Lucy's Bedroom

Passion, Tragedy And Fat Birds

You’re getting a much classier blog than normal tonight. I’m on my lap top in the Crush Bar at the Royal Opera House, drumming my fingers impatiently because D’s not here yet. My Dad’s given us his tickets for Tosca, which I’m very excited about and D is offering up as a penance for his sins (which are legion). We are, rather excitingly, sitting in a box but sadly none of the boxes at the ROH are for 2 people only so we’ll have to behave ourselves (in fact I’ve even put knickers on because there’s no point in kidding myself there’ll be any rolling-on-the-floor naughtiness to swelling romantic music tonight).

We’re away for the weekend, so talk quietly among yourselves until I get back. If you’ve been good and not left the place untidy I’ll tell you what we got up to in Brighton and the terrible price D extracted from me for making him sit through 3 hours of passion, tragedy and fat birds.

Buttery Goodness

After stuffing ourselves with chips yesterday we got a bit melancholy and decided to go on a diet. D can pinch an inch of tummy around his waist, which I would secretly be a bit sad to see go as I take some pride in keeping him sedated with puddings, plus a girl likes something to grab hold of. Mad women who live off rice cakes and grapes wouldn’t consider me fashionably thin but I’m actually fairly happy with my figure and have long since resigned myself to having a big bum (mostly because I can’t see it). Still, I believe in standing by my man.

Day one of the diet started well enough with bran flakes, banana and semi-skimmed milk. Then, 40 minutes later (after D had left for work clutching a packed lunch of salad sandwiches and yoghurt) and because I was thinking about food I ate 2 packets of cheese and onion crisps and three picked onions. Mid-morning I ate an apple and went for a brisk walk, returning with a warm jumbo sausage roll and a big bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

For lunch I had a salad sandwich and yoghurt, texting D a snapshot of it, to show I was sharing his pain. Then after lunch I made chocolate refrigerator cakes and ate half of them. In the afternoon I went back to bed for a bit because I was feeling sick (which I blame on eating more pickled onions on top of the chocolate refrigerator cake). And then for supper I made kedgeree, solving my dilemma about adding butter (buttery goodness v. heart attack at 45) by carefully dividing it in two and then just putting butter in my half.

My ‘inner monologue’ voice is telling me, “At least you ate some fish and jolly well done for doing that because you don’t like it very much, do you?” I’ve long been convinced there was a mix up in the maternity hospital and I was issued an ‘inner monologue’ voice meant for someone much stupider than I am. With a bigger bum.

Rainy Day Woman

I got drenched today, cycling in the pouring rain. I was so wet that the blue dye from my jeans stained my legs blue and I’ve had to scrub them with a pumice stone to turn them pink again. And then I spent most of the afternoon sitting on the floor in the hall wrapped in a bathrobe and with a towel round my head with my bicycle upside down while I straightened some spokes that had been bent when a stone got trapped. I’ve got no fingernails left and my hair has dried in a Winehouse frizz.

D’s been on a course today which finished mid-afternoon and he came home to find me resembling a cat that got trapped in a washing machine. He’s made of stern stuff though (as Spike Milligan once wrote about the army’s habit of putting bromide in soldiers’ tea to take their minds off sex, “the only way bromide would take a soldier’s mind off sex is if you loaded it into a 9 mm shell and fired it at his knackers”) and happily bundled me onto the sofa for a nice long lazy snog.

I love snogging. I love all that squirming and moaning and rubbing my belly against his cock and making him wait. With his thigh pressed between my legs and his hand inside my robe cupping my breast, he nibbled my neck and whispered, “Suck my cock, Lucy.” I stretched and smiled smugly and purred, “No, I don’t think I feel like it today.” He looked up, a bit blank. This has never happened before.

“Are you feeling alright? Did you catch a chill in the rain?”

“No, I’m fine thank you. I just don’t fancy sucking your cock right now. You don’t mind, do you?”

Well he rolled off me and started to say, “No, that’s alright really…” but then as I began to get up from the sofa, trying to hide my lips twitching into a smile, he wrapped an arm round my waist from behind and pulled me sharply back towards him. I bit my lip and tried not to giggle as he slowly tugged the belt of my robe through its loops and let it slide off my shoulders while he wrenched my wrists behind my back and tied them firmly with the belt.

