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Sinful Santa

♦ Merry Christmas and a very happy New year to you, reader! I hope you don’t mind the slightly delayed greeting, but it’s been a busy holiday period of mince pies, stolen kisses, cheer and far too much Magic the Gathering. I’ve been relaxing, spending time with loved ones and generally making merry, so I haven’t had chance to post anything festive until now.

I hope, then, that you won’t be so bored of the whole affair that you’ll begrudge me showing you my Christmas Day outfit. I’m fairly sure that you’ll enjoy it!

Sinful Santa Close-Up

Ah, but you’ve undoubtedly seen my cleavage in pictures on here before. It’s certainly one of my favourite camera angles. It’s Christmassy, sure, but it’s not anything new. Well then, how about something a bit more daring? A bit more revealing? A bit more risky? My body, perhaps. A glimpse of face, perhaps. Not to worry, I know just how to pull that off.

Sinful Santa Revealed

Ah, a Father Christmas hat that hides a multitude of sins and a trippy background that does the same. No-one needs to see my Psyduck. No, that’s not a euphemism.

Anyway, I’m pretty pleased with how these turned out, given the outfit was for Crush’s sake and not yours. I didn’t intend to pose, but then the natural lighting was so good (isn’t it?) and I felt so sexy that I thought I’d get my lad to take a couple of quick ones before we got further dressed to go and open presents.

So, what do you think, festive enough for you? If you’d sat on this Santa’s lap this Christmas Day, what would you have asked her for? ♦


Intoxicating – a tale of drunken sex

We went out. We ate, drank and made merry. We chatted with friends and draped the frosty air with tinsel. We laughed. The wine glasses emptied by the gulp.

And then we went home, noses cold, hand gripping hand, voices just slightly too loud.

The beautiful thing about knowing him so well, about him knowing me so well, is that drunken sex is a giggling, wriggling thing, but ultimately, clumsy or not, we play a chord. We know what we want. We know how each other works. There’s little hesitation, little confusion. Everything is collaboration.

We fall laughing onto the bed. We’re a tangle of smart jackets and sparkly dress hems. We strip, sexily, faltingly. Coordination is not our strong point.

We’re naked. The bedroom is cold, but alcohol provides a blanket. Our gay apparel lies discarded.

He’s on top of me, as I lie back topsy turvy on the bed. My head jingles, my mind is fuzzy, but my cunt is clear. I don’t need him, but I want him. I want his heat to penetrate mine. And I’m not shy about it.

I tell him bluntly. He grins. Wine has dissolved any pretence, any oh-so-human façade. Animal natures are laid bare. Eat, drink, fuck, sleep. We’ve done two of them and the buzz in our veins makes us just not ready for the final one.

He pushes inside me, lust overtaking sluggishness of the blood. He is as hard as ever.

I undulate under him as he pumps. I learn it’s a need after all. Not a conscious, reasoned need, but a feral one. It’s not my mind that needs him, it’s the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins  and, if I’m honest, the wine in them too. I’m grasping and he is giving. He too feels the lure of alcohol and animalism. He thrusts and I cry out without hesitation or moderation.

I’m rubbing my clitoris furiously. Here is where drunken sex falls down. The beer blanket is warming, but provides a quilted layer between my fingertips and the nerve endings of my clit. I’m numbed. My clit is wrapped in cotton wool and indulgence. But my pussy still spits with fire and feeling.

I decide I don’t want to rub my clit any more. I decide it’s not actually necessary that I come. My pussy sings with sensation. That’s enough. It really is.

That’s mind-blowing in itself. If I’d never felt this way before, I’d have laughed in your face if you’d suggested it. But it’s not the first time. An orgasm really isn’t everything, not when the walls of my cunt are pushing and being pushed, not when he’s opening me up deliciously with each thrust, not when I’m riding the crest of pleasure/pain and diving into the feeling of him fucking me (too?) hard.

It’s not all I need, though.

