Aftermath

Horny Hour #18

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Space and time.

I was planning on just using space but somehow when I wrote it ‘and time’ followed with ease. It just felt right to have both. I blame all the sci-fi I’ve been reading lately. Or maybe the shows, and films I watch. ;D  But that doesn’t mean you have to go sci-fi, space and time might mean something completely different to you.

Enjoy.

I’ve been struggling the last couple of weeks to write any fantasy, as much as I wanted to write I couldn’t.

This morning as I was walking back home the thoughts and words came into my head.

Images, thoughts, sensations tumble in her head. Another time, another place. All coalesce into a kaleidoscope of snapshots, bodies, hands, lips, tongues.

Every day, her mind filled with memories, so real she can almost feel, touch, taste them.

His hands on her, stroking, touching, fingers working their magic. The taste of him, his cock in her mouth, then in her throat, saliva coating him, running down her chin, the fight between needing to breathe, yet not wanting to.

The memory of his weight, pinning her down as he fucks her, his words in her ear –slut, whore, my little fucktoy – she can hear them in her head. The heat in her stomach, between her legs, torment.

Her own words – please, yes.

All this and more, all day, every day.

Yet when she sleeps – no dreams.

More Horny Hour here.

 

Moonlight

Horny Hour #17

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Your prompt this week is:

Oestara (Ostara)

Oestara is the Wiccan name for the vernal equinox. The Vernal Equinox is celebrated around the end of the third week of March, somewhere between the 19th and 25th usually. The word “equinox” means “equal night,” which signifies that night and day are equal at this time, with the light of the Sun growing in power toward midsummer. It’s the turning point from winter to spring. It is a beginning of the agricultural year, and its rites ensure fertility of crops and flocks; it is a time of planting, nurturing and growth.

This minor Wiccan Sabbat (there are 4 minor and 4 major sabbats in the wiccan wheel of the year) is named for the Saxon Goddess of Spring, Oestre. There are several different translations of the meaning of her name; East, dawn and morning light indicating the returning warmth of the sun’s rays and the lengthening days. In Germany her warm nature is still marked by bonfires lit at dawn on the Spring Equinox. She is the Maiden Goddess; full of potential, representing the opportunity of growth and rebirth after the stagnation of winter. The Maiden Archetype represents purity and the innocence of childhood, where the soul’s dreams, magic and make believe still prevail. The rabbit was Oestre’s sacred animal, which is where we get the Easter Bunny.

Oestara is a day of celebration because it marks the planting time, when the land is finally ready to be tilled and made fertile with seed for food and cloth. Because eggs are a universal symbol of fertility, it is customary to decorate eggs with spring colours and throw them into running water or bury them in the ground to promote the growth of the crops.

This is my second favourite time of year, my favourite is winter solstice. The promise of longer days and warmer weather is very welcome after the winter. There is also an Easter bunny link with the hare, this time of year is the mating season and they bounce about the fields – Mad as a March hare. They also apparently like to stare at the moon. I did a whole ceramics project on moon gazing hares and another on the Green Man, another supposed fertility symbol whose origins have been lost. I’m hugely fascinated with mythology, folklore and ancient history, especially when it comes to anything Pagan and Celtic pre-Christianity. I can spend hours reading about this stuff -festivals, gods and goddesses, boundaries and edges etc. – but this is the first time I’ve ever tried writing about it. I struggled with this, I don’t have the knack or experience to write this way so it’s not great, but I really couldn’t think of anything else.

She stares at the full moon, bathed in its silvery glow, entranced, unaware she is being watched from the shadows. He wants to approach, but he is a creature of the woods, she belongs to the open fields and hills. He takes a step towards her, hesitates again, unwilling or unable to leave the shelter of the woods. His longing increases by the second, his breathing sounding harsh to his own ears, but still she shows no sign of having heard. It’s been the same every night of the full moon forever, at least it seems like forever to him. Centuries and millennia, she arrives and disappears with the full moon, and he watches, this lithe, fey, silvery creature, never speaking. He wishes she would just turn and see him, come to him, touch him, relieve his longing and loneliness, but all she does is stare at the moon.

