SinfulSunday – Charging Up


Seeing as the lovely Tabitha has challenged us to #30DayOrgasmFun I am making sure my little toy is fully charged for later… fun times await!

Who else is sinning?

Copyright, 2018,

All rights reserved.


Midnight Kiss

I heard her singing before I saw her; a sweet, high melody, like wind chimes on the salty night air. Unable to sleep, I had left the beach villa we were staying in and wandered down to the little cove nestled behind a group of rocks, silver moonlight guiding my way.

Then I saw her. Sitting in a rock pool, her back to me, long golden locks of hair spilled down her back, disappearing into the seawater at her waist. I could not take my eyes from her, even though it felt wrong to watch without her knowledge. Her voice was entrancing, hypnotic almost. She stiffened and, sensing my presence, turned her head and looked at me with eyes so large and sparkling I took a breath.

“I’m sorry,” I stumbled, “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t realise you were here…”

A tiny frown creased her forehead and she tilted her head quizzically before a radiant smile broke over her face and she beckoned me to move closer.

I was undeniably drawn to her. I knew it was not smart to sit with a strange, solitary woman on a beach at midnight but I couldn’t stop myself from doing so. She turned fully towards me and I saw she was naked. Her hair clung damply to her breasts, which were breathtakingly beautiful. Full and round, with erect little nipples peeping out from between the strands of hair. She stretched up her arms to me and, without hesitation, I sank into the warm water beside her.

Her eyes were a deep emerald green, even in the moonlight I could see that. She had a perfect little pixie nose and a pointed chin – elfin was the word that occurred to me as I looked at her. She leaned towards me and I felt her breath on my skin as she examined my face, her tiny, cold fingers tracing my jawline, and then she leaned in and kissed me.

Without knowing how it happened, she had pulled down my shorts and her hand was on my cock, stroking it, looking down at it in absolute wonder. I watched in disbelief as this gorgeous creature lowered her head and took me into her mouth, licking along my shaft with such greediness and intensity as her eyes looked up at my face. My hands wrapped in her hair and I surrendered to the pleasure she was providing. She moved and placed my cock between her breasts, squeezing them together with her hands. I thrust my hips, fucking her breasts as she giggled and moaned, playing with her nipples as she milked me. I couldn’t hold back any more, a hot, sticky arc spurted from me onto her face and she slowly reached up to wipe it and lick it from her hand.

She took my hands and put them on her breasts. I bent my head and sucked on her nipples; small and hard, they tickled my tongue. She moved against me, pressing herself into me, tiny moans of pleasure escaping her lips. I moved my hands down to her waist and felt her silken hips flare out in generous curves. She shuddered against me, clung to me and cried out. I heard a splashing sound. Pulling back to watch her come, I glimpsed the flash of gold fin as it flicked out of the water. She writhed, her nipples swollen and erect, a glow radiating from her skin as her tail flipped in and out of the water. Awestruck, I watched her orgasm rip through her. I watched the golden scales of her lower half ripple and her tail flip towards her stomach, her back arched as she continued to toy with her nipples.

As she settled, she opened her eyes and looked at me, an ecstatic smile across her face. She kissed me and then, as if she had never been there, ducked under the water line and was gone. I stood, still naked but uncaring, and watched her curvy form swim away into the depths.

One last flick of the gilt tail and then nothing…



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

No Going Back

“Beautiful,” his breath tickled her ear. Standing behind her, looking into her eyes in the mirror, he traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips and caressed her lips with his thumb.

She opened her mouth slightly, her tongue barely touching his skin, “I can’t really believe we are here. Doing this,” she whispered.

He felt her body tremble, “We don’t have to. We can stop right now.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

She leaned back against him, letting him take her weight. His arms circled her waist. He dipped his head to inhale the scent of her hair, his hands spreading over her stomach and up to cup her breasts. An involuntary groan escaped her lips as he lifted her tee-shirt up over her body and pulled it off her. Feeling his hands on the clasp of her bra, she suddenly felt shy as he pushed if from her shoulders to the floor and closed her eyes.

“No. Look. Look at us,” his voice was firm. She opened her eyes and saw the desire in his reflection; his eyes dark and heavy. She watched his hands move back up to grasp her breasts, squeezing them, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, stretching them.

She arched her back and twisted her head to kiss him, her mouth open and ready. He teased her, flicking his tongue over her lips, not quite kissing her. Another moan.

His hands on her waistband, opening the button and zip of her jeans. She knew this was the point of no return. This was going to change everything between them.

He pushed her jeans and pants down over her hips, sinking to his knees to carefully, gently pull each of her legs free then, he knelt and looked up at her reflection in the full length mirror.

She was intensely aware of his gaze on her body, feeling a confusing mix of coyness and arousal. His hands were on her calves. He parted her knees, forcing her to stand with her legs open as his fingers moved upwards, massaging her inner thighs. Lifting himself to stand behind her, he gently parted her lips, finding her warm and wet for him, he began to stroke.

She closed her eyes, her head resting against his broad chest.

No going back now.



Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.