I need more sensation. My dulled senses thrive on it. Bigger, harder, rougher, faster. I move like a steam piston under him and watch his face contort between loving smile and losing it.

“Bite me”, I both beg and demand.

He obliges, face buried into my neck, teeth nipping at my skin, tongue wet and breath heavy.

“Bite me!” I shout, although he’s already doing it. He’s already biting and bucking and fucking me hard.

I feel as on top of the world as I can be with no orgasm, no throbbing clitoris. The experience is intense. Our connection, equally so. We know each other so well, that even inebriated and exhausted, we’re guiding each other to that delirious freefall that is absolute pleasure.

Not gentle, not classically romantic. Full of yelps and sweat and calling him “bitch” in loving, honeyed gasps.

He comes, moaning, thrusts shuddering slowly to a crawl and then a halt. I stroke his hair, he clambers off, we clean ourselves up and, swapping our beer blanket for a real one, slip drunkenly into sound and smooth sleep.


♦ In winter, it takes ten minutes to get out the door and another ten to come in again.

The second pair of socks are wriggled onto waiting toes, the second jumper meets cold shoulders. Then a coat buttoned high, a scarf wrapped tight around a neck meant for dappled sun and dappled kisses.

A hat provides blinkers. We can’t see each other unless we turn directly. Gloves keep the pads of our fingers delicate for a delicate touch, but make holding hands a bundle of wool upon wool. In protecting ourselves from the biting wind, we shield ourselves from nibble and nip.

Each layer becomes distance. I can wind my way to your waist through hidden passes, but each exposure provokes a yelp and a wriggle to re-adjust.

Your cock is an onion heart, found after peeling off layer after layer. Your kiss often lands on fabric instead of flesh. I feel the pressure more than your touch.

But we brave the weather together, hand in glove, glove in glove.

And the reward is worth the wait, the enforced frost of the lack of loving touch.

Each piece of clothing becomes a striptease. Each sector of skin revealed is like lovers reunited after a journey. Absence makes the cunt grow fonder.

The air is chill, even indoors, but you’re still the same under the layers. Your skin radiates heat, a warmth that smells so much of you. Your temperature probably shouldn’t come into my lust for you, but I find myself so often wanting to press myself up against you just to feel it. To inhale it.

In weather like this, the desire is practical as well as sensual. We huddle under blankets, snuggle, bodies pressed close. Our hands wander, freed from woollen barrier and endless obstructive layers. Fingers scuttle over skin, wander curiously into thickets of your body hair and my own hot-wet crevices.

I’ve missed the freedom of your body and your freedom of mine. You’re something familiar yet almost forgotten, a staple I once took for granted that I revel in now that it’s returned to me. Like lasagne after months of onigiri and yakitori.

At first all I want is to play, but then the play turns earnest, our breaths mist hotly, our grasp is needier, our hips move without thought. My skin flushes, your hands are embers and soon the closeness of the duvet is repressive. We burst from the bedding like budding shoots from snow.

The heat of our bodies as we fuck grows until the room seems temperate, clement even. I wrap about you, new vines curling, grasping, as you thrust warmth and life into my once-chilled skin.

We are gasping, we are groaning, we are creaking and panting and running riot.

We are spring.

So the next time we venture out into the winter cold again, in our solitary confinement made of hats and gloves and clumsy layers, at least I’ll be able to think of uncovering the long-lost territory of your skin again and of fucking life and warmth back into our bones… ♦

As We Mean to Go On

♦ Recently I joined in Sinful Sunday with a picture of me at New Year’s Eve: breasts fully on display and my neck firmly wrapped in a lovely collar. Go ahead, click that link, then you’ll be able to see what I’m talking about. I called it a tease. I promised to tell you the full story soon. This is that.

