Wednesday, 20 December 2006

All in good time

Our bar is always dark. In the 80s it was full of yuppie-rejecting alternatives who talked about death and drunk cheap red wine straight from the bottle. In the 90s it went overground along with underground rock music, and our favourite band partied with us after hours.

Couple in an alley of the Gracia district
Originally uploaded by !subjective¡.
We stumbled in drunkenly, early one midweek evening, when we were the only people there and the place still smelt of yesterday's cigarettes and half-hearted citrus cleaning detergent.

And we went home together, spent the night silently on your rickety single bed in your tiny studio, and listened to records loudly to still the thoughts in our heads, your ashtray resting on my still flat belly.

But today, it's Friday and happy-hour, and although the bar is still quite empty, it will soon be spilling over with bright young things. I haven't seen you for two years. I am hoping you might come, that you will stand next to me in the dark like you used to and look through me with your black eyes.

And somewhere during the third beer you arrive. Somehow, I thought you would have changed more. Last time I saw you, your face was covered with a full beard; your girlfriend likes facial hair.

Now, although she is still by your side, the beard is gone. And your face looks younger, shockingly familiar. Your jaw is slightly wider, but the line of your lips tells me that inside your winter coat and washed-out jeans, your body is still the same, slim, elegant, full of surprises.

My blood rushes from my neck and into my head, out to the very end of my limbs, my hands feel hot and dry, I think I'm blushing. I didn't know I could still blush.

Suddenly, like a 15-year old I'm glad I made an effort to look beautiful, to blowdry my hair into soft waves and to do my dark red lipstick to perfection.

You say hi. You ascertain that I'm still J's girlfriend (I don't need to ask you as your 2nd half is very obviously attached to your left arm). You tell me how your son liked starting school this year (and that he looks nothing like you and very much like his mother).

We don't make it obvious. We talk to other people. But even as we do, I can feel your eyes on the small of my back, on my waist, that narrow point where my hips join my torso. You liked always to hold on to that part.

The bar is filling up. Our friends are all gathered ahead of Christmas, maybe the last one before we all start finally building our lives with homes and children. You were always a step ahead of everyone else, as if your old eyes were forcing your life to catch up with them prematurely.

We're squeezed into a corner, my drink in one hand and my handbag dangling off my naked arm. You say something about my job, it makes me laugh, you put your hand on my arm. Our eyes meet.

You have never left my life completely. I have purged you from my bed where for years you would be the first thing I saw behind my closed eyes in the morning. I have demoted you to a secret corner that I never discuss with anyone, not even J. But you were always there, asking when it would be time for us, me telling you that soon, soon.

Your girlfriend is busy talking to someone else. I slip away towards the toilet, and when I'm out of sight I go around the other side of the bar, making my way through the crowd to the exit. I don't look back.

Outside, I know the air is freezing cold, although strangely (for alchohol related reasons) I don't feel it. I wrap my black pashimina around my shoulders, my nipples immediately harden and I feel the winter draft stroke my nylon stockinged legs. I slip around the corner of the building, into the alley only lit by the fire exit sign of the bar.

You've managed to get there before me. As we kiss, the heat of your tongue makes hairs stand up on my neck. I wish we had time to spend the night together, talking about everything and nothing, waiting for the sun to come up.

But we don't have much time. Our left hands interlace, you push the back of mine against the brick walls and pull my leg up with your right; inside your black coat, you run your hand to the top of my stocking, it is strangely warm on my thigh. You squeeze it, and I push my hips out to meet what I know will be a rock hard bulge in your jeans.

You kiss my neck, and all the blood that went to my head earlier seems to rush to that very spot, it tingles, I feel dizzy. "You know..." you whisper in my ear. But I don't want any words. I remember so many from before, I can't deal with the burden of another sentence tomorrow morning. "Just kiss me, just kiss me." I don't know if it's you saying it, or me.

