comedy – Page 3 – Smut’n’Chuckle

Clara the firecracker

Clara always loved Bonfire Night. As a child she and her friends had enjoyed collecting old clothes and stuffing a good guy for the night. As she grew up, she still looked forward to it, and was generally quite successful.
During the days leading up to 5th, she also looked forward to the fireworks themselves, and so was delighted to learn of a new shop which had recently opened.

Its windows were full of promise: stacks of colourful boxes and posters showing wonderful displays of explosions and colour. Clara loved a good banger so she pushed the door open and went inside

The guy behind the counter did not look at all like the ones from Clara’s youth: his outfit was much smarter for a start, he was far bigger, and he head did not loll to one side. On the other hand he filled his clothes very well – as if he had been stuffed into them. Clara gave him a little smile and then walked around looking at the displays. Although early November it was still mild, and she was wearing a tight fitting jumper which gave the impression that every thread was struggling to contain parts of Clara. In some areas, threads had almost given up, feeling that the struggle against her heaving bouncifuls was just too unequal. It was a mesmerising battle to watch, and the man, Tarquin, was duly mesmerised.
After a few moments Clara caught his gaze. She wasn’t really sure what to do with it, and tucked it into her jumper where it was blissfully happy.
She couldn’t help noticing that his stuffing seemed to be getting a little uneven in places. Especially around the trousery area. This was careless, she thought. With guys, filling the trousers had always been her particular speciality, and she knew a well-filled trouser when she saw it.

She leaned forward over the counter, which seemed to relish the experience. In truth her bangers could compete with those sold in the shop. This provoked further modifications to the stuffing.
“Hello…”
He smiled, and the shop lighting glinted off his neat white teeth, sending beams of light across the room… Someone had done a good job filling his shirt with musculoid stuffage.
“Can I help you?” he asked
She nodded. Her mouth was a little dry. All the moisture seemed to have gone elsewhere.
“I’m looking for some fireworks” she managed to say
He smiled again, causing her to squint momentarily.
“You’ve come to the right place. We have the biggest and best selection for miles around”
Clara looked impressed
“Are they for a private party or a public display?”
“A private party” she murmured, “but I like them BIG, so I’d like to see your most impressive ones”
“I see. Well I am sure we can impress even a girl like you” he replied
He turned to walk to the back of the shop, adding “will you come this way?”
Clara looked hesitant: “I can’t say for sure at this stage, but you never know”

They walked into the less well lit area at the back of the shop. Here the man could smile broadly without Clara having to screw up her eyes. He proudly showed her what he’d got.
“Now this one is based on the old Roman Candle, but of course much bigger. Do you like Roman Candles?”
Clara wasn’t sure: he said that her memory of them was that they took a while to get going and when they did, there was just an instant cascade which was then all over just when you were starting to enjoy it.
The man assured her that his were much better, but added that perhaps she should look at something else. He asked her if she wanted big bangs, and Clara’s eyes lit up. This could have been dangerous, but luckily there was nothing flammable in the immediate vicinity. So he was just left gazing into her eyes, wide with excitement and anticipation.
“Oh I DO!” she exclaimed. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? First you light the fire, and everyone get’s nicely warmed up. Then we start the fireworks, small ones at first, and then we have a MASSIVE bang to finish, and we all have parkin”

The man commented quietly, almost to himself, that often he had a massive bang when he went parkin…he wasn’t sure if Clara would like that.
“So you like to have a big fire do you?” he asked.
“Yes, I do! At the end of the evening it’s nice to be able to sit on a big log and keep warm”
“What about sparklers? Do you like to hold a sparkler?”
Clara replied that she loved it; indeed it was something she had always enjoyed, but her mother had warned her off and said it was risky.

He assured her there was no danger with his. Clara was impressed when she saw the size of his sparkler: how many times had she picked one up and it had fizzled out before she could do anything with it? No, these were big, with a lot of staying power. Just what she liked.

The man was spellbound by Clara: such a firecracker! His fuse was lit. As for Clara, she had never been offered so many tempting explosions at once. She let him persuade her about his Roman Candle: He promised it would impress – big enough to excite anyone’s interest – and it did! The sparks really began to fly! She followed this with a Triple Air Banger, and when the rocket went up she was ecstatic: She fizzed like never before! And afterwards they snuggled near the embers and she licked his toffee apple.

Tarquin was the best guy she had ever made

Philomena’s pumpkins

Philomena had been living in her little terraced house for several months: it was time she had a housewarming party. As the nights were drawing in (in what? Philomena had no sketchbooks) she decided a hallowe’en party would be good.
She was a very creative young woman, and inspired both creativity and procreativity in those she met. (Especially the men) So as the day approached, she had cut and glued, baked and decorated until all was ready.
Her buns were beauties, and generously topped with cherries. To welcome her guests, she had opened her curtains and put her magnificent pumpkins on display. They glowed invitingly in the windows and the porch

The guests had all promised to take up the fancy dress theme with great gusto: the first, however, arrived dressed almost completely normally, with just a model of a mousetrap dangling out of the front of his jeans. Philomena was baffled. “What have you come as?” she asked,
He leaned forward, perilously close to her hot pumpkins
“Hampton Court”
Philomena showed him the way in, her laughter tinkling like the Manneken Pis.
“We’re doing cocktails in here” she said, showing him into her kitchen
He smiled. “I’ll have a think.” he said “But perhaps later you can tell me some?” he winked, and the mousetrap wiggled…
She was busy then, answering the door to groups of guests, wearing fangs, capes, bandages, fake blood and many other creative disguises.
In no time at all it seemed that the place was full, the music was pounding and people began to feel hot in their rubber masks and elaborate costumes.

