funny – Page 2 – Smut’n’Chuckle

A warm front at the WI

Sylvia had joined the WI when she first heard of their glamorous calendar some years before. She hadn’t much interest in jam-making but she had hopes that her branch, Nether Botley, might sometime create a calendar of its own. Having been a member now for a number of years, she felt she was almost ready to make the tentative suggestion…

This was the night of the regular meeting with a guest speaker: the leaflet stated that Mr Cheather would be in that role tonight. He was a meteorologist and his subject was Predicting the Weather

Everyone made an effort for the meetings so Sylvia slipped into her best tweed skirt (it was quite tight; she had to squeeze, and execute a rather fabulous wiggle)and,as it was a cold, miserable night, a cardigan which buttoned snugly up to the neck. She was just wrestling with the buttons whose responsibility was the restraint of her tremblingly splendid bosomage when the telephone rang. Sylvia rushed to answer it – but it was a nuisance call…had she been involved in an accident?. She laid the receiver gently down onto the table and walked away, smiling to herself and forgetting the rest of the buttons.

Although it was cold outside the hall was lovely and warm. Chairs were set out in front of a table covered down to the floor with an embroidered cloth bearing the legend “Nether Botley WI” and laid with tea and biscuits. Sylvia sat through the business part of the meeting in a half doze: she came for the talks.

All of a sudden they had reached that part of the meeting: A Mr William Cheather was introduced to a patter of elegant applause. Sylvia’s clap was louder than most as she had woken from her doze to find herself looking directly at the most musculatory example of manlyhood she had ever seen

He introduced himself saying “Call me Willy” (to which a voice from the back replied in a stage whisper “What’s it called then?” and a short awkward silence followed) He glanced towards the windows at the driving sleet outside, and expressed how grateful he was that so many women had turned out on “what promised to turn out to be a really filthy night”
Sylvia smiled to herself at that.

He began to explain about high and low pressure, cyclones and anticyclones. “What is an isobar?” he asked the ladies. Sylvia was disappointed by that an isobar was not in fact a themed pub which sold very cold drinks

He was an experienced communicator: the ladies watched as well as listening. The grand sweep of his strong arm, like knotted rope, as he explained the movements of the Jetstream caused the beginnings of an anticyclone in the hall, centred on Sylvia.

During the break she inveigled her way to his vicinity on the pretext of having been nominated to maintain biscuit levels on the various plates around the room. After some cunning contrivances she ended up right next to him, and suddenly was lost for words.

“Mr Cheather!” she finally exclaimed. He nodded in acknowledgment, and then repeated, “Willy. Willy to you”
This caused such a flutter within Sylvia’s breast (well to be honest, both breasts) that she felt a flush rise in her cheeks.
“Enjoying it?” he asked politely. Sylvia thought about his previous comment and thought that Yes, she would enjoy that.
“Yes! Absolutely! She exclaimed “its fascinating! And you make it all so interesting and, well, understandable. I mean we’re not experts here…” she trailed off, her attention taken completely by the inviting curls of hair just visible where the top button of his shirt was undone. He reached for a custard cream, and she instinctively put her hand to her throat with a little gasp as she watched the fabric of his shirt slither over his biceps. This gesture revealed to her that the top three buttons of her cardi were undone – forgotten in her moment of telephonic triumph. For a moment she panicked, then other considerations thrust in: had he noticed? Perhaps he hadn’t? She looked up at him, her breath coming in gasps, as indeed she liked to.

Willy Cheather had indeed noticed. Not only had he noticed the buttonage situation but also engaged in some idle consideration of the pros and cons of knitted fabrics vis a vis generously-sized airbags. He smiled broadly, partly at Sylvia, and partly at these thoughts.