With my free hand I unbutton your jeans, I put my hand down the back where your buttocks are as firm as I remember them, I grab you, push you in towards me. You are quiet. You were always very quiet. Your cock pushes into my silk skirt, I hoist it up and put you against my naked skin. Your hand joins mine, I feel your cool fingers on my wet pussy, and I can't help it, I moan.

I steer you into me, covered with an artificial sheet of latex that never used to be there when we were younger, and more recless.

Our bodies still know how to move together, as you lift me up and I wrap my legs around you, my back scraping on the brick and concrete as you press towards me, the heat from your cock spreading in my body as I cling onto you.

Our bodies still fit together, so well that life had to work ridiculously hard to separate them and send them to separate ends of the globe.

And that's the last thing I think, before I am engulfed in your darkness, I can only feel your breath, and your hands, and your mouth, your hair brushing my mouth; you smell the same, taste the same, and somehow your hand is in there, caressing my clit as you move slowly, with determination, bringing us to the point from which there is always a return, to someone else.

I think I come, I hear someone groaning, it's you, how your voice still sounds quite unlike you when you climax, you say something but I don't want to hear it, I feel your hot cum running down the inside of my one leg. A part of me somewhere far off smells it, metallic, earthy. Later, I'll wipe it off with snow and wonder if I'm pregnant, my hands red and swollen from the cold.

There are no more words.

I don't feel like crying, like I did when I first saw you with her years ago and knew I had lost you, I just feel like taking your hand and running away from everything, being 17 again, starting over.

But something would happen; a picture of your son or of my boyfriend would slip out of our pockets and there is always a return from this, always a world pulling our bodies apart. Or we would just miss the train. We were never good at being on time, except when orgasming together.

When we're back inside, my friend notices my scraped hand and asks what happened. I'm not sure what I blame, I'm very drunk.

"You should grow your beard back," I hear your girlfriend saying. "I don't even know why you shaved it off. You look so much better with it."

"All in good time," you say.

And that's what I say as I kiss you goodbye and head for the taxi, for J who is sleeping peacefully at home waiting for me, as you help me put my coat on in the crowded bar and you lift my hair softly out of my coat.

"All in good time."

Monday, 18 December 2006

That's all I ask of you

An uncharacteristically uplifted post from me today; my best friend got engaged!

Ironically she called to tell me in midst of a routine "where the hell (if anywhere) is our relationship going" conversation between J and I.

I'm clearly in a "cheesy romance" sort of mood; when I'll get married J and I shall do this song instead of the first dance...
I shed a few tears as she told me, both because I'm so pleased for her and because the contrast between her situation and mine is so stark.

Her and I have been friends forever, and she's really like a sister to me (see, this whole thing has me pulling out all the clichee stops, but it's true!).

Her fiancee is a lovely guy; completely different from her usual "type" and it's clear that she's matured into actually wanting to settle with someone instead of trying to fix them (like I'm prone to).

The conversation between J and I ended with him agreeing we should look at how to finance a potential house buy. Who says peer pressure is always a bad thing!


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Sunday, 17 December 2006

Don't speak

I think one of my best friends has been lost...

He's my number one on the list of "all the men I've never slept with", and extremely dear to me; we've been very close for most of my adult life.


I haven't felt like playing
this song since I was about 16, but
somehow it seems right today
Or at least we used to be.

I know that men are notoriously flaky, and I'm not a high maintenance female friend.

But he has started standing me up, he never emails me anymore, never calls.

JR and I used to live together, when I was still with my previous boyfriend. He's the only friend I have who has seen me through all my three live-in boyfriends to date, and I have to say that the notion that I'm losing him is almost as painful as any separation related to those other guys who'd actually seen me naked.

JR always knows what I'm thinking, always says the right thing; he was the first to know that I was dumping my previous boyfriend, he knew it at least three months before I knew it myself.

He helped me get my first proper job and helped me find my footing in London. When I lived abroad and away from him for a year, he came to visit me and we wrote intermittent but extremely long emails to each other until I got back.

