Bare-Assed Baywatch : Wank Wednesday

It's storytime once again. Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #buoy. For more information on this writing challenge, and to find the other stories, check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

Bare-Assed Baywatch

"She can give me mouth-to-pussy resuscitation any time she wants," purred Sandy as she looked up at the tanned and busty lifeguard who was sitting at the top of a watch tower a few metres behind us wearing nothing but a bright red bathing cap and scanning the sea with a large pair of binoculars.

"Damn, did you have to say that," I complained.

We were at the nude beach, sunning ourselves beneath the lazily circling gulls, the sea gently caressing the sand in front of us and the wind softly teasing our pubes.

I'd had to learn a special kind of mental discipline for occasions like this. I'd had to learn to block all thoughts of sex from my mind, lest the sight of swinging boobs and wiggling bums and cute little pussies, some bare as a bald man's head and others as hairy as hamsters, cause my wee willie winky to transform into Bonerman. Sharks aren't the only kind of white pointers that strike panic into the hearts of nude beach patrons.

Looking over at Sandy, pushing back her long blonde hair, and grinning a grin that was the universal sign language for "Please fuck me" as she pointed down at the yellow cornsilk that surrounded her pink Percy-gobbler, there was no way the levee was not going to break, flooding my mind with images of fucking and sucking, bum-spanking and boob-squeezing, and causing my cock to swell and stiffen like an inflating balloon animal.

"Meat missile in the launching position," giggled Sandy when she had finished ogling the lifeguard and turned back to me. She gently placed her finger on the head of my cock and pushed it down. When she let go it sprang back to attention and quivered like a tuning fork.

"I'll be in trouble if anyone sees it," I told her. "I better get into the water and cool off."

"I'll join you," she replied.

As I ran down toward the water, with my cock swinging back and forth stiffly like a conductor's baton, a slim young redhead with firm breasts was rising from the water and coming in to the shore. Droplets of water ran down over her pink nipples, stiff from the cool water, over her firm belly with its cute little button, and ran in a river from the fiery forest of pubes that sprang from between her lithe and lean thighs. One look at me advancing upon her with my generative organ rampant and she screamed and ran off down the beach. I tried to tell her I was sorry as I watched her soft pink bottom jiggle away from me, but the sight was just not helping and what came out of my mouth was not intelligible.

"Scaring young women," Sandy scolded as she ran up beside me. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Me!?!" I cried. "You started it. It was your dirty fantasies about the lifesaver chick which turned Mr. Floppy into Mr. Stiffy."

By now the water was about our waists and the offending appendage was no longer on public display. It wasn't getting any softer though. The invigorating coldness of the water against its heat just made it all the more achingly rigid. Sandy pushed her soft body up against me and began stroking my cock with her right hand.

"It's not safe to bring you to the nude beach," she giggled. "You're too much of a perve."

"It's just not fair," I pointed out. "I'm sure you popped a little girl boner over that lust-inspiring lifesaver lass, but you can get away with it, because it isn't obvious." I reached down below the water and, sure enough, discovered that Sandy's clit was stiff too. It was no surprise that her pussy was wet, but it was slippery with more than water.

"Sounds like you're suffering from pussy-envy," she laughed.

"Very funny, Miss Freud," I replied, "but what are we going to do. I suppose we could have a wank here in the water before going back to the beach."

"No," she decided, looking out to sea. "Let's swim out to that buoy and fuck. With that to hang onto, I'm sure we can manage it."

I'm not all that fit, and it was a long swim, but the prospect of sliding my cock into Sandy's sweet juicy little pussy in such a public place was enough to drive me on as I dog-paddled for all I was worth.

Eventually we arrived at the buoy, a little yellow metal tower with some kind of warning sign on it that was floating on a round raft-like base and bobbing in the tide. From the beach we would have been almost invisible. I was sure we would be able to copulate without drawing attention to ourselves.

"We'll have to do it doggy-style," Sandy explained, throwing her arms around the buoy and pulling herself up higher in the water. "Or should we call it 'porpoise style'?"

"Sure beats patting the porpoise," I laughed as I pulled myself up behind her, feeling my sensitive stiff prick slide over the wet skin of her bottom.

"Don't put it in the wrong hole," she warned.

"I thought you loved it that way," I replied.

"I do," she explained. "But my bottom-hole is very tight, and if you get your willy stuck up there we won't be able to swim back to shore and we'll drown."

"Good point," I agreed, grabbing hold of the legs of the tower and lifting myself so that my cock slid smoothly into Sandy's slippery pussy.

"Nothing like feeling the Good Ship Lollycock sailing into Pussy Harbour," she sighed.

I pulled myself up and down and she pushed her arse back against me. It wasn't the most comfortable way to fuck, but it did the job.

"I just hope some shark doesn't come along," I panted as my hot stiffness slid in and out of Sandy's twitching cunt and the cool water swirled around us.

"At least he won't be able to bite off your dick," giggled Sandy.

Lifting myself up out of the water over and over again with Sandy's delectable bottom slapping wetly against my belly was giving me quite a workout. I was puffing and panting before too long. But I was as horny as a brass band and our unusual location brought on a tremendous adrenaline rush. The water was churning up around us like a scene from Piranha.

It came as quite a shock when we suddenly found we were not alone.

"You really shouldn't come out this far," yelled the lady lifesaver who had been the unknowing catalyst for the whole adventure. "But don't worry, I can save you. Just don't panic."

The next thing I knew her nude body was pressed up against my back. She had lovely big soft boobs with stiff little nipples like pencil erasers.