Time for some games, she thought. Having always tried to introduce some variety to her themes, she had replaced the usual apple bobbing with the somewhat gentler plum bobbing. Latin scholars were amused by this and many intellectual jokes were cracked on the theme of Plumb Bob, but Philomena explained that she had always found it terribly difficult with apple bobbing: getting a grip on the hard, moving fruit was tricky, whereas getting her lips round soft plums was far more appealing. So they dunked their heads down in turn, being oh-so-gentle with the plums to avoid damaging them, and all agreed it was a much better way to play the game.

They played Hunt the Spider too: though this was less successful as Philomena’s girlfriends were all meticulously groomed. Still, it turned out to be a very popular game, nonetheless.

The cocktails were popular: every seemed to have one, and the giggling coming from the kitchen suggested that many were very entertaining.

It was time for Philomena to get her buns out. They were received with gasps of admiration. A handsome man dressed as a wizard came up to compliment her on them. He leaned close and whispered in her eerie: “They are magnificent!”
Philomena smiled, and as she did so, felt a nudge from his broomstick
“Trick or treat?” he asked
Philomena turned and looked at him: he was tall – or was it just his hat? It was certainly very big, and she had always felt that was a good sign. On impulse she flicked his brim – gently, so as not to alarm him. He laughed, and complimented her on her costume. She was dressed as a witch, in a most becoming black gown which clung to her buns, baps and other baked goods in a way which made him very hungry.

“A witch and a wizard!What a pair!” he exclaimed, his eyes fixed on her bewitching chesticles “Maybe I should take you away from all this…” Philomena opened her stunningly beautiful eyes wide (she rarely did this, feeling as she did, quite guilty about the people she stunned) and teased him; “On your broomstick?”
There was a slightly awkward pause…then the man conceded “Ah. You noticed. Sorry, it was just when you got your buns out then…” his voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Philomena, with one of her delicious melon-eating smiles “Don’t apologise! I am very flattered that you liked then so much”
He relaxed, and then, feeling more confident, whispered in her ear “Would you like me to dust your cobwebs?”
Philomena nodded. Her mouth was dry. No matter; soon she would have a cocktail of her own
They left the other guests to their plums and cocktails, and crept upstairs.
It was her first experience of straddling a broomstick, and she found she had no fear of flying. Together they made magic: there were sparks, and spells, and eventually all her cobwebs were blown away….

Thaddeus finds something All Gold

It was a crisp autumn morning – cheese and onion – when Thaddeus took a detour on his way home from work. There were workmen digging up the footpath, and whilst Thaddeus liked a good trench as much as the next person (if the next person was also keen on trenches) but the workmen’s enthusiasm for their work made the place impassable.
And so he passed a shop he had never really noticed before, called Sweet Nibbles. It was an “Olde Worlde” sweet shop, with jars in the window, and a tipped basket spilling a cornucopia of goodies onto a check cloth.
The door even had a little brass bell on a spring which make a Beatrix Potter-esque tinkle as he entered, which made him smile.
behind the counter stood a young woman with all the womanly attributes which can be attributed whilst standing behind a counter fully dressed. She wore a striped apron, the strings of which were wrapped and tied at the front, emphasising her waist, and struggling around her bazooples.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice dragging his gaze higher for the first time. It was a soft, sweet, rich voice, like the sort of sticky toffee pudding which is served in expensive restaurants. And the view at the higher level was very good too, though less squashy.

“I haven’t been in here before” he replied, looking around for a moment
“I know” She said quietly, “but we can change that.”
“Er…yes….well…” he hesitated
“What kind of sweets do you like?” she asked but he was looking around a little nonplussed (maths had never been his strong point) so she continued
“Do you like hard or soft sweets?”
“Errr…”
“Hard or soft?” she asked again, gently, and with emphasis
“Do you like something to…chew, or do you prefer something to…suck?”

He turned and looked straight at her, seeing clearly for the first time (a localised bank of fog having just cleared)and taking in her full, sour-cherry lips, her liquorice-black hair, and her eyes which were as dark as violet creams.

“I’m a sucker, really” he said with a chuckle
“I thought so” she said, bustling round the end of the counter and heading in the direction of the jars of hard sweets like a small ship in full sail.
Thaddeus could not help but notice the effect of the tightly wrapped apron on the back view as well: it was like watching two fudge footballs wrestling, and he decided there and then that he would also like to try some soft sweets.

She reached down a jar, twisted the lid and offered the contents to him.
“I always like a good gobstopper”
He shook his head. Audrey put the lid back and replaced the jar. “Just have a look around and tell me if you see anything which takes your fancy”
She stood back a little, the light through the window shining on her hair, curled like pontefract cakes, and gleaming on her tasty expanse of marshmammaries.

“When I was a kid I used to love flying saucers, and jelly beans”
“Aaah” she replied, “But you’re older now. Perhaps you are ready to move on to something more…. sophisticated?”

“yes” he agreed, but hesitantly. “I’m still partial to Curly Wurlies”
“You’re not alone!” exclaimed Audrey. “Young lads never grow out of that, despite the current popularity of brazilian nuts”
He laughed and agreed “You never forget your first experience with a curly wurly”

“You’re quite a traditionalist in many ways aren’t you?” Audrey asked “What about milk bottles? – Mind you, they’re more chewy, and you said you preferred something to suck on”
“Oh no, I love milk bottles!” Thaddeus declared, having been thinking of little else for the last few minutes “Though I always suck on them too!”

