Monday, December 31, 2007

Lesbian lunches and a spanking New Year

I’ve just been listening to Woman’s Hour, a very tweed skirt, 4x4 and sensible knickers radio programme for ‘ladies’ that runs every day on Radio 4. Now, I know this isn’t a very promising start to a sexy blog but hey, don’t just go straight to ‘Girl with a one track mind’ stay with me, at least while I make my point. And it was because they were doing a feature on Mistresses, mainly Royal ones from Nell Gwyn to dear old Camilla. Actually I find her a bit of a turn-on, those tight jodhpurs, that cocksucking mouth, that haughty manner, wow I bet after a few whiskies she’s anyone’s, man, woman or beast (with a mane of course). But sorry I digress, although a horsewhipping and a romp in the hay with the dirty Duchess would be any sensual woman’s dream.

But, ahem, back to my point. They were all men’s mistresses, and I’m a woman’s mistress, Ms Hastings (my lover) is fairly happily married and I’m the bitter bit on the side. Because Christmas is a notably sad and lonely time for the world’s mistresses, now, all you boring married people will say “well dear, you made your bed so lay alone in it and wank yourself silly you treacherous cow”. But Woman’s Hour asked for sympathy for us mistresses, we provide a sexual service, we often keep marriages together and one of us will be the next Queen and if they say that you should listen.

Not that I care this Christmas. A cool lady, I’ll call Fiona, got in touch with me in the Summer after I moaned about being not very high but considerablely dry (between the thighs) when Ms Hastings went back to Mr Hastings. She’s in the same position as me, under or on top of a married woman for a couple of nights a month, so we kept in touch.

Apropos of lonely Christmas’s she suggested a Mistresses Lunch on the 25th. So Fiona, me, a woman I’ll call Charlie and another woman, I’ll call Camilla (well a girl can dream) met up at a restaurant called ‘Vanilla’ in Hove (I think this might have been Fiona’s joke).

Three of us were girly but Charlie was a bit of a boi (more masculine in styling for those not in the know). In amongst all the couples and families celebrating not having to cook the fucking turkey we probably stood out a little. We’d all scrubbed up for the occasion but we clearly looked like 4 women who weren’t long-time friends and it was all a little formal. But then Fiona suggested a bottle of Bolly and after several glasses whilst looking at the menu, I suddenly remembered something I’d read in my research for my book.

“If we are what we eat then all lesbians must be cunts” I volunteered, so we toasted this and ordered another bottle. Our mood grew more and more bubbly, the food was ok but our reminiscences were very tasty and some of them extremely spicy. My, my, what the middle class women of East Sussex get up to on those hot and sweaty afternoons while hubby is holed up in London!!!

And why not? I so surprised that most women don’t try a little lady love on the side. It is different, it is sensual (yes we do know exactly which bits to work on) and it’s remarkably safe. No unwanted bumps, no violence (unless that turns you on) and we are completely discreet. Although, after listening to my three new mates I wonder if the men wouldn’t be actually aroused if they found out what their other half’s girl-on-girl action.

By now, our laughter was getting a bit loud and we were getting ‘looks’ from the other dull diners. Fuck’em, we were having a brilliant Christmas. When all the boring people had left to return to their yuletide rows and Dr Who on TV we ordered another drop of Bolly and sang carols with the waiters. They were all in their twenties and I noticed them assessing us lasciviously, four pissed females up for fun. I imagined them thinking that we might fancy a bit of extra pudding – sorry boys, you picked the wrong girls.

If this had been my book we’d have all ended up in a hotel room as a naked, frolicking foursome finding amusing things to do to each other with our bolly bottles. But this was life so we kissed, swore we’d do it again and parted to our lonely nights. Although Charlie squeezed my bum so it wasn’t all sad.

I wasn’t actually alone on Christmas night. I spent it with Dolce & Gabbanna, who are my gay chums. We sat with a couple of their friends watching a dvd of ‘West Side Story’. And as usual when I’m a bit miserable, I ended up snuggled between them in bed.

So that was my Christmas, probably not much like yours but typical for me. It’s weird that because of my blog people think I lead a permanently promiscuous existence. But, hey as I always say I only write about the ‘dark parts’ and I probably spend more time than you seeking them out.

The majority of my days are spent earning a living, cleaning the flat, shopping, watching the news and going to the loo. And you don’t want to read about that do you?

You don’t want to hear about me watching TV, you want to read about me watching a TV whip a naked man in a Kent S&M club. There she was, with the best body there, in a blond wig, black bra, thong and long leather boots taking great pleasure in viciously thrashing the man’s arse then tenderly massaging his flaming cheeks and cupping his balls. (A hint of this world can be found in the pic I chose for the top of this blog. It's a rather seasonal shot of one of Santa's little helpers being a little tied up. It's borrowed from, a great bondage site featuring woman in various fetish uniforms)

The S&M evening was last November, and I’m looking forward to more of it in 2008. And spanking, I love doing it and found that I rather liked it being done to me. And I’m not alone, just put ‘spanking’ into Google. There millions of us, watching the movies and appearing in them. There are clubs like Northern Spankers that do movies and also ‘party nights’ when you can spank the bums of the girls who appear in the movies. Mmmmmm, tight knickers caught up the crack then pulled down to reveal plump girly gluts. Then the slapping and squealing – I can’t get enough of it.

Finally my best wishes go out to Ms Hastings, Pretty Polly (my pantyhose pal) Madame Madge (my delicious French delicacy) and Ms Strict (who toned up my bum muscles) - and of course all of my lovely sexy readers

Here’s to a happy, slappy New Year

Love & lashes Sadie xxxxxxxxxx

Sunday, November 25, 2007

Sore feelings in my heart and bum

It’s Saturday afternoon and Ms Hastings has just left. She’s going back to her husband and kids and, at last, I’m going back to my blog. I can still feel her warmth in my bed and smell her scents. The sheets are still ruffled, thanks to our furious activity and there are sexy indentations caused by her beautiful body.

Hey, it’s just wonderful to be back in Brighton on a grey November day. My Mac is resting on the pillow into which Ms Hastings pushed her squirming and gasping face as I relentlessly fucked her arse with a saucy pink strap-on. As I bucked my superbly toned, tight and tremendously firm buttocks (I wish) and the cock stretched her matching pink hole, I leant forward and cupped her soft fleshy tits. I think I mentioned before that my lover is a little on the big size but I just love every generous inch of her.

Thinking of her bust sadly reminds me of our bust-up which is why I haven’t been up to being amusing on my blog. I’ve eventually fallen out with every one of my lovers including my husband. We never part amicably and stay ‘friends’ like all the smug people you read about in the papers. No, I always get written out of the story and they go off to get creative with someone else.

So, although she’d visited me occasionally during my long stay with friends in France, we haven’t seen much of each other (in the getting naked sense) for most of the Summer. Now, because she has her family I always imagined I had my freedom when we weren’t together. We’ve discussed this, and she said she was ok with it – and with me writing about our fucking and my fetishes.

But I was proved wrong when she took acceptation to my interludes with Madame Madge, the jodhpur wearing, Madonna lookie-likie who gave me intensive riding lessons of the non-equestrian type.
Ms Hastings decided that Ms France stepped over the line that separated overnight fling with on-going fuck.

So she said some things, and I said some things that I regretted. Then I said some things that I really regretted and then I said some things that would have appalled Saddam and Mugabe. So she walked out of my life. And I walked into the flat of my Brighton friends Dolce & Gabbana and cried and cried. This is a familiar scenario for them so they poured Jack Daniels down my throat and nodded sagely whilst I talked bollocks. And talking of bollocks they also took me into their bed so that, naked, I lay between their naked bodies in a comforting, non-sexual but naughty bit touching, very 21st Century way.

