Aren’t these Summer months glorious? I for one enjoy these hot, sticky nights as they afford my body some comfort from the chills I feel at other times in the year. In the other three-quarters of the year, I use any and every excuse to huddle under blankets or steal the warmth from Mister’s body to avoid the shivers taking over. But in the here and now of a July in England, the wonderful English Riviera to boot, I’m sleeping not only nekkid, but on top of the covers!

Not only is this marvel occurring, but the time-frame for naughtiness in the bedroom is extended too. Which is brilliant, also. Goes without saying that any extra minutes (hours?) spent on foreplay is a definite given in terms of keeping LadyP’s happiness levels at an all-time ‘Oh hell yeah!’ I’m not looking for the moment when that chill finds me; I’m bypassing the goose-bumps. Above all else, I’m digging into the suitcase full of kinky stuff.

As a few of you who have me stuck in their timelines on Twitter know, I’ve been gambling again. If you also know anything about my history of  taking chances like this, you will have worked out that I will have lost. I always do. At cards. At random bets. This time it was over a game of backgammon. Yes, I play backgammon (relatively well – challenge me on MSN, if you wish…).

So this is the story of how I ended up, pressed against a wall, arms up above my head in some of my best seducting gear in front of him on the bed after I lost the bet. You see, I never bet for money. That’s just crass and lewd. I bet for my body. Or, ideally, Mister’s – but I never win those bets. The odds are usually for sexual favours. Blowjobs, licking LadyP, spankings, general teasing-sessions – You get the idea. Mister stumped me this time.

If I win, I want you. …huh?

But you already have me, I’m yours. What do you mean? I was very confused.

Like I said. If I win, I want you.

And if I win? What do I win?

You.

Erm…Again – be specific. I know Mister can be a little vague sometimes and indecisive, but this was off the scale.

If I win, I want you to masturbate and make a show of it.

Ah…

Of course I then proceeded to lose. Inevitably. Being the spoil-sport that I can be (always a sore loser) I decided to give things my own slant. I wouldn’t want Mister to have everything on his terms. I decided that I would give him a little photo opportunity.

We had always talked about doing this properly but only ever had one attempt after I had returned home horny from work one day and he took pictures whilst I played with some toys on my own. I wasn’t too impressed with them as I have the ‘tired from work’ face on and the angles were highly unflattering. As a result I wanted to have another go at giving it a proper session, sexy underwear and hosiery and all. So that’s precisely what I did.

I’m sure we all agree that this is a fine example of the kind of sexy underwear I was searching for. I imagine somewhere in my mind I had been influenced by someone’s own predilection for turquoise, and I reached for my basque and lucky French knickers of the same hue.

Now I don’t have a rhythmic bone in my body, so there was little chance of me doing some wonderfully burlesque striptease to some jazzy music. This is where the camera came in to its own. Sadly, when I delved into my handbag to retrieve my digital snapper, to my dismay, I discovered that the battery was flat. Hence the sadly poor quality of images I am subjecting you to in this post.

This slightly conniving deal on my hand led me to allow Mister to direct me in any fashion he wished. The end result was Mister taking 72 photos on my camera phone. Yes, seventy-two.

I thoroughly enjoyed the writhing about on the bed, by the wall, and over and under Mister. My favourite photo is one I sadly cannot share with you. But I can describe it in lush detail as best I can.

The session had developed in its exposure and I was now down to merely my hold-ups; Mister has a penchant for a denuded LadyP save for her hosiery. The silken legs abruptly giving way to that tender flesh at the top of the thigh, the harsh contrast between light skin and the shadowy darkness of the lace-top. This photographer was taking full advantage of his muse’s inhibitions and had brushed past the rules and had run not only his free hand up into my dampened hair – another of the artist’s requests was that I tease post-showering – but he had also ventured further to not only caress my nipples, but to lick and bite at them as well. I wasn’t exactly complaining. All part of the act, no?

Where I was positioned at this point was what some would call ‘compromising’. I wouldn’t, personally, but then again why should I?! I had moved from my last directed pose on lying flat on the bed, hand between my flush, wet pussy to trail my fingers up my body in that slow, teasing way we all love until I was able to lift myself up to kneel forward. Staring hotly into his eyes, I was silently screaming for him to place the camera aside and grab me. Partly because I wanted his undivided attention, for him to see me with his own eyes, rather than through a two-square-inch screen, but partly as I wanted to take some pictures of my own.

Which is why I was delighted for so many reasons when the next direction I was to receive was to sit on his face. Oh, hell yeah. And so, the image I am prohibited from showing you kinky folk is a lovely canted angle shot from my own hand held from above with half of my face in the top right corner with my body sliding down the rest of the frame culminating in Mister planted squarely between my legs, eyes closed, blissfully licking and nibbling. Were you to see this shot, you would witness the wryest of glints in my eyes meeting the camera’s glare. You would see the absolute contentedness in Mister’s expression, eyes closed, arms hooked around either thigh.

I had so much fun during this evening. It’s reignited the flame for my kinky Minx. The very next night, I found myself tied to my computer chair, blindfolded, with Mister draping the feathery-light touch of the tasselled whip over my breasts. The teasing, threatening devil that he is. It tingled and electrified my senses. My fingers were twitching and clinging on to the arms of the chair. At every sigh, every jolt, I was glad I had put the blanket on top of the chair cushion – My arousal had me at Mister’s mercy as I writhed around, arching my back, pushing against the vibrator that he had placed between my spread legs.

When he finally entered me after I was broken and exhausted, he was fervoured and frenetic. My breath and voice was ragged, head unable to lift itself from the back of the chair. Dark, low, deep moans at every moment. I had lost count of the orgasms long before this point and I free-fell into a plunging chasm of ecstasy*.

The next time I have a lull in kink, I think I’ll place another little wager. See where that gets me. If it’s anything like this, I’ll go all in.

For the Nighthawks

 [Edit - Since writing this post a selection of photos have been removed at Mister's request - A sense that this was one of those personal, private shows just for him]

*Mister’s editorial input was to deem this far too clichéd to include. But screw that, I liked it!