tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-116673072024-03-14T03:05:33.543+01:00Prudence tells all<b>My name is not really Prudence, of course. But prudence <i>is</i> the name of the game.</b> <br> This blog is about Mrs. Jones and Mr. Smith -- two happily-married, well-educated, professional types who have overall successful careers and overall happy families, and who have been secretly meeting each other for laughs, drinks, dinner, and unbelievably good sex for years now.Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1165995714254589482006-12-13T08:38:00.000+01:002006-12-13T08:46:04.486+01:00checklist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2341/956/1600/72773/Picture%209.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2341/956/320/697793/Picture%209.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Looks like last night was one to remember! Enjoy,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = = = = =<br /><br />From: Jones<br />To: Smith<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Re: Morning-after checklist</span><br /><br />Fatigue from turning lights out after 3am? Check.<br /><br />Low-level hangover, bearable but present nonetheless? Check.<br /><br />General soreness everywhere, from sexual equivalent of a multiple-set, high-rep cardio workout? Check.<br /><br />Overstretched tendons connecting inner thighs to torso, from having knees pushed to ears by his shoulders? Check.<br /><br />Aching thighs, from effort of squeezing out that last orgasm? Check.<br /><br />Tender girlie-bits, from sheer overuse? Check.<br /><br />Bonus... Raised welt on skull from whacking head against night table <span style="font-style: italic;">in medias res</span>? Check.<br /><br />Yep. It was a grade-A night of grade-A sex, alrighty. So when's the next one? Cause I miss it already.Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1164802347048975652006-11-29T13:07:00.000+01:002006-11-29T13:18:44.663+01:00sensimilla<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2341/956/1600/379452/marijane.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/2341/956/320/192834/marijane.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's an interesting instant messaging exchange. Enjoy!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence<br /><br />= = = = = = = =<br /></span><br />Smith: Hey. Home alone. Kids in bed. She's away this week, remember?<br /><br />Jones: That's right! So. Whassup? Surfing the web?<br /><br />Smith: Was just sitting here thinking about how I'd like to get high with you someday.<br /><br />Jones: I was more of a vodka girl in my misspent college years. I only got high once or twice. Would the sex be good, under the influence?<br /><br />Smith: Let me imagine for you what it would be like if we lit up a nice joint filled with high-grade west coast sensimilla. First comes the giggly phase. We'd be groping around, playing with words, having a ball just saying stupid shit that sounds wonderfully funny and smart. Fairly quickly (at least in my case) comes the horny phase. Although granted, when I'm with you, that doesn't require any dope. But with a bit of chemical enhancement it gets promoted from railroad train to Shinkansen-meets-Thalys. Waiting ability probably reduced (time flies when you're high) so soon the clothes are stuck to the walls and ceilings, and you're pinned to the bed or floor or couch with an incredibly enthusiastic erection holding you to whatever surface you're up or down against. Not sure what's going on inside your head, but it's probably making a lot of noise by now, since neither of us is worrying too much about that.<br /><br />Jones: I hate to think. Beastlike roaring. (Note to self - do this somewhere soundproof or far from neighbors...)<br /><br />Smith: Not quite sure how long this goes on because the cannabinoids provide serious stamina. We're both sweating like giant minks doused in oil. At some point (probably after you've had a few orgasms, but who's counting?), I get detail oriented and start to explore your body, discovering it all over again. Those nipples require at least a half an hour of detailed looking, licking, sucking, etc. That mighty fine ass requires curve-fitting. Pretty soon it's time for another round of rollicking rambunctious rogering.<br /><br />Jones: We need to make this happen!<br /><br />Smith: Maybe London or Amsterdam?<br /><br />Jones: Can it be done in a hotel room?<br /><br />Smith: Sure<br /><br />Jones: Amsterdam is ultra easy for this sort of thing, no? You just saunter into the appropriate establishment and buy what you need, I hear.<br /><br />Smith: Guess so - never tried it<br /><br />Jones: One of us even speaks Dutch reasonably well<br /><br />Smith: You do?<br /><br />Jones: Ik mis je.<br /><br />Smith: ik mis je ook. je bent een lekker dier.<br /><br />Jones: Ik wil met je neuken ;-)<br /><br />Smith: wat ben jij slim!