“Mint balls perhaps?” Audrey suggested. Thaddeus smiled proudly and assured her they were in tip top condition.
“I haven’t had a dip-dab in ages” Audrey was shocked by this, and promised to put things right.
“Do you want dip-dab, or a fountain?” she asked; she could offer both
And as she turned towards him their eyes met, introduced themselves, and agreed to coffee later. Her fulminating jubblies heaved in anticipation, causing Thaddeus to gaze down at their marshmallowyness. It was no good; hard it had to be.

But a mixed bag is always better – something for everyone. Thaddeus always went on the hard side when choosing something sweet, and he knew he wanted to get in her snickers. Audrey just had time to flick the notice on the door from OPEN to CLOSED before they settled down to try all the goodies in the Jamboree bag…

Gloria goes in search of a good hardback

Gloria was a great book lover, always hungry for a new experience between the sheets of a publication. Having filled her small apartment to the brim she decided that perhaps she should stop BUYING books and try the local library instead.
It was in a beautiful building, but she went with a certain ambivalence, remembering the smell of polished cork tiles and foisty paper, the shushing, and the unwelcoming stare of the librarian from her childhood. Libraries, Gloria thought, needed a makeover.
She went through the doors feeling somewhat defensive, a feeling which only he as she approached The Desk.
The woman behind The Desk lived up to her expectations entirely, being dressed in something thicker and tweedier than a highland landowner, and having lips so pursed she could keep her savings in them.
“Can I help you?” She asked in a sort of reverse stage whisper, – it sounded like normal speech but was inaudible from further than two feet.
Gloria hesitated.
“I’ve not been here before” she began, unnecessarily. She looked around urgently. The woman remained pursed, though still, amazingly, able to speak. She packed an astonishing amount of disapproval into her tightly bound frame.
“You can read though I take it?” The woman gave a tight half-smile, eked out so as to make it spread as thin as possible. This was as close as she approached to a joke.
Gloria simply nodded, uncomfortably, and stared down at The Desk.
“What sort of thing do you enjoy reading?” She asked, more gently.
“Do you like, say, history, or travel?”
Gloria felt too awkward to reply at first, and as she was considering her response, the woman said tautly “I have to go now. Please tell my assistant what you want” and silently dematerialised before the oblivious Gloria.

Gloria in the meantime had been considering her thoughts on books, and so began, initially to thin air, to answer the original question.
“I quite like mysteries, whodunits, that sort of thing. A bit of a puzzle. But I do like it to be hard. If it’s not hard it’s just not interesting or fun. And thrillers. I like something which will thrill me”
“What about length?”
Gloria, having just got into her mental stride about books did not at first notice the change of voice. She was still staring at The Desk, but lost in her thoughts. The deeper tenor of the respondent went unnoticed…
“I prefer quite long. I like something I can really get into. Plus I like the feel of a real thick one. One which has got a bit of weight about it”
“Interesting….I’m sure I have something which will keep you happy”
Suddenly Gloria noticed the change of voice, and looked up. Her eyes beheld (which is what eyes do, of course) a burly man. With curly hair. So curly burly, and attractive enough to put Gloria into a whirl. He was whirly curly burly, and that is enough to moisten up any woman

“Come with me” he said, with a discreet little librarianoid wave. Gloria followed him, her manumpcious breasts heaving with anticipation at the thought of a thick tome being selected for her personal pleasure.
He led her down a narrow aisle at the far end of the library, where the lighting was in one sense a little inadequate, but in another sense, perfect.

“I think we can find something for you here” he whispered, leaning closer to her than even a librarian needs, so that his lips brushed her ear. This made Gloria giggle, so he put the brush down and just nuzzled instead.
This sent such a thrill up and down her that she struggled to keep quiet.

“I am sure I can tell exactly what you will enjoy in a good book” he murmured.
“Go on…” Gloria replied
“I think you something which begins with a little surprise to get you interested, then builds slowly. Something where the tensions rise and rise, and keep you on the edge for a long time, before a really big, dramatic climax”
“You’re SO right!” Cried Gloria, melting against him
He ran his fingers down her spine.
“Are you interested in bindings?”
Gloria suppressed a chuckle “I’ve never tried! But tell me what YOU like in a book. Do you like something where the tension rises slowly…our do you prefer one which sucks you in straightaway…?”
“I like all kinds…as long as they’re not too foxed….”
He gathered her into his arms (she was blowing around a bit) and with a free hand, reached for a pencil and drew her close.
“I want to riffle your pages and kiss your watermarks”
He gazed into her lovely eyes, dark and Dewey. She stroked his hardback.
Gloria felt his soft hands gently open her covers and stroke her watermarks. As his fingers flipped through her chapters, Gloria could feel the tension rising….
“Would you like a mystery or a thriller?”
“Can I have both? But I warn you, when it comes to mysteries, I like them HARD”
“Ssssh” he whispered urgently to her “You’re making too much noise”
“I’m sorry….I’m a bit loud. I have been known to gasp at the crucial moment”

And the librarian moved on through the chapters, creating mystery and atmosphere, raising the tension, until the moment when all was revealed; Gloria discovered whodunit, and it was HIM. She made a LOT of noise, and if it hadn’t been the librarians fault, he would probably have thrown her out.
As it was, they both stayed to enjoy the epilogue, in which it was stated that there were more books to come…

