wibblebibble

With the new year we finally settled into something of a pattern; I'd keep tabs of my parents movements and as and when they left David would come over and fuck me senseless. Not that that was anything like enough for either of us; despite the risks, we did manage the occasional fumble behind the bike sheds (as it were). The sex itself continued to be frantic and experimental; I'd clearly gotten over my issues with back-to-frontness and the like and was happy being fucked any which way, the stranger the better in fact. Those evenings and weekends of delight were sporadic, however, and I needed much more regular sating. At the first opportunity I hopped on bus and train and headed to Bristol to pick up some more implements in a less risky location. I returned with an unusual mix of items, a huge double-ended dildo, a smaller one plus a butt plug for anal training, a spanking paddle, and a knife and dagger for cutting and stabbing. Hiding them from the parents was surprisingly easy;

It was getting dark by the time I stopped to digest the events of the weekend. I'd had to send David home fairly sharpish after our oral exploits of the morning, if only to ensure the parental return did not interrupt the pair of us. The lingering, romantic departure was then followed by a quick staging of the house to ensure there was no evidence of our adventures (because a cumstain on a leather sofa often offends) and an afternoon tearing through the homework backlog. With the parents annoyingly still not back, I decided to take advantage of my father's greatest extravagance and have a swim. My clothing revolution had not extended to a bikini quite yet (as we'd had no real summer holiday for that excuse to wash) but I had a fairly sporty one-piece number to slip into and soon I was doing hard-paced lengths of the narrow pool that Dad has put in a conservatory running down the far side of the house. Night was falling by the time I tired myself out and only the glow of the