Standing in front of me as I sat on the edge of the cushion, he gathered my hair up into a pony tail and tipped my head back, my cheek and chin brushing against his cock. Frowning down at me he said, quietly “I said, suck my cock, Lucy.” I gazed solemnly up at him for a moment then closed my eyes and rubbed my cheek against his cock again. He unzipped it and it flopped onto my outstretched tongue.

I fluttered my tongue gently across its head, nibbling and licking around its rim and sliding my tongue stud across its velvety hardness, wriggling it into its oozing slit. Leaning forwards I lapped slowly along its shaft, spitting on it and smearing my saliva all along it, letting it hang in trembling trails from the tip of my tongue to the tip of his cock. I sucked it into my mouth, rolling it round on my tongue and moaning into it, letting the vibrations of my moans thrum through it. With tightly pursed lips, I let it pop from my mouth, catching it on my tongue again and sucking it back into my mouth then letting it slip between my lips with another loud wet pop.

I could feel him trembling all over, his legs unsteady and his hands resting lightly on my head shaking. I stretched my tongue out and swallowed his cock into the back of my mouth, rocking backwards and forwards, working my tongue against it then lunging forwards again, forcing it a little deeper each time, gagging and pulling back sharply, gasping as saliva dripped from my lips. D laughed and pressed his thumb into my mouth. “Little cocksucker…” Then he prised my mouth open and slid his cock back into it, fucking it slowly while I gazed up at him.

Suddenly he pulled out and pushed me back into the sofa, lifting my legs as he knelt down and, spreading my pussy open with his fingers, he shoved his cock into me, fucking me briskly, his eyes screwed shut as, after only a few thrusts, he spurted his spunk deep into me.

Slumping into the seat next to me on the sofa, he began lighting a cigarette while I tried to wriggle upright, awkward with my wrists still bound, my robe hanging open, his spunk dripping from my slit. Exhaling blue smoke, he suddenly turned to me, as if surprised. “Oh, sorry love, I forget, you said you didn’t fancy it, didn’t you? Still, never mind…”

Bastard. I’ve made him go to the chip shop in the rain as punishment.

Naked Yoga For Beginners

It was a miserable cold and wet British Bank Holiday on Monday. D sat on the sofa wrapped in a duvet and read the newspapers from cover to cover including the gardening tips and obituaries. I practiced naked yoga poses in front of the hissing and popping gas fire with my charity shop yoga book propped up against the television.

I’m only a beginner so I’m a bit wobbly but here are the poses I can do, with commentary from D.

Adho Mukha Svanasana (hands and feet flat on floor, bum in the air). “That’s a nice spanking pose. One extra swat for every time you rise up onto your tip toes.”

Uttanasana (like touching toes but with palms flat on the floor). “A less stable spanking pose. A pose for when you’ve been especially bad and I feel like giving you lots of extra swats.”

Prasarita Padottanasana (legs wide apart, feet flat on the floor, bend at the waist and touch the floor with the top of the head and palms flat on the floor on either side). “This is my favourite so far.”

Ardha Matsyendrasana (sit with left leg bent as though sitting cross-legged, right knee pulled up and the right foot flat on the floor on the outside of the left leg, right palm flat on floor behind and turn to face behind so that the body is twisted, hold left hand up as though stopping traffic). “This one’s a bit mad to be honest. I can’t see any practical application in the bedroom.”

Upavistha Konasana (sit with palms flat on the floor behind, legs spread as wide as possible and toes turned up). “I’ve changed my mind. This one’s my favourite so far.”

Baddha Konasana (lie on back with arms by side and palms facing up, legs drawn up and knees bent and spread apart with soles of feet pressed together). “Slightly odd. You look kind of available and passive at the same time. Not sure about this one.”

Ananda Balasana (lie on back and draw knees up to chest, hold feet and flex toes). “That’s more like it. The buggery position.”

Setu Bandha Sarvangasana (lie on back with arms by side, place feet flat on floor and arch back). “You look kind of bunched up with your shoulders still on the floor. It’s not as good as when you put your hands behind your head and make a proper arch – yes, like that.”