"I'll have to take you one at a time," she explained, pulling me back off of Sandy.

"Anything you say, Miss," I responded, deciding that it was best to cooperate lest she discover what we were really doing.

She had one arm under my right arm and across my chest. Her other hand came around the other side and collided with my rampant cock.

"Oh, I see," she said sternly. "You were too far out and not waving or drowning, but fucking."

"We were just looking for a bit of privacy," explained Sandy.

"Well, it's not allowed," pointed out our would-be rescuer. "My name is Hester. I'm the only lifeguard on  duty at the moment, so you'd better hope nobody drowns in the next twenty minutes or it will be all your fault."

"We could swim back by ourselves," I suggested.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," she insisted. "You might escape."

"Escape?" queried Sandy.

"That's right," Hester told her. "You are both under citizen's arrest for lewd and lascivious behaviour in a public place."

"It's not all that public," Sandy pleaded. "The only reason you could see us was because you had binoculars."

"I'm not the only one with binoculars," Hester responded. "There is a whole bunch of guys who hide up on the cliffs. They have binoculars too."

"Sounds like maybe you should be arresting them," I said.

"Outside my jurisdiction," she explained. "I deal only with what happens in the water."

"Well, I suppose we have no option but to surrender," I sighed.

"I won't be able to lead you up the beach in this state, though," she mused, stroking my submarine stiffy.

"Maybe we could finish what we were doing and then you could arrest us," suggested Sandy, hopefully.

"I can't let you do anything illegal," Hester declared.

"I could have a wank," I told her.

"Still illegal," she pointed out. "There is only one course of action open to me. Much as it disgusts me, I'm going to have to masturbate you myself."

"I beg your pardon!?!" I exclaimed.

"Then neither of you will be engaging in sexual activity," she explained. "Your role will be passive not active. And it won't be sexual activity for me, as I will take no pleasure in it. I hope that you will try not to also. Remember this is nothing personal."

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm only human. Having a sexy girl like yourself wank me off is something I'm incapable of not enjoying."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she warned me. "I'm going to get you off, but I'm not going to let you off."

By now she had a firm grip on my cock and was sliding the loose skin up and down. I could still feel her  stiff-nippled boobs pressed into my back and every so often her wiry pubes brushed against my bum.

Sandy let go of the buoy and swam up behind Hester.

"Stop stroking my bottom!" Hester ordered. Sandy just giggled.

"I bet you didn't know you started all of this," Sandy informed her.

"What do you mean?" asked Hester as she continued to stroke my stiffness.

"Patrick only popped a boner because I told him I was fantasising about you giving the kiss of life to my cunt," she explained.

"I may have my hands full," Hester threatened. "But if you don't take your finger out of my bum, I'll fart on it."

"Please, Sandy," I pleaded. "Don't make things worse for us by sexually molesting an emergency worker."

"O.K. I'll stop playing with Hester's bottom," huffed Sandy. "But it's O.K. for you. At least your getting wanked off. I'm still horny."

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" I cried out as the jism spurted out of the end of my cock and floated to the surface like a Man-o-War jellyfish.

"You wait here," Hester told Sandy. "I'll be back shortly."

Then she got me to put my arms around her neck and we swam to shore with her bare bottom pressed tenderly against my belly.

My body felt heavy as we rose from the shallow water and trudged up the beach. Everyone was staring.

"I'm going to lock you in here," Hester told me, and she pushed me into a storage room in the lifesaving club. I sat down at the table in the middle of the room and waited.

About twenty minutes later the door opened and Hester came in leading Sandy.

"My replacement is here now," Hester explained. "So I'll be able to wait with you until the police arrive."

"Are you really going to hand us over to the police?" asked Sandy nervously.

"I might," Hester threatened. "If you aren't good to me."

"Good to you?" I wanted to know.

"Well, I have to do the right thing in public, and when I'm on duty," she explained. "Apart from wanking you off, Patrick. That was very naughty of me. And I did enjoy it. My cunt got all gooey feeling your stiff cock in my hand. And knowing that it was thinking about me that made it that way in the first place. That's true isn't it? You weren't just trying to get off lightly?... er... so to speak."

"No, that was true," smiled Sandy. "I saw you sitting up on your lifeguard tower all nude but for your cute little cap and I started fantasising that you would pull me out of the water and revive me by parting my thighs and applying your lips and tongue to my cream-dripping cunt." As she said this she reached down and began masturbating leisurely.

"Well," chuckled Hester, walking over to her. "CPR is the more conventional method for reviving people. I won a prize for my CPR."

"For your Cock Provoking Rear?" I suggested, coming up behind her and fondling the soft cheeks of her bottom.

"No, silly!" she smiled. "Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation. For getting people's hearts started."

"Your rear could get my heart started again," I told her. "I'm sure of it." And then I spanked that part of her anatomy with my newly stiffening cock.

"Well, I'm almost as good at pussy-sucking as I am at CPR," Hester bragged. "So I think I can make your dream come true. My only condition is that I get fucked while I do it."

"You drive a hard bargain," I said sternly as I pushed her head down between Sandy's spread legs and slid my cock deep into her cunt.

"She's not kidding," swooned Sandy. "I think my pussy's died and gone to heaven."

"I'm not there yet," I replied, as I watched Hester's soft brown butt-cheeks jiggle in time to my pussy-pounding, "but I can see it from here."

