She was a virtual prisoner. She just sat there squirming, her legs bound together and her hands tied behind her back. She never could get the hang of knitting....
Beads of perspiration cascaded betwixt her cleavage. Her whole body shuddered and tensed. She groaned and writhed for what seemed an eternity, before finally sighing loudly. It's always the same when the missus gets up off the settee...
She slowly licked her lips, slowly undid the buttons of her blouse and slowly lay back on the bed.
She did everything slowly, she was 86.
She stared up at me, smiled seductively and slowly bit her lip.
Those new dentures were taking a while to get used to.
Staring at her naked body, I asked what she wanted. She told me to go for something between a smack and a stroke. So I went for a smoke.
'How do you feel about using toys in the bedroom?' she asked. 'Fine,' I said, 'But I can't see how we're going to fit a Scalextric in here.'
Her body tensed and quivered as she felt wave after wave flow through it. I probably should've told her about the new electric fence.
As I lay there on the floor, my naked body covered in treacle and whipped cream, I heard those inevitable words . . . 'Clean up on aisle 3.'
'Are you ready to be tortured in a way only a woman can torture a man?' she asked. I nodded nervously. 'OK' she said and ate half my chips.
Frantically I tore off her dress, bra and knickers. My heart was racing but I just managed to close the wardrobe door before she got home.
'Hurt me!' she begged, leaning over the dining table expectantly. 'OK,' I replied, 'Your turkey's too dry and your sprouts are overcooked.'
She leant over the kitchen table. 'Smack that bottom,' she squealed, 'Smack it hard!' 'I am,' I said, 'But the ketchup just won't come out.'
She wanted to try phone sex so I pretended to be an IT support guy. It turned her on. Then it turned her off. Then it turned her on again.
They asked me to smear their naked bodies with the produce from my herb garden but I just couldn't do it. Too many women, not enough thyme.
'I'm your slave,' she said breathlessly, 'Make me feel completely helpless and worthless.' So I locked her in the shed and went to the pub.
Her body trembled and shook. ‘I can't wait any longer, do it now!' she cried. 'OK,' I said and got the winter duvet from the closet.
'Harder!' she cried, gripping the workbench even tighter, 'Harder!' 'Alright,' I said, 'What's the gross national product of Nicaragua?'
Hurt me!' she cried, pressing her body up against the shed wall. 'Alright,' I said. 'You're a terrible cook and I fancy your sister.'
'Stick it right up there,' she said, 'I want to remember this!' I did, and then I patted it firmly. You can't be too careful with Post-it notes.
My tongue flicked in and out, in and out, faster and faster until she was completely helpless. No woman can resist a good lizard impression.
'I'm a bad girl,' she whispered, 'Punish me in a way only a real man can!' 'Alright,' I said and left my wet towels on the bathroom floor.
'I want it now against this wall!' she ordered, 'And keep it up as long as possible.' 'Don't worry,' I said, 'I know how to put up a shelf.'
As we sat in the dark restaurant, she stroked my thigh and said 'I want to see your hardness.' 'Alright,' I replied, and punched the waiter.
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