Lucy's Bedroom

Why The National Health Service Is A Marvellous Thing

The wallpaper on D’s phone is a photo he took of my bum with my clit ring glinting as it catches the light of the flash. A senior consultant spotted it today and said, “That’s nice, is she your girl?”

Slightly abashed, D admitted I am.

“Marvellous thing, the female arse. I knew a girl in Chelsea in the early 1970s who had a particularly nice arse. She liked to be flogged while she sucked on the biggest black cock we could find for her. Used to get me to drive her around Brixton looking for likely types. She’d spot one and make me stop the car, then she’d hop out and a few minutes later we’d all motor back to her place and get on with it. Couldn’t last of course. She married the younger son of (name of aristocrat removed, in case his solicitor’s reading) and ended up living in some mouldering pile in Norfolk. Often wonder how she got on. I should imagine there’s very little black cock to be had in Norfolk. Still, happy days…”

And then he clapped D on the shoulder and strolled away.

Blackmail

D kept his promise to lock my Hitachi Magic Wand away, it’s in the top drawer of his desk and the key is on his key ring. I’ve tried jemmying it with a knife and picking the lock with a hair pin but life is not like the movies and it stayed obstinately locked. In the end, the only resource I had left was blackmail.

“Either you unlock this drawer right now or you don’t get a single, solitary blowjob for the whole of January.”

“Not from you, anyway.”

“No, not from me and…hang on, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well if you’re not going to do it I shall have to go elsewhere for blowjobs. And there’s a whole nurses’ home full of nubile, compliant…”

“Well in that case, if you don’t unlock this drawer right now I shall invite your parents to stay for the whole of January. I’ll tell them we’re thinking of installing an urban reed bed filter system to make us independent of the mains sewage system and would they help us dig it in the garden.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll unlock it.  Sheesh, you’re so uptight sometimes, maybe you do need something to relax you…”

With the key poised at the lock he stopped and looked up at me, grinning.  “There’s just one condition.”

“Oh yes?”  I don’t like the sound of this.

“Once the Magic Wand’s released it doesn’t go away again until I say so. There can be no way of knowing when I’ll get tired of playing with you or how many times you’ll have cum before that happens. Do you accept this condition?”

I look at the locked desk then I look at D then back at the desk. I don’t like this condition at all and I want to call his bluff, say, “No thanks” and stroll away. But I can’t, I’m too horny. I look back at D and nod.

While he unwinds the lead and plugs it in I scramble onto the bed, tugging my clothes off and sprawling across it with my thighs parted. D kneels up on the bed, straddling me and switches the vibe onto its lowest speed, a dull hum that fills the room as he touches it to my bottom lip. I giggle as it tickles and makes my teeth buzz. He sweeps it over my chin and down my neck, circling it round my nipples which pop up hard as bullets. D bends over and wraps his arm around my waist, lifting me clear of the bed and dumping me down again with my head and shoulders hanging over the edge. I reach back hurriedly to rest my fingertips on the floor.

Now he can brush the vibe across my belly and over my hips. He turns the speed up to medium and it rises in tone, an insistent buzz as I arch my back, rolling my hips and whimpering as D trails it down to the mound of my pussy, squealing as it sweeps from hipbone to hipbone, shifting my hands on the floor, palm-down now, bearing my weight.

He takes the vibe away for a moment and turns it up to full speed, a whining drill sound as I arch and struggle, hair falling over my face and my tits bouncing as I shuffle for balance. Without warning he presses the spinning head of the vibe firmly between the folds of my pussy and I scream, squirming and gasping, as he rotates it around my clit, my nerve endings yelling with the sudden overload of sensation, my orgasm ripped from me as I scream and scream and scream.

D lets go and I tumble onto the floor, panting and trembling. He reaches down for a fistful of my hair and pulls me up to a kneeling position, my arms braced against the wall, my cheek flat against it, my bottom thrust out. He shoves the vibe between my thighs and switches it on full speed again. I howl, trying to flatten my belly against the wall to escape it but it follows me and I throw my head back, gasping and whimpering as I start to cum again, painfully, shudderingly weakening with every jerk of my body.

I lick my dry lips, looking over my shoulder towards him as he beckons me onto the bed. My legs shake as I stand and climb up. He parts them, pushing my thighs as wide as they will go while I reach behind me, propping myself up with braced arms. Looking into my face, he applies the vibe again, at its lowest volume this time, slowly increasing the speed and making my eyes widen and my mouth hang open as I pant and squeal. He takes the vibe away and touches it back against the tip of my clit for just long enough to make me shriek and jerk but not long enough to cum until sweat is dripping down my brow and my fringe is plastered to my face and I’m begging him, “Oh God, please let me cum, let me cum , LET ME CUMMMMMM!” My pleas turn into a wail as he rubs the head of the tip up and down the underside of my clit and I lift my hips up off the bed, pushing back and grinding my cunt against it, cumming in agony.

I curl up on the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees and whisper through dry lips, “Let me rest.”

“No rest.”

He grabs my ankle and hauls it down the bed, slipping the vibe between my legs, pressed between my belly and the bedclothes. I squirm on it, trying to shift the tormenting, spinning, buzzing tip away from my clit. D slaps my arse hard. “Stop that!” I curl my fingers into the bedclothes, grabbing fistfuls as I bury my face and moan hopelessly, muffled and shuddering. It hurts now, the vibe on my clit is agony and my eyes brim with tears as I breathe raggedly, groans turning to high-pitched squeals as my nerve endings clench and explode into a sharp, painful orgasm. I push up onto my knees to escape the vibe, trembling hard now with tears streaking my face.

D rubs the tip of the vibe along the crack of my arse, pressing it against my arsehole while I moan, my thighs slick with juice and more dripping from my sodden cunt. Suddenly he switches it off and I sigh, slumping back onto the bed, thinking it’s over. He hands me the vibe.

“Your turn.  I want to watch you.”

“No, I can’t, please don’t make me, it hurts, let me rest.”

“If you don’t, I’m going into the kitchen for a roll of tape and I’m going to tape it to the inside of your thigh with its tip buried in your cunt and then I’m going to tape your wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed and then I’m going to switch it on to top speed and then I’m going to go out for the night and leave you.”

I stare at him, horrified.  He laughs and kisses me.

“Don’t look so frightened, Lucy.  I’d come back in the morning to see what was left of you.”