I couldn’t believe I’d screwed it up again. I found I couldn’t concentrate on my writing of erotic fiction when the real facts of my life were so appalling. Morgan, my co-writer, tried to help but I behaved in an ignorant, destructive manner that he coped with easily because he’s used to working with advertising clients.

Now, I must admit I did enjoy a few cunt enthralling canters with Madame Madge. She made my Summer in France very sensual but she had a boyfriend and I had Ms Hastings so the relationship was very prescribed. She still emails me and I respond but that’s as intimate as it gets these days. But my too explicit blog had fogged Ms Hastings judgement and I was alone again.

I sat in the flat as the Autumn rains hit Brighton. The general greyness highlighted the colours of France that I was missing so much. The rich yellows of the sunflowers, the deep purples of the lavender and the warm tan of Madame Madge’s derriere and thighs as I pulled her jodhpurs down. How I missed it.

I also missed the slap that had been part of my happy days with Ms Hastings. I think I’ve mentioned that she liked to be spanked. Now I wasn’t into this madly but was content to play along because it generally led to the kind of sex that whipped my senses. The usual scenario had her saying something mildly insulting (in a schoolgirl way) like “Sadie, your bum is eating your jeans”, I’d get cross and put her over my knee. Her skirt was pulled up, her Prada sheer panties were exposed and I’d attack her ample arse. She got really turned on by this and although we’d agreed never to mention her husband I had to know whether spanking has been a favourite fetish during her marriage. So I asked her and the fact that her face went the colour of her bum cheeks suggested the answer was “yes”.

It was probably dwelling on this that got me in correspondence with a woman on Now fetish fans will be familiar with this site. It’s a guide to fetish and BDSM clubs and also runs personal ads for pervs to meet other pervs. I was prowling around it because writing erotic fiction when you are celibate is much like writing recipes when you are hungry – and I was absolutely famished.

Perusing the F4F section led me to many subs into caning with frankly unappealing pics of cuts and bruises, And then I happened across this lady’s site. She wasn’t a professional domme; she did it for fun. And her fun was OTK (over the knee) spanking with an emphasis on big knickers.

Well, it was late on a cold damp evening and I wanted to be hot and damp so I emailed her. We chatted and it was very stimulating, I sent her a pic to prove I wasn’t a bloke and we agreed to meet. So a week later and a long train ride found me on her doorstep in a skirt wearing pants my mother would have approved of.

However Mummy wouldn’t have liked what happened next. After tea the getting-to-know-you gossip quickly turned to gussets and it was time for play. Ms Strict was in her early 40’s, quite attractive in a handsome sort of way, had a good figure which she emphasised in a very tight skirt and black stockings, and was very, very into discipline, spanking women and underwear. She also quite liked caning but this was a no-go area for me. After all, as fashion writers say, stripes can make your bum look big.

Ms Strict became very strict. “After this moment, whatever I ask you to do, you must instantly comply” she said, and then she asked me to bend over and touch my toes.

This I did with a bit of effort and I sensed her behind me. I tried not to giggle in a schoolgirlish way (but, of course this was probably just what Ms Strict wanted) Then I felt my skirt being lifted and my bum being revealed. She just waited, surveying my big white knickers. It was an odd sensation knowing she was inspecting my crack and whatever else my tight cotton pants were revealing but it was a rather sexy one. The intimate attention of strangers is something I found rather attractive when I’ve been investigating fetish clubs for my book and this was no exception.

Then I felt her hand on me and I tensed but she just caressed my cotton-clad rear following the curve of each cheek. So I relaxed because this was rather nice – and then she struck.

Thwackkkkkkk! I gasped but the sting soon wore off leaving a warm glow. She gave me six more and my bum and my desires caught fire.

She then asked me to take off my skirt and led me to the sofa where she put me over her knee. She pulled my knickers up into a wedgie and then spanked each bare cheek. In between the painful slaps she would lovingly massage my bum, she was a lesbian and made it clear that this was pleasure not business. Then after I’d squirmed and moaned a bit she pulled my knickers down and really punished me. It was as bit like the pic above, courtesy of, a tingling site you should all visit.

As my flesh got hotter so did I. I now understood why spanking was so special to my lovely Ms Hastings. It’s thrilling and humiliating and sexual – what’s not to like?

When the slapping stopped I wondered what would happen next. There I was bare-bummed with exposed bits, so maybe a sly finger or two would rummage about or something. Actually, horny old bitch that I am, I was rather hoping the spanking might lead to a little wanking.

But there was no overt sex, I just pulled my knickers up and sat on the sofa. We talked pants and Ms Strict seeing I was a fan, slipped off her skirt and showed me hers. She was in a suspender belt and stockings and her big panties were covered in embroidery at the front but see-through at the back. I’m now getting used to these clothes fetishistas, what with Pretty Polly my occasional pantyhose sex partner and now Ms Strict. Maybe there are big-boned bra supporter and even pop sock perverts out there. Please get in touch is you are.

Then over a glass of wine Ms Strict sat close to me and was fairly explicit about what she found exciting about my undercarriage as revealed by the thin cotton – cunny creases, cameltoe and crack lines etc. It was weird but rather wicked. I’m convinced that we miss so much if we don’t travel to the outer reaches of sex.

And, on the subject of reaching out, I’m delighted to report that two days ago Ms Hastings contacted me. We talked for hours, I was sorry, she was sorry, I was sorry I’d made her sorry, it was all girly stuff until she admitted she missed the fucking. That’s my girl, I thought and we made up for weeks of lost opportunities last night and this morning.

So now life hopefully will go blissfully on, my book will be finished, my boring part-time job (which you don’t want to hear about) will just about support me and I can still lose myself in Ms Hasting’s soft sexy body.

Happy-slappy times!

Love & Kisses Sadie xxxxxx

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Rude riding breeches and jodhpur japes

Bonjour, here I am, still in France and living on le pain et l’eau as my money is running out. I can’t even afford new clothes so that’s why I sitting here bare-assed naked in the lovely September sun whilst I type this on my mac. I’m alone, of course, my friends in France are absolutely lovely but a little straight so whilst they’re out for the day I get them out for the day, so to speak.

Their garden is beautiful, heavily scented and all greens, greys and orange autumnal blooms. And I’m lying on a blanket making revisions to my book and desperately trying to keep my blog up-to-date. The scene could an impressionist painting by Monet or Manet – ‘Le jardin et la femme avec la grande derriere’.

So what’s happened since my last post? Well, I (and Morgan, my co-writer back in England and hopefully fully clothed as he edits my stuff) have revised and refined a few chapters. As one of the book’s themes is sex I think it is important for authenticity that without my lover Ms Hastings I still keep my hand in.

And currently I’ve been keeping my hand in Madame Madge, my jodhpur-clad, Madonna–ish lookey-likey, chum. After our first afternoon of unbridled (gettit!) fun and games she went very quiet. Ah, that sensational sex with Sadie side effect, I thought…complete revulsion. But no, I got a phone call saying she’d been in Paris with her boyfriend and now she was back and did I fancy a ride.

She meant on a horse, you dirty-minded people. So I turned up at the stable looking forward to some healthy excise astride a filly. I mentioned in my last post about the effect of my first sight of her bum in her skin-tight jodhpurs. Well, breeches buffs that’s exactly what her lower half was thinly encased in when I showed up at the stables.