<br /><br />Jones: 'Fraid those two sentences were about the extent of my Dutch, except for "please" and "thank you" and the like.<br /><br />Smith: Let's go to Amsterdam and get high, and I'll teach you more...Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1163182771786872302006-11-10T19:17:00.000+01:002006-11-10T19:19:31.826+01:00a good licking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/ice-cream.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/ice-cream.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jones is one of those women many men dream of: she honestly loves fellatio. Read on to see what I mean...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = = = = =<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>That was one fine blowjob last night.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Hey, that's my line! I know why it was great for me. What's your reason?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> Hmm. Good question.<br /><br />Because when I saw you last night, in your faded jeans and that yellow t-shirt, the first spontaneous thought through my mind was that you looked good enough to eat. I was looking forward to sucking you before we'd even been together for ten seconds.<br /><br />Because champagne makes me horny.<br /><br />Because you made me laugh with your sexy teasing in the bar before we went upstairs.<br /><br />Because that amazing hotel room turned me on.<br /><br />Because the way you do me makes me hot.<br /><br />Because you looked so very handsome, so very appealing, lying there on your back.<br /><br />Because you'd just moments earlier made me come so hard, I was briefly afraid I had hurt you with the clench of the spasms that shuddered through my pussy.<br /><br />Because I looked up right before I looked down, and your eyes met mine, and your hungry look made my heart pound.<br /><br />Because your cock is lovely to look at and delicious to lick.<br /><br />Because your thighs and tummy feel so good under my hands.<br /><br />Because you cried out as you felt yourself losing control, and I adore hearing that I'm giving you pleasure.<br /><br />Because you came with your cock deep in my mouth and my hand on your balls, and as a result, I felt every single pulse travel from the depths of you right up into my throat: the most amazing, sensual, pleasurable experience...<br /><br />Because you taste so very good.<br /><br />Because I love the way you gasp and groan and writhe under me when I continue to suck gently on you after you've come. I know just what you're feeling: it's too intense to bear, but too good to say "stop"...<br /><br />Because I felt a pang of regret that it was over.<br /><br />Because I already can't wait for the next time.<br /><br />Reason enough?Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1160733895546078162006-10-13T12:01:00.000+02:002006-10-13T12:06:17.126+02:00wrestling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/bodysuit-stayups.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/bodysuit-stayups.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Flexibility, dexterity, balance, stamina, endurance ... all skills that are needed to be a successful wrestler. From the instant messaging exchange below, it certainly sounds like my favorite un-couple had a good hard workout on the mat, themselves, recently. Enjoy!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = = = = = = =<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Hey there<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Hey yourself. How are you doing?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Can't concentrate. Flashbacks to last night. You were a-mazing. Though in a much different way than usual.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>I wondered if you noticed….<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> NOTICED? My God, man. I can barely walk this morning. You were a beast!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith:</span> I think I just lost control.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> Yes, well, lost control, took control, something. I have always said that sex with you is a splendor of variety - you can be any one of a dozen different lovers in bed, in fact, usually a lovely mix across a night together. But this guy last night was new to me. I could barely keep up. I honestly didn't do anything "active" from the moment I pulled my dress off!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Blame yourself. You looked so hot in that bodysuit thing and those stay-up stockings…<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Aha, I thought you might like that. Spent some time at the <a target="_blank" href="http://wolford-shop.com/english/index.php">Wolford shop</a> recently. But no kidding, I never had so little control or input. You were throwing me around the bed like an animal in heat, and never into a position where I could pump or thrust or set the speed. It was pretty damned hot.