porn – Page 2 – Smut’n’Chuckle

The eyes have it…

Evadne’s mind was a blur: indeed her whole life was a blur. She was even obliged to squint at the Specsavers adverts. Things had reached the point where she needed to act, but this presented her with a problem: how does one find an optician? She had determined the location of one on the internet (she could sit really close to the screen)but actually locating it on the street was another matter. Evadne anxiously hoped that it had a really big sign, which, when you think about it, would make sense. It did have a big sign, but since it was called Aye-Aye-Sir it took her some time to locate it. She had allowed herself plenty of time though, and so was still a bit early. She however failed to see that the glass door was automatic, and tried to push it open, resulting in her falling through the opening and landing, discomfited, on the doormat the other side.

She was squirming with embarrassment when she became aware of a large presence close by. She looked up and through the fuzziness a handsome face appeared. It belonged to body which crouched down beside her and offered her a hand.
“Damned door!” it exclaimed “I’ve been caught out like that and I work here”
Evadne didn’t believe for a moment that this employee would have fallen foul of the door, but appreciated his efforts to deflect her embarrassment.

Once she was up on her feet (he was still holding onto her hand at this point) she said “I’m a bit early. I’ll just take a seat”

“Oh no. Come straight on through. I don’t have any other appointments til much later” and, still holding her hand, he guided her through the premises to a room down a corridor at the back. He closed the door gently behind him. The room was dimly lit, with a soft rosy light. His hand holding hers was strong and manly, and she imagined it cradling kittens and stirring casseroles.
He sat her in the big leather chair and placed himself in another, close by.

It was a long time since Evadne had seen herself properly in a mirror: she was able to do a bit of makeup (that was close-to) but when she pulled clothes on she was unsure of the end result. For this reason, whilst she knew her jeans were on the tight side, she had not given much thought to the jumper. This, as it happened, was also on the tight side, and this elastane-mediated style statement had made an instant impression on Gary “Goggles” the Optician. He has seen her walking slowly and anxiously past the windows, squinting at the sign, turning back and preparing to come in. So her hourglass figure,- buttocks doing battle with denim, and nervously heaving breastolators pumping against wool – was already impressed on his consciousness by the time she sprawled through the doorway.
“A girl with a welcome mat” he had chuckled inwardly as he helped her up. Now she was sat in front of him in the dimly lit room, the soft lighting playing on her cheekbones. It was very quiet, so he could hear what it was playing.

He watched he closely as she looked around, absorbing her blurry surroundings. Then he asked her to relax, and reached forward with a large pair of oculists’ testing spectacles, with adjustable sections and big metal rims to fit an assortment of trial lenses. As he came closer with them, she leaned away, looking worried. “What are they?” she cried, fearing he might be proposing them for her glasses.
“Don’t worry” he said, but he was being distracted by the sight of her, (all soft and breathy, her jumper clinging in a desperate bid to restrain her warm jubblies) and his explanation lacked technical accuracy whilst on another level shedding light on his thoughts:

“Don’t worry” he said, “These are just my oculists’ testicles”
There was a long, meaningful pause.
“I’m guessing he doesn’t work here any more” Evadne replied.
Gary laughed. Evadne laughed. Laughter tends to work like that. And she relaxed, and let him, everso gently, fit the gadget to her head. His soft, firm hands adjusted the earpieces and the width with great attention, and Evadne became aware that she found having her face and hair touched in this way was remarkably erotic.
She had lovely hair, silky and soft: the sort of hair which lifts and moves flatteringly in a light breeze, and is ideal for tossing. A point which had occurred to Gary, who was keen on such things. They both held the moment: he was close and could smell her perfume: he was so close that she could see his nostrils whiffling.

Gary clicked a button on a little remote control device and some letters appeared on a screen on the far side of the room.
“What can you see?” he asked
Evadne looked. She looked and looked. She squinted (rather cutely)
“An N? Or perhaps an H?”
Gary reached into a big tray and deftly slotted two lenses into the frame Evadne was wearing.
“Now?” he asked, his voice resonant with masculinity
There was an urgency in that question which set Evadne’s heart beating. “Oh gosh! I can see it’s an M!” she exclaimed

He put a black disk into one side and then for the next few minutes Gary was flipping lenses in and out of the frames, asking “Is that better? Or worse?”
After a while they reached a joint decision for both eyes. Then he swung a huge machine across in front of Evadne and whispered “Rest your chin there. Press your forehead here, and keep very still while I look into your eyes”
Evadne did so, enjoying his quiet strength. She held the position well, leaning forward, and Gary spent a few delicious moments looking at her chest pressing eagerly towards him. But her eyes would not wait forever: he returned to his measurements, complimenting her on her retinas.

