Sunday, November 25, 2007

Sore feelings in my heart and bum


It’s Saturday afternoon and Ms Hastings has just left. She’s going back to her husband and kids and, at last, I’m going back to my blog. I can still feel her warmth in my bed and smell her scents. The sheets are still ruffled, thanks to our furious activity and there are sexy indentations caused by her beautiful body.

Hey, it’s just wonderful to be back in Brighton on a grey November day. My Mac is resting on the pillow into which Ms Hastings pushed her squirming and gasping face as I relentlessly fucked her arse with a saucy pink strap-on. As I bucked my superbly toned, tight and tremendously firm buttocks (I wish) and the cock stretched her matching pink hole, I leant forward and cupped her soft fleshy tits. I think I mentioned before that my lover is a little on the big size but I just love every generous inch of her.

Thinking of her bust sadly reminds me of our bust-up which is why I haven’t been up to being amusing on my blog. I’ve eventually fallen out with every one of my lovers including my husband. We never part amicably and stay ‘friends’ like all the smug people you read about in the papers. No, I always get written out of the story and they go off to get creative with someone else.

So, although she’d visited me occasionally during my long stay with friends in France, we haven’t seen much of each other (in the getting naked sense) for most of the Summer. Now, because she has her family I always imagined I had my freedom when we weren’t together. We’ve discussed this, and she said she was ok with it – and with me writing about our fucking and my fetishes.

But I was proved wrong when she took acceptation to my interludes with Madame Madge, the jodhpur wearing, Madonna lookie-likie who gave me intensive riding lessons of the non-equestrian type.
Ms Hastings decided that Ms France stepped over the line that separated overnight fling with on-going fuck.

So she said some things, and I said some things that I regretted. Then I said some things that I really regretted and then I said some things that would have appalled Saddam and Mugabe. So she walked out of my life. And I walked into the flat of my Brighton friends Dolce & Gabbana and cried and cried. This is a familiar scenario for them so they poured Jack Daniels down my throat and nodded sagely whilst I talked bollocks. And talking of bollocks they also took me into their bed so that, naked, I lay between their naked bodies in a comforting, non-sexual but naughty bit touching, very 21st Century way.

I couldn’t believe I’d screwed it up again. I found I couldn’t concentrate on my writing of erotic fiction when the real facts of my life were so appalling. Morgan, my co-writer, tried to help but I behaved in an ignorant, destructive manner that he coped with easily because he’s used to working with advertising clients.

Now, I must admit I did enjoy a few cunt enthralling canters with Madame Madge. She made my Summer in France very sensual but she had a boyfriend and I had Ms Hastings so the relationship was very prescribed. She still emails me and I respond but that’s as intimate as it gets these days. But my too explicit blog had fogged Ms Hastings judgement and I was alone again.

I sat in the flat as the Autumn rains hit Brighton. The general greyness highlighted the colours of France that I was missing so much. The rich yellows of the sunflowers, the deep purples of the lavender and the warm tan of Madame Madge’s derriere and thighs as I pulled her jodhpurs down. How I missed it.

I also missed the slap that had been part of my happy days with Ms Hastings. I think I’ve mentioned that she liked to be spanked. Now I wasn’t into this madly but was content to play along because it generally led to the kind of sex that whipped my senses. The usual scenario had her saying something mildly insulting (in a schoolgirl way) like “Sadie, your bum is eating your jeans”, I’d get cross and put her over my knee. Her skirt was pulled up, her Prada sheer panties were exposed and I’d attack her ample arse. She got really turned on by this and although we’d agreed never to mention her husband I had to know whether spanking has been a favourite fetish during her marriage. So I asked her and the fact that her face went the colour of her bum cheeks suggested the answer was “yes”.

It was probably dwelling on this that got me in correspondence with a woman on Informedconsent.co.uk. Now fetish fans will be familiar with this site. It’s a guide to fetish and BDSM clubs and also runs personal ads for pervs to meet other pervs. I was prowling around it because writing erotic fiction when you are celibate is much like writing recipes when you are hungry – and I was absolutely famished.