She  knows he watches, she can feel him, even from here, as if his strength flows through the very ground she stands on. The smell of the woods surrounds her too, that damp, musky smell, so different from the open air. She feels drawn to him, wanting to go to him, but as yet unable to resist the moon’s glow. She wonders if this time he will wait, if he will still be there when the time comes. Or will it be like all the times before? She knows he can’t leave the woods, and she can’t enter them, but maybe this time he will wait. She hopes.

This is one of those stories I can see in my head but I can’t translate into words. Of course this time he waits and they meet at the edge of the woods, as night turns to day.

I think I’ll stick to writing what I usually write 😀

And here’s a photo of one of my hare sculptures.

Hare

More Horny Hour here.

Ladder

It’s 2.30am, I can’t sleep, so I thought I might as well post this now 🙂

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Horny Hour #16

Your prompt this week is:

EMBRACING THE DARK

We all have parts of our personalities that we’d rather not have to deal with. These are things that are usually labelled during our childhood or teen years, and the labels stick. They become myths about our personalities.

BUT we all have the power to reinvent ourselves by transforming our perception of our personal myths.

You can embrace your dark side, and use the bad stuff to your advantage creating yourself a new myth. Don’t fix it, feature it. Let it play a starring role in your creative life.

Embrace the dark side.

The quiet one, always got her nose stuck in a book, just two of the things I’d hear about myself as a child. Neither of these has changed, I’m still the quiet one and I still read a lot.

Weirdo, freak, you don’t fit, things I’d hear from my family as I got older, but I had always accepted I was different to my sisters, thought about things differently, was interested in different things. I still hear it now, it’s never said nastily, they are stating a fact. My youngest sister is all about the hair, make-up, shoes, bags etc. things I don’t really bother about. The other one is, actually, to be honest I don’t know what she’s really interested in. Despite being close in age we aren’t really that close.

I’ve long embraced my darker side, enjoyed the fact that I could surprise people sometimes. I wonder how they’d take finding out about this side of me. This is where I feel most comfortable, being able to express myself, to explore my dark side, to be creative in a way that I enjoy and to hopefully continue to grow and explore the darker side of my creativity.

*

‘Damn!’ She fingers the ladder in her stocking, all the way up the back of her leg, like a seam. She strokes her skin through it as she imagines other fingers, ripping, tearing, pulling the stockings from her legs. Moving on to tear the rest of her clothes from her body. Using the strips to bind her, gag her and blindfold her. To keep her helpless as she is used.

Ladder

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Missing Him

A very short piece for Masturbation Monday and Horny Hour.

Horn Hour Prompt #15 Your prompt this week is:

THE SOUND OF PAPER

That whisper of noise from the turning of a page. The soft dragging sound as a finger runs down a piece of paper. The slap of skin on skin. The squeak of two bodies rubbing together. The wet sounds of a cunt being fingered.

I don’t mean the literal sound of paper, although I do find book shops and libraries can be kind of sexy, and if you want to go that way feel free. We all know sex can be as noisy or as quiet as we want but what about those noises that are just whispers of sound. The almost silent music of our lives.

What do you hear during sex? During the moments when you are lost to all reason, and floating on a sea of sensation? When you’re senses seem heightened and you notice; the taste of salt on your lips, the feel of the sheet in your fists, the hot heady smell of arousal, the sound of…

Masturbation Monday Prompt #80

Masturbation Monday: Week 80

She misses him.

She can almost feel him there, standing behind her, almost. She can almost feel his hand sliding up her leg, the whisper of his skin on her stockinged thigh as he finds the soft skin above the fabric, his fingers sliding along her slit, digging into her hot, wet cunt, almost. She can almost hear his voice, whispering in her ear, telling her what he’s going to do, calling her his dirty, little slut, almost.

She misses his hands, his touch, how he makes her feel. She misses him, the taste and smell of him, of them, together. She misses the sounds of their fucking, gasps, moans, cries. The heat and wet, the slap of his hand on her skin, in her hair, around her throat.

