Setting Standards

Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash

In a recent TMI post I alluded to a fall out with a long term friend. Without going into to much detail this was probably one of the deepest friendships I had experienced in my life. As a result of  the combination of the isolated location of my childhood home and my parent’s self absorption I grew up without learning exactly how to make a friend. I have never had a BFF or ever really a lot of friends. It is something that has always bothered me. I am very self conscious of not being cool or even feeling like people would actually like to be friends with me. So when a person comes along that does get past all of the layers and seems to get me it is a rare experience. 

Over the years this friendship probably showed a lot of signs of not being all that healthy. Certainly my “friend” had her own childhood traumas which had left scars. But I chose to accept them and make allowances. Over the last few years we “drifted apart”. At least that is how she explained it. I more saw it as her finding other people who were more interesting to hang out with but po-ta-to / po-tah-to. 

Then, as the universe tends to, we seemed to be pushed back together again. She started making overtures and I accepted them, cautiously. She insisted on telling everyone who would listen about our long term friendship and trying to make it up to me by telling other people how cool she thought I was. It felt a bit weird, if I am being honest, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

It seemed like things were getting back to the way they used to be. But as our good friend Pandora knows, once the box is open you can’t close it again. I had lived my life and grown as a person. Likewise her life had gone on and she had changed slightly as well. The fit was never going to be the same. 

While dealing with her traumas and life struggles she had said and done some things that caused some mutual friends to be, at best, wary of her. Some people she had downright ostracised. This caused issues. I had to negotiate social situations where I was basically forced to choose between groups of friends. It was frustrating. I wanted to be loyal to this person who had been in my life for so long but I also needed to take care of myself. I had grown and that meant I had a better sense of my value. I knew that I deserved to be treated better. A friend who treats you as something that can be picked up and dropped at their convenience is not really a friend. 

I wasn’t sure how to deal with her. I had started to realise that just letting her drift in and out was not really going to work this time. I deserved better but the part of me that avoids confrontation mad me avoid addressing the issue. Until I found myself right up against it. I had seen some things that told me she was very unwell. She needed more than a good friend, she needed to see a professional. Somehow I found the courage to tell her my thoughts.

Her reaction was not entirely unexpected. I guess I should have realised that such a self centred person would not have considered that their actions and attitudes contributed to their life catastrophes. In her mind self help memes and feel good Facebook pages were all the counselling she needed.

She made the end of our friendship official on Facebook.

Because of our history I was surprised at how all of this affected me. I was forced to say out loud some things that had bothered me. To name some of her behaviour as abusive. Even now it seems weird to say it. She emotionally abused her husband and her children. She made them feel afraid to express themselves in their own house. She made them feel as if their ideas and needs were less than hers. I wondered if I had failed them by glossing over this stuff. As I looked around with more open eyes I saw how my opinion of people had been coloured by hers. How I had dismissed people because of her say so and “facts” she had provided. I felt duped and I questioned my integrity. 

On a deeper level I mourned the loss of that friendship. At one time it had been a healthy one. Even if it hadn’t been for several years. It was once and I had lived in hope that it would be again sometime. This is where the self love comes in. Loving yourself sometimes requires you to push people away when you can see that they are harming you. Even when they are people you once loved. Even when you feel as if you don’t have a lot of friends. Self love is about making conscious choices to be your authentic self and not someone else’s play thing. In the long run you will become stronger and more self sufficient and you will attract the same type of people. Suddenly you will also have friends who will treat you like someone worth something.

This post is part of Wicked Wednesday’s final Bingo prompt. The square I have chosen for this post is “Self Love”

Booty Worship

Arses, asses, bums, backsides, bottoms. I love a nice bum. I love to enjoy them in so many ways. I love to look at them. When they are dressed in a pair of pants that fit just right. Jeans that hug your curves are perfect. Dress pants that seem to give you depth. Sometimes those dresses that cling and show how your buns seem to push and pull with each other when you walk. All of that. And yes a nice bum is a nice bum. 

One of the things that keeps me at pole fit is looking at bums. Booty shorts on perky bums, on big round bums, on little cute bums. I love the way some booty shorts ride up and you get that curve that peeks out underneath. One girl at the moment wears actual g strings to class. Her ass is delicious. I want to worship it in every way. Including a bare handed spanking. The kind that makes your hand sting as much as their bum. 