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith:</span> You know what they say: the nicest things to put behind a woman's ears are her knees.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> Mmm, yes. Then there was the doggy-style position that quickly became some sort of high school wrestling team move: driving into me from behind, then reaching forward and pulling my arms out from under me...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Take down, two points! You're my favorite "fish."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Your favorite … what?!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>My favorite fish! Hey, you brought up high school wrestling. A "fish" is the skinnier guy they let you practice your moves on, so you can get a feel for doing them right.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> Oh, you were doing them right, baby. Considered me "pinned."Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1160123001384953602006-10-06T10:22:00.000+02:002006-10-07T16:47:20.033+02:00Rule #4: Don't enter or leave together<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/rule-4.0.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/rule-4.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Rule #4 for Having a Successful Extramarital Affair: Don't enter or leave the hotel together</span><font><br />Reader, there is no need for false modesty between us, correct? We both know that your lovely affair is obviously largely about the sex! Which means that you will find yourselves in hotels with what I hope for you is significant regularity! However, never forget that while it is possible to explain <font><font>your<font> presence in the hotel lobby to someone you meet there unexpectedly, it is much more difficult to explain your presence <font><font>and<font> that of your lover standing right next to you! So always, always enter and exit your hotel separately, leaving 4 or 5 minutes of space between your comings and goings.<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Jump to </span><a style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/04/rule-3-erase-your-text-messages.html">Rule #3</a><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><font><font><font><font><font><font><font><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1159609198884658622006-09-29T18:35:00.000+02:002006-09-30T11:43:27.906+02:00hit and run<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/against-the-wall.3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/against-the-wall.2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I thought you might enjoy the fantasy I just captured from an instant messaging exchange ...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />* * * * * * *<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>What a week! I can't wait to get out of the office.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>You can say that again. I'm in the mood for pizza and beer followed by fast/rough sex. Me on top. Fellatio to finish you off. No cuddling afterward.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Hit and run?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Exactly<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Sounds exciting. Maybe leave the pizza/beer for afterward?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> Even better. Get to the sex straight off. No chitchat, just get to it. You know the kind I mean?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith:</span> "Up against the wall bitch!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones:</span> I see that you do know the kind I mean...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Maybe on the hood of a car. Or the kitchen floor.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>mmm, nice! Semi-public. Potential to be discovered. We'd be riding the adrenaline rush through the rest of the evening...Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1158751260026731912006-09-20T13:18:00.000+02:002006-09-27T15:06:50.440+02:00tree frog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/treefrogs.5.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/treefrogs.5.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Smith and Jones have just returned from a joint business trip to Los Angeles. I asked Jones to send me one of her lovely detailed descriptions of something they did together while they were there. Luckily, she understood that I was not talking about taking the complementary shuttle bus to the hotel or grabbing a cup of coffee!<br />Read on... </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Prudence</span><br />* * * * * * * *<br />"I don't think we'll be doing the deed again tonight," I had mumbled into his side earlier. He didn't reply. We were in bed, in our underwear, watching a DVD on a laptop.