We’d gone to a party, our whole house. It’s a tradition. Our friends nearby, ex-members of my geeky society, have been hosting a New Year’s party since I first came to Cardiff. It’s great. OK, it’s a little awkward since me and Fractal split up and he and the friends he managed to poison still go, but he’s fairly easy to avoid and frankly these days I don’t pay him and his unplesantness much notice. It’s just great to be around people we don’t see too often, fellow geeks, friends. That said, I’d been up early that morning and was tired. So tired that not long after midnight I was nearly asleep on my chair and feeling a little grumpy.

Maybe I was a tad jealous of the snogging pair nearby who’d just hooked up and still got to feel the thrill of the chase? Maybe I was feeling a bit of post-midnight blues? Maybe I was just dog-tired and pretty drunk? Either way, I’d had enough partying for one night and me and Crush decided to call it a year.

I thought I marred the start of the year a little with that slight bit of sulk, but luckily Crush soon put things right.

As I told you in my earlier teasing post, I’d asked Crush to put a collar on me for the party. Nothing too out-there, nothing too obviously kinky. The collar I chose is slim, pretty comfy and probably passes fairly well as a choker to those who don’t know any better. I like it, though. It was one of our few purchases at Erotica 2011 and it’s very pretty. And frankly, any collar put on me by Crush makes me feel submissive. So he collared me and I wore it happily all party.

When we got home in the wee hours, we went straight upstairs with the intention of bed. I took my clothes off, but, always one to tease and provoke where possible, left my collar on. It looked sexier, I knew, to be naked in just my collar. To be naked except for what he had put on me. And besides, I couldn’t take it off myself. He had put it there and if I took it off myself it just wouldn’t mean anything. If I could take it off myself, I could’ve done so at any time.

It was there because he had marked me with it and I was his to un-mark.

I got into bed and pulled the covers up coyly as I looked at Crush. He got up and went over to get the light.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I hinted.
“No,” he replied.
“Are you sure?”
“Aren’t you going to take this off?” I said, pointing at the collar still around my neck.
“No. You’ll have to keep it on all night.”
“Really?” I said, surprised.
“If you’re a good girl I’ll take it off you in the morning,” Crush said, turning off the main light and walking back to the bed by the light of our Triceratops lamp.

My mind might have actually boggled. It was just so unexpected! I had to check he meant it and asked several times if he did. He did. I was overwhelmed. It might sound silly, but we’d never done anything like this before and, whilst he knows I like him to collar me, he had no real idea this’d be something I’d enjoy. Heck, I had no idea either. It had never occurred to me. I loved it, instantly. It was submissive. It was sexy. Fuck, it was romantic.

Just the fact that it was something he’d decided by himself, that he’d thought I would find sexy, that he’d spontaneously decided to give me to for me to enjoy, was wonderful. He gave me this. And he’d thought of it all by himself.

It sounds a little patronising, maybe, but I know I’m the kinkier of the pair of us and the more adventurous too. Crush isn’t boring by any measure, this alone shows that, but he isn’t as into kink as I am. It’s hard to explain properly, but I’m sure you’ll get what I mean. The fact that he’d thought to engage with my kinks without any hinting or nudging from me, the fact that he’d done something he thought I’d love because he thought I’d love it and nothing more (except maybe vicarious arousal and the fact I look damn hot in a collar), was just incredibly lovely. As I say, romantic. Honestly, he nearly had me in tears.

We kissed passionately and before long Crush had worked his kisses down to my nipples. He sucked and licked and made me wriggle under his mouth before swinging his legs over my chest and straddling me.  He was high up on my chest and pressing his erection to my lips. I love this so much. I love him dangling his erection over my face and rubbing his cock and balls around my mouth, letting me lick and kiss and suck wherever I can hurriedly find opportunity. I’m a gamer, so I’m used to hearing the word “teabagging” negatively, but despite that word only really referring to the balls, it’s what I think of when he does this to me and I can’t help but see it in a positive way. It’s not a blowjob, for he doesn’t get a lot of focused lick and suck, it’s just him rubbing himself over my mouth and face and me loving every second of it.