When I see a naked bum like that my hand itches to touch it. I want to feel the curve in my palm. I want to give it a gentle squeeze while I press my body against it. The Second Mate had a great bum. It was big and round and I loved to grab it as I walked past. The Traveller also has a substantial arse. I loved to watch the way it moved as he walked and carried out tasks while we were sailing. Mr Jones’ arse is different but delicious in it’s own way. I love to look at his while he is sleeping. Sometimes the position he lies in seems so provocative. 

When I am fucking I love to reach around and cup a man’s arse. To feel the strength of the muscle as it pushes his cock into me. If there is an appropriately positioned mirror then all the better. I think that is one of the things I enjoy about The Traveller. Looking at that arse and knowing what it has been up to. Such a naughty delicious pleasure. 

This post is also linked to Wicked Wednesday final bingo prompt. Click the icon below to see how everyone is doing with their bingo cards.

Space for Gemma

Slowly the bingo card is getting filled. The prompt for this post is “Being you”

Mr Jones and I recently caught up with a couple that live in a small town about five hour’s drive from us. The distance that separates us means that we don’t spend a lot of time together but it seems that when we do the conversation is not the banal “So how is your job going?” Kind of thing. During our latest visit the Mr of the couple commented about my transformation as I voyaged with Mr Jones last year. I was a little nonplussed by some of his observations. 

I will admit that I did change during the journey. Perhaps more than I realised. But when it came to my sexuality and my Gemma life I hadn’t really reflected about the impact of this voyage. Before we left I had been swinging for more than ten years. We had journeyed through the early days of “Only swapping with other couples, only in the same room” through various versions of couple swapping to what I would consider a full blown open relationship. The only thing that separates our relationship with polyamory is that neither of us have romantic relationships with our partners. A friendship, yes, regular conversation about non-sexual things yes but full blown romantic relationships, no. I had done a lot of things from a sexual point of view and had ticked a lot of the fantasy boxes. While I didn’t feel that I was done with my lifestyle I didn’t really consider that I had that much room to grow. 

One thing that I do remember having very clear in my mind when we purchased the yacht and started our travels was that when I was in this space and this lifestyle I was not going to pretend to be something I wasn’t. In my professional and extended family life my sexual lifestyle is kept very much in the closet. My parents have no idea about my ‘number’ my employer and my students are completely in the dark. I don’t even discuss my pole dancing with most people at my work. But when we stepped aboard and started taking the yacht out, even for day trips. I refused to hide anything about me from the people we met along the way. 

I sunbathed nude when I wanted to. I did put clothes on when people came to visit, unless they wanted them off. I invited lovers on board when I wanted to. I had sex in the open when other boats were not parked too close. When talking with other travellers I did not hide my lifestyle. I answered any questions honestly. As we travelled along the coast we took on board more than one man as “crew” for short periods. We also met with a few men in particular towns along the way. 

At the time I didn’t really think about this but this practice of meeting people and spending twenty four hours per day with them was something of an evolution. The Second Mate definitely opened my eyes to a lot of things. Even though we were very clear about the boundaries and we all knew that when he left there was no going back there was something about having another person effectively living aboard that was different. Did it change me? 

I think so. I was able to have a different kind of relationship with him. From a sexual perspective he pushed some of my boundaries. He encouraged me to do things I would not have done otherwise and he gave me confidence because, I am not going to lie, he was sexy as fuck and I was punching well above my weight! Later we were joined by The Italian. He came with a different set of quirks but there was growth and a strengthening of my confidence in being Gemma. 

Before this journey I was becoming very concerned about my “Number”. I was self conscious about my “slut” status. That old fashioned idea about being a “good girl” who didn’t sleep around was still living in the back of my mind even though I had consciously rejected it there was still aspects of it that haunted me. Interacting with these men and spending time being completely true to myself meant I was able to make progress in slaying those demons. Certainly The Second Mate or The Italian didn’t care how many men I had fucked. Neither does Mr Jones. Or anyone else who has an inkling. The only person who is bothered by it is me. 

Even though it has been a year since I left on that voyage and I have been back at work and living on land for several months now I am still able to spend time on the water and that time is often accompanied by “Being Gemma”. Boating and the ocean are perhaps the last free places on Earth. Places where the normal rules often don’t apply. People who mess around on boats understand this. No one questions anything that they see me doing or the people who accompany us when we head out. More importantly I have a space where I don’t feel I have to behave in a certain way to impress people or to preserve their sensibilities. I have a space where I am free to be myself. 