The chairman rang a teeny brass bell and called everyone back to their seats for the second part of the talk. Willy leaned towards Sylvia and murmured “No time for a chat now. If there’s anything, ANYTHING you’d like to ask me, come and see me later”
She was almost sure he winked

Sylvia sat through the second half of his talk in a daze, which is a very different experience form the earlier doze. It involved a lot more active daydreaming interwoven with admiring of Willy’s proportions and performance. He waxed lyrical on the subject of warm fronts (Sylvia was certain he glanced at hers)and precipitation. He talked of cloud formations with such exactitude that Sylvia was sure she would find a nimbostratus quite erotic the next time she saw one.
He asked for questions at the end, and Sylvia, along with others, had been glancing outside at the weather: sleet had given way to snow, and she wanted to pick his brains about it

“Have you any advice on predicting snowfall?” she asked, adding “Like tonight. Is there any way to tell how many inches you’re going to get?”
Willy looked a little discombobulated, so she continued, warming in every sense to her theme
“I like to know how long it’s going to last and how deep it’s going to go. I mean get”
Willy collected himself (he’d been all over the place) and said with a slight smile “Not really, you just have to prepare yourself and see what happens”

As the ladies of Nether Botley WI stacked chairs and washed teacups, Sylvia seemed to find herself again close to Willy. In fact, as she could attest when a lady carrying a stack of chairs knocked her off balance and she fell against Mr Cheather, Willy was in fact making some effort at getting close to her. This experience set off a warm front which engulfed both of them, causing an increase in humidity in a number of areas.

Sylvia helpfully offered to lock up, and managed to string out the slightly stilted conversation with Mr Cheather until everyone else had left.
“Would you like some help with your things?” She asked him, her eyelashes seeming to flutter absurdly of their own accord.
There was a pause, as Willy Cheather confirmed that everyone else had left, and then he replied, undoing a few more buttons of his shirt “Oh no, I can manage, I assure you”
“But I like to help” she said, unbuttoning a few more of her own, prompting a mass release of mammariness, scarcely contained by slivers of lace, into the open air of the hall

In a moment there seemed to be a tornado engulfing them: a whirlwind which defied normal systems by being associated with high pressure. They were making their own weather… gusts of passion and heat tore at their clothing, managing amazingly to rip it all off. Eventually the storm subsided but not until there had been some considerable precipitation, a lot of thunder and possibly even a little earth tremor.
It truly did turn out to be a filthy night at the WI…

Dorothy gets her pipes checked

Dorothy was looking forward to having a new bathroom: the old one was tatty and there were marks on the walls and floor where pipes had leaked. The shower cubicle was rickety and wallpaper was peeling in the corners. It needed a thorough going over. Like Dorothy.

She had spent a lot of time choosing her new tiles, and the fittings.
She was now ready to get a man in.
Thus, she had been delighted when a colleague recommended Luke: “Luke the Leak” they called him. He had done hers apparently, and made such a lovely job that she was planning to get him back to give her kitchen the full works too.

Dorothy was delighted with him: he was tidy and organised, worked efficiently, and was always whistling and humming to himself. He seemed to enjoy what he did.
He had come to have a look round her fixtures and fittings, and had been impressed with his thoroughness. He had poked into all the crannies, including dusty corners which had not had any attention for a long time. Finally he said that he thought her pipes were all in a good condition but if she wanted him to rip off the old coverings and screw in some fresh new fixtures, he was more than happy to oblige.

Dorothy asked him for a quote
“To be, or not to be. That is the question” he replied, before handing her a small piece of paper on which he had jotted some estimates.

Dorothy was so impressed she wanted him to start straightaway. Luke had to disappoint her: There were a lot of other ladies lined up waiting for him, and he had to do them strictly in order so as to be fair. Dorothy was disappointed, but admired his fair-mindedness.

Eventually though, Dorothy reached the top of the list and Luke arrived to sort her out.
She welcomed him with enthusiasm. “I hear they call you Luke the Leak” she said, smiling.
He laughed “Yes they do!”
“I love leeks, actually!” she replied “Steamed. Yummy!”
There was a pause, during which Luke noticed Dorothy’s eyes. they had always been there, but suddenly he found himself gazing into them, and enjoying the moment.
“Tossed in butter. That’s the best” he said.
Dorothy let out a little gasp
“I’m sure you’re right” she whispered breathlessly

The weather was very warm and he left his overalls undone. Dorothy could tell how physical the work was from the pattern of abdominal muscles which wriggled like a sack of puppies as he carried his toolkit in.
“Heavy equipment I expect!” said Dorothy shyly as he squeezed past her in the hallway.
(She had made sure to stand there, even though it was quite narrow.)
Luke glanced down anxiously, put down the hammer drill he was holding and did up a button on his overalls. “Sorry” he said, before continuing down the hall.

“So, I’m starting with stripping all this off?” Luke waved an arm to indicate the wallpaper. Dorothy nodded. Not looking at the wallpaper at all, as a matter of fact.