Perusing the F4F section led me to many subs into caning with frankly unappealing pics of cuts and bruises, And then I happened across this lady’s site. She wasn’t a professional domme; she did it for fun. And her fun was OTK (over the knee) spanking with an emphasis on big knickers.

Well, it was late on a cold damp evening and I wanted to be hot and damp so I emailed her. We chatted and it was very stimulating, I sent her a pic to prove I wasn’t a bloke and we agreed to meet. So a week later and a long train ride found me on her doorstep in a skirt wearing pants my mother would have approved of.

However Mummy wouldn’t have liked what happened next. After tea the getting-to-know-you gossip quickly turned to gussets and it was time for play. Ms Strict was in her early 40’s, quite attractive in a handsome sort of way, had a good figure which she emphasised in a very tight skirt and black stockings, and was very, very into discipline, spanking women and underwear. She also quite liked caning but this was a no-go area for me. After all, as fashion writers say, stripes can make your bum look big.

Ms Strict became very strict. “After this moment, whatever I ask you to do, you must instantly comply” she said, and then she asked me to bend over and touch my toes.

This I did with a bit of effort and I sensed her behind me. I tried not to giggle in a schoolgirlish way (but, of course this was probably just what Ms Strict wanted) Then I felt my skirt being lifted and my bum being revealed. She just waited, surveying my big white knickers. It was an odd sensation knowing she was inspecting my crack and whatever else my tight cotton pants were revealing but it was a rather sexy one. The intimate attention of strangers is something I found rather attractive when I’ve been investigating fetish clubs for my book and this was no exception.

Then I felt her hand on me and I tensed but she just caressed my cotton-clad rear following the curve of each cheek. So I relaxed because this was rather nice – and then she struck.

Thwackkkkkkk! I gasped but the sting soon wore off leaving a warm glow. She gave me six more and my bum and my desires caught fire.

She then asked me to take off my skirt and led me to the sofa where she put me over her knee. She pulled my knickers up into a wedgie and then spanked each bare cheek. In between the painful slaps she would lovingly massage my bum, she was a lesbian and made it clear that this was pleasure not business. Then after I’d squirmed and moaned a bit she pulled my knickers down and really punished me. It was as bit like the pic above, courtesy of spankedcheeks.com, a tingling site you should all visit.

As my flesh got hotter so did I. I now understood why spanking was so special to my lovely Ms Hastings. It’s thrilling and humiliating and sexual – what’s not to like?

When the slapping stopped I wondered what would happen next. There I was bare-bummed with exposed bits, so maybe a sly finger or two would rummage about or something. Actually, horny old bitch that I am, I was rather hoping the spanking might lead to a little wanking.

But there was no overt sex, I just pulled my knickers up and sat on the sofa. We talked pants and Ms Strict seeing I was a fan, slipped off her skirt and showed me hers. She was in a suspender belt and stockings and her big panties were covered in embroidery at the front but see-through at the back. I’m now getting used to these clothes fetishistas, what with Pretty Polly my occasional pantyhose sex partner and now Ms Strict. Maybe there are big-boned bra supporter and even pop sock perverts out there. Please get in touch is you are.

Then over a glass of wine Ms Strict sat close to me and was fairly explicit about what she found exciting about my undercarriage as revealed by the thin cotton – cunny creases, cameltoe and crack lines etc. It was weird but rather wicked. I’m convinced that we miss so much if we don’t travel to the outer reaches of sex.

And, on the subject of reaching out, I’m delighted to report that two days ago Ms Hastings contacted me. We talked for hours, I was sorry, she was sorry, I was sorry I’d made her sorry, it was all girly stuff until she admitted she missed the fucking. That’s my girl, I thought and we made up for weeks of lost opportunities last night and this morning.

So now life hopefully will go blissfully on, my book will be finished, my boring part-time job (which you don’t want to hear about) will just about support me and I can still lose myself in Ms Hasting’s soft sexy body.

Happy-slappy times!

Love & Kisses Sadie xxxxxx