As my friend observed having this space has changed me. Even in a landlubbing state I am different. I have grown. Gemma is a more intrinsic part of my life. She is no longer the party girl I bring out every so often. According to my friend it makes me a role model for people who are also on a journey of discovery. When he told me this I wasn’t sure what to think. I see myself as a regular person doing regular things. But he assures me that there are many things about me as special. Personally I think that what is special is that I am proof that ordinary people can do extraordinary things when they put their mind to it. 

Magical Dreaming

Design is copyright of Missy Rose Fabrics

I recently discovered a delicious fabric supplier that is Australian based. I am currently working with the design pictured. When I read the Wicked Wednesday prompt “Magical Power” this weird idea popped into my head.

“If you could have anything in the world what would it be?” The smooth timbre of the creature’s voice broke through the magic of the clearing. 

Sally stirred, turning to feel the sun on her face as it filtered through the trees. The creature nuzzled her neck, making her wiggle against his sift velvet skin. Without thinking she lifted her hands to cup her naked breasts, lifting them upwards as her fingers explored the smooth skin and her fingers toyed idly with her erect nipples. 

“How could I want anything more than this?” Her voice sounded strange in her ears, kind of sleepy but deeper and huskier, and somehow more satisfied than she had been in a long time. 

The creature gave a satisfied rumble from deep in his body. “You are right, how could we want anything more than this?” He moved downwards stroking Sally’s breasts with the smooth skin of his forehead. Sally felt a stirring between her thighs. It was truly magical being here with him, everything about him was perfect. The creature continued his descent over her belly, leaving a silvery trail of desire as he caressed and teased. Sally’s knees fell apart in anticipation. The creature gave another rumble of desire.

“You are such a greedy girl,” he admonished her, all the while moving closer to the centre of her greed. 

“How can I not be greedy when I have something as delicious and perfect as you.” Sally responded, running her thumb over his forehead, smearing the clear fluid of his arousal over his skin before she lifted her digit to her mouth to taste him. She sighed in delight at the sensation on her tongue. The perfect blend of salt with a tiny bit of sweet. She could drink this nectar all day. 

“You know what they say, too much of a good thing is dangerous.” The creature admonished her, his voice slightly muffled as he began to nuzzle between her legs. 

“Never!” Sally’s statement ended in a sigh as he began to work his magic. Warm waves of pleasure travelled through her body and her back arched sending her breasts jutting high into the sunshine. A butterfly fluttered down from the trees and landed nearby watching, mesmerised by the beauty of the woman abandoning herself to the attentions of her creature. Birds twittered softly in the canopy, tittilating themselves with stories of other creatures that lived in this forest and the women who came to visit. 

The little clearing became alive with the sounds of Sally as the creature teased out her pleasure, stroking her folds and sucking gently on the swollen nub at the top of her slit. A stream of juice rewarded him and he drank greedily, pressing his face firmly against her. 

“Please,” her voice was strained with the urgency of her desire, “I need you, all of you.” 

As always the creature responded to her perfectly. His smooth skin slipped deeper downwards seeking out her opening. Sally held her legs wide. She gave a groan as he penetrated her. Diving deep inside her, like he had so many times. She never understood how he managed to be so perfect but he always was. No matter what he filled her exactly how she needed to be filled. She squeezed her thighs close around him, driving her deeper and he responded swelling just a little to fill her out. The sensation of stretching sent another jolt of pleasure through her body. The forest filled with her cries of pleasure. 

Around the clearing other forest creatures gathered, honouring the bond between the woman and her creature. In the trees the birds were silent, watching, committing every detail to memory to twitter to each other later. The movement of the creature became faster, more urgent. He was nearing his own peak. Sally’s fingers worked the swollen nub he had roused earlier. She was waiting for him, he was waiting for her. Together the reached the peak, filling the clearing with the sound of their release. 

As the sounds echoed away and the two of them lay, curled up in the nest of moss the creatures of the forest began to disperse, each inspired to seek their own clearings. In the trees the birds began quiet chattering, the beginning of a new story. 