Luke knelt down in the corner by the shower, examining it.
“Are you wanting me to check all your pipes, just in case?” he asked. Dorothy was wanting that.
“I’ll give all your joints a bit of a tweak, just to make sure they’re tight. Are you sticking with this shower system, you just want a new cubicle?”
“I’m not sure” she confessed. “The cubicle needs to go definitely. But I haven’t decided about the shower itself”
“Is it powerful enough for you?” asked Luke, standing up again so she could see all the muscles working inside his T-shirt.
“I can put you a pump in if you want more oomph”
“Who doesn’t?” Dorothy exclaimed.
“OK” he said “I can pump you up to about twice the pressure you are now. That’ll give you a much better soaking”

She was all for that.

“Have you chosen your tiles?” She had
“Am I doing you full height or half way?” There was only one answer to that: “Full height”
Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully, in that way which defines a properly trained workman.
“So I’m stripping off everything, paper, old tiles, the lot?” Dorothy nodded, her mouth dry at the thought.
“Then I’m tweaking all your pipes, giving you a good pump, and then I’m putting in a new cubicle. Is that right?”
She nodded again.
“I’ll have to turn the water off to do the plumbing work. Are you Ok to have it off tomorrow morning?”

Dorothy smiled broadly.
“Why wait?” she said, adding
“It’s awfully warm, don’t you think? You must be hot in those thick overalls”
Luke turned and looked at her: she had dressed carelessly this morning – she had forgotten several buttons of her tight blouse, which was at this moment struggling to maintain order amongst the romping breastage within. Although it was so warm, there seemed to be two little spigots pushing through the fabric.
“Put down your spanner” she whispered, the words lingering on her soft fleshy pink lips, as if her lipgloss was too sticky
Luke was embarrassed. He took his hand out of the pocket of his overalls, blushing slightly.
“No” said Dorothy urgently, “that one”. She pointed at it
“That’s a wrench” said Luke… “THIS is my spanner”
He let his overalls slip down to the floor, and gathered Dorothy into his strong plumby arms.
Being an organised workman he began with stripping everything so he could see what there was to work on. He gently adjusted the bolts, went over all the pipework with extreme care, (full height of course) and gave Dorothy a powerful pump with plenty of oomph.

This kind of thorough going over had definitely been worth waiting for

Evadne at the butcher’s shop

Evadne was a woman who enjoyed food, indeed her friends regarded her as something of a gastronome. She loved experimenting with recipes and was planning a dinner party, so when a neighbour recommended a particular butcher’s shop to her, well, – she had to try it.

She had no definite menu in mind just yet, and decided to ask the man in charge for his recommendations. That way she would get some ideas and see how much he knew.
Evadne was pleased to note that he was dressed as a real butcher should be, in a dazzlingly clean blue and white striped apron, and that although he had a perfectly serviceable and modern cash register, he had a pencil behind his ear. He was not, though an old man, just a traditional one. In fact he was quite young, square-jawed and muscular in the way expected of a man who is required to saw carcasses in half for a living.

She looked around the shop; it was, like the man behind the counter, dazzlingly clean and well laid out. She noted with approval that all the hand-written price cards had the apostrophes in the correct place.

“Hello” she said, after a few moments of taking in the surroundings
“Hello” he replied, knowing as he did the niceties expected in such situations
“I’m planning a dinner party….for eight, and I’m not really sure what to cook. Have you any suggestions for me?”
The butcher had a few; as soon as she had appeared in his doorway some interesting ones had flitted across the back of his mind, several of which involved him appearing at HER doorway, in more than one sense.
“Are you looking for something to roast, or casserole perhaps?”
Evadne shrugged her shoulders “I haven’t even decided that yet”
The butcher chuckled, a gentle sort of sound, and not the sort one might immediately associate with his profession.
“You are expecting me to do all the work?” (He privately decided that he would accept that deal if it was offered)
Evadne blushed. It was a very flattering process which lightly dusted her neck and then got down to some serious pinkening when it arrived at her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I should have looked through some recipe books or something before coming here”
The butcher smiled broadly. “I’m sure we can come up with something” he said, aware that this was already occurring, and that it might disrupt the stripes of his apron.