Finally he had taken all the measurements he needed. Evadne got the chance to see him in focus, – albeit whilst she was looking through the huge adjusted frames. She got a shock, but it was a very nice one which travelled through her body to its natural focus deep within the tight jeans. He was very handsome, with chiselled features suggesting his father was a dab hand with a chisel.
He had the sort of jaw which can set as required in a crisis, and brown eyes with long lashes. There were other bits too – all the ones necessary to keep the jaw and eyes in the correct relative positions, but it was these features which caught Evadne’s now-roving eyes. Then he smiled, and she added “lips” to the list.
“Wow!” she said innocently, and then blushed. She hurriedly added “I can see you in focus!”
But they both knew what she had meant, as clearly as if it was written up on the eye chart.

“You’ll need to choose some frames next” he said
“How will I see what they look like?” she asked
“I’ll help you” he said, adding that he thought she would look fabulous in any. She turned slowly towards him, looking meltingly at him through the big lenses “Even in these ocular testicles?” she asked
Gary laughed, and assured her that Yes, she did. The he lifted them oh so gently off her, reducing her surroundings to a rosy haze, brushing her cheeks and hair with those strong hands we mentioned before. Evadne shivered, or shuddered (depending on your preference)and leaned closer – so that she could still see him.
“I hadn’t realised how vulnerable I was feeling” she explained
“Don’t worry” said Gary, though his hand trembled a little as he put the equipment away.
“There’s no hurry to go yet – as I said I have no more appointments for ages. I’ve just got to get my stuff sorted out”
“Me too” Evadne replied, wriggling a little in the big leather chair “Go ahead.” she giggled “Don’t mind me…I mean I can’t see anyway!”
Gary slid his chair up close to hers, and murmured into her hair “I’m so familiar with it, I can do it by feel”
Evadne, her own adjustments as yet incomplete, whispered back “Or I could help?”

She could, for with her poor eyesight she was also very accustomed to doing things by feel. It is a system which has worked down the centuries, and it certainly worked here in the rosy glow of the examination room, with its ample leather chair, her ample bosomage, his chiselled jaw, that jumper…. She had been flustered by the compliment to her retinas, (no-one had ever said that before) but when Gary began to gaze deeply into her eyes without the intervention of gadgets, the moment was so intense as to do what intense moments do: Clothing is a distraction at such times; Quite soon Evadne was gazing in the direction of the eye chart and crying out….but “O! O! O!” were not the letters on the screen.
Somehow that didn’t matter. The oculists’ testicles had prevailed

Morwenna helps out

Jumble sales are less common than they used to be: displaced by American invaders like car boot sales, and modern innovations like eBay. However in the village of Gowainer-cum-Quickley the old traditions survived. Morwenna valued that, so she always helped at the village jumble sale – also because she got to have first dibs at the bags of donations. This not only satisfied the scavenger in her, but gave her an insight into the private lives of her neighbours. She relished the memory of opening a bag donated by the intimidating Mrs Pomphrey, massively-be-titted incumbent of the old blacksmith’s house. Inside she found some rather striking black undergarments which an experienced eye could discern as bras, but to the untrained might easily be mistaken for surgical supports – or possibly sophisticated bondage equipment. After that Mrs Pomphrey and her cantilevered bazoompas seemed a lot less scary. Indeed, Morwenna amused herself by thinking of Mrs Pomphrey, whose husband looked as though his wife’s terrifying chuffas had sucked the life out of him, being banged on the anvil.

Mrs Pomphrey’s husband was not a blacksmith; there had not been one of those in Gowainer-cum-Quickley for many years. Which is a shame because every village needs a young man who can legitimately be stripped to the waist and flexing his oiled muscles for the delight of the local women. This was probably what had been missing from Morwenna’s life.

