28th May

Sunday: a day for contemplation; for gentle caresses and kisses. A day for love. Today we may defy the abyss together –

Your tongue plays in my mouth. Then the mad trembling of copulation and our shared frenzy – all before breakfast.

Genital pleasure, you know, is a form of ardent religiosity! So very apt for a Sunday, don’t you think?

Then after lunch, carnival masks and carnality. MH sacrifices his wife to us in order to caress your naked breasts. She is pale and plump and wears an ample pair of French knickers, purple in colour. While MH pumps between your spread legs on the sofa, we use his poor wife on the floor. She cums with a series of gasps and a tiny shudder. Her perfume is strong, cloying, not pleasant at all. I can still smell it now…that and the odour of her sex on my fingers –

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Sex is imprisoned in a gothic fortress of taboos – and these we must continuously transgress to overcome the terrible isolation that faces each and every one of us in life.

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Drinks follow the crescendo of our clinically engineered sexual encounter. Then food: quesadillas filled with four cheeses, these followed by homemade vanilla and cinnamon ice cream which I serve with toasted nuts and chocolate sauce.

All slightly surreal, I agree.

We sit eating, the five of us, like characters from an Iris Murdoch novel. Gabriella drinks white wine, a rather good Riesling. I drink brandy. MH sips a cold beer, while Mrs MH swills gin & tonic with intrepid enthusiasm – as if to forget her recent distracted quiescence, and her desultory orgasm on the carpet. Or perhaps it’s the sight of her hubby’s pimpled backside between Dee’s spread thighs she wishes to expunge from memory?

We play dress up. Bundles of fancy dress items carried down from the boxroom. Much laughter. Mrs MH’s swaying tits as she tries on a ball gown. MH wants to fuck Gabriella, but she isn’t interested. Instead she offers to pleasure plump Mrs MH with a strapon, while he watches their labouring bodies. Dee in red silk panties will act as his fricatrice. I will fetch the box of tissues and the KY.

The MHs finally leave us about nine-thirty. We go up to shower and change, and after that I fix fresh drinks. We are all a little drunk. And we end this damp, eager Sunday by eating fresh jam doughnuts.

Stanley Spencer - Self Portrait with Patricia Preece

I love my husband. And I’m having an affair. At first I didn’t think I was – my husband and I found another couple attractive, then found out over many months they might be the kind that “switch” (they were), and one party led to another.

Turns out he and I are attracted, my husband and his wife aren’t.

We started an email, text, phone call relationship for 6 months. We had sex a few weeks ago for the first time and it was unbelievable. Today my husband asked if I’d had sex with him. I told him “no”. He was glad, he doesn’t want me to be with him. That makes it really wrong, doesn’t it?

I love my husband so much. I can’t imagine a better man, best friend, so perfect. He has ED. What do I do? I’m so confused, I want my BF but I think I need to hear the truth. Am I wrong? I love my husband and deny him nothing, he just can’t perform. I’m young, not that young, young enough to really enjoy sex but old enough to know I only have a few precious years left.

True Wife Confession

needlepoint

Muggy, misty morning.

I live my life like every day’s my last day. I live like death is just here, just beyond my right shoulder, grinning at me in the dark. It’s been that way since Paris, all those years ago. I’ve lived each moment as if I’d stolen it from death. I’m a feckin’ life thief par excellence…!

I visited a professional dominatrix once, who did some things with needles that she said would “break me”, but they didn’t, although the pain I endured was indescribable. I transcended that pain, became high on it, so high I eat starlight out of the very heart of the feckin’ universe.

Her lounge was an eye opener: oil paintings, aspidistras and wall-to-wall bookshelves. Her dungeon or playroom was actually upstairs. She wore impossibly high-heeled black patent stilettos and elbow length black leather gloves. She told me she had once been a medical secretary but came across a bondage website by accident and thought, ‘I could do that!’ She assured me the wicked looking needles were sterile, before she set to work.

I had acupuncture once and hardly felt the needles being placed in me. But these needles I did feel. Red hot pin points. As she placed them she talked to me, her voice soft and low. ‘I love rainy days,’ she said. ‘Empty shops, the smell of fresh coffee, old books…I always find beauty in things that are odd. I love imperfections…’

I bit down on my tongue until I could taste blood. She deliberately kept me erect as she worked the sharp points of the needles into tender flesh.