Evadne took a notebook out of her bag, and, pen poised to take notes, began.
“I am fussy about my meat; you were recommended to me as a very good butcher. How long do you hang your meat?”
He became expansive – he was proud of his produce. “We hang our beef for twenty eight days, by the H bone which produces more tender meat.”
She was impressed. “Wow. twenty eight days. That’s excellent!”
“I like mine well hung” she added, feeling assured that this would be the case. (The aforesaid apron being a giveaway)
“It’s a process called tenderstretch. Not used here very much because it’s more expensive, but we think it’s better”
. Tenderstretch….. It sounded lovely. Evadne rolled the syllables around her tongue, whilst the butcher considered a broadly similar activity. And whilst she thought about this new information, the butcher also considered her: her hourglass figure (she clearly enjoyed her food in moderation – enough to fill her out above and below but still leave the middle bit untouched) and the pendant which bobbed in the depths between her prodigious baps with every breath. he was momentarily distracted by the thought of making that pendant bob more urgently.

“Eight, you said? You might think of a big joint then”
Evadne nodded. She was thinking of one at that very moment
“What would you recommend?” she asked, feeling unable to make any sensible decisions at the moment
“I can give you a big pork joint” he suggested, causing Evadne to feel even more distracted
“A shoulder” he continued. She looked momentarily downcast, but then he showed her his pork and it was indeed huge.
“Roast that with the fat on.” He advised “Just slit the crackling and push some herbs in to give it extra flavour. It’s best done slowly over a long, long time. All night is best” Evadne nodded. She was the same.
“Then it is so tender you can pull it apart with your fingers”
“Oh!” Is that what is known as pulled pork?” Evadne blushed again at the realisation that she had been misunderstanding it all this time.
The butcher leaned forward conspiratorially “Yes. You can indeed pull my pork”
Evadne was delighted, and she noticed the stripes of the butcher’s apron were showing a promisingly large distortion.

“That’s my mind made up for the weekend” she said with a broad smile “but what about tonight? I need something for myself for tonight”
The butcher thought for a moment “How big is your appetite?”
“Oh I’m really hungry” she replied, fixing him with a gaze from her eyes, which were almost as fabulously riveting as her rack.
“How about some sausage for tonight and then the big pork joint at the weekend?”
“gravy?”
“There’ll be plenty…”

Evadne thought that sounded like a perfect plan

And it was….

Holly and the Cocktail Party

Holly was quite a party animal: she loved all the festivities of Christmas; the decorations, the tinsel, and of course the parties. So she was particularly pleased to learn that her new workplace held a big Christmas party.
She dressed for it with more than the usual attention, having noticed a rather attractive man who ran the mailroom, and hoping he might be at the party. He had caught her attention very soon after her arrival at the Tow Truck Company,(A Good Pull) when he had appeared at her desk with a massive package. His smile had also impressed her.

To her delight her greeted her only moments after she arrived. She was just removing her coat when a voice behind her said “Can I help you get it off?” and he gallantly slid the coat off her bare shoulders and hung it up,- after a long moment in which his eyes fell on her nibblicious cleavage. That was embarrassing, and caused a slight scuffle as he retrieved them. By way of compensating for that awkward incident, he made a point of hanging her coat up carefully. Very carefully. Holly could see how well hung it was.

The man leaned close and whispered in her ear “would you like a cocktail?”
Holly blushed. “Go on then…tell me one”
“No I meant to drink” he answered “This is a cocktail party”
“Oh gosh!” Holly was not sure how to respond, being inexperienced with such matters. “What is there?”
“You can have a Black Russian, or a B52, or… a Sloe Comfortable Screw….”
After a pause to collect her thoughts, which she had left in her coat pocket, Holly decided on a Black Russian. The mail room man, who introduced himself as Hugh, put an arm gently behind her to guide her to the cocktail table.
It was not quite the fancy mixology bar she might have hoped for, and the slight disappointment must have shown on her face, for Hugh smiled and said “We haven’t all the facilities as you can see, but we find we can do it on the table as well as anywhere else”
And who, thought Holly to herself, could say no to a Sloe Comfortable Screw even if it was only on a table?

