Valentine’s day soon…

February 13, 2015


Spilt food on the floor…

February 13, 2015


Women and religion….

February 13, 2015


Good posture….

February 13, 2015



February 13, 2015


There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.

Diane Setterfield
The Thirteenth Tale

Made of Fireworks….

February 13, 2015


You shouldn’t have
come here, made
of fireworks, if you
didn’t want me to
play with fire.

Iain S. Thomas

Panty wank…

February 13, 2015


Gabriella will often wrap her panties round my cock and wank me off. She has such strong yet supple wrists. Like one of those women who worked the streets in Spain some years ago, streets like Calle Echegaray in Madrid or the parks after dark. Pajilleras they were called. Fricatrices with a good wrist action. Masturbators. Wankers who could bring a man off in under two minutes. Often in under a minute. In shop doorways or cobbled passageways you’d find them waiting with their huge white handkerchiefs.

Yeah, she is so business-like as she works on it. So damned focused. My intimate encounters with her tend to be casual, brief, and messy…But to delay the inevitable, I try to think on non-sexual things, like falling rain, or my aunt Mabel. Whatever takes my mind away from that tight fist and its rapid rhythm…

The window’s open, the stars are bright…I must get a haircut soon.

My fingers slip down her spine as if it were the cover of a book. The intensity of her gaze on my cock is frightening. Like she’s trying to hypnotise it into giving up its cream. I love the little crinkle above her nose as she looks at me like that. Her eyes…they’re fucking me forever. Relentless. She will have her way.

Oh, she will.

And the devil is dancing at the doorstep. My mouth fills with her name and spills it over her hands in thick jetting spurts. Gabriella’s mouth traps my breath. She tastes of oranges, of sunlight, her tongue flicking over mine –

When Dee gives a handjob, unlike Gabriella, she does it low and slow. She teases. She loves to control cock. Her careful ministrations make you ache in a way that is almost unbearable. And she takes her time, too, draws it out to the point where you feel you will explode or die in her hands. Those butterfly touches on the uncovered glans, like faint scars on sensitive skin, fill your head to the exclusion of all else. These incredible sensations take you to the edge…But Dee will not allow you to fall.

She releases you. Grips the base of the shaft tightly. Some spunk leaks out. And, after a momentary hesitation, she starts teasing again, gently pressing, rubbing. Dee edges you this way five or six times before she allows you to climax.

And that final release, is a terrible beauty. Inarticulate cries. Cock involuntarily jerking, spurting its creamy libation up across your chest and neck. Each spasm of your body like dying. This woman has touched you with feckin’ chaos. Control has gone. You have metamorphosed into pure cock. A stiff, spunking cock.

And the only thing in your mind, repeating over and over, is that feckin’ Kate Bush song: “Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!”

And when you’ve regained your composure a little. When you begin to believe again that there’s more to you than just cock. That’s when Dee parts her thighs, smiles at you and says, ‘My turn now. Put your face down there. Put your face down…’

And, again, you think: “Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!”

Feckin’ incredible!

Clock ticking…

February 13, 2015


Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.

Haruki Murakami
Dance Dance Dance


February 13, 2015

when wet

Wine is….

February 13, 2015