Edwina and Hanky Panky

Edwina’s little treat, on her way home from work, was once a week to divert from her normal route for a little Hanky Panky. This was a pancake stall up a small alleyway, and the delicious smell of it wafted out onto the main street…a teasing mixture of honey, cinnamon, vanilla and all good things. She allowed herself once a week to be drawn round the corner into the alleyway by the smell which was even more irresistible in the confined space. So it was with the quickened pulse of expectation that she made that turn one evening, and walked in a daze of anticipation towards the stall.
In front of it, she looked up, expecting the usual woman to be serving. The woman knew Edwina’s favourite order…. But it was not her. It was a man, dark haired and brown eyed, with lips as full and kissable as a warm, moist pancake. Edwina had never imagined that ANYTHING could rival the pancake moment, but just then she was willing to risk it.
“Hello” he said, smiling. “Can I tempt you with anything?”
Edwina had instantaneously forgotten her usual pancake order: she wanted to be tempted with something else entirely. Her mouth was dry, her tongue, which would normally be slipping back and forth across her anticipating lips, seemed huge and unwieldy. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded, unaware that her tongue was, of its own volition, slipping back and forth across her lips. The man serving had noticed though.

He helped the situation along by continuing “we can do lemon, with honey or sugar, cinnamon, chocolate spread, caramelised banana…” His voice trailed off, as his attention was becoming focussed more and more on Edwina’s lips.
“How do you like them? Large, small? Thick or thin? I can do everything”
Edwina did not doubt this.
“I like large. And thick please”
He smiled and turned around to make the pancakes. Edwina’s gaze slithered over him as he turned, taking in the tightness of his T-shirt and the muscles of his arms as he deftly, with the flamboyance of a mixologist, poured batter from a huge jug onto the hotplate. It poured in a thick stream, until it made a big circle. The last few drops lay like a pearl necklace across the lip of the hotplate. Then he turned back to Edwina.
“Which would you like?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure…everything!”
He laughed. “That’s a BIG order!”
She pulled herself together abruptly. “No. Not on the pancakes. But I am rather hungry” she added, pressing her hand to her belly. This had the effect of lifting her fabulous breastage right into Antonio’s (for that was his name)eyeline.
“Me too…” he replied, and turned back momentarily to titivate the pancake. Edwina admired his delicate touch, working gently round the edges first, tickling, lifting, stroking with the edge with the palette knife, before giving a firm thrust underneath into the very centre to work it free. He flipped it over neatly before going to work on its other side. She was glad to see he wasn’t a tosser.

The first one was almost done now. She would have to make up her mind.
“Spread honey all over it” she said, her voice breathy with excitement
Antonio gently lifted the pancake and laid it onto a plate. He picked up a ladle from a big jar of honey and lifted it with a flick, trailing a stream of honey. The rest he poured in a loving swirl across the pancake, them smoothed it tenderly with the back of the ladle so that it covered every little part.
With the palette knife again he neatly flipped and turned the edges of the pancake into a manageable shape, and turned to show Edwina.
“I love having this done to me” she whispered “I mean, I love having it done FOR me, …I’m not a very good cook…” she trailed off, blushing a little.
Antonio smiled, and his brown eyes sparkled like dustings of cinnamon.
“Shall I do it again?”
Edwina nodded eagerly, and he reached for the batter jug. “Do you want it large and thick again?”
“Oh yes!” she answered, reaching forward so she could almost touch her pancake, and almost touch Antonio. Both were in front of her, just out of reach.
He poured out the batter for her second pancake. “What do you want on this one?”
“Give me everything!” Edwina cried, unable to contain herself any longer. Antonio looked around in surprise, and saw the gorgeous Edwina push open the half swing door at the side of the stall, and burst through, her bulptuous chest heaving with excitement. It was enough to make him drop his ladle.

He squatted down to pick it up, and found Edwina there too, her lovely face, all pink-cheeked and eyeworthy, close to his own. Her warm breath was on his cheek. On the hotplate the pancake batter solidified. There was no-one there to tickle the edges of it, to flick and thrust and flip and smear with honey, because he was down on the floor of the stall applying his many talents to the delicious customer who loved Hanky Panky

Selina at the Petting Zoo

Selina had always been an animal lover: As a child she had kept a hamster as a pet for over two years, and afterwards she had kept him as a very small shrine with a cross made of lolly sticks tied together with string. This is the destiny of every hamster, and as such is something they are taught from an early age in pet shops.
As a teenager Selina had a pussy which was her constant companion, and about which NO jokes will be made at this point. When she heard that a petting zoo had opened nearby she was thrilled. The thought of a day spent fondling furry things was as dear a prospect to her heart as it would be to a teenage boy.

She was lucky enough to visit the place on a glorious spring morning when the prospect of new lambs made her heart sing with anticipation.

