Between the sheets

I know the sheets I'm usually talking about are linen (if I'm lucky) or more likely from the IKEA sale. But the action this time is literary rather than lusty and so the sheets are paper. Yes, I'm on the last chapter of my book - at last...amazing...never thought she'd finish it..are those flying porkers etc etc. But it's true, I'm almost done. It has taken a long time that's for sure. But there's been those months when I was too busy earning a living or been ill or truthfully just given up.

There's always that feeling that writing a book is a bit of a fantasy (and everyone's got a half finished one in a drawer) But as I sit here all those chapters and all those "sheets" are on my Mac. Morgan (my co-writer) has been equally caught up doing other stuff but now he's a little less busy flogging crap on TV (that's advertisingese for out of a job) he can apply his humorous hand to our opus.

Now we need an agent. It's hard to know who'd be interested in promoting a no holds barred romp about the world of S&M. Is there anyone out there who could help? Otherwise we'll just trawl the interet for the right literary shark (in the nicest possible way of course)

I'm actually in France at the moment (at my friends). I really haven't been well recently and so my life has been full of trauma but free of sexual partners - boring!

I think it's time to get out into our late summer and make some hay! Or plough some bushy meadows! Or linger in lady gardens! See even my sexy metaphors are literary now!

Love & Kisses

Sadiexxxx

SADIE'S BACK

OK so I've been a bit absent, OK so it's been a year and three months.Be honest has anything happened to you over the last 15 recession hit, war-torn, disaster- full months that has been worth publishing on a blog. Well has it? - not to me anyway! Still here I am ready for the off - so a hell of a hello to you all!

Love & Kisses Sadie xxxx

Here's to a little 20tenderness.

Well the statuary six months has passed since my last posting and I'm sure sorry seems the hardest word for my blog friends to understand.

So let me get it out of the way: Brighton, sun, rain, sex, no-sex, France, rain, friend ill so Sadie's been a nurse* since September, not much book writing, family troubles, not much hot bed action, not much news - thank you and fuck off 2009!

* I can't believe many of my readers wouldn't have paused for a second or two at the nurse reference, dirty boys and girls. But yes, whilst I administered to my patient I naturally wore the standard nurse's uniform: a low cut,bursting-out blue top with watch hanging from my tit, a tiny frilly apron and a blue miniskirt. As I bent over to remove the chamber pot everyone in the room was rewarded with a view of my tiny white knickers and many a injection was mistakingly placed into a patient's arse. Oooooooh matron!

So what does the new year mean to me? Easy, I'VE GOT TO FINISH MY FUCKING BOOK!!!!!!

I'm actually almost at the end. I've been re-doing bits and that's held me up. Morgan's been phenominally busy and we haven't had much chance to meet up and work. The last chapters are supposed to describe "The fuck of the century". The century is only nine years old so this isn't a great overclaim but it is naturally taking some effort to keep out these pages out of the "Bad Sex Literary awards".

Speaking of writing and sex I recently read a piece in the Sunday Times that said lesbianism was getting more open. Well the writer has obviously never been to some Brighton pubs and clubs on a Saturday night. Talk about open - jean flies are gaping wide as are the pink lady curtains and naughty fingers are playing a girl's favourite game. But back to the article, it was suggesting that more famous lady lovers were making their preferences public. This included Alison Goldfrapp, Mary Portas, Jeanette Winterson and Susie Orbach.

Well Dear, we've all known about them for ages and there are several more famous actresses, writers and singers who haven't been quite as up front about their girly front bottom fun. I could name them but Blogger might disappear under the libel actions and, anyway, it's supposed to the time for good cheer to all men (and women).

So, apart fom my resolution to write a more regular blogs AND FINISH MY BOOK it's now time to wish you all a fantastic, fun-filled, fuck-filled New Year.

Love & Kisses Sadie

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Different strokes from different folks

...now where was I? Oh yes that's right it was January and now it's June (sounds a bit like a song). But sadly the only song my lack of blog writing evokes is 'Sorry'.

I won't bore you with my usual excuses, time, book-writing, personal disasters etc etc but I ask for your forgiveness and request suitable punishment for my tardiness. In fact, I'll present my metaphorical bum to you, drop my pants and let you deliver a merciless metaphorical thrashing.

