Ghosts – Part Two

Part One of this story can be read here. Meanwhile, the summer of 1982 is drawing to a close.

We spent the summer together. The council found me a flat after my father threw me out, in a block a couple of miles from Dudley town centre. Carl helped me to furnish it and my new comrades from the Labour Party Young Socialists came to paint it, help lay room sized offcuts of carpet and, after working, we sat on beanbags, or on the floor, with takeaway curries and cans of fizzy Worthington E. When they had gone, Carl would stay, we would smoke spliffs and when our heads were a little scrambled, we would make love. As the relationship developed and as I gained experience at ex, I assumed the role of bottom. Not that I was submissive in the relationship although Carl was so much more experienced than me, in sex and in politics, and took the lead. I learned to relax as he fucked me, not fight, not clench my muscles, as his hard cock speared its way up my back passage. I masturbated him too, loved to drink his come. He, in turn, blew me and this was the sexual release I felt most comfortable with.

When I wasn’t discovering my sexuality, I was discovering socialism. I always had newspapers and pamphlets to read, there were the long discussions in The Shakespeare over pints of mild and bags of scratchings. Saturdays were spent in the High Street  selling papers, there were two, sometimes three meetings a week, either in the pub or followed by the pub.  Life was beer, sex and socialism and I loved it.  I had hardly noticed that I was being pulled away from old friends, from my family. Would I have cared if I had?

The summer of 1982 passed quickly.  The Falklands War had been won.  Thatcher was in her pomp, the SDP splitters were winning by-elections, but the line was that Labour would win the next election, there would be a general strike and the new government would nationalise  the top 300 monopolies and we would have socialism, not the bureaucratically deformed socialism of the Soviet Union but the real thing. I had just turned 18, I was pretty naive but even I could see that this was bullshit. I still talked to people outside the party who had different views, talked to the parents of school friends who had bought their council houses and were going to vote for Thatcher next time. As the bloke said,

“Why shouldn’t I be able to own my house? Just because I am a working man, does that mean I have to spend the rest of my life with the Council telling me what colour front door I can have? I am a free man now and, I tell you what, she’s getting my vote next time.”

And I had to admit he had a point. Truth was, I was conflicted. I believed in socialism, I still do but, four months in, I was fed up with selling Militant and arguing things I didn’t believe in. I only kept on doing it for Carl, for the sex we had on that grubby mattress on the floor of his flat.

On Bank Holiday Monday at the end of August, we bought half a dozen cans of beer at an off licence and rode down to Wren’s Nest on Gary’s MZ. I rode pillion, wrapped my arms round his leather clad torso and felt myself getting hard.

We left the bike at the end of the lane that led off Wren’s Hill Road, and walked up a hill topped with lime trees, with a view over the drab council estate. It was secluded here. I knelt before Carl feeling the leather trousers, rubbing mt face against the crotch, felt the cock swelling. eager to burst out to meet my greedy mouth. I had learnt, a little anyway. I looked up at Carl’s face. He had shut his eyes to focus on the pleasure I was aboit to give him. But I knew now to tease, to make him wait. I took the zip in my hand, pulled it down a little, then stopped. I stroked the bulge until his cock hardened and grew   some more. He started to moan. I carried on stroking.

“Oh just blow me Gary, just fucking blow me.”

I pulled the zip down a little further. Carl’s huge cock was now ready to burst through the slit in his boxer shorts. As it emerged the sensitive bell end caught on the zip and he moaned.

“Oh please Gary, just do it.”

I am sure there was a hint of anguish in his voice. I continued to rub found his balls, cradled them in my hands through the leather, Carl moaned some more.

When I pulled the zip down to the bottom the cock burst out, shiny and proud, dripping with precome. I took it into my mouth and he came immediately, came in torrents. I swallowed greedily. I stood up and kissed  him, transferring some of his come into hs mouth. I grabbed his head, pulled him close, locked him into the kiss until he broke free and took a step back, gasping.

“Oh fuck, that was good!”

We took a can of beer each and drank, not saying much bur enjoying the moment, two men with lovely cocks in the sunshine, fighting the onset of autumn with beer and sex.

