Lady in Red (Sinful Sunday) 

Title chosen under duress because it was number one the day I was born. Yuck. 

Another entry in the accidental series of photos referencing our habit of matching, this one sees M tenderly redoing my toenails to match his own (red for LFC) 

I can’t stop looking at this image and smiling. My M looking after me.

[photo deleted on

See who else is being sinful this Sunday by clicking below 

Sinful Sunday

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A Man Walks into a Bar (WIP)

When Exhibit A gave me false hope he had been mistaken for a stripper in a pub and taken this to its logical conclusion, my mind began to wander. It’s still wandering now, but here’s a taster:

A Man Walks into a Bar

Unassuming and polite, with a businessman’s briefcase and a sly smile, when he enters the pub he’s selected a random for a swift half, he’s confronted by a vortex of pink feather bowers and glittery cock-shaped deely-boppers, scented with flowers and sweetness and assertive female sexuality. The British Hen Party.

One woman notices his smarter-than-average appearance – three piece suit, tie pin, pocket square – and alerts the others. Contrary to their appearance, this confab is hushed and respectful of the other patrons, and he watches them out of the corner of his eye as he buys his drink and finds an empty table away from the hubub but not so far from theirs that he can’t surreptitiously eye the ranks and catch the odd snippet of something salacious.

For example, an older woman with dark eyes, framed behind thick rimmed glasses wrapped in a gold dress fighting a losing battle with her voluptuousness immediately grabs his attention and refuses to let go. Her voice is deep and rippled with honey, and even with her head very close to the companion closest to her, he hears snatches of a tale his cock is desperate to know the outcome of.

“He grabbed my thigh and his hand went higher [slurp of wine, leans in closer] fingers behind my knee [slurp of wine, reaches for top up, becomes unintelligible for a minute or so, until] came in my knickers and made me wear them home.”

He wonders if she’d care to replay this narrative with a slightly different outcome – as the thought of burying his face between her matronly thighs begins to fester and hook itself around his synapses.

In his reverie he undoes his jacket – boy is it hot in here all of a sudden – and doesn’t notice when a redhead with poise notices the flash of movement, until she raises her voice.

“Hey, it’s the stripper!” and they collapse into half-drunken giggles as he smiles and shakes his head, accepting his change.

“Take it off! Take it off!” she continues, appropriating Taylor Swift’s anthem with urgency, a couple of voices joining hers and agitating the other patrons, who raise their voices in combat, calling for silence. Others take the traditional British way out and take their leave, with poisonous looks at the pink army before they do.

It’s been a long day for him; conferences and endless, bitterly boring meetings only broken up by a lunch with limp, sweaty sandwiches and tea that was an affront to the least patriotic Englishman.

He sips his beer and shudders, looking forward to comfort food, pasta and three different continental cheeses, when he eventually gets home some time after nine. Checking his watch, he notes he has an hour to kill – more like 90 minutes if he forgoes the traditional wander around Smiths subtly checking out the last vestiges of the top shelf mags, then nipping to M&S for some wine to complement dinner. But there’s wine at home, there’s always wine at home.

The hens are still debating. It’s summer, so under their warriors garb, they’re universally stripped to the barest of glamorous essentials. He notes the bounty of bare legs, from pasty white to deep burnt umber and everything between, though cleavages are mostly hidden under fluorescent duck down. As he considers for the eightieth time whether he truly is a tit man or a leg man, one of the women breaks ranks and, with a nod to her companions, makes her way over to him.

All fingers and thumbs (Kink of The Week)

The concept of ‘fingering’ had never much appealed to me. The idea of being impaled on someone’s digits like a finger puppet made my blood run cold, and if a porn scene ever headed in that direction, the sight of the person whose fingers were doing the playing pistoning their arm back and forth like they were chopping firewood made me feel queasy.

I get it now though. I understand. The first time I allowed him to gently extend one of his digits inside my cunt – as he ate me out like a man who’d been starved for a month – I writhed on the bed, alarmed that it felt so good. We’d compared the size of our hands – his dextrous guitarist’s fingers versus my chubby toddler digits, complete with dimples where my knuckles ought to be – and laughed. We joked about how small hands make everything look bigger, but I didn’t think about how longer, more nimble fingers could reach the places that need to be reached, and even conjure the unicorn with the right kind of external and internal pressure. I began to find myself whining “Finger me” with startling regularity. And he always obliged. I had always thought the act was something that men did because they thought women liked it, not because it actually felt good to receive it. I was wrong. I was very wrong.

I’m still getting there. Sometimes, because of my inexperience and his relatively large size, penetrative sex isn’t an option for us, but his fingers…. As he ducks his head to worship at the altar, or directs me in using a toy with his fingers reaching the parts my own, babyish ones can’t….. I might not ever be able to go back to masturbating without his hand between my thighs, my fingers hooked through his. Being fingered feels too good. It might be my favourite thing.

As soon as I saw this fortnight’s topic, I knew the only way I could end a post on fingering would be with this image from the always hilarious FRED FLETCH on Twitter. Sure, it’s not exactly sexy and is pretty jarring coming after the above, but this is my blog and I’ll do what I like so ner.

More? Check out everyone else on Kink of the Week below