We rode off, and because she was an owner I was allowed out on a subdued beast with her and without the usual riding school line up. Well, my pervy friends, I trotted along behind her watching her behind bouncing in the saddle. She knew about my ‘jodhpur thing’ and occasionally she’d look around and give me a sexy smile – teasing tart that she was.

It was a hot day and after a sweaty gallop she stopped at the top of a hill and tied her horse to a branch. This was obviously a familiar place for her and was, actually, a perfect place to get familiar.

She turned and smirked at me. I secured my horse and then secured my hands around her waist. We kissed, my hands moved inevitably to her arse and I gave those jodhpurs a little jigging.

Her shirt came off easily and her big nipples rose in the autumn air. She was a little nervous as this was a popular bridle path but the tension was a stimulant and she didn’t protest as her jodhpurs were jerked down.

I finger fucked her there in the September sun with her breeches round her knees and her boots splayed and her mouth gasping.

This is the joy of lesbian sex. I’ve discovered it fairly recently but Madame Madge has known the secret though one marriage and, now, an engagement with her man in Paris. It’s sexy, it’s very, very satisfying but above all it’s safe.

I’m her latest lady lover. However, I know my place, which is under her, on top of her or on her face but, most importantly, completely out of the way. It’s an unspoken understanding and we both enjoy it totally.

After our fun the jodhpurs slipped up over that delicious bum and we rode back. Since then, I’ve been invited around to her house for tea and sensuality and naked in her bed, I’ve enjoyed every aspect of the ‘entente cordial’.

Although I think the J-thing is a lot of fun I’m not really into sexy clothing (apart from knickers). However on putting 'jodhpurs' into ‘Google’ I was surprised by the abundance of breeches sites. is a British site that is hilarious. Sturdy county girls at shows in bulging breeches are secretly photographed and are unaware that their arses are being admired on a pervy sites. However the best site is one who’s name I’ve forgotten and I can’t find again (old age and masturbation effecting my memory I expect). However on this site typical porny females in breeches and boots pretend to be English ladies and have extraordinary names like Lady Camilla Windermere or the Honourable Arabella Wellington. These aristocratic fillies then whip men or ride them around their ‘grounds’. Only in England – trust us to mix class with arse.

Speaking of which mine is getting burnt. So au revoir from my blog aand back to the book.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Monday, August 20, 2007

Oh dear, I’m about to use The F-word several times.

Just recently my life has been full of F-words. Ok, you’re saying, so has mine, fucking work, fucking weather, fucking government, fucking world, fuck, fuck, f-u-c-k, FUCK!

But although my life includes that particular word – in its sense as a verb I’m delighted to say, it also includes several other words beginning with F.

F-irst of all, my I thank the delectable Vamp for including my blog in the world famous but extremely exclusive Jane’s Guide. Vamp, who I’ve never met but I’m sure is a sensual beauty who combines utter sophistication and a rare sense of humour with formidable but exquisite breasts, a pert, sculpted arse, a belly to die for and thighs that could crush a man or woman’s innocent objections. Well, the voluptuous Vamp was extremely nice about my stuff, and this is what she wrote:

Original & Quality
Sadie Dark Places
Sadie is a woman who writes erotic fiction in the UK. She has had a blog since about 2004, so there is a history here. I think I would sum up what you'll find here as smart, rude, and raw. I think that writers always like to talk about the writing process, and Sadie is no exception. If you can identify with the angst of trying to sort out how to write your novel, you'll enjoy Sadie's comments about the process. If that isn't your thing, you'll still be interested in her naughty stories. – Vamp

F-ank you V (so many lovely things begin with V) if only I could find your email on your fucking site I could actually thank you personally.

Ok, next F-word…France.

For that is where I am. Summering, (if that is the right as its pissing down as I write) in this glorious country. After working through winter and enjoying the largesse of my delicious Ms Hastings I’d saved enough for a few months off in France. So here I am, in my rather unstylish and unseasonable T-shirt and knickers sitting on my friend’s verandah writing my book and this blog…and its fucking freezing.

Next F-word…Fetish.

Yea, that’s the one I’m really getting to grips with. As I write I need more information, so I get onto Google and the more I learn the more I want to experience – so I do. I must admit that on my own and without my horny Ms Hastings I’m getting soooooooooooo randy. She's visited me for a couple of wicked weekends, but mostly it's just me and my imagination. I had a weekend in Paris with a couple of friends who, sweetly tried to alleviate my randiness in the sweaty environment of a sauna on girls only night. We sat around in towels, swigging chardonnay, then the towels fell off and I found myself trapped with two turned-on teenagers, all tanned and wet and shiny like slippery seals. One in front, one behind and she was totally focussed on my behind – wow, fuck, mmmm, who could imagine an intimate examination being soooooo intensely in-tim-ate? Weeeeee-owwwww-oohhhhhhh! Fantastically fabulously fun – but not strictly fetish, so ok, here’s the tight riding breeches bit.

Yea, jodhpurs,(oooh, just wait for the Google references, it could just beat Penny Smith’s arse). I’m talking tight fitting, bum caressing, crotch dividing, thigh defining, stretch fitting breeches.

And this is the best bit, their owner looked a bit like Madonna. Just a bit but enough for me who’d lusted over the Lady’s jodhpur-clad limbs in her amazing Wembley show,

And here was her looky-likey in a local French riding school. I had gone to take my mind off the hassle of hack-writing with a bit of hacking. The school horses were ok, a bit lazy but fine for people like me who hadn’t ridden since schooldays. I’d been out on a hack and was nursing my strained thighs and sore bum cheeks in a soft chair whilst enjoying a Coke Lite when Madame Madge swayed into view.

Her derriere was exquisite. A bit boy-like but all the better for it. Nice firm cheeks and a delicious crack caught in the fit of her second-skin like breeches. She passed me once, then back again, then the bum paused as she talked to some other horsey type then it was off again. Her crack tightened then relaxed in a beautiful pattern of pervy joy. God, I fancied that fucking French arse…and its owner.

She was obviously an owner as she carried water and food backwards and forwards to the private livery stables. At one point she caught me staring, I waited, I’m not a great believer in gaydar but she had a sexy, mannish manner and I was sure she might fancy a little female fun – there’s another F-word for you.

But nothing happened. If I was making this story up, I’d have approached her, seduced her, led her into a vacant stable, kissed her whilst exploring her blessed bum and then bent her over a convenient hay bale and thrashed her wriggling bottom with a springy schooling whip.

But this was real life and sadly, in this reality, people smile at each other and then part forever. But now Madame Madge was back and she was taking a Coke Lite from the school’s fridge. I smiled at her…and waited…and waited…and then she smiled back.

‘Hot isn’t it” I said, stupidly in English, because I was in France.

She gave me a cool "Madonna' like smile. “ izzz” she replied and I felt a tingle between my thighs that wasn’t due to bouncing about in a solid saddle.

She came over and stood by me. Her English was perfect and so attractively delivered. We talked about horses and my holidays and her house (but not any husband) and, all the time, I couldn’t ignore her crotch that was at my eye level, a hint of cameltoe that was etched in the tight fabric and constantly hinted at her lush femininity.

She then sat down and stared into my eyes. She’d have had to have been blind not have noticed me drooling after her. She checked out my tits, assessed my ass as I went to the loo and put her hand on my thighs to emphasise a point about the cost of horse management in France.

She had a boyish figure as I’ve mentioned, small tits, an enviably slim waist, neat cunt ( the breeches fitted that well) and that arse. Oh God, God pleaaaaaassssse make her fancy me.

Next F-word/s…Francophile Fucking.