Hugh, with a few deft moves, mixed her a Black Russian, and as he held it out to her, added, “I can show you a little trick with it…”
Holly’s eyes widened in anticipation. Hugh reached for a small bottle of Guinness at the back of the table. He tapped his nose conspiratorially and said, as he flicked off the top with a handy opener “I put this bottle here. It’s my secret” and then poured a little into the Black Russian, which instantly rose up in the glass with a layer of creamy bubbles.
“That’s the way to give a Black Russian a good head” he whispered. “Don’t ask me how I know…”
Holly took the glass and sipped a little primly and cautiously. Hugh watched her face for a reaction. He watched her soft, full red lips enfolding the edge of the glass, and the head slipping into her mouth. He began to sense a package which he needed to deliver.

After a few more sips Holly lowered the glass and licked her lips, which only made the delivery more urgent.
“Ooh look!” she exclaimed, “nibbles”
Hugh, mishearing her, glanced down at the front of her dress, but seeing nothing more revealing than before, realised his mistake.

He followed her gaze and saw another, smaller table, laden with goodies.
“I’m famished!” Holly exclaimed, making for the table. She picked up a breadstick which she gestured with as she spoke
“Do you know everyone here? I haven’t been here long so I hardly know anyone”
Hugh smiled, the sort of smile which causes crinklage at the edges of the eyes and a widening of the mouth. It was traditional, but it suited him.
“I know pretty much everyone. Goes with the job, you know. I get into every office…” his smile widened further (as far as it could without being weird) as he added quietly “and a LOT of orifices too”

Holly did not hear the latter comment. She was watching a group of people getting rather loud and silly near the cocktail table
“Will the managing director be here. I’ve never met him?”
“Of course” answered Hugh
“I was just wondering whether it’s a good idea to get drunk if the MD is around”
“Relax. He’s in the middle of that group”
“Oh!” exclaimed Holly, and in the moment of surprise reached for a cheesey football with her free hand whilst still holding a breadstick. The excess of nibbliness available to her at that moment caused some difficulties and the cheesey football fell down into the front of her dress.
“Goal!” whispered Hugh, spotting the incident. “Shall I help you with that?”
Holly looked up in surprise, and her eyes met his. They introduced themselves and in a few moments it was as if they were old friends. Whilst they were finding out just what they had in common, Holly was blushing, but at the same time (she was a woman, and therefore could multitask) thinking that there would never be a better time to familiarise herself with this man who was SO mail.

Hugh, guiding her gently away from the crowd, gently reached down into the warm, soft nook of her volumpty cleavage, which was pulsing with her heartbeat and heaving with her breaths, and deftly removed the cheesey football which had so quickly made itself at home there. Well, who could blame it? He slipped the cheesey football into his mouth, savouring it far more than usual.

Holly giggled; “There’s still crumbs!” she exclaimed. Hugh glanced around the room, and then drew her to the door (he had a pencil handy)
“I’ll need to be more thorough, so we’d better go somewhere quieter”
Holly, her breath heaving even more now, and taking her breasts with it, nodded eagerly and they slipped away from the party.
They found somewhere quieter: At least it was quieter to start with, but after a few minutes of crumb-retrieval Holly became a bit gaspy. Hugh was as thorough as he had claimed: he did indeed have Access All Areas as he had hinted, and it showed. Holly liked surprise parcels and unwrapped his with enthusiasm, and found it stood up to all her expectations.
Hugh, the mail/male man with the massive package was making the delivery of his life, and Holly enjoyed a slow comfortable screw without spilling a drop.
It was Christmas, after all, and Holly loves a big yule log to stoke her fire.

