I've just had a new shower fitted in my bathroom. The old shower was one of those useless plastic head things you have to fix onto the ends of both taps, and then you have to just sit there waiting for the slightest trickle of water to wash the bottle full of lather out of your hair. It wasn't much fun, hence the need for a new kick-ass shower.
By no stretch of the imagination have I got tons of money to spare, so one of those luxurious walk-in showers with double Monsoon showerheads wasn't an option. But I did get something similar, albeit with a glass shower door fixed on the side of the bath instead of a twin-door entrance and marble flooring.
When I was a young girl, probably about 15-years-old, I would take the showerhead off the wall and blast water onto my clit until I came. So you can imagine how much I was looking forward to trying this again, having lived so long with a showerhead that could just about blast away my leg-hair shavings, let alone blast my pussy to orgasm.
I had a double one-night stand last night. I don't usually go out on a Sunday night because I'm so wiped out from the rest of the weekend, but I decided at the last minute to go to my local pub with a few people from the flat downstairs.
Apart from a real chav who has moved in with them, they're a cool bunch of people and we often have late night drinking sessions in each other's flats after we've been out for the night. Anyway, one of the girls called Lianne (killer ass and tits) was promoted last week and we decided to extend her weekend celebrations and get some god-awful champagne (whatever they had) from our local.
I was topping up my booze levels from the previous night, and the night before that, so by 10pm I was well on my way to hammered-ville. There really is no excuse for what I did next, but I started flirting with a group of rugby lads who were sitting at the next table. They challenged us all to a game of Killer on the pool table, which involves drinking shots and shooting pool balls – impossible to do if you're already hammered.
One thing you should know about me is that my bravado gets the better of me when I've had a few drinks, so I threw down the gauntlet and said that if we beat them, they would have to be our slaves for the rest of the night. Of course I meant buying and fetching us more champagne and pork scratchings. Boys being boys, and rugby boys at that, they raised the bar. If they won, we'd have to be their sex slaves.
So we played. And we lost… by a country mile. Bollocks! I had no intention of following through on our promise and proceeded to tell them it was just a joke and that they weren't getting anything from us. But they weren't to be denied their prize, and when Lianne and the rest of the girls said they were up for it, I thought it rude to back out and let the side down.
You know how it is. It's one week before payday – when you're on a tight enough budget as it is – and you get slapped with an overdue credit card bill that has to be paid NOW or the world will implode. Oh yes, and it arrives on the morning of your big night out with that hot Italian post-grad exchange student you met at Covent Garden. Which in turn means that the silky new basque you planned to buy and seduce said Italian exchange student with will have to be left on the hanger. Great.
That happened to me last Saturday, if you hadn't already guessed. So my night of indulging someone of foreign tongue was well and truly up the swanny. And after handing over all but £70 of my remaining wages, I decided that if I was going to have a night in on my own then I at least needed a few girlie treats to occupy myself with.
Naturally, when I think treats I'm thinking mind-blowingly awesome handcrafted chocolates, some gorgeous, funky new make-up to play around with and a triple-orgasm inducing sex machine. Que Hotel Chocolate; the new Big Beautiful Eyes compact from Benefit cosmetics and a hunking slab of jelly wonderness in the form of the (the seemed a bit to much of a mission for a Saturday night in alone).
After gorging myself on a selection of toe-curling white, milk and dark handcrafted chocolates, and giving my eyes the Bardot treatment with Benefit's ultra-cool new palette, I decided to test drive my latest sex toy.
With a whopping 18-inches of jelly-liciousness to satisfy my anal and vaginal cravings, I decided to prepare with a good slathering of , rubbing it slowly and tantalizingly over my pussy and anus to get my own juices flowing. After easing myself into position over both ends of the double dong, I began to work it slowly at first to get used to the feeling and to capture my sense of rhythm.
You know I've had a threesome on more than one occasion, but never before have I had a sex toy that has brought me so close to the feeling of being fucked by two guys simultaneously. I mean, I could close my eyes and imagined my Italian exchange student taking me up the arse while his swarve, sexy and more mature post-grad tutor fucked me upfront. I just couldn't stop myself from thrusting away against the double hit of jelly 'heads' while flicking, tapping and rubbing my clit with a handful of lube.
I don't know exactly how long I was getting down with my double dong, but I stopped counting after two orgasms and a near third. The next time I have a session with my double dong, I'm going to film it and send it to that Italian post-grad exchange student, then invite him and his tutor around for tea…
I bet half the male population of Britain was glued to Channel 4 last night for their Celebrity Sex Tapes Unwound program. And I bet a great deal of women also tuned in to catch a glimpse of Colin Farrell's butt; Tommy Lee's enormous wang or Rob Lowe's even bigger sex sword. But I was more interested in the Paris Hilton sex tape.