Some time later, Sandy started quivering and quaking and curling her toes. I slammed my cock one more time into Hester's pussy and coated it liberally with spunk as she squirted all over my cock and balls like she was pissing herself. Sandy cried out in ecstasy and fell off of her chair.

"You know it is a real hassle when people misbehave at the nude beach," Hester told us after we had regained our composure and were sitting at the table having a casual chat. "If you want to sunbathe nude, and you don't think you can trust yourselves, come over to my place and lay out in the backyard. If it's my day off that is."

"That's very kind of you," Sandy smiled.

"But I have to warn you," she explained seriously. "They don't call me Hester the Molester for nothing. Working here at the nude beach, seeing spunky guys with their cocks out and hot gals in the all-together makes me very frustrated. When I'm on my own I spend most of my time molesting myself. But if I have company, I don't take "no" for an answer. Cocks get sucked, pussies get licked, and faces get ridden by my salty wet cunt until they get bathed in a tsunami of twat-juice. But don't worry, I'm a lifesaver, I won't let you drown."

The End

Rude Health

Carolina from Girls Out West demonstrates some Pilates

"We can help you lose a few inches!" How often have we heard that? Almost as often as, "We can help you gain a few inches!"

Working out and getting fit is often presented as the way to make ourselves sexy. The only problem is that a lot of pain has to come before the gain. And there is something puritanistic about this mortification of the too too flabby flesh.

But perhaps the process might be sexy in itself. When Olivia Newton-John sang Let's Get Physical she was suggesting something more than what Richard Simmons has to offer. Gyms are places where men and women wear skimpy or tight-fitting clothing, moving their bodies around and sweating a lot. There can be something sexy in all this.

Then there is massage. Even when it isn't just a code word for the old rub and tug, it can still be a very sensual experience.

If you are attracted to your own sex, what better place than the communal showers at the gym to check them out?

And the supposed health benefits of nudism should not be forgotten. Lots and lots of Vitamin D from all that sun on skin exposure, plus endless games of volleyball.

Long before the establishment of Playboy in 1953, guys were jacking off to Health & Efficiency, the British nudist magazine founded in 1900. I'm not sure what the "Efficiency" bit refers to. Perhaps the fact that you can save so much time in the morning if you don't have to get dressed.

Television's Trinny and Susannah go nudist

Although getting fit is always on my "to do" list for tomorrow if not the day after, I have explored some of its sexy possibilities in a couple of my stories.

In Chapter Nine of my novel Vanessa's Island (soon to be available as an e-book), our would-be reclusive artist hero David reads aloud from a lesbian fantasy story written by his lover Vanessa :

At first it seemed a bit strange to be reading aloud a story written in the first person by a woman. But somehow, knowing that Vanessa had written the story, I found it a tremendous turn-on. It was as if I was not just possessing her body from the outside as I had already, but from the inside. When she played with her body or the bodies of other women in the story it was with my hands. When she saw them it was with my eyes.

"'I run a health club for women only'," I began. "'Alot of women would rather work-out away from the lustful eyes of men. What the women who frequent my establishment didn't know up until recently, is that they were still being lusted after as they worked out. Only by a woman. Me.

"'Oh, I've had boyfriends and lived a normal life. My passion for women was secret until recently, but it was the deciding factor in my career choice. The sight of women working out has always been a turn-on for me. Not that I like tight hardbodies, not at all. But most of the women who come to work out are not like that. They think they could afford to lose a few pounds. I like them just as they are. And in the showers I get to see every inch of them.

"'Of course, I used to have to be careful to make sure they didn't notice me looking at them. Now all that has changed. This is the story of how it happened.

"'It all began with Samantha. Samantha was five foot ten, a brunette, with the breasts and ass of a swimsuit model. Watching her work-out in her tightly stretched leotards got me so worked up that I often had to go and get changed in the middle of a session lest she or any of my other customers notice the wet patch forming in my crotch. They must have thought I suffered from some form of obssessive compulsive disorder, but it was better than letting them find out that I lusted after their bodies.

"'I remember the first day that Samantha joined our aerobics class. How my heart beat hard at the prospect of seeing her naked. I always showered with the clients. Under the shower no-one could tell how wet the sight of their naked bodies made me.

"'At last that first session ended and I followed Samantha into the shower room, my eyes rivetted to her gently rolling ass encased as it was in sweat-soaked lycra. Slowly she peeled of the lycra and I tried not to stare too obviously as her soft pale breasts with their small pink nipples sprang free. Then she pulled her leotard down further, having to wriggle to get it over the swelling, snow-white cheeks of her bottom.'

By this stage my stiff cock was crying out for some attention. I grabbed Vanessa's hand and pushed her soft palm against it.

"Hey," she cried, "there aren't any cocks in this story. This is girl's only."

"But I need it," I pleaded. "I need to use both hands to keep my place with the pages."

"Oh, all right," she agreed, slowly beginning to wank my stiff dick. "You can be hiding in the towel bin, sneaking peeks at us girlies in the shower and jerking yourself off. O.K. Just think how the towels that surround your naked, masturbating body were used to wipe off every part of our bodies, our boobs, our bottoms and particularly our sweet little pussies."

I couldn't hold out any longer. Pleasure coursed through my body as Vanessa's soft hand coaxed spurt after spurt of hot cum out of my cock. It splattered all over the front of her leotards.

"If you think I'm going to take off my leotards just because you've shot your load all over them, you've got another thing coming," Vanessa informed me with a pout. She wiped up some of my cum on her finger and then sucked on it playfully. "Now on with the story."