He switches on the vibe in my hands.

I sit, propped up with cushions, the tip of the vibe almost touching my clit. My hands tremble and it touches my clit. I squeal and pull it away. D laughs at me. This time I hold it nearer its head with one hand, parting my sticky, swollen pussy lips with the other. Slowly I slide the vibe up from the entrance to my cunt until it’s touching the tip of my clit and I lock my thighs shut around it, screaming and rocking and rubbing my clit up and down its spinning head. D reaches forwards and parts my thighs again. “That’s it slut,” he whispers, “keep riding it, don’t stop, keep cumming, love the pain.”

He kisses me, deeply and slowly, our tongues lazily battling and I moan weakly into his mouth as my orgasm ebbs and rises again, my scream gagged by his kiss.

My fingers are so tightly clenched around the vibe he has to unpeel them, tossing it aside as he unzips his achingly stiff cock and slides it into my sopping cunt. I’m too weak to do anything except twine my fingers through his and let him drive his cock into my squelching cunt, baring his teeth and groaning as he pumps his spunk into me.

We lie for a long time, his cock slowly softening inside me, his breathing deepening to a gentle snore. I’m wide awake, blood still pounding through my body, my limbs growing numb beneath his weight. The Magic Wand is just out of reach. I stretch carefully, the corners of my mouth twitching as I think about gently pressing the tip to the sensitive skin just behind his balls and switching it on to top speed. But then I remember the tape in the kitchen and, shuddering, I leave the vibe where it is.

Spend Christmas With Lucy

Christmas Eve

A miracle happened this Christmas and D did not have to work. A little while ago he was on call at all hours after a wave of food poisoning hit the hospital canteen (anyone familiar with British hospitals will not be surprised at this). In return for all the extra hours he did then, he was given the chance to take time off at Christmas and so we went to France with my Dad, my brother Joe and his girlfriend Helen.

Dad’s had the house in Brittany since I was little and as children we spent long hot summer holidays there. It’s an old farmhouse, miles from anywhere, in the middle of cornfields and cow pastures; the nearest town in Nantes, at least half an hour’s drive away. At this time of year it’s rather beautifully bleak with the fields ploughed and empty and naked trees outlined dramatically against a chalky-white sky. The house is like a snug little fort, with beamed ceilings and small, shuttered windows and log fires in all the downstairs rooms and all the bedrooms. Not being a man to stint himself, my Dad has made a number of improvements over the years, including a heated outdoor swimming pool that steams greenly in the winter air and uncharacteristically luxurious bathrooms en suite to all the bedrooms. Mine has a square, sunken bath with jade green mosaic tiles and a view that just takes in a sliver of sea on the horizon.

D and I lounge in the bath, wine glasses perched on its edge, listening to the sounds of the house. The log fire next door spitting and settling, floorboards creaking as everyone moves around, unpacking. Downstairs I can hear my Dad talking to one of the neighbouring farmers in the kitchen – clearly something has just been delivered. Ah, now I can hear honking so it’s obviously a goose that is not quite as dead as might have been anticipated of something that’s going to be lunch tomorrow.

As we sit on the edge of the bed, wrapped in towels and drying between our toes, D delivers the exciting news that I can have my first Christmas present straight away. I bounce excitedly and he tells me to close my eyes and open my mouth. A bit puzzled, I obey but my eyes shoot wide open as I feel the rubber ball slide over my lips and the leather straps tighten around my head, fastening with a crunch of Velcro. D laughs at my surprised face and leads me to the mirror so I can see my lips stretched around the shiny red ball of soft rubber – I bite it experimentally and it gives under my teeth, springing back to fill my mouth and press my tongue flat. I can still breathe around it but already I can feel saliva gathering in my mouth and I struggle to swallow.

D stands behind me, grinning at me in the mirror as he plays with my tits. “I didn’t want you feeling inhibited in a house full of family so now you won’t have to worry about trying to keep quiet.”

I mime cross frowning at him but he just laughs again and pulls me onto the bed, hoisting my thighs over his shoulders as he buries his face in my cunt, licking it with long, lazy laps. I squirm, grabbing fistfuls of bedclothes and moaning, muffled, into my gag. As he sucks on my clit I bite down on my gag, gasping and panting, my tits shuddering, my back arching. He flutters the tip of his tongue against the tender underside of my clit and I whimper, saliva trickling from the corners of my mouth. He lifts his head and looks up at me, circling my clit with the tip of one finger. I prop myself up on my elbows so he can see me properly.

“Do you like your present?”

I love my present. It makes me feel helpless and overwhelmed and submissive and desperate to cum. My jaw aches and my chin is covered in drool and I look absurdly like a sex doll, but I love my present. Of course, I can’t tell him any of this, so I just nod, my eyes glassy with lust. He slips two fingers into my cunt and teases my clit with his tongue into a crashing orgasm that leaves me thrashing on the bed and groaning into my gag.

As we sit downstairs, politely at supper, I struggle to concentrate on the conversation as my mind keeps wandering back to D’s last words, spoken quietly as we switched the bedroom lights off and headed downstairs. “Tonight, you’re going to wear the gag while I fuck your arse.”

Christmas Day

Hooray, I have stocking presents! In the absence of an actual stocking, these are sitting wrapped up at the bottom of the bed. I’m a bit taken aback as I don’t have stocking presents for D but he explains that these are presents I might not want to open downstairs.

My hands are slightly shaky as I un-wrap them. D makes me stop and read the labels; one reads, ‘Because you’ve been a good girl’, the other, ‘Because you’ve been a bad girl’. I open ‘good girl’ first. It’s a Hitachi Magic Wand, which was in my letter to Father Christmas. It’s absolutely enormous, over a foot long, and the vibrating ball at its head is soft and pliant. I want to plug it in immediately and try it out, my pussy’s already wet and tingling, but D warns me it’s noisy enough to wake the whole house and takes it off me, handing me the ‘bad girl’ parcel.

I untie the pink ribbon, the tissue paper falls open and out tumble a leather paddle and a cane. Gingerly I pick them up and finger them while D watches me. I bend the cane back and let its tip go, jumping slightly as it swishes loudly through the air. I wrap my hand around the paddle’s handle, feeling its weight. I try to think about what I feel, which is not easy as my head seems full of buzzing static. I’m excited, my cunt betrays me, but very nervous too. These implements and last night’s gag feel like a conscious ‘stepping up’ of our games. I want it and I don’t want it. And that’s the point. Submission would be easy if there was no ‘I don’t want it’. It’s about thinking ‘no’ and saying ‘yes’. Somewhere in that ‘yes’ I lose myself and become weightless.