Ashtanga Namaskara (lie face down on floor with palms flat on either side of chest, stick bum in air and lift chin until supported on chest, knees and toes). “I’ll always be happy with a bum-in-air position but this isn’t the most elegant one.”

Vrksasana (stand with palms together and one knee bent with foot resting on opposite thigh). “Are you being a tree now?”

D’s overall verdict: “It depends on how you measure it. I’m impressed how many poses you’ve learnt in one afternoon, even if a couple of them are still wobbly, so achievement wise 8/10. If you measure it by compatibility with spanking and fucking – and that’s how I measure so many things about you – then it’s only 5/10. Now do that first one again and remember; one extra swat for each time you rise up onto your tip toes…”

Party Debris

Last night’s party left our flat wrecked. I did make an attempt to clear up at about 2 in the morning after everyone had gone but D stopped me. “No tidying” he took an overflowing ashtray out of my hand and kissed me. “Strip off and lie on the floor with your legs open.”

I lay among the empty bottles and glasses, naked except for my platform shoes, with my hair spread out around my head and gazed up at him as he stood over me, swigging from a bottle. “Finger yourself.”

Sliding two fingers between the wet folds of my pussy, I spread them open, pinching and rubbing my clit then slipping my fingers knuckle deep into my cunt, frigging it slowly as I arched my back and rubbed my thumb across the tip of my clit. D up-ended his bottle, drizzling beer onto my belly. “You dirty whore, you’re gagging for it aren’t you?”

I bit my lip and nodded, wriggling one finger of my other hand into my cunt. “What was that, dirty whore? I can’t hear you. What is it you want?”

“I want…”

He tipped his bottle again, pouring beer onto my face, making me toss my head and splutter while he laughed. “I can’t hear you, dirty whore. Tell me again, what do you want?”

“I want to get fucked.”

D knelt between my legs and lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, half rolling me onto my side. I squealed as I felt the hard neck of the bottle against my soft pussy then gasped as he shoved it into me. “Like that, bitch, is that what you want?”

He turned it, screwing it deeper into me, my pussy stretching wide around it. I thrust my fingers into my mouth, muffling my moans. He slapped my arse sharply. “Answer me bitch, is that what you want?”

I shook my head and swallowed hard and mumbled, “No.”

As he fucked the bottle in and out of my cunt the room was silent except for the squelch of my cunt and my whimpering. Finally he said, “So answer me properly this time. What does my dirty little bitch want?”

I turned my head to look up at him, my voice faltering a little. “I w..want your cock, please.”

He pulled the bottle out and tossed it aside then hauled me roughly towards him, flipping me onto my belly and yanking my thighs apart. I squealed as he slammed his cock into me, lying on top of me and crushing me against the carpet. I kicked over some bottles as I wriggled beneath him, grunting as he started to hammer into me, nailing me to the floor. He slid his hand around my neck, raising my head so he could hiss in my ear, “You fucking bitch, you love it don’t you whore?

“Yes…yes, I love it!”

“You’re a little cock-hungry slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Say it!”

“I’m a little…oh! A little….cock-hungry…ah! Cock-hungry slut!”

“A filthy little fuck-hole piece of meat.”

“A f..filthy little fuck hole…ahhhhhh!”

“What? What was that bitch? Say it!”

“Ah, ah…piece of meat!”

By this time I was clawing at the floor and his arms wrapped round me, struggling against him but writhing against the carpet too, trying to rub my clit against its rough surface.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me! Harder! Harder! Harder! Oh shit, yessssssss! Ah! Ah! Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!”

As my orgasm pulsed through me I felt my limbs grow heavy and limp and I stopped struggling, lying sprawled on the floor, unresisting as D pounded my cunt, groaning as he flooded it with spunk then slumping onto the floor beside me, scattering some more bottles.

“Shit, you’re such a nasty fucking little bitch” he panted. For a moment we lay side by side, breathing raggedly, and gazed at each other with solemn eyes. I cracked first and curled up in giggles, shrieking as D started to tickle me.

Pink Eye

I have a pink eye today. Seen from one side I look like a perfectly ordinary non-scary person. Seen from the other I look like the mutant relic of some long-forgotten laboratory experiment. And that, boys and girls, is why you should always shut your eyes when your boyfriend cums in your face.