Feel better? Good. So now let's get on with revealing the dark places I've delved into over the past few months. Well, first there's my mind. Over the course of researching my book I've viewed and read about, but mostly I've experienced, some of the most extraordinary scenes of hanky panky with a lot of spanky added in. And now my head is overstuffed with images and sounds of what human beings will do for spiritual and sexual satisfaction. Most of this, I’m pleased to say is being channelled into my writing – but my god, is there nothing people won’t do for an orgasm?

When I started out on my ‘journey’ I was a recently divorced straight woman. Well, I was certainly divorced from the ‘scene’ (as us BDSM buddies call it). But now…!!

Well, you’ve hopefully read what I’ve got up to (and down to) over the past year or so. So briefly have I added any new ‘dark places’ to my pervy portfolio?

Nothing totally outrageous I’m sorry to report. I’m still ‘single’ with no permanent girlfriend, just the ones I meet in the café I mentioned in another blog.

I visit this once or twice a week. The form for Ladies who wish to Lunch on other Ladies is simple. You sit at a table on your own or go to a table with a single woman (of the right age etc) and you say, or the newcomer says “Is this chair free?” or something politely British.

Then you sit for a while before you speak (we aren’t Americans you know). Then you smile and she smiles and you start chatting. About 7 times out of 10 this is as far as it goes and the conversation is just a ‘girly chat’ that inevitably turns to what a bastard her boyfriend/ husband is.

But occasionally there’s something in the look she’s giving you and you try to return it. The conversation turns to clubs where girls go or she comments on your jeans in a frankly intimate way, or she gives you a rather sexual lookover when you return from the loo and you’re on. “ Let’s go back to my flat for another coffee/ look at my clothes/ books or whatever you’ve been talking about” you/she says and you leave together.

The last woman I met here was Christelle, early 40’s, black and very elegant. When we got back to my flat we kissed passionately as we sat on my sofa. She was married, wasn’t being ‘totally satisfied’, went on a training course for something or other and learnt what she’d been missing from a fellow student. As a ‘happily’ married woman with young kids she had to be discrete so it was perhaps unfortunate that she ended up with a blabbermouth blogger like me.

I’m fine with the kissing but there have been times that this is all my afternoon affairs have wanted. Kissing and cuddling, ahhhh, nice but well…it doesn’t quite hit the G spot for me. So to test Christelle out I slipped off my t-shirt and showed off my sexy black bra as I tongued her mouth. Her hands were all over my bare body and then they were unclipping my bra and then her kisses were all over my tits. That’s more like it!

It was time to reveal more about Christelle and I pulled her smart silk top over her head. She was wearing a white sports bra that looked amazing against her toned and polished skin. Off came her skirt and now I could peruse her pants. I always like this moment, it tells you so much about a woman. Her knickers were plain cotton, white and beautifully cut. She unhooked her bra as I slid off my jeans. Her tits were quite small but the nipples were huge (a great look I think) and I had a great look then a great feel and then I was sucking on them. Christelle gasped and her legs gaped in her excitement. Her pants stretched over and subtly indicated her hot spot and my fingers traced the sexy material.


Chistelle wasn’t a wild woman and our play was dignified. Well as dignified as two naked women rolling on the floor with their fingers up each other will ever be. She sweated freely in her excitement and I just loved the feel of her gleaming seal-like body. Her bum was generous – well it kindly let me do anything I wanted to it.

And then it was over. And she lay breathless on the sofa whilst I made a cup of coffee. We then sat thereon the sofa, two naked Englishwomen, smelling of sex, sipping coffee and talking about the shop where she’d bought her pants. Only in Brighton!!!

So life goes on. However there was one ‘dark place’ that I never imagined I’d be investigating and that’s in a man’s underpants.

I loved fucking men for the first part of my life, until it became ‘fucking men’. Or man in my case and then Act 2 has been ‘women only’. Not because I became a man-hater (some of my best friends etc) or didn’t get offers it was just what did or didn’t turn me on I suppose.

So when I was out one Friday morning running along the promenade I didn’t expect to run into a brief life-change. In fact, it ran past me, a man intent on doing man-like things jogged past, turned to look at me and then powered on up the road. He was in his 30’s, looked fit in his sweat shirt and shorts, nice smile, nice bum, nice legs and then nicely forgotten. Until I, now walking to relax a bit, turned a corner and he was standing, one leg on the bench, stretching his calf muscles.

