How To Look on The Bright Side

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What does the word winter mean to you? The grey skies, bare trees, and weak, pale sunshine of this picture?

When the sun never rises much above the horizon, days are short and dim. It’s hard to get out of bed on dark mornings, and difficult to get your mind and body in gear for the working day.

The temptation to fill up on comfort food and try hibernating at this time of year has been recognised since time began. Recently, it’s been given a name:  Seasonal Affective Disorder, which has the snappy and descriptive acronym SAD.

The theory behind SAD is that brief days and long nights mean we’re short on sunshine in our lives (as if we didn’t know). This means our bodies produce less of the hormone seratonin—one of the substances that keep up bright and breezy.

SAD symptoms can range from mild “winter blues” to full blown depression. You can find out more from sad.org.uk, but there’s no substitute for a talk with your doctor. They can make sure there’s no underlying reason for your problems.

You can boost your own levels of seratonin without resorting to drugs. Getting outside for a little while each day is a free and easy way to make a start. Twenty minutes fast walking in the fresh air is a great idea, whatever the weather. Get wet, get dry—you won’t shrink!

If you’ve got no option but to stay inside, sit close to a window if possible, or try some light therapy. I’ve got  a desktop light therapy lamp which I use in an hour-long burst each day. If you prefer the gentle touch, you can get alarm clocks that wake you by providing a simulation of dawn, rather than a buzzer. They give off a gradually increasing amount of light to rouse you instead.

Cognitive Behaviour Therapy is often recommended in the fight against Seasonal Affective Disorder. You may need to pay privately to take advantage of it, but the effects are cumulative, building up to create a longer lasting cure than light therapy, which needs to be topped up at regular intervals.

Whichever method you use, the important thing is you’ll have made the effort to improve your situation. That decision alone will tinge your bleak picture above with the golden glow of satisfaction. You didn’t sit back, and do nothing. At least you tried to improve your situation. That’s the act of a winner-in-waiting.

What are your favourite tips to beat the winter blues?

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Posted in Self-Help

Free For All

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Here in England, the weather has turned really wintry. Every morning involves scraping ice off the car windscreen, or piling onto public transport with hordes of other people, all swaddled up and steaming.

If you believe in taking responsibility for your own actions and refusing to blame others, you’ll be tucking newspaper behind the wiper blades each night, or catching your rides outside of peak times. Better still, you’ll be getting off a few stops earlier, to build some exercise into your day.

And these days are short. Around here, the official sunrise is around seven thirty am, while sunset is just after four pm. That’s if we’re lucky—when clouds sweep in from the southwest, sometimes it doesn’t get light all day.

This blog doesn’t concentrate on the best things in life for nothing. We all need cheering up at this gloomy time, and there are some things that are free for all. Take a minute or two to stop, look and listen at what’s going on beyond the thrash and bustle of commuter life. See how the city lights are reflected in the ever-present puddles. Watch them shatter and reform as raindrops stipple the surface. Listen to the starlings, wagtails and redstarts overhead, flocking in to find a warm city roost for the night.  Breathe in, and before you get high on traffic fumes you might pick up the fragrance of honey. A few plants such as viburnum and petasites manage to flower in winter, and attract any pollinating insects still around by offering a sweet treat with an unmistakeable smell.

Talking of petasites, its big, soft leaves used to be used as a wrapping for butter, in the days before refrigeration. That gave it the old country name of butterbur. Useful as it was, and despite the way it pushes up lots of pretty, sweet-smelling flowers at this darkest time of the year, petasites is a thug. The smallest fragment dropped by a bird, or carried along in a culvert will root and grow into a thick carpet of greenery, choking everything in its path for eleven months of the year before it comes into its own on November.

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3 Things To Do When Life Goes Wrong…

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Is your life perfect? That’s a trick question—nobody’s can be. Everybody has some issues. Whether you’ve got a little chubby, your bank account’s empty,  your kids smart-mouth you or the dog’s running riot, you’re in good company.  We’ve all been there, done that, and collected the scars and fines (me, probably more than most people).