Jodhpur fetish aficionados will be disappointed. I didn’t get my hands on that beautiful lycra enhanced butt then and there. I watched it sway off into the dusk…but I had been invited to her house next day to see her ‘orses and also, I hoped, a bit of ‘orseplay.

I drove over in my friend’s little French car. Would she strip me and saddle me with a bit between my teeth and her whip tantalising my tushy? Would I have to kiss her shiny leather boots as she stood nude and aroused above me? Would I be a pony girl, naked and harnessed to her cart with a long horse’s tail shoved up my arsehole? God, what a pervy little princess I’ve become since I started my book!

But, I was in a Zara dress and my best underwear (this was France after all) and when she opened the door she was in a simple white shirt and and beautifully cut cargo pants. So sorry breeches buffs, but welcome knickers and female fucking fans.

It was raining so viewing the horses was out but she offered me tea or wine. Frankly, all I wanted was her whining with lust but I asked for Earl Grey (as French tea is shit).

We sat on the sofa and talked, then we held hands, and then we kissed…and kissed and then her hand was slipping up my skirt.

She lifted my skirt away to reveal my pants. Was this the first hurdle? What if they'd been pastel Primark or mingy M&S? Would she have kicked my ass out of the door? However, cleverly I was in my best cream Coco de Mer’s and these seemed to pass her strict French standards. Her hand slipped around my mound and squeezed and now it was time for the next F-word…fireworks.

I slipped her shirt off, the tits were small but the nipples were thrusting out, unashamedly signalling that Madame Madge was hot for it. Down came the pants to reveal an exquisite pair of grey silk knickers, I just stared in admiration – they were that sexy!

My dress was off and her hand was down my Coco's. She handled me as firmly as she would have treated her horse and I instantly responded. Her eyes were fixed on mine loving my involuntary gasps and moans. Her fingers expertly felt out my most sensitive spots and I began to lose control. France 1, England 0.

In an instant I grabbed those silky grey bum cheeks. She felt brilliant, I just loved the sensuous cling of her knickers. My fingers buried themselves into her crack. All that lusting yesterday and now I could do anything with her. We kissed and kissed and she worked my cunt lips. I pulled her pants down, sucked my finger and slyly slipped it up her cul.

She gasped. Perfidious Albion had caught her unawares and stormed her from behind. She relaxed and my finger slipped in. She gasped again and I smirked at her. She looked furiously at me then smiled and I felt her little hole tighten sensuously around my delving digit. France 1, England 1

Then, we were both naked and aroused and we had all afternoon. I told her about my jodphur fantasies and she laughed and promised me that next time she’d dress to please me. And we fucked and sucked and fucked and…

And that was several weeks ago and I haven’t had the jodphur japes yet, she’s always busy and I’m writing my books and well, women have one night (afternoon) stands too.

I still get slippery thinking about Madame Madge and I’m in France for a few more weeks so maybe I’ll get to whip that tight little derriere.

And that’s my last F-word…fantasies.

Enjoy yours and I’ll be back soon. Well not quite my last…

Farewell. Love and kisses Sadie xxxx

Thursday, June 21, 2007

A woman’s bits and pieces.

Hi, remember me, woman from Brighton, used to write a blog called Sadie Dark Places, bit of a potty mouth? No, you’ve forgotten because it’s months since I filed anything. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

So what can I tell you? Well, I’m ok, Brighton in the sun and rain is ok, Ms Hastings is ok, Pretty Polly the pantyhose perv is ok, Morgan, (the co-writer of my book) is ok. All my Brighton mates, Ms Rude, Dolce & Gabbana etc etc are ok. But my writing is not fucking ok! It’s just that that stimulating my creative juices is getting harder however vigorously I finger my Mac. All the effort to finish my book is diverting me from my blog.

So what can I tell you? Well how about some Lesbian Mud Wrestling? Yea, fuck the scene in my lovely city, fuck the crisis of New Labour, here’s some new labia smeared in sticky substances. And it all took place at The Candy Bar in Brighton.

Ms Hastings and I naturally couldn’t keep away after reading about it on that brilliant andv essential site (from whom I’ve borrowed the pics, hope they don’t mind). The Candy Bar isn’t our usual haunt as we both feel a bit old when we’re amongst the baby babes who pack the place and it’s a tad butch with short hair and boy’s boxer shorts peering over baggy jeans.

However, trying not to look too much like the Fat Slags from Viz, we entered the club and were immediately hit by feminine pheromes. A bunch of leering lezs were cheering on a couple of girls in shorts and knickers who were actually wrestling in mud. It was everyman’s dream but that night only us ladies were realising it.

The participants in their pants were rather jolly, like those healthy girls at school who always volunteered for things. It was so different from my last few bouts of this popular sport. That was in Amsterdam on a business trip in my days as a married marketer. We were taking time off from an immensely dull conference and so took some clients to a club. Here the wrestlers were Pamela Stephenson look-alikes and the audience were predominately pissed men. At the time I thought I was firmly hetero, but I can remember being quite diverted by the dirty girls. Those wet thongs disappearing up toned bums were strangely attractive and I think I rather enjoyed it more than I’d expected.

It was very different at The Candy Bar and, I must admit, just a bit embarrassing – too much like girls desperately wanting to be macho. It’s not a good look.

So what else? Well, with the title of this piece in mind here’s something in the ‘only in America’ category that I spotted on the web:

I quote…

…The Big Coloring Book of Vaginas
30 pages of illustrated vaginas with games such as word search, connected the dots, and an "all about my vagina" section

Psst... can i tell you a secret?
(Every woman has one!)

Vaginas are a fingerprint. Captured in this book along with fun puzzles and games is the uniqueness of the vagina beautifully illustrated. From the compact smooth vagina to a coiffed vagina with full lips. Some are pierced, some are tattooed, some are soft spoken and some are in your face! Illustrate these beautiful vaginas with your imagination and show your love for what makes your world go round!

The Big Book of Vaginas
Price: $10.95

So, goodbye from now from my soft spoken vagina. I’ll try to be back a bit sooner.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Blog off but strap on

Oh God, months pass and my blog is blogged down. Ignored and unloved by me as I desperately try to finish my book.

How I admire (and hate) those smug bluggers who manage to write something new every day. Where do they get the time? Whilst they sit polishing some amusing paragraph I’m desperately trying to stay awake and concentrate on my plot lines.

To keep my hand in I wrote some stuff for UKAuthors but then I had a bad conscience thinking that instead of parading my talent on other sites I SHOULD BE FINISHING MY FUCKING BOOK.

So I ignored UKAuthors and the chance to write some filth for a sexy American site that actually pays you!!!!! – and chained myself to my Mac.

Of course, Morgan (my co-writer and provider of wit) helps but he’s just about submerged in a torrent of shit call Reckitts. They’re a huge company that markets Nurofen, Strepsils, Vanish, Lemsip and Calgon. And when I tell you that the ranting wanker on Chilit Bang is one of their more sophisticated ads you’ll understand why Morgan, whilst deeply busy, is also deeply depressed. He calls them Wreckitts after what they do to his scripts.

However my debts and his need to escape from Wreckitts should be a great incentive to finish our tome. It’s just a matter of time – or the fucking lack of it.

Talking about fucking (and now some of my readers will suddenly start paying attention) it’s been a very active month or two.

Thinking about it, maybe if I’d spent as much time bent over the computer as I have been bent over the bed/kitchen table/somebody’s knee, I might have been more productive in a literary way. But there you are – tempest fukit!