“Hi” he said, mid-stretch, “great day for it”. Not the most promising opening line to a romance but actually true in an entirely different way to what he’d intended.

“Hi” I replied and walked on but now he was walking beside me.

Now, modestly (ha ha) I must admit I was looking pretty good. I’d lost several pounds at the gym, gained a good all-over tan on the beach and was in a nipple popping T-shirt and bum hugging latex shorts.

I love latex but it didn’t usually love my lumps and bumps. But now it clung to my newly fashioned curves like a lover’s hand. There was even a merest hint of cameltoe to complete the celebration of Sadie’s sexiness.

So, I wasn’t surprised that I’d got Rod’s attention (that’s not his name but I think it’s quite funny, I also thought of calling him Roger). We walked along talking about the weather, the promenade and, hey, he was very witty and charming and when he suggested stopping for a cup of tea it would have been a hard arsed old ladylicker who would have said no.

He was in town for a week long convention, he said. Then off we went again…blah, blah, blah, Brighton, blah, blah, blah my job, blah, blah, blah his job, blah, blah, blah, on his own tonight…then, a long lingering look at my latex sculpted bum as I went to the loo (I could see his reflection in the café window) and a careful attempt not to stare too hard and my tits and ‘toe as I came back.

Then he invited me to dinner and I said ‘yes’ knowing a fuck was definitely on the menu. So why? you’re thinking, if it’s so easy for a man to get into Sadie’s pants why has it taken this long?

Well like most things it’s a conjunction of elements. First, it was a spur of the moment ‘why not’ (he was fit and funny). Then, it was because I’ve come to the bit in my book where some good straight hetero humping is a plot necessity and I though I might be a little out-of-touch on cock culture. And then I have no partner so ‘why not’ again?

So, drinks, meal, chat, laughter, back to hotel for ‘nightcap’ and up to room.

I decided to play the straight women. So much so that when he unzipped my skirt and it fell to the floor revealing my best pants, I looked shocked when he jokingly said he was hoping I’d be in my latex shorts. “Ooooh kinky are you” I gushed (privately thinking that the last time I’d seen latex pants in a sexual situation they were unzipped across the cunt and the owner was getting a purple dildo up her arse)

Then Rod’s rod appeared and play began. He did all the modern man things, sucking me snd tickling my clit and then to prove he’d watched some porn on his conference hotel TV he bent my legs right back and fucked me from above. ( 9 out of 10)

We met up, went to films and fucked for the rest of his week. And then he fucked off saying he’d be back and I must see him in Birmingham (where he lived). But I expect he was going back to his wife so no “au revoir Rod”.

But life goes on. I have my inspiration for my book and when I’ve finished this I’ll be going back to the table in the café waiting for some women to say “Is this seat taken”. The answer is No and neither is mine yet.

Love and kisses Sadie xxxxxx

Did I wish you all a Merry Christmas? Thought not - sorry.

Anyway 'Merry' is just about the most inappropriate word to describe anything at the moment. "Ho-Ho-Ho" isn't any better, it's probably only bankers who can manage this as they open their bonus envelope or maybe a stutterer trying to say "horrid"

No, like most of you I expect Xmas 2008 seemed a bit of a XXXXmas to me. However it's now 2009 and I'm determined to be optimistic.

We're hoping to finish the book. It's on its third revise but who knows. People (not publishers sadly) but Brighton litocracy have been kind about the bits we've let them read and a little shocked - so that's promising.

The weather's been brilliant. Icy cold but with an icy blue sky, perfect weather for walking the dog (a friend's). And stalking some pussy!

Sorry to lower the tone. But then that's what you're all hoping I'll do - and I never let you down. I'm still on my own, not even a card from my ex. So what does a modern single Brighton woman in possession of a fairly decent arse do?

Well she could do worse than drop into a cafe along Brighton's Prom, I'm not saying which to prevent any loonies showing up (not that I'm suggesting loonies read my blog) but it's better to be careful. In amongst the vanilla and gay male couples there are always a couple of women on their own reading magazines and lingering over a cup of coffee.

Because this cafe has become infamous on the scene as a bit of a girlie's gaffe, a dyke's diner or a babe's bistro. There's a couple of pubs that have the same 'pick-up' personality but they've always been a bit butch for me.

