The best part of fighting is…

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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 !!

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 !!