I realise this is whingeing. But I'm not asking him to be my surrogate boyfriend. I'm just asking that he has time to meet me at Selfridges for sushi twice a year to make me feel... I don't know, understood.

I was there for him when he almost broke up with his now fiancee (the breakup lasted all of six hours), and I can see now that this is when the "breakup" between me and him started.

Maybe seeing me is too much of a reminder of all that is lacking in his relationship with his girlfriend. Sounds arrogant, but she and I really are complete opposites in every way, and I think he knows that he's chosen her with his head and longing for security rather than with his heart.

I rang him to see if he had time for lunch the other day; he cried off when I was in the restaurant already waiting for him. When I came home and told J, he just said he wasn't surprised. And I realise he's right. JR's life doesn't have a space for me anymore.

Right as I was getting together with J, I was planning to move back together with JR as he was going to dump his girlfriend with whom he was sharing at the time; I was between flats and it seemed like a good idea. I conselled him through the months leading to the planned breakup at Christmas; he was really upset and we were on the phone loads.

Then, of course, he ended up not breaking up with her at all. For reasons I've never really understood, I felt incredibly betrayed and upset. I knew in a way that he would slide away from me, that he'd chosen his girlfriend over me when I hadn't even realised there was a choice to be made.

The summer after, we went on several weekend trips together; I met his family for the first time and everything seemed fine.

But I see now that it wasn't. It's as if that summer was his long goodbye; since then he's been more and more distant. There was never an argument or a falling out, he's just drifting away.

A few months ago, he sent me a one-line email a few months ago saying he was engaged. I almost fell off my chair. Only a month prior to that he was still debating whether or not he wanted to stay with his girlfriend. But I was happy for him, and still am. He has made a choice and that's always better than living in emotional limbo.

As I'm sitting here writing, I am coming to wonder if he felt that I betrayed him when I got together with J. When we first got together, he never thought it would last, and maybe subconsciously thought that finally we'd both be alone, together, as it were. And then I stayed with J, and the chance passed.

JR is my soulmate and will probably always be. But I guess a girl just can't ever have everything she wishes for in life. I chose J, and my best friend has unchosen me. I'm really hoping it's worth it in the long run.



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Saturday, 16 December 2006

Next Christmas...

I openly admit it, I'm getting broody. I'm not even entirely sure why this is. I mean, clearly I'm nearing the big 3-0 and it's probably partly a biological thing, but even outside that...

Someday, I hope this is me
Originally uploaded by mestes76.
I was never a girly girl when I was little; I wanted to see the world and have an exciting job; the idea of having a nice house, a volvo and 2.1 kids with the working husband never really attracted me.

But all of a sudden, it's different. I've seen the world, I've had the exciting job, and there is something missing in my life.

And please don't say it's religion; despite being probably the crappiest Christian in the world, I am just a tad bit religious.

My best friend just visited; she bought a house last year with her boyfriend and is finally in a permanent job she likes. She's come off the pill and they plan to seriously start trying for a baby after Easter next year.

And I'm dead jealous.

It's not that I envy her in that way where I think I would deserve it more than she does, it's just that I wish I had the same.

Another quite interesting point; she has really strayed from what has always been her type in men (athletic and pretty, but flaky) to someone who is clearly better father material. Her present boyfriend is just miles ahead of any of her previous ones, despite not being quite as "exciting" as I'm sure some of them were.

I, on the other hand, have not matured enough to break out of my aforementioned cycle of needy/unavailable men.

But having said that, I think partly the reason I feel so strongly about settling is because of J, because I really believe I would have a hard time finding someone better. And I mean not just what he could be if he weren't depressed etc; I mean who he is.

Today we went to see his family to exchange Christmas presents (I love him, but not enough to want to sacrifice a holiday with my much less conflict-filled family), and it was actually really lovely. His mum, who dislikes everyone including me, wasn't there, and his brother, partner and children are really pleasant people.

They are at the moment debating whether they should invite the mum over for Christmas; they feel guilty not doing it but also don't really want her around. Tricky. Do you act like a dutiful child, and please the mother but ruin the holiday for your own kids? Tough call. And before you ask, there really is no way to please everyone in this instance.