<br /><br />We'd had sex three times in the past 29 hours; and not calm, tender "lovemaking" mind you, but long, sweaty, athletic sessions of grade-A fucking, covering all four corners of the king-sized bed and several other parts of our hotel room, and resulting in the kind of climaxes they name fruity cocktails after. All this, nine time zones away from our usual abodes, which meant yesterday had started with a twelve-hour flight each to get here. And what's more, sandwiched between the first two sessions and the third was a complete business day at a trade show (think: lots of walking, lots of standing, lots of meetings.)<br /><br />In a word: I was exhausted. He was in no better shape: his face was drawn and his eyes were heavy and he'd bummed two Advil off of me before we booted up the computer.<br /><br />When the DVD was over, I crawled on top of him for a pre-sleep snuggle, my legs folded frog-like on either side of him. I laid my head on his shoulder and relaxed heavily into him. I had a passing thought that I should have turned the light off: sleep was minutes away. Or so I thought. But I had gravely underestimated the male of the species when he is in the presence of the female of the species, and I had glossed over this specific male's incredible talent to whip me into a frenzied state of need.<br /><br />He lifted his arms from where they had naturally looped around me and began to caress my back from shoulder to rump. On his second round-trip, he unhooked my bra, and I wiggled out of it, but instead of taking advantage of the newly-liberated expanse of skin across my back, his fingertips went to the nape of my neck, and then up into my hair, sending shivers through me that I'm sure even he felt. I had my first inkling that perhaps sleep was NOT minutes away when next they ventured to stroke lightly on the ultra-sensitive flesh of my thighs. I lifted my head in surprise and found him laying still, his eyes closed, an unmistakable smirk turning up one corner of his mouth.<br /><br />What followed was classic Smith: from his easy-access, hands-free position on his back, he put me into a state of absolute sensory overload, deliciously overstimulated and incredibly turned-on. The man is a mighty reigning lord of erotic teasing and foreplay, and this was some of his best stuff.<br /><br />His hands touched me everywhere; I was never quite sure where they would land next. He alternated velvety-soft strokes with feather-light touches, all while kissing and licking at my ears and neck. The combined effect made it impossible for me to think about anything except the sensations. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure I was even kissing or touching him back: it's possible I was just lying on top of him, twitching and gasping and moaning in pleasure.<br /><br />From time to time, he would still his hands to take my mouth with his for hungry, eager kisses that would then suddenly become soft and gentle. But not for long.<br /><br />Nor was he lying there quietly. "What is so funny?" he queried at one point, rather unnecessarily, as he knew damn well that what was so funny was his fingers gently tweaking and prodding every ticklish spot of my sides and tummy, as I giggled and shrieked helplessly. A few minutes later he grumbled in mock-complaint about being in bed with a tree frog: but at that moment, he was spinning a teasing fingertip around my anus, and I kept bucking up and away instinctively -- then lowering my bottom back down to his waiting hands for more of the delicious torment.<br /><br />Finally I could take no more. Breaking away from his grasp with a bit of a choked growl, I pulled off my panties and then somewhat awkwardly yanked off his jockeys, as he laughed aloud. "I thought we weren't going to be doing the deed tonight?" he teased, one last time, before I lowered my wet, wet pussy onto his cock, and he, too, was lost to sensation.Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1156709609454132352006-08-28T11:30:00.000+02:002006-09-27T15:05:43.676+02:00la rentree<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/pencils.3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/pencils.3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />It's "la rentrée" here in France: the return (to Paris, to school, to work...) after vacation. While French newspapers and magazines analyze the "rentrée politique" or the "rentrée economique," I suggest we all concentrate on the "rentrée sexuelle" of Mr Smith and Mrs Jones, finally reunited (in an instant messaging window, at least) after weeks and weeks of separation.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Enjoy! </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Prudence</span><br />* * * * * * *<br />Mr Smith: Hi there. Welcome back.<br /><br />Mrs Jones: Hey! Welcome back yourself. Missed you missed you missed you. Let's talk: give me a call, I'm at my desk.