At the entrance she bought a bag of nibbles to tempt creatures even shyer than herself, and got up the courage to ask the rather handsome young man who was selling them for advice on finding her way around. He pointed to a pretty pond and suggested she start her perambulations there, and added with a smile that he would be on duty in the lambing shed later if she would like to drop by. Selina blushed in that ineffably becoming way which takes years of practice, and smiled back. “I’d like that”

The pond was lovely, edged with tall reeds, and reeded with tall hedges. There were swans drifting aimlessly like feathery divas in the sunshine, and a few moorhens pattering about on lilypads. Selina was slightly confused by this as she hadn’t seen the original hens, but they were all very lovely.
The path wove in and out around the edge of the water like a Hokey Cokey, and as she rounded a turn past some tall bushes, she suddenly experienced a goose which came upon her unexpectedly. What a surprise! Selina squealed in astonishment. But she was a nature-lover by nature and open to whatever it had to offer out in the fresh air. The man apologised for any offence caused and Selina assured him that it was fine as she was a keen naturist herself. He seemed pleased to hear this.

Eventually the path led to the goat enclosure. There were a lot of different kinds of goats, but they were unified by having large floppy ears, pendulous floppy things hanging from their necks, and one of a choice of two floppy things hanging under their bellies, according to sex. Some of them were friendlier than others. Without help it is impossible to distinguish these as all goats have mean-looking slitted eyes, even the nice ones, so the farmer had penned off the ones who liked attention. Selina had spent quite a long time there, stroking the various pendulous bits of the goats to their mutual enjoyment, when she noticed a sign over the door to a small barn which read “kids in here”. Quite a lot of people were going in, many of them adults, so she supposed they were not too strict about things.
It must be interesting she thought, so she went inside and found it was full of pens in which there were baby goats. They were incredibly cute, being very bouncy and having not yet developed the dangliness of the adults.
She picked one up which seemed to have tired of bouncing for a while, and sat down with it on her lap. It lay there contentedly, enjoying the warmth of her young, firm body. After a while it had revived a little and was feeling hungry. It squirmed in her lap and nuzzled at her clothes. It being a warm day, Selina was wearing a thin dress with a button front. This was scarcely adequate to contain her volumpty bosom under normal circumstances (a fact which the Young Man who offered her his nibbles at the entrance had noted)and once a baby goat started to forage around, the dress had all but lost. Selina, engrossed with the little goat, was oblivious to any audience, and found herself rather enjoying the experience. She was flushed and giggling when the Young Man stepped forward to help her. The baby goat thought it had struck milky gold, and was nuzzling deep into Selina’s dress. He was therefore, unfortunately, obliged to follow its muzzle deep into her cleavage. He tried to be professional, but what could he do, especially as a few strained buttons undid themselves in the process?

“I’m SO sorry!” he said, his trousers belying him. “Come to the lambing shed, It’s more peaceful there”
Selina nodded, and assured him she was fine.
The Young Man had strong eyes and a twinkling jaw, and when he smiled at her, she felt flutterings in her heart and parsley patch. She tried to say that she was heavily into petting, but somehow the look in his eye made it come out all wrong.

Selina buttoned herself up with difficulty and followed him. He pushed through the small crowd which had gathered. It parted for him with the respect due to a farmer wielding a large tool and about to go work. Selina followed him.

The lambing shed was indeed more peaceful. The lambs in there with their mothers were very tiny and had not reached the bouncing stage. The Young Man led Selina past several pens to one which contained a ewe with two very young babies. Selina was enthralled
“They’re so tiny!” she exclaimed “they’re just kids!”
The Young Man corrected her. “No. We call these lambs”
“Can I hold one?” she asked and he gathered one up and placed it gently in her arms. He was so very careful for the safety of the lamb that he pressed the warm bundle securely against her heaving jubblies and held it there for some time.
She sat down on a straw bale and cuddled the tiny lamb against herself, stroking it to reassure it.
“Can I get it to do that nuzzling thing?” she asked “I liked that”
“So did I” the man replied. “I’ll see if it will” He helped the lamb into position against her soft, inviting cleavage but it just made a faint bleating sound, or possibly it was the man who did that. But the lamb just snuggled down and went to sleep. He sat down beside Selina on the straw bale, watching the lamb with envy.
“It’d be nice to be a lamb” he mused thoughtfully, and stroked the little creature as he gazed into the middle distance. After a few moments Selina cleared her throat softly.
“That’s not the lamb” she said, everso quietly. “But don’t stop”
He didn’t. It was soon necessary to put the lamb back with its mother to avoid it being crushed. The poor thing felt it had a lucky escape having narrowly avoided smothering by mammaries.
They laid back on the bales. Straw is spiky and there are a lot of pricks. She wriggled delightfully on it…
“Something’s sticking into me”
“Oh dear! That’s the straw.”
“I don’t think so” said Selina “Unless the baling machine caught a broomhandle in its works”
She insisted that it was fine though as she was keen on nature. The Young Man was similarly enthusiastic about being in fresh hair, and having worked with lambs for years, was an expert at handling teats.
Eventually he showed her his vegetable patch and let her sample his prize marrow into the bargain!

Daphne squeezes a pouch

As any woman will testify, a handbag is a deeply personal item, and one which is chosen with a great deal of care. It is like a boyfriend: it needs to be strong, generous, adaptable, have lots of staying power and plenty of pockets. Also, just like a boyfriend, size matters. It has took be said though, that although size matters, it doesn’t necessarily follow that bigger is always better. It is true that one which is scarcely bigger than your lipstick is really not going to satisfy, an utterly ENORMOUS one, whilst it might look like the answer to your dreams when you first clap eyes on it, may prove to be a mixed blessing. Plenty of women have been thrilled at first to have a huge one, only to discover after a bit of use that it is inconvenient. If not properly filled out it can easily go floppy and misshapen after a short while. Also their bulk can cause storage issues;we have all had those problems with trying to cram them into somewhere they will scarcely fit, and nobody is comfortable with that.
Daphne wanted a new one. Her old one wasn’t really big enough, and over time had gone rather saggy and she was a bit embarrassed to be seen out with it.