I turn to look at D, still watching me intently, and my eyes fill with tears. He leans over, kissing me and rolling me onto my back. I moan into his mouth, begging him to fuck me and he does, an intense, passionate fuck while tears roll down my cheeks.

Showered and wrapped in bathrobes, we can hear the rest of the household getting up, the noise from downstairs growing, a small cheer as my Dad pops open the first of many bottles of champagne. Just before we leave the room, D makes me stand with my hand out and he holds my fingertips, steadying my trembling as he gives it a single swipe with the cane. I flinch and squeak loudly, yanking my fist back and curling it into a ball as the burning stripe sears a scarlet line across my palm. We run down the stairs, me wiping the tears from my eyes with the heel of my hand.

I am easily distracted by shiny objects and so soon plunge into the gaiety of ripping my presents open. My Dad has got me the Jimmy Choo boots I wanted. I’m hoping this is because D took the hint when I mentioned them on this blog and told him that’s what I wanted, rather than my Dad has stumbled across my blog and is reading it. Joe got me the Diane Arbus book, which again I put down to a tip-off. And D has got me a very beautiful silver and opal necklace, a delicate, modern choker which was made at the same jewellery workshop he went to for my clit jewellery. Everyone admires it very much and D looks a bit smug – until I open the next present, discover it’s Dalek bubble bath and get equally excited about that.

I’ve already given D his proper present, which was a visit to James Taylor & Sons in Paddington Street to be measured for a couple of pairs of bespoke shoes. D has slightly different sized feet which can make buying shoes difficult. He ends up with innersoles to make one shoe smaller but it’s not really satisfactory for work, where he’s on his feet for hours. James Taylor & Sons are one of those Victorian gentlemen’s outfitters that have been making footwear for the gentry for generations. The whole business of visiting their shop, being measured, choosing the leather and the stitching and then going back to try on the snug-as-a-glove shoes was good fun. It’s also fun to walk into a shop sporting a pink fringe, a tattoo and a t-shirt that says ‘2 drinks away from girl-on-girl action’ and still be treated like the Duchess of Devonshire.

We went to Christmas Mass in Nantes Cathedral and on the drive back sang the songs we used to sing in the car as children – Don’t Put Your Daughter on the Stage Mrs Worthington (“she has nice hands, to give the wretched girl her due…”); The Hippopotamus Song (“mud, mud, glorious mud, nothing quite like it for cooling the blood…”); and Poisoning Pigeons in the Park (“oh the spring seems in tune on a warm afternoon when we’re poisoning pigeons in the park…”). We stuff ourselves with roast goose and apple sauce then doze like walruses on the sofas. In the hall, Dad has a furtive but slightly-too-loud ‘I love you too’ phone conversation with his girlfriend. In the evening we drag out an old wind up phonograph and some 78s of Caruso which we play at top volume while we stand in a huddle outside, smoking and watching the frost fall across the fields. By midnight we’re in the swimming pool – a wrenching gust of cold when you whip off your robe but beautifully warm when you’re up to your neck in the water. We bob happily while Joe points up to the brilliantly clear stars and makes up their names.

Boxing Day

Everyone else went off to St Malo today while D and I cunningly contrived not to get out of bed in time. St Malo’s nice enough, but we hadn’t had a chance to play with my toys yet. I knelt up on the end of the bed, my bottom warming before the fire, and D rubbed it with the flat of the paddle before cracking it loudly and swiftly twice across each buttock. I gasped and buried my face in the bedclothes, my flesh throbbing as D rubbed my arse again, choosing his target. He cracked it across the top of my thighs and I whimpered, rolling my hips. Slowly, deliberately, D brought the paddle smacking down on every inch of my arse until it was pink and glowing all over. Then he picked up the cane.

He swished it through the air a couple of times, making me jump then pressed it against my skin across the centre of my buttocks, across my swollen cunt. With a flick of his wrist he slashed it across my skin making me squeal and tears prick my eyes. Then he pressed it back in place, slightly below the first welt, and made me wait, my heart racing until he slashed it hard twice across the crease of my buttocks. I curled my fingers into the bedclothes, breathing hard and moaning softly. D slid the tip of the cane between my pussy lips, rubbing it against my clit and lightly tapping against my cunt while I squirmed. Then quickly he slashed my arse three more times while I wailed and sprawled on my tummy.

For a moment I lay panting, tears drying on my cheeks, while D sat beside me, gently stroking my arse. Finally he led me over to the dresser to look at my bum in the mirror. It glowed hot and pink and I could see each of the six stripes from the cane. I rubbed my hands across my skin, feeling the stripes slightly raised, gazing over my shoulder into the mirror while D stood close, his fingers stroking into my slit.

I slid up onto the edge of the dresser, wrapping my legs around D’s waist, kissing his neck and shoulder and chin while I begged him to fuck me. He lifted my legs, sliding my ankles over his shoulders until I was bent double, my thighs crushing my tits as he pounded me, the dresser rattling and bottles and jars spilling off it onto the floor.

In the evening we were on our best behaviour as some of Dad’s friends came to supper. And in this context it’s important to understand ‘best behaviour’ as ‘Lucy thought obsessively about her sore bum as she wriggled on a hard wooden chair with no knickers on’. The highlight of the evening was when I got trapped in the pantry by the most lecherous of dad’s friends – the one who’d greeted me with, “My, haven’t you grown into a lovely young lady” while staring at my tits. I was trying to reach a jar off the top shelf by standing on a chair and he decided to ‘help’ by putting one hand on the back of my thigh and the other on my hip to ‘steady’ me, surreptitiously sliding both towards my bum. I was planning on turning round quickly and clonking him on the head with the jar but D walked in and caught us before I could. “Can I help you?” he said in a way that subtly carried the hidden meaning, “Fuck off immediately, mate.” Flustered, he made his excuses and left while D frowned crossly at me until the door shut when he burst into laughter, pointing and hooting, “Your face!”

The evening ended with a slightly drunken game of boules during which I accidentally-on-purpose dropped a boule on my lecher’s foot. So justice was done.