<br /><br />Smith: Can't talk right now, I'm afraid. I have three minutes before a conference call with Japan that is apparently going to last for hours. Hell of way to start back up after vacation...<br /><br />Jones: OK, then take a minute and a half to write me a sentence that starts with "I like it when", just to feed my fantasties.<br /><br />Smith: Only one sentence? After all this time without you, I have a dozen at the top of my mind. How about: I like it when you wrap your legs around me while I'm on top. I like it when you straddle me and very slowly lower yourself onto me, after having driven me crazy with a bout of cock sucking and ball licking. I like slowly taking your clothing off, bit by bit, between slurpy kisses and nipple tickles. I like turning you on your stomach, spreading your legs, and working my way into your already steamy snatch while you buck up against me.<br /><br />Jones: Holy shit. Nice work. My heart is actually pounding.<br /><br />Smith: Hate to say it, but I have to go. Catch you later.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(later)</span><br /><br />Smith: You still there? I'm finally out of the phone conf from hell. How about a few "I like it whens" from you, to get my blood flowing again?<br /><br />Jones: Happy to oblige! I like it when you drive me over the edge by stroking my breasts, kissing my ears and neck, and pounding your magnificent cock into me all at the same time. I like it when you push my legs apart and lick me gently, gently, until I explode against you in what is probably a very un-gentle way. I like it when you give me your "Don't look at me That Way in public" look when I accidentally look at you That Way in public. I like the things you whisper to me when we're buzzed and going at it.<br /><br />Smith: Ahem. I see what you mean about your heart pounding ... though it's more like a throbbing, and it's not my heart...Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1156191104977652622006-08-21T22:10:00.000+02:002006-09-27T15:04:33.286+02:00mistaken identity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/Picture3.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/Picture3.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,<br />Ms. Jones apparently snuck away from her family to leave a voice mail for Mr Smith, who replied to her with an e-mail she won't see for a week... hang in there, my dears, vacation is almost over!<br />Prudence</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />* * * * * * * *<br /><br />Hey there. Nice to hear your long voice mail this morning. I loved your story about the man who came up behind you and tickled you under your shirt, mistaking you for his similarly-dressed wife who was standing nearby. You said you were secretly aroused: I bet he was too. I bet he's still thinking about you.<br /><br />Your message reminded me of something I haven't told you yet: Do you remember that incredibly hot day at the Saratoga races last year? I had on my white linen suit and that ridiculously expensive Borsalino panama. You had on that filmy cotton dress that drives me crazy -- with not much on underneath, which drives me even crazier. Maybe that explains why we were being a bit daring, breaking many of our own rules by spending a day together in such a public way. Odds were low that either of us knew anyone there, but then again, the reason we've been able to keep this up so long is precisely because we have generally been paranoid about those kinds of things.<br /><br />But that day, we threw caution to the winds, drove up from New York City in a rented car, checked into a B&B one town away, spent the entire night fucking like minks, and then managed to crawl out of bed, shower and out into the heat to watch the races. Not to mention watching all the other people there - more fun than horses, at least from my perspective.<br /><br />After a couple of races, we snuck back to the horse stalls and walked along, stopping occasionally to look more closely at some of the particularly impressive animals. They calmly waited their turn to run in the buzzing heat.<br /><br />One of the stalls was empty, darkly shady in the heat. I pushed you in, closed the stall doors behind us, and shoved you against the back wall, lifting the little white cotton dress over your head and slipping off your thong. The smell of horses and hay enhanced the sweaty, dusty grapple as we hurried to avoid being "surprised". You smelled of hay the rest of the day.<br /><br />So that's why I reacted the way I did when you snuck up behind me as I stood scanning the starting line-up from the upper observation deck, before the big race of the day. I felt one arm reach around me from the left side, while a hand simultaneously slipped into my right pocket and grabbed my cock. I gasped and whirled around, grabbing for your breasts under your cotton dress while huskily telling you to be careful in such a public place - but you planted your mouth over mine. I was forcibly silenced.