"'I could stand to loose a little bit off of my butt,' she laughed [that was Samantha, wasn't it], giving me an excuse to look.

"'Couldn't we all,' I replied, frustrated that I couldn't tell her what I really thought.

"'I quickly stripped off my own leotard and laid it down carefully in such a way that the sopping crotch was not visible. Then I joined the rest of the ladies in the shower. I was so tempted to take up a position next to Samantha, but I thought that if I did I might not be able to resist the temptation to reach out and touch her soft, wet, soapy skin.

The soapy bottom of Anna from Girls Out West

 "'One by one, the girls stepped out, dried themselves, got dressed and left. Samantha was one of the last to go. When I was alone, I did what I always did. I played with myself. I played back everything in my mind, especially Samantha stripping out of her sweaty leotard, while I slid two soapy fingers in and out of my juiced up pussy.

"'This routine continued for several weeks, until that fateful day when Samantha left her car keys in her locker.

"'On that day, as always, I stayed under the shower, after the others had gone, and imagined what I would like to do with Samantha. I imagined undressing her slowly from her sensible business suit, kissing her nipples, kissing her lips, the ones on her face and the ones between her legs. I imagined her in her leotards. How they stretched across that luscious ass.

"'As I fantasized I let my hands wander sensuously and soapily across my body. The fingers of one hand gently tweaked my hard nipples, while my other hand slid slowly down over my stomach and through my pubes into my waiting pussy. I slid one finger in on either side of my sensitive clit. I love that sensation. My fingers glided across my stiffening clit, while also giving me that satisfying sensation of being filled. Only it wasn't some guy's cock filling me, but Samantha's long and versatile tongue.

"'I felt that delicious warmth glowing in my belly as I slowly sank to my knees, feeling the spray of the shower carressing every inch of my skin. I had been dying to do this all the time I had been watching Samantha and the other girls work-out. I loved playing with myself. But if only I could play with them. Give them the pleasure I was giving myself.

"'"For this next exercise," I said, speaking aloud in the heat of my fantasy, "I want you all to strip naked for me, so that I can lick out your pussies one by one. You first, Samantha."

"'My heart nearly jumped out of my chest when Samantha's voice answered me casually.

"'"Sounds good to me," she said, and I looked up to see that she was standing there in her grey business suit watching me blatantly finger-fuck myself.'"

And in How Meggie Made Me Hard (one of the 13 stories contained in my e-book Inappropriate Behavior and Other Stories), Meggie decides to take on the role of personal trainer to an out of condition delivery man, but her motives are decidedly self-indulgent :

I was a bit of a slob until Meggie took me in hand. Took me in hand. There I go again, whenever I think about Meggie my mind turns to sex.

It all started when I delivered her exercise equipment. When I pushed the buzzer on the door it was answered by an attractive woman in her late 40’s with curly reddish brown hair and a sweet slightly shy smile. She was wearing a light blue summer dress.

“Bring it all in,” she said, seeing the truck and realising that her equipment had arrived. “I’ll show you where to put it.

Normally I get the smaller things to deliver as I’m not very fit. As I carried Meggie’s walking machine through the door I panted and wheezed.

“I can see you don’t keep yourself in shape,” Meggie commented patting me on my beer belly as I went past. I thought it was rather forward of her.

I brought in the excercise bike and the ab-roller, then I was finished.

It was a hot day and I was tired and sweaty. Meggie offered me a cold drink. I accepted.

“Pew! You stink,” she said, proving once more that tactfulness was not her stong suit. “You’d better have a shower before you go.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked. “I could do with freshening up a little.”

“Go ahead,” she replied, “the bathroom is that way.”

Once I got to the bathroom, I shut the door and stripped off my sweaty t-shirt. I unzipped my jeans and pulled them off. When I was naked I turned on the shower and stepped in. Because it was such a hot day I left the water on lukewarm.

I was just enjoying the feel of the refreshing water running over my body and beginning to apply soap to me face, when the door opened. Quickly, I rinsed the soap off of my face. I mustn’t have been too thorough because my eyes stung as I opened them just in time to see Meggie opening the shower door.

“What do you think you are doing?” I asked. “Can’t a guy have a bit of privacy?”

Meggie smiled so sweetly that I couldn’t help but forgive her instantly. “I just wanted to see if you were really as out of shape as you looked with your clothes on,” she explained.

She reached out her right hand and brought it up against my belly, just inches above the spot where my hands were clasped protectively over my cock.

“You could stand to lose a bit of that,” she said.

“I know, I know,” I replied. “Now let me shower in peace.”

“You don’t have to be so shy,” Meggie chided me, pushing my hands gently away from my prick. “If I let you use my shower, the least you could do is give me a look at your cock. I like looking at guys’ cocks. Mmmmm, I don’t think you really mind me looking, otherwise it wouldn’t be swelling up like that.”

She was right. I loved the idea of having a sexy woman like herself looking at my nude body with undisguised lust. I had only tried to hide my cock in the first place because it seemed the polite thing to do. How was I to know that politeness was not high on Meggie’s list of priorities.

“I could really do something with that body of yours,” Meggie mused, deep in thought. “Oh, wow! Look how your cock jumped when I said that. You thought I meant sex, didn’t you? No, I mean if you let me be your personal trainer I could really whip you into shape. If you got yourself into shape, then a little sex might not be out of the question.”

In my mind I imagined taking Meggie right away, right there, just lifting up her dress, pulling down her panties and slipping my prick into her sweet pussy.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve really made your cock go stiff,” she said, teasingly. “I think you’d better pull yourself off. Then you’ll feel much more relaxed.”