I’m still with Ms Hastings. I’m amazed after my past relationships record but she seems to be still in lurrrrrrrve with me. Of course, we can only be together occasionally – but when we are they are definitely occasions.

She loves sex as much as I do and is keen to experiment. And as Hastings (where she lives) has the World’s Greatest Family Sexshop she often turns up with little turn-ons.

But lately she had been unfaithful to her home town’s wicked wares and has taken to ordering stuff from – a site for women by women.

It’s a fun site and I only wish, on behalf of my sex, that they were as painstaking with their spelling and punctuation as they are with the choice of products. Here then, are a few that caught my eye (I’ve left the copy unchecked):

How about Blueberry Cheesecake flavoured lube? I quote…

“…O'My favoured lubes contain all the trusted ingredients of a natural lubricant, but add a succulent and fruity twist to your sex play! Flavoured lubruicants are ideal for intercourse and oral sex - and of course a little of both and then some... O'My Flavoured lubricants contain no artificial flavours or colours, just good clean yummy fun. If that wasn’t enough they're low calorie and sugar free too.”

Or what about the Ecstasy Lounge.

This has to be seen or rather sat on to be believed. It’s a large pink plastic cushion with a 6” vibrator. I quote:

“Unusual but great fun. This inflatable cushion comes with a built in, 6"multi-speed vibrator for the ultimate in bouncy castle fun. The two handles mean that you can really get to grips with it. Think of it as a space hopper for grown-ups.”

Of course, in Brighton on a sunny Saturday you see plenty of pink blobby things with cocks attached. But most discerning women wouldn’t want to get to grips with them and I’d be surprised if any of them could offer a 6” multi-speed, especially after a few lagers.

However what Ms Hastings had in mind was a simple strap-on. Now I’ve never felt the need of a strap-on. Like just about every woman I’ve got a Rabbit burrowed away for those special moments but even then I still prefer the personal touch at these times – and my fingers are well practiced.

As for being fucked by a strap-on, if I wanted a cock up me I’d be having affairs with men – it’s that simple.

But my delicious lover was keen to try one for size, so together we chose one. We considered the Xtra vibe strap-on (pictured above), I quote:

“Like a normal strap-on but better. this one has it all. The jelly shaft contains rotating balls for a lovley internal massage. On the top of the shaft is an independantly controlled vibrating egg, designed to stimulate the receivers cliterous. If that wasn't enough the wearer also gets a treat in the form of her own vibrating egg attached to the inside of the harness”

Hmmmm, a bit technical for us, and I, for one, couldn’t fuck with one without falling down laughing – so no points for the Xtra Vibe.

Instead we invested in a plain old pink jelly cock attached to a crotchless latex thong.

She had first go and that why I’ve been bent over to many things. I’ve had it jiggling around in my cunt and I’ve had it up my bum and, I’m afraid, it hasn’t made much of an impression. I still prefer my lover’s fleshy digits and tingling tongue

Then I had a go myself. I strapped it on and looked down at the rather obscene looking pink jelly cock, dangling below me.

Ms Hasting big bum is always enticing and as she leant over the bed I naturally felt excited whilst I directed the lubbed cock towards her. Which hole first, oh decisions, decisions. I spread her tanned cheeks, surveyed my pink playground – and plumped for her arse.

The cock pressed against her ring, I pushed and it easily slid in. Ms Hasting gasped and twitched. I waggled my bum and Ms Hastings gasped even more – it was certainly hitting the spot for her

And, well, I felt a bit of power as I hung onto her cheeks and pumped away. Oh god, penis power, not at all (so please no more insults from rabid feminists) but just a strange and rather pleasant feeling of power over my lover’s emotions. Of course I get it when I fuck her normally and naturally. But that stupid bit of wobbly plastic just seemed to amplify the feelings.

Odd but strapping good fun, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Monday, February 26, 2007

Pantyhose passions part 2.

Well well, the pantypost still goes on. After my little piece about having my gusset gobbled by pretty Polly one January afternoon, so many 15 denier devotees have been in touch. By the way the pic sadly isn't me but I like to dream that it is the view Polly had of me.

Several writers suggested getting into deep discussions on the subject in Brighton hotel rooms – naughty boys! But a couple actually wrote interesting emails about their love of lycra and where it had taken them – kinky!

That time with Polly was a bit of a surprise for me I must confess. Like just about every woman I’ve always had a bit of a thing about knickers and their sexual effect. I think it started when I showed my Ladybird briefs to Martin Parsons. I was six then but I’ve been flashing them, one way or another, ever since.

I’ve always loved sexy lingerie and have recently added latex to my repertoire. But, tights?

Like most women, I sniff for freshness than put on and eventually take off my tights daily without thinking about their sexual possibilities. It's a bit like men suddenly finding out that women are madly turned on by grey M&S socks.

But now I completely understand their attraction and so, I find, does most of the world, just put the word ‘pantyhose’ into Google and see how many sites there are.

But don’t do it yet because I want you to read my two correspondents.

One is a 23-year old woman who was as surprised as I was and another is from a man who’s been into tights (literally) for many years and now combines them with World War 2 gasmasks for total sexual pleasure – imagine it, Mum’s Aristocs meets Dad’s Army?

But, ladies first…

Dear Sadie,

I love reading your blog and your stories because you’re so sexy and so brilliantly funny at the same time (I left that bit in because I’m a sad praise addict but now for the serious bit)

Like you I never associated tights with sex, in my sexual relations with either men or women. I suppose I’m rather conservative in these matters but that’s the way I am.

So when I had a drink with X after we’d been working in the same office for nine months I thought it was just a normal start to a relationship. She made it very clear to me that she found me attractive and she complimented me on my office clothes. I found this odd because they were nothing special. The office dress code is fairly formal so I was wearing a black suit and white blouse, as was she.

She then suggested a club nearby, now I knew this was gay, and that it had lesbian nights but I welcomed the freedom to explore our affair. The only thing was I didn’t feel that my boring office clothes were right for this but X was insistent.

Later, at the club, we sat in the dark amongst women who were getting very friendly, we kissed but I was surprised when without warning X put her hand up my skirt. Now men have tried this and I normally feel rather insulted but it was such a surprise that I did nothing. X’s hand started feeling around my thighs and then between my legs. She then whispered about her love of tights and how sexy I was in my black tights and that was the beginning.

I’m now a dedicated tight fanatic thanks to X. It started with just the two of us at X’s flat. Like you, we were both topless but our lower halves were covered by our sexy tights. It’s a wonderful sensation isn’t it Sadie. I just adore my bum being stroked and X licking me through my tights.

Later, I sucked and licked X. We both had amazing orgasms.

We did this for weeks and then X tore up a pair of tights and put one piece over my head. Initially I panicked but then when I realised I could breathe I found the restriction very sexy.

Then X suggested tying me up. I trusted her so she tied me and covered my face with tights. Then she made me suck her off through the material.

X would push her finger wrapped in the tights into my vagina and it felt really good. Then she pushed her tight wrapped finger up my bum and I was amazed how great it felt.

I now felt I couldn’t enjoy sex if tights weren’t involved. I even feel sexy at the office wearing my tights without knickers. Do you think this is strange Sadie?

X belongs to a Yahoo ‘pantyhose’ group and regularly contributes to the forum. She read of a ‘meet’ in a motel sort of place near Birmingham and suggested we go. It would have normally been the last thing I’d have even considered – but I said yes.

We all gathered in this large bedroom and there were about 4 couples, 6 women and 2 men. We each disappeared into the bathroom and came back naked but for tights. We were all shapes and sizes but some of the women were quite attractive.