27 December

I was awake very early and went for a swim on my own, watched by moorhens. Today we got the ferry to Belle Ile to go surfing. I’m not very good at this and the sea was quite rough. Here’s what my surfing is like: lie on board and paddle like crazy; try to stand up but only get as far as sticking my bum in the air before getting blatted by a wave; narrowly avoid being rendered unconscious by my own board; limp back to shore; repeat until I get fed up of being sneered at by the locals.

Later, I got chatted up by one of the locals and had to point out to him that, as he’d spent the best part of the morning sneering at me and my family, this would be a good time for him to fuck off. He seemed surprised that his approach hadn’t worked.

By tea time we were frozen to blocks of ice so went to the only place that was open, a rather grand but faded hotel, and drank hot chocolate in the tea room. The ferry home was stormy and I sat on deck, perched on D’s knee, my anorak rustling in the wind while we kept warm by snogging.

On arriving home, we discover Dad has had a phone call that my Great Aunt Jane has died.  I’ve written about her here More Scenes of London Life and she was quite a character. I used to visit her regularly as she was always keen for gossip and had that quality of unshockability that some old people develop. She usually had some vaguely scandalous story of her past to share – my favourite was the one about having sex with a Cabinet Minister in the basement of the Ritz during an air raid. But the one about having a lesbian affair with the wife of the Colonial Governor of Kenya was good too.

We pack up a day early and I wrap my new toys carefully in jumpers, just in case anyone needs to open my case. I still haven’t played with my Magic Wand – I take it out of its packaging to stroke it and inhale the rubbery smell of its rounded tip. D catches me doing this and grins.

“You know they’ve all driven down to the town to buy some things for the journey, don’t you?  It’s just us here.”

He lifts the ball gag from my open case and dangles it on the ends of his fingers.

“If we’re on our own, why do I need the gag?”

“Because I say so.”

Gagged but still dressed, my knickers tugged off and my skirt pulled up, I lie on the bed, trembling as I listen to D plug the wand in. He switches it on and its whining buzz fills the room. He takes my hand and places the ball of the wand against the palm of my hand where it buzzes and tickles maddeningly. He switches it up through the speeds and the vibrations thrum through my arm, stronger and faster than any vibrator. Switching it down to its lowest speed again, he parts my thighs and runs its tip along their insides, making me arch and whimper. Gently he trails it across the mound of my pussy and the vibrations through my flesh make my clit throb, juice flowing from my cunt and drenching his fingers as he peels my sticky pussy lips apart, exposing my swollen clit. He switches it back to top speed, its whine rising in pitch as my heart races, and he holds it for a moment just over my clit, not quite touching it. I moan into my gag, excited and scared and desperate.

It’s like an electric shock, crackling through my nerve endings, an explosion of fizzing voltage through my clit. I scream and clutch D’s wrist, pushing his hand away, my eyes wide with shock. He snatches my hand away and lies half on top of me, pinning me to the bed as he rubs the spinning ball back against my clit, rubbing it up and down while I wail and bite down hard on my gag, arching and struggling and cumming with a deep, pulsing satisfaction, overlaid with a prickle of painful, aching sensations that finally subside into numbness. I lie sprawled on my back, unresisting now, eyes shut, breathing heavily, my fringe plastered to my brow by a sheen of sweat, my clit pulsing and my heart thudding. This toy is absolutely fucking fantastic!

We can hear the car in the drive now and D unplugs the wand, wrapping its lead around it and stuffing it into his case. Still gagged, I whimper my protest.

“Oh no, Lucy, this isn’t a toy for you to play with, this is a toy for me. When we get home this goes under lock and key and you get it when I think you deserve it. Now get yourself tidied up before your family find out what a little slut you are.”

A Victorian Christmas Tale

Gas lights flickered through the freezing fog, glimmering dimly in the gathering gloom, their flames catching the ice crystals forming from dripping gutters and spreading across the thickly frosted cobbles. In the butcher’s window, fat geese hung from hooks festooned with shining holly, and light spilled from the grocer’s shop as the door burst open and the errand boy mounted his bicycle, its wicker basket overflowing with oranges and sultanas and nuts. He peddled furiously past the pub, the tyres of his bicycle sending up a fine spray of icy sludge, splattering Lucy’s skirt as she trudged wearily through the glowing-cheeked crowds, her thin shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders.

Lucy stopped by the frosted window of the pub, standing on tip toes and peering in at the rowdy press of bodies inside. She huddled in the doorway, each time the door opened a waft of warm air and gin washing over her. But despite her entreaties, each man leaving was on his way home to hearth and family, and none wanted to do trade with such a poor specimen as Lucy. Not even the pot boy, who in hard times could usually be counted on for a tot of gin and hot water in return for a quick fuck over a barrel in the cellar had time for Lucy tonight. He was too busy drawing flasks of port and warming ale with a poker from the fire to even notice her.

With a resigned sigh, Lucy slowly wound her way off the main street and down into the alleys between the buildings, which gradually became smaller, brick turning to wood, home turning to hovel. The sole of her boot flapped loose as she walked and her hem dragged in the mud, the ripped sleeve of her dress slipping from her shoulder. She passed men in small groups and alone, some standing around braziers warming their hands, some top-hatted and muffled, striding quickly. As she passed, she muttered, “Looking for business? Anyone looking for business?” A gentleman stared at her, horrified, and beat her away with his cane. A group around a fire let her hover for a few minutes, warming herself, but then backed her against the wall, holding her roughly and tugging up her skirt, their hands between her legs as she struggled and kicked.

A voice from the darkness called out, “Unhand her!”

“Nah mate, this one’s ours, you get your own.”

“I said, put her down, sir!”

“Ooh, ‘ark at ‘im callin’ me ‘sir’ ever so lah-di-dah. She ain’t worth your bother squire, she’s just a tuppeny whore, I’ve seen ‘er do it for a glass of gin an’ a warm by the fire. Well she’s ‘ad a warm by our fire so now we’re takin’ our ‘alf of the bargain!”

A pistol shot into the air cut through the coarse laughter of the men. They grew suddenly still and their hands dropped from Lucy’s limbs.

“I’ve told you twice.  Now for the third and last time, unhand that girl or by God you’ll suffer the consequences.”

Muttering and cursing, their courage restored by distance, the men slunk away and Lucy slumped to the ground, shivering and sobbing.

“None of that now girl,“ said the strange gentleman, stooping to grip Lucy’s arm and pull her to her feet. “You’re coming with me.”