I chase his cock like a cat after string and frantically kiss and lick at him as he rubs himself on me. Teabagging. It’s not an elegant word, but it works for me. What else should I call it?

What he called me, though, was more interesting. “You’re being a very good slave”, he said to me and, though I’d have preferred ‘slut’ in this case, I loved that too.

“What do you want?” Crush asked me, knowing I wanted to be fucked.
“You.” I said, rather too coyly given my position.
“More specifically,” He prompted, enjoying making me say it.
“I want you inside me.”

Crush moved down my body, but didn’t quite stop the teasing. Instead of my face, he now rubbed his erection over my shaved pussy lips, driving me wild with frustrated desire. He asked me, then, to beg him to be inside me. I did so, calling him Sir.

“No,” Crush said with a glint, “call me Master”.

I did, begging again for him to fuck me and he grinned. He pulled my legs up to get a better angle at my pussy and pressed his cock against my opening. Just then I remembered the amount of alcohol we’d both had and realised I’d probably need a little extra help to manage his girth inside me. I reached for my beside cabinet and grabbed the lube there, passing it to Crush who doused first his cock, then my sex with it. He pressed at my opening again and I felt myself open up to him, felt his cock split me and his hardness begin to penetrate me.

I groaned as he eased himself inside and thought about calling out for mercy as he made his first few strokes. They were eager and his size was too much for that eagerness at that moment. But I thought better of it. I was his slave, he was my Master. If it hurt a little for me, so much the better. I wouldn’t dull his pleasure with my few little aches and moans.

It wasn’t long before I adjusted to the strength and penetration of his thrusts and all they were to me was pleasure. Pleasure and love. He fucked me hard and fast and unrelentingly, pinning me down by the neck using his forearm, leaning onto my throat as he pounded me. He called me slave. He told me I was good. He pinned me by the neck and fucked my pussy as if he would bloody well show me what the new year had in store for me. And I hope it does, oh, I hope it does.

Soon we were spent and his juices were seeping out of my pussy, mingled with my own and with lube. I wore the collar still. I gasped for a proper breath after his arm and my climax had taken mine from me. When we finally went to sleep, I still wore the collar. I’d been good, but I had to be good until morning before he’d take it from me. We slept the cosy sleep of the drunk and the fucked.

It was a good start to the year. ♦

New Year’s Tease

♦ Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have already heard a little of how my New Year’s Eve ended up. Collars, nipple-sucking and rough fucking, that’s the way to bring the New Year in! It wasn’t a bad first few hours of 2012, I’ll give it that, and you’ll hopefully soon get to hear all about it properly as I hope to write it up for a blog post. Until then, here’s a little New Year’s tease for you:

Once again I have to apologise for the crappy phone-camera quality, I know I do this a bit too often, but I didn’t want to take my new, massive, fancy camera to a house party where half the people are, and I quote, “so drunk I can’t spell my own face”.

But anyway, this is me at the New Year’s Eve party I went to, taking a quick break in the bathroom to remove the absolute masses of chocolate orange cheesecake crumbs that had made their way into my corset-top. Seriously, that cake was crumbly and my cleavage was asking for trouble. Tasty though. Perhaps next time I can get someone to lick off the crumbs for me? ;)

And what’s that at the top of the picture? That’s the little rubber collar (the gem thing is blue in decent lighting) Crush put on me that he made me wear all night as I slept. That he would only take off if I was good. That I wore while we fucked in the dawn of 2012. But that’s another story… ♦

It’s the first Sinful Sunday of 2012! Click the picture below to see more sinful stuff from the sexiest start to a new year yet!

Sinful Sunday

Festive Your Eyes Again

♦ Well, last year I gave you some festive saucy pictures, but the very next day you…. no, wait, that’s a terrible reference. In any case, this year, to save you from…wait, I mean this year here are some more. Phew. Just about got through that without incident :P

I’m going to be enjoying myself at a Christmas burlesque this year before spending the period with friends and family. Should be great.