She said, ‘People may forget me, forget what I’ve said. But they’ll never forget what I’ve done to them. Not ever…’

I went beyond her, beyond the sound of her voice, the gentle movement of her fingers and the red-hot agony of her needles. I may have told her, ‘I don’t make poetry. I take words and drown them in feelings…’ I’m not sure if I did or not. But if I did speak it was from between tightly clenched teeth.

And as I swallowed starlight and stardust and the stuff of countless suns, I realised she was the moon. She was the moon shining in my darkness.

‘I’m not made of sugar and spice,’ she whispered. ‘Shall I stop? Will you beg? Scream your safe word…?’

Somehow I managed to say, ‘You must do what truly pleases you, Madam. That and nothing more.’ Or at least I think I did. I can’t be certain. Not of anything.

‘Oh, what a brave little soldier you are…’

‘Love marks, and marks…’ Words were a jumble in my mouth.

‘I’ve never known anyone take fifty needles,’ she said. ‘You’ve taken seventy-five. I only have ten left. But, oh, I will place them well, don’t you worry. I will place them so each one feels like hell…’

‘Life is beautiful as long as it consumes you.’ I was so totally apart from everything by then. A truly transcendental moment.

‘So brave, so quiet…’ Points of fire igniting in my groin. ‘See how deep they go. You wouldn’t think it possible, would you?’

I know I resemble a bloody steel hedgehog where she’s been at work. I don’t want to look. My eyes are half-closed, head averted.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’ve had so much fun placing all of those. But now I’m going to have even more fun tugging them out…One by one.’ She giggled. ‘Such violent delights have such violent ends, don’t they?’

The sound of her voice and the fire of those needles was a mantra that induced a wonderful fugue state. I became one with everything. Individuality melting away. Ego dissipating…

Last Friday evening swinging friends arrived from Southampton and the midlands. Saturday we role played, nine of us. For the entertainment and delectation of the ladies, two of the guys “spit roasted” me on the living room floor in the afternoon. Sunday we went out for breakfast, and before lunch Karol, big-boned, freckled, red-headed, took me into the conservatory and used me roughly for an hour or so. They all left very tired, late Sunday afternoon.

And now work calls to me, that old familiar siren song…

colours

So this morning, I’m all about a good ol’ ménage à trois. I live at the back of beyond, like a feckin’ outcast from real life, and I do so at times with two women (one full time, one part time). We (collectively) are the talk of our nearest village.

Wow!

Every man’s dream! Two women…!

Yeah, right. Except it’s not a feckin’ dream, believe me.

Now, I have to be a little circumspect in the comments I make here. I’ve no wish to upset or hurt, or to defame friends or neighbours. Or lovers, come to that.

Some of you may well have experienced a multi-partner sextravaganza of one sort or another. Swinging, swapping, whatever. Good for you. Some of you, too, may have read the Kingsley Amis novel The Green Man. Well, my ménage à trois has more in common with the one depicted in Mr Amis’ book, rather than the average male masturbatory fantasy.

Boys, it is feckin’ neigh impossible to keep one woman happy, let alone two!

My ménage à trois came about by accident. I was in a long term relationship with one woman, who then met and became attracted to another woman. So far so simple. Except simple, it isn’t. These things never are. Because over time I came to fall in love with the second woman, too. Suddenly, I’m living Sartre’s “Huis-clos” and “L’enfer, c’est les autres” for sure!

We are three people hopelessly in love with the idea of being in love with each other. And we are three people at times jealous of, and resentful of, each other. Outside life, work and what-have-you, chews up great chunks of our days. Our combined lives are like organised chaos. At times they are shite, quite honestly. At others like a glimpse of paradise…a paradise never quite obtained! But we have each other, always…like any ordinary couple – only we are a triple! And like any ordinary couple, there are stresses and strains (oh, boy, are there).

Often I feel like the odd one out. The girls are co-conspirators who take each other’s side against me…At least that’s the way I see it.

You can almost taste my paranoia, eh?

Occasionally, they delight in scoring points off each other. Invariably they’ll try to use me in their little games. I’ll become the unwilling and unsuspecting shuttlecock slammed back and forth between them.

Ours is no fairy-tale romance. I think that’s the biggest problem for Gabby. She loves Dee, wants a close, intimate, long-term relationship with her. She has a head full of crazy ideas of romantic love, and the unavailability of her ideal seems only to provided further fuel to these romantic fantasies.

In an ideal world she would marry Dee, and live happily ever after – like in the movies or a fairy-tale. But Dee will never marry. She’s made it very clear that if her worldview should suffer a sudden sea-change, she certainly wouldn’t marry another woman. She enjoys men and adventures too much.