Adeline at the German Market

Adeline always looked forward to Christmas: she loved the jolly bright lights, the elves, parties, food and drink, and the chance that she might pull a cracker. The arrival of the German market signified the start of the festive season to her, so it was with great anticipation that she attended. Over the years she had become familiar with the layout, – a lot of the stalls came back every year – so she had a plan, which involved finishing up at the far end with some hot german sausage.
She had dressed for cold weather but in the bustle of the market it was warmer than she expected, and Adeline was soon starting to unbutton. Her first port of call was to a stall selling wreaths. They had a massive selection: the place was wreathed in them. She stepped closer to have good look. The stall holder waved to her.
“Can I help you? What are you looking for? We have a fine selection”
“Yes I can see that!” Adeline replied
He came out from behind the counter to show her round his wares, and pointed to a big grand wreath of holly, studded with twinkly little stars.
“You like them big?”
Adeline smiled a little and ran her fingers over the wreath. “I do, but this one is just too prickly. I wouldn’t know how to hang it”
The stallholder put his head on one side (he could manage without it for a short while)
“It really needs to be well-hung” he replied. “To avoid causing hurt with all these pricks here” He indicated the large, shiny holly leaves. Adeline stroked the leaves cautiously, then delicately fingered a bright red berry nestling deep within the wreath.
“I like the berries” she said.
The stallholder licked his lips, glimpsing Adeline’s scrumdumptious chestage heaving with festive agitation
“Not everyone can find the berry, but I always know where it is” he replied.
“It’s lovely!” Exclaimed Adeline, “but I’m really after some baubles”
The stallholder was delighted. He enjoyed showing off his baubles and to have someone as lovely as Adeline actually ask, was a great thrill. He reached for some and rested them on the counter, and awaited her response. It was instant
“Wow!” She exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast to suppress its excited swell. “They are fabulous!”
“Pick them up” he offered, “but gently, of course”
Adeline did. She held them gently in her cupped hand and gazed in wonder. They were indeed truly glorious, gleaming in the warm how of the stalls.
She was bewitched by them.
“I want them….” She murmured, “they are fabulous. But I don’t want to carry them all round the market with me. Can you put them in a little bag for me and I will pick them up later?”
The stallholder agreed, though he was sorry she was leaving his stall for the moment. He flamboyantly dropped his baubles into a little bag for her, and tucked them away safely, before introducing himself as Hans, and assuring her he would keep them safe for her return.
With her baubles secure (in the bag, as it were) Adeline could continue her exploration of the market. She was happy, but when she walked away she left behind her a Hans holding his bag of baubles, and nursing an acute sense of disappointment.

Her sense of festivity was soon enhanced with some mulled wine, albeit in a plastic cup. After a few sips she felt the sensation of the warming spices fill her from her lips right down to the berry.

The next stall sold spicy biscuits – lebkuchen. She was fond of those, and had a particular yearning for the chocolate coated ones with jam inside. She was just leaning over the produce, her volumptular amplage almost touching the first row of biscuits, when a familiar voice asked “Can I help you?” She looked up in surprise, and found herself face to face with Hans.
In the moment of confusion he was able to enjoy the sultry view of full lips – like wet glace cherries, her fine slender neck, and the way the countryside below spread out like a frosted Christmas card landscape of two large hills, – though lacking the usual seasonal sheep. Hans wondered how easy it would be to thaw that festive view.

“I just saw you on the wreath stall!” she exclaimed. Before he could reply an older man behind him said “My Hans gets everywhere you know”
So it seemed.
“Would you like a taste?” the omnipresent Hans asked. She would
She picked up a tiny chocolate coated biscuit and delicately nibbled it, whilst Hans watched, agitatedly gripping his bag of baubles under the counter. When she sampled the jammy interior by flicking the tip of her tongue in and out, the baubles were almost sacrificed to the moment.

“Try this one” he offered, and with his free hand reached down to some different Lebkuchen right at the very front. Because Adeline was leaning so far forward, Hans found himself (COMPLETELY by accident of course) lifting the little nibble right up into her bosomage. He paused with it there, lips dry, baubles tense, for a reaction. Adeline’s hand gently took the biscuit without moving his. And as she tasted it he felt the trembles of her mastication transmitted through her mammarariums to his hand.
“Try some more” he said, not moving his hand. Adeline smiled ”
I’d love to, but right now I need my sausage”
Hans glanced to the far end of the market. There was a stall there well-hung with sausage. It had varieties to suit everyone: from the little thin chilli wurst, which packed a punch out of proportion to their size, right up to the massive thick ones which were so wonderfully filling. He saw Adeline’s gaze follow his. She had seen the stall…
“Which do you like best?” he asked, desperate to keep her close
“I’ve tried loads over the years” she said “Those little ones, you know, the spicy ones? They are great. Small, but you can do so much with them. A little goes a long way”
Hans nodded, his mouth dry…
“But really, at heart I am a traditionalist and I go for the great big ones. They really last too”
Finally Hans could stand it no longer. He reached out and gently took hold Adeline’s hand in his, and, drawing her even closer, whispered “I have sausage too”
Adeline giggled “You really have everything, don’t you? Hans everywhere!”
He nodded urgently “Would you like to see?”
Adeline would like to see. She walked round into the back of the stall. Hans wound a handle which lowered the wooden front of the stall and closed it. There was no more wreath shopping; Adeline was able to get her hands on the baubles she had chosen, and discovered a new variety of German sausage which was the most filling she had ever known and really lasted well too…

Harriet gets "The Full Works"

Harriet had been given a voucher for her birthday. It was for “the full works” at the new Turkish baths which had opened nearby. Having never had a Turkish bath before, Harriet’s curiosity was definitely piqued. But she was anxious: typical worries crowded in concerning whether she was going to have to strip naked in front of staff and other bathers, exactly what would be done to her. These were titillating anxieties, but anxieties nonetheless.

