London seemingly is teeming with malicious germs what with all those people in crammed together in intimately close proximity - Not that I’m completely blaming the fun darkroom photoshoot I had with ‘The Gang’ of sex blogger comrades last weekend courtesy of the talented Holly Revel.

Consequently, I took a rare sick day from work on Thursday having caught quite a nasty chesty cold and hacking cough and being completely run down from a late evening running a Work Thing on Wednesday. I was a pretty sight, indeed, huddled under blankets. I assure you that under those layers of fleece and fluff I was still refusing to wear clothing. Stubborn little girl I can be.

Returning from work late on the Wednesday, 7:30pm I believe, I greeted Mister with the declaration, I’ve told work I’m not going to be there tomorrow.

His eyes lit up, Does that mean I have you all to myself tomorrow? Mister, you see, is currently a House Mister out of employment and spends many a day perfecting his guitar technique you can find examples of here.

I nodded assent at his question before I all but collapsed in a wheezing heap of self-pity.

Tea was brought to me and cuddles given as all the energy I could squeeze out of me went into the settling under Mister’s arms on the sofa beneath my layers, intermittently coughing, groaning, coughing, groaning. Bed called to me soon after this and welcomed me into its deepened comfort.

Broken sleep, interrupting the precious rest of the man beside me. Each time my body wished me to convulse in aching agony in the timeless darkness of the night, he would shift towards me with outstretched arms to draw me closer to him, a half-asleep murmur of, Aww…my poor Lady breathed its way into my hair as he held me to him. This containment allowed me to slip into slumber for a few good hours.

As the morning’s light began to creep in and consciousness took over the pair of us, I found he was still wrapped around me. One arm under my body and curled up in my hair soothingly stroking now and then. The other he had placed on my hip and was softly fiddling with the cotton of my underwear. The traditional (and rare) sign of me not particularly wanting sex is to sleep with knickers on. I felt him breathe in deeply behind me and hold me tightly for a few seconds. I wiggled in, trying not to breathe deeply myself for fear of wheezing into a convulsion again.

Slowly his hand that was at my hip started to round its way over my curves, over and over. The repeated action he’s been getting into a delightful habit of recently. Each time he would shift the edge of my knickers down over my hip and smooth his palm across my skin, finding that sensitive little nook between my hip bone and pubic bone making me wiggle ever more.

Of course it wasn’t long before my underwear had disappeared altogether and his fingers drifted their way between my legs and began to stroke delicately over my clitoris. I glanced over to the clock and pleasingly registered that it had gone past 9am. On a weekday, seeing that time from my bedroom is one of the most beautiful sights. The other being to glance behind me and see Mister’s searching, earnest eyes an inch or two away from mine. I twisted back in place and nestled myself into his caresses, taking his free hand in mine to guide it to my breasts in that touch I crave of his.

Soon my breathing was becoming laboured not from the chesty wheezes but from Mister’s touch. With blocked sinuses each inhalation through my nose had to be exhaled through my mouth. That doesn’t sound too hot, I readily admit, but somehow through it all it made our lovemaking all the more instinctual as though I was being driven purely by my desire, thoughtless to how my respiration system may have been wanting to fall apart. My husky, dry-throated moans grew louder as his fingers worked their magic on my slick pussy and I needed to have his cock inside me. My mind was fully centered on him, his hands, his body pressed tightly against mine as he thrust into me; the rasping Ohh leaving my lips was coated in that mixture of relief and sated passions.

As the pressure builds from the slow and controlled movement of his cock pressing into me, I feel a fevered deliriousness strike me and with his every thrust it’s as though my body is bursting with sparks. I clutched at the sheets, threw one hand back to claw at his thigh in that way he loves, everything sending us both towards that blissful moment as we climax together, feeling his cock jolt, that instant he loses control, bites into my neck, shoulder, a groan of sheer pleasure from the pair of us – he from his orgasm, I from hearing him come pushing me over once again.

He certainly knows how to take care of his Lady.