In any case, hope they warm you up on a cold winter night. A very merry Christmas to you all and I hope you have a great New year too! ♦


♦ Yes, it is just a little late to welcome in the first month of 2009, I know. But I just found some pretty cool pictures online of some old erotic calendars and so I’ve decided I’m going to be putting up a picture of that month at the beginning of each month.

I’ll be alternating between at least two calendars largely because they had some odd ideas at times in those days. No separation of fetishes it seems. Most of the pictures are fine but then slipped in there somewhere I’ve so far found pissing, poop, farting out a lit candle and wanking off a bull. Yes. No, I don’t know either.

Anyway, I can promise only the pretty safe ones from me. Here’s our first month:


Luckily, for those of you who don’t speak French, I do, so I’ll have a bash at a translation. It’s old stuff mind, and lyrics, so don’t be surprised if I slip up somewhere! Also I can’t make it rhyme, I refuse to try. :P

The Sleigh

Tune: ‘Des folies d’Espagne’

For two lovers favoured by Love

All places and all times are good

Their active senses that Love’s flame electrifies

Know how to brave winter and its icicles

This also seems a fairly decent time to mention some of the antics of New Year’s Eve. We went to a house party, and somehow I seem to have acquired (through no fault of my own I assure you!) a reputation among our friends as a bit of a party troublemaker, in a good way. Known for causing or inspiring cheekiness, flirting and general horseplay.

I’m pretty open about the bisexuality and my sex-friendly kinkitude. Perhaps this is why I tend to get a certain amount of… attention at times. I mean, I’m not a bad looker, but that can’t really account for all of it, so I figure it’s part of that aura that sexually liberal people can give off.

In previous parties just about everyone in the room has ended up feeling my breasts at one point, my cleavage has been written on in marker and one friend of ours cheekily lifted me up and put his hand up my skirt. I of course don’t mind, and in fact secretly enjoy, such fun. Perhaps that’s why it persists :)

Anyway, as this New Year’s party got drunker and inhibitions lowered I ended up with two different guys on my lap at some point and then I sat on the lap of a guy I have a pretty big crush on (Fractal knows, by the way and tells me to go for it ;)). For simplicity’s sake I’ll call him Crush.

Me and Crush have a fairly school playground approach to flirting and banter, the typical antagonism and one-up-manship. It’s great fun. I guess you could say we flirt quite often but since he does that with most girls I never really thought much of it.

Until (and I don’t quite remember exact details, thanks to drink) he ended up teasing me and I guess he must have been daring me because he suddenly, and I swear this is true, asked me if I wanted to fuck him.

Thanks to the schoolyard antagonism I immediately, without thinking, answered: “No”. Just an automatic contrary response, banter. Then I realised what I’d said and how much of a lie it was.

“I don’t know why I just said that.” I followed.

Maybe a minute later he lowered the stakes to ask if I wanted to ‘snog’.

“If you like”, I said, still unwilling to exactly show my cards.

Seeing neither of us was going to take the first step I then said “go on then”.

And he did. Tongues and all! It wasn’t exactly perfect, a bit clumsy and teeth-bashy, but we were both drunk and it was in a room full of people (including Fractal) so it’s no wonder. It was still totally hot. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.

It’s only been mentioned since in sort of coy banter kind of way, not directly. Though he did joke that all I’d have to do seduce him was try hard. I just wish I had any clue how to seduce! Any advice for me, dear readers?

Anyway, that done and dusted someone suggested strip poker and several of us agreed, including me. Luckily before it got too far the hosts got too sleepy and kicked us out. Which was handy since I was losing and was sat in a room full of guys in my jeans and my bra. And I used to be such a nice girl, I swear!

The guy next to me thought I was single and asked me to stay the night but, although Fractal would almost certainly have been fine with it, he wasn’t really my type and I didn’t feel right about it.

