Tag Archives: food and sex

A very special birthday party

As I wash the sheets we slept in together, discard the tickets and receipts, delete all traces of the photos I took of him, I feel a calmness, a tranquility wash over me. It was a magical few days.

The economist arrived around midnight in a taxi, having barely made his plane. Cancelled trains and delays in getting to the airport had threatened to ruin his secret birthday treat. I saw his taxi from the window and my heart skipped a beat as I recognised him stepping out. He rang the doorbell and I buzzed him up, watching him climb the stairs to my flat and felt a rush of joy. The last time I had seen him was after our shared lunch some weeks ago. The whole concept of him taking time off work to travel to see me, of spending his birthday with me here, had seemed so surreal for so long. We kissed passionately as the late dinner I was preparing for him bubbled on the stove. He looked tired, yet happy. I love those long, lingering kisses – the type you experimented with at school, when kissing was as far as you would go. It is incredible how erotic something so simple, so innocent can be.

We shared some wine and ate our midnight snack. He told me about his week, his travels, his work. We kissed, touched, embraced and moved to the bed with our wine glasses. I took my time unbuttoning his shirt and his jeans, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin and firm torso. I am mildly obsessed with his body. I could spend hours looking at him, tracing my finger along every bone, muscle, crevasse. He has a beautiful, uncomplicated body. I feel so terribly clumsy when I lie next to him. He pushed my legs apart and began to stroke my pussy with his fingers and tongue. Delicately, timidly at first, but feeling my body responding to his touch, he increased the pressure and speed, pushing his fingers deep inside me. Some men’s fingers are just the right length to touch my g-spot without even trying. The economist has the right fingers. As soon as he slipped them inside, I could feel the deep buzz, the flip, the leap of my cunt as he touched me inside and out. I let my mind go, tossed aside all the thoughts that keep me on the brink and felt the tide of orgasm wash over me. It was a much-needed, much-desired, much-craved orgasm. We fucked until 3am when we finally succumbed to sleep. I lay there, conscious of his body next to mine. I listened to his fast deep breathing, could feel his heartbeat through the mattress. He is a furious sleeper, he sleeps with such concentration, such dedication.

We woke early the next day – a day of work for both of us. He put his arm around me and I could feel his erect cock against my ass. I reached back and began to masturbate him. He pushed me face down onto the bed and entered me from behind. I loved the rawness of it, the feeling of being fucked whilst still half asleep. We shared breakfast in a cafe before I went to work. All day, my mind was distracted by thoughts of our night together. He had also told me over dinner that he has been seeing someone. I knew about her, I know who she is. It made me feel slightly sick to hear of their dates together. I was surprised at my reaction. Of course I have always known he will date other women, in fact I have encouraged him to do so. But it was difficult to accept nevertheless.

We met at the flat in the evening. It felt strangely normal to open the door and find him there, working at his laptop. He was exhausted from his run and so dinner was a simple, local affair. As midnight struck and it was officially his birthday, I bought him a special birthday drink in a little bar on the way home. We were slightly drunk and weaved our way home and to bed.

I had been thinking about how to make his 40th birthday a very special and memorable one. When the alarm went off, I got up and made coffee, placing a little chocolate truffle with a birthday candle on the tray with the cups and grabbing his present from the cupboard where I had been hiding it. He had a business call to make first thing and so I left him in bed to make the call. Freshly showered and feeling incredibly horny, I took a leather belt and silk scarf from my wardrobe. He had finished the call and was still lying naked under the covers. I sat astride him, taking his hands and tying them above his head with the belt. Then I gently tied the silk scarf over his eyes. I wanted to give him a birthday blow job he wouldn’t forget. Using a feather I touched his body delicately, brushing it over his stomach, hips and thighs, licking and nibbling at his nipples. I let my mouth wander down his body and teased his erect cock, letting him feel my lips clasp him again and again, but not allowing him to climax. He was so quiet, so relaxed and happy to be tied up, blindfolded, teased. I watched his timid smile as I took his balls in my mouth. He was so beautiful to look at. He was craving release and I took him in my mouth once again, sliding it in and out with a constant rhythm and pressure that made him even harder and finally allowed him the climax he had been searching for. I swallowed the hot jets. We lay naked, side by side and I cut him free of his ties.

We spent the day walking around the city, sharing breakfast, looking at some beautiful paintings, lying in the grass allowing the sun to warm our winter-pale skins. We found a quiet little restaurant for a late lunch, sitting outside, sipping cool white wine and enjoying that first day of spring when your body begins to awaken from the long winter months. I took him for ice cream, walking along the river and ending up in a rooftop bar where we watched the sun set over the city, sipping our cocktails. Light-headed and slightly drunk, we headed towards the restaurant I had booked for dinner, stopping to ride a merry-go-round on the way. I wanted him to let go, to feel free and happy. All day, I had taken photos of him and looking at them now, I love his laughter lines and the yellow hue of the merry-go-round. He looks so happy. Dinner was an intimate affair, followed by a club and some live jazz. It had been such a perfect day. As we walked home, he received a text message from his ex wishing him a happy birthday. He took it badly and I wish I could have erased that moment, to not let it cast a shadow over our time together.

