peel away all conventions

November 29, 2015

Rain

When you remove love from sex you enter a mansion with many rooms shaded in nuance and excess, an invitation to peel away all conventions and programming. A chance to explore your hidden self. You shed something and clothe yourself in something else. Sex is the greatest of gifts. Orgasm a glimpse of perfection.”

Chloe Thurlow
Girl Trade

The Big O

November 29, 2015

Masturbationwoman

The Female Orgasm. The Big O. That elusive, reclusive Loch Ness of the labia. Does it prove the existence of God, or just His twisted sense of humor?”

Kirstie Collins Brote
Beware of Love in Technicolor

First time anal sex

November 29, 2015

Anal

Sunday, girls will play…

November 29, 2015

saurdaygirlsatplaysaturdaygirlsatplay3saturdaygirlsatplay2saturdaygirlsatplay

What happened to Saturday…?

November 29, 2015

Loversembrace

Friday night was party night. Christmas celebrations for the non-celibate. The venue: a country house, labyrinthine in its complexity, once home to the Little Sisters of Mercy. This convent house took in fallen women back in the day, girls aged between twelve and forty years old, placed in the care of the nuns by local magistrates. Here they served two years in the convent’s steamy laundry. And learnt the benefits of hard toil in the formation of character. And gave their lady-parts a well deserved rest. In the early nineteen thirties the order, greatly diminished in size by then, finally abandoned the convent and the house became the property of the affluent Tee family.

The great hall, all vaulted ceilings, clerestory windows, with this single rose window at one end, had more than its fair share of pillars, pilasters and arched doorways – medieval in appearance: mock gothic. Long tables set for the many diners, draped in white lace clothes. Eight courses of food, commencing with canapés: pear, camembert and prosciutto wraps, king prawns with sweet chilli sauce…I had the beetroot and goat’s cheese cups, and a wonderful mushroom vol-au-vent.

Strong drink flowed. Wine by the goblet, white, red and rosé. Raucous conversation, flushed faces. Like Lordes and Ladyes of some bygone era. Caroline Tee explained in her plumy voice how she once enacted her favorite fantasy in this hall – she took the part of a nun in training, a novice in pure white habit, tied down across a make-shift alter and then systematically fucked in every orifice by five young men who “slaved” away at their task for most of the day.

‘Paid them an ABSOLUTE fortune.’

‘You are soooo shocking Caro, so dissolute…’ Regina declared. She looked twenty-one-or-two years old, but was mother to five children. It was only on closer inspection you noticed the faint lines around eyes and mouth and realised she must be mid-to-late thirties. ‘It’s hard to know if we should take you seriously or not.’

Donald Tee, Caroline’s husband, is a plump homosexual. It’s possible he fathered one of Caro’s three children…the others, necessary heirs to the Tee estate one and all, were the result of Caro’s love trysts, simple and complex. Don sat beside a pretty young man who had long flowing golden locks, his latest love interest. The boy wore a snug-fitting Dolce & Gabbana shirt and tight black slacks. Full of the Christmas spirit, the pair of them. Smiles and toasting each other in prosecco.

After the food, music. Swaying bodies. Semi-transparent blouses, clinging lycra. Laughter and kisses. More and more intoxicated. A tongue in my mouth, a fall of blonde hair. A plump woman, forty-something, wearing a long black evening dress. Her lips were dry.

Another woman in a lace and mesh teddy, her dress thrown off, abandoned, waving this massive dildo as thick as a man’s arm in the air.

My fleshy Amazonian cheered her on. Up close her huge cleavage smelled of mandarin body butter. ‘Remember the promise you made me,’ she said.

Other women shed their dresses along with their inhibitions. Corsets, lacy basques. Silk stockings. Laser lights and disco music. A nubile young thing in floral lace body stocking, her boyfriend nude, erect. Both laughing.

I’m being guided away from the hall. Up two flights of stairs. A large bedroom. Night pressing on the lattice windows. She strips off the evening dress, exposes a black lace body- shaper and matching bra.

‘Your promise,’ she repeated, pushing me back on the bed. For a minute she was all hands. My trousers were unfastened, tugged down to my knees, my shirt unbuttoned. Throwing back her head, she kneeled either side of my face. Monumental white thighs. Broad backside encased in black lace.

Her fingers conjured magic between her legs: opened the gusset of her body-shaper. Thick curling hair, fleshy lips. My Amazon dreamed of being trapped by cannibals. She began a new dance, and I was smothered in musky damp flesh.

My head started to swim. My tongue was sandstone thick, lapping deeply. We had arrived at bare essentials. Drowning in pussy juice. So much ferocity in her, this big beautiful woman. This earth mother. Who ripped at my cock each time she came so profusely in my mouth.

Later, outside, I inhaled deeply cold fresh air. It had stopped raining but was very windy. Scudding cloud backlit by the moon. I’d washed my face and mouth, and brushed my teeth back in my own room. But I could still “taste” my curvy facesitter. My cannibal loving nemeses.

Another dumpy woman pulled me to her. She tossed aside her cigarette. Kissed my mouth and neck. One large tit pushed up from of the cup of her bra, hung pendulously out of her red dress. Big dark nipple fed to me roughly. In the corridor upstairs, half-undressed, I kissed breasts, belly and buttocks. She had crushed glass eyes. Big and white and lascivious. Somewhere in her centre she spontaneously combusted.

In the hall, more wine. Bodies together in spotless geometries of passion. Caroline Tee smiling in my face. Broad front teeth made her look a little horsey. ‘I’ve had nine cocks up me so far,’ she said. Dishes on the tables overflowing with condoms. The dance floor was sticky underfoot – spilled drink and spunk puddled on the boards. White hands unzipping my fly. A woman old enough to be my granny, but attractive nevertheless, led me by the cock back to her lair. I glanced over my shoulder at Caro, nude and naughty.

Kissing ribs, a nipple. A depilated cunt. When she came I thought she was having somekind of fit. I told myself repeatedly the dizziness would fade. In the hall Caro called me to her. I had no clothes, they were strewn around the house. Caro was astride a male (who?) riding his cock. ‘Put yours up my bum,’ she hissed. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Not ready yet.’ I had just emptied myself in dear granny Weatherall’s greedy cunt.

She scowled at me. ‘Lick it out then. Do something. I’m almost there.’

Lowering my face, I watched her skinny arse chasing his balls. I pushed forward, breaking off to ask, ‘Okay?’

‘For Godsake, LICK it!’

Night inevitably became day. Sleepless, I found myself surrounded by cardboard ghosts. Ghost hands touching my cock, my balls. Lips brushed mine. A slender finger went into me, lubricating.

Fragmented memories survive: The terrifying softness of curvy bodies. Imprint of too tight underwear on pale naked flesh. Huge eyes. A tongue in my ear. A woman squatting above my face in the shower. The smell of her hair as I came up her.

‘Lay back,’ she said. ‘I need to pee again – ’

And then her quick shallow breathing as I licked her out afterwards…

Late Saturday afternoon my cab arrived. Clothing earlier recovered, I made my fond farewells to our hosts. My body felt bruised and battered. My shrunken cock was burning like a piece of raw fish that had been liberally dipped in thick piri-piri. I had slept not one wink.

Caro kissed me gently on the lips. I gazed from her thin neck to her warm blue eyes. ‘We’re thinking of doing it again for New Year’s Eve,’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘You up for it?’

‘I s’pose,’ I said. ‘I should have recovered by then…’