Dee pulls no punches. She tells it as it is.

For myself I follow the advice of Rainer Maria Rilke who says, to ‘love the distances in a relationship as much as the togetherness.’

We are lucky, however, and I believe the three of us recognise that much. We work well together as a unit. We learn from each other, and we hardly ever fight…The day-to-day pleasures of sharing our lives is the thing makes us stronger – happier! We make each other laugh. We have much in common.

And then there’s the sex – regular stoking of the old neurochemicals triggers even greater loving feelings between us. Know what I mean?

The girls like their alone time together. In the beginning I felt totally superfluous to requirements, the proverbial spare prick at the wedding. But now I’ve adjusted to this. Nights spent in the guest bedroom aren’t that bad, and the girls always make it up to me afterwards. Guilt makes them very loving…

What I really love best, is the way we sit after our evening meal, let the silence seize the cluttered room, while we remain alone together. These are the times I long to last forever…

Life in the country…

April 6, 2015

games we play

The question is often asked by our visitors –

‘What d’you do with yourself all day long, tucked away here in the middle of nowhere?’

These people (urbanites one and all) see rural life as a punishment, a form of banishment from the bright lights of the city’s sprawl. Living, here, in the midst of rolling moorland equates to a kind of death sentence…As if missing out on those crowds of begging Roma gypsies on Kilburn High Road, or the nose-to-tail traffic jams throughout the city, is a terrible sin! The city’s sights and smells, the down-and-outs sleeping in shopdoorways at night, or the street prostitutes offering a quick handjob for a fiver, are as essential to life as breathing! Or that’s what they’d have you believe.

‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ I hear myself say, weakly.

Toby and Divina, down touring for the weekend, called on us yesterday. We had lunch and rather a lot to drink. Toby asked the question…

‘In London there’s all the nightlife,’ he said. ‘There’s clubs and groups and what-have-you.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Trenye has a chess club which meets in the British Legion every Wednesday evening.’

‘Oh, WOW!’ Toby is obviously not impressed.

‘There are other clubs and things,’ Dee said.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘There’s the Cornish Kinksters…They organise Deviant Dining Days.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Toby and Divina are both compulsive swingers; they are addicted to swapping and all that goes with that particular lifestyle choice.

‘No, he’s not.’ Dee, smiling, shrugs. ‘It’s the God’s gospel, Tob.’

‘There’s a BDSM club near Redruth,’ I added. ‘Down on the coast there’s Chain & Chastity…And over on Dartmoor there’s the Dartmoor Bitches Club…it’s for female tops and dominants. They meet once a month to discuss whipping techniques, to share experiences, and, on occasion, to lick a little pussy.’

‘No way!’ Total shock. Toby ran a hand through reddish hair.

‘It’s true.’

‘Peedeel enjoys the Colonic Fetish Clinic most, though, don’t you darling?’ Dee said. ‘It’s over on the north coast. They do bed and breakfast there. The ladies are fully trained therapists, and they provide a wide range of services…’

Mention of the clinic made me shudder. One birthday I had been driven over there and left in the merciless hands of nursey and matron for the day. I have imprinted on my brain the menu of treatments on offer: bladder washout, scrotal inflation, enema play; for ladies into playing doctors and nurses, there was the gynecological examination…

Dee had already decided and arranged my treatments. I had no say in the matter. I found myself on a table, restrained. They collected samples from me by “electronic means” which I’ll not describe further here. I was given a full examination…Reflex testing, penis and testicle palpation. I then underwent penis enlargement therapy, which entailed the use of pumps and various vacuum tubes etc which added a full two inches to my penis length (at least temporarily) but was very uncomfortable. A full rectal examination (even more uncomfortable) which included rectal dilation. This consisted of manual and mechanical stretching. Various implements were then used to stimulate, massage and examine the prostate…

This was followed by the High Colonics…a particularly invasive treatment lasting 45 minutes or so. Here matron and nursey insert an 8″ speculum into your backside. I remember I cried –

OUCH!

when they did it. Matron sat beside me. She had total control of my bowl movements. The Colonic machine did all the work, while matron held the speculum firmly in place. Nursey periodically rubbed my penis to keep it fully erect throughout the procedure.

It was a nightmare, believe me!

A taste of hell.

I have nightmares still of matron and nursey standing side-by-side in their heavily lubricated latex gloves and starched uniforms; matron with a coil of neoprene tubing wrapped over her shoulder, and nursey with that sadistic lopsided grin she wears whenever she penetrates you with something unpleasant.