The last of her bruises and marks faded days and weeks ago, she craves more, craves the sound of him taking off his belt, dropping it onto her back, or the bed beside her, craves the feeling of the cold leather as he trails it across her skin, its hot, stinging kiss.

She misses all of this, and more. She misses him.

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Boat Trip

Masturbation Monday, Horny Hour and Friday Flash!

I’m quite pleased with this one. My first story involving two guys, and I managed to hit all three prompts!

‘How did I let you talk me into this?’ Nessa said when they were alone in their cabin. ‘I know you want to get in his pants but you have to drag me along too?’ Nessa didn’t mind him fucking other people, but the closest she’d been to watching him had been a couple of months ago when he’d persuaded her to go to a seedy porn theatre and she’d stood beside him in the toilet cubicle as some random guy sucked his cock through a glory hole.

‘He asked to meet you, he keeps asking. I can’t make any more excuses. It’s only two days, be nice, please? I’ll make it up to you. And it’s not like that, sure I’d like to fuck him but I don’t think he’s interested.’

‘Yeah right, he had a damn hard on by the time he’d finished hugging you.’ She’d felt it as he’d pulled her in for a hug too. Mark kissed her long and hard, leaving her wet and breathless. ‘Can’t we just stay down here for a while?’

‘No, we can’t. I don’t think Paul would be very happy if we spent the whole weekend in here.’ He led her back on deck.

She tried to make conversation, but a lot of it was about their work, the size of the yacht, which was huge and where they were going. In the end she just sat sipping at a glass of wine, the sun was starting to give her a headache and the motion of the yacht wasn’t helping either. ‘I’m sorry, she said, standing up. ‘I’m not feeling too good. I think I’ll go and lie down for a while.’

She woke up a couple of hours later, her headache had gone. She got up and went to find Mark, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t come down to check on her. As she wandered along the hallway she could hear the splash of water and the low murmur of voices. She came to the bathroom, the door was open. The two men were in the shower, soaping each other and she watched as Paul slid his hand up and down his own cock at the same time as Mark’s. They rubbed up against each other and as Paul pushed Mark down onto his knees he saw Nessa standing there. He gave her a wolfish grin as he grabbed Mark’s head and forced his cock into his mouth. As she felt herself grow wet Nessa thought that maybe this weekend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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Friday Flash

 

Not A Dirty Story.

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Horny Hour #8

Prompt #12

Wine.

So yesterday (or today as I am writing this) was apparently national drink wine day. So it seemed only sensible to use that for this weeks prompt.

First off I like to say this isn’t what I was planning to post for Horny Hour, there will be another part of the story (or something equally filthy) very soon, promise.

I’ve had a week of to-ing and fro-ing to various appointments this week and I’m temporarily sorted out. I have a couple of months breathing space to decide whether I want to re-enter the real world or go sick long-term. Time will tell.

In the next couple of months I am seriously going to work on my novel, I’m not intending for it to have an impact on the blog. I have hours now when I can do what I like and not have to worry that I should be doing something else (and I may even post extracts).

The reason this post links into the prompt is that the one thing I really look forward to, one of the things that has kept me going, is the glass or two of wine I have of an evening when Sir is here. I don’t usually drink when he isn’t here and I really enjoy our routine. On Friday he drives down after work and we talk. Sometimes we have dinner, sometimes not. But I love just lying beside him, talking, kissing and just enjoying each others company. Saturday is Netflix and chill, and another couple of glasses. And we drink just enough. Just enough to add a little something extra. I like a couple of drinks before sex and I don’t want to lose that, but one of the medications I’ve been prescribed tells me I can’t drink. So, for now, I’m not taking those tablets, they’re the new ones for anxiety, which isn’t too bad (mostly) and my doctor is away (typical). So until I get to talk to him and get something else I’ll just be taking the anti-depressants.

I need to keep hold of the little things.

More Horny Hour here.

 

Dutch Courage

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Horny Hour #7

This week’s prompt – One for the road.