And on top of this nice family evening there is of course my rather insecure job situation.

It just really made me wish I had something to hold on to, something fixed. As we were driving back, I said to J that my goal for next year is to celebrate Christmas with all of my family, and all of his, in a house of my own.

I know it's a long shot, but he squeezed my hand and said "I think that's a really good thing to aim for."

I have realised that I want to have children alongside my friends; to be able to go on theme park holidays together and to go for skiing trips that only last for 2.5 km because all the kids get tired and want to play in the snow instead. And I want to have kids before I'm too old to run after them and stay up all night worrying about them.

I want to be able to wake up in my own house, to plant perennial flowers in my own garden, to invite my parents to stay for as long as they please.

It's going to be a tough call if I have to choose between that and J.

Thursday, 14 December 2006

Am I really a fixer?


Notting Hill Tube
Originally uploaded by juliaclairejackson.
Err, yes.

My first live-in boyfriend was gay. Although even I was not hoping to fix his gayness (which was well established before we got together), I was hoping to fix all those other things that went with it; the crying in the night, his feelings of worthlessness. I made him come out to his mum. It was horrible at the time, but I think in the long run it was the right thing to do.

And at the end, when we were both with other men, I continued to counsel him about his new relationship (it turned out he was a bit of a fixer himself and found someone even more fucked up to be with).

At one point he told me that he probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for me. He certainly wouldn't have graduated from university without me. All good nurturing of my "fixing fetish", of course.

The boyfriend after was completely fixed and loved me to bits, and guess what, I got so bored I dumped him after about three years, and even then I had been suffering in silence for about a third of our relationship.

J, as my faithful readers will know (and those who don't, a quick dip into the archive should prove my point) is completely emotionally unavailable.

So, yes, why do I stay with men who don't actually want me? It's a pattern that started early in life; my first and biggest love was a lovely boy but he clearly didn't want to be with me, not really. I kept telling myself that he eventually would come around to it, and I guess he did, but by then I was tied up with live-in boyfriend #2 and couldn't really jump ship. By the time I did, he'd found someone else (again).

With this first love, I think he didn't want me largely because I didn't want to save him. I was wiser when I was younger, see?

He came from an alcoholised family and had way too much responsibility put on his scrawny shoulders from very early on, and I think he just sorely wanted someone to fix him, put him together right. The biggest love of his life was a nurse, and otherwise he cycled through older women and others who were destined to try to fix him. Which of course didn't work.

So maybe after him I thought that if a man was to want me, I'd have to be willing to put in some hard work and "fix" him. Although with J, I don't want to "fix" him, I don't really want him to be different.

Sure, there are things that really irritate me about him, like he leaves marks on the dishes after doing them and wants the bedroom to be warm, not cold (bedrooms should be cold! How obvious is that!!).

But on the whole, I think he's a great guy. All I want is for him to love me (and give me beautiful multicultural children and a large house by the seaside). I want him to be happy, to be well. And I actually think that if I really thought he'd be happier without me, I would leave.

At the very beginning of our relationship when I was despairing because he "wasn't ready for a relationship right now" (an look, now we're living together; this girl does tend to get her way), I called Gay Ex.

"You might as well persevere," he said. "If you give up, you'll just meet another guy who's just the same."

"Why can't I just meet someone nice and normal," I whinged. Especially upsetting at the time since J seemed so normal and nice when we first met; I couldn't believe my luck, but clearly my unconscious fucked-up guy radar got the better of me still.

"Because then you'd be bored," Gay Ex said. I remind myself of that sometimes, because I think it's true.

Plus, third time lucky. I don't feel like ever having to get used to living with a new person again, it's too much work having to fit them into your life, your family, your circle of friends. I'd rather be single. Seriously.

And, obviously, I can fix him. I know I can.