“I’ve got something to tell you” said Carl, “but I will tell you later. Now I just want to take you”

I smiled and unzipped my jeans. I dropped them and turned round. I bent over. We knew each other well now and hardly needed to talk. I felt, once more, the cold slap of lube around my anus, his finger going in to loosen me. I relaxed, and felt a harsh thwack across my backside.  He hit me again. I looked round and saw Carl holding a branch he had snapped off a tree. He smiled.

“What do you want?”

“I want you inside me”

“Say – please sir I want to be buggered.”

“Please sir I want to be buggered.”

He moved in and was quickly sliding up my back passage. He seized my hair and pulled my head up. .

“You know why I am doing this?”

“No”

“No what?”

“No sir”

“Because I feel like it. Because I can.”

He laughed. I felt myself getting hard.

As he moved in and out his and felt my crotch and he could see it too.

“Wank and we’ll come together.”

I did as I was told and quickly came, my warm come dropping over the stony ground.

“I said we would come together. Look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry sir.”

I was.

Carl carried on, I felt his cock swell some more inside me and it became uncomfortable. I tensed my muscles, resisting him, he pushed again

“Stop sir please stop.”

It was all becoming too much, emotions were taking over. He thrust again and groaned as he came.  He withdrew. I felt his come dripping out of me. His come and mine. His and mine, mixed and shining in the late summer sun.

“You came without permission. ”

“No I..”

“You did. Tell me you’re sorry.”

“Sorry sir.”

“On your knees and kiss my arse.”

So I did and kissed him once on each cheek. Then I   kissed his anus, his lovely brown ring, I licked it, tasted it, flicked at it with my tongue. Then I stiffened my tongue, pushed it as far as I could, pushed my face against his bottom, felt the roughness of the hairs against my cheeks. He wasn’t completely clean, I tasted his shit, but I didn’t care, It was HIS shit. I stood up, took a swig of mouthwash, spat it out on the ground. We kissed again ad I was about to go down on Carl a second time when we heard a voice

“Fucking poofs, in public too. You can get off the Wrenner you bent fuckers. Get out.”

We heard footsteps rushing towards us,  picked up our clothes, and ran. leaving behind four cans of warm, fizzy beer. They were welcome to them, I thought.

They didn’t run after us and we were quickly back at the motorbike.

We stood in silence for a few moments then Carl said

“I’m leaving Militant. I’m leaving Dudley. Meeting after meeting. They burn you out. And besides, Dudley is a shit place to be gay. You’re going to find that out.”

“Where are you going?”

“London. I’ve got a place to say for while, at least until I sort myself out. Look Gary, I have a life to live. We only get one chance at this. I need to be me. Really me. I can do that in London.”

“Can I at least have your address?”

“Sorry Gary but I don’t think so. This is a new start for me. Just forget about me. You’l find somebody else. Here. Somewhere.”

“Only I was thinking we might go away together,,,,,,I am fed up with Militant too. ”

“I need to move on.”

He avoided eye contact and shuffled his feet.

He handed me a card with the name of a club in Wolverhampton.

“You can hang out there. There are some cute boys. You’re cute too. You will pull there. no problem.”

He planted a kiss on my lips and said

“Thanks for everything Gary but this is it”

He put his helmet on and lowered the visor.  He swung his leg over and kicked the MZ’s engine into life. He rode off, leaving a sweet cloud of two stroke exhaust hanging in the air.

Back in my flat I cried.  I put the record on, the Japan single I had bought back in April.  at the time I first met Carl.

“Just when I think I’m winning, when I’ve opened up the door, the ghosts of my life grow wilder than before.”

A post for Wicked Wednesday. You can find more wickedness here

Vile Bodies

No, not mine, and not necessarily yours. After three months without physical contact I have lost interest in other bodies. I used to love the feel of another’s skin, the stubble of a man brushing against my cheek as I kissed him, the smell of arousal, even the aroma of sweat as I made love on a muggy evening, the taste of a bell end glistening with pre-come as I took it into my mouth, the musk of a cunt, juicy with arousal, the joy of burying my face in lush pubic hair as I go down on her, the feel of her tongue against my finger as she licks her juice.

All these things I have enjoyed, and my body in turn has given pleasure to my lovers. And yet it all seems so long ago, no more real than  the smut I read, the stories I write. The stories. I have moved my sex life into my head, I write and write and write, not always for publication, but always to get off, to experience the orgasms that come from the mind, to make sense of all those bodies and the things I did with them, before everything is lost.