  1. STOP, AND STEP BACK: When your world is full of sound and fury, it’s impossible to get a grip on reality. Get right away from the conflict zone, if only for a few minutes. You need to clear your mind. Then take a long, cool look at the situation. Accept your part in it, then work on finding a way out. You eat too much? Then don’t shop when you’re hungry, stop buying junk food, and join a slimming class. Money runs through your hands like water? Check every line on your bank statement, and make sure you’re only paying out on necessities. Open a diplomatic dialogue with your angry kids—it’s the first step in resolving any war. Book yourself and your dog into training classes. There is always a solution. For years, I was subjected to violence of both the domestic and psychological kind. I kidded myself that the person involved would change. It was only when the bully started on my child that I realised they never would. Violent people grovel and promise things will be different next time. They might truly believe they mean it, but that feeling never lasts for them. It passes, and they start inflicting pain again. When that simple truth became clear to me, this worm turned. From that moment on, my life started to get better. It was tough to begin with, almost impossibly so, but I made it, and so can you.
  2. FIND HELP: Victims of DV need to grit their teeth and talk to their doctor. Patient confidentiality will keep you safe, and get you the help you need. Whatever your problem, know that you can regain control of your life. That’s the key to making things better. You’ll find it  hard to believe, but no one’s troubles are unique. Medical practitioners, The Samaritans, and Citizens Advice Bureau spend  lots of time talking to people with exactly your problem. That’s the thing—when we keep things bottled up, it isolates us. Silence is the enemy of a quiet mind.
  3. TAKE ACTION: once you’ve got the support of professionals (and with luck, those closest to you), you can start to turn your life around. You have the power to influence your future. Believe in it, and use it. Be very clear about your own shortcomings and accept responsibility for them, but always be careful that in doing so, you don’t become a victim. The words of Eleanor Roosevelt are a powerful reminder; “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
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My True Confession…

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I met my old driving instructor in the street the other day. He stopped for a chat. He congratulated me when I told him my licence is still clean, and I’ve never had so much as a parking ticket.

‘But wasn’t it you who made front page news with that bad smash back in February?’ he said.

‘Oh, that was a complete accident. My one and only disaster in ten years of driving! That’s pretty good going, I’d say. At least it was nobody’s fault, and the only person who got injured was me. I picked up a few cuts and bruises, that’s all.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘What happened?’

I gave him a rueful grin. ‘I got a craving for chocolate, and on the way back from popping out to pick some up from the shop, got caught in that freak blizzard.’

‘The one they’d been putting out warnings for?’

‘That’s right, but I assumed they were scaremongering. The forecasters never get it right.’

‘They did that day.’

‘And how! Their weather fouled up the traffic which made me late, so the snow was inches deep by the time I worked my way round all the abandoned cars.’

‘You kept on driving?’

‘Yes–I broke my ankle a few years ago, and no way was I going to risk it happening again by walking any distance when it was so slippery.’

‘So you had winter grip tyres on your car?’

‘Not then, no. I never got round to it, and they say using them wastes petrol.’

‘Better that, than losing control like you did, and ending up with your car a write-off. Not really an accident after all, was it?’ he said with the infuriating twinkle he used when hitting the dual controls during one of my many, many driving lessons. ‘You went out for a snack when a blizzard was forecast, in a car that wasn’t winter-ready, then decided against parking up and continuing on foot because you didn’t want to walk in the snow? That’s what I call an accident waiting to happen,’ he said, then fixed me with a beady look. ‘Do you still think it was nobody’s fault?’

What could I say? He made me think again about my attitude to what happened, and my part in my own downfall. After our chat I made sure my car was winter ready by the first week in November, but the moral of this story runs much deeper than that.

If you foul up, own up. Don’t hide from the truth by blaming bad luck, or accidents. 

 

 

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You Are Responsible…

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…for the person you are today. All the experiences you’ve had since the day you were born, the people you hang out with, every choice you’ve made—good and bad—have got you where you are today.

If your heart sank when you read that, here’s the good news. It cuts both ways. While you can’t do anything about your past, everything you do from this moment onward is creating your future. You’re in the driving seat, so take control. It’ll give you the power to stop going round and round in circles. Break away, and head off in the direction you truly want to go. As Werner Erhard says;

“Create your future from your future, not your past.”