Thus when she arrived at the newly refurbished baths she was delighted to be distracted from her nerves by the wonderful décor: Even in the entrance foyer she felt transported to exotic climes by the terracotta painted walls and the jewelled glass lampshades. There were beautiful rugs on the floor and faint unfamiliar music played.
Her booking was confirmed: The full works.
“What does that involve?” she asked. The receptionist explained in a bored fashion, flipping open a handy threefold leaflet to illustrate. This showed photographs of the various rooms inside, and the splendour of them made a thrill run up Harriet’s spine. there was a lot of steam, and an ample supply of shining muscleage on the part of the staff. the female recipients looks very happy, and indeed as if they had just had The Full Works. This was going to be a GOOD birthday present

She was handed a bathwrap, long and very soft with a fringe at the bottom.
“Get yourself changed into your bikini, put this on, and stash your things in a locker” said the receptionist distractedly, before sinking back into her chair and resuming nail filing duties.

Through a bead curtain she found the changing area and lockers, and changed into a bikini she had bought in anticipation of a holiday which never materialised. It had never been in the water, let alone on a sandy beach. This was its first outing.
She sat there for a few moments, being studiously ignored by the receptionist, until eventually she decided to try her luck and push through the second beaded curtain. This led her to a room which was entirely lined in marble. There were marble benches around the edge, a marble slab table in the centre, and little fountains falling into marble bowls set in the walls It was very warm and humid. After a few moments she felt her long, wavy hair sticking to her neck and she shook herself out of the wrap and sat down to wait.

A few moments later a door at the far end of the room opened. Harriet did not immediately notice over the gentle music, water and steam noises. She was looking the other way, in a sleepy haze when the man put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Oddly, she did not jump at this.
“Hello. My name is Akbatu. I am going to bathe you today”

Harriet felt her heart begin to thump. It banged so hard behind her ribcage that the little pendant which hung on the outside must surely be jumping too.
Akbatu could see her reaction: “Do not worry. I am very well trained. I bathe many women. I am a professional”
His voice was as gentle as olive oil soap, and seemed to slither all over her in much the same way.
He indicated the little silver pendant around her neck, keeping his eyeline on it, and therefore resting in her bufty cleavage. It didn’t mind that. “I’m content here. I don’t need to go to the left or right. I have reached the valley of bliss” it seemed to say
“You must remove this. It might become damaged. I can be very vigorous”
It goes without saying that Harriet agreed instantly. She put her arms up behind her head to unclip it, causing Akbatu to start back as her stupendous bosomage lifted upwards.
“Allow me” he said, his voice actually a teeny bit huskier than heretofore.
She half turned away from him and, breathing heavily, he lifted her hair out of the way and unclipped the chain. He lifted the chain upwards, but the heat and damp caused the pendant to stick to her skin…
Akbatu had NO option but to reach round and slip his fingers against her skin and delicately lift the pendant away.
Actually he had a LOT of other options; (he could have asked her to do it herself, for example) but none of them occurred to him at that moment, and had they done so he would have dismissed them out of hand. He also felt utterly obliged not to hurry the operation, so his fingers followed the advice of his eyeline, and went straight to the pillowy centre. They were against the skin between her volumpty heavers for rather longer than strictly necessary; To Harriet, it had felt like an eternity, but then she had always been keen on this kind of eternity.

Unlike the real thing, this simulacrum of eternity finally ended, with the little silver pendant being pried from her damp skin and placed on a little marble shelf beside one of the fountains.