He set off at a brisk pace, dragging Lucy with him, trotting alongside him, clutching uselessly behind her as her shawl slipped from her shoulders and fluttered away behind her. They turned towards the Thames, silver in the moonlight, glimpsed between the looming warehouses and rotting jetties and Lucy cast anxious, sidelong glances at her companion, his black cape billowing flashes of scarlet lining, his ivory-topped cane clattering and echoing as it struck the ground, his handsome profile and dark, waxed moustache set off by his tall silk hat. Lucy shivered in the cold but sensed money.

Suddenly he yanked her up a set of rickety wooden steps and rapped sharply with his cane on the door at the top. A grille shot back and Lucy glimpsed shining eyes taking them in for a second before the door creaked open and she was shoved inside. Blinking in the dim, smoky room, Lucy slowly took in her surroundings. Coloured paper lanterns hung in strings from the high beamed ceiling, the candles inside guttering and casting leaping, sinister shadows across the walls. Wooden bunks, intricately latticed with carved ebony, each with a bed roll and littered with silk cushions, lined the walls. Beside each bunk, a small table held a candle, an inlaid box and a long-stemmed pipe. At some tables, young Chinese girls knelt; their heads bowed as they poured jasmine tea and lit pipes, passing them to the gentlemen who reclined on each bunk.

Lucy’s gentleman dragged her into a bunk, laying her down, his knee pinned between her legs while he clicked his fingers. A serving girl ran over and Lucy watched, fascinated, as she filled two glasses with a viscous, green liquid and balanced a silver spoon across the top of each, a sugar lump balanced on top which she lit with a candle. For a second, the acrid scent of burnt sugar filled Lucy’s nostrils then her gentleman tipped the sugar into the drinks and pressed one to her lips. Lucy choked as she swallowed, immediately dizzy from its heady hit of alcohol. Meanwhile her gentleman took a lighted pipe from the serving girl and drew deeply on it, his eyes growing dark with pleasure as he lay back, propped up on one elbow. He pulled Lucy towards him and kissed her, pipe smoke filling her mouth and nostrils, her head buzzing and her eyesight blurred.

Lucy felt her limbs grow heavy and she put up no resistance as she was hauled by unseen hands from the bunk to the centre of the room, her ragged dress ripped from her body. A rattling and creaking noise above her head made her look up sharply and she started as she saw chains swaying and unravelling, lowering a worn wooden board towards her head. It swung open on hinges and was placed carefully around her neck and wrists, clanging shut and secured with a heavy padlock. Lucy tottered for a moment beneath its weight before, with a groan, gears above her head began to turn, the chains grew taut and Lucy was pulled up onto her tip toes, her chin tipped up. She peered over the edge of the board towards the bunk where she knew her gentleman lay, but all she could see of him was his cane, signalling ‘up’ as the chains creaked again and she was lifted, kicking and gasping, off her feet.

The board obscured the view below and so Lucy only heard the yapping and scuttling of Pekinese dogs that accompanied the entrance of the blank-faced Chinese lady, her long scarlet fingernails curled around the handle of her whip, the dogs chasing its plaited, frayed tip as it dragged the floor behind her. With a CRACK it curled around Lucy’s waist, stinging her belly. Another CRACK and it slashed across her breasts, striping them pink. CRACK across her thighs, its tip kissing the swollen lip of her pussy. CRACK across her jiggling buttocks as she screamed and squirmed. Slowly, remorselessly, the Chinese lady worked away at Lucy’s body, whipping her until her flesh glowed with scarlet stripes, her nipples swollen and engorged to a deep purple, her cunt dripping onto the filthy wooden floorboards beneath, her trembling lips open in a silent, hopeless scream of torment and lust. Lucy whimpered as she drew the whip between her cunt lips, rubbing it against her throbbing clit and, with a flick of the wrist, smacking its tip against the tender underside of her clit, making her squeal. She longed for just one more, so close to cumming she could feel her clit swelling, a tight knot in her belly, her heart racing.

With a sharp rap on the floor with his cane, her gentleman ended the entertainment and Lucy groaned in disappointment. She listened to the tip tap of the lady walking away, followed by the skittering and panting of her tiny dogs. Then the sound was replaced by a loud scraping of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

Below her, the machine was manoeuvred into place. A small brazier occupied one end of the apparatus, and this was busily filled with hot coals by serving girls. Above it, a water tank was filled. Pistons attached at one end to a fly wheel and at the other end to two upright levers with screw-thread ends. Onto these were screwed two monstrous phalluses, each at last a foot long, one carved of ebony, the other of ivory and each thick and ridged and shining with oil. Lucy flinched as she felt their tips pressed to her cunt and arse. The serving girls clapped and barked orders to figures in the darkness and with a rattle, Lucy was lowered onto them, screaming as they pierced her, stretching her holes wider than they had ever been before. The tank rattled as the water inside began to bubble and a tiny puff of steam vented. Lucy’s ankles were locked into heavy iron manacles and spread wide, their chains bolted to rings in the floor. She shrieked as the phalluses inside her jerked slightly and suddenly the serving girls vanished and Lucy was on her own in the centre of the room.

The tank rattled again, harder this time and the phalluses jerked. Then slowly, the fly wheel began to turn, easing the phalluses deep into her, one filling and stretching her cunt, probing the neck of her womb, the other agonisingly filling her bowels, making her groan and writhe. One, two, three times the wheel turned and Lucy’s moans grew more desperate. Then, all of a sudden, the tank reached full pressure and the pistons began pounding the wheel, driving the polished cocks with a blur into Lucy’s helpless body. She began screaming, jerking violently at every thrust, brutally fucked.

Each time her violated body tried to rescue her from this humiliation by passing out of consciousness, there was a serving girl on hand with a bucket of freezing Thames water to revive her. Finally, not even that could restore her and she was hauled up, off the machine, both holes gaping and dripping a mixture of her own juices and the machine’s oil, then lowered back to the groung where she slumped on the floor while she was released.