The first thing to do is opt right out of the blame game. It’s the easiest thing in the world to point the finger. You can try blaming your busy life for your junk food habit and poor health, the weather or that other driver for your accident, and if you run out of excuses try blaming the way good old Ma and Pa, but when you come right down to it you’ve got to take responsibility for your own life someday. Nobody else is going to do it for you. As my friend Christina said the other day as she put a pair of pleather trousers back on the rack;

 “When I looked in the changing room mirror, there was no need to ask who ate all the pies. It was me.”

pointing_finger_hand-953389_1280Before you point the finger of blame, remember: when you do that, three fingers point straight back at you. Make sure your conscience is absolutely clear before you make any accusations. And to clear your conscience, honesty really is the best policy.

Start now. Think hard about where you are now, and how you got there. Work out where you want to go next, then turn your back on blame, and make a list of the improvements you’d like in your life. Be honest. Where do you want to go?

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Look After Yourself…

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After the events in Paris last week, how can a blog about the best things in life make a difference? Answer—in the same way you, me and everyone else on this sick and sorry planet can make a difference, if we truly want change to happen.

Thanks to Dan Evans at Pixabay, we’ve got this beautiful pic on our office notice board. When I saw the horrible images of those poor people whose great night out ended in carnage, my first thought was that this is no world for a baby. Then, a few hours later, I heard my friend Cassie is pregnant for the first time.  For Cassie and her partner, life has to go on. They’re wondering openly about what on earth they’ve done, and what sort of a universe their baby will find when it gets here.

They say it takes a whole village to raise a child. What happened to the idea of the world as a global village? Let’s pick up that idea, and run with it.  The wicked, whoever they are, mustn’t be allowed to get the upper hand.  If we all work together, we can make sure every one of us good ‘villagers’ is someone Cassie’s baby—and every other little one—can grow up to love, value and protect, rather than hate, fear and attack.

On my way home from work this evening, I’m going to pick up a few things from the supermarket and drop them in at the food bank. It’s not much, but it’s a start. To win a chess tournament, somebody has to make the first move.

If you can think of any other ways we can all contribute to pushing back the darkness, don’t keep it to yourself. Share in a comment, and you’ll be the one making a difference.

 

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‘Hair Day’ by Lindsay Debout—Part Five:

LindsayDebout.flames.squareIt’s the final part of Lindsay Debout’s new adults-only story, and Ricki’s about to put his plan into action…

