Dear Reader: this is a - mud-patch -ashpit - compost heap - wanking story. You were warned… I didn’t put on my shoes to go outside; the garden is just lovely on warm evenings like this after a storm. There are little traces of last night’s going...

We’re soaking in a hot bubble-bath together. It’s our second bath, so the water is fairly clean. We are feeling intensely relaxed, as you might imagine. “Next time, we need a mirror on the ceiling.” Nancy says, stretching like a cat and sliding so...

For those in a ‘hurry’: two pages of talking then 11 pages of very dirty fucking. Scroll on down . *** Nancy slips back into our bed carefully cradling two mugs of tea, and props herself up on pillows beside me. I smile at her as I wrap my finger...

The little boat dock could be reached from the lower garden. If you knew where to find the gap in the screening rhododendrons you could step down from mossy green stillness into the full warm light of afternoon. The two row boats tied to the dock flo...

Of course, she knew the perfect place to share a kinky mudfight: . “On past the reservoir there’s a holding pool about 20 metres into the woods, and it was pretty silted up the last time I went up there.” “Which was…?” I asked. “When I was a...

The fucking pool is fucking flooded. Don’t laugh. After reading the note the contractors had left, I walk down to see for myself. The site where the pool is going is well back from house and I gratefully kick off my heels before I cross the lawn,...