One couple, a man and a woman, put some music on and then they lay on the bed and started to fondle each other. Maybe it’s because X and I had enjoyed several drinks in the hotel bar but I found it very arousing. The man was rubbing the woman between her legs and she was sucking on his cock that was prominent under his tights.

X started kissing me and feeling my bum and I kissed her nipples. Then I felt another hand on me and looked round. It was the other couple, and the man was stroking my thigh but his partner, a woman was looking on approvingly. I guessed that this was meant to be a group event. X manoeuvred me around so the man could get more intimate with me and X could get more intimate with the woman. In seconds, the man had his hand between my legs, X had one hand on my bum and the other between the woman’s legs and the woman was stroking my breasts.

As you might imagine Sadie this was very exciting and my crotch was soon very damp but I didn’t care because so was everyone elses. We swapped partners and stimulated each other for hours. At one point I had a woman sucking my nipples, another woman sucking my vagina and another woman tickling my bum with her tongue. We all got very stimulated but our tights stayed on because that was the sexy part really.

Eventually the two men and woman couples had sex through torn tights on the bed and in front of us. X then tore my tights at the crotch and brought me to orgasm with her finger and tongue. And, you know Sadie, I just
loved doing it with other people watching. A couple of months ago I would have been horrified at the thought. But now I can’t wait to go to another group meet.

Then, we got dressed, had a chat and left.

She then wrote some stuff about my blog but it was so flattering that I’m too modest to share it with you. I love the last bit however, I wonder after getting dressed what the group talked about? Being Brits it might have been about the weather or considering the afternoon whether Wolford tights rip better than Aristocs.

Now it’s the turn of a very nice guy with some interesting interests:

Dear Sadie

I’m very happy to tell you more about my ventures into BDSM. I’m a closet fetishist and know that my deep, furtive desires would horrify my long-term partner. Our relationship is great in all but the erotic realm, and I agonized for ages before taking the plunge to act out my urges. And now, telling you, it’s also quite cathartic to be able to spill the beans.

Who knows where such yearnings come from, but ever since I became aware of my sexuality, I was fascinated by dominant women. Generally, I’m a strong and assertive person, but wanted to be overwhelmed sexually. While I was a student, I found a couple of sympathetic girlfriends who came to share my bondage and domination kinks. These involved the liberal use of tights, worn conventionally (by both of us), as restraints and gags, and (this took a little persuasion at first) as masks.

The mask thing really caught my imagination, and stayed with me. One day, I saw a gas mask for sale in an Army Surplus shop and realized with a jolt of lust that it could be used as a prop in my preferred bedroom games. I especially liked the thought of my female partners concealing their faces behind a grotesque respirator before doing what they wanted with me. I tiptoed round the topic with a succession of girlfriends (even one of the stocking-mask wearers), but only met with disgusted rejection.

Now, to move on a few years and cut to the chase…I wanted to realize my erotic dream of being dommed by a gasmasked mistress. The first couple or so I tried reacted in a similar way, though not quite as shocked, as my former girlfriends when I mentioned my special needs. Then I rang X. She was a part-time lifestyle mistress who did sessions for pleasure and (as she put it) ‘pocket money’ and was totally unfazed by my unusual request.

Come the day, I found myself tapping timidly at the door of a purpose-built BDSM studio at the bottom of an extensive wooded suburban garden. Mistress X opened up and asked me in; she was a self-confident woman in her early thirties with an easy manner and a nice line in self-deprecating humour, and I took to her instantly. She had below-shoulder-length brown hair and her wide-hipped, hourglass figure was encased in a skintight mini dress in black latex. The front of the dress was open to show some cleavage, but I noticed that it could zip right up to a high neck. Her legs – o joy! – were encased in sheer tan tights. We chatted for a bit, and then I showed her the mask from my collection that I had brought along. It was a World War 2 ‘elephant trunk’ gas mask.

She loved the look of it, turned it over in her hands, and made appreciative noises. We agreed to play out a scenario where I was a burglar and she had caught me trying on her hosiery.

I was told to go into the main room of the studio, strip, and pull on a pair of her tights that she had laid out for me. After a couple of minutes of waiting, the door slowly opened and X. made her entrance. Or rather, it was a new version of the pretty, long-haired woman I had been speaking to earlier. She had done her hair up in a topknot before pulling a sheer stocking, tan to match her tights, over her head. Her dress was now zipped right up to the neck and she’d tucked the stocking under the collar. Across her chest, she’d strapped the canvas army bag containing my mask.

Head to toe, she was covered in nylon and rubber. Clutching a riding crop in a gloved hand, she advanced on me and brought her stockinged face close to mine. Her delicate features were now blurred and distorted by the tight nylon skin, which pulled the end of her nose and eyebrows up and flattened her lips. This sinister figure ordered me to kneel. Circling round me, V whacked me across the buttocks with the riding crop before turning her attention to my cock. “How pathetic” she hissed in my ear, “let’s see if we can make it bigger before the end of the session.” “But first,” she went on “if you like women’s tights so much, let’s see how you fancy being strangled and suffocated with them. Lie down!” I did as she commanded, and X straddled my chest, her rubber dress stretching taut across her thighs as she rested her weight on me. The bank-robber face leered down at me as she picked up a spare pair of hose, dragged them roughly over my head, and slowly tightened the legs around my neck. She knew what she was doing and released them in just enough time for the strangulation to be exciting but not downright scary. She repeated the game several times, all the while insulting me and yelling at me how she could easily kill me. Next came the suffocation; she kept the tights on my head but dragged a stretched surgical rubber glove over them. From inside my rubber prison, I watched the glove inflate as I gasped for air.

“I don’t think I look frightening enough” V suddenly announced as she released me from the glove. Opening the poppers of the army bag, she out eased the black, corrugated rubber hose and the face piece of the vintage gas mask. “This’ll scare the shit out of you if I put it on, won’t it? Or maybe you’ll just be turned on by it, you perv.” With this, she stretched the straps of the mask and, smiling wickedly at me, pulled it over her stockinged head. The effect was electric; this attractive young woman had instantly transformed herself into a nightmarish, insect-like apparition. Her voice was muffled and deep as she bent down to speak to me. “I wish I had some poison gas here. I’d asphyxiate you, you worm.”

We played a few more games, with V striding around still wearing the respirator, tying me up to a hanging beam, clamping my nipples, and whipping me. Eventually, I was made to kneel at her feet as she sat in a chair, massage her tights-clad legs up to just above the knee and stimulate myself to orgasm while looking at her gas masked face.

Well! All this makes me feel like the Country Mouse – very innocent. As I mentioned to my male correspondent I’ve had several lovers during my life for whom tights over the face would have been an improvement but I’ve never thought about it as a turn-on during fucking – just where have I been???

Are there any more lycropaths out there who would like to introduce my readers to new 15 denier delights? Well, get in touch.

Love & kisses (through tights) Sadie xxxxx

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Pantyhose passions

I get loads of emails (and to answer most of them ‘No I couldn’t possibly do that without pulling a muscle in my back’). However, I often get them from people I’ve mentioned in my blog and that’s ok. But I recently got one from Polly with whom I enjoyed a little January jiggling.

She was very upset about the tone of my piece ‘What to do in a tight situation’ . I was about to write ‘she’s got her knickers in a twist’ but I better not now, as it’s a very serious subject.

So here’s her email. Please read it then think: Is snogging a snatch through lycra weird or not? The decision is yours.

Dear Sadie,

Hello, how are you? Thank you for the saucy note you sent after you got back to your flat. I am ok and now XXXXX and the kids are back life is normal and pleasant, if rather unexciting.