I am used to this now. The urge to write is irresistible, I fear the bodies, imperfect as mine is imperfect, sweaty as mine is sweaty, sagging as mine sags, that will come between me and my imagination. I think them vile, I push them away. But I cannot do this for ever.  My lover today sent me a picture of his cock, as yet untasted by me. But taste it I will, for I must. It took me decades to love my body, nearly as long to love the bodies of others. The language of these bodies is another language, once foreign, still not entirely familiar. I cannot afford to forget it.

Special Delivery

The card looked official. It said “A Message from Direct Mail Services. Your special delivery will arrive tomorrow at 12 noon. As this is an official court document it is a legal requirement that you be at home to receive the delivery.” The card has a very imposing looking stamp with a crown and the wording Her Majesty’s Courts and Tribunals Service. I held it in my hands for a few seconds, reflecting, Then I put it down.

I went to the kitchen, made a cup of tea and lit a cigarette. I was puzzled by this message but also a little worried. I mean, what did the courts want with me? I had no debts, I had never been in trouble with the police, and the more I reflected on it, the more worried I became.

The following day I woke early after a restless night and phoned the office to say I had a heavy cold and would not be in. And then the time dragged and dragged. I tried to do things, the washing up, read a book, anything but I just ended up smoking too many cigarettes and scrolling listlessly through my Facebook timeline.  The time dragged but, at the same time, moved remorselessly forward. Just as it must have done for condemned prisoners once upon a time I reflected.

I started when my phone burst into life with its jingly jangly alarm call melody.  It was noon. I was about to find out.

I looked through the front room window as the delivery man opened the gate and walked confidently up to the front door. His uniform was dark blue with yellow trim, not quite like the Direct Mail corporate uniform, and then he had his cap pulled down to obscure his face.  But the way he walked seemed familiar. I smiled to myself. I was feeing better already.  I went to the door but he didn’t knock.

“On your knees by the letter box” said a commanding masculine voice. I complied. The flap of the letter box opened and I was suddenly eyeball to eyeball with the fat purple bell end of a most magnificent cock. It was hard, ribbed with veins, the tip already glistening.

“You know what to do.”

This was as much a command as a statement. And I set greedily to work, long slow movements punctuated by whippings with the tongue, feeling it grow ever harder in my mouth as I quickened the tempo. I pressed face against the door to give him the space to face fuck me. He pushed hard as I sucked on his end and three hard choking thrusts later he came with a moan that someone surely must have heard in the street outside.

I gasped and coughed and the come dripped down my chin and onto my top. Then he knocked the door as I hoped he would, document or no document.  As I opened the door, he pushed his way in, bow with a stocking over his head.  I had never enjoyed his cock before but now that I could smell him I was sure I knew who he was. And he was welcome here, especially if I could enjoy his cock again.

He whipped out a pair of handcuffs and used them with a speed and dexterity that left me unable to resist. He attached me to the stair rail.

“You have been a naughty girl” he said. He took a paper handkerchief and wiped the come from around my mouth. Then he pulled down my skirt and panties, bent me over and fucked me from behind, fucked me hard, fucked me until I could take no more and I felt warm come flowing down my inner thigh.

He freed my hands and handed me a delivery note to sign. In my orgasmic daze

“Sign here please Madame to confirm the delivery was safely received.”

I handed it back. He tore off a copy for me and smiled.

“My number is on there if you have any problems with the delivery.”

“Thank you” I muttered.

“Well I am sure we will meet again. I am glad I could be of service.”

He turned and left without looking round.

I sat for a while, enjoying a cigarette (and cigarettes after sex are always the best ones aren’t they?).  picked up the phone and dialled the number on the delivery note. I was sure there was more to be delivered. And I wanted it before dinner.

 

This was a story for Wicked Wednesday. Click on the image below to see who else is being wicked this week.

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

 

Afterglow of Your Love

You have gone. While I was in that half world between sleep and consciousness you got up, put your clothes on and left the small hotel room, shutting the door softly behind you. I was aware of you leaving and sank back into sleep, reliving the night, reliving sex like I had never had sex before, sex with the first woman I have known who was assertive, told me what she wanted, showed me the buttons to press, the first woman to guide me as I took my first steps in exploring the female body.

