SoSS February edition

February is a grim month (the Polish word for it “luty”  actually means bleak) and I do need a bit of filth and good writing about sex and sexuality to keep me going.

I have never had children and my lifestyle is not something I have to hide from too many people but I have had some interesting  chats with 24/7 D/S couples at fet events.  So this by Submissy caught my eye.

February has been the month of the Photofest and I haven’t taken part in this, what with a holiday and thinking ahead to my Eroticon presentation but here a few things I enjoyed:

This by Jupiter Grant

And can cooked breakfasts ever be the same again after this by Exposing 40?

I was intrigued by this from Love is a Fetish. It has also given me an idea for a story so I may well be returning to it.

And May More has some amazing pics on her site. Like this

I was intrigued too by this from Focused and Filthy.  Washing someone can be a wonderfully inmate thing,  and a lovely way of getting to know their body, all of their body’ Watching someone wash and seeing how they interact with their body is, I think,  hot.

Sweet Girl reflects on love here

I have written about discovering my sexual self relatively late in life. I found this on Tabitha Raynes’s blog quite beautiful. It is never too late to discover yourself sexually.

One day a week I  work from home. One of the downsides of this (apart from the central hearing bill!) is the knock on the door from the Parcelforce man who has a parcel for the neighbours. This is a bit of a nuisance to be honest but if a parcel arrived looking like this  I might see things differently!

Mid month I took a little break from blogging, as well as reading blogs,  as I had a week away in Madeira (thoroughly recommended if you haven’t been)  and have been catching up since coming back. This was an unusual story about self-imposed chastity.

And what of car porn? Last Sunday I went to Race Retro at Stoneleigh and saw a race prepped Austin A35 in the flesh so to speak. So this month’s car porn is the humble Austin A35. Once upon a time I used to get a lift home from school in a green A35 and was always fascinated by the knob thingy on top of the dash that operated the indicators. Now the A35 wasn’t the quickest but……it used in standard form a 948cc version of the BMC A Series engine. And that engine is very very tuneable. The Speedwell firm got to work on it and souped up A35s were a common sight at saloon car races (and still are at classic events today). Here they are at Snetterton in 1958, one of them being driven by the great Graham Hill.  As swoon at that Speedwell head…

 

 

 

Delphine’s Schooldays

Once we have Eroticon out of the way, Posy Churchgate and I are going to be collaborating on an extended story set in a girls’ boarding school in Surrey in the 1950s. Here is a little appetiser.

PROLOGUE
PARIS MAY 1976

One of the joys of retirement is being able to go away during the school term. Until my retirement as Headmistress of St. Faith’s School for Girls last summer, holidays were always during the busy months of July and August. It is nice to be able to get away from children. In retirement I still holiday with my very good friend Miss Rushworth, formerly Head of English at the school, a respected colleague to whom I have become very close. It is many years since I have been to Paris and it has been so nice to revisit the sights at a tome when they are still fairly quiet. It has been nice too to brush up my French.
Yesterday we were walking along the Champs Elysees thinking it might be time to pop into a cafe and take the weight off our feet when I saw a newspaper shop. As I like to read Le Figaro when I have the opportunity I made for it.

“Mary” I said, “I am just going to buy a newspaper. I will only be a minute.”

I went into the cramped shop with its smell of tobacco and my eyes scanned the shelves with the magazines. I started as I saw the cover of the latest Vogue.
There was a very familiar face looking down at me. I read

“Delphine de Lotbiniere at 40. Ageless Beauty and Personal Fulfilment. Exclusive Interview and New Photoshoot”

My hands were sweating as I reached for it. I paid for it and left.

“Did you get your newspaper?” asked Mary.

“No. I got this instead.”

I showed her the cover.

“Do you remember Delphine de Lotbiniere at St. Faith’s?”

“I do” replied Mary, “a rather headstrong girl as I recall, and not particularly gifted academically. Not that she needed academic gifts with her undeniable beauty and the Lotbinere estate to inherit.”

“You knew that she had made a career for herself in modelling?”

“Someone did tell me at the Old Girls’ Reunion a couple of years ago. And one could only wish her well even if one disliked her intensely when she was at the school.”

We found a café and sat outside to enjoy the warmth of the late spring afternoon. I leafed through the magazine. There were photographs of Delphine at home with her actor husband and her daughters, aged 10 and 8 who, I could already see, were going to grow up to be as beautiful as their mother. Home was the chateau at Bourg La Chatte near Bordeaux , which had belonged to the Comtes de Lotbiniere since the year 1250. Delphine, an only child, had inherited the title on the death of her father 3 years earlier. She was now Delphine, Comtesse de Lotbinere.