You did mention that you might put our afternoon together on your blog. But, well I didn’t expect you to write it in such detail.

You asked me to tell you what I thought about your ‘reportage’. Well, in general, it was very accurate and I actually found myself quite turned on by it, is that strange? But I have two criticisms.

First, how dare you say I have a big bum. It’s no bigger than yours which I see in your past writings you’ve described as ‘sexy’ and ‘curvy’. I certainly thought it was, especially when it was encased in your black ‘Close Encounter’ tights with your white knickers underneath. I can still imagine you bent over the sofa offering your bum to me and allowing me to do anything I wanted to. You say in your story that you quite liked it but I remember you being very enthusiastic.

But, more seriously, although you say you’re not surprised by anything anymore I note a hint of criticism in the words you use. I quote:

‘She was almost ignoring me as a person by now’

‘How she met up in a hotel outside Birmingham with fellow tight-sniffers’

‘No what amazed me was that this respectable, pillar of the community, on the school board, happily married mother of two, harboured such extraordinary sexual longings. It was sheer madness.’

I’m afraid I detect that very conservative English emotion that is summed up as: “I have exciting sexual desires but you are a pervert”. I believe I have a normal sexual life that includes a desire to occasionally share it with women and also to use items of clothing to increase the sensations. What do you find weird about that?

All the women I know ‘in the community’ and even on ‘the school board’ have a healthy interest in their underwear as an item of fashion. And surveys in magazines suggest that women all over the United Kingdom share this interest.

We all know that wearing sexy underwear in the bedroom is a remarkably common prelude to sexual activity and is practiced by many ‘ happily married mothers of two’.

So why did you think it was ‘extraordinary’ that I was turned on by you wearing tights and knickers and that I wanted to express those feelings by kissing your sexual parts and exploring them with my tongue. The feel of lycra encasing legs, thighs, bums and stomachs is extremely sensual and I really don’t think this is some perversion carried out by ‘tight-sniffers’. It is just a case of underwear creating a great atmosphere that leads to sexual intercourse – and that is a very ordinary happening.

But the bit that hurt me most was ‘She was almost ignoring me as a person by now’ How could you write this Sadie? I think that over our few hours together I never forgot that you were a person and I demonstrated this by my constant and active efforts to give you sexual pleasure. I talked to you all the time and asked you whether you liked what I was doing and did you want me to do anything else? I remember you being very vocal and crude about your desires but that’s one of the things I loved about you Sadie.

I’m sorry to go on but I resent the impression you left in your blog that I was some kind of ‘in-human pervert’. I expected you to be worldlier about sexual matters, just because internet sites feature a sexual activity doesn’t automatically make it weird – there’s a lot of heterosexual sex on there isn’t there?

However on a happier note it would be great if we could meet up again to chat, discuss my criticisms or do anything you like – just wear tights :)


Well, I did reply and apologise, I try to write amusing stuff in my blog and sometimes the jokes set a tone I didn’t really intend. I’d hate her to think I thought she was pants!

However, I might just take up her tempting offer. But, at the moment my lovely Ms Hastings is back in my life and we’re hot when we’re together. Last night, she kept her tights on…just a little longer why we played.

They were black Wolford Velvet De Luxe 50, for your information Polly, and they made her bum feel like a big luscious peach. Mmmmmmmmmm!

Love & kisses Sadie

Saturday, February 03, 2007

What to do in a tight situation

When you dive into deviancy and leave the safe shores of married heterosexual shagging I suppose you should expect to wash up in some weird places (and run out of watery metaphors).

I mean the sexy dark places I like to write about. Over the past couple of years various women have offered to wrestle me, go naked hiking with me, brand me with hot irons, shave me, and cover me in chocolate, But although I was very curious and not a little titillated by some of these suggestions I only agreed to one. Guess which? Here’s a clue: yum, yum!

So I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked by what happened the week after New Year’s Day. My occasional girl friend Ms Hastings was off skiing with her husband and I was moping around at various parties on my own. Ms Hastings is very relaxed about this, when she’s with hubbie I’m allowed to pursue temporary liaisons (nice word) if they are offered.

That’s the fascinating thing about gays. Unlike straight couples who mostly need to lap up a couple of dinners and a bit of culture before they lap up each other, we often find ourselves in each other’s pants just hours after we’ve first met.

Especially women as, I suppose, we sort of trust each other, the sex doesn’t have to be one-sided and penetrative and you won’t get pregnant.

So, to get to my shocking tale, I started talking to this woman at a lunch party. I’ve promised to keep her totally anonymous so no details of where or when. However I’ll call her Polly, after Pretty Polly (you see why soon). It was pretty dressy so I was in a skirt and fuck-me heels and so was she.

I’d met Polly a couple of times before at similar do’s, she wasn’t part of the Brighton muffia but she seemed to like to hang out with us and she was apparently very happily married with kids. Ah ha, you think the plot deepens!

Well, at least, our conversation did, we started by discussing Little Miss Sunshine, found we both liked Amy Winehouse a lot and so on and so forth. Then, after several glasses of cold white wine we got on to hotter personal matters, I talked about Ms Hastings and her frequent absences from my bed and she confessed that, nice as hubbie and kids were, there was a bit of excitement missing.

Ah, the signals – I’ve learnt them pretty fast and they definitely suggested that Sadie might be in for a little New Year nookie that afternoon.

Then it was time to go and she offered me a lift. We chatted aimlessly while I checked her body out as she drove, nice legs, full but sexy thighs, big bum, big tits and an attractive face with a rather dirty looking mouth. She turned to say something and caught me looking at her. We grinned at each other.

Then, just before we hit Brighton Polly hit on me. She pulled into a lay by and stopped the car.

“Look Sadie, you know I find you very sexy” she said nervously. Then she placed her hand on my knee and gently stroked it.

“My house is just over there…would you like to come back with me?”

Well that was direct. No excuse of a cup of tea or to see the new kitchen. Just, why not pop over for a fuck, I liked that.

And so then we were on the sofa in her smart living room kissing each other in the French manner. Mr Polly and the little ones were walking in the Lake District for a couple of days so the house was ours. She’d said she didn’t want to go into the bedroom because it would seem unfair to her husband and I understood that.

However, I wanted to move things along a bit so I stood up and looked down at her.

“Well” I said.

At this, she placed her hands on the back of my legs and then slowly moved them upwards. She pushed my skirt up and squeezed my thighs and then her fingers were massaging my bum.

This was nice but I was a bit puzzled by her next comment.

“Sadie, I find you so sexy like this, but, look I don’t want to put you off, but there’s something, I errrrr, there’s something I like doing”

Oh oh I thought, flagellation, fisting, dressing up as Cheri Blair – you just don’t know these days.

“Look, Polly, anything goes babe” I said in a hopefully cool way.

Her hands gripped my thighs and pulled me towards her. She rested her face against my disarranged skirt and looked up at me.

“It’s just that I’m really turned on by you in…these tights”

Ahh, I hadn’t met one of these before but I’d read about them on the mucky sites I watch at 3am in the morning. She was into my tights. They were nothing special - ‘Close Encounters’ from M&S, but actually the name was rather appropriate. She was a pantyhose fan, yea, this rather twee American word for tights was all over the internet. Pantyhose Fun, Lesbians in Pantyhose, Men in Pantyhose, Pets in pantyhose (fuck, saying it four times means I’m going to get so many mentions on Google now)

I said nothing but just stroked her hair so she took this as a ‘go ahead’. She unzipped my skirt and slipped it down. I was now just in my blouse, tights with a white thong underneath and my fuck-me’s.