The heat woke him, stretched out naked on the soaking sheet, sweat beaded on his skin. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, arid as the desert. Slowly, he rose from the mattress, limbs leaden, joints swollen and stiff, and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the oversized fridge. Frosty air raised goose bumps along his drying skin and he leaned into the cool void, relishing the relief. The Super had promised to fix the AC but, as always, they were empty words. He downed ice cold milk straight from the carton, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand once his thirst was halfway quenched.

He drifted over to the open window, but the air outside was as stagnant and scorched as inside his apartment. He could smell the heat in the air; a heady mixture of tarmac, fried food, dry grass, smoke and sweat.

There was a light on across the courtyard, one floor lower than where he was. Seems he wasn’t the only one awake. He saw a room with an unoccupied desk, a laptop, a large glass of water next to it and some scattered papers. Just as he was about to turn away and see what reruns were on TV at 3am he noticed movement.

A woman came into view. Dressed in a flimsy camisole and tiny shorts, she was piling her long heir up into a high ponytail. She paused next to her chair and raised the tumbler to her mouth. He could make out the gulping of her throat muscles as she greedily swallowed the water. He watched as some dribbled down her chin and cleavage, soaking through the thin fabric of her cami. Mirroring his actions of only minutes ago, she dragged the back of her hand across her lips before dipping her fingers into the glass and taking an ice cube to rub along her temples and throat.

He felt a fleeting moment of shame for spying on her, but it was the most erotic and unselfconscious act he had seen woman do in quite a while. And she couldn’t see him. There was no real harm being done…

She sat at the laptop and read the screen, stretched her head from side to side and shrugged her shoulders. Then she began to type. He was intrigued; her mouth moved as she wrote and she would momentarily pause and gaze into the foreground as if searching for just the right word or phrase.

At one point she stopped, turned and looked directly out of her window, her dark framed glasses perched at the end of her small nose. He froze, rooted in case he gave himself away, suddenly intensely aware of his nakedness and the growing swelling at his crotch.

He could never resist a bookish girl with glasses and, seeing her face in full, he could see she was more than pretty. She looked a perfect combination of sweet and sexy.

He allowed his hand move lower as he wondered just how filthy she could be once she took those glasses off.


written at 3am during my own battle with insomnia…

yes I’m sitting at my kitchen table,

but I have the blinds drawn down… no-one is watching me!

Would you like to see more of these two? Yes/No in comments please!

Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

A Quiet Man

He was a quiet man. He lived a quiet, ordinary life.

Every morning his alarm went off at 7:01 precisely; 701 being his favourite prime number. He slid his feet into the slippers beside the bed and went downstairs to make tea and boil his egg for 5 minutes 47 seconds, 547 being another prime number he enjoyed. His eggcup, mug and spoon were always laid out from the night before.

He ate his breakfast slowly, then washed, dried and put his things away before making his lunch. A ham and tomato sandwich on whole wheat bread, safely stored in a Tupperware box, with a banana on the side.

After his shower he dressed in grey slacks, a white shirt and a blue tie, putting on his brown brogues at the door before leaving for work. As he walked the 20 minutes to his office he carefully avoided the cracks in the pavement. A nod to the girls on reception as he passed by en route to the lift to arrive at his desk at 8:09, where he sat and began to check his emails and see what the day held ahead of him.

Colleagues passed his desk during the day. He always glanced up and offered a smile but never initiated conversation. Work was work, not a party. He ate his sandwich at his desk, reading the online newspaper. He watched the clock on his screen and after exactly 29 minutes he closed the Internet and returned to his tasks. He took a tea break from 3:17 to 3:31 and shut down his computer everyday at 5:41.

He stopped in to buy supplies for dinner on his way home; M&S or Waitrose. Mondays were pork chops, Tuesdays – fish, Wednesdays – chicken, Thursdays – leftover chicken. On Fridays he had steak.

His evening routine never wavered. He removed his shoes at the door, washed his hands and cooked his evening meal, listening to the radio as he worked. Once dinner was finished and tidied away he watched the documentaries he had recorded during the day, before brushing his teeth and going to bed at 9:07. At 9:53 he put down his book and turned his light off.

On Saturdays he volunteered at the local hospice, where he made and served tea, read and chatted to the patients. Always modest about offering his time, he dismissed any praise directed towards him with, “It’s nothing really, just a small piece of my week. I’m happy to be of use.”

The staff chatted about him during their breaks:

“Isn’t Terence a sweet man? So quiet and unassuming”.

“He is. A diamond that man.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Not at thing! He keeps himself to himself. But you have to respect that.”

“Bless him.”

 They, of course, were unaware of his secret visits to the mortuary.

He had noticed it was usually quiet and unoccupied during the serving of the evening meal and had made a habit of quietly disappearing once his serving duties were taken care of.

His skin prickled at the coolness of the air there every time.

He locked the door before opening one of the compartments and sliding out the slab. A frisson of excitement in that moment where his eyes slid over the shape beneath the sheet, before he lifted it and saw the face below, drained of colour and life.

He only wanted the women, never the men.