Slowly Sally’s eyes opened, sun was streaming through the window of her room. Sheets were rumpled around her and her pillows nestled against her body. Between her legs the moisture of her desire remained. She smiled, remembering her dream. 

“Until we meet again my magical creature.” She whispered to the empty room. 

Consent Revisited

Photo by Philipp Wüthrich on Unsplash

Uncle and I are considering starting a project documenting our experiences and advice.  So I have started ploughing through the substantial body of work I had written for Erotic Adventures and Corrupting Mrs Jones. I came across an article I wrote in 2013. Almost ten years ago! I am so old. In it I I wax lyrical about the art of saying “NO”. At the time I felt that the “No means no” fundamental of the swinging world was very firmly in place. I considered that most women who had an issue with enforcing their NO were not being clear with their intent. 

Fast forward to now. I still think a lot of women have issues with saying no. There are a multitude of reasons for this and I could wax lyrical about social conditioning and the like but a quick Google search and you can find much better researched and written articles about this. What this story is about is men who don’t listen. Two sides of the same coin in many ways. 

In my early slut career (I coined this term for last weeks TMI Tuesday don’t you love it). I don’t think I said no very often. We were playing predominantly in the couple space. I interacted with the people I was interested in and if there was a NO it was from the more discerning Mr Jones. Interestingly a woman saying NO on behalf of her husband does not have a lot of repercussions. It did not seem to create a lot of arguments. It is accepted. There were some occasions when it did cause problems. Mostly when the man of the rejected couple decided he HAD to have me and went about trying to pressure his wife into pleasing Mr Jones to achieve this end. But that was their issue. I went about my business secure in my bubble of “no means no”.

These days I interact with single men. In some circles I could be viewed as an individual seeking fun because I do go on solo dates. I have never sought out a couple. For the most part my interest in women is limited and so couples don’t seek me. Married men do. I am happy to play with them one on one if their wife / girlfriend is on board. Over the weekend we invited a couple to come sailing with us. We met at a party. I was intrigued by his mind. Perhaps a little flattered by his statement that he doesn’t interact with women much because he doesn’t find many women worth his while. 

On closer inspection his mind turned out to be very much like other men’s mind. Focussed on his own personal gratification. His discernment wasn’t as refined as he led me to believe. In short he was a man looking for as many holes to poke his dick in as possible. He likes rough play. The kind that explores the boundary between pain and pleasure. He likes boobs. What he likes to do with them is squeeze them quite firmly and pinch nipples. I am not averse to this practice. Sometimes it elicits quite a strong response but for the most part I am a “go easy there” kind of girl. My body is an instrument that needs to be played skilfully to get the most out of it. Bashing on me like a drum will have some effect but it is limited. Plus it will piss me off after a while and get you on the “no thanks” list. 

So I spent the weekend dancing this line. Controlling the amount of rough handling I could tolerate while he pressured me to take as much as his partner seemed to enjoy. In addition he has erection problems. Not uncommon amongst older me. Sad for them. Hard to deal with but you know what. When I want to fuck I want to fuck. If I have tolerated and accommodated your rough handling and tried to be the person to please you I am not entirely pleased when you can’t perform. On top of that I am unhappy if you make me feel like I am being unfair to express my displeasure. That my friend, is gaslighting. 

So with that awkwardness sitting in the background as I helped him straighten his bed in the cabin he shared with his partner, he proposes that I visit him and his partner solo while Mr Jones is away delivering a yacht….

My response…

“Well we don’t do that. See couples when the other one is not present.” 

He seemed OK with that. I exited as speedily as possible and related the events to Mr Jones. He was understanding and agreed with my position as the safest option. That, I thought, was that. But no. The next morning I received a text.

“Come hop in bed with us” the invitation was for me. Not Mr Jones. The cabin is big enough for three but definitely not suitable for four. 

Less than twelve hours ago I told him that we don’t do that. And now he is ignoring my no? 

I didn’t bother to respond. He queried me later. It annoyed me to have to point out that I didn’t feel comfortable leaving my husband alone to go play. Rude much? 

I was irritated about the whole situation. When I met these people I was excited. Happy to have found a couple that we both seemed to get along with. Happy to maybe have another couple friend in the lifestyle. They are hard to come by. But on reflection it just isn’t working for me. He is domineering, opinionated and the most irritating thing, he just doesn’t listen to other people’s ideas or opinions. I really like her but he is not able to let her have a relationship without him being around wanking. Not my thing. 