There was a new shop on the high street: The Baggage Emporium, and Daphne had been inspired by its window display to try her luck there.
It was full to overflowing: entering there was, to extend the metaphor, like a woman stepping into a singles bar. There were available bags everywhere – all colours, sizes and designs. She was dazzled and wandered around for a while looking, occasionally touching, very gently, once or twice even picking up. She didn’t notice the man who was standing by the counter – the only real man in the “singles bar”. Eventually he cleared his throat (it was blocking the light a bit) and she looked up suddenly and saw him. He was dark skinned, with fashionably untidy curls. He had flashing dark eyes, which is very unusual. He must have a battery somewhere.
“May I help you?” he asked sweetly, some sort of foreign accent adding to his considerable charms.
“I’m looking for a bag” she answered, pointlessly
“So I see. Well… you have come to the right place. We have plenty to choose from”
Daphne nodded. “It’s so difficult to choose. A handbag is so…personal”
The man nodded; he was aware of this issue. In fact the personal nature of dealing with women and handbags was one of the reasons he had opened the shop.
“Tell me what sort of thing you like in a handbag” he said, coming towards her and standing so close that she could smell his earthy aftershave, which she liked very much.
She found her voice a little quavery as she replied
“I’d like quite a big one -”
“Good” he said
“Roomy, without being too bulky” As she said this she glanced at the man, close beside, and noticed his toned torso…roomy, but not too bulky
“What about this one?” he asked, reaching for a large grey bag with long handles. He put it into her hands and she felt it, running her hands all over it.
“I like mine to be really soft” she said
“You do?” He seemed surprised.
“What about this one?” He indicated a smaller one with two shorter handles.
“Then feel this one”
She took it from him, enjoying the way the soft leather folded amongst her fingers.
She gave it a cautious squeeze
“You like it?” he asked. She nodded.
“You would like to feel some more?” She nodded again.
He selected a few other bags of various designs, all distinguished by being made of very soft leather. he smiled at her reactions; “You like leather, don’t you?”
“Oh yes!” she answered, eagerly. “It’s GOT to be leather. I like to feel skin against me”
“I agree! This is the best thing”
On impulse he lifted down a small bag which was an unstructured pouch shape, and dangled it over her palm. “Feel this”
“It’s much smaller than I would like” she protested, but he insisted
“Hold the sac in your hand” he said “you will find it bigger than you might expect. The whole thing sort of, grows, as you use it”
She closed her hand around it, gently.
“Give it a little squeeze. Feel it. It is the very best” She looked up at him, a strange yearning look in her eye (Just one eye)and did as he instructed.
“Mmmmmm…”
Neither of them was quite sure who had made the noise.
“Did you like it?” he asked, though it would have worked if SHE had asked HIM, too
And in both instances, the answer would have been yes.
“I have some more of these, but they are not on display. Would you like to see them?”
Daphne would like to
“Come through to the back” he said, quickly flipping the door sign from OPEN to CLOSED as he went past it.
In the relative gloom of the storeroom, a treasurehouse of glorious handbags, he looked along a number of shelves until he found a box of the little sacs in assorted colours.
“Put your hand in, see what colour you find”
Daphne pushed her hand into the box, slithering it in amongst all the soft bags, enjoying the feeling. She pulled out one which was vivid fuschia pink, and laughed at the gorgeous brilliance of it.
“It is very bright” he concurred “but I have another which is not so bright…It is very, very soft though”
Daphne turned to him, smouldering, which is embarrassing and she was glad the storeroom was gloomy.
“Does it have handles?” she asked
He thought for a moment “Yes, it has a handle”
“Good. I like to be able to get hold of it easily”
“Oh you will” he assured her
“Will everything fit in though?”
He assured her she would have no trouble with size.
“Does it have a zip?”
He told her it did, in a manner of speaking.
“Will it go over my shoulder?”
He said it was worth a try

Daphne tried out the bag, and found it was very much to her taste: being of perfectly satisfactory dimensions and indeed able to go over her shoulder, and many other places too which she had not even thought to ask about

All in all it was a good day’s shopping

Elfrida gets a spanner in the works

The vibrations were getting stronger, even making Elfrida’s knees tremble. It had been like this for a while, and she had not minded at all: in fact it made her drive to work so much pleasanter that she sometimes took a detour to prolong it. But there was no getting away from the fact that the situation was deteriorating, and she would have to take action.
At the traffic lights on the way home from work she could not resist pressing her stiletto-clad toe onto the throttle. Hard. Just to feel the shuddering increase. The effect was slightly spoiled by the huge cloud of black smoke which was now filling the her rear view mirror. Smoke up the rear was disconcerting and spoiled her enjoyment of the shudder. With some reluctance she diverted from her usual routes (several, of varying length, depending on her mood)and pulled into a garage forecourt. She brought the car to a halt in a cloud of smoke.

The mechanic, Sam, had heard the car approaching, and came out to have a look. He was watching as Elfrida opened the door and extended her long stocking-clad legs out onto the concrete of the forecourt. The mechanic was mesmerised: he had never seen anyone with extendable legs before. When she eventually got out of the car, they made her quite tall.