“What, with you standing there watching?” I asked, in disbelief.

“I can tell you don’t mind the idea,” replied Meggie with a smile.  “If your dick gets any harder it’s going to burst. Come on let’s see how a naughty boy likes to stroke his stiff dick in the shower.”

That was it. There was no point resisting. I grabbed my rock-hard prick in my soapy right-hand and began to wank myself off. My soapy hand slid up and down my cock as I watched Meggie watching me. There was a twinkle in those sexy brown eyes of hers as she watched me masturbate.

“Feel good, honey?” she asked looking me in the eyes briefly before returning her attention to my slippery stiff cock.

“You bet,” I sighed.

“Would it give you a bit of inspiration if I let you see how wet my panties are getting?” she asked, lifting her skirt and leaning back with her legs spread so that I could see the spreading patch of wetness on her pale pink knickers. She gently teased the area through the wet material with the tip of the index finger of her right hand.”

To feel my hot, hard cock in my hand, and to know that the sight of it was making her drip pussy juice into her fresh clean panties, sent me over the edge. My cock jerked in my hand and spurted a shower of hot cum across the bathroom floor.

“Yeah!” cried Meggie, dropping her skirt and clapping her hands.

*    *    *

“Now these are the rules,” said Meggie, “if you want me to be your personal trainer.

“’1. You have to come over at 7.00 ever night and stay until 10.00.

“’2. You have to do anything that I tell you to without question.

“’3. As soon as you arrive you have to take off all of your clothes and remain completely naked  until it is time for you to go. (This has nothing to do with the effectiveness of the workout, you understand. It’s just my reward for helping you.)

“’4. You are not allowed to touch me in any way. That is your reward when you have achieved our goal.

“Sound O.K.?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “How will you be dressed?”

“I’ll start off the way I am, but if you do well, I’ll gradually wear less, is that a deal?” she asked. “I reckon you need to lose about ten inches from around that waist of yours. Let’s say that by the time you have lost two inches, I’ll be totally nude. Then while you lose those last eight inches you will have a bare-bottomed, hairy-pussied, bouncing-boobed totally naked trainer giving you the encouragement you need. But still no touching until you lose those other eight inches.”

“Oh, God,” I sighed, rubbing the crotch of my jeans, where my cock was once more making his presence felt.

“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured me, “you  can have as many masturbation breaks as you want. And if I’m feeling really horny I might just join in.”

Check out Inappropriate Behavior for the rest of the story.

Book Review

Confessions from a Health Farm by Timothy Lea

Back in my very first post on this blog I briefly discussed the Confessions series of books and films. These were an institution in Britain (as well as Australia) back in the Seventies.

Author Christopher Wood, who would later write the screenplays (and novelizations) for two James Bond films - The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker, wrote a novel called Confessions of a Window Cleaner in 1971. The hero, a loveable rogue and bungler by the name of Timothy Lea, related his picaresque adventures in the window cleaning trade in the first person, and Wood hid his identity behind that of his fictional hero by giving Lea the author credit. Many more books were to follow in which Timmy took on jobs ranging from travelling salesman to private soldier to icecream man. He even spent time in jail and as a member of a committee investigating the pornography trade in Confessions from the Clink. Whatever occupation he was pursuing it would always lead to a multitude of sexual encounters, many of them ending disastrously with angry husbands chasing him down the street in the nude or sexually aggressive women ganging up on him and fucking him within an inch of his life.

In 1974 Confessions of a Window Cleaner was made into a movie starring Robin Askwith as Timmy Lea. It was the top-grossing British film of the year and spawned three sequels, based loosely on other books in the series.

The appeal of these books is perhaps limited by two factors which, I'm sure, endear them to fans. Lea uses loads of colloquial expressions, some presumably of his own invention, others traditional Cockney rhyming slang, to tell his story. To those who are used to these kinds of expressions, e.g. a beak is a judge, a Hampton (i.e. Hampton Wick, i.e. dick) is a penis, etc., this adds to the amusement, but others may feel that they are reading something approaching Clockwork Orange when it comes to mysterious forms of expression. There is, however, something amusing about a book in which the hero plunges his "action man kit" into a girl's "spasm chasm". The other aspect which might alienate some modern readers is the political incorrectness of Lea's world view. One can look on it as a satire of that world view a la 'Til Death Us Do Part or All in the Family, but there are no doubt some who will fail to warm to a character who refers to women as "bints" and black women as "jungle bunnies" and says that the subservience of Japanese women is almost appealing enough to make up for the buck teeth one would no doubt have if Japanese. (And in the distaff Confessions series which Wood wrote under the pseudonym of Rosie Dixon most the humour revolves around farcical ways for Rosie to get raped or molested.) For some of us, however, this kind of bad taste has its own appeal, and the fact that Timmy usually ends up being the butt of the joke keeps it from being mean-spirited.

While these novels are no great works of literature, and are seriously dated by all sorts of 1970s cultural and political references, when it comes to creating hilariously farcical situations, Wood sometimes recalls even such masters of the form as P.G. Wodehouse and Tom Sharpe. Only sometimes mind you. There are also lots of cheap gags and run-of-the-mill bedroom capers. But the books are always a quick fun read.

