It’s been a hell of a week….

….But we’re leaving on an Alaskan cruise later this morning to celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary (I love her sooooo much) and also to celebrate her graduation (I am soooo proud of her)

cya in a week.

♀ & sss

Last Saturday morning I called ♀ from work at 4:45am to ask if she wanted to meet me and go for a walk. She didn’t start work until 11am so she could have slept in. She could have called me nasty names, rolled over and gone back to sleep, but she didn’t.

Instead there she was at 5:30 in the A of M with a sleepy smile, a coffee and the camera. We’d hoped to take some sunrise pictures, but it was a dreary sort of morning. I hope you won’t be too disappointed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

These pictures were taken in places that are normally chock full of people. Even at 5:30 there were quite a few other people out for their walks. We were just fortunate to find a couple of quiet moments.

I must admit being naked outside in such a public place was a really big turn on. All the way home whenever I pulled up beside her at a stop light she’d blow sexy kisses at me or flash her breasts. When we got in the house I wanted her so bad I tried bending her over the kitchen table.

She was having way to much fun teasing me. I had to make us breaky, take the garbage out, cut fresh lilacs for our bedroom and shave her pubes before we got busy.

Was it worth the wait?

Hell Yes!!!

HHNT
sss

Ok, so I’m going to try this again <click here> for the prologue.

 We like whiskey

We like rum

We’re the grads of ’81.

If by chance

We do not pass

In ’82 we’ll smoke more grass.

Kids are singing that poem to every song on the record player when I arrive at Stephens’s pre-grad party. We decide it should be our unofficial grad song which is fine because the official grad song-The Best of Times by Styx-sucks.

I have no idea who is on the grad committee, but I know that I will never look back and think being eighteen and graduating from high school was ‘the best of times’. It’s a funny thing about being eighteen. There are so many things I’m absolutely certain about. I know what (and who) is right and wrong. I know what (and who) is good and bad. I know that after spending twelve years in school, I’ve been given the basic tools I’ll need to thrive and survive in the world and I know the world is just waiting for me with open arms.

 I’m eighteen. I’ll be graduating from high school in two months and I’ve got big plans. I’m not going to stick around this jerk-water town. I’m going places. I’m going to be a professional roadie. You know, like with big rock bands. I’ll be traveling from city to city and country to country. I want to be one of those of no fixed address guys you read about in the newspaper.  You know the kind of stories I’m talking about, right? So-and-so witnessed the accident or was arrested or was found dead in the swimming pool was a twenty-something male of no fixed address. That’ll be so freakin’ cool. I’ll be setting up equipment, doing sound checks, hanging out backstage, parties all the time and banging groupies. That’ll be the best part. I’ll have a different girl every night. Hell, I’ll have a bunch of girls every night. Roadies get to screen the groupies for the band. Gonzo only wants natural redheads tonight. I’ll need to confirm your red headedness before you can meet him.

Speaking of redheaded hotness, Liz, my grad date, is supposed to meet me at this party, but she ends up having to baby-sit.  I decide to go to the part anyway because…well Stephen’s not the most popular kid in school and he’s told a lot of people about this party. He thinks nobody will want to come, but absolutely everyone is going to be there. I tell myself I should go just in case things get out of hand and Stephen needs help, but maybe I go just because I know things will get out of hand. I take a six-pack of cheap beer, but somebody has already opened Mr. Russell’s liquor cabinet so I pour myself a glass of whiskey. It tastes like liquid smoke.

After about an hour I want to smoke a joint so I go outside. Not out of respect to the Russell’s really, I just don’t want to share with everyone there. I’m out on the front lawn when my buddy Dave drives by. He’s delivering Chinese food from his parents restaurant and he stops when he sees me.  Dave’s my best friend so I don’t mind sharing with him. Besides he’s the guy I usually buy my weed from and he’s always giving me deals so it all works out. Dave’s actually Japanese, but his parents own the Chinese restaurant in town. Dave says us Whities think all Asian food is the same so it doesn’t make any difference. He’s got a hell of a system worked out. His parents don’t speak English so they rely on him for a lot of stuff. They don’t have a clue about anything. Dave pays the waitresses a little extra and they take phone orders for food and weed.

We move around to the side of the house to smoke our joint because Dave wants to tease the dogs. The Russell’s have a kennel that runs along the side of their house…actually; I think it was a tennis court once. In it they keep these two vicious Doberman Pinschers. The thing about these dogs is, a few years ago the neighbours complained about the noise and rather then getting rid of the dogs, they had their voice boxes removed. They still bark like crazy all the time, but now it’s in this hoarse kind of whisper. Dave rattles the fence and blows smoke in their faces when the dogs charge at him.