As she walked over to the office (she was a little ungainly on account of the leg issue) Sam, felt a pulse of interest. She was beautiful, with the sort of long blonde hair which other women are apt to sneer at, but which men will NEVER have a bad word for. Her cheeks were flushed pink, like Barbie’s toilet, and her lips were full and pouty.

“Can I help you?” Sam asked, doing the traditional mechanic thing of wiping his oily hands on an oily rag. This has no effect on the oiliness of either but is part of a mechanic’s training.
Elfrida stretched her full, pouty lips into a smile, which caused even more pulsing of interest in Sam. “My vibrations have got really bad” she confessed, shaking her pretty head, – which generated one of those special hair tosses.

“I could tell summat was going on!” said Sam
Elfrida flushed pinker than ever and looked rather awkward. “Could you really?” she smoothed her skirt and fanned herself a little with her hand. “Was it that obvious?”
“It certainly was! That was a LOT of smoke”

Sam drove the car into the workshop, and lifted the bonnet, waving away more smoke as he did so.
There was hot oil splattered everywhere. “Mind away!” he said firmly to Elfrida, who was leaning in behind him to look.
“You’re not really meant to even be here, in the workshop” he said, regretfully. She stepped closer to him, and one of her fulsome norks brushed lightly against his back. He almost fell forward onto the hot engine, but just managed to save himself. He straightened up, in more ways than just his posture, and discovered that Elfrida had not moved, so as he stood up her right bap squashed warmly and softly against his ribs. This prompted another, stronger pulse of interest. This juxtaposition was not something he had anticipated as he had pulled on his overalls that morning. He was now grateful for two aspects of them: they were forgivingly baggy, and they had access slots at trouser pocket height which permitted manual adjustments when necessary.
They were necessary now.

“Careful! You’ll get yourself all oily!” Elfrida squirmed, with a little thrill of excitement at this thought – even though the oil in question was not as she would have preferred.
“Listening to that noise as you arrived, I’d say we’ve got quite a lot to do here” said Sam, apologetically. But Elfrida thought that was rather good news.
“I’ll take a stab in the dark at your big end”
Elfrida was a curvy damsel, and it was refreshing to hear his enthusiasm.
“You may have blown a gasket too”
He was a bit ahead of himself with that one, but it was definitely on the cards, she thought.
“You should really get serviced regularly” He said. Elfrida couldn’t agree more

Sam leaned forward under the bonnet, trying to concentrate. After a moment he straightened up (even more) to find Elfrida even closer, her whole body pressed lightly against him.
“What do you think?” she asked, in her sultry purring voice. (She had a number of voices, due to a short career as an impressionist)”Are my tappets a problem?”
No they were not. they actually felt very nice.
Sam’s voice was shaky. He hadn’t had her experience.
“I think your belt’s a bit loose. I’ll tighten that while I’m in there”
She wriggled with anticipation. “When can you start?” she asked, this time in a voice like Ian Duncan Smith, which Sam found startling. Never mind. A guy likes to be surprised.

“it’s quiet at the moment. I finished off a mini a little while ago. I could fit you in right now”
“My thoughts exactly!” said Elfrida eagerly, and immediately reached for his monkey wrench.
Sam liked women who knew what they wanted. He slapped the wrench into her hand.
“Do you know what to do with it?”
“I can learn on the job” Elfrida whispered “I’ve handled a lot of spanners over the years. It’s all in the grip, and having a strong wrist”
“But do you know where to start?” Sam asked
“Oh yes” came her reply

Sam was right about her blowing a gasket

Delphine goes dogging

The Little Chuffington Annual Dog Show was not Crufts. More a Crafts Show than a Crufts Show. In addition to the dogs there were marquees of stalls where local people sold small painted signs in pastel colours which read things like “I’m the boss round here and I have my wife’s permission to say so” and ridiculously expensive handmade dangly Christmas decorations. They were bought by large blousy women dressed in voluminous drapey mushroom coloured cardigans, with massive arty necklaces and a higher incidence of scarfage than in the general population.

For Delphine it was all about the dogs, though. She executed a chicaine around the stall offering to create a child’s name in pastel-coloured wooden letters, and the one selling variations on gold-sprayed pine cones for Christmas decorations.
She was drawn to the main marquee by the combination of snoofling, gruffling and wuffing noises (punctuated by the odd visceral howl)and the collective smell of scores of dogs and their coiffed and perfumed owners.