So I popped in, and guess what? Less than two hours later an attractive Swede was popping her tongue down my throat in a nearly hotel room. It isn't always like this, of course, sometimes you just don't fancy anyone or you just have a chat and leave alone. But it was first time lucky for me, Eva was an early Christmas present and she unwrapped beautifully.

We chatted, then flirted, then Eva, who was visiting friends in Sussex, suggested a proper drink at her hotel but I was hoping for a pink lady instead. I experienced that amazing excitement as we left the lift and she walked ahead of me. I was imagining her naked, my hands on her sexy bum and my lips nibbling her big tits - Eva was healthily built.

Eva liked foreplay. So she kept us in our underwear for some time kissing and fumbling. I find this cool for a time but I'm impatient to heat things up a bit. Finally Eva's knickers came off and I tasted Swede for the first time. We both knew that this wasn't the beginning of a relationship, it was a one-afternoon affair at most. So we didn't waste time on love we went straight to the chase. The object was to give each other as much pleasure as womanly possible.

Eva liked biting and being bitten - I could barely sit down for days afterwards. It was brilliant, very hot fucking on a cold December day. Later, we showered together, put on each other's knickers, and finally had that drink in the hotel bar. Then it was goodbye Eva.

So now once or twice a week I drop in for a coffee at the 'Come on' cafe. 2008 ended on a naughty note and lets hope I get on fine in 2009.

I also wish you get everything you're looking for in the New Year.

Love and kisses Sadie xxxxx

My reflections on climate change and the World recession…oh and a lesbian threesome too.

What a fucking awful summer!

Fucking rain all the time…fucking people irritating me…fucking Gordon Brown and his woring bankers (or have I got the first letters the wrong way round) and to make 2008 preferably forgettable – very little fucking for Sadie!

Hello again by the way – usual excuses for absence (see blogs 2007, 2006 and 2005)

I’ll very quickly get through the high points of May to October – a couple of hours with Annie and Angie on the 21 July, Kristen Scott Thomas in “I loved you so long”, a sentence I really enjoyed writing for my new book and…and well, a fish and chip supper with Morgan (my co-writer) at the Blue Dolphin in Hastings. That’s all, folks!

Mentioning Hastings brings me to the low points. Yes you’ve guessed it, Ms Hastings and I are an ex-thing, we are no more, Ms Hastings has left to spend more time with her family and I’m left desolate.

Madonna, Heather Mills and little me – it’s been a bad time for a bitch, by which I mean, of course, Beautiful Intelligent Talented Charming Hell of a woman. I read that in some American self-help manual, bullshit naturally but it made me laugh.

And laughing, chuckling or even smiling is something I haven’t been doing much of since my lovely cuddly sexy woman walked out on me. It was my fault I suppose (how many times have I written that?). She said she didn’t mind my fucking around, after all she was married etc, but really she did. It was a nagging thing that hid it’s ugly head until other issues emerged then it popped up and frightened us both.

I think she felt guilty about being the prim mother of two in polite and proper Hastings circles whilst at the same time being the perverted, sensual bundle of decadent cuntiness with me. In the end she said that she felt a hypocrite while lecturing her children on right and wrong.

I took this calmly and in a considered manner of course…

…did I fuck!!!!!

I yelled, cried, slammed doors and slammed her husband a bit (big mistake). That nagging ugly truth I mentioned earlier then burst out and she was shouting now. SHE DID MIND MY FUCKING AROUND!!!! I was a thoughtless, selfish tart with loose morals, how did I imagine we had a future together? Did I expect she was going to leave her husband and lovely kids to join me in my sordid world…lesbians, S&M clubs, why we’d be doing threesomes soon…

…which brings me to the sexy bit. Oh good, at last you say.

One rainy night I was in “Charles Street” with Dolce & Gabbana, Ms Rude and several other friends. One of the friends of the friends broke away and came over to talk with me. She was called Angie, I didn’t know her but she knew of me. “I just had to say Hello” she said, “Jim there said you were Sadie Dark and I just love your blog” Well, of course, I’m a sucker for flattery…

..which is how I ended up sucking her cunt later that evening. Angie was late 20’s and her flatmate Annie was late 30’s. They had haunting eyes and beautiful mouths and both were very fit (lots of workouts). After Angie had greeted me, she introduced me to Annie and we sat at a table chatting about my blog and the things I write about. The conversation and the chocolate martinis flowed and I could see where this was leading, as could my friends at the bar who were smirking and making rude gestures at me.