At any rate she was busy at the village hall, opening bags and boxes of donations, sorting them for the various stalls and generally helping with preparation of the tea & coffee service, Guess the Weights of the Tits stall (run as an educational project by the local birdwatchers)and the Lucky Dip. She was a good all-rounder and was always being called here and there to help; one minute she was rifling through some men’s underwear, the next she was required to set out the refreshments attractively – it was generally accepted that no-one knew how to show buns off to advantage like Morwenna.

There were a variety of other traditional stalls too, as befits a jumble sale.

Into the middle of this bustle strode a man lugging a massive package. This was a most welcome sight to Morwenna on a number of levels; he was a new face (and a very handsome one) and these are always welcome, and also any young man with a massive package will find himself popular on such an occasion. He told them that he had just moved into the village and in the process of settling in had also done some de-cluttering.
Morwenna rushed over with almost unseemly haste to check out his package. It was very full and looked extremely promising. She gave it a squeeze
“Anything fragile in here?” she asked
“Not really” he assured her, noting her breathy excitement. “This seems like a very….broadminded village”
He tilted his head in the direction of the birdwatching society’s stall. Mrs Pomphrey (patron of the local branch) was standing beneath the banner announcing Guess the Weight of the Tits. Morwenna giggled, and explained that it was part of an educational drive. This came as a relief to the young man, who had also been rather concerned by a poster nearby headed “Tit identification guide”. He had worried about the need for that…

“Let’s see what you’ve got in there” Morwenna said, eyeing his large bag, and they set about unpacking it together. As they did so their eyes met again and again, becoming close friends in the process, even swapping recipes and adding each other to Christmas card lists.
Whilst their eyes were engaged on this innocent adventure, their loins were longing to become engaged more directly. Morwenna began to stop thinking about an imaginary blacksmith with a leather apron offering protection from his red hot tool, and instead consider that this newcomer might have something to offer. He had a neat clipped beard, chiselled cheekbones and soft curly brown hair.
After a while he suddenly looked at her directly and said “I’m so sorry: I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Sean”
Morwenna smiled broadly (she was, after all, a broad) and said “No, you’re not!”
He looked confused. They were leaning quite close together. She, emboldened by the exchange of recipes etc reached out and gently touched his bearded jaw. “You’re not shorn at all!” she laughed, with a sound like the tinkling of a lady having a tinkle.
Sean laughed too. “You’re right” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, though not as thoughtfully as Morwenna at that moment. She had no experience of facially hirsute men and had been been considering whether various sorts of curly hair could become dangerously entangled in certain situations.
“And what’s your name?” Sean asked. “Morwenna” she answered – that was an easy question.
“Very pretty” said Sean, leaving the ambiguity of his answer hanging in the air like a helium balloon.

She was very pretty, he thought. Her face was pink cheeked (he did not realise why at this time) with pouty lips and the sort of cheekbones one generally found on a cat. “Cute pussy” he thought to himself.
They sorted through the contents of his bag, Morwenna taking things to the various appropriate tables (men’s clothing, games, books, white elephant and so on) and eventually near the bottom there was a large, heavy carrier bag. “Old sheets” he explained. “I thought maybe someone could use them as decorating cloths – you know, to put over the furniture when you’re painting…” his voice trailed off in slight awkwardness.
“Were they off your bed?” asked Morwenna, an urgent curiosity arising in her.
“Yes. I really don’t know if they’re suitable for a jumble sale…They’re a bit marked, you know, where I’ve spilt my stuff on them. ”
Morwenna raised her eyebrows at him

Right at the very bottom of the bag she saw some shiny fabric, which she pounced on. “What’s this?” she asked, tugging away. “Steady. Don’t pull too hard!” Sean cried, helping her out with it. “This is a dress my sister donated. She was coming over and I told her you were having a jumble sale so she brought this”
Morwenna was thrilled; this was why she liked to help out – because of finds like this. “It looks lovely!” she exclaimed “Do you mind if I try it on myself?”
“I’ll put some money in the box for it if I like it” she added, not wishing to appear mean

“Oh yes, do!” Sean exclaimed, adding “It’s a perfect colour for you”
Morwenna scooped up the dress and hurried off to the corner of the hall, where a door led into a side room that had a notice taped on it saying CHANGING ROOM, and another on a string which had VACANT on one side and IN USE on the other. Sean followed her, curious, and waited by the door. Morwenna slipped into the makeshift changing room (a committee room which had been cleared of chairs, and with a long mirror leaning against the wall)There she peeled off her jeans and jumper, and (because it was a dress) her socks too. The dress slipped down over her, clinging to her clingaceaus curves like an octopusean lover. But when she reached behind her she found she was unable to do up the zip. It was tricksy and stuck part way up.

