April. Chapter one.

   Her first conscious thought was, I’m awake. She hadn’t opened her eyes just yet, but was aware of sounds and that she was cold. The second conscious thought was that she had a Blacksmith using the inside of her head as an anvil and was hitting a particularly hard piece of metal with a four-pound lump hammer.

She groaned and cursed red wine. She always got a hangover after drinking red wine and reminded herself of the often-made promise to stick to the voddy.

April then realised that she was naked. Not an unusual condition in the mornings, but along with her nakedness was a realisation that she wasn’t in her own bed. In fact, she wasn’t in a bed, but on the floor with some kind of fur rug under her. She unlocked her eyelids and was immediately sorry she did. The Blacksmith really began to go at the anvil inside her cranium. She closed her eyes again and groaned once more. But, not before they registered that she was in fact, lying on a sheepskin rug, face down with her wrists tied together and attached to a radiator tail.

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All Over Red Rover

In the past, Peter_Pan has steadfastly refused to encroach on the subject of bestiality. It is a genre I personally find without any sexual merit, implicitly droll as well as being completely demeaning to the female fraternity.

Having said that however, a chance conversation with a young lady this week and I stress, she is a teenage girl of impeccable pedigree and diligence, fully catalysed my thoughts on this arguably sordid topic.

Her experience, recounted with neither regret nor embarrassment fully shocked me, but at the same time opened my eyes to the possibility that such an eventuality, whilst hardly a domestic ritual may perhaps occur with a greater frequency than we are led to believe.

    This is Sophie’s story.

Like millions of young girls worldwide, the last thing Sophie felt like doing was getting out of bed – let alone going to school. Bed was safety, comfort, warmth – the surrogate womb if you will. It was a place to dream of growing-up, of future romance and of late, somewhere to caress her developing body with not a little TLC. At fifteen now, masturbation had become as frequent an event in her life as flossing those pretty teeth.

If there is anything measurably sexier than a cute young schoolgirl first thing in the morning winging her way to the bathroom just moments after she’s woken up, I can’t immediately nominate it. Tousled hair flopping across her shoulders as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Youthful figure barely concealed by that semi-transparent nightdress that seems to cling to everything it shouldn’t. And remember, I have three daughters!
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