Akbatu asked her to lie down on the big marble slab. Harriet did so, feeling rather exposed. Which is entirely appropriate as she was almost completely exposed. But the steam, warmth, and gentle music worked its magic and she closed her eyes and began to seriously relax. After a few moments she began to notice little soft noises of activity beside her. Then a sensation of extraordinary gentleness started to spread all over her belly She opened her eyes to see Akbatu standing over her, an inflated pillowcase in his hands. He was squeezing it gently, and a slow cascade of tiny bubbles was extruding from the fabric, oozing down and slithering all over her tummy.
“Olive oil bubbles” Akbatu murmured “Very soft on your skin”
They were, and he moved the pillowcase up and down over her body so that all of it was covered. It was as fine as thistledown, and as the tiny bubbles popped, Harriet experienced a tingling sensation which was, she decided, Sensational.
She opened her eyes again to see Akbatu with his back to her, a steel bowl in his hand,hurriedly sloshing water from the fountain all over himself. He turned around, his thin T-shirt soaking and stuck to the architecture of his belly. This time he had in his hand a massage cloth, a coarse-woven flannel.
“Relax” he said, leaning forward to say it quietly into her ear. “I am going to make your skin even softer”
She closed her eyes, not exactly relaxed, and felt Akbatu’s expert fingers sliding over her legs. He was strong, and she could feel his muscular fingers moulding to the shape of her limbs as they rubbed the flannel upwards from her feet and ankles. His efforts seemed to push the blood and the sensations upward, intensifying what she already felt in her torso.
Abruptly he stopped. She turned, feeling suddenly adrift. he had his back to her again and was frantically sloshing water down himself again.
Dripping wet he turned round, a slight smile playing on his face. It looked to be enjoying itself and invited twinkly eyes to join it.
He returned to massaging her legs, and as his hands reached higher Harriet found her levels of relaxation being challenged, but didn’t mind.
Akbatu seemed particularly concerned about making her inner thighs very soft: he spent a long time massaging them, before stopping again to slosh himself again with water. When he turned back he missed out the small are covered by her bikini and moved his strong, steady hands onto her abdomen. This seemed to focus all her sensations into a smaller and smaller space…but she doubted Akbatu would notice: it was a place most men could not find, even if they knew it existed.
Eventually he said “You will need to undo your strap before turning away and sloshing more cold water about. He turned round to find she had done as asked and he began to massage the skin of her chest and shoulders, his fingers deftly slipping around and close to her nicely spread mammalumpties, without actually touching. Harriet thought this the most exciting thing possible, and the friends who had clubbed together to buy her this gift “to help her relax” would have been disappointed to learn that every nerve ending was tingling. Some tingled in a quite minor fashion, on the periphery of the action – toes, knees and so on only contributing in a very small way to the overall effect. Others closer to home (so to speak) felt as though they would explode out of her skin. Which was not as much like a horror film as Harriet would have expected.

Akbatu was finding his experience in synchrony; he managed to maintain totally professional standards with his massaging whilst at the same time some of his nerve endings were becoming increasingly distracted. His regular dousing with cold water having only slightly delayed the inevitable, it was now obvious that the many women he had massaged in the past had scarcely prepared him for this. For reasons of professionalism, as well as preference, he did not wish to turn away to the water tap again. What an exquisite dilemma! As he agonised about this delicious
problem, Harriet opened her eyes to see Akbatu’s powerful torso close beside her. He was clad in a soaking T-shirt which clung to every muscle, and for a moment she simply savoured that view, before noticing how it also clung to non-muscular things as well. So she savoured that view as well.

There was a long pause, and then Akbatu leaned close to her and whispered in her ear “It is time to come through for the massage” and indicated another room.
Harriet was about to reply that she thought he was going to scrub her back with the flannel and olive oil bubbles as well, but just at that moment all the buzzing nerve endings, especially the ones within the bikini zone, were over-ruling her, and she nodded, flashing a meaningful smile at Akbatu.

The massage room was lit only by a red-shaded lantern with an extreme energy-saving bulb. It shed only the light required to locate another human being, and seemed to assume that once located, all further progress would be made using tactile systems. It worked.
Harriet laid down on the soft massage couch. She had forgotten by accident or design to reconnect her bikini top strap. This meant a small step was bypassed as Akbatu, falling back on his years of training as a masseur, plus natural instincts, was able to slide his oiled hands all over Harriet with almost no awkward pauses.
After a little while he peeled off his soaking T-shirt, and Harriet was able to confirm just HOW accurately the wet fabric had demarcated his anatomy.

She also discovered that, whether through his professional training or simple dedication, he understood exactly where her nerve endings were located. Indeed, Akbatu was a real expert. he gave Harriet The Full Works.

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

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.