She felt, therefore, completely justified in calling out quietly to Sean, to tell him of this problem. “My sister said something about that…do you need a hand?”
“Yes please” Morwenna replied, and moments later Sean had slipped in through the door. His eyes feasted on the spectacle before him. The dress, which was of a stretchy, shiny fabric, was just a little bit too tight for Morwenna. or, to put it another way, a perfect fit. She was wriggling herself into it, doing that thing women do where they rub their hands over their waist and hips, at once smoothing the fabric over THEIR bodies and disarranging the fabric over the bodies of nearby men. Sean felt himself disarranging as he watched.
“It’s a bit tight” she said. Sean shook his head without thinking. “Let me have a look”
He looked. Indeed he could not help it. He looked at the shiny shape of her hips and thighs, and then up at how terribly tight the dress was further up. That was where the real struggle was going on, with Morwenna’s perfectly stacked fruity baps threatening to spill out of the top, cherries and all.
“Turn round and I’ll do the zip” he said. Morwenna turned, saying “I’m not sure it will go, it’s so tight”
She turned, and Sean had the benefit of her shinily bound buttocks rotating gently before him, causing dangerous levels of further disarrangement. The top half of the zip was open, Morwenna’s black bra strap visible in the gap. He took hold of the zip tag and, steadying himself by putting a bracing hand on her lower back, began to tug. It was jammed. He tried again.
“Are you giving it a good tug?” She asked.
“Not at the moment – I’m trying to get the zip to move” he replied.
“I’ll hold the top of the zip together, see if that helps”
He gripped the gaping sides of the dress with one hand, squeezing them together, an action which inadvertently caused Morwenna’s bra hooks to come undone.
“Oh no!” she cried, unconvincingly. “Now look what has happened!” she turned round to face him, the terrible damage very evident as her volumpties spilled out like the tide bursting through a wall of sand on a beach.
With admirable speed Sean flipped the sign on the door from “VACANT” to “IN USE” and prepared to deal with the situation.

The zip was indeed stuck he confirmed. It would go down, with help, but not up. There was nothing for it: he would have to help her out of the dress completely, and he was up for that.
Together they extricated Morwenna from the entrapment of the dress, sliding it down over her hips. The zip would not go right down so it was a struggle, and took her teensyweensy underthings with it as it went. Sean apologised, though it turned out that was unnecessary as Morwenna was glad to be out of them anyway.

A short queue formed outside the changing room for a while. But those at the front of it reported that they feared it had been closed due to a plumbing leak or some such, as they had heard some odd noises.

It was a very successful jumble sale, much was raised, especially in Sean’s manly department.
He correctly identified the Tits, and was soon able to guess the weight of each one quite accurately.
He had been wondering about having a go a Whack the Rat, but as it turned out, he didn’t need to as Morwenna was ready with her famous refreshments, which lived up to all expectations. And the question of whether assorted kinds of curly hair can sometimes get entangled was resolved to mutual satisfaction by thorough experimentation.

Muriel finds her Spark

Muriel had noticed her skirtings getting loose. They were tatty and needed a lick of paint, and if there was anyone motivated to get a lick on her skirtings, it was Muriel. A kind neighbour had helped her to compile a list of things she needed

Muriel had already had a number of tools round her house, and she was determined it would not happen again

The list seemed a little daunting so she went directly to the help desk for advice. The man behind the help desk was very polite, as helpful as the name suggested, and clearly benefitted from a lifetime’s experience as he seemed to Muriel to be about 90. After she had asked a number of questions, and the queue accumulating behind her was starting to develop its own social and economic structures, he eventually suggested that he call someone to walk the store with her, answer questions, and lead her to the right place for each item. He made an indecipherable tannoy announcement and then Muriel was sidelined as he attended to the rest of the queue – which had now established a primitive form of democracy.