As we unpacked at home I reflected about a lot of things. One of them being that men often simply don’t listen when a woman as a solo person says no. They don’t hear what she means which is 

“I am not interested, this isn’t working for me, I don’t want to.”

What they hear is;

“I need you to convince me that what you are proposing is attractive.” And worse, “Tell me the reasons why my feelings about my body are not correct.”

These men pressure a woman to explain her refusal and then rebut her reasons. They badger her and make her feel bad for saying no. And then they wonder why dating apps are flooded with men  without a counterbalance of a similar number of women. It isn’t as simple as women learning to say no more clearly. Men need to learn to hear it. 

The Traveller – Part 2

You can read part 1 of this story here.

Over the next two days The Traveller and I fucked. Many times. I was amazed. He never seemed tired or unable to respond to me. My own response to him was also surprising to me. I never failed to respond to his touch. One moment we would be enjoying some sunshine and the nest my dress was pushed up and his fingers were exploring me. Drawing out my juice and making me almost beg for his cock. 

We weren’t completely nude. But clothing was minimal. The days were warm and I enjoyed the sunshine. I was keen to enhance my tan as the last warm days of summer faded. Whenever I could find a warm sunny spot out of the wind I stripped down and lay around like a siren luring men to me. For the most part Mr Jones was amused. He watched us dancing around each other and me teasing a response from this man. He watched us fuck and then reclaimed his wife as much as he wanted. 

I was never tired of looking at him. I loved the hair on his body. I loved to run my fingers through the rug on his chest. The silvery hairs seemed to make him more attractive. Like a silverback. Strong, virile and experienced. When he was fully naked I peeked at him around corners. Taking in the strong lines of his body and his round arse. Whenever I looked at his arse I wanted to grab it. I was reminded of how it felt to wrap my legs around it as he fucked me. 

I am unsure of how I managed to walk on the last morning we were together. Or sex that morning was more leisurely. I was reflective knowing that I had to go back to reality and that this was probably the last time he would fuck me. We dragged ourselves out of bed and prepared for the day. I took the opportunity to be a lady of leisure as The Traveller took on my regular duties as a crew member. We sailed back towards the city line, leaving behind the quiet bay where we had spent the night. 

As we sailed back to our home port I began to tidy our cabin and pack up clothing and washing from our trip. As I was pottering I became aware of him in the cabin that Mr Jones and I shared. Of all the places we had fucked Mr Jones’ and my bed was off limits. It wasn’t something spoken but something we agreed to. Over our time together Mr Jones and I have invited others into our own bed at home but for the most part we play somewhere else. A hotel a club, the play room or the guest cabin on the yacht. 

The Traveller’s attention was unexpected. Our time was coming to an end. We had fucked so many times I was sure he had his fill. But then he was there, putting his hands on my waist, pulling me against his body as he nibbled on my neck. I sighed in pleasure as his hands reached inside my dress and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened between his fingers and I reached back to slip my hands inside his pants. His cock as always was ready. He was a freak like that. Always ready. Always horny. 

“How do you want me, Mrs Jones?” His voice was husky against my neck. 

I smiled remembering being teased the night before about how greedy I had been. The Traveller insisted that I had initiated every one of our encounters. As much as I didn’t want to admit it he was right. But I told him that today was about him. He was the initiator. 

“You are in charge today,” I replied. Attempting to fold clothing. 

He moved me towards the stairs. “Here looks good,” He positioned me so that I was leaning over the staircase. I had never thought about using the stairs this way but any stray thoughts of dust and practicalities were banished as he entered me. Even after the last two days I still felt that thrill as he slid inside me. I was still transported by the sound of his breathing and the slap of his belly against my arse.

As always my body responded to him. Excitement rose as his pace increased. 

“You are so fucking sexy,” his voice was strained with excitement. “Are you ready for one last load?” 

“Yes,” My voice came out as a whisper. 

“Here it comes,” I could feel the intensity and my own body responded. 

With the now familiar grunt he climaxed. I could feel him pulsing inside me. I was never tired of that feeling. For a few moments we leaned against the stairs and he rested against me. I was really aware of the feeling that I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to live like this forever. Reality was too hard. 