Lucy briefly recovered consciousness as she felt her head banging against the edge of the steps she was being dragged up by her ankles. Two Chinese sailors were hauling her up into a cavernous warehouse, filled with tea chests above the opium den. One wall was open to the night sky and the river below, its doors flung open and its landing stage lowered. The sailors argued bitterly between themselves, one finally elbowing the other aside and unbuttoning his cock, forcing it down Lucy’s throat and fucking her face, holding her by the ears and banging her head off the floor. Lucy sucked weakly, reflexively, an echo of the service she’d given to so many paying gentlemen since childhood. Gratefully, she swallowed his spunk, thankful for the first nourishment she’d had that day. His mate replaced him, sliding his hands round her already bruised neck and squeezing them tightly against his cock as it plundered her throat. Lucy moaned and stretched her tongue out to lap at his balls.

With their spunk still trickling down her chin, the sailors grabbed Lucy by the wrists and ankles and swung her through the air. On the third swing, they let go and watched her sailing over the landing stage, kicking and flailing and screeching as she flew through the air in an arc, her terrified eyes staring up at them as she plummeted into the freezing river.

Every nerve in Lucy’s body sang as she hit the water, choking and spluttering as it filled her burning lungs, her hair streaming around her horrified face, her limbs struggling more slowly now as the life drained from her body and the current of the murky river began to take her.

“A fine Christmas morning this is.”

“It’s sad indeed and I’m sorry to have to call you to the River Coroner’s office when you should be celebrating, but it’s the fifth in a row, one every day now.”

“No, you’re wrong, if the time of death is as estimated on this chart of yours then she’s the second in the last 24 hours, he’s gathering pace as the madness takes hold of him.”

“Thank the Lord that’s the job of the police, I’m just here to determine the cause of death. She’s the same as the others. Malnourished, her stomach empty but for a small quantity of ejaculate…”

“Human?”

“Yes, human ejaculate. This man might be a monster but there’s no evidence he…well, not yet anyway. She has general bruising, most of it old. I’d say she took a few knocks as part and parcel of her trade.”

“A prostitute?”

“Like the others, yes, someone who wouldn’t be missed. Her neck, wrists and ankles are freshly bruised and she’s covered in lacerations from a whip. I’d say quite a brutal one of a type seen mainly in the Orient. She’s been brutally violated vaginally and anally, there’s evidence of lesser violation of her throat. Her lungs are filled with water which indicates she was alive when she went into the river, so actual cause of death is drowning.”

“Thank you. As you say, this is a matter for the police now. If you wouldn’t mind giving me a few minutes alone with the corpse to begin my investigations…”

“Be my guest.  Oh, and merry Christmas!”

The Inspector snorted as the Coroner slipped out of the morgue and back to his fireside. Gently he ran a hand across the dead girl’s brow, feeling the cold marble smoothness of her skin. He trailed his fingers across her shoulder and cupped her breast, stroking down to her belly. Her eyes were open, watery and vacant, gazing impassively up at him, agreeing – as he reconciled it in his own mind – to be touched in this way. Unbuttoning his fly, the Inspector climbed up onto the marble slab, parting the folds of her cunt with his fingers and sliding his cock into her cold, damp flesh. As he laid his weigh on top of her and began with a grunt to fuck, a trickle of foetid river water spurted from between her cold blue lips.

Prevarication

I’m off to France for Christmas to stay at my dad’s house in Brittany so no updates now until the New Year. Make sure you come back to find out how I got on. Did Lucy get goosed at Christmas? Did a strange man come down her chimney at midnight? Was she roasted before an open fire and given a good stuffing? (All remarks copyright the scriptwriters of the ‘Carry On…’ films. If only I was spending Christmas in Bristol* I could have got a few more gags in. Never mind, maybe I’ll get a nice pear in my stocking this year.)

I’m prevaricating and not doing my packing. For a start, I spent part of the morning turning a mild disagreement about who should get out of bed and make a cup of tea into a three-hour sex session that I now don’t have time to describe to you, so here’s the edited highlights: D not very convincingly tied by his wrists to the bed head with Christmas ribbon; me sucking his cock until he’s almost cumming, then stopping and straddling his face until he’s licked me to orgasm; me repeating this a couple of times; D losing his patience with this and chasing me, squealing, round the bedroom; the neighbours switching their radio on very loud in a polite, British ‘we don’t actually want to complain about you playing noisy sex games but good grief enough is enough’ kind of way; D wrestling me onto the bed and covering my mouth with his hand while he fucks me until I’m almost cumming, then stopping and straddling my face, making me suck his cock; D repeating this a couple of times then cumming on my face while I lick my lips; Lucy and D having a little rest and the cup of tea that started the whole thing off, then repeating it all over again only this time Lucy gets fucked up the arse.

Now I’m prevaricating even more by writing this blog instead of doing the ironing. Maybe I’ll go an annoy D and see if I can provoke a spanking…

*For the benefit of overseas readers: It’s rhyming slang. Bristol City = titty. As in “Cor, look at the Bristols on that!” To be said, accompanied by a Sid James leer, a nudge in the ribs and a chortling “Yuk, yuk, yuk,” laugh.

Face Fucked

“Get on your knees; I’m going to fuck your face.”

I dropped to my knees, leaning back to grip the heels of my boots, lifting them off the ground until I balanced on my kneecaps, my head held steady between D’s hands. Swaying unsteadily, I gazed up at him, licking my lips and opening my mouth wide. As he unzipped his cock and jerked it firmly in his fist I stretched my tongue out as far as it would go. Bending, he spat onto my tongue then rested the head of his cock on its tip, sliding one hand to the back of my head and cupping my chin with the other, his fingers pressing hard into my cheeks.

Slowly, he slid his cock into my mouth, pressing on as I began to gag, swallowing hard and spluttering as he tipped my head back and forced his cock into my throat. My neck bulged and my face flushed pink as I panted hard, my tits heaving and trembling. For a second he pressed my face into his belly before releasing his grip on my head. I tumbled back, losing my grip on my heels, coughing and choking as his cock slid from my throat.

He watched me, waiting until I recovered my composure. Wordlessly he pointed at the spot on the floor before him and I knelt back at his feet, gripping my heels again and balancing uncomfortably on my knees while he gripped my head again. A sharp slap on my cheek prompted me to open my mouth wide and stretch my tongue out again. He pinched the tip of my tongue between his fingers and spat on it again before stuffing his cock back into my throat while tears prickled my eyes and I choked and heaved, my belly twitching as I struggled to swallow him.