We fell into bed, sleeping late the next day. We spent almost the entire day lying naked in bed, chatting, listening to music, behaving like adolescent students. It was decadent. We dressed an hour before his taxi arrived and shared a late lunch in a local cafe. I can’t quite describe my feelings. Tender is perhaps the best word. I wanted to keep him, to look after him, to protect him. It was a quiet hour, both of us aware that our secret sanctuary of the last few days was coming to an end. We kissed tenderly again, in the same spot where we had stood only three nights previously. So much left unsaid. He is back in London now, attending a birthday party Moriarty has organised for him tonight. I know that she will be there to toast him and I wrestle with how that makes me feel.


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The Tuscan villa

The weather is beautifully hot today. Blue skies with just a hint of white and my skin feels warm to the touch. As I sit outside in the grass and feel the gentle breeze in my hair, I close my eyes and am back under the olive trees of that Tuscan villa.

It was a few summers ago when my affair with the gardener was in full swing. I flew into Tuscany late one Friday night after work. He was picking me up in his car. We hadn’t seen each other for about six weeks and my heart was racing as I stepped off the plane into the balmy night air. I was still dressed in my London work clothes – a black pencil skirt, white shirt and heels carrying my raincoat over my arm. As I walked down the steps from the airplane onto the tarmac I could see the lights twinkling from the surrounding hills and felt the day’s heat rising from the ground below. There is something magical about the Tuscan landscape. The air smells different, light, slightly scented. It carries you, lifts you.

I picked up my bag from the carousel and walked through the customs gate into the arrivals area. It is so rare to be met by someone at the airport. Usually I walk through the waiting crowd briskly, not making eye contact with anyone, secretly wishing that someone was there to meet me. There never is. But that night, I knew he would be in the crowd waiting just for me. I scanned the faces until I spotted him at the back, leaning against a pillar. He was still on his crutches, but looked so dashingly handsome in his trousers and tight t-shirt. So relaxed and tanned. He smiled as I walked towards him and pulled me into his embrace. He smelt of summer, of sun, of fresh air. I buried my nose in his curly hair and inhaled deeply. Such a world away from my air conditioned sterile office in a grey, cloudy London.

We walked to his car, chatting and laughing, both feeling the thrill of the weekend ahead. Despite his crutches he was able to drive and we whizzed through the Tuscan hills, winding our way up towards the villa where he worked and lived. After about a 30 minute drive with the windows open to the night air we arrived at a large cast iron gate and drove down a long path through a wooded area until we reached a clearing and the graveled driveway of the villa. It sat high up on a hill overlooking the valley below, the lights of Florence twinkling in the distance.  He lived in an outhouse in the gardens and parked in front of it. When the motor was silent all I could hear was the sound of insects. The villa was dark, the shutters closed. He led me into his house, offering me a cold glass of wine from the kitchen. Inside it was wonderfully cool. I kicked off my heels and took off my stockings enjoying the sensation of the cold terracotta floor on my bare feet. We stood in the kitchen looking at one another, our initial shyness wearing off and kissed passionately, holding our glasses of wine.

He had prepared a light supper and so we sat outside his house on the veranda with a candle, schiaccata bread, pecorino and salami, listening to the sounds of the night, chatting, laughing and drinking. I floated through those night time hours like one of the fireflies. When the sky began to change from a warm black to a cooler shade of blue, we went inside and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He undressed me in silence and I watched as he tugged off his t-shirt revealing his incredible torso (one of the benefits of having an affair with a gardener). We lay naked on the bed, touching one another’s bodies, re-familiarising ourselves with the other. I licked his shoulders, chest and stomach, tasting the salt of his sweat. Then took him in my mouth and slowly moved my head to the rhythm of his guiding hands. His  breath quickened and I let him come sweetly into my mouth, savouring every drop. He pulled me round, so that my hips were in line with his face and parted my legs, letting him bury his nose and mouth in my heat. He nuzzled and licked, stroking my thighs and ass as he did so. I felt the shiver of my orgasm and moved quickly to sit astride him, craving his cock inside me. His knee injury prevented him from lying on top of me and so I reveled in being in control, angling my hips so that his cock would thrust deep inside me. I circled my hips and leant back on my hands, giving him full view of my cunt. He understood exactly what to do and began to massage my clit as I gyrated on his cock. The blood rushed to my head as I arched my back and gave myself to him. My body collapsed to a shuddering orgasm and I fell back on the bed trying to catch my breath. It was too hot for sheets and so we fell asleep naked, my head resting on his chest. It was the start of an unforgettable weekend in the Tuscan hills. What I would give to be there right now.