My description of the ordeal I suffered at that hellish ‘clinic’ kept everyone amused, although I think Divina was a tad shocked by my unexpected revelations, which surprised me.

Three years ago Dee decided she had a passion for Toby. They were staying with us for a long weekend, so we ‘swapped’. Dee spent a night with Toby and I curled up with the delightful Divina. One thing that has always stuck in my mind about that night was how lacking in passion Divina seemed. She lay back and let me get on with it. Like a ragdoll that I moved and manipulated. Her legs over my shoulders. My face buried in her muff…

She sighed, she moaned softly. Her legs yawned impossibly as I sucked and licked at her like a starving man.

She came suddenly, convulsively, almost silently. She came not once but five times during the course of that night. In the morning, when we were due to return to our respective partners, she said, ‘Shall we do that again tonight? It was rather fun, I thought…’

But now Dee is telling them both about Mistress de la douleur and her huge house on the edge of the moor.

‘Peedeel loves it there,’ she said. ‘The woman is a professional mistress and provides a full range of BDSM services. But Peedeel is addicted to her disciplined massage…’

Oh, boy and girls, what can I say? You are there under restraint, naked, blindfolded. Mistress has a helper in attendance, sweet, sadistic Saskia. You feel for the first time hot oil spilling onto every part of your body…this fires your senses in a way hard to describe. Your cock swells and pulses as the hot oil trickles between your legs, covering balls and thighs…You long for touch, for the mistress or Saskia to massage that oil in…to touch and to tease, but for this you must wait!

You feel naked bodies close as four hands blend the warm oil over you. It’s almost as if you are encased in female flesh…It’s a sensation beyond words!

One minute hands and fingers are in between your legs, gently working at you; then they are on your back and arms, then someone is sat across you kneading and stroking, probing and playing. Warm oil and flesh sliding everywhere. You lose control. You are submerged in the experience, drifting deeper and deeper into a sublimely erotic state.

Soft voices whisper in your ear. They tell how they’re going to take control of you, tease and use you…as the warm breathe drifts over your face, and the words seep into your mind you feel hot stones gliding over your legs – up as far as your bottom cheeks, and then stretching them apart, exposing everything…the warmth and oil cause your prostate to tingle; it’s like a warm, wet tongue licking and probing, pushing and circling-making. You writhe and wriggle….wanting to be filled, to be used, wanting to be taken…This is female dominance in its most erotic, sensual form…

You want to explode – your cock is throbbing, but every time you think you are going to cum, you are brought back to a controllable level…Its as if these two women are in your mind reading your thoughts…

A set of hands gently pulls your bottom cheeks apart and vibration is felt rubbing up and down, round and round. You want to be filled, probed, used and teased. You feel drip after drip of warm oil slide inside of you. A finger ever so gently enters you, opens you. And as it does so the heat of the oil sends a flurry of sensations down the shaft of your ridged cock.

You are absorbed in the orgasmic sensation of your torment, unaware of where you are, who you are, or what is happening. All you know is you want more and more and more…

Slippery fingers penetrate fully, expertly massage your aching prostate. It feels as if you are totally full of hot oil now, and this sensation is mind-blowing. But it’s still only the beginning. You are rolled over, your hard swollen cock on display. More hot oil, hands and arms and thighs to help spread it. A small vibrating toy slips between your legs. Hot stones glide over taut belly, to join the toy…

‘It’s really incredible,’ I said to Toby. ‘Never experienced anything quite like it before…Fantastic, but pricey, of course.’

‘I can’t believe all this goes on here, in the middle of nowhere,’ Toby said. He was sure we were teasing him.

Later that afternoon we went for a walk together. It was a beautiful day. Our valley is this long, gorse tangled bowl criss-crossed by dry-stone walls. High on the valley’s rim, beside the ruined tower of a stone-built winding house, we stood and surveyed the landscape. Toby gave this big wheezy sigh.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘This is why you live here. This scenery. All this green and the air. You almost had me believing you.’ He chuckled. ‘Like this place is a hotbed of sin and sex.’ He shook his head. ‘You really had me going there for a minute or two.’

Dee glanced at me and shrugged. ‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Next time you’re down, I’ll arrange an appointment for you with matron and nursey at the clinic.’

‘Yeah, great.’ He laughed. ‘You do that little thing.’

I smiled broadly. Introducing Toby to scrotal inflation might actually be great fun…