Fairly soon an overalled man appeared, introducing himself as “Spark” on account of his electrical expertise, but he assured Muriel he was a good all-rounder
He rubbed his strong, capable hands together with what seemed like glee as Muriel took out her list.
“I’m sorry it’s such a long one” she apologised. Spark smiled “That’s OK; I’ve had to say that myself more than once”
“We’ll start at the top and work down” he continued “Unless you’d prefer the other way. I can work in any direction you like”
He took the list from her.

Spark began to read, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Muriel’s jumper was deliciously tight and clingy, and that she had the sort of ass and thighs which would enable her to hold a ladder steady. Furthermore, if he was UP that ladder, the view down the front of her jumper would most likely had caused him to dive down into it. Health and Safety be damned

“What do you think?” asked Muriel. Spark felt he couldn’t really say exactly what he had been thinking. “Just trying to work out what you need” he eventually said
“I think I know” Muriel said with a cautious little smile, which flickered across her plump cheeks like a sort of fluttery thing, but I’ve never done this sort of thing before so I’ll put myself completely in your hands”

Spark liked that idea. Very much, and he considered it – coincidentally at precisely the same time as Muriel was thinking about his strong capable hands.

Spark took the piece of paper
“First thing you need is some long screws” he said, then after a pause he added “We’ll come to those later”
They walked slowly through the aisles, then Spark reached out to the shelves and pressed a huge tool into Muriel’s hands.
“This is a big wrench” he explained.
“Oh I’m sorry!” exclaimed Muriel “I had no idea this would upset you”
“No. I mean this thing here”
Muriel blushed “It’s very big…and so heavy”
“It’s adjustable too” Spark explained “Just grasp it here and give it a slight turn and it gets bigger”
She tried it. “No, hold it more firmly. Then let your hand slide round this part here. See how it expands?”
Muriel was impressed “So it will go as big as I want?” Spark nodded

After a long moment watching Muriel playing with the wrench (she was better at making it bigger than she was at making it smaller) he looked again at the list.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing. She explained
“I want to put up a windowbox, so I need to drill into the brickwork. I got my neighbour to have a look at my bits but he wasn’t sure if they would do and suggested I come here and ask an expert”
Spark smiled proudly at this description of himself. Indeed he seemed to grow two inches, but without actually getting any taller. Muriel fumbled around in her bag, found her bits and pressed them into Sparky’s hand. He gently blew on them (they were a bit fluffy)examined them closely and pronounced that they were fine for the job in hand.
She smiled

The next item was rubbing oil. Muriel felt obliged to explain that.
“I was given an old oak bench by a friend, and the wood is a bit dried out. I need something that I can rub in all over to bring back its sheen”

Spark explained that rubbing oil was at the other end of the shop. In fact it turned out to be not actually on the shop floor at all, but behind those hanging plastic straps which separate off the storerooms. And it wasn’t even in the main storeroom, but a dark corner.

Muriel found that she was remarkably deft at giving the mighty wrench a firm turn to make it bigger. And she was soon having the fluff on her bits gently blown. Unlike the oak bench she was not at all dried out – quite the reverse, so no oil was needed to lubricate the rubbing.
At the end of the list they got the long screws

And that is how Muriel and Spark reached their prime, cementing (and grouting) their love of DIY

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.

Gwendoline and the geek

Gwendoline was not really interested in computers: in her view they were tools, like the men who worked on them. But unfortunately she was obliged to use one for her work, and so when it went wrong, she had to admit such men were useful.
The local branch of Overbyte was quiet when she went in. Aware of her inadequacies with modern electronics, she tried to enter unobserved. This was a doomed plan from the start: the staff of Overbyte were overwhelmingly male, each of their customers also tended to be overwhelmingly male. Gwendoline, on the other hand, was overwhelmingly female, and as she crossed the floor from door to counter, several pairs of eyes were drawn, by the delightfully refreshing tic-tic of stilettos, to watch her closely. It was time well spent: she was dressed in clothes which seemed to have shrunk in the wash but were gamely trying to do their duty. The watching men longed to say to them “Just relax, have a break. We’ll take it from here” By the time she reached the counter, however, they all seemed to be staring intently at their work… though buoyed up (or was that “boyed up”?) by the sight of Gwendoline’s overwhelming female attributes.