We made our way back to our home berth, everything was tidy and packed away. As we said our goodbyes there we all expressed a hope that there would be a repeat in our future. As much as I want it to be that way I am not sure. He is a nomadic person. His wanderings don’t bring him to my little corner of the world much. But maybe, one day, the planets will align. In the meantime travel well sexy man. Enjoy life and be happy. 

The Traveller

Last week’s Wicked Wednesday Prompt was “Hitchhiking” I started writing this post about a friend we had encountered but life got in the way a little.

In yachting circles it is called “taking on crew”. Sometimes the crew are looking for experience aboard a yacht because they want to own their own boat. Sometimes the crew have the finance and life situation to make this happen. For these people crewing is a step on the journey they have already begun. A way to get experience and some free training. Some people don’t have finances and the idea of owning a boat is more of a dream. For them being part of a crew is like touching the dream and somehow keeping it alive. For some people they want to travel from point A to point B but they have time and they are taking the opportunity to have an adventure along the way. 

From the outside life on a yacht can seem romantic and luxurious. The reality can be quite different. Broken toilets, close living quarters, seasickness, bad weather and nowhere to escape when someone is getting on your nerves. Most yachties are men. This can make it hard for solo women who want to join the adventure. Being aboard a small space with no escape and being effectively trapped with a man can be hazardous. Especially if he is interested in more than someone to help him operate his yacht and share the cooking duties. Yachting forums and social media groups are awash with cautionary tales about women getting caught in these situations. To make it worse some of the posts from single men looking for “female only crew” are a bit ambiguous but a bit of a closer inspection makes things seem doubtful that once they have trapped their prey they are going to respect her wishes. As always it seems men take every opportunity to be a dick and try to force their desires on any woman they choose. 

For myself and Mr Jones extra crew members can have a dual purpose if they wish. We advertised on a swingers site. We were pretty transparent and we only chose people who were up for the task. But once on board the choice was theirs. We have enjoyed some very sexy times with multiple people since we purchased our yacht. The one that springs to mind first is The Second Mate. Our time with him was intense and for me satisfying. He pushed my sexual boundaries and opened my eyes to the idea that I can be more picky and in fact should be. As a sailor he was OK. Willing but not a natural. He was one of the ones that planned to own his own boat but finances did not quite meet with desire. 

Recently we met The Traveller. Whilst we are no longer travelling long distances ourselves he wanted to get experience on a yacht because, like The Second Mate, he planned to purchase his own yacht and travel. He was keen to learn about sailing and combine the experience with another activity, passion. We met at a swinger’s weekend. On our first encounter he bent me over a chair and fucked me in front of my husband and any other people who cared to watch. It was a cracking start. A promise of things to come. When we packed up and went back to reality after the weekend we exchanged numbers with plans to meet in the future. 

A few weeks later the second meeting happened. We spent a couple of nights on the water. As with our first encounter things worked. Everyone walked away satisfied. Over the course of a couple of days and memorable evenings we explored each other, learned about fantasies and pleasure spots. Words that spring to mind are lusty, willing, capable and very, very sexy. We parted, unsure of when or if we would meet again. He has a nomadic existence and does not frequent my part of the country much. 

But the planets aligned. He came on board at a jetty on an island in Moreton Bay. It was a sunny morning and Mr Jones and I were enjoying a few days remembering boat life. From the first hello there was the connection. Caressing each other as we walked past, little comments and innuendoes, quick glances that relayed promises of what was to come. We moved away from the jetty and found somewhere a little more private. It was school holiday time so there were quite a few people around. After we anchored The Traveller and myself took the opportunity to sun ourselves on the front deck. Despite the other boats in the vicinity I took off my top and sunned myself allowing the sun to kiss my bare skin. Before long our hands were on each other’s bodies and I was encouraging him to free his growing cock. Fishermen anchored close by were treated to a show of me gorging myself on his cock. All of our flirting and suggestion had taken its toll. 

“I need to fuck you.” He told me urgently. “I can’t hold back my load any longer.”