He jerked my head back pulling his cock out, a trail of saliva hanging between my bottom lip and the tip of his cock for a second before it flopped onto my tits. Yanking me closer, rocking me on my knees, he thrust his cock back into my raw throat, fucking it in and out a few times before pulling it out again. This time he caught the trail of spit with his hand, smearing it onto my face before forcing his cock back between my lips and starting to fuck my throat deeply and steadily, rocking me faster until my tits bounced and slapped against my ribs. My knees and thighs ached and I tightened my grip on the heels of my boots until my knuckles were white, saliva dripping from my chin as I gagged, my face streaked with mascara, my lips trembling as I choked out a sob.

Sliding his hands to my neck he circled it, squeezing gently, his thumbs rubbing up and down the front of my neck, pressing against the shaft of his cock. He pulled out again and rubbed the head of his cock all over my face, slapping my cheek with it.

“Do you want it harder, Lucy?  Can you take it?”

I want him to stop. My throat hurts and my knees hurt. My thighs and shoulders ache. I’m trembling and crying. He cups my cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb before pressing it to my lips. I suck on it, my eyes shut, fluttering the tip of my tongue against its pad. I look up at him again with red eyes and nod.

He grips my throat with one hand, wrapping my hair around his other and rams his cock brutally into my throat, fucking it furiously, grunting with effort. I lose my grip on my heels and dig my fingernails sharply into his thighs, trying to brace my arms against him. I heave, spitting up thick white saliva that drips down my tits and onto my belly as he roars and his cock jerks, gushing spunk down my throat, pumping it into my belly.

He releases me and I slump, coughing weakly and weeping as I curl into a ball on the floor. He curls his body around mine, trembling and breathing raggedly. He cups my breast in his hand, pinching my nipple hard and I whimper.

Sloppy Seconds

I’m bad. I had a giggly, slightly drunk, in-the-coats-room party fuck with a strange man (my friend Lynda’s ex-boyfriend’s best friend, in case you’re keeping detailed records on me). I don’t even have an excuse. I hadn’t had an argument with D; I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing; he didn’t take advantage of me. I just really fancied him and he had a hard-on.

It’s the kind of sex that’s always really good even though it’s rubbish. Fumbling, excited, new-cock sex where everything is different from what you’re used to. His kiss tastes different, his skin feels different, the weight of his body on top of mine is different. Of course neither of us has any idea what the other one likes, or the opportunity to find out, so he cums, I don’t and we’re both left sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, sharing a cigarette as I tug my skirt down and he zips his cock away.

We walk back into the party, casually avoiding each others’ glance, laughing slightly too loudly at people’s jokes in an attempt to seem normal. My heart is still racing a little and my knickers are soaked and sticking to my cunt. I feel flushed and bright-eyed and I suspect everyone guesses.

Tumbling out of the taxi, I stand outside the flat, looking at the light streaming from the bedroom window where the curtains aren’t quite shut. D and I haven’t been entirely well-behaved and faithful in the time we’ve been together, but it’s a long time since I strayed. I never ask D whether he does. I wonder if, without discussing it, we’ve passed a line and I shouldn’t do this anymore. Standing in the cold, I phone him.

“Did you have a good time?  Where are you?”

“I’m outside.”

“Hang on, I’ll let you in.”

“No, wait. I um, well you’ll probably find out about this anyway. I was dancing with X and, well it went a bit beyond dancing and I ended up in the coats room with him. I didn’t set out to, y’know, I wasn’t looking for…”

“Did you use a condom?”

Oh, fuck!  No I didn’t!

“Um, no.”

“Did you shower?”

“No.”

“Are you still wet?”

“Um…yes.”

“Get in here now you filthy bitch.”

He slammed me up against the bedroom wall, lifting me up onto his cock and ramming it, squelching into my sloppy cunt. My head banged off the wall and he dug his fingertips deep into my buttocks, hissing into my ear in time with his thrusts, “You dirty – little – whore – cock – sucking – slut – fuck – hole – slag!” I started to laugh, exhilarated and dazed and quivering on the brink of cumming. He kissed my neck and my jaw, my chin and my cheeks. He nipped my bottom lip between his teeth then sucked it before thrusting his tongue deep in my mouth and moaning as he shot his spunk into me, his thighs trembling. Grunting, he managed a few more painful thrusts as I squirmed on his cock, whimpering and cumming, my lips pressed against his neck as I mumbled, “Yes, yes yessss.”

Afterwards, we sat on the edge of the bed, just as I had with X and I held his hand.  “No spanking this time?”

“Nah, you’re lucky, you just caught me in the mood for sloppy seconds.”

The Ho With The Blog

Guess who came into the store today.  Go on, guess.  No, you’re all wrong, it was Akanke from this post here Chub Fuddling. I could see her coming a good way off because in her platform boots she’s easily six feet tall, not including her afro hair. She was dressed for this shopping trip in skin-tight sequined jeans, a black silk corset top that thrust her frankly enormous bosom so high I’m amazed she could see over the top, an ankle-length fur coat and pink sunglasses with diamante frames.

She let out a piercing squeal that made everyone on the shop-floor freeze in shock and then came thundering across, elbowing mild-mannered men out of her way, to scoop me up, my face buried in her boobs while she kissed me. Considering I only worked with her for a couple of days, she seemed very pleased to see me. Grinning stupidly and with a big lipstick kiss on my cheek I asked her what she was doing these days.

“Shopping wit’ me fellah. He’s buying me rocks an’ frocks an’ shit.” And she begins tipping out the contents of her 112 shopping bags to show me. While she’s doing this I eye her boyfriend warily. Seriously, if you haven’t read the last post Akanke appeared in pop back and read it now to find out what he’s like. The rest of us will wait for you.

So, Akanke’s boyfriend looks like Isaac Hayes in Shaft. He’s got the long leather coat, the black polo-neck, the blank, mean stare. Akanke’s waving around some barely-there black gauzy underwear and Gwen’s trying on her bling jewellery. I clear my throat and try to think of something to say to scary boyfriend. He beats me to it.

“You the ho wit' the blog, ain’t you?”

I’m so taken aback that I agree, failing to call him on his use of ‘ho’ as a descriptive noun. 

“You one fucked up bitch.”

This is probably true and I’m distracted by the fact that Akanke is now tugging down the edge of her corset to show Gwen how the boning works, so I don’t respond.

He takes a step closer and says quietly. “You need some black cock. Me an’ me bruvvahs like a nice piece o' white ass to share, fuck you up real good if you wan’ it. Maybe if you don’ want it too.”