He was very apologetic afterwards. And when I say ‘very apologetic’ obviously I mean he sniggered and when I started hitting him protested, “But it was funny.”

He’s on washing-up duties for the whole of the Bank Holiday weekend now even though he claims it was partly my fault for opening my eyes in the first place. I only did it because he said, “Lucy…” and I thought he was about to tell me something important. I didn’t realise he was about to say, “Lucy, I’m cumming.”

It’s the Eurovision Song Contest tomorrow night and we’re holding a Eurovision Cocktail Party so I’ve been planning my outfit. I’m thinking ‘Kylie’ and so I’ve cut a pair of jeans down into hot pants and spent a happy afternoon sewing sequins on them. I’m teaming this with green platform-soled sandals and a feather boa. No decision has been made yet on a top but the field has been narrowed down to (a) pink boob tube (to match my eye) with some more sequins sewn on it (b) leopard skin print bikini top (c) “Top? Why do you need a top?” – D.

Lucy and David Review Indiana Jones And The Title No One Can Remember

Lucy: So, what were the crystal skulls for again?

David: Look, I’ve explained this three times now, I’m not telling you again.

Lucy: I thought Karen Allen was looking good for her age. It just shows that quirky beauty lasts much better than Hollywood perfection. She was sort of ‘Diane Keaton 15 years ago sexy’.

David: I’m a bit concerned that Ray Winstone not only can’t do other accents but doesn’t seem to be able to do his own accent any more.

Lucy: I’m a bit concerned that a 12A movie can show people actually on fire. Plus, it’s stuffed with that cartoon movie violence where people get hit over and over and over again without so much as bruising. It’s dishonest but nobody ever makes a fuss about it, only about graphic violence which at least has the merit of showing that there are consequences of violence. It’s like Martin Scorsese being forced to edit the end of Taxi Driver to reduce the impact of the violence when that was the whole point of the movie – that violence has a context and moral consequences and it’s supposed to be shocking.

David: That was surprisingly eloquent for someone who couldn’t follow the plot of an Indy movie.

Lucy: It was a load of old rubbish though, wasn’t it?

David: There’s one bit that’s not entirely rubbish. It’s near the beginning when Harrison Ford’s running around the *spoiler* just before the *spoiler* goes off and he has to hide in the *spoiler*. I thought that was nicely eerie and a reminder that Spielberg’s the man who once made Jaws and Close Encounters.

Lucy: Do you think children will understand what that was about though? There are lots of 1950s references that I think will go over their heads.

David: I think they’ll go over some adults’ heads as well. Don’t screw your face up in worry like that, it’s a summer blockbuster, it’s allowed to be a bit rubbish. Anyway, what about Edward Norton?

Lucy: *explodes* Oh I’m so cross! I got all excited when the trailer came on because for a few minutes it looked like he might finally be in something that wasn’t entirely dull and then it turned out to be the bloody Incredible Hulk! What the heck happened to his career?

David: Oh like you were ever worried about his career. I saw your mouth hang open when he took his shirt off.

Lucy: Stop complaining, you know he’s on my list. When I meet him I’m totally allowed to shag him without any repercussions.

David: I always suspected you’d grow up to be Courtney Love.

Lucy ‘n’ David’s Movie Rating
Lucy: 3/10 for not seeming as long as it was and having Jim Broadbent in it.

David: 5/10 for nostalgia value – it would have been higher but Cate Blanchett was in a nasty wig that made me not want to shag her.

Marking My Territory

As D’s on a strange shift pattern, and I’m really only pretending to study history, we had no reason to get out of bed before lunchtime. We ate boiled eggs with Marmite soldiers, finished the Guardian crossword and indulged in frankly needless amounts of oral sex with only minor injury (my earring on D’s thigh).

I panicked a little when I realised D was getting sleepy, even though he still had a semi and we hadn’t fucked. The part of my brain devoted to cock (82% ) screamed at the parts devoted to shoes, cake and my cat to do something quickly! Fortunately, the buzzing of a vibrator close to his ear woke him up. He raised an eyebrow quizzically and, taking it off me said, “Now what in the world am I supposed to do with this?”