Actually it lead to the girl’s flat. Then we were kissing and then I was topless and then my hand was down Angie’s knickers and Annie was nibbling my nips.

A threesome is special (as my sophisticated readers no doubt know from experience) – because it is so relentless. Tongues were tickling my tits and teasing my arse. Fingers were grabbing my hair and forcing themselves deep inside me.

It was almost unbearable. I was coming time after time and making my friends come too. Burying myself in their bums and tits with my fingers playing away like a concert pianist having a fit. The three of us became a sweaty, smelly, panting entity until physically and sexually exhausted we broke apart.

Then we lay there nude, giggling and touching and comparing bums, tits and cunts. I fell asleep warm and comfortable in all the female fleshiness.

Sadly I told Ms Hastings about this at some point. And the rest is harrowing history.

There were lots of other low points too. I didn’t write much, Morgan’s mind is much occupied with the recession’s effect on his future in advertising and so he’s not writing much either. My job is…oh this is getting too dull.

It’s a bright Autumn day and I’m determined to fall on my feet and into someone else’s bed…be in touch soon.

Love & Kisses Sadie

Sorry, I’ve been a bit tied up lately

I’m virtually naked, I’m on my knees, it’s hot in the room, excited people are gathered around me and a trickle of sweat glides down my backbone and between my bum cheeks. My black shiny knickers are at half mast, and being a shy, modest woman, as you know, my first instinct is to haul them up to cover my embarrassment and my gigantic arse…but…

…but unfortunately my hands are bound in rope, as are my arms, and the whole upper half of my body. Even my tits are tightly encircled with rope and they stick out like rugby balls whilst going the colour of cricket balls. Then I sense Jemima close to my ear and hear her voice saying:

“Alright, are you Sadie…Great, well let’s get these off and Jacob can continue?”

Then she grips my knickers and slips them off. I now look at bit like the women in the pic (from the excellent site Dave Annis’s Rope bound Babes) I was looking straight at Jacob’s smiling face as his hand slides down my belly then the sensation of the rope being slid between my thighs, another hand reaches between my bum cheeks grasps the rope end and pulls it tight and upwards. I gasp as it chafes my sensitive bits, then gasp again as a large knot brushes my clit…

Yes, I’ve been a bit tired up in many ways over the past few months so, first, my apologies to my readers for yet another boring, inexcusable absence from this blog.

Yes, you’ve heard it before, sorry, sorry, sorry…writing my book etc etc…emotion problems, yawn, yawn…life too boring to blog, yea yea…too bone idle, yea that sounds more like!

But hey I’m back. It’s hotter in Brighton than Bangkok, but then, darlings, Brighton is always hot, whatever the weather. I’ve repainted my flat and refurnished it with the help of my gay friends Dolce and Gabbana, (they don’t wear their underpants above their jeans anymore, sooooooo 2006 but I still think the knickernames suit them). My spring-cleaning and makeover doesn’t mean I’m suddenly rich or anything. I’ve now got two jobs, which, partly explains my lack of blogging but are too mind-numbingly boring to mention here – but it does mean extra cash. So out went the shabby bed, rugs and sofa and out went Sadie to tour East Sussex’s auction room and antique shops with my expert homo designers.

I was sad to see the bed go. Ah good, my regular readers will be thinking, beds = shagging, that’s what we want to hear about, not shopping. Some very nice people from Age Concern came to pick it and a couple of cupboards up. As it was loaded into the van I wondered what sort of action it would see at its new home.

Lets not be ageist, the new owner may be in their 60’s but then so is Mick Jagger and he’s still getting satisfaction every which way with a succession of shag-tastic supermodels.

But I doubt it’ll receive as much girl-on-girl pounding. I got all nostalgic after the van has left with my memory filled (and probably stained) mattress. It had originally belonged to my friend Sue. She rented the flat before me and I took on the furnishings when I moved in. She had a steady boyfriend so they must have taxed the springs many times. I assume she bought the bed when she moved in but the thought just struck me that maybe the bed was there when she moved in.

Fuck, imagine how many other couples might have coupled in it throughout the 90’s? Or, this being Brighton, how many threesomes, foursomes, or even farmyard animals? A history dotted with DNA, a whole saga of sweat and semen, urrrrgggggg, it doesn’t bear thinking about.