Yeah, he can be a bit of a shit sometimes, but we’ve always been good friends. He can’t stand the Russell’s though and he tries to talk me into going on deliveries with him. I tell him I’m going to stay at the party for a bit and I might catch up with him later. I go back inside and there’s this girl there. Lynda. It used to be Linda, but she changed it. She’s sixteen and in grade eleven. She’s a little tipsy, but not sloppy yet. I hate it when girls get sloppy drunk, but a little tipsy is OK. So I’m chatting her up. She starts telling me all about her fucked up life and of course I know most of it already because it’s a small town and there’s only one high school. I know all about her living with her alcoholic dad and retarded sister (only you’re not supposed to call them retards anymore), but she tells me all about them anyway. Then she starts talking about Carlos. I should have left right then; shoulda, coulda, woulda, didn’t.

 Carlos is this Greek guy, you know, from Greece. He’s a millwright for the railway and he works in the big machine shop at the edge of town. When he first came here all the girls went ga ga over him. They said he looked like a Greek God. My dad said he just looked like a gawd damn Greek to him. That always cracked me up. Anyway, he starts dating Lynda even though she’s only fifteen and he’s like twenty, but her dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass because he’s drunk most of the time. So, they’re dating for more then a year when he decides he’s going back to the old country for a holiday. And wouldn’t you know it, when he comes back here four weeks later he’s got a hot new wife with him.

 “I saw him last week and he walked right past me like he didn’t even know me”, she says, getting all teary eyed. “I said hi Carlos and he said ‘hi’ then started talking to Broom Hilda in Greek. If she spoke English, I totally would have told her what a prick he is and how he just used me and about all the things he promised me.” The tears start running down her face and I decide not to tell her that her name is actually Frangellica and she’s learning English pretty fast according to my mom.

 “I heard she’s pregnant that’s why he had to marry her,” says Lynda.

 That’s only half true. My mom works part time for the Welcome Wagon; they welcome new people in town and take them little gifts and coupons from local businesses and she was at Carlos and Frangellica’s house when the doctors’ office called to tell her the happy news. I don’t mention that to Lynda either.

 I’m the strong shoulder to cry on so I take her back to my place before she gets sloppy drunk. Bringing girls home is kind of a touchy subject with the grumpies so we sneak in the back door then down to my bedroom in the basement. She tells me she’s on the pill so I don’t need to use a condom and we screw. Just once and she goes right to sleep. I’m looking at her and there’s something I can’t figure out. I’m not a queer or anything, but Carlos is a good-looking guy, even for a Greek and Lynda is, well, plain. She’s kind of pale and mousy, she got little titties, hardly any ass and it’s not like I’ve had a ton of girls, but she really wasn’t very exciting in bed.  Frangellica, now there’s a woman I wouldn’t mind having a go at. She’s got long dark hair, nice boobs, an ass to die for and her face; man, I’d love to rest my nuts on her chin for a week or two. I fall asleep stroking my dick fantasizing about Carlos’ wife.

 I wake Lynda up early. She’s whiny; her head hurts, she’s thirsty, she’s hungry she wants me to make her breakfast. I tell she needs to leave. She wants me to walk her home; she’ll make me breakfast. I can meet her dad and sister. I don’t want any of those things and she gets mad and loud.  She says I’m an asshole just like all men. Just fuck me then kick my sorry ass to the curb she shouts then marches out and slams the door. The grumpies are not amused.

 Monday morning the guys tease me a bit about Lynda. Did Carlos’ big Greek cock stretch her all out of shape? Couldn’t I do any better then banging a drunken chick on the rebound? But it dies down pretty quick. Any sex is good sex, am I right? Besides, that wasn’t the big news from Saturday night. After Lynda and I left the party, Stephen discovered his dad’s liquor cabinet had been raided so he went to the liquor store to try and buy more and he got arrested by an under cover cop. While he was gone the party really got going and one of the neighbours called Mr. & Mrs. Russell…they arrived home right after someone drove a motorcycle into the dog kennel.  