The fishermen were about to be disappointed. We retired to the cabin to be joined by Mr Jones. In line with an earlier request Mr Jones wanted to watch me be fucked closely. His request was to lie underneath while I was being fucked from behind. I kneeled with my pussy close to his face and The Traveller rested his cock against my opening, teasing us both. I was unprepared for the feeling of him sliding into me. In the weeks since we had last been together I had forgotten but he reminded me but sliding in slowly as if he wanted to remember every part of it. His hands gripped my hips and he fucked me slowly, sliding his cock almost all the way out as Mr Jones licked me. The connection we had was re-established. He fucked until he could no longer hold back sliding out to blow his load over the outside of my pussy. I listened intently, taking in his breathing, the slight groan of pleasure as my husband licked his cum from me. 

I flipped myself around so that I could impale myself on my husband. His cock was rock hard. As I leaned down to kiss him I could taste The Traveller’s cum on his lips. I smiled knowing how much he had waited for this moment. This was almost his ultimate fantasy. I could tell as I rode him that he was close to adding his own load of cum to me. The thrill of being part of this much excitement was like a drug. I could never get enough of this. His climax came quickly. A little too fast for me but it didn’t matter. I knew that this was just the entree. I had two more days with both of them. There would be many more times. 

I wasn’t disappointed. 

Wet

At first there is a gentle touch

My skin responds

Gooseflesh raising the hairs on my arms

Your breath is warm on my neck

You give a gentle nibble

Strong fingers penetrate me

You bend me over the stairs and pull down my panties

There is no waiting just penetration

The thrill of feeling you inside me never gets old

Fucking me slowly

Hands gripping my hips

Fucking me faster, harder

Until you release

It is satisfying

But I want more

Table

For Boobday on Friday I posted an image of a table I had been restoring. As I was working on this project a germ of a story was planted.

“Look at this!” Shelli exclaimed as she pulled the drop sheet away from the table sitting in the back of the shed. Dust billowed into the air making Pete sneeze as he came to investigate her find. Even in the dim light of the dusty shed the table seemed to dominate. Pete ran his fingers over the wood admiring the solid construction. 

“You don’t see furniture like this anywhere these days.”  

The wood was dark with age and grime from years of use. Years of being part of the family that lived here before the farm was abandoned after a long drought. Like everything here, the table held stories of better days and dreams for a future that never eventuated. 

“This will look amazing in the dining room,” Shelli’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“I agree, let’s get it outside.” 

Together they lugged the surprisingly heavy table out into the sunlight. “Man I didn’t think it would be THAT heavy,” Shelli leaned against the furniture breathing heavily as Pete inspected their find more closely in the daylight.

Despite the dust and grime Pete could see that the timber was unusual.

“I wonder what it is made of,” he mused as he brushed away dust and scratched the surface with his fingernail. A layer of oil mixed with dirt filled his nail but he was unable to make an indent in the timber itself. Close inspection revealed evidence of saw marks indicating that the planks may have been hewn by hand. 

“It is definitely hardwood,” Shelli concurred. 

“I think it is home made.” Pete continued his inspection admiring the solid way the table was constructed. “Whoever made it wanted to make sure it lasted.” 

Over the next few weeks the table became one of the many projects Pete and Shelli tackled as they worked to bring order and life into their new home. They knew a little of the sad story. The farm was owned by an older lifelong farmer who had inherited the property from his own father. He had lost his wife to cancer and continued to live and work in the only place he had ever known until a tragic accident had taken his life. His adult children could not agree about how to continue running the farm or how to arrange finances. In the end a long drought had decreased the value so much that the family had been unable to sell and had simply walked away. They had stripped the house of anything of value and piled unwanted furniture into the shed. Everything else was left where it stood. Fencing wire and old machinery rusted in the paddock. 

As she scrubbed and sanded the table Shelli reflected on the history of the table. She imagined the original owner constructing the table specifically for the dining room of their newly built house. Her mind wandered to meals shared by the farmer and his wife after long hard days of work. Of stories told and games played with children who followed. Of Christmas dinners shared and birthdays celebrated. How this table saw the children grow up and perhaps even bring their own children to sit at the table to be part of family celebrations. Deep inside she wanted to honour the family by following this tradition. To make the table the centre of her own family and her and Pete’s dreams. 

Eventually the table was finished. The dining room was cleaned and painted. Pete and Shelli lugged it up the steps and through the door. Finally the table was back where it belonged. To mark the occasion Shelli cooked a roast dinner with meat from their own cattle. The first beast they grew. The whole evening was symbolic of a new beginning. New life being breathed into the buildings of the old farm. The air was filled with possibility. 

