Well yesterday was sexed up to the max. I was rudely woken by Robert tenderly stuffing a broom-handle cock into the small of my back. The early morning equivalent of "how about it, darling". I was still half a sleep, but his raging pre-first-piss-of-the-day morning glory obviously needed a home.
Robert wiggled down the bed, dragging his bloated cockhead down the crack of my arse, till it nestled at the dry entrance to my pussy. I lay there like a lump of dead cunt meat - slightly annoyed at the rude awakening, slightly amused at the fumbling, slightly aroused by the fuck monster desperate to get inside me.
"Agggh, I want you baby," Robert husked in my ear as he stabbed hopefully me with blunt end of his cock. I shifted my bum back a little - my first sign of life - and my hubby's cock slide into the neck of my vagina.
Robert pressed into me slowly - each tight dry stroke forcing his cock a millimetre further up inside me. I felt a lot of pain and discomfort. Discomfort from the dry tightness of the fuck. Pain my from my aching full morning bladder. I liked it, but it was too much. I got up, letting Robert slip out of me to a pained cry of, "hey, babe".
I wiggled my index finger at Robert. He followed me into the bathroom. I sat him down on the toilet and sat on his lap, facing him. His hard-on slid more easily deeper inside me. His cock entered me, forcing the piss out of me. I wet myself, pissing over Robert's chest, tummy, lap and thighs.
Our four-year-old son, Owen, came in as Daddy fucked Mummy and Mummy wee weed on Daddy. He asked us to get his train set out.
Daddy told him to go a watch Nick Jr and we'd be along in a minute. He wondered off, and I stood - urinating the last of my bladder into my husband's stubbled face, before sitting down and impaling myself on his cock again.
We kissed, and I tasted the strong yellow top-of-the-morning acrid bitter taste of my own oestrogen-flavoured urine on Robert's lips. I climaxed. Waves of trembling pleasure washed up and over me as Robert redoubled his efforts, and then stopped suddenly.
He stood me up, so he could get up, and then beckoned me to kneel by the toilet bowel.
Robert pushed my face over the bowel and stood over me. He started pissing over my face - pissing with a giant drowning gushing hose-down of a pissing. His piss drilling into the back of my throat, uncontrollably, chokingly. I coughed. I sputtered. I heard Robert command me to drink it. But I couldn't, it was too much.
Suddenly it stopped, and I felt a hand - my eyes were still blinded with piss - force my head down into the toilet bowel itself.
"Drink it" again came the command, as I felt Robert's cock enter me again. He started to ram-fuck doggie me, with one hand pushing my head full down into the toilet bowel and one roughly fiddling with my clit. My head kept on banging against the inside of the toilet with each fuck stroke. I climaxed again, and Robert came with me, nearly knocking me unconscious as he came.
My head was dragged out of the toilet - sopping wet. Owen was watching again - he couldn't find the remote control. Robert went to sort him out, his cock still dripping with cum. I wrapped a large towel round my wet long hair, and flopped back to bed exhausted.
If you haven't licked the arsehole of a pregnant woman sitting on your face ... well, make a note of it and bear it in mind the next time you see a pretty petite woman labouring with a child in her belly.
OK, so I know a lot - and in fact, even more after seeing a show in Edinburgh called The Whore Whisperer, from a former receptionist at a TV/TS brothel in Melbourne (Aussie men aren't quite as macho as they'd like you to believe ... apparently). Anyhow, I was just surfing instead of getting on with stuff, when I came across an escort offering "Greek Lessons". What on earth is that?
Well I'm touched, so many of you have written to welcome me back, thank you all, that's very sweet.
On an admin note, I've decided to use the last week of my holiday to redo my site using Dreamweaver. It's currently done in NetObjects Fusion and I get a lot of complaints from AOLers and WebTV folk that they can't read it. Also ASSTR is a bit slow (though not for want of really hard work on their part to improve things .. and they have improved, still, I can make it easier by using text menus instead of buttons, and stuff like that).
Obviously this is a stupid thing to do with only one week of holiday left (actually there are two, but the second week is going to be taken up with developing teaching materials for the new school year and working my way through the new books we've got since the fire). No doubt I'll be swearing a lot trying to get it too work and it'll all take a lot longer than it should, and I'll be unable to resist the temptation of tinkering with the content while I'm at it. So, just to warn you where my attention span will be. If you have any suggestions, now would be a good time to make them.
Anyhow, back in the real world, Lindsey wobbled round last night. She's so dinky five-foot one with her huge E cups bouncing to their own rhythm and now her swelling belly is really beginning to show - it's going to be a Christmas baby.
Jack, who has a thing about pregnant women, was just so funny, completely agog, eyes wide, staring. Lindsey lifted up her tee-shirt and pressed Jack's head against her tummy so he could listen to her blob and feel it moving about.
Dylan and Finbar had a job getting him to his bedroom so they would play on his playstation and flick through his collection of grot from the Internet. They're a bit less amused with their Mum's pregnancy, though they are look forward to breast feeding again - which Lindsey only stopped when Finbar was seven, and then regretted. And of course, Lindsey is suffering from that "I must be mad doing this again" feeling, though she's not into the completely uncomfortable phase yet.
In fact, she does look classically glowing - on top of her natural aura of naughty pixie charm. I'd like to say that we all shagged ourselves silly, but it was only a pop-in visit. Though I can have a far guess at who Jack was thinking about as we wanked himself in bed last night!
Oh you're back already, sweetie, Ii thought it was Monday. Well as you can see, I haven't blogged much. But I have a good defence. My efforts to simplify my life and slim down to just one lover and one husband and two boyz has hit a bit of a speed-bump.