Does that sound odd? I am 42 after all and 15 years married. I am a father……and yet for all these years sex was a thing I did out of duty. I never got up close with a vulva, a clit, never explored these lands with my tongue, and perceived that mysterious beauty. I fucked you too, hard and brutally the way you said you wanted me too. I remember how you put a little Chardonnay on my cock and took it into your mouth, making me hard as you worked me so delicately with your tongue. This was all new to me. I had never imagined how sex could be more than something that lasted five minutes, get hard, penetrate, ejaculate and then roll over and go to sleep. Sex as a mutual exploration of bodies, sex as a source of pleasure that went far beyond the orgasm, or even how the orgasmic sensation could be heightened by taking our time, building up slowly, these were new things to me. New and delightful. Maybe I will never have sex with her again but she has taught me so much.

I reach for my cock and masturbate as I fantasise about the sex I have just had. I come and roll over to grind against the sheet as I ejaculate. I rub and grind until my groin is completely wet with my come. And here was another discovery: that the best wanks ever come after sex. Yes, we will do this again. Because we must. I text you and go for a shower.

Happiness Stan

Everyone knows Stan in our town. 30 odd years ago he played for our local football team. A real character who always had a pint in the bar before the game and still gave his all for 90 minutes on the pitch And then, after the game, well he was rarely home before midnight. When you look back you wonder what his wife made of it all, and, lovely man that he was, she let him in the end. What else was she to do?

But even as his personal life was falling apart he was a hero for us kids. I can remember well his little tricks, the dummies and shimmies, that goal at Brentford the one and only time we got to the FA Cup First Round. I am not exaggerating believe me, high ball into the box and there was Stan, took it on his right, back onto his left, a swivel and back into hs right and bang! A crisp volley into Brentford’s net to put us one up. Brentford’s defenders had been completely mesmerised by Stan’s genius. We lost 6-1 in the end but Stan’s status as a local hero was sealed. This had been the biggest day out in our club’s history and Stan’s goal had made it special.
And then he packed up playing, probably a year or two early because of the drink. Not knowing what to do with himself, he did the only other thing he knew. He drank.

He still does. Stan spends his days on a bench in a secluded corner of our local park drinking beer from cans. I never knew what he did for food so I used to take him a sandwich, a pork pie, sometimes a take away coffee. And I would sit and chat. His eyes always lit up at the mention of the Brentford game, some 40 years ago now but still the highlight of his life. And how many if us with our steady jobs and mortgages and so on, have ever, in one moment of inspiration, sent 4,000 of oir fellow human beings into rapture? Stan had and the knowledge of that clearly gave him the feeling that his life had been worth living.

One day as we chatted Stan said he had a favour to ask. It was years since he had had sex and well as he didn’t feel right approaching a woman and while he wasn’t gay would I mind? Well I would probably have done anything for Stan. He unzipped his flies and pulled out a still impressive cock. I dropped to my knees on the gravel path, took his cock in my hand, pulled back the foreskin and took him into my mouth. I had always thought of myself as a straight guy and this was a really new experience to me. But I found myself enjoying the sensation of a cock hardening and swelling in my mouth, enjoying the groans of pleasure that Stan was making. When he came into my mouth I knew what to do. I swallowed a bit , I had never known it was salty, and kept a bit in my mouth. I moved my mouth towards his. I kissed him and transferred the remaining come into his mouth.  He smiled.

I stood up, brushed the gravel from my knees, and walked off without giving Stan a second glance.

I never saw him again. Whether he had left our town for good, or whether something bad had happened I will probably never know. But when I think of the happiness he brought me or even the fleeting happiness I brought him he will forever be Happiness Stan.

Another Girl, Another Planet

This is a short story I wrote specially for the Eroticon reading slam. There was a certain amount of inspiration from a song, as older readers may notice.

‘Space travel’s in my blood’ she said, pulling off her silver boots, ’there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Tell me about yourself, how you came to be doing this.’

‘My name is Neptunia. I was born on the Neptune colony four thousand years ago and came to this galaxy through the time shift, after the solar system was abandoned I have travelled a lot, I enjoy it and when..’

‘they allowed sex again?’

‘Yes, I was chosen to apply to be an inter-galactic sex worker and I jumped at  the opportunity. I see a lot of the cosmos, the money is good  and I ways wanted to be a teacher.’