Pete sat at the head of the table. Perhaps the farmer who had died had sat in that very spot every evening. When the meal was finished Shelli cleared away their plates stacking them neatly to ferry them to the sink for washing. There was no money or spare electricity for dishwashers here. Pete’s hand slid up Shelli’s thigh as she leaned forward to remove the salt and pepper. 

“Someone is frisky tonight,” she smiled back at her husband. 

“How could I not be?” He responded with his own grin. “Fantastic meal, beautiful wife. Who is hot as fuck.” His fingers slid under the elastic of her panties. “And I believe she is as horny as me.”

Shelli leaned further forward to retrieve a teacup, “I swear I have no idea what you are talking about.” Her skirt lifted higher as Pete’s fingers dipped into her wet opening. 

“Really?” He asked as he moved his face close enough to inhale the scent of her.

“Absolutely! Unnff,” She collapsed on the table as his fingers stroked her opening. Her legs spread wider as he pushed his fingers deep inside her, finding the places he knew would make her weak at the knees. Groans of pleasure filled the dining room as she writhed in pleasure, completely at his mercy. Liquid trickled down his fingers sending a jolt straight to his cock. 

Without speaking he stood up from his chair and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free throbbing with desire for his wife. With his tongue touching his lips Pete pulled aside Shelli’s sodden panties. There was a sound of stitches tearing but he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was burying himself deep inside her.

As his cock touched her she backed against him eagerly her desire matched his as he gripped her hips pumping hungrily. From the first thrust he knew he would not be able to last. She was so amazing, her arse was so full and round, slapping against his belly. He could feel the familiar pressure of his seed pressing against the base of his cock, clamouring to fill her. He held as long as he could but it was not long. With a loud groan he pumped his load into her. His strong fingers gripped her hips, she held herself against him eagerly welcoming his jizz. 

His body collapsed over hers, a slight sheen of sweat formed on his back as he revelled in the warmth of her body and the smell of their sex. After a few moments he started to worry about his weight on top of her and he stood up to free her. His cock slid out of her and a dribble of his cum formed on her leg. Shelli squeezed her legs together.

“I don’t want to lose any,” she whispered against the tablecloth.

Pete smiled fondly and caressed the line of her back making her shiver, “Why not?”

“I want to grow more than just cows.” She looked at him with a sly look on her face, “This table is too big for just two people.” 

By the Ocean

Photo by Palle Knudsen on Unsplash

Take one man. Slightly salty with a sense of humour, Add a woman with a dirty mind. Find a quiet space near a beach perhaps with a park bench. 

The man puts his hand on her thigh and looks into her eyes. She opens her legs and the sea breeze tantalises her just a little. 

Their faces are close, she can hear his breathing but he refrains from kissing her. Instead he slips his hand higher so that his fingers graze her naked pussy. Now it is her turn to breathe heavily. 

Her hand slides down into his pants. Fingers wrap around the velvet skin of his engorged cock. She moves her hand gently up and down the shaft. His fingers delved deeper opening up the silky wetness of her cunt. 

He moves between her legs and unzips his pants. With his other hand he pulls her closer. The sun shines down but no one else is there on the beach to enjoy it. 

Then they are fucking. Him sitting on the bench with her on his lap. His hands grip the globes of her arse as she moves up and down on his shaft. They are wild and free in nature. 

When they are done, she sits on the bench. Her dress is pulled down over he knees. He stands and zips his pants before kissing her goodbye and walking away. She leans back on the bench basking in the sun and the memory of him. 

Somewhere, hidden by the bushes her husband is watching. His cock too is engorged. He steps out of the bushes and stands in front of his wife. She looks up at him. Her eyes glisten with desire.  She is not satisfied. 

He pulls her up and bends her forwards over the bench. Her dress is hiked up allowing him access to her deep wet cunt. His fingers grip her hips as he fucks her. She responds, arching her back revelling in the feel of being filled by him. Together their desire builds but at the last minute he pulls out of her. 

She stands, legs splayed, panting, aching for him. 

“Don’t turn around,” his instructions are firm. 

She waits, listening to the sound of the water lapping. Feeling the breeze on her bare arse, grazing her tender cunt. Then there is another pair of hands stroking her, fingers dipping into her opening.

Her husband stands in the bushes, watching.