Bloglift

Because this little blog is now 5 years old, I decided to give it a bit of a facelift.

This is what happens when you grow up in the public eye, after all. At first you're fresh and cute, then gradually your age starts to show, with unfavourable comparisons to the younger models becoming embarrassingly frequent.

It starts with innocent little questions like "Mon, why don't you have automatic backlinks for each post?"

Cue the old-geezer reply: "Heh? What's that? Some newfangled invention for bloggery? In my time, young whippersnapper, we didn't have automated backlinks, oh no, we had to scour the internet in our spare time looking for references to ourselves, then painstakingly hand-sew them into the blog posts, writing out lines of HTML in longhand..."

"HTML?" asks the youngster. "What's that? We just use templates, old man. We have better things to write than stupid HTML code!"

And so it has come to pass that the template gets updated, and I treat myself to a silicone bum-injection.

50 words: Exactly

"I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do," she said.

I instructed her to stand still while I undressed.

Swaying slightly on her stilettos, I could see her getting more fidgety; by the time she was blindfolded and bent over, she trembled ever so slightly.

Take it easy

I was under the impression we were taking it easy, until she unzipped my jeans and took my half-hard cock in her mouth. Sitting on her sofa, I had been in her small North London flat for less than 10 minutes, and already I was having this enjoyable problem: When the hostess hands you a glass full of sparkling water, then immediately goes down on you, where do you put the glass?

There was no table within reach. I leaned back, relishing the feeling of her cool, fresh mouth around my hardening cock. She'd just had a large sip of cold water before pouncing on me.

"Ummm. Fuck. Mmmmm.... Rosie?"

"Mmmhmmm," she answered with her mouth full.

"I'm... aaaah.... holding a glass of.... fuck."

She came up for air and noticed my predicament. Laughing she took the glass and put it on the table.

"We're not in a rush, are we?"

"Sorry, no. I've just been looking forward to a bit of male company."

I began to unbutton her black shirt. One button at a time. Slowly. Pinching a nipple now and then.

Rosie giggled, stood up and pulled the shirt off, over her head. She was on to me with the teasing.

"Actually," she said, pulling her jeans down around her hips. "I'm just too fucking horny."

She tossed the jeans aside. Stroking a breast with one hand, and caressing the bulge of her pubis through the silky fabric of her knickers, she stood in front of me, her hand inches away from my nose.

I leaned back, and stroked my cock. "Really?" I asked, like it was all a big marvelous surprise.

She bent over to take it in her mouth. "You know, I'm just going to suck on this for a minute, and then I really need you to fuck my brains out."

"No rush," I said as her lips slid down the shaft of my cock. "Take all the time you want."

Songs in the key of X

Susie Bright, the deviant goddess of sexwriting editors, has pulled together a musical sampler for her freshly published trove of goodies - X: The Erotic Treasury. Despite repeated attempts, I've been unable to embed the player here, but here's the full list of songs and why the writers picked them.

Yes, I happen to be on this very list of contributors. My smut, expertly edited by Susie, has been printed on creamy soft paper, pressed between the handsome covers... and if you detect a hint of smirky self-satisfaction here you're entirely right. Enjoy the tunes - normal blogging service will resume shortly.

Welt

The scratches down my forearm lasted only a day or so. There were marks a bit longer where she had dug her nails into the mound of my deltoid while I held her thighs apart and slid my tongue up and down the length of her slit. Her scent filled my nostrils and she ground the wet softness of her cunt into my face - in the midst of all this I couldn't possibly notice the welts forming on my skin. Or rather, I noticed, but I didn't care, the sensation adding to the intoxication of the moment.

When I got up to find the condoms, she lunged for my cock with her mouth. Playing the game, I couldn't let her get what she wanted so easily. I slapped her face softly but firmly with the flat of my hand.

"Restrain yourself, or you'll get punished."

She smirked and took another shot, her mouth open, hungry.

I slapped her again across the face, harder, back and forth, the palm and the back of my hand striking the warm, flushed cheeks. To keep her still I held her head by clutching a handful of her brown curls between my fingers.

Once the condom was on I had the good sense to hold her down by the wrists while I slid myself into the twitching grasp of her pussy.

Taxi

Even after my years in cities I still get a buzz from stepping into a taxi, instructing the driver and being taken where I want to go. There's a subtle erotic pleasure in submitting to the confinement, being conducted through the traffic, and the possibility that this car could be going anywhere.

Then there is the addictive electricity of being driven to meet someone, anticipation and anxiety bumping up against each other while the car approaches the destination.

I will be naked within minutes of standing up from this seat.

But it isn't just the anticipation, it's the sense of being taken away. Even for just a little while.

Security

Connie was waiting for me at the outdoor cafe in front of Big Museum. The first thing I noticed was that she didn't have a handbag so much as a piece of luggage, lurking next to her chair like a medium-sized dog. She'd settled in comfortably, sipping a large latte, wearing sunglasses and a large smile. Clearly, the anticipation of an afternoon spent indoors on this lovely summer day seemed to please her a great deal.

I realised immediately why she hadn't wanted to wait for me inside - the dog-sized bag. The serious uniformed security staff at the entrance would probably have raised an eyebrow or two at the contents during bag search. Although, come to think about it, if you search bags for a living in London, chances are you've pretty much seen everything already. A couple of silicone dildos and a bit of bondage tape couldn't be the worst of it. Even at a museum.

"So what do you have in there?" I asked when I sat down next to her under the umbrella, discreetly stroking her thigh.

"I brought lunch," she smiled cheerfully, pointing at the plastic bag at her feet. "And fun stuff," pointing at her handbag.

"Want to go inside, see what the security guards say when they look in your bag to make sure you're not a terrorist?"

"Why not? I can just see the Daily Mail headline: 'Suburban Adulteress Caught in the War on Terror.'"

"Good point." We kept well away from the entrance.

A remarkably short while later, I was sliding her translucent pink knickers down her thighs. She stretched out and wiggled her bottom against the mattress. And just as I delicately traced the length of her labia with the tip of my tongue, relishing the ticklish anticipation of having her in my mouth, I felt a giggle coming on.

Connie spread her legs further, wanting my tongue on her clit...

The giggle kept pushing its way up out of the pit of my stomach. I had my face between the legs of a beautiful woman purring with horny appetite, and I couldn't concentrate. The thought kept accosting me: Her roomy handbag being unpacked by a squad of grim-faced security guards, a burly man with latex gloves, pulling a thick, long pink dildo out of it, his eyes trailing longingly along the bulging veins of the shaft...

It escaped, this giggle. It just had to get out.

If there's one thing worse than laughing in someone's face, it's laughing in the face of their genitals. Particularly in a state of arousal.

"What?" She wasn't exactly pleased.

I looked up from in between her thighs. "Sorry, I just couldn't help thinking about the War on Terror..."

She started laughing.

"You wouldn't happen to have a huge pink dildo with you?" I had to ask.