Confessions from a Health Farm (1974) was the tenth in the series. As with all the other books it begins with a scheme cooked up by Timmy's brother-in-law Sid. Having recently had a lucky escape from managing one of the world's worst rock bands (Confessions from the Pop Scene), he has now decided to start up a health farm. A certain massage therapist by the name of Wanda Zonker has incriminating photos of Lord Baulkit, thus allowing her to persuade him to let her convert his country seat Long Hall into Beauty Manor, a luxurious health farm. The manor is full of secret passageways and spy holes. The horny Lady Baulkit shows Timmy around and also shows him a good time. Then Sid tries to prove that he is fitter than Timmy by challenging him to a pentathlon on Clapham Common during which both cheat shamelessly and also get in trouble with the police. Timmy has to go undercover at Bosky Dell Health Clinic to see how these organisations are run. There he has an erotic encounter with the insatiable Mrs. Chalfont and is so hungry due to the minimal diet that he is reduced to eating dog food. When he gets back to Beauty Manor he finds himself at the centre of various anarchic adventures involving sex in the sauna, overly-energetic Japanese nude masseuses and a mud-machine full of horse manure that breaks loose and runs rampant through the establishment. And everything comes to climax with a visit by Omar Gord and his fellow oil sheiks.

This is neither the best nor the worst of the series. But it is a fun romp. If it has any particular weakness it is that Wood seems to have decided to really run the rhyming slang into the ground. I love this stuff, but a sentence like "She has a large Mahatma Gandhi to pull herself together and though I fancy a pint of apple fritter I have to settle for Gunga Din because there is not an Aristotle of pig's ear in the Mickey Mouse" is too much even for me!

Ain't That the Dickens!

There is a cool little gadget on the net that can analyse your writing and tell you which famous author you write like.

I first tried it out with my story Nicky the Naughty Nurse and it told me that I write like Charles Dickens.

I then tried it out with some of my other works, including non-fiction and poetry as well as stories. It turns out I write like a lot of different authors. The author to come up most often was Anne Rice, with Cory Doctorow a close second. And I've never even heard of him. And it says that I wrote The Awful Truth in the style of Stephenie Meyer, and that is pretty awful, and I hope not the truth.

I was particularly pleased that my (soon to be published as an ebook) story Transylvanian Roulette came up as being written in the style of Bram Stoker, as that was exactly what I was aiming for.

How accurate this gadget is I don't know. I tested it by putting in three lines of the word "fuck" and it said I write like William Gibson. I'm not into cyber-punk. I've never read any William Gibson. Maybe he does write like that.

But to celebrate the apparent fact that I sometimes write like Charles Dickens, here is some Dickens fun.

My Favourite Dickens Quote

“No public business of any kind could possibly be done at any time without the acquiescence of the Circumlocution Office. Its finger was in the largest public pie, and in the smallest public tart.” Little Dorritt

My Favourite Dickens Joke

Paraphrased from the British comedy/variety show The Two Ronnies :

This evening we will be talking to a member of the Nude Dickens' Appreciation Society about his experiences at their recent weekend get-together. He had great expectations, but unfortunately it was a very bleak house and everybody laughed at his Little Dorritt.

My Favourite Dickens-Based Porno Movie

The Passions of Carol (1975) is a very strange variation on the story of A Christmas Carol. Carol Screwge is the bitchy editor of a women's magazine who is visited by various spirits during the evening before Christmas to teach her about the consequences of exploiting people. The late Jamie Gillis played Bob Hatchet. It was directed by Shaun Costello, most famous for directing such porno nasties as Forced Entry (1973) and Water Power (1977). For more on this film check out Gore Gore Girl's insightful review.

Dickens-Themed Erotica

In my first The Bounty of Boobs posting I mentioned Aisling Morgan's novel Devon Cream. She has also written a novel inspired by the work of Charles Dickens - The Old Perversity Shop (2006).

The Amazon blurb describes it thus :

Nellie Trent flees to Plymouth from the villainous debt collector, Daniel Quilty, where she tries to find a new life as a respectable shop keeper. Hampered by her abundant charms and easy virtue, she and her business slide into trouble until local squire and debaucher, John Truscott comes to her rescue. And makes an unusual suggestion – to use their store to sell specialist items for the adult trade. Soon elevated to the status of a wealthy, if not respectable, citizen, Quilty returns, bent on evil, to fight a climactic duel with Truscott.

Now that I've been told I write like him, maybe it is time I tried my hand at a Dickens parody. David Cop-A-Feel anyone?


Nicky the Naughty Nurse & Lusting While Dusting

I write like
Charles Dickens

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Brandy at the Lake & The Libertine : A Pirate Tale & Tired Girl & Bolt

I write like
Anne Rice

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Anita's Birthday Party & Inappropriate Behaviour

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

My Flatmate

I write like
J. D. Salinger

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Vanessa's Island & Beach Blanket Ricquie & Ever Been Grabbed by the Personals

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Transylvanian Roulette

I write like
Bram Stoker

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Anita the Collector

I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Awful Truth

I write like
Stephenie Meyer

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Glad 'e Ate 'er

I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Wind

I write like
William Shakespeare

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

King of the Crotch Operas - David F. Friedman RIP (1923-2011)

I write like
H. P. Lovecraft

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Bolt : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday again as hosted by Ruby Kiddell at The Erotic Notebook. Here is how she explains it :

Welcome to week eight of Wank Wednesday, your weekly festival of smut. 

With so many great writers of smut and erotica on Twitter and the web I thought it would be a nice idea to get a smutty blog carnival going. For writers or would be writers a weekly prompt will get you writing and as a reader well you’ll be able to get your fix of sexy stories all in one go.