So best to remember the last occupant (along with me, of course), who was the aforementioned Jemima. We bumped into each other at Coffee, Cake & Kink, the amusingly decadent dive in Covent Garden where the photos and books lining the walls are definitely hotter than the excellent coffee. Dolce and I were attending an exhibition of fetish fotos, looking fashionably fettled in leather. A couple of friends of Dolce were there with this slim woman in a white vest and black leggings. This was Jemima, and we chatted amicably about the images and then I got the “look”.

It’s hard to explain the ‘look’. Guys go on about ‘gaydar’ but I think it doesn’t quite work like this with women. I’m not sure you can spot a lesbian through some instinct because women are much more flirty and ‘touchy-feely’ with each other even if they’re ‘straight’ and only like bonking blokes. But the ‘look’ is different, it’s overtly sexual, direct and demanding, and it’s meaning is unmistakeable.

You can of course, ignore it, and then things go on amicably and you eventually say goodbye. But I chose not to.

Jemima’s flat was a 20 minute taxi away and our juices bubbled all the way. I hadn’t seen Miss Hastings (my bosom buddy) for a couple of weeks – half term holidays with the kids or something and I was feeling lonely and lustful. She was sexy in a handsome sort of way, her nipples teased me through her vest and her strong, businesslike manner fascinated me. I felt she was going to thoroughly dominate me and I was rather looking forward to the idea,

“Don told me you write the Sadie Dark blog” Jemima had said earlier, then she’d flashed one of her rare smiles. “ You like lots of kinky stuff don’t you – good!”

When we got inside her flat I expected the customary glass of wine then a kiss or two. But no, she led me into the bedroom and then said, “Do what I say”.

But she didn’t say anything, she just stripped me. Off came my shirt and bra, then down went my leather skirt, my black tights and even my knickers. There’s usually a little play in our knickers, because that’s what sexy underwear is all about, a little fondling and pinching as a foretaste of the fuck to come.

But not with Jemima. It was a bit impersonal in fact, just like removing the clothes off a shop window dummy. And then she pushed this dummy onto the bed, slipped off her vest and sank her fingers into my cunt. It must be what a prostitute gets from a ‘quickie’ client.

Fortunately the juices that had started flowing in the taxi were still bubbling so her entrance into my entrance wasn’t so rough. She knew what she was doing though and soon I was gasping and grunting.

Jemina had small tits and large tattoos. A whole pattern on thorny roses covered her back. There was a skull and crossbones on her belly and when she finally took her leggings off I saw more roses on her thighs and a single bloom on her tight boyish bum.

She vigorously fucked me and it was shockingly good. She then smiled at me again and produced some handcuffs. I let her cuff my hands to her metal bed back and I was now hers to play with.

Which she did relentlessly. I sucked her toes and stuck my tongue where the sun don’t shine as she crouched over me whilst she bit my tits, explored my arse, and did unmentionable things to me – oh sorry I’ve just mentioned them.

This was a new experience for me and, whilst a bit messy, was terrific fun.

Later, she mentioned Jacob her sometime boyfriend and ‘Master’. She showed me pics of her being bound and suspended and suggested I’d enjoy it.

We met up again in Brighton (in my late bed) and the play was just as rude and riotous. There was tying up and spanking and strap on action and a bit of pissing about – which I usually don’t mind, but this involved real piss!!

And a week later, there I was at Jacob’s little party, bound to please. It was pleasing Jacob anyway as he demonstrated his skill with the ropes. Fortunately I wasn’t going to be suspended, you have to be a bit more experienced (and fit) to survive hanging three feet off the floor.

Basically he hogtied me. I was on my knees, tits now turning purple with my big arse in the air. You can see why they named it after a pig. The other guests, men and women gathered around and peered closely at me. They made out they were studying the knots but I guessed it was my naughty bits.

So there you have it. What Sadie’s been getting up to over the past few months. Still, it’s all research for my book. Oh sorry I promised I wouldn’t mention my boring book.

Knots and Knots of love

Sadie xxxxxx

Lesbian lunches and a spanking New Year

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Sore feelings in my heart and bum

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Rude riding breeches and jodhpur japes

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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. “Yez..it 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

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 Realbrighton.com (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
ISBN:
978-1-4243-4035-4
Price: $10.95

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

Love & Kisses Sadie

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 knickerdrawer.com – 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

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

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 :)

Love XXXXXXXXXX

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