<br /><br />I smelled hay and perfume, but not your perfume. I tasted and felt a dancing prancing tongue in my mouth, but not quite yours. The breasts I held were firm and responsive, but not the way yours are. From the corner of my eye I saw dark brown hair, but not quite like yours. The dress I was grasping through was not smooth cotton but coarse linen. And as I pulled back, a hat that was nothing like yours went flying.<br /><br />I guess I'll never know her name. She stifled a shriek as she realized that I was not the man she had mistaken me for from behind, the man who stood ten steps away, staring in amazement at us. I was too flustered even to be embarrassed about the bulging erection that was distending the front of my trousers. I tried to stammer an apology - a ridiculous thing to do, of course.<br /><br />Like a spooked animal, she scanned about until she spotted him, the other guy on the deck wearing a white linen suit and a Borsalino. He was heading towards us now, at a trot. She turned back to me, gave me a deep look for a split second, and then ran off towards the ladies room, one level down from the observation deck, no doubt to find the time to catch her breath and, I suppose, to prepare for an awkward discussion with the man she had come to the races with.<br /><br />I only had a minute or so myself to regain my composure and reflect on what had just happened when you - the real you this time - appeared from the stairs and the ladies room. You took my arm as you sidled up beside me, took stock of my rumpled and sweaty condition, and looked at my sun-glassed face inquisitively. You asked no questions, and slipped your arm into mine as we turned to watch the start of the big race. Did you ever wonder?<br /><br />You can tell me when we see each other next week ... probably the craziest thing about this crazy thing we're doing is how much I look forward to going back to work after vacation.<br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1153672481760580022006-07-23T18:33:00.000+02:002006-09-30T17:36:35.153+02:00summer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/sun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/320/sun.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Summer is usually the sexiest time of the year ... except for illicit lovers like <a target="_blank" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_prudence-tells-all_archive.html">Smith and Jones</a>! Mr Smith and Mrs Jones usually manage to hook up during business trips: but the French have at least five glorious weeks of paid vacation, sometimes more, and so business slows down in July and grinds almost to a halt in August. Families leave for much-needed vacation time together, often renting beach cottages far from any Internet connection. As a result, our un-couple has always found the two months of summer to be a long dry spell, with much less phone, e-mail and instant messaging contact that they usually enjoy, and no sex (... or at least no sex with each other...). It's a simple fact of life for them, especially after all these years. Read this short chat exchange I just intercepted.<br />Prudence<br /><br />= = =<br /></span><br />Mr Smith: Hey there. Thought you weren't working today?<br /><br />Mrs Jones: Hi! Just quickly checking mails from home computer. Racing around like proverbial headless chicken over here. Usual pre-vacation madness. We hit the road tomorrow at dawn.<br /><br />Smith: Anything I can do to help?<br /><br />Jones: Fraid not. So: will you miss me?<br /><br />Smith: No future tense needed. Already do. Gotta love summer, huh?<br /><br />Jones: It's always been a challenge, hasn't it? I have to go, my husband is too nearby for this sort of conversation...<br /><br />Smith: Be good, drive carefully, eat your veggies and all that.<br /><br />Jones: I will. You too. Think of me when you jack off in the shower.<br /><br />Smith: The causality is inverse. Ciao bella.<br /><br />Jones: Bye baby.<br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1152340381622570402006-07-08T08:28:00.000+02:002006-09-26T18:38:59.720+02:00Prudence in Fleshbot<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Dear Readers,<br />I'm honored to announce that my humble blog has been featured in this week's <a target="_blank" href="http://www.fleshbot.com/sex/sex-blogs/sex-blog-roundup-185289.php">Sex Blog Roundup</a> at <a target="_blank" href="http://www.fleshbot.com/">Fleshbot</a>. A special welcome to readers arriving here from that very fine website. Prudence hopes you will enjoy what you read, and come back often.<br />Prudence<br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1151940738037933842006-07-03T17:29:00.000+02:002006-09-26T22:11:40.170+02:00Prudence in Sugasm #37<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Dear Readers,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >I'm pleased to report that my blog has been featured in "Sugasm #37".