He loved to look at their pallid, waxy skin. Some of them tragically young, torn from life too early; others old, their age-spotted skin wrinkled and sagging. He reached out and touched their breasts, finding them cold and firm. He stroked their stomachs, hips and thighs, his erection growing and straining against his Y fronts. He spat on his fingers and sighed as he pushed them inside the women, feeling their icy tightness grip him. He wished they could open their eyes and look at him as he explored them. He edged towards orgasm but always stopped before he spoiled his underwear. He hated mess. Removing his fingers, he sniffed them, wiped them on the sheet and returned the woman to her resting place. He left the mortuary carefully, glancing left and right to ensure no one was around to see him.

He rejoined the patients and staff to bid them good night for another week, thinking of how he would relive his illicit thrill once he got home and masturbated in the shower. His weekend treat that made the week bearable.

On Sundays he visited his mother. He always brought her pink roses and cut her grass. On the way home from the graveyard he would buy fish and chips for supper.

He did enjoy routine.

Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

TMI Tuesday – BFFs, sex, and break-ups


1. Hey, how are you doing?

Pretty crappy! In pain. Pissed off. Stressed. Hassled. Grouch!

2. You are given a strong but soft to the touch (and on the skin) rope. What will you do? (pick just one). Explain your choice.

a. Throw it in the garage to use later to tie down a tarp or something.
b. Use it for indoor wall rock climbing.
c. Tie up your lover and have your way with him/her.
d. Lasso your secret crush and take them with you.

C – but only if I am the one being bound! Then they can do with me as they wish… (hopefully with a sadistic twist!)

3. Tell us 3 reasons why you or anyone should masturbate.

I just did! Because I was a mix of horny, bored and frustrated.

It’s good for your physical and mental health, it’s free, it doesn’t hurt anyone else.

The questionis… Why NOT have a wank?

4. Would you have sex with your best friend? Have you had sex with a best friend in the past? How’d that work out–did you stay friends?

In a word, no. I think it would complicate and forever change the friendship.

Besides, technically I married my best friend and Yes I do have sex with him!

And also, I’m so damn good they’d not be able to resist falling for me! 😂

5. What are your top 5 reasons to break up with someone?

Well, after 25 years it would take a lot to break us up. I think we could work through just about anything. We had a number of years where it was touch and go, and a split was very much on the table but at the end of it all we just couldn’t say goodbye.

Does dying count?

Bonus: Post an image you find erotic? What about it arouses you?

Oh, to choose just one?!


Ok, I cheated a wee bit! I cannot tell you how much I love nipple play that involves pain, so I think you can work out why I find these images arousing!





Happy TMI Tuesday!


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.

F4TF #15 – All In The Mind


This week my good buddy, The Kilted One, posed this question:

When it comes to truly enjoying sex, how important is it for your mind to be stimulated as well as your body? What are the ways in which you enjoy you partner (or yourself) stimulating your mind?

I can honestly say some of the best sex I have ever had has happened purely between my ears.

As a child, I was known for my wild imagination, (I was described by my teachers as ‘precocious’), and endless questions. I lived a lot in my head, creating fantasy worlds that I completely immersed myself into. Not much has changed, except now my fantasies are less occupied with being “World’s Best Private Detective”, “World’s Best Film Star”, or World’s Best Vet”.

These days, my mind drifts to more primal images; of me being used by men, discarded and manhandled, or perhaps on another day, being worshipped by one man, (or girl), who lives only to pleasure me. I love those mornings when I awake from a sexy dream and have the luxury of lying there letting my fanasty play out, often delaying any actual gratification until the afternoon, when I simply cannt take the edge any longer.

It is a very frequent occurrence that, as I write a filthy story, I begin to squirm in my seat, rubbing my thighs together to create friction, feeling myself grow wetter as the story unfolds. I have a very visual imagination; my stories come to me like little films. I have written before about my tendency to ‘act’ scenes out, to be sure what I am writing actually makes sense, my fingers caressing my throat, moving down along my body to describe and write the actions just right. Most times, I cannot wait to finish the story and I pop upstairs, (leaving the dogs blissfully snoozing on the sofa), to relieve my tension. (Yes, on occasion they have followed me; if you have never wanked with four little puupy dog brown eyes locked on you, well… lets just say, good for you!)

I like to let my mind wander during sex too; it occurs to me now that perhaps that is one reason I love to be blindfolded. The tension of being rendered sightless, of not knowing what he will do next, or where exactly he is in the room, is incredibly sexy. It keeps me hyper aware, like a trapped animal, even though I feel completely safe and secure with him.

Another way I think the mind is the biggest erogenous zone is how my sex drive or desire is impacted by my mood. If I am stressed, worried or depressed, it is highly unlikely I will be receptive to sexual advances. Those days I am struggling to simply exist and the energy and focus required to have good sex is diverted elsewhere. Similarly, if I am annoyed or angry I am unlikely to feel sexy – unless it’s those times where I am so pumped up and frustrated that only a good hard seeing to will cure my scowling face.

So, yes, if you want to get into my pants you better get inside my head first – make me laugh, make me jump, surprise me, excite me, push me, challenge me, scare me a little.

Light me up from the inside out…


Copyright, 2016,

All rights reserved.