Tuesday, 12 December 2006

The power of the music of the night

I was just reading Cosmo in the bathroom (not cause I'm ashamed of it, just cause it fits so well on top of the radiator) and it had this article of "nine men you need to date before you meet Mr Right" kind of thing.

Reading it, I realised I've actually gone through all nine. They included someone older, someone younger, a party guy, a stunner, a bachelor... all the usual.

Then, of course, there was "the wounded guy". Is there any way to turn "the wounded guy" into Mr Right? Or am I butting my head against the wall here?

J is clearly Wounded. In Cosmo (a source of authority, I'm sure you'll all agree), it says that you can never really make it with wounded man until he's ready to be saved. That he'll never be able to let anyone in close enough to have a relationship.

And sometimes with J I really wonder. I feel so distant from him, it's not like I don't know what's going on in my head, but it's a bit like he doesn't really care what I think or know, he's just preoccupied with helping himself.

I remember looking at my best male friend's relationship and thinking how odd it was that they never seemed to be quite relaxed around each other, and in a way I feel that J and I are the same way.

I'm always slightly on guard around him not to say anything to harm his sensitive feelings, and he's always on guard because... well, I'm not sure really. But he definitely is. And I realise a relationship can't function like that in the long run.

Liking a wounded guy is so juvenile. Clearly I have a type and I'm stuck in a rut; the men I've loved, not the ones I've dated, the ones I've really loved, have all been beautiful, immensely intelligent but ultimately emotionally unavailable. I don't know why I do it, it's as if I'm punishing myself.

Yet I can't give up, not on J. I love him and I don't want to have to be without him. I don't want to save him, I just want to make him want to save himself. I just don't know how.

Thursday, 7 December 2006

Spanking surprise

There is only one thing worse than being on a holiday with a bunch of couples. And that thing is when you're the only one there who's not in a couple.

about to get spanked
Originally uploaded by rkb1
We'd been staying in a rather nice hotel in London, very cheaply, as one of my friends, Nick, had gotten a new girlfriend whose father was very well off and clearly in some way related to the owners of the hotel chain.

Everyone had a double room, and possibly the only good thing about having left my boyfriend at home was that I could frolic around in the massive double bed (new sheets every day... oh yeah) all by myself, sleeping diagonally and not taking anyone else's quality of sleep into account.

Nick and the well-connected girlfriend, Poppy, were sleeping in the room next to mine. They've only been going out for about six months and I was expecting them to be at it like rabbits. However I hadn't heard a sound from next door the whole time during our stay there, which only went to strengthen my belief that he was crap in bed (hence me never having gone there myself).

As Friday night arrived, everyone else was going out for a meal and clubbing, and were begging me to come along. But here I drew the line. I take back what I said about couples holidays being the worst. I actually think being the only single person in a group out clubbing is possibly worse. I told them I was taking a moment with myself and the jacuzzi, and locked the door (on which Nick and my other most party-prone friend Annabel proceeded to knock for at least ten minutes, telling me what a great time I'd be missing).

I succeeded in almost falling asleep in the jacuzzi and when I woke, the water had gone rather cold. I had just put on my underwear (new and very sexy as a surprise for the deserting boyfriend) and was admiring myself in the mirror while blow-drying my hair when I thought I heard something in the bedroom.

I switched off the hair dryer and listened again, just in time to hear a door close. My heart jumped. I could swear I'd locked the front door, or it wouldn't have withstood Annabel and Nick for so long.

Like a scantily clad slut in a horror movie, clinging to my hairdryer like some kind of feeble weapon, I tried to call out "who's there", but the jacuzzi nap had made my voice completely husky, and it didn't carry.

A shadow fell on the bathroom floor. I screamed (yes, I admit, I watch too many horror flicks. Shoot me) and shut my eyes. When I opened them, I saw a bemused Poppy standing in the doorway.

"I didn't mean to recreate that scene from Psycho," she laughed.

I, on the other hand, was not amused. "You scared me shitless," I shouted. "I thought you'd all gone out by now!"