This was a trick question because he already knew the answer, which apparently was to dip its tip into a jar of lube, slide it up my arse, switch it on full then fuck me slowly, rubbing his cock against its thrumming shaft through the wall of my cunt. Both holes filled is bliss and I was quite happy to lie squirming underneath him, not caring whether I was going to cum, just feeling fluttery and turned on by the idea of it, the feel of it, the way the muscles of his belly tensed and his eyes screwed up as he gasped and his cock twitched inside me.

He started to speed up, fucking me faster and hooking his arms under the backs of my knees until he could lift my legs in the air and grip both ankles with one hand. Then he whipped the vibrator out of my arse as I gave a disappointed moaned that turned into a shriek as he pulled his cock from my cunt and pressed its tip just inside my arsehole, shooting his spunk up it with a groan.

My heart was still racing from the shock of this when he rolled off me, smacking my bum, still pink from yesterday’s spanking, and declared, “Don’t just lie there, you idle woman, tea and cigarettes!”

I returned from the kitchen with a mug of tea, lit his cigarette and examined the scratch on his thigh. It’s nice to have left a mark on him for a change – like marking my territory – perhaps I shall have to plan something more permanent.

Minding My Own Business

So I was minding my own business, padding about the bedroom dabbing my skin dry with a bath towel and generally getting ready for bed, when D wrapped his arm round my waist, tipped me onto the bed and gave my bum a real walloping – hard and fast and going on and on while I wriggled and swore at him, his hand splayed in the small of my back, pressing me onto the bed.

He stopped as suddenly as he’d started, rolling onto his back and we both lay on the bed panting. I clumsily brushed my hair out of my face and rubbed the heel of my hand against my watery eyes then whacked him on the arm. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Nothing, in fact you’ve been exceptionally good lately, I just fancied it.”

“You bastard - that was really hard!”

He laughed and cupped my chin. “Do you like it when it hurts?”

Angrily I looked down, then slowly pressed my lips to his thumb, sucking its tip and biting down gently at first, then nipping him hard.”

He flinched, whipping his hand away and hissing through his teeth. I peered up at him from underneath my eyelashes.

“That’s it you little bitch! Get on your back with your legs spread right now!”

As he rolled on top of me I lifted my head and rubbed the bridge of my nose against his, brushing my lips across his and whispering, “Fuck me as hard as you spanked me.”

Why Teenage Transvestism Is A Bad Model Of Government

I’ve rearranged the furniture in the sitting room, dragging one of the sofas into the bay window so I can lounge in the sun while I’m reading. My error in doing this only became apparent this morning, when D insisted on me kneeling up on the sofa, bent over its back with my arms braced against the window frame while he fucked me vigorously from behind, his fingers digging into my hips as he slammed into me, my tits bouncing happily with each thrust.

Giggling, I tried to squirm back, away from the window. “Someone will see us and before you know it we’ll be on the local news.”

“Sex crazed girl gets fucked again is hardly a news story Lucy.  Now move a bit to the left…yes, that’s it…”

“So?  Nothing on Sky is ever news but it doesn’t stop them repeating it every 10 minutes.  In fact I think…”

“Lucy, is this going to be another rant about foreign ownership of news media? Because I’m trying to fuck you here…little bit faster, love.”

“That man looked up!  He did, that one there standing by his car, he’s looking up right now!”

“Well then stop pointing and waving your arms about. Quite apart from anything else, if you’re waving your arms in the air, he won’t get a proper view of these…” and he cupped my tits, bending his head to bite my neck as he ground his cock into me.

After he’d gone to work, I spent the rest of the morning lying on the sofa, still naked but reading in an approximation of study. My friend Jim rang at lunch time.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading about the Roman Emperor Heliogabalus while completely naked.”

“Sorry, that was a silly question, of course that’s what you’re doing.”

“According to Cassius Dio, he was a 14 year old transvestite prostitute who married five times before finally finding happiness in a the arms of his chariot driver. In the end the Praetorian Guard lost their patience with him and chopped him into little bits.”

“Don’t try to distract me from your nakedness with history.  In fact, send me a picture of your tits”

And because I was feeling indulgent, I did.