Stopping alongside her, he reached out to the neck of her gown. A quick pull, and a tear appeared. Sliding his fingers into the gap, he pulled again. The tear lengthened down the front. With a suddenness that made Lydia jump, he tore the gown open all the way down and spread it wide.
Lydia was completely naked, but the lump in her throat wasn’t shame. She watched Ricki slowly pace around the chair again, thoroughly examining her whole body. When his gaze lingered on her breasts, she felt her nipples harden. It made him smile again. He turned and inspected the shelves and cupboards. “I’m sure I can find something a little more… stimulating.”
“No!” Lydia gasped. At once Ricki turned and pulled her gown back together, then started to undo the straps on her arms. The fun – ordeal – session was over. “No!” she said again. Louder.
Ricki raised an eyebrow. “‘No, stop’, or ‘No, don’t stop’?”
She felt herself flushing beetroot red. “Don’t stop,” she mumbled.
Grinning, Ricki slowly refastened the straps and flicked her gown open again, then went over to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. From around his neck he produced a key on a chain, which he used to unlock one of the cupboards. “This is reserved for my most important VIPs.”
He opened the doors wide. Lydia’s jaw dropped and her mouth went even drier, if that was possible. The cupboard was fitted out with sex toys of all shapes and descriptions. And sizes.
Ricki made a show of debating with himself. He glanced casually over his shoulder at Lydia’s exposed sex, then back at the toys. “A simple dildo, or something with more of a buzz? And a butt-plug of course. You enjoyed that, didn’t you? How about a double dildo? Something inside both holes at once? And a bullet vibrator for your clit so I can watch you coming around the dildo.”
Lydia was paralysed with… what? Fear of what he might do? Or fear that he wouldn’t? Wide-eyed she watched him take down the U-shaped dildo and cover both ends with condoms, then slather it with lubricant. Moving back between her legs, he nuzzled it against her most private entrances.
Ricki stared her in the eye for heart-stopping seconds, then slowly smirked. “Maybe not today. Next time, perhaps.” He put the dildo in the sink, then closed and locked the cupboard. Going over to the shelves, he selected a jar instead. He waggled his bare fingers at her. “Now for the personal touch.”
Back alongside Lydia, he scooped up some of the new cream and dabbed it gently on Lydia’s right nipple, then began to smooth it over her whole breast. This cream felt cool at first, then warmed until it tingled on her skin. Lydia’s eyes closed as his Ricki’s hands and fingers roamed her breast, squeezing and kneading it gently. He drew circles around her nipple. When she felt his fingers close on it, she whimpered in her throat. Every pinch, every flick, sent a pulse of pleasure from her breast to her lap. If her arms hadn’t been bound, she’d be rubbing herself furiously.
Ricki sauntered around the other side of the chair and dropped the remainder of the cream onto Lydia’s other nipple. The sweet torture resumed. She moaned and twisted on the chair, desperate for release. She was at Ricki’s mercy. He could tease her all day if he chose. She couldn’t stop him.
Of course you could. But you don’t want to stop him, do you? It’s not just the pleasure, it’s the surrender. Surrendering your body. Surrendering control of your body. He can see all of it. He can see the effect he’s having on it. You like that, don’t you? You spend all week being the boss, making the decisions, ordering people around. Being in control. Once in a while it’s nice to be on the receiving end, isn’t it? Just for a few hours. So long as you can close the door on it afterwards.
Moving behind her head, Ricki reached down and ran his hands over both Lydia’s breasts together. The pleasure was a constant current connecting her nipples to her clitoris. “I do prefer skin on skin, don’t you?” he purred. “It’s so much more intimate than gloves. That’s why condoms are such a nuisance. I much prefer to have sex without one. We can feel each other so much better. Shall we do a comparison? Shall I slide into you wearing a condom, and then without? Skin against skin?”
Lydia began to panic. Not because she was afraid that he’d really do it, but because part of her desperately wanted him to do it. She wanted him to take her.
No! I love Marcus. I’m married to him. Anything goes in fantasies, but not in real life. I don’t cheat on anyone, least of all Marcus. No-one gets to fuck me but him.
Ricki must have sensed her real anguish. “Don’t worry. I don’t get my kicks from screwing anyone – man or woman – unless they’re completely willing and able. But how about the other end?”
Confused, Lydia stopped wriggling and looked up at him. She felt him fiddle with the chair behind her head, then suddenly the headrest wasn’t there. Her head tipped far back and she found herself staring upside down at the bulge in his chinos. Now she realised what he meant. Ricki confirmed it by slowly pulling down his zip and moving closer until he was almost brushing against her face.
He’s going to do it. He’s going to slide himself into my mouth. Does he really expect me to let him do that? To use my mouth like- like a sex toy? I won’t.
Her lips parted.
After a breathless pause, Ricki chuckled and stepped back. Gently lifting up Lydia’s head he slipped the headrest back in place and then went around the chair, undoing the straps. Finally he manoeuvred the chair into its upright position. Ricki the professional hairdresser was back.
Lydia felt shattered, physically and emotionally. Arousal still bubbled inside her, adding to her mental maelstrom. She had a lot of uncomfortable questions to ask herself. And to answer.
I would have done it. I would have let him come in my mouth. I don’t let Marcus do that. Do I want sex more than I want Marcus? Do I want to be unfaithful to Marcus? Or do I just want to be used?
Ricki helped her out of the chair, then slipped the remains of the torn gown down her arms and tossed it towards the bin. Lydia simply stood in a daze while he gently wiped her down with a damp towel. He bustled around the room, clearing up while she slowly got dressed.
Lydia stared blankly at the floor while she tidied her hair. She’d learned far more about herself in the last few hours than she had in her previous thirty-odd years, and it worried her.
Ricki’s voice broke into her thoughts. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
She looked up at him, dragging herself back to the present. “Um…”
He nodded understandingly. “Don’t get worked up about it, Ms Martin. What happened here was just a fantasy. In real life I don’t go around abusing my customers. In real life you don’t let people boss you around. In this room you can do and say things that you wouldn’t dream of doing or saying anywhere else. I’m not going to gossip. Why should I? I enjoy it just as much as you do. Why would I want to spoil it?”
Lydia found herself smiling. “Right. You’re right. Thank you. I mean, really… thank you.”
Ricki unlocked the door and opened it for her. “The receptionist’s gone home so you can pay next time you’re here. Don’t forget to show hubby your new look.”
Lydia chuckled. “That’s one command I’m happy to obey.” She stepped through the door but as she went past him, Ricky gripped her arm tightly. He leaned close so the remaining staff wouldn’t hear.
“Next time we won’t bother with the gown, shall we? It just gets in the way,” he murmured. “As soon as you come into the room and close the door, you strip. Understood?”
Lydia stared at him in silence, face slowly going red, then nodded and quickly left the shop.