I always loved this saying it reminds me of that old drinking song, Show me the way to go home. No idea why but it does. Which leads me to tipsy fumbles in dark alleyways, or sloppy kisses in shop doorways, or stumbling through the door barely letting it close before you’re tearing your clothes off.

What does it make you think of?

What with one thing and another it had been a couple of months since I’d had a weekend at yours. The prospect of a couple of days with no demands, except yours, on my time stretched ahead of me and I wondered what you had planned this time. Your instructions were specific. I went through them again as I waited in the airport for my flight. How decadent to take a domestic flight, but all things considered it was the best option and it added to the experience. To text you when I had boarded, and to text you again when I landed. You would pick me up outside thirty minutes after that.

I checked the contents of my bag, again. Of course I had everything, I must already have checked it twenty times since I had packed. After landing I was to go into the toilets and change. Stockings, short skirt and heels, whatever top I wanted and no knickers. There wasn’t much else in there – phone, purse, fags and of course passport and boarding cards. You’d taken things back with you after your last visit. I felt the nerves start, the thought of waiting for you outside the airport dressed like that. I looked down at myself, the usual outfit of jeans, hoodie and Docs replaced by leggings and flats just to make it easier to change and fit them into my bag. I was already wearing the top, I’d decided on a sleeveless blouse with buttons up the front. The things I did for you, the things I never even considered refusing. As I waited for the door for Departures to open I went outside for a last cigarette before the flight, the joys of a regional airport. As I lit up I thought about the final part of the instructions, get into the car and give you the knickers I’d taken off, no kiss and no talking unless you asked me a question. Any deviation from the instructions would result in some form of punishment to be decided by you depending on the seriousness of the offence. This was new, your taking control like this before we got to your house. I was starting to feel physically sick with the thoughts going through my head, the anticipation, so I tossed the half-smoked cigarette away, went back inside and went to the bar. I didn’t drink often but I needed something to get me on that plane. I downed it pretty quick and as the announcement for my flight was made I signalled the barman again. ‘One for the road?’.

‘Worried about flying?’ He asked.

‘It’s not the flight that bothers me.’ I answered, trying not to down this one as well.

*

‘Boarded.’ I pressed send as I tried to relax against the seat. An hour before I had to think about anything again. I didn’t really like flying but for that hour I was always truly out of reach of anyone, completely by myself. I would usually spend it reading or writing but this time I closed my eyes, trying not to think about the last time I’d visited. I failed. I didn’t need the message back from you ‘Remember the last time.’ The memories came anyway, a series of intense images, thoughts and sensations flooding back into my head. The ropes holding me down, the feel of your hands, lips, and tongue torturing me until I begged for you to stop. And after, the blindfold so I could only hear what you planned to do, the whisper of your belt, the soft clink of the clamp chain. Another message ‘Are you wet yet?’ I replied as they made the announcement to switch off mobiles. ‘Yes Sir. I have to go now.’ I turned off my phone feeling the wetness between my legs as I leant over to put it into my bag on the floor. I was grateful that even though the small plane was pretty full the seat beside me was empty as I shifted position, tried to sit so I wouldn’t leave a wet patch behind me. I closed my eyes again, knowing that this trip was going to be different. We’d come a long way in those few weeks even with the limitations of being at mine. We’d discussed more of our fantasies, things we wanted to try. I’d written a couple of stories for you and now I was beginning to get slightly worried about things. You could be a sadistic bastard sometimes and there had been times when you got that look on your face I’d been happy we were at mine. But that look made me want to be at your house, to give myself up to whatever you wanted to do to me. I wanted more, I wanted for us to be able to make more noise, for you to be able to hurt me more, make me scream, make me cry. I wanted to be able to let go. With all of these thoughts whirling around in my head I was as horny as fuck and wishing I wasn’t stuck on a tiny little plane. I couldn’t even check the time because I don’t wear a watch. I knew there couldn’t be much longer to wait, the cabin crew were doing the clean up run and then the pilot came on. Ten minutes, I looked out of the window and tried to think of other things as the airport came into view.

HH One for the road

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