It was the most popular marquee and was very crowded. As Delphine looked around her eye was caught by a young man with a particularly splendid cocker spaniel attached to his lead.. Delphine was a sucker for a winsome cocker, and immediately made her way over to him.
“Can I stroke your cocker?” she asked shyly, glancing up at him through her lush lashes.
How could he refuse? Or why?
“Oh go ahead!” he said warmly (he was wearing a thick jumper) “he loves it”
Delphine gave it a good stroking, noticing how the cocker enjoyed it. She then tickled it underneath. But it soon became rather too excited, so, with a smile of thanks to the man, she moved on.
She wanted to have a peke at some poodles, but in the crowded tent she couldn’t find them, and pushed past the Lhasa Apsos, the Malamutes and the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers until eventually in despair she stopped a woman with a pinscher, a bitch who refused to help. This was disconcerting: Delphine had expected dogging people to be friendlier: She had understood that they welcomed everyone without question, or so it was suggested on the website. However she was resolved to get the poodles and finally she pushed her way through a tight throng of people and there she saw them: All the poodles and poodle crosses… labradoodles, Schauzerdoodles, St Berdoodles, even a Staffordshire Bullpoodle. She was fascinated, and after a few minutes she noticed a handsome man in the crowd and she eased her way over to him. He was standing with one hand in the pocket of his tight jeans, and the other behind him.
“Have you got your cocker there?” she asked him
“Oh ! No, I was just putting my phone back in my pocket”
Delphine smiled at him again, and he noticed how the light through the canvas roof played on her hair, like a crowd of children in a sandpit.
“Are you into dogs?” he asked
“I love all their different body shapes, the different breeds. I’m really into doggy style”
“Are you now?” he replied, with a grin. “In that case would you like to see a mastiff?”
Delphine hesitated for a moment: she hadn’t realised he was Italian.
“I’m holding it out of the way because it’s so big”
Delphine nodded. She really did want to see it. her excitement at the prospect gave her cheeks a winsome flush, which the man misinterpreted as nerves
“You can stroke him. It’ll be fine. He knows how to be gentle. But it’s so crowded here. Let’s go somewhere quieter where he can really play around”
They managed to push their way through the crowd and out of the marquee. Delphine was awestruck at how the man could part a crowd with a mastiff. Once they had broken through the crush, they walked round the back of the marquee where there was open space and nobody around.
“There. Now you can see him in all his glory”
He certainly was magnificent. He had been well rubbed down and now shone with health and vigour in the late afternoon sun. Delphine gave him a stroke, and realised that although he responded keenly, he was not crazy as the cocker.
“He wants to be off the leash” the man said, “Do you think I should let him?”
Delphine was hesitant, but keen to see the beast move. “If you think you can control him” she said, breathless with excitement.
“I’m not sure I can” said the man, his eyes glittering, as if a small child had put glitter in them. “But he wouldn’t hurt anyone”
He unclipped the lead, and they watched the great beast surge forward. Delphine gasped. She had realised that there was more than one massive beast surging forward. The man turned to her
“I once had a bichon frize” he whispered, leaning towards her, “but you’re much more my type, a bichon heat”
Delphine heart was thumping in her chest. This meant that the basics of life were being maintained, and she had no need to worry
“Can I hold him?” she asked. The man nodded “He’s quite a pointer”
“He’s so strong!” she exclaimed “I had no idea”
“You can chow down if you like” he hinted “If you look closely you’ll see a ridgeback”
Delphine looked, and she did manage to make that out…What a beast! As fast as a Whippet, as strong as a Rottweiler, as tenacious as a Doberman, but as gentle as a Spaniel. And such agility! It could leap over, duck under, rush into tunnels. All with such enthusiasm. And then he gave her the most enthusiastic licking she had ever known!

Ariadne’s beautiful buns

Ariadne was excited about her first evening class. She had signed up to Baking for Beginners, on the grounds that she had never been completely happy with her buns.
The class was not very full; all women, all standing singly and awkward. She looked around at them nervously as she pulled her frilly crossover apron over her head and tied it tightly behind her.
The faint sussurations of chatter around her fell suddenly quiet as the teacher entered the room. To everyone’s surprise, it was a man. The name on the noticeboard, Sam, had been ambivalent enough to let students make their own assumptions.
Sam was not wearing a pinny (indeed none of the other students were) but he was wearing a broad smile and a pair of tight jeans. The former on his face and the latter on his lower body, fortunately.
The first thing they were going to do, he told them, was give their equipment a thorough going over. Ariadne liked the sound of that, and congratulated herself on her choice of class.

Sam discussed measurements first: imperial, metric and American. The trouble with cups, he explained, was that different women had different sized cups, and if you had the wrong size cups it would be bound to cause problems. Ariadne nodded enthusiastically; this was an issue she could relate to.
Next he talked about bowls, and then spoons: he was very keen on stirring things. Finally he moved into what he described as “more specialist stuff” and proceeded to discuss whipping. Ariadne was an open minded sort of girl and naturally inclined to be adventurous, so her ears pricked up at this.

Finally he clasped his hands together and said “that’s enough of me. It’s time to get started”
Ariadne didn’t agree; she was happy to have a lot more of Sam, but for now she had to do some baking. Sam said they would start with something easy, and which everyone enjoyed. Buns! Who could say no to them?

Under Sam’s guidance they set to: he walked around the room, offering help and advice to each student. He stopped for a long time by Ariadne; when she was ready to add the eggs, he put his hand over hers to show her how he liked the beating done. “You’ve got to keep a good strong, steady rhythm” he told his eager pupil. She nodded, eyes sparking with excitement, keen to learn. When he told her she was a good beater, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Sam couldn’t help but notice how snugly her apron fitted: it was pulled so tightly across her chest that Sam thrilled to the irresistible image of her mixture bursting completely out of its bun cases
Sam told them all the best features of perfect buns: fluffy, moist, succulent and tasty. The secret was to get things to rise well, and he chose Ariadne as an example of someone who could achieve that: she had the perfect wrist action for a good beating.

Once the buns were in the oven, Sam suggested they should all think about how they would like to decorate them. There were so many ways, but Sam liked to keep it simple. For him, a cherry was enough, as he emphasized to Ariadne. Once her buns were ready, he would like nothing better than to have a bite of her cherry.
As soon as the buns were out, and still warm, she offered them to Sam. He tasted enthusiastically, relishing the warm, soft, still steaming nibbles, and getting his lips round the cherries with particular joy.
Sam put the finishing touch to her buns by topping them with cream from his piping bag with the special nozzle.