She buried her face into my belly and then, after a moment, looked appealingly up at me.

“Oh Sadie” she said. “Can I do…anything”

I nodded and her face was now in my crotch. Not just resting on it but actively burrowing into my mound. Her hands were on my arse pulling me even tighter against her exploring nose. I imagined she was getting a subtle whiff of sexy sadieness.

Then she stood up, I stood watching her wondering what was going to happen next. She slipped her skirt down and I saw she was not wearing knickers under her tights. Polly’s trimmed pubes faced me defiantly.

She took my arm and led my around the sofa. Then, by pressing her hand on her back she indicated that I was to bend over the back. Once in position with my arse in the air, I suddenly felt her hands all over my cheeks, patting, smoothing and squeezing the thin shiny material that covered them. Wow, she loved lycra!

Then her face was in my crack. She was actually rubbing her cheek against mine and even kissing it.

For minutes, she brushed my bum with her face. I could hear her breathing growing more intense and then she was up my arse in the nicest possible way.

If someone had come in they would probably have assumed from my position and her attention that we were just two members of the Advertising profession but it felt strange to me.

It was an odd sensation owing to the material tights are made of. There is some feeling of covering but otherwise you seem naked. But then I felt her tongue pushing against the springy fabric and a slight damp feeling. As I said, weird.

Equally odd was me, later, with my legs in the air while she grazed on my gusset. She was almost ignoring me as a person by now. She was manoeuvring me into position and then tasting my tights. It felt that her tongue was trying to force its way through to my cunt. Then she was biting me gently, her teeth nibbling away and pulling on my thong. And then she was pressing her mouth and nose into me and I suddenly began to like it. My tights and thong were damp – and so was I.

She sat up on her knees panting gently. I decided it was time I got involved so I sat up, opened her shirt and slipped it off. She was wearing a classy looking bra which she opened at the front and her big tits fell out.

“Now you’ she said and in seconds my nipples were perking up in the cool air. But she hadn’t finished down below and she lifted my legs and pushed me back so she could have unrestricted access.

For minutes she tantalised me thought the thin material. I was getting those feelings and so was she. With my head on the carpet I could see her gusset and her hand was in there and her fingers were working hard.

Finally she must have cum or something because she stopped and sat back looking at me blissfully. I let my legs fall back and we both relaxed.

“Fancy a snack darling before we…carry on?” she said. Well, I thought, you’ve already had yours.

We both got up. My tights were soaked through but I left them on. They obviously excited Polly and I wanted her totally turned on.

Polly came back, set a small table, lit a candle then, put two interesting looking salads out with a bottle of wine. We ate, an odd sight I expect, two 30 year olds topless in tights. Now that would make a great website name!

After we’d finished the meal Polly started on me again. This time I knew what to expect and I allowed myself to be used like a lycra covered sexual organ. She sucked me, stretched me, and tried to split me open.

Then, being a Brit she practiced fair play and I found my face in her silky snatch. Later I tried her arse for size but I found the whole experience a bit frustrating. The material was a barrier to my pleasure not a boost.

But she was so excited. So I took her in my arms, our tights finally came off and we finished ourselves off with a good old - fashioned fuck.

Later, as I got dressed she told me about her fetish. How she chatted to groups across the world, how she’s met up in a hotel outside Birmingham with fellow tight-sniffers. Pantyhose Orgy, I said, (wow, google will now go mad!)

We kissed, said we must do this again, and I went outside to the comparatively sane world of a cab driver’s banter all the way to Brighton.

At the beginning of this I said I was shocked but it wasn’t the gusset snuffling. I’ve seen and expect I’ll experience even odder things than that. No what amazed me was that this respectable, pillar of the community, on the school board, happily married mother of two, harboured such extraordinary sexual longings.

It was sheer madness.

Love & kisses Sadie xxxx

Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Cold nights and hot porn

Hey, January is supposed to be the most depressing month of the year but I must disagree with this.

For me this January is the most depressing month in the Millennium.

Why? Well. I’m missing my lovely girlfriend Ms Hastings. She and hubbie have gone skiing. I imagine her in her tight fitting ski pants slaloming around mounds and crevices that aren’t mine.

Then, there’s the weather. When my book makes me rich I’ll be somewhere warm about now. Florida maybe, perhaps Spain, or will South America twang my thong? Who knows but I desperately want to be somewhere sunny, bright and oh so warrrrrrmmmmm! Instead I’m freezing my arse off along the Brighton prom. As you know I love this sexy city but, at this time of the year most interesting things (apart from my nipples) shrink in the cold.

One thing that is sadly decreased is my enthusiasm for doing any work. So although I dream about what I’ll do when the book’s finished all I’m doing at the moment is dreaming.

I really hope Morgan (my co-writer) is burning the midnight oil (at least he’ll be warm) but the last time I spoke to him he said he was busy writing ads for the worst client in the world. Now, most advertising clients are bastards so these suckers must be really special. Apparently they’re big on lavatory cleaners – write your own jokes!

Speaking of being creative I have done one positive writing thing, I’ve posted two of my short stories on a site called UKAuthors. You can find them by going to Yea, it looks confusing but it works.

They are in the erotica section, naturally – why, did you think I’d be in Romance? You put them on the site and other writers comment on them. I thought it would be interesting to see whether my idea of erotic writing rocked people or repelled them.

Actually everyone was very cool and sophisticated and I was encouraged by their fairly enthusiastic response. My critics were more concerned by my misuse of commas and semi-colons than my character’s misuse of cunts so I think we might have the right balance of prose and porn in the book.

You move up a chart based on how many people read your piece during the week and I got to number one. How about that, Sadie’s on top for once?

I'll be in France when you read this. Hopefully my writing abilities will be re-charged in the land of Hugo, Verne, Sartre and the Marquis de Sade. Certainly my spirits will be as I’m holidaying with my very good friend Monsieur Jacques Daniel.

Au revoir

Love & kisses Sadie xxxx

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Sugasm #61

Sorry Vixen, am I the only cunt on the web who can't post your lovely picks with links that can be opened? Women eh!!!

Editors’ Note: This week’s Sugasm was delayed 48 hours due to domain issues. They’ve been resolved and we’re back on schedule. Thanks for your patience!

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #62? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Me, Her, and Him 3 (
“But as sexually satisfied as he kept Kendall — or as satisfied as one man could — she was yearning for another kind of action.”

Polyamory vs. Polyfuckery (
“I admire Rachel’s altruism, despite her saying it’s a practical matter of what it takes to get her wet.”

A is for Abandon (
“The hands pressed into her lower back and she wanted to ask Him if He had felt them but her orgasm overtook her and she lost all conscious thought for a few moments.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
The Best of SugarBank 2006 (

Editors’ Choice
Lovely Contradictions (

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

BDSM and Fetish
B is for Bondage (
The Big Tease (Part Four) (
Happy Holidays (

Erotic Writing and Experiences
2006 Dark Odyssey post roundup (
The Dirty Mistress (
Making Myself Come (
A Night at the Opera, continued. (
The Night Turned to Morning (
The Return of Lost Love
The Road to Hell (
Simply Ambrosial (

Hardcore for the Holidays: Photo and Video (

Sex News & Reviews
Adult Marketing, 2007 Style (
Half-Nekkid Tribute (
Welcome to “Smack Yourself” by Sensei and Pet (

Sexy Humor
All hail the Mighty Vagina! A request for Submissions (
Santa’s coming but Sadie isn’t (

Slippery MetArt beauty courtesy of The Erotica Journals.