A teacher was what I needed. This was my first permission to visit our galaxy’s pleasure planet. I had read about sex in antique data storage from the days before humans destroyed planet Earth and the solar system had to be abandoned, musty stained things called books. I grew up after the move towards the more efficient asexual reproduction of the species.  For millennia sex was forbidden. Oh we still married, but only for companionship. Ova and sperm were produced by industrial process so there was no need for the human body to be involved. And sex for pleasure was deemed harmful, detrimental above all to the efficiency of the galactic economy. Like all males I had been locked into a chastity device on my thirteenth birthday. It was only ever removed under medical supervision for purposes of washing and so on,  and we knew nothing other than the dull aches and throbbing pain of the erection being crushed by the pitiless kryptonite.

And now sex was allowed as a privilege, but only for those with the means to travel to the pleasure planet and pay one of the few handpicked sex workers like Neptunia.

‘We only have an hour’ she said ‘maybe we should get on with it?’

She removed her gauntlets and pulling down the shimmering suit revealed two small firm breasts followed by a stomach tattooed with a pink meteor shower and then her pussy, her pubic hair shaven into what Earth language called a Brazilian. As the suit fell round her ankles she stepped out of it and walked towards me. I gazed at her. I had never seen a naked woman before. She took my hand and guided it to the hair, the lips and made me feel my way gingerly up and down.

‘You’ve never seen a woman before have you?’

‘No I er…….’

She gently kissed the top of my head.

‘The pleasures of the body couldn’t be denied for ever’ she said, ‘ and I am so glad the Administration realised that. Just relax……feel my hair, feel the roughness of the stubble, then feel your way down..’

She guided my hand to wear I could sense an opening, then put one of her fingers in and pulled it, put it on my tongue.

‘Taste. I’m getting wet, that’s what women do when they are ready for sex.’

She knelt before me, pulled my head towards hers and kissed me, forcing her tongue between my teeth.    I pulled away horrified.

‘But that’s so unhygienic. It’s gross.’

Neptuia laughed.

“You need to forget all they taught you at school. This is not dirty. It’s really wonderful to get close and intimate with another human being like this. Besides I’m clean and if you want to suggest otherwise you know where the door is,’

She wasn’t laughing now.

‘Just get this straight. I am proud to be a sex worker and any ideas you have about dirty disease ridden whores are just so ancient solar system. Just get them out of your head. Besides only I have the cyberkey to your chastity device. So you had better be nice to me.’

She began to laugh again.

She pulled a thin metal rod out of her bag and pointed it at my crotch. The chastity device loosened with a click and she was soon on me, Gently sliding it off, pushing me onto my back as she kissed me again. This time I could feel her strength as she pinned me down and pushed her tongue into my mouth so hard that I struggled to breathe. I made a token effort to throw her off but she was too strong for me. She slid down my body, her tongue leaving a damp trail until she arrived at my penis. She licked the end before whipping it delicately with the end of her tongue. I felt it harden and rise, now unrestrained for the first time in thirty years. She took it into her mouth and began to suck.

I stiffened and made to draw back.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I’ve never done this before i…..”

The move into her mouth had drawn the foreskin back and the unsheathed bellend, all purple and shiny with her saliva felt vulnerable and exposed. I shuddered.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

I lay back on the bed took a deep breath and tried to relax. She started again.  This time I shut my eyes and tried to yield to her. She began to move in and out in slow rhythmic movements, and I felt myself beginning to enjoy the warmth and softness of her mouth. Another tongue whipping, another couple of swift movements in and out and I had come, feeling more pain than pleasure as one huge ejaculation quickly followed another.

Neptunia swallowed but kept a little in her mouth as she kissed me and passed some of the creamy fluid into my mouth.

“That’s the taste of a man. That’s your taste.”

She wiped her lips and smiled.

‘That’s it” she said. “Your time is nearly up.”

“And sex?” I asked not hiding my disappointment.

“Not today. I need to file my report and the Pleasure Ministry will decide if you can have a second appointment with full service.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t they don’t” said Neptunia matter of factly. “It’s down to the Ministry to decide if you need sex, or if the productive capacity of the state will be enhanced. It’s not my decision. And to be honest I don’t care either way. I’m a sex worker. I service my clients and show them the door. I don’t get emotionally involved.”