The End

Extract from ‘Hair Day’ copyright Lindsay Debout 2015

Wow! What did you think of that? Leave a comment to be in with a chance of winning a copy of Lindsay’s new collection of saucy tales, Warming Stories. Draw to take place on  17th October.

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Quote Of The Day, From Katharine Hepburn

LIPS_FOR_QUOTESpainting-681410_1280This one’s for Lindsay Debout! It’s from the star of The African Queen and many other movies, Katharine Hepburn…

“Why slap them on the wrist with a feather when you can belt them over the head with a sledgehammer?”

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‘Hair Day’ by Lindsay Debout—Part Four:

LindsayDebout.flames.squareIt’s Part Four of Lindsay Debout’s new adults-only short story. Today’s instalment starts with more fun at the hairdresser…

Slowly she put her arm back down on the chair and allowed Ricki to bind it in place, wrist and elbow. Heart hammering madly, she watched him walk slowly around to the other side. All she had to do to stop him was to draw back her arm. Which she should. Of course she should.
Don’t be insane! You don’t know anything about him, other than he’s a top-class hairdresser who’s very good at spotting business opportunities. For all you know he’s into scissor-blunting sadism.
And a shop full of people saw me come in. He knows that as well as I do. I’m as safe now as I was with Marcus this morning. Either one of them is stronger than me, and could do what they liked.
So what harm can it do to let the fantasy run on a little longer?

She didn’t move. Ricki gently lifted her hand from her breast, held it against the other arm of the chair and strapped it in place.
Now I really am helpless. I really can’t stop him doing whatever he likes. Why did I let him do it? What is he going to do next?
What Ricki did next, was to leave the room. Lydia heard him lock the door. She was alone. Immobile. Helpless. Exposed.
Where’s he gone? What’s he doing? Is he going to leave me here? What’s he going to do to me?
Is this all there is?