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London lover odyssey part 3 – older lover, new sensations

I’m on a roll today and so will continue with my odyssey. If nothing else, it gives me a chance to sit in the sun some more and indulge in some delicious memories of my older lover.

Day 3 of my trip and I had arranged to meet my older lover again that night. During the day I met some friends for lunch. They work with him, my older lover. And so, when after lunch they invited me into the office to say ‘hello’ to a few others I climbed the stairs to the first floor with butterflies in my stomach. What if I bumped into him? I knew I’d be seeing him later that day, but it was an unexpected excitement that gripped me. As I reached the top of the stairs and my friend walked me to his desk my heart skipped a beat. There he was, sitting opposite looking intently at his computer screen. I will never forget how incredible he looked. His silver hair silhouetted by the window behind him, his dark grey suit and, most sexy of all, he was wearing his new reading glasses – the trendy black-rimmed type. As I approached his desk he looked up and our eyes met. I could see him blush slightly and he smiled at me. My body was pumping with adrenalin and I felt slightly lightheaded. Trying to act normal, I said the usual ‘hello, long time no see’ in front of everyone else. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so sexy, I could have jumped over the desk and fucked him there and then. Naturally, that would have been a little tricky in an open plan office. And so as I said my goodbyes to everyone, I consoled myself with the thought that i would have him all to myself that evening.

It has become almost tradition that I prepare some sensually inspired nibbles and white wine for our rendezvous. And so he arrived at my flat that evening to my blini, smoked salmon and prawn special. We sat at the table and ate some food, drank a couple of glasses of wine, chatted and laughed. I told him what I had wanted to do to him that afternoon in the office. He smiled mischievously and I got up, walking to his side of the table and stood behind him, letting my hands feel his torso, his thighs and finally his crotch. He was erect and we moved swiftly to the bedroom.  I have never met anyone who is so gentle and sensual, yet at the same time consumes me entirely. We undressed each other and he took control, pushing me to the bed and parting my legs allowing his tongue to find my sex. As I sit here reminiscing and writing, I feel I could not live without him in my life. His touch makes me tremble, I crave him constantly, I am lost without him.

He licked my cunt, slowly, slowly, increasing the pressure and rhythm as my body arched with his movements. He kept me on edge for a long time, alternating between vertical and side to side motions with his tongue. When I could feel myself letting go, my head emptying of all thoughts and feeling ready to throw myself off the edge, he inhaled deeply and moved from vulva to clit in his mind-blowing unique fashion. I came again and again, not wanting to leave that moment until my body could take no more and each touch of his tongue seemed to touch my core, a rawness usually masked. We lay side by side for a moment, catching our breath and then he turned me over onto my knees and thrust his erect cock inside me.

I notice my breathing becomes shallow as I write and I long to feel him inside me again. Right now.

Our bodies moved in unison, his hands gripping my hips and I savoured every thrust, still enjoying the tingling sensation of my orgasms. He withdrew his cock and held it over my ass. I felt his warmth as he came over my back. I love that feeling when both are spent and you lie there together his arm cradling my head. We drank our cool white wine and chatted naked on the bed. Then an idea occurred to me. Ever since the tall guy had suggested a blindfold, I had been in the mood for a little bit of experimentation. And so I asked him if he had ever tried sex tied up and blindfolded. Apparently, even in his mid-forties he had not yet tried it. I grabbed one of my scarves and tied it tenderly around his eyes. He was reluctant to be tied up and so I ordered him to lie still, he was not allowed to use his hands. I wanted him to be completely focused on the physical sensations.

I started by touching and stroking his body, running my fingers gently over his arms, chest, legs. The lighter the touch, the better the feeling, especially when the limbs are hairy. It is the merest hint of touch that turns you on. And so he lay there, naked, blindfolded letting me stroke him. I could see his arousal immediately and watched as his cock became incredibly erect. Then I straddled his body taking his cock in my hand and stroking my wetness with it. Gently, touching his most sensitive part with my lips and allowing it to slip an inch inside me before withdrawing it again. I reached for the cold white wine and took some in my mouth, then kissed him letting the liquid trickle into his. He was in the moment. He had let himself go, abandoning his body to mine.