I laugh involuntarily, incredulously. Partly at the half-arsed English ‘jive talk’ of “me and me bruvvahs”, partly because I don’t quite believe what he just said. And maybe a little bit to cover up the little leap of excitement my heart gave. I put on my best behaved ‘meeting the Queen’ voice. “Well that sounds lovely but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. Would you like to buy some of our new perfume?”

Akanke has started stuffing everything back into her bags while telling Gwen that she should come to some club in Stockwell where Akanke will fix her up with a nice man. I wonder whether it’s one of mean boyfriend’s mates who locked her up and fucked her for three days. Working with me has been an education for Gwen but I think this is too advanced a level for her and I decide to warn her off when they’ve gone.

Mean boyfriend gives me his business card and says, “You tink about it lil sister.” Then arm in arm they stride away, every head turning to watch them. The business card is blank except for his name and a mobile phone number. I wonder what business he’s in? No, I don’t, I think I can guess.

Still, it’s comforting to know that if you ever have an urgent need of blow cut with baking powder and a gang rape, it’s only a phone call away.

In Which Idleness Is Punished

My bed was too warm to get out of this morning and ice had formed on the windows. I clung to the duvet, whimpering pitifully as D tried to drag me out from under it by my ankle. When he let go for a second I quickly curled my body up into a ball, turning my back to him and hugging the duvet. The bed creaked as he knelt up on its edge and clasped my hair – the only bit of me sticking out – wrapped it around his fist and gently tugged. I tried to ignore him but the gradual pressure made me squirm across the bed, still firmly cocooned.

He rolled me over, wrapping me tighter in the duvet then reached inside to lift my hair free, spreading it over the edge of the bed until it hung down to the floor. I stopped pretending I was still asleep and looked up at him, upside down. He laughed at me, peeping out at him and brushed the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. I kissed it, sucking and nibbling on it as he gradually pressed it into my mouth, sliding it in and out as I swirled and flickered my tongue across it. He looked down at me with a quizzically raised eyebrow and, still sucking on his thumb, I nodded.

His unzipped cock bobbed and pressed against my lips as I kissed and licked its tip. Carefully I lapped around its rim, wriggling a little inside my duvet, my arms trapped, kicking with my heels as I edged a little further over the side of the bed until my head hung down. I opened my mouth wide and he shoved his cock into my cheek, making it bulge as he rubbed it back and forth, my tongue fluttering against his shaft.

Leaning on the edge of the bed, he began to press his cock deeper into my throat as I worked my head from side to side, my neck bulging as he choked me. I started to splutter and he laid his hand on my neck, lightly but firmly holding me still until I recovered, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth. He gathered it up with his fingers and sucked them as he shoved a little deeper until his balls pressed against my nose.

Swiftly, he pulled out, lifting his hand from my neck and letting me gulp down air for a second, then he slid his cock back down my throat, faster this time, gagging me and squeezing gently with his hand until my face was flushed pink. Then he pulled right out again, saliva dripping from the tip of his cock and flopping onto my face. He smeared it across my face roughly with his hand then shoved his cock back in, fucking my face with sharp little thrusts, pulling right out to let me gasp, slowly squeezing his cock all the way into my throat until I gagged, then fucking me again with shallow stabs.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock and lifted it, pressing his balls between my lips until I was sucking on them and rolling my tongue against them. Inside the rolled-up duvet, my fingers strayed to my soaking cunt and plucked urgently at my clit. He cupped my face in both hands and forced his cock into my throat as I stretched my tongue out, curling it against his shaft and swallowing it all the way in. My breathing was ragged and my eyes watery and stinging as he started jerking my head up and down his cock.

I coughed and spat up trails of saliva, choking hard as he fucked my throat, hot with shame and on the brink of cumming. The alarm clock went off again and he shouted, “Fuck!” banging his hand down on it and knocking it off the table, smashing to the floor. At almost the same moment he started to cum, pumping his spunk into my raw throat, jerking the last drops onto my cheek.

Oblivious now, my mouth hanging open, my fingers rubbing furiously at my clit, I arched and squeaked, panting as I started to cum, collapsing back against the bed, dizzy from the blood that had rushed to my head as it hung over the edge.

I was too floppy to resist as he grabbed a loose corner of the duvet and yanked me onto the floor with a loud thump. “Now, will you get out of bed?”

Gandalf's Cock

Today I saw Ian McKellen play King Lear. The only aspect of this that is really relevant to a sex blog is that fact that he strips off, displaying a surprisingly big cock. So big in fact that one can only wonder why getting it out isn’t written into his contract for every job he does. You’d think an actor of his standing could negotiate that without too much trouble. Anyway, I’m glad I wasn’t sitting in the front row – you could have someone’s eye out with that.

On the way home, I bemoan the fact that there is no female equivalent of cottaging. I mean, you wouldn’t want to meet every man in your life on the basis of his cock. Normally you’d want someone clever and funny who thinks you’re clever and funny. But just occasionally, when the mood takes you, it’d be nice if there was somewhere you could go where like-minded men would wander in and show you their cocks so you could pick one.

D gets a bit narked as I explain this in a loud, jolly voice on the Northern Line. We walk through Highgate, muffled up in scarves and gloves and swathed in clouds of breath while he goes on being a bit narked. I decide to be conciliatory.

“Not that I’m suggesting yours isn’t big enough.  I mean it is quite big and you can be too big for comfort, you know…” 

D huffs and walks faster.  I have to trot to keep up with him.  I’m too out of breath to go on talking.

In the hall of our flat, D wrestles me to the floor, yanking up my coat and skirt and tugging down my woolly tights and knickers until they’re crumpled around the tops of my boots. Still wearing my mittens and hat, I wrap my arms around his back as he stuffs his cock into my cunt – barely wet enough to take it - and makes me squeal and wriggle as he shoves it deeper. He fucks me furiously, my cunt soon dripping and squelching as he drills into me, his weight pinning me to the floor, his face buried in my neck. I gaze at the ceiling, my mouth hanging open as his thrusts rock my whole body, picturing his cock driving into the wet folds of my cunt and nailing me to the floor. I reach out to press a mittened hand against each wall of the hall and arch my back towards his thrusts. With a hoarse groan he cums, jerking and shuddering as his spunk spurts deep inside me.

Bracing his body on his elbows he looks down at my flushed face and says, “Shut up.”