Then we all left!

What a goddamn crazy night! Crazier than normal! Two guys hitting on me, Crush probably doing so too, a kiss and strip poker! It was a great night actually, and not just because I felt like some kind of sex idol, Fractal and I both had really great fun catching up and chatting with everyone.

And now the situation with Crush is certainly… interesting… ♦

Spoon Fashion

Sleep Together

I mentioned a little while ago, before Christmas, that I’d taken a little tumble in a bit of a dispute with the edge of a paving slab. In what I can only assume is a related bit of rib fun I’ve been suffering for about a week with absolutely hideous back/waist/flank pain on one side. Worse than the original injury by far, in fact. So painful that the doctor summoned me up some delicious, delicious opiates to ease things a little. Even with these, things have been…ouchy.

Coupled with this old-womanyness is the fact that both Fractal and I spent Christmas at my dad’s house in the room next to my bat-eared, insomniac sister. Given all this we’d basically resigned ourselves to building up the tension until we returned to our own flat, where, back-joy allowing, we’d have an immense fuck-a-thon.

Would it surprise you to learn that in the end we entirely failed to wait that long?

So close, as well! So very close! But our failure was wonderful fun.

It was the night before returning-back-to-Cardiffmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring except for Fractal and I. And even we were on our way to bed. Sleepy.

But we forgot a vitally important danger, the danger of…..spooning! Oh spooning, the insidious seducer, the spark that ignites snoozing lusts, the cosy but erotic arrangement of skin on skin, bodies pressed close, thigh against thigh, arms wrapped around breasts, cock snuggled into buttocks.

It wasn’t long before Fractal’s penis sprang unbidden into erection and before I really knew it I was rubbing my ass against him, small circles, presses, wriggling slightly in his grasp. I bent at the waist slightly and we were both suddenly engaged in the struggle to find an angle where he could slide his cock inside me.

After much fidgeting we had found it and he thrust his cock in up to the hilt. It felt glorious. In my opinion there is nothing in the world like the first anticipated full-length slide of sex into sex. Being filled up, opened up, made to gasp.

My bed at home is creaky and so we had to be careful, but luckily our movements didn’t make a sound except our somewhat heavy breathing and my occasional minuscule murmurs of pleasure. It had been quite a gap and I’ve no shame in saying that I was pretty desperate for a good fucking, so we both moved with a sort of repressed franticness, feeling every milimetre of movement magnified.

Fractal fucked me deeply and pinched my left nipple between his fingers. When he thought, rightly, that I was about to come he stopped and swiftly withdrew. I murmured again, this time in disappointment, but turned to him and began kissing him, grateful for the wonderful sex and just amazed by how much I love him.

After kisses and such we turned back to getting to sleep.

It didn’t last long.

As he pressed up against me, spoon fashion as Fanny Hill heard it called, his still-erect cock slipped effortlessly and unintentionally back into my slick sex. Immediately we were at it again, moving slowly but surely back and forth. Deep, long thrusts. His cock felt like something else inside me, thick, hard, perfect.

“Pinch my nipple.” I whispered.

He did so.

“Harder, please”

He did that too. Then his hand started sliding down my side, aiming for between my legs. I opened them wide, allowing his hand access. He began to rub my clitoris firmly. I groaned quietly and took over his previous task of nipple-pinching.

It was all heaven, it seemed like we were both lost in some delirious little pocket plane where all we could sense was the movement of our bodies and the feelings it created. I was getting to close to the edge, very close, and I knew we were supposed to be saving that for the next day, so I told Fractal to be careful.

Breathily he replied “It’s too late for me at least.”

No turning back now, he was going to come. And it was sexy to hear it, not just because I like him coming but also the fact that he couldn’t control it any longer, he was helpless, he was going to come whether he wanted to or not. The tone helped too, ragged, needy, a little sheepish perhaps.