"I didn't feel like another night on the town," she said. I realised she was only wearing a rather girlish and simultaneously frumpy white night gown, and I briefly noted that as a potential reason for the lack of noise from next door.

"Well, you could have just knocked, you know," I said, still not wanting to make friends. We had hardly exchanged a word the whole time we'd been there, as she'd been too busy holding Nick's hand. I wasn't even sure if I really liked her. She had the kind of chestnut wavy hair that I'd always wanted, and the pale, soft shape I spent hours at the gym trying to avoid. And she was, obvoiusly, unbearably posh.

"I did knock," she said. "You just didn't hear me." She pointed to the hair dryer.

Just as I was wondering again how she'd gotten in, I spotted an open door on the opposite wall. She'd entered through the door between my room and theirs.

"Well, can I do anything for you?" I said curtly, and resumed brushing my hair.

"I think you should spank me with that hairbrush for scaring you so badly," she said in a cheekier tone than her outfit had prepared me for, while sticking her round bum towards me.

And for some reason, I did it. I felt just a little bit irritated with her, and as I swung the back of the wooden paddle brush towards the white cotton covering her arse, I put more power into it than I had intended. It hit her flesh with a wet slap, I could feel the impact reverberate in my hand.

"Do it again," she giggled. Oh, so you think it's funny, I thought. I hit her again, not trying to hold back this time. I felt her flesh move under the brush. I wasn't quite sure, but I thought I heard a small moan escape from her pink lips. I felt the blood rush to my head. What if I'd really hurt her?

Without looking at me she left the bathroom, but instead of going to her own room like I'd anticipated, she crawled onto the white sheets on my bed on all four and put her arse in the air. "Please, punish me. I've been a bad girl," she said, barely audibly.

I drew my breath, and wanted to tell her I couldn't, that I was sorry. But before I could, she lifted her arm and punched the bed. "Please, spank me," she repeated. "I need to be... Please..." The last please was no more than a whisper.

I walked over to the bed and kneeled next to it. I felt a strange rush of blood to my crotch at the sight of her round behind straining against the white nightgown. I could see the outline of underwear underneath and caught myself wondering what colour they were.

As I lifted the brush to spank her again, I put a hand on her bum. I'd of course touched women's bottoms before, but this was different. It was already hot from the previous impacts, and to my surprise, I felt my cunt twitch slightly. I was getting off on this.

To stop myself from thinking about it, I started spanking her, again and again hitting her flesh. There was no doubt about it, she liked it. The little moan I had heard in the bathroom escaped from her mouth each time she felt the brush on her bum. I teased her with the spanking, taking irregular breaks and making her beg to be punished more.

My new black silk panties were becoming increasingly wet. I wanted to see more of Poppy, to feel more of her. I lifted the gown up to expose a perfectly pale arse, reddened by the spanking and encased in bright red and pink lacy underwear, dividing each bum cheek in half. So I guess the white cotton dress was a bit of a dupe...

While I kept hitting her naked skin with my right hand, I slid my left hand up the inside of her right thigh. Her skin was unbelievably smooth; hairless and hot. "Oh god, oh I'm such a bad girl," she groaned. My hand hadn't even reached what I anticipated would be an extremely willing cunt when I felt moisture; the whole crotch area of her panties was dark with her sticky juices.

"I'm going to punish you even more, Poppy," I said. "I don't think spanking you is enough." "Yes, I deserve it, I deserve it," she whimpered. I pulled her underwear to the side, to reveal that she'd clearly had a full wax when we went to a spa the day before. Her cunt was swollen and dark red, bathed in juices and her clit was like a rock hard marble waiting to be caressed. But I wasn't going to let her off so easy.

While I kept the hair brush at work, I stuck my two first fingers straight into her tight cave. I could feel her pulsate around them each time I came down on her, and to my surprise I felt my nipples strain against my bra, my cunt crying out for attention.

Poppy reached back with her hands and pulled her wet underwear further to the side, pulling her bum cheeks apart. Her pink, wrinkled arsehole was almost exactly the same colour as her lips. "I'm a slut," she said. "The hairbrush. I'm an arse slut." I stopped spanking her. The idea of entering her behind turned me on even more.