Perhaps she could see the disappointment on my face because she quickly added

“I like you and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. So I will write a positive opinion. And maybe you will come again.”

She reached behind her and picked up the chastity cage and cyberkey.

“Come here. I have to put this back on.”

“No” I said, surprised at the firmness in my voice. “I’m not going back into that.”

I backed away but she stood up and walked towards me with a determined look.

‘That chastity device IS going back on. It’s inter-galactic law and I am here to enforce it.’

She pushed me back against the wall and hissed

‘Are you going to do as you’re told or do I have to hurt you?’

The last words came out with such venom that her spit flecked my glasses.’

‘Just remember the report I have to file. Piss me off and you’ll never come here again. You’ll live the rest of your life like a fucking monk. Is that what you want?

‘No’

My resistance was broken. She clipped it back into place, locked it with the cyberkey. I looked at her, as he pulled on her boots. I felt desire for her again, felt the blood pumping into my penis, which rose and swelled until cruelly restricted by the cage. I bent low with the agony and sank to my knees crying. It was not just for the desire of Neptunia but for what I had understood. Chastity was slavery, I had always wondered about the things I had read from earth days when chastity was a form of play in something called BDSM. I realised that when we are not free to use our bodies as we want, when we cannot express ourselves sexually then we are slaves. My head was teeming with subversive thoughts. Did The Administration realise how dangerous this could all be?  I knew too that I could say nothing of this to Neptunia who was after all a spy for the police, part of the control apparatus. What an irony there was there!

In any case I had to come back, to push my penis for the first time through those mysterious soft folds of flesh, into that secret place of the ultimate warmth and softness.

‘Come on’ said Neptunia. ‘it’s time for you to go.’

She led me out to the docking pod and I was soon on my way, her planet a distant speck and her body a sweet memory. It is a long and tiring flight to the Pleasure Planet and back but I know I will return. Long journeys wear me out but I know I can’t live without it.’

 

A Taste of Honey

I still don’t quite know how it happened. I was the member of my local church who taught new members about God, the Bible and things like that. I wore my hair straight, my blouses had long sleeves and my skirts went below the knee. I was demure and modest. One day I was teaching Matthew, a pleasant young man of my own age when he asked,

‘Tell me about Heaven’

‘Well’, I answered, ‘it’s like a land flowing with milk and honey.’

‘What does it look like?’

Without thinking I stood up, pulled down my skirt and knickers and walked over to him.

‘This is Heaven. This is my cunt, the most beautiful thing in God’s creation. It is the reason I thank Him every day that I am a woman. Look at it, touch it, place your finger here, this is my clit. Learn to touch this the right way and you have the key to my Heaven.’

He touched my clit gingerly as if handling a live grenade. Then I said

‘Taste and see that my cunt is good. ‘

I took his head very gently and pulled it towards my crotch. He sniffed me, surely felt my arousal as he buried his face in my thick pubic hair.

‘Milk and honey. I’ll just go to the kitchen.’

I came back with a container of yoghurt and a pot of honey and took a handful of yoghurt and pushed it into my vagina, enjoying the cool softness. I smeared honey on my pubic hair.

‘Lick it off’ I said gently and his tongue darted out, licking the sweet honey first before he pushed his face deeper in and I felt his tongue darting around the cool sour opening of my cunt.

‘Taste the yoghurt then taste me, that other taste is the most delightful of all. It means I am ready for sex. It means you turn me on.’

He pulled away and I looked at him. His face was covered in yoghurt and honey. He looked very happy. Funny too. I smiled, took the yoghurt pot and polished his now hard erect penis. I applied a dab of honey, took his wonderful cock, into my mouth and worked my way backwards and forwards along the shaft picking up speed……

It tasted of milk and of honey, of milk and honey, milk and honey, milk, honey, milk, honey, milk, honey……I felt his body stiffen, saw him shut his eyes as he pumped big glugs of come into my mouth. He cried out with pleasure.

I dragged him down onto his knees, pulled him towards me and pushed my tongue deep into his mouth, letting the come, the yoghurt and the honey flow into him, a creamy mass of delight.

‘See how lovely you taste?’

‘So that’s Heaven?’ asked Matthew.

‘Not quite’ I said pulling up my skirt. ‘I’m saving that for next week’