Jurgen has been begging - and I do mean begging: on the knees, hands clasped, please, please, please I'll do anything you want begging. So the thought occurred that he might become the family slave. So I tried to explain to him the slave-mistress relationship I was after. But he just didn't get it. What a disappointment. I kinda felt I could turn him on to kink, but I guess some guys are just too repressed.
I blame the parents. Worse, Carl is being a bit of an arse. He's really into fucking his boss's wife. If he doesn't get into fucking "me" soon, I'll have to bin him too. I'll have to invite him round when Robert's not here - always difficult to arrange - and demonstrate that Robert doesn't give a flying fuck if his whore wife is fucking the office junior.
Hi everyone, the Bitch is Back! Very literally, just off the plane. The washing machine is going full pelt in the Utility room processing two weeks of dirties, which of course is a Mummy job, as the rest of the family have deported themselves of various poses of crashed out.
Saddo me, of course, can't wait to get online (God, I'm such a sad addict - I was struggling to keep up with things before I went on holiday, but it was the thing I missed most when I was away).
So, here are the Emily headlines:
Edinburgh Festival - absolutely fabulous. Went to five or six shows/plays/stand-ups/revues/readings/concerts/operas a day. Even sat through a concert performance of Cosi fan Tutti for three and a half hours. Only downsides - not enough men in skirts (kilts), too many hills, drab weather, not enough casual sex.
Ibiza - absolutely fabulous. Went to lay down by the pool day after day. Peeled grapes and drank wine. Am as brown as a berry. Amazing how zen-like and centring it is to be a lazy cow wallowing in the sun. Downsides - Laura, Jack and even Anthony are all browner than me but I sunbathed the most! Too hot for casual sex ... but did it with Miguel anyhow, a dreamy chestnut brown Spanish waiter who called me Heem-er-leeeeee. I hope he doesn't think all British birds sweat that much. England now feels freezing.
Chucked Jurgen and his bizarre prudish attitudes: he wouldn't fuck me when my boyz were playing in the room - he said the boyz looked at his cock and put him off; he wouldn't fuck my arse or even rim my arsehole (or let me do the same to him) - he said it was dirty (like everything to do with sex isn't dirty!); he wouldn't fuck on the apartment roof - he was frightened people would see us.
I didn't even bother with watersports or bisexual sessions with my hubby or any of that shit. What a waste of a 10inch cock and chest muscles larger than my titties. But in the end, Jurgen loved himself more than he could ever love anyone else. Still, at least he's begging me to come back, which is nice - in a pathetic kind of way.
Oh boy, I'm going to be in so much trouble with Emily for not blogging like I said I "might". Apologies - and to those email chums of mine with whom i've been a poor correspondent. But I seem to be overwhelmed servicing the needs of too many men.
There's Sam, my baby boy still in nappies and clinging to his Mummy's nipple. There's Owen, mummy's little man, who manages without nappies except at night (well who doesn't enjoy peeing in bed) and clings to my other nipple 'cos Sam's got one (and i love the feeling to two small boys suckling from my titties). There's Robert, my jet-set executive bum-boy and payer for my expensive tastes in Manhattan shopping. There's Jurgen, my lover down the hall - a big slice of Danish bacon - who's great to pork with, but has proved a bit more difficult than a man should be. And then there's Carl, one of Robert's worker-bees, who's my newest lover - though I've yet to work out whether he's just trying to get one over on Robert by fucking the boss's wife.
Is five male lovers too much - it is for me! I'll have to simplify!
Well boys and girls, I'm off for two weeks: a week at the Edinburgh Festival to get all arted-up and high on culture, and a week in Ibiza so that Laura can go larging it down the clubs and I can watch my freckles stand-out in the Mediterranean sun. Anthony, of course, will enjoy trying to pick up young gay actors in Edinburgh and young gay trolley dollies in Ibiza. And Jack will play with his gameboy and the other thing he increasingly loves to play with. I've asked Kate to fill in and perhaps explain her lack of blogging while I'm away.
So, back in a fortnight (that's two weeks, if you're 'merican). But before I go, I'd just like to wish me a happy birthday - Happy Birthday Me!!! - 37 yet again! Funny how I don't seem to be getting any older. What's my secret? Anti-aging cream? The kind cut of a surgeon's knife? Natural Dutch good looking genes? No! I lie, and very effective it is too.
Toddle-loo, Emily xxx
So the dishwasher broke - only it's been breaking for the last few months, apparently, leaking water all over the kitchen floor (which went under the flooring, so we didn't notice). So I've had to remove the flooring and take it to the tip, borrow a fan heater from my Mum, and try and dry out before we go on holiday on Saturday.
Having just replaced the video after Molly (one of my cats) sprayed all over it and blew it up. And fixed the door to one of the fridges when its hinges gave way. And my best new toy, a Handspirng Platinum Visor with a Stowaway keyboard - so I can keep writing while I'm on holiday - completely crashed after I let the batteries totally run down (though, impressively, it was easy to recover absolutely everything - so I'm still well impressed with it). Anyhow - could things stop breaking, please.
Yes I know I have an obligation to keep blogging even when the weather is good. Yes I know the school holidays - in theory - mean I have plenty of time on my hands to make mischief and report it back to you. Yes I realise that a woman gardening - even a topless woman gardening - isn't going to cut it in the hot throbbing cock-stiffening stakes. But hey, those are the breaks. Spade to be replaced by dildo soon - we both hope!