 I hardly even think of her again until the Friday night before graduation. The grumpies take my grad date, Liz and I out for dinner at the Italian restaurant. It’s the only other ethnic restaurant in town and it’s owned by a couple of old hippies from the Excited States (everyone says he’s a draft dodger). Anyway, Lynda just happens to be our waitress. I totally didn’t know she worked there. It’s a little awkward because Liz and my parents all know I banged Lynda, but I hope she’ll just be cool about the whole thing. Everything starts off fine; Lynda’s a smiling cheerful waitress. She brings our drinks and takes our orders. Dad lets us order anything we want and I order rack of lamb because it’s the most expensive item on the menu. Lynda brings out the appetizers and she’s still all smiles. She brings our main course, sets everyone else’s down nicely then slams my plate down in front of me and announces loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear that she’s preggers, that I’m the father and that she’s going to keep the baby. Then she bursts into tears and runs into the kitchen. Nobody has much of an appetite after that.

 Liz still goes to grad with me. Maybe it’s because it’s too late for her to get another date, but I like to think she still likes me. She goes to grad with me, but we don’t have as much fun as we might have, if you know what I mean. After the official dinner and dance I go to a party down by the river, but Liz doesn’t come to that. At the party I chug tequila straight from the bottle until I’m totally shit-faced. I guess I’m lucky that I don’t fall into the river and drown or unlucky, depending how you look at it.

 I don’t remember getting home, but I’m on my bed and still in my rented tux when my dad wakes me up. Early. Mom’s going into town and wants to return the tuxedo while she’s there and Dad wants to have a man-to-man talk with me. There’s no point arguing about it. I get up, have a shower, try to brush the grossness out of my mouth without much success and go upstairs to face the music. I assume I’m in shit for getting drunk and doing whatever it was I did the night before, but I assume wrong.

 He wants to know what I’m going to do now that I’m finished school. I tell him what I’ve been telling everyone for the past two years; I’m going to be a roadie.

 There’s not much stability in that, he says. You’ve got responsibilities now.

 What, Lynda? She’s not my responsibility.

 She’s going to have your baby.

 She said she was on the pill. It’s not my fault.

 Well, it won’t be that baby’s fault. Lynda’s got a grade eleven education and a drunk for a dad. If you don’t pay then it’s my tax dollars that will be supporting that child and I sure as hell didn’t have sex with that girl.

 I sulk and after awhile I mumble that it’s not fair.

 He laughs and says welcome to the real world. He says one way or another I’m going to pay. He says that that baby is going to want and need a father, that since I’m going to be paying anyway, it might as well be me. He says that it’ll be easier for everyone if I step up to the plate now.

 It takes me a minute to get what he is talking about. You mean marry Lynda?? Are you insane? I hardly know her. I don’t even like her. We’re just kids ourselves. How do you expect me to support a family?

 I could get you on at the mill

What, so I can relive your life? This is fucked.

 

Alice, so drunk he can barely stand…

 

 

 

In case you missed the memo, this week marks the 3rd anniversary of Half-Nekkid Thursdays. To celebrate, sexy bloggers were encouraged to have a ‘3′ theme for their post.

HHNT & congrats Os!

sss

I know some people really get creeped out by ‘mommy’ and  ‘daddy’ in role playing. Does it help knowing that most people who do like it are so not thinking about their own parental units?

No? Well, you might want to skip this post.  ♀ isn’t ‘mommy’ all the time, but it is a very common scenario for us. It’s an easy way to express the D/s dynamic and ‘mommy’s little baby’ feels like a natural extension of cross-dressing/panty-boy/sissy.

♀ & I were in bed basking in the glow of our love (lame cliches & no sex…even the mommy lovers are heading for the exits). We were cuddling, our limbs intertwined, bodily fluids still dripped, adding to the warm wet spot. The TV was the only light in our room. King Kong 2005 was on. (Very cool special effects, but nobody does damsel in distress like Fay Wray) I felt satisfied and relaxed and I wasn’t fighting the urge to have a 20 minute snooze when ♀ pinched my nipple. Hard.

I jerked awake and she pinched me again. This time on my ass and I realized we were entangled in such a way that she had me pinned. She still out-weighs me, though not for much longer and she’s very strong and I could not break free. She pinched my ass. She scratched my back. She tickled me. Dear gawd she tickled me; my inner thighs and arm pits. She dug her thumb under my hip bone. She bit me; my ear lobe, neck and shoulders. She was merciless, it was torture, it was brilliant.

I struggled, but to no avail. I shrieked and screamed and as her assault continued my voice got higher and higher. At some point in my wild thrashing about, my elbow connected with her breast. It’s not like I did it on purpose, but she was pissed. She told me to roll over and she sat on the back of my legs. She gave me the hardest, longest hand-to-ass spanking I have ever had in my life. Then the pinching and tickling and scratching and biting started again. Everywhere was fair game…including leaning back to get my feet. If I tried to twist around she slapped my face. I started going hoarse from screaming, my muscles ached from struggling, my ribs hurt from laughing, my skin felt like it was on fire.