To join in all you need to do is write a story with the weekly prompt as a title. This week’s prompt is #Bolt. Then:

• Blog it – post it on your blog then come back here and add it to the link list.

• Tweet it – write it on twitter using the prompt hashtag and the #wankwednesday hashtag

• Add it – if you don’t want to blog or tweet it then please do add it as comment to my post

• WE it – if you are a member at Word Ejaculation you can submit with them too, just remember to link back to me here and to add your entry to the link list.

Please link back to this page in your post and please also do take the time to read and comment on the other contributors, we’ll all keep on writing but it is so much nicer to do so with feedback.

Thank you for writing and reading.

Bolt

You were made by God, dear reader, but I was not. I am the handiwork of one Frau Baroness Von Frankenstein, P.M.S.*

One day they will say of me that I had the hands of a surgeon, the body of an athlete and the face of an artist's model. This is quite literally the case. My hands once belonged to Dr. Seymour Kuntz, the famous Austrian gynecologist. The bulk of my body belonged to the Scottish amateur rugby player and professional thief, Rob Banks. And my face was that of German artist's model, turned stage actor, turned strangler of pretty women, Hart Throb. Throb had really lost his head while on tour in Paris. The guillotine will do that to you. My brain is that of the Baroness's late hunchbacked assistant, Ygor. And my cock belonged to... Well, I don't know. Some guy who had an enormous cock.

The Baroness claims to be a benefactor of mankind, but one has to ask, if that is the case, why she has kept me a secret to the rest of the world. The answer, it seems to me, is obvious. Sex slaves are hard to come by in Bavaria at the moment, especially sex slaves with ten inch cocks.

So that is how I came to be lying chained and naked on a pile of animals skins in the dungeon. Each night I would hear the key turn in the lock, then the bolt would slide back and the Baroness would open the door. She was always stark naked. She would stand over me for a while with her legs spread defiantly. She would look down at me and play with herself. I could tell that she loved the anticipation of impaling herself on my mighty cock, which always rose to the occasion with great alacrity.

I had mixed feelings about being fucked by the Baroness. She took me for granted. She treated me like a piece of meat. And she clearly had no fondness for me as an individual. In the body of Ygor she had beaten me mercilessly. Why did I put up with it? Well, jobs for hunchbacks were not plentiful, and there was no union for mad scientist's lab assistants.

But I had my own physical needs. When your mother is the grave and your father is a lightning bolt it tends to make you kind of horny. And death has a way of removing one's inhibitions. So I fucked her and sucked her and filled her with cum. But it always left me feeling dirty.

So, on this particular night, it was with the usual combination of stiff cock and heavy heart that I heard the key turn in the lock and the bolt slide back on the door. But when the door opened I saw that it was not the Baroness, but a very pretty servant girl with whom I was not acquainted.

"The Baroness was very careless to go out and leave her keys in the door," said the rosy-cheeked raven-haired beauty.

"And you are a very brave girl to enter the monster's cage," I pointed out.

"Monster?" she queried, and then looked down at my erect penis. "Oh, my, you're right. You do have a monster!"

"Sadly, I myself, am a monster," I explained. "Your mistress made me out of a pile of corpses."

"Yes," said the maid. "She always has been into recycling."

"You mean that I do not disgust you?" I asked.

"Nah," she replied. "I've seen stiffs before."

"You clean in the Baroness's laboratory perhaps?" I queried.

"Yeah, I've seen it all. Brains in tanks. Two-headed cats. You name it. And loads of stiffs. Although," she added, giggling, "never a stiff with a stiff."

She came over and sat down beside me. Then she looked me in the eye with a cheeky smile and began stroking my stiff cock.

"What's your name, my sweet?" I asked her.

"Dora Bull," she replied.

"Not the Dora Bull, toast of the London dance halls?" I queried.

"No, I'm not the Dora Bull, but I'm a Dora Bull," she told me.

"You certainly are," I agreed, kissing her on the nose. "You wouldn't happen to have the keys to these shackles?"

"I do," she said, hesitantly, "but how do I know that, if I unlock you, you won't rip off all of my clothes, throw me down on the floor and ravish my tender maidenhood with your enormous cock."

"I promise that I will act towards you as a perfect gentleman," I assured her.

"Oh, well," she said, sounding disappointed. "I suppose I better set you free anyway."

So saying, she grabbed the set of keys out of the door and set about unlocking my ankle bracelets. In no time at all I was free.

"Guess what?" I smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"I lied," I informed her, grabbing the neck of her servant's dress with both hands and rending it down the middle, thus setting free her soft, pale breasts.

"Oh, goodie!" she cried, as I ripped off her bloomers, and threw her, now completely naked, onto the pile of animals skins.

I was made for making love. My athlete's body knew how to hold a woman. My actor's eyes knew how to gaze adoringly into hers while my actor's lips kissed passionately. My gynecologist's hands knew their way around a woman's pussy. And my cock... Well, my cock knew how to be enormous.

"Ouch!" cried Dora, as I slid my battering ram deep into her furry fortress.

"You'll get used to it," I assured her, rolling over so that she could be on top.

"Mind if I hang onto your bolts?" she asked, grasping the metal protrusions that adorned each side of my neck.

"Actually, they're not bolts," I explained. "They're electrodes."

"Oh," she replied. "They sure look like bolts."

"Well, they're not. O.K.?" I told her, testily.

"No need to get snarky about it," she whined.

So I spanked her hard on the bottom for being so impertinent. She seemed to like it and rode up and down on my throbbing cock all the more vigorously.

"It's certainly a delight to be able to fuck someone as charming as yourself," I informed her, as I pulled her down so that her soft breasts squashed against my barrel of a chest, and played gently around her bottomhole with the index finger of my right hand. "The Baroness is such a cunt. She likes to come on all Godlike in the sack, which is a real drag."

"Oh, the Baroness is nuts," agreed Dora. "Hey, I made a funny. Nuts. Nuts and bolts."

"They're not fucking bolts, O.K.!" I shouted, grabbing her by the throat.

"Ooooooh! Ooooooh! Choke me!" she cried. "I love that!"

Well, it was only a couple more minutes before I came so hard that Dora flew about a foot up in the air, her pussy surrendering my exploding cock with an all-mighty "Plop!" and her already tender bottom landed painfully on the cold hard floor. Lightning, I tell ya, it does strange things to the human reproductive system.

"I will forever be indebted to you, my darling Dora, for freeing me from my piteous state of bondage," I proclaimed, bowing graciously.

"Don't mention it tall, dark and gruesome," she laughed, as she waved goodbye.

And with that I bounded down the corridor, up the stairs, and out into the blinding light of a sunny afternoon.

I wandered off through the woods, having no idea what to do next.

About mid-afternoon I came upon an open glade on the shore of a placid lake. There I discovered a little girl with freckles and red hair woven into plaits. She was picking flowers.

As I walked closer, my mighty shadow fell across her and she turned her innocent, trusting gaze my way. First she looked at my feet, and then her gaze went up and up and up until it reached my face. And she smiled, the warm smile of a child who has not yet learned that all in this world do not mean her well.

"Nice bolts!" she said.

So I picked her up and threw her in the lake and went on my way.

It was only about a half-hour later that I came upon a stone cottage. Clearly it was inhabited as a thin plume of smoke drifted up from its chimney.

Before knocking on the door, I thought I had better get some idea of who lived there. Not everyone takes kindly to a naked monster with a ten-inch cock knocking on their door in the middle of the afternoon.

When I went around the side and looked in the window I was surprised to see that the sole inhabitant was a beautiful blonde girl who was, like me, completely naked. I soon came to suspect that she was also blind, as she put her hands out in front of her as she walked around, patting the furniture.

This was a piece of luck. She needn't know that I was a monster, or that I was naked. And she might be persuaded to provide me with some sustenance.

So I knocked on the front door and soon the blind girl opened it, though only far enough to poke her head around it.

"Can I help you?" she asked. "I am blind so I'm afraid I cannot see who you are."

"I am but a wayfaring stranger, looking for a place to rest his weary feet and perhaps partake of a cup of tea," I replied.

"O.K.," she said. "But I had better put something on. I never wear any clothes in this sort of weather. It seems kind of pointless since I never have company and I myself cannot see what I am wearing."

"Please do not trouble yourself," I replied. "For I too am a nudist out on a clothes-free ramble."

"Oh, you are?" she cried, happily. "Then come right in."

"Henrietta is my name," she informed me, reaching out to shake my hand. But she was a good deal shorter than me and what she grabbed was my semi-erect cock. "Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you were a salami salesman."

"I am not a merchant of smallgoods," I assured her.

"No, it's certainly not small, and it is getting bigger in my hand," she pointed out. "It's your cock, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I admitted. "And this is your bottom and these are your boobs..."

"It's not nice of you take advantage of a poor girl's disability," she informed me, but the way that she was happily wanking on my cock told me she really didn't mind.

And so, as she prepared us each a cup of tea, we enjoyed a game of Blind Girl in the Buff. I would come up and lick one of her nipples and run away before she could reach out and grab me. And next it might be a finger her in pussy, or I would smack her bottom with my stiff cock. And each time I would manage to slip away from between her questing hands.

Eventually, the tea was ready and she placed the two cups on the table. I sat down on one of the wooden chairs. And then, much to my surprise, Henrietta sat on my lap.

"Oh!" she cried. "I thought you sat in the other chair."

By some miraculous coincidence, as she sat down her suspiciously wet pussy slid right down over my upstanding prick.

"That's O.K.," I replied. "You can stay there if you are comfortable."

"Oh, I'm very comfortable," she sighed.

Thus did it come to pass that I sat with my tea cup in my right hand and my left hand under Henrietta's left thigh so that my super strong left biceps could bounce her up and down on my rigid member as we drank our tea.

"This sure beats cucumber sandwiches!" she exclaimed.

Then she turned to kiss me and her hand fell upon one of my electrodes.

"Why do you have a bolt in your neck?" she asked.

"It's not a bolt. It's an electrode," I sighed.

"Oh, O.K.," she replied.

I reached down and gently stroked her stiff clit as I continued to bounce her up and down on my cock. Soon she was quivering in ecstasy as I spurted a quart of jism up her pussy. I made sure to hold her tight as I didn't want a repeat of what had happened to Dora.

Just at this moment I noticed a distant sound of yelling. It was coming closer. When I looked out the window I could see a procession of women carrying torches approaching through the forest.

"Monster! Monster!" they were crying.

Dora must have been gossiping I thought to myself. There was no other way these women could have known of my existence.

"Normally I wouldn't mind the idea of a woman carrying a torch for me," I muttered, "but this is ridiculous."

"We've heard that there is a monster on the rampage ravishing women with his enormous cock," cried the leader of the mob. "And we are determined to protect the village even if it means sacrificing our own vaginas!"

"They sound like they mean business," said Henrietta. "You'd better bolt!"

*Professor of Mad Science.