For a girl who is supposed to be so fly about her supposed wild behaviour and 'couldn't care less' attitude, Paris didn't exactly come across as someone who knew what she was doing in the bedroom. In fact, she looked kind of bored, reluctant and – dare I say it – talentless.
We've all had moments when we feel horny as hell in work, but unless you carry a Mini Rabbit vibe around in your bag there's little you can do about it without attracting attention to yourself in the Ladies.
And what about if some horny guy moves into the flat across the hall from you? What would you do to satisfy your craving for him? In the case of Bettina Varese's Diary Of A Nymph erotic short story, anything she damn well pleases…
The excerpt taken below is from Erotica 1: Bettina's Tales, Erotic Short Stories, collected by Bettina Varese (The Collective)
Sasha. It doesn't matter how many times I try to forget about her; how much I try to block her from my mind, I just can't get this women out of my head. Her tight, silky ass. Her pert, perfect breasts with their berry-red nipples. Her curvaceous mouth and bee-stung lips. Her pussy, wet, warm, clean-shaven.
Ever since we were in University together, I've never had such hot sex with anyone as I have with her. Never have I been so turned on by anyone, male or female, as I have been with Sash.
I promised you that I would tell you about what happened when she came over last week to talk about our failed attempt at a threesome, during our group holiday in Mauritius. So here it is.
She wanted to talk to me about what had happened on holiday, and I knew her husband Jeremy wanted to try another threesome with us, but I didn't quite expect what happened the other night…
I'm no Cinderella, but by hell or high water I am going to the ball! Skin Two's Rubber Ball, to be precise. Let's hear it for four days of full-on fetish parties, gorgeous corsets, PVC pants and all the filthy, frisky shopping my little purse can handle!
Skin Two's Rubber Ball is being held from the 5-8 of October, at various venues and secret locations across London. This year, it kicks off on Thursday 5 October with The Flash Monkey Cabaret Casbah (held at Cafe de Paris, Coventry Street, London), which boasts an erotic smorgasbord of burlesque dancing, live music, circus and fairground sideshow acts and DJ sets.
I'm back in the UK, I'm knackered, I'm sunburnt, I'm hungover and I've blown my holiday spending budget. To top it all off, I'm feeling regretful, embarrassed and as though I want to dig a big hole and bury myself in it.
My date with Sasha and her husband was the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life. And I've made plenty of mistakes in my short time on this earth…
Dressed in my cute printed dress from Mango and a pair of Aldo platforms, I thought it if I walked the 10-minutes to the nearby hotel where Sasha's husband had booked a room, it would help calm my nerves and head-off my overwhelming sense of anticipation. First mistake of the night: throbbing feet and painful blisters does not make one feel sexy.
10 minutes ago I was sitting at a beachside bar with Sash, listening to her talk about how she has made a big mistake getting married so young and how her and her husband have started bringing other people into their sexual relationship to try and spice things up. Swinging, in other words then.
I've just about digested my Miss Pink cocktail (crushed strawberries, champers and cherry liqueur) and I'm writing this blog in earnest because I have a date to get ready for. You've probably guessed with who the date is. Yep, Sash and her husband. I don't know how we're going to manage it, sloping away from the rest of the group without raising suspicion. And what makes it harder is that most of my old mates on this holiday know about my past fling with Sash.
Sasha's husband has actually booked a room for the three of us in a different hotel complex, which makes it easier on one hand because we'll have some privacy. But like I told you earlier in the week, this is an insanely tight-knit group holiday and everyone is insisting on hanging out together all the time. So Sash and I have come up with a plan where I feign a migraine and opt for a night in bed (well, technically it's true!), while Sash and her hubbie will say they're going for a romantic meal alone time. Hopefully, the rest of the gang won't insist on checking in on me when I'm supposed to be in my room…
I can't write for long because my hotel room has become the 'meet-up' point for everyone on this bloody holiday. I swear, everywhere I go someone tags along. I can't even go to the loo without one of the girls sharing a cubicle with me. It's like I'm in some damn witness protection program. I just want an hour to write my blog in peace!
So real quickly then, the big news so far this week is that Sasha has been flirting with me like mad – proper leg stroking and ass fondling under the table – and so has her husband. I think there may be some threesome action on the cards. Please, please, please! Elsewhere, my friend Jessica pulled the sleaziest dude I have ever seen in my life last night. He told her he owned the restaurant we ate in. Turns out he collected the glasses. Oh, and I've lost my Nicole Farhi flats. Damn it!
On with the main show. Here is the second erotic story excerpt of the week I promised you. This one is from a favourite book of mine…
This particular story is called One Of The Boys by Robyn Russell, and it's about a 16-year-old girl called Sam, her boyfriend Jamie, his cousins, and a sex siren called Margaret who moves to their quiet town for one sizzling summer.