‘Please…’ was all I could manage in response to that. He slipped inside - I was so very wet and turned on. That first thrust always, forever making me gasp. Every time. The gasp of another presence within me, the gasp of relief, fulfillment. He continued to touch me as we moved slowly against one another, still lightly, still gently. He’s taken on board my advice not to try to break me with his fervour when he fingers me. Despite how much ‘fun’ he has when he does so. The devil.
After all was ended and we resumed watching Jonathan Creek (hmm, plot got a little lost for a while) we lay there, both of us half undressed, him still with his hand down my front, bringing me down from the high. He knows me so well – I can’t just have the sex and then nothing. I need the come down. Like sport, I seem to require the warm up followed by the actual event rounded off with the warm down. Gosh, I’m quite needy. Damn the high sex-drive.
We settled in to the rest of the evening and now I am contemplating where next to take things. After last night’s blow-job (in my sister’s spare room after a fab fancy-dress New Year’s Eve party) and today’s spanking I think we’re even on the treats. Not that I’m keeping tally or anything…
It’s good to be home.
Happy 2009!
[Edit ~ I seem to have lied in the last post where I mentioned at the end I would dedicate this post to the return of the Kink. That particular incident will be reported to you in due course. It was very enjoyable so I doubt I shall let it slip from my blog's grasp. Pandorah x]
Your Favourite Things – Guitarists vs. Singers
Who is the sexiest of the musicians?
Continuing from previous posts by myself and other bloggers I have been pondering. Which musician is the more sexy? The confident and showy singers or the passionate yet side-lined guitarists? I have my preference – guitarists every time. Not even the singers who play at the same time get my loins all fired up as much as those guitarists do. And I do have a penchant for all things musical that awaken the Minx.
In my first year of University (a failed attempt at a Law degree. Hated that and swapped location and subject after a year) I was at a gig in the Student Union bar. It was a little bit of a dive, dingy and ill-lit, but it had a good atmosphere and a good space for crowds (Mister and I went to a couple of fetish-themed nights there) and I discovered my desires for guitarists. Now, I already had a thing going for them, what with Mister being the talented minstrel that he is, but I had never really felt any other stirrings by an outside force. Until the night I saw that guitarist play on stage in the Student Union. The song wasn’t really up to much and the other members of the band are pretty much non-entities in my memory now and I even think the band were actually part of a big orchestra/big band type thing (see – blinkers on), but the guitarist. Well. He was entertaining. Muchly so.
He was dressed in a suit, so he had Brownie points in my mind’s eye already – suits are delicious on men, I just wanna rip them straight out of them – and whilst I can’t remember even what genre of music he was playing, his peformance was electrifying. Every inch of his body was being poured into his concentration for the song. All his focus was funelled into his guitar and even the tiniest raising of his shoulder indicated to me that here was a guy who had such a passion for his art. I was mesmerised.
It made me look at Mister’s own playing in a new light. Lately, since we’ve been in our flat, there’s rarely an evening that goes by without him playing, tinkering away, almost to the level of monotony over and over his tunes. Some melodies the work of others and some the work of his own. Predominantly self-taught as well, he’s one of the most talented amateur (although the word kinda sticks in my throat when I apply it to him) guitarists I’ve had the pleasure of being in their presence. You may say I’m biased, but hey – if a girl can stick with a guy for over five years when he has a habit of getting so locked into a riff that he will sit and play continuously for a few hours, then well – he’s got something going for him.
So anyway – returning to the poser for this post:
Which makes for the sexiest musician, Guitarists or Singers?
I am excluding from this question frontmen/women singers who also play guitar if you feel the need to refer to individuals from any famous bands out there.
I quite like Nicky Wire from the Manics – he gets all dressed up and has a great stage presence in my view. Plus his Mrs is a librarian which makes me like him all the more (not that I’m a librarian, but I do adore the books). There are tons more guitarists, but he comes to mind at the moment as Mister’s been looking up their version of Last Christmas to play over this festive season (can’t face the shame of looking up the Wham version I suppose).
So – share!
Your Favourite Things – Fantasising
Escapism is a wonderful idea, isn’t it?
Caught on a wave of dreams, you are whisked away from the dull November rain that’s malingering outside your windowsill at work when a pause in your schedule appears albeit briefly. Your head brightens with images of a field with long, willowy grass rippling in the wind. As if captured cinematically, the frame sweeps over to locate a large blanket flattening the young stems. Zooming in, the tartan fabric is protecting two figures from the creepy crawlies beneath them. Two figures lying wrapt in each other’s company.
I know. Clichéd. But it’s one of my most happy daydreams.
When I can’t sleep at night I go there to switch off from the work thoughts. I try to imagine the soft wind on my skin. I am always alone at first, enjoying the solitude and being in that wide expanse of green. Turning around to face the opposite direction I am pleasantly surprised to see him there next to me. He’s got an unkempt look to him. Rugged and unshaven. Clothes haphazardly put on. Just another reason to get him out of them. My eyes glint and my lips smile sideways as I roll into him with a yelp of glee.
The question all this is leading to for you to partake in is:
When do you begin to drift away into thoughts of a steamier nature?
During the day at work? At night alone? When your clinch is lying next to you as you drift into post-coital snoozes?
I was once in a drama workshop during my A-Levels my Sixth Form College where we were imagining all these potential locations you could find inner solace – the beach, the aforementioned field – and we set about visualising a warm sensation moving all over our bodies (I know – am-dram stuff, but it was fun). I don’t know about the others lying about on the floor with me during this, but I couldn’t help but find it all rather sensual. A familar warm fuzziness. I like to do something a little similar nowadays. I use the same focused thoughts and concentration to picture Mister roving his mouth, tongue and lips all over my body. From small nibbles to deep, lingering kisses high up on the inside of my thighs. If I think hard enough, and am not disturbed by any outside influences (noisy neighbours) I can bring myself to a climax. It’s only happened a limited number of times, but when it has, WOW. Perhaps I will go into detail about this at a later date.
Well then, my dears…over to you.