I leaned forward and licked her arsehole, she smelt sweet and I could taste her salty cunt even there, prodding her star with my tongue while I kept working her vagina with my hand. Her arse was so tight I had no idea if it could accommodate anything. But I wanted to penetrate her, badly.

I pushed the round, warm wooden end of my hair brush against her arsehole. She pushed sharply towards it, and to my amazement took it all inside her as far as it would go. She let out a gutteral sound, and I started fucking her with my hand and the brush, I could feel myself getting more and more worked up. I wanted to cum, I wanted us both to cum. I wanted to...

Just as I thought I couldn't take any more, she moved forward, out of reach from me. I whimpered as her hot cunt left my hand. She turned around on her back. "Take me," she said simply. "Please. Do whatever you want with me."

I tore her night gown off, and her volupuous breasts, her nipples completely stiff inside their pink areaolae, pointed upwards and to the side as she spread her legs. Slowly, I lowered myself over her, her soft belly stroking my aching nipples. I took one of hers on my mouth and bit down quite hard, I wanted to fill my mouth with her lovely breasts, but most of all I wanted the fire in my cunt stoked.

I hoisted myself up further, till my crotch was level with her head. "Please sit on my face," she said. And so I did. Her hot, long tongue started caressing my wet crack, she put it flat against the whole area from my clit to my damp cave and wiggled her head, moaning loudly.

I rubbed on her lips and tongue, licking my own nipples, in what was possibly the most sensational feeling I've ever had. I felt her arm move next to my thigh. "Don't you dare touch yourself," I moaned. She instantly stopped, but was so hot now she couldn't lie still. In lieu of her hand, she tried rubbing her thighs together to feed her hunger.

I was going to cum, and she knew it. I felt her long tongue enter my cunt, flicking in and out, reaching for my g-spot, and came violently, golden juices flushing all across her face, grabbing on to her head and pushing it to my cunt harder, faster.

Then I rolled off her and pulled her on top of me, putting my hand on her cunt and my leg pushing it into her harder. Her firm, slippery clit was swathed in its swollen cunt lips, and my whole hand and thigh was instantly covered in her wetness. She started gyrating and I finally kissed her, her lips salty with my own juices, her brown hair sticking to her face with cum and sweat. She was an amazing kisser, and I felt her hands on my bum, her nails digging into me as she rode my hand in a frenzy.

I was going to cum again, but I wanted to wait for her. Fortunately I didn't have to wait for long, as I suddenly felt a gush of wetness on my hand while her whole body went hard against mine, and I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth to stop our screams as I came again, all over her silky thigh.

As soon as she'd stopped cumming I pushed her off me and went down to return her earlier oral favour, she begged me to stop, saying she couldn't take it anymore, but the flavour of her juices was too good, I didn't want to stop. Rubbing myself frantically we came almost simultaneously again. I felt the room white out, a red haze lowering over my eyes.

When I came to, Poppy was sitting on the bed, holding a cold cloth to my forehead. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so bad." I could tell she really meant it this time. "It's my fault," I said in a moment of genuine female guilt sharing. "I shouldn't have... spanked you." As it all came back to me, I was shocked at myself. "I don't normally..." we both said at the same time.

"I think I'm a freak," Poppy said quietly. "I get off on it, really badly, I can't stop myself."

"But there's nothing wrong with it," I said.

"Nick thinks there is," she whispered. "He won't... And it's the only way I can..." She stopped. Suddenly I started understanding the lack of noise from next door a little better.

"I enjoy it with him. I mean, he has a huge... bank account." She winked at me. "But I just can't..." she cast her still flushed look down towards her crotch. "...Cum." I said. She nodded.

And there and then I knew I'd have to have a word with Nick. With most of the details brushed out, obviously. And, Christmas is only a few weeks away, and they're definitely getting a leather paddle for a present. Or at least a nice hair brush...

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