I have no idea how long it lasted. It felt like forever, but I’m guessing 20-30 minutes. Eventually I managed to slither out from underneath her and crash landed on the floor. I lay there panting and exhausted.

“Have you had enough, baby?”

She told me to get back in bed and that she wouldn’t hurt me anymore, but still I jumped every time she moved. She was laying on her side and motioned for me to cuddle into her. Once I was settled, she lifted a breast towards my mouth.

“You can nurse baby as long as you promise not to get excited. Do you think you can do that?”

She’s let me masturbate while nursing before, but I agreed to control myself and I took the nipple she offered into my mouth. She gently stroked my head and back while I suckled and she started talking…more to herself I think, then to me. She talked about how much she enjoyed completely dominating me, but perhaps she should look into a more effective way to restrain me. She really didn’t like the elbow to her tit. She talked about how much her hand hurt after the spanking and maybe she should find something else to do that with. She said that now there’s no doubt about my status as a sissy; only a sissy could get beat up by a girl. She said I even sounded like a sissy when I was screaming, but children and neighbours might find it a little disturbing so next time she might need to gag me with something.

While I was laying in her arms like that I felt so incredibly…I’m really struggling to find the words…I felt so submissive to ♀…like I’m fulfilling my destiny by being dominated by her. I felt so right…so complete. Like my purpose in life is to give myself to her completely…unconditionally. I felt more like a sissy then I have ever felt before and for that brief moment all was how it should be.

sss

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

♀ called me at the bakery Friday night. Besides all the lovey dovey stuff she told me to call her when I left work in the morning. She gets so tired by the end of the week, I feel bad about waking her up.

“We haven’t had sex since Wednesday. If you don’t call me in the morning you will be in soooo much trouble.”

I called and when I arrived home at 5:30 with her coffee the first thing she did was take my hand, put it under her nightie and push a finger into her pussy. She was nice and wet and I thought she was showing me how horny she was. Nope. She pulled my hand out and examined my finger closely.

“Taste this,” she demanded as she pushed my wet finger into my mouth. “How long until my period starts?”

“Sometime today…tomorrow at the latest.”

We had breaky then went to bed for some sweaty sex that turned into some rather messy sex. Actually our new silky sheets are in the wash as I’m writing this. I really hope they come clean because we’d pretty much decided that they’re to damn slippery and were planning on returning them.

After we’d had a shower and changed the bedding, ♀ announced that she was going to call in sick. With the exception of Christmas & Easter, she’s had to work and or go to school every day since September and decided she needed a playday.

She did her thing while I slept, then we went to the beach for a walk…and some picture taking…and then we made out like teenyboppers on a log in the sunshine… then we met my parents for Indian food…then we came home for some more sweaty/messy sex on non-slip cotton sheets with lots of towels.

All-and-all it was a pretty fine day.

HHNT

sss

I had a bunch of ideas for today’s post..snippets really. Nothing very well thought out. I read a bunch of blogs. Here’s this weeks favourite <postcard>. We watched <Juno> last week. I could see her writing this post card.

Then I found out that today is Audrey Hepburn’s birthday.

Cheers,

sss

So a big thank you to all who left such nice comments last week regarding ♀ hair. One of the suggestions was silk pillow-cases.

I went shopping Sunday afternoon and could only find one store that sold silk bedding. Two pillow-cases cost $40 and an entire set of bedding cost $100. I’ve always wanted to try silk sheets so decided ‘what the hell’.

On the plus side her unbraided hair is definitely less tangled in the morning and the sheets feel excellent. It’s kinda like sleeping in a big sexy nightie…and I never wake up with it bunched up around my armpits. I’m still not allowed to masturbate without her permission and…well…it’s been a challenge.

The down side is it’s damn slippery. Pillows, sheets, the duvet and once even me end up on the floor in a big hurry. Our bed is quite high up off the floor so it’s not like we can just reach down to retrieve stuff. Well even with regular sheets stuff ends up on the floor during sex, but when we’re sleeping it’s a bit of a pain.

Believe it or not Linens’N'Things has a 60 day return policy (even on sheets) so we have awhile to decide if we’re going to keep them. Do any of you have experience with or opinions on silk bedding?

We thought you might like to see ♀ untangled hair on our new silk pillow-cases.

HHNT

sss