One member of staff, his member like a staff, greeted her with a broad smile and some subtle readjustments below counter level.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, the answers already blazing in his head.
Gwendoline tossed back her mane of auburn hair: when nervous she always impersonated shampoo adverts; she found it reassuring.
“I don’t know where to start…” she whispered shyly. Again, the staff member could have answered that for her, but he let her make the running.
“You have a problem with your computer?”
“Yes, I do”
Well, that was clear enough. It should be plain sailing from here on.
“I’m not very good with computers…” she said, her voice trailing away. “I’m hopeless with gadgets really” she paused, then corrected herself “well I have SOME gadgets which I am fine with…I know how all the buttons and things work…” she paused again, going just a teensy bit pink
“But not computers.”
The man laughed, and introduced himself as Sven. This wasn’t his name, but he found it worked better with women than Norman
“Well Sven, I can’t get it to do anything I want”
Sven looked surprised: she could have got HIM to do pretty much anything
“So is the screen locked up?” he asked
“No” She looked puzzled. “I just leave it on the desk. Is that wrong?”
“I mean does it not respond when you press anything?”
“That’s the problem Sven. No response no matter where I press.” She looked up at him, her huge blue eyes and softly pouting lips reminding him of the things he had been looking at on HIS computer just before she walked in
“…and I’m not used to that”
“I can imagine!” Sven exclaimed. “I suppose you’ve tried turning it off?”
Gwendoline gave him a firm stare from under her lashes. “Of course” she replied. She didn’t want to be taken for THAT much of a fool
“And have you – ”
“I’ve turned it on, yes” she said, with slow emphasis. “I know how to do that”
She let a little smile escape her lips: It crossed the desk at a fast run and jumped into Sven’s arms, where it made itself at home and Sven vowed to keep it as a pet.
“Yes, you certainly do, madam!”

In answer to his question about the model, Gwendoline drew a piece of paper from her pocket, on which she had written all the details. She pushed it across the counter, anxiously
“Are you any good with these?”
Sven smiled reassuringly: he was getting into his stride here; on surer ground.
“Oh yes. Well, I’m pretty experienced with all kinds, but I could tell you a tale or two about these babies”
“Really?” Gwendoline’s eyes opened wider than ever
“Oh yes! Some of the guys [he waved his arm to indicate the other members of staff] just deal with the front end stuff”
“Is that so?” she asked innocently
“Yes. They just do the simple stuff. But me, well I do the lot. Suppose – just suppose, that this turned out to be hard drive trouble -”
Gwendoline looked alarmed “Hard drive?”
“Yes. Are you familiar with a hard drive?”
There was an awkward pause. Gwendoline was unsure how to answer the question, but Sven seemed so helpful
“I’ve had a few” she said eventually “Could they have damaged the computer?”

There was another pause. Sven stared at the ceiling for a long moment whilst he waited for his thoughts and other parts to settle. Gwendoline was looking at him, one hand pressed anxiously to her chest, which rather than concealing seemed to amplify her volumpty distractions. Below her hand the orboids heaved with concern.

“As I said, if it DID turn out to be a hard drive issue, I might well be able to sort it nevertheless.”
He started on a favourite anecdote “There was a woman came in here last year, everything seized up. No-one could get to the bottom of it. Eventually I had to do a housecall. I got right under her desk and I was able to sort her out from the back end”
“Wow!” Gwendoline was impressed
“So she didn’t mind about the computer after that then?”
“Sometimes, you have to just get stuck in. And other times…Well!” he laughed, another anecdote surfacing in his memory “Another customer, her hard drive was no more. She’d been quoted God knows how much to sort it. She came to me, and do you know, a quick bang on the desk and all was well! She was happy as Larry”
Gwendoline was most impressed. She was sure she had come to the right place.

“How’s your memory?” Sven asked her. Gwendoline looked baffled “Fine, I think”
“You might be a bit full” (She certainly looked it)
“If I could just get to see it I might be able to free up some space and that would get everything going”
“What? Really?”
“Yes. I could give you some megabytes”
Gwendoline’s hand flew to her neck. “Now there’s an idea!”
“But really I need to be hands-on”
That was something she could relate to.
They agreed that he would come to her house, and see if he could get everything going again.

Gwendoline was not disappointed. Sven arrived and in no time at all had indeed got under her desk and helped her out. Everything was freed up, Gwendoline ended up with megabytes she hadn’t had before. He showed her the proper use of the Insert key, and soon her locked Shift was off. She no longer wanted to Escape, and indeed savoured the new memory for a long time.