He came inside me and tipped me over the edge as he did so. Waves of pleasure hit the both of us and when done he collapsed back, now half beneath me. But the whole session had been immensely hot and I was still full of pent-up sex-energy. I started touching myself.

I rubbed my clitoris, fingers wet with our mixed juices, ass pressed into his still-hard cock, both also damp and hot. It was so sexy to be masturbating after sex like that, covered in dirty, lovely come and sweat, hearing him breathing heavily next to me, lights off, dark and quiet and tense. I came hard, then a second smaller orgasm attaching to the tail end of the first.

I too collapsed, turned lazily and began to cover Fractal’s face in kisses. We beamed at each other. It had been a good way to fail to wait.  ♦

Festive Your Eyes

♦ Well, a very merry Christmas to all of you, particularly those of you who take the time to come and comment on this little slice of salacious webitude. I hope you’re all feeling suitably bloated and blubbery after gorging yourselves silly (I know I am), but look on the bright side: think of all the hot, sweaty sex you’re going to have to indulge in to work it all off :)

I’ve been enjoying myself back in my dear home country of Cornwall but there is a large part of me looking forward to going back to my own place so I can fuck Fractal silly. Luckily a side-effect of my aforementioned sudden rendezvous with a cold pavement has meant I’ve been in mildly searing back pain for the last couple of days and couldn’t have been engaging in any bed-based acrobatics anyway, so I don’t feel the loss too badly.

Still, I’m mostly recovered now and have been slowly working myself into a tense frenzy, ready to pounce on Fractal as soon as possible. Yum.

So, to ramp up the seasonal tension all round, here’s a few Chrismassy pictures from my dark and sweaty harem of enslaved pixels, I’m letting out of their bondage on my hard drive just for you… ♦

Holiday Kiss

Bad Santa


Candy Cane

Christmas Fetish


Google Me, Sugar…

♦ A short break from kink here as I pack to return to the Land of Someone Else’s Fathers to be with dear Fractal properly. Actually properly. We’re staying with his family until we find gainful employment and a roof of our own, but I’ll be with him and that’s what counts.

So, I figured I’d follow in the footsteps of bloggers such as Tom and use good old Google to do my blog-writing for me for a change.

I’ve had some odd hits on this blog since just a few months after it started when I finally realised you could get blog stats. Here are the ones, in no particular order, that I found most bizarrely noteworthy…

♦ santa cock – This is just so very wrong.

♦ janeway “legs apart” – I don’t believe I’ve ever even mentioned Janeway, largely because I think she’s a grumpy cow. Picard for the win.

♦ baby harlot – Again, very wrong.

♦ santa crap – What is it with this Santa obsession, I’ve only mentioned him once!

♦ find a arse – Perhaps with both hands?

♦ bdsm dress up jesus – BDSM Jesus? Really? Well, I guess the whole cross thing does make him sort of appropriate. Still I can’t see what the fun in dressing up as him for kink would be.

♦ bad hospital – I’m guessing whoever searched for this was rather shocked to find this little blog…

♦ “elegant dress” “her anus” – Odd combination

♦ “swallowing is fun” – If you liked this you might enjoy other titles such as “See Spot Suck Cock”, “Five Go Dogging”, “Why Does Mummy Have a Plastic Penis and Why Does Daddy Like It?” and any of the Captain Pugwash books.

♦ arse shaving – Ooookay…..

♦ tease garters stockings or jeans or bump – Or bump? Jeans *or* bump?

♦ my black nipples – Well I don’t think you’ll find *yours*, love.

♦ holding up a picture – Another Googler undoubtedly shocked at stumbling on this place.

♦ punishment for using my underwear – I’ve personally never been punished for using my own underwear, but maybe that’s just me.

♦ labia tricks – Tricks?

♦ bint – Huzzah! A cookie and an Internets to this Googler for using such a marvellous word!

I dread to think what I’ll find next, though I’m fairly certain it will probably involve Santa in some hideous way… ♦