I told him to stay where he was and grabbed a selection of food left over from dinner. At first I took a prawn and slipped it into his mouth. I could see this took him by surprise and he was trying to figure out what it was through taste alone. While he ate I stroked his legs, drawing circles around his sex, never quite touching it. I could see he longed me to touch it. Then I fed him a blackberry and then a strawberry. At first he confused by the different flavours but smiled as I gave him some white wine to drink. I used the cold glass to touch his torso, making him shiver suddenly. Then I took him in my mouth, licking his shaft and toying with his tip. His body arched and I could tell he wanted to touch me with his hands, but I told him not to. I mounted him, allowing his dick to plunge deeply inside me and fucked him. When his breathing and sighs told me he was about to come I withdrew and took him in my mouth once again. He came, in short, sharp spurts. I swallowed and stroked his belly as the aftershocks of his orgasm gripped him. Finally I took off his blindfold and gave him his glass of wine to sip.

We sat on the sofa part-clothed talking for a long while. He had his legs on my knees and I stroked them. His legs are incredibly strong – a long distance runner’s legs. My fingers ran gently up the inside of his thigh and I could see his underwear straining as he became erect again. I love touching him. I began giving him a foot massage, pressing the arch of his foot and using my thumbs to circle my way across the soles of his feet. As I did this I bent forward and kissed his shins, ankles and took each toe in my mouth, gently sucking and nibbling them. He lay back and sighed, his cock getting harder with each toe. Finally he got up and took me to the bedroom where he threw me down and fucked me again.

It was a night of new sensations, for him and me. I will never forget it.


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Tarte tatin and other sweet things

I am making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight. A small soiree with friends. Wine, a warming stew and a suitable French delicacy for dessert. It is funny how smells and tastes can bring back memories in a way that a photograph or film cannot. When I taste tarte tatin I am transported to a hot summer’s evening a few years ago.

London’s hottest summer. The air in my flat was thick, sticky. No movement at all and no reprieve in sight. It was the first summer I spent with my original lover. We would arrange to meet in the evenings, after work. He would leave early to go shopping. I would cycle home, shower (a cold one usually) and dress as a mistress should – beautiful lingerie and sensual, easy to undo dresses. That thrill of waiting for the doorbell to ring, buzzing him in and waiting for his tall figure to appear. He would always enter and leave quietly, not to draw attention to himself.

He took such a great delight in preparing delicious three course dinners for me, accompanied by the best wines and dessert wines. He loved to cook, to choose a combination of flavours, textures and colours that would come alive in my kitchen. As he chopped, whisked, heated, I would sip a cool glass of white, watching him, chatting, listening to jazz. It was such a wonderful sense of being looked after, letting go and allowing someone else to decide for me – what I would eat, drink, taste. I loved it. When I was so aroused by simply watching him, being near him, I would stand behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and let my fingers slip inside his jeans, teasing and distracting him from the task at hand.

Often, the food would be simmering in the pot and he would abandon it to follow me into the bedroom where we would strip naked, bare skin on bare skin, our bodies only slightly hotter than the summer’s night. Sex with my original lover was a deeply sensual experience. He would take the time to touch every part of my body, not allowing me to touch him and driving me wild with anticipation. When every hair tingled at the sheer brushing of his hand over my stomach, he would let me pleasure him. I loved to take him in my mouth. He was beautiful, tasted good and loved me licking him to the point of climax, but to then withhold and sit astride him, mounting him instead. Our pre-dinner fucks were intense bursts of heat and energy, a taster of what was to follow.

We would sit at the dining table, candles, wine, he wearing only his underwear, me wearing a silk slip, no knickers. If you have never tried it, then I strongly recommend eating dinner like this. The food is just a pause, a break between fucks. We would return to the bedroom after each course, fucking each other until we came again and again.

Dessert was always my favourite course. He excelled at desserts. The night he made a tarte tatin was one of the most intense nights we had spent together. That sticky hot sweetness with a tangy edge. It is a strange phenomenon, but it seemed that all my senses were heightened after climaxing. Every bite, lick and swallow of the tarte was magnified. Perhaps your body is more receptive to other pleasures when it is in that wonderful state of relaxation and tingling tension.

After dessert we withdrew to the bedroom, his cock was already erect for our grand finale. He lay back on the bed, keeping eye contact with me as I climbed onto it, standing above him looking down. I let my hand touch my sex, and slowly began to stroke my clit, masturbating myself standing over him. He watched, smiling and eventually pulled me down towards him. I knelt over his face and he lifted his head so his tongue could touch my cunt. Burying his tongue into me he seemed to consume me like one might a ripe fig. Pushing his tongue inside, into the soft flesh and savouring its juices. I arched back reaching for his cock with my hand, massaging him to the same rhythym as he licked me. The orgasm came swiftly, our senses already so raw after the many courses and climaxes. I love the sensation of orgasms in quick succession – the first one feels like a dam has been broken and after that they wash over me like the waves of a tsunami, all consuming, almost drowning. I feel them in my fingers and toes and hair.

That was an intensely sensual night, in so many ways. Such a simple combination of pleasures, but explosively erotic. The best tarte tatin I’ve ever had.

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