There was an interview. I read quickly, my eyes scanning the text for my name.

“You went to school in England?”

“Yes, from 16 to 18. I was at St. Faith’s’ in Surrey, not far from London.”

“Did anyone there influence you?”

“Yes, the Headmistress Miss Ranson. She taught me always to pick myself up after being knocked down. And to hit back if you are hit. She made me a harder, tougher person. I owe her a lot.”

I blushed as I read this. Then I turned to the photoshoot. Delphine’s face was now lined, showing the marks of age but this actually made her more beautiful. She was radiant and I thought about her life, compared to mine. She had fame, she had an estate with acres and acres of vineyards, she had a gorgeous husband, she had children, She had sex. She had money. I was a desiccated spinster, just about getting by on a modest pension.

I took a sip of my coffee and leafed trough the dozen pages of the photoshoot. There was Delphine in evening gowns, Delphine in a sparkly shift dress, there was equestrian Delphine. There was Delphine in thigh boots. I gasped and felt a twitching in my knickers. It was a photograph taken from below, emphasising the magnificence of her long, booted legs.

“Oh to be under those boots” I murmured.

“I’m sorry?” said Mary.

“Oh nothing. I was about to start reminiscing about the school in the early 50s. I think it was 1952 when Delphine started at the school. I had just been appointed Headmistress. And looking back, I think that maybe I was too eager to impose my way and exert discipline. I was certainly very harsh on Delphine, maybe too harsh?”

“That was certainly my view” said Mary giving me an enigmatic look that made me rather uncomfortable.

The itch remained with me as we carried on sightseeing, as we dined in our hotel.
“You must excuse me Mary” I said, standing up. “I am feeling a little tired. I think I will have an early night.”

I lay in bed and studied the picture of Delphine, committing it to memory. I kissed each boot, kissed her jean clad crotch.

“Madame La Comtesse je vous adore” I said as if reciting bedtime prayers. I put the magazine down, switched the light off and worshipped her in the sweet darkness, massaging my clit until I came, came for her.

At six o’clock I rose, took my case and made my way to reception, being careful not to disturb anyone, least of all Mary. I felt bad about leaving her alone in Paris but she would surely see that I had to do this and forgive me.

I paid my bill, left a note for Mary and waited for my taxi. At the Gare d’Austerlitz I went straight to the ticket window.

“Un billet simple a Bordeaux s’il vous plait.”

For more masturbatory delights click on the image below.

Masturbation Monday

 

She Loves Me Not……and I’m Cool with that

I am enjoying the thing of beauty that is unrequited love. This is all new for me, it is exciting and it makes me happy. Actually I don’t love Rebecca. I don’t really know her well enough for that to make sense. I adore her although I hardly know her. We cross paths maybe half a dozen times a year through the Fet scene.  We don’t have long conversations, but the ones we have are deep. We have a connection, but one that is some way short of friendship. And I am happy with that. Because distance is essential for the beautiful thing I have.

Rebecca is a lot younger than me, 29 to my 57. She is beautiful, creative, and fiercely clever. Early on, I  had the feeling that she had found a window to my soul.  Some months ago, I realised, and was a little startled to realise that I had a big crush on her.  What this crush was and what it meant, took a while to process. I talked it over with her and she was very comfortable with the idea. In fact, she loved the idea. In part this must be because everyone wants to be adored but to be adored by someone you know who is bot looking for sex with you or a relationship, or even to be part of your life in any way beyond casual acquaintance is not, something, I guess, many people get to experience.

My adoration of Rebecca is not sexual although it is undeniably fuelled by my sexual energy. This is an important distinction and not one that everyone will understand. Rebecca does. She knows what this is and what it isn’t. It is intellectual, spiritual even, She once recited a favourite poem to me and I was blown away by her power and emotional intensity.

I didn’t know that she loves poetry but that is brilliant because I had decided to give her a poem every time I saw her (and a couple of these have been posted on this blog).   This is given me an unexpected benefit. The act of writing for her has released a major creative blockage and allowed me, after many years, allowed me to finish a number of poems on non sex related themes that I had been struggling with. So I do get something in return for my devotion. I get inspiration. I get my creative spark kindled. Rebecca is my muse. And every writer needs a muse.

A post for Wicked Wednesday. Check out the others by clicking on the image below.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked