Prettyintelligentprincess

Today, I learnt Willow would be back soon, fragile and beautiful Willow.

Today, I collected the children from school, not the au pair. It felt good; I felt tired though.

Today, I turned down dinner with the girls...too tired and too busy.

Today, I thought about Mr Secret and then checked my naughty Inbox; not much there of interest; nothing that gives me the buzz; the need; the fix.

Today, Floyd fan flitted in and out of my head...so did Darcy...it's coming up to anniversaries again.

Today, I remembered the Candlestick Maker whom I wrote about in a former blog...and my word I have never forgotten the sensation..or his car, or his voice, 'I will have you again before I leave tonight...' Three years ago now...pre Darcy.

Today, I wondered why all the sexy flashbacks...should I write them, share them?

Today, I brace myself for a weekend away with hub; I will enjoy the change of scenary, the company...yet a hotel bed equates to intimate, sexy and sordid times...what will it be I wonder?

I will do my best and smile and play my part well as the good happy wife...who is not from Bath.

I remembered something the other day; it just pinged back at me suddenly as I drove past the apartments in a a rather exclusive town not far away, (but far enough),close to the sea and well-known for old people...and being too expensive...
Anyhow, I drove past...and I looked...and looked again at the thick netting at the window above the main entrance...No 7.
It was two years ago I think...perhaps a little more as I'm sure it was Summer and the children were at friends. Details exchanged on 'that' site and I turned up. (You know...I cannot remember his name), but he was young...I mean still young enough to have his own room at home with his sports trophies surrounding the bed and memorabilia from a prestigious golf event...but old enough to have his own place actually...just above half my age, or so he said...
We fucked all afternoon on a lumpy single bed with a crumpled duvet beneath and the sound of the traffic outside. He was frantic and thorough and slow and intimate...wanting to feel all, see all and do all...and spent an age with his tongue and head between my legs and I thank God he was not particularly well-endowed as I would not have managed to sustain his constant robust delight when he joyfully thrusted for England!
His mother was out...although I'm sure she would have had a sneaky suspicion.
I never saw him again and to be honest, I would not even know what he looked like now! He contacted me, yet I was still in deep mourning for Darcy at that time and felt a huge need to eradicate the unfaithful evidence with a hot blasting shower when I returned home and had no desire to see him again. He went overseas to sort out some IT glitch with the company he worked for and wanted to meet again on his return.
He gave me sexy shelter and sexy company on a grey rainy August day. That is all.
And I feel nothing.

Clint is sexy. I mean even in his poncho he's as sexy as hell.
And the Plurals have all had a dose of him...coursework. Won't say too much more, except...oh what a hit!
Imagine this:
Naughty but intelligent boys and usually vacant girls with mobile phones and lipstick ruling their lives...sitting in complete spell bound silence as the shoot out approaches.
The silences.
The close ups.
The music...oh so so lovely...and clever and powerful and gentle all at once.
Watching spell-bound too, I watch them as Clint evokes the ultimate behaviour management strategy!
It's beautiful and exciting and I love it.
Clint: I love you!

I'm staying; hanging around; not disappearing;
I just need to get my mind back in order; my head holding neatly folded thoughts.
Another thing: how could I possibly go when I've just been invited to read all about a submissive/dominant relationship! What a lucky girl.

I've barred being sombre with the confessional music. I'm happy that Mr Secret has been in touch and he made me smile and giggle and remember and we talked like pals too; I'm happy I've had a beautiful note from someone I hold dear and think of often, although we are far apart. I'm happy I can find the space in which to cry and reflect a little, then move on with another smile, another memory without the tears.

Looking forward to some flirtatious future and some tender times... as well as sexy sequels...

The lonely crane driver is here with me. It's late and his lament fills the spaces of the room in which I sit. We just finished our audience with the pope and the crescendo is rising....after all I should confess that Mr Secret was certainly not lost and therefore I hope he is now with her...in some kind of way. It's all about the fix of things and it's a cheeky sound...

I am weary of things so much right now.
Vicious and beastly at the building.
Coldness and silence hurt me deeply.
Tears blur the screen and of course it's just the time of the month...perhaps....maybe it's the spilling of too much and I'm bloody jealous and angry and annoyed...I still remember the figure on the bridge and I still remember him; the look, the kiss, the coffee and the giggles and I wish everything that beats inside me could be still.

The echoes of Darcy's voice still linger inside tiny corners of darkness at weak moments like this. I just hate the way I melt and dissolve at weak moments like this.

The wind hits the walls of this house and I am still cocooned here...talking nothing and nonsense...no sense...
fluttering to the floor, the lily leaves fall from the anniversary bouquet...
How deceitful and how hypocritical I must be....a couple of years now, infidelity. The harlot wife.

It's such a drag writing here now...a self-centered drag.
It may be time to leave.

I feel it may be over: I no longer have the need.

Willow is still away; absent from The Building. Such a beautiful and fragile creature. Tonight Bitch, yes Bitch it has now reverted back to...
'Oh, she must not worry...'

Oh, bless her...
This is the woman who threatened Willow, bullied her and wrote the sharpest damning emails to her. Willow is revisiting and haunting herself over the way I was treated when I returned; she is consumed by it. She drowned in it whilst I struggled to float.
She has Guardian Angels and she will be protected as Bitch simmers inside her own hatred...

Cycleman is still being a complete deceitful arse...such a changed man and how I recoil from him now...he yearns still for her, for Willow, although he professes to have changed now.
His illness is stamped deeply upon him; inside him.

Angel and I saw Willow recently and we know what haunts her yet we know she can strive and she can do it.
She can come back.
Soon.
And she will.
Bitch's hatred will simmer again and we will watch as she struggles with her duties of care...

After all, not one iota of care was spared for me, therefore, why should Willow think any differently?

Rather a lot of interest in 'that' email inbox this week from 'those' naughty sites I actually never posted on. Yet, they provide some wandering of the mind and general curiousity. A couple of them do appear rather appealing and a couple just far too weird. One is too demanding and bossy and would get my hackles up..smarmy smiles in his shorts and shades...yet I've not yet deleted him.
Refreshingly, the Director has yet again been in touch and we are flirting over a pre- Christmas fuck ...yet that is all for now.
Mr Secret is still secretively subtle and still just as lovely. We exchange occasional words and memories which are still remarkably fresh and sharp. A sensation I still yearn for and seek.
However, seriously, it's a logistical challenge with time and organisation and, smiling here, as I get older, my body takes longer to recover from a lovely, vigorous romp! I do want some lovely closeness again and soon...I also feel a lack of huge urge from time to time. Weird.
I want to be a good mother and a wife who listens and helps and supports, however, I do have needs that need sating from time to time; I must fulfil my needs without guilt and with care too. I need to keep the balance and the ocasional straying which is filled with fireworks is good for my soul and my sanity.
Passion is stifled inside me and Mr Secret knows I am a restless soul right now. I keep falling back into Darcy's words,

'I hope you find happiness...'

Is it that obvious?

Hard and deep he moves inside her as she takes him, all of him inside and tries to remember...to remember...the 5th of November...she never wants to forget something lovely...

Kissing his mouth and feeling his tongue she moves against and with him...her rather unused intimate feminine beauty-parts gently ...tingling and warm...it's been a while.

She knows she will feel bruised in the morning; stiff and painful; in a a good way of course! A sexy way. A 'smile on her face all day' way...

Demanding her to turn and to face away....she dissolves into the sheer delight of sexy flesh against the black stocking tops and high heels as she rides him, grazing her knees on the carpet and hearing his lovely voice as he melts into the pleasurable moment.

More warmth over the round voluptuous backside and another exclamation of how wonderful her large breasts are as they bounce and sway over his face, thighs, cock.

Hardness and possession bring her to a noisy burst as she lies on her back, on the bed, not quite remembering how she got there; pushing against her over and over as she shouts and feels the smoothness of him inside her as she clings to him, covering him in warm, thick, sexy wetness before he slides out of her and does as she commands between the breathing and pounding heartbeat and rush of blood...; asks; requests; expects...demands.

Tasting so good when she swallows and shares...if the connection is there. Which it was.

Is.

Until next time.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

She knows another consumes him. She knows he has his version of the 'Darcy Factor' to deal with.

She understands that and is calm and kind and considerate. She can disconnect the sex from love remember.
But.
But,it is hard sometimes. The need for the lack of torment prevails.It is that which gives her survival when she needs it.
Secretly, Mr Secret knows all that too.

He moved towards her, down between her open thighs and touching her damp underwear...
The words were dirty and rude and she yearned for him to be deep inside her...
Ripping the jeans off and his underwear down, she held him deeply inside her mouth...on all fours he loved her arse in the air and the beautiful tattoo scrolled across her back..

She licked him.
Sucked him.
Tasted him,
Swallowed him.

He stood over her and she wanted him.

He kissed and played so beautifully, she wanted him.

Lying on her back, she watched his face as he entered her ...for the first time.
It turned her on...
She kissed him and arched upwards as he possessed her hard and deeply.

Sharp slaps on her round arse made her gasp...

It is soon she comes...and Part 4 will share her loudness...

'Do you like to be touched there?'
'I do.'
'Do you like to be touched there?'
'I do.'
'And what about there?'
'Oh fuck, yes I do...'

When the man you want to fuck is sitting opposite you and you watch his erection grow inside his trousers...it's a sexy feeling; especially when you are showing him exactly what is underneath your skirt in such a naughty way. He's seen your stocking tops and your legs are open and resting on the arms of your chair and you do as he asks, because you want to, you have to, you must do.

The warm wetness of you has seeped into your underwear and your fingers dip and delve as he watches, holding his wine. He no longer can resist and his head is pushed between your thighs as your panties are pushed to one side...and it is then you realise you are pushing his head into you and feeling his hair.

He wants to taste you.
He wants you.

Fingers are felt and kissed and sucked....moans and words begin to fill the room...

Eventually , he is coaxed onto the bed yet still will not fuck me.

It is a teasing and tantalising waiting game.

Eventually...he will acquiese and eventually she is sated...eventually he will fill her deeply and intimately...but another 'Part' is needed for the rest of the fireworks...

Remember, remember the 5th Of November ...

Driving in the dark and through the smoke and fireworks, I almost gave up! I was truly lost in the city and phoned him to have a rant! I drove into a car park (not the right one) and he walked from the hotel to meet me...

He jumped in...we kissed and smiled and giggled...but...it was at this point I wondered if we would have an argument! He had even brought along a map!!! Eventually we managed to find the car park, just around the corner from the hotel. Aware the clock was ticking, I was desperate to get my knickers off, and him in...

Five flights of beautifully carpeted stairs later, I jest you not, we fell into the room...literally and giggled some more with the noises of the fireworks providing a delightful 'war zone' ambience...the show must have been peaking and I smiled more realising we still had a few hours in which to take care of our own show and our own dazzling explosions!

The conversation was light and natural and very clean...squeaky...

I sat back in the chair, glass in hand...

Swiftly, he moved towards me.
'Where do you like being touched?' he asked...

The place is booked...
Rather tasteful actually.

My excuses are made.
Tomorrow evening I will fall into his arms and into him.

I need the lust, the passion, the dirty sexy fuck...even if this is the first and last time.
It's the intimacy we both yearn for.

No charades.
No mind games.
No hang ups.

'I can't fucking wait.'

Too tired to write even...
yet Wednesday beckons...he is now so many miles closer, yet still so far away...

I can't wait for lovely intimacy and lovely closeness and some warmth with passion, fun and ardour.

Speaking of ardour...Sharpe...Ooooooo....a bit of Sean Bean on a Sunday night. He can put me over his horse masterfully anytime he likes....!!

He is in bed but fiddled a little around my nipples and peeled away my top slightly as he kissed me goodnight.

I tried really hard to calm my cringing and disinterest.
I tried really hard not to flinch.

He left the room looking hurt and sorry for himself...but I now hear his snores filtering through the ceiling...

I need to sleep beside him and can put it off no longer.

I am just dreadful and he has done nothing wrong at all. He is a good man.

I think he just may have married the wrong woman.

Night night. x