Panic began to build, heavily laced with arousal. Lydia was confident she could trust Ricki. Even so, she’d never been in this position before. She hadn’t know about Ricki’s sexuality before.
What difference does that make? Knowing he’s bi doesn’t make him more or less likely to… She decided not to finish that thought. One other fact comforted her. He could have gagged me, but he didn’t. I can call for help any time. The door is solid, but not soundproof.
Several hours later, or so it felt, Lydia heard the door being unlocked and Ricki reappeared. He locked the door again behind him. “Sorry about that. I’ve arranged for Frederick to take over my four o’clock appointment. We’ve got until closing time at six.”
“You were gone ages! Why did you lock the door”
Ricki glanced up at the clock on the wall behind Lydia’s head. “Four minutes, to be precise. I locked the door because I didn’t think you’d want anyone else coming in while you’re tied up. So to speak. Now, where was I…” He put on a new pair of gloves and sat down again. Scooping up more cream, he went back to work.
Before long Lydia was moaning and wriggling on the chair, or at least as much as the straps would allow. Ricki ignored her. He carried on with his slow exploration of her most intimate places. She knew that her own moisture was trickling out of her, and that Ricki could see it. He had to know how aroused she was. He couldn’t not know. She couldn’t hide it from him.
At the end of his next circuit, Ricki circled her opening again, pressing against the rim so that she was very aware of his finger there. “Inside. Inside,” a voice urged in her head. It was only when she heard Ricki’s chuckle that she realised she’d said it out loud. Guilt flooded though her. She was begging a man to penetrate her. A man who wasn’t Marcus.
“I don’t think so,” replied Ricki. He must have realised that he’d goaded Lydia too far. Dipping a finger back into the jar, he coated it with more moisturiser and smoothed it directly over her clitoris. She jumped and gasped as if electrocuted, but Ricki wasn’t about to give her the release she craved that easily. He didn’t press hard, or fast. Instead he moved a fingertip in circles over her clitoris with a slow, steady, deliberate pressure.
Powerful currents flooded Lydia’s body, from her toes to her fingertips to her hair. She desperately wanted to squeeze her thighs together, press her hands to herself, anything to stop the slow torture and reach the climax that Ricki was skilfully keeping back from her. She could do none of those things. Modesty and shame both abandoned her. “Please. Please. Please,” she panted.
At last Ricki gave in. Gently he stroked up and down directly over the head of Lydia’s clitoris. Within seconds an orgasm sledgehammered its way into her. She writhed and shook on the chair, limbs straining against the straps while unimaginable pleasure surged through her body. It went on and on. Every time the climax started to ebb, Ricki’s steady, patient stroking brought it back to life.
In the end, Lydia’s own body called ‘time’. Suddenly her clitoris became too sensitive and she yelped. Ricki stopped at once, leaned back and stretched. “I think we both enjoyed that, Ms Martin! What would you like me to do for you now?”
Lydia felt shattered. She doubted if she’d be able to stand on her own. Weakly she shook her head, expecting Ricki to release her. Instead he leaned forward again. “I don’t think you need any more moisturiser. You’re providing plenty of that already.”
She assumed Ricki was going to stroke her folds again, so she jumped and gasped when his finger brushed over the tight hole further back. “No, don’t!” Again, he stopped. And waited.
Why did I stop him? Is it because I don’t want him to know I like it? Or is it because I don’t want it to be like it is with Marcus? It doesn’t stop with just stroking. It becomes a finger inside there, or a dildo. Or his cock, once. I’ve learned it’s better to do without rather than to have it spoiled.
Ricki exercised his mind-reading skills again. “I won’t be putting anything inside you there, Ms Martin. I don’t need to. Most of the pleasure comes from around the rim. Besides, you don’t have much choice, do you?” He winked at her, but Lydia knew he was teasing. At least, she hoped he was. Saying nothing, she relaxed back on the chair.
Ricki leaned forwards again and Lydia felt his finger brushing over the most private part of her body. He stroked around it and pressed against it, occasionally dipping just the tip of his finger inside. To her surprise, arousal began to build inside her again. She knew it felt nice when she stroked herself there, but she had never done it for long. Ricki was doing nothing else.
Lydia’s heart raced and her breathing grew ragged. A sheen of sweat sheathed her skin. The tingles were just as intense, yet different. The knowledge that she was completely in Ricki’s power added extra spice. Not even Marcus had examined her so intimately. Not even Marcus knew how much she enjoyed this most taboo of caresses. He was always in too much of a rush to get inside her.
Lydia quivered on the edge of orgasm for many minutes. She had never felt like this before, so she didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t know if she could climax from being stimulated in this way.
She could. The first pulse was gentle, but each successive one gripped her more strongly until she was shuddering violently on the chair. Knowing that Ricki had a clear, close-up view of her body as she lost control, made the orgasm even more powerful.
Even after the climax faded, Lydia’s whole body prickled with pleasure. “That was amazing,” she panted. “It’s never happened to me before.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” replied Ricki smugly. He stood up and stripped off the gloves. “I love making women feel good. And men too of course, but especially women. It’s easy to make a man come, not so easy for a woman. It takes time, which is why my special appointments are so long.”
“They’re not three hours long!”
He leered at her. “No, but you were being a naughty girl and needed to be punished. I didn’t hear you complaining.”
Lydia blushed. This was another secret she definitely wouldn’t be sharing with anyone else.
He looked up at the clock again. “It’s ten to five. We can call it a day if you like. Personally, I’m happy to work on you all the way to closing time.”
They stared at each other in silence. Lydia’s mouth was dry and her heart was pounding.
I shouldn’t still be here. I should be on my way home by now. Why am I still here? What’s he going to do now? What do I want him to do?
After some seconds, Ricki slowly smiled. “I haven’t gagged you, Ms Martin, and I’m not going to. Any time you want me to stop, just tell me. Until then…” He strolled slowly twice around the chair, staring down at Lydia. Planning his next move.

Extract from ‘Hair Day’ copyright Lindsay Debout 2015

The final part of Hair Day will be posted the day after tomorrow. To make sure you don’t miss it, follow my blog!

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Quote Of The Day, From Mae West…

LIPS_FOR_QUOTESpainting-681410_1280Another winner from pneumatic film star, playwright and screenwriter, Mae West:

“I’ll try anything once, twice if I like it, three times if I’m not sure.”

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