</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Here's the linklist.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Happy surfing,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Prudence</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />* * * * * * *</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" >SUGASM # 37</span><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />This week’s best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Want in Sugasm #38? Submit a link to your best post of the week using <a href="http://sugasm.com/2006/02/06/how-to-join-the-sugasm/">this form</a>. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.</span></span> <p><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Announcements</strong><br /><a href="http://sugarbank.com/2006/06/16/sex-and-porn-events/">Sex and Porn Events</a> (sugarbank.com)<br /><a href="http://sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night/2006/06/june_contest.html">June Contest</a> (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)<br /><a href="http://spiritsex.blogspot.com/2006/06/plea-to-sex-blogging-community.html">Plea to the Sex-Blogging Community</a> (spiritsex.blogspot.com)</span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>NSFW Pics</strong><br /><a href="http://sensualarousalblog.com/alison-angel/alison-angel-and-real-peachez/">Alison Angel and Real Peachez</a> (sensualarousalblog.com)<br /><a href="http://iloveabbywinters.com/2006/06/24/red-headed-beauty-jacinta-shot-by-abby-winters/">Red Headed Beauty Jacinta Shot by Abby Winters</a> (iloveabbywinters.com)<br /><a href="http://simply-sapphicerotica.com/teen-lesbian/teen-lesbian-rides-her-lovers-tongue/">Teen Lesbian Rides Her Lover’s Tongue</a> (simply-sapphicerotica.com)<br /><a href="http://www.ilovealisonangel.com/alison-angel/alison-angel-topless-in-jeans/">Alison Angel Topless in Jeans</a> (ilovealisonangel.com)<br /><a href="http://myhotbox.blogspot.com/2006/06/women-in-red.html">Women in Red</a> (myhotbox.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://pornzio.com/blog/archives/2006/06/08/15-on-1/">15 on 1</a> (pornzio.com/blog)<br /><a href="http://eroticandy.blogspot.com/2006/06/anthony-guerra-pin-up-artist.html">Anthony Guerra, Pin Up Artist</a> (eroticandy.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.thesexbox.com/blog/page5.php">Cutie Playmate Sara Jean Underwood</a> (thesexbox.com/blog)<br /><a href="http://www.internetisforporn.com/2006/06/cum_on_eileen.html">Cum on Eileen (movies and review)</a> (internetisforporn.com)</span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>BDSM and Fetish</strong><br /><a href="http://redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com/2006/06/welcum-home-daddy.html">Welcum Home Daddy</a> (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-pqPp2dY0bqgI1wN0fCOZsxX1lJCR?p=2">The Making of a Cuckold - J. Part 1</a> (http://uk.360.yahoo.com/profile-pqPp2dY0bqgI1wN0f COZsxX1lJCR)<br /><a href="http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com/2006/06/spanked-and-reconnected.html">Spanked and Reconnected</a> (darkside-journey.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://ww2.alternativealbany.com/bdsm/2006/06/15/bdsm-homemakers/">BDSM Homemakers</a> (alternativealbany.com)<br /><a href="http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2006/06/12/on-belts-and-hotel-rooms/">On Belts and Hotel Rooms</a> (spankingwriters.com/blog)<br /><a href="http://everythingoze.blogspot.com/2006/06/play-contract-saturday-and-bondage.html">Play Contract, Saturday and the Bondage Chair</a> (everythingoze.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://masterenigma.blogspot.com/2006/06/concentrate.html">Concentrate</a> (masterenigma.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.lifeashis.com/?p=699">“I Have A Surprise For You, Lil Girl”</a> (lifeashis.com)</span> </p> <p><!-- Cutpoint Text - post it if you're only posting First 20 --><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://sugasm.com/2006/07/01/sugasm-37/">More Sugasm…</a><br /><a href="http://sugasm.com/2006/02/06/how-to-join-the-sugasm/">Join the Sugasm</a></span> </p> <p><!-- End First 20 / Begin Stuff After the Cutpoint --><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Sex Advice and Sexy Reviews</strong><br /><a href="http://creamonpants.com/choosing-the-right-lube.girl">Choosing the Right Lube</a> (creamonpants.com)<br /><a href="http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com/2006/06/kegel-size-me-baby.html">Kegel Size Me, Baby!</a> (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://gentlygently.blogspot.com/2006/06/caught-red-handed.html">Caught Red-Handed</a> (gentlygently.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://4thegirlnextdoor.blogspot.com/2006/06/how-clothes-make-sex-hotter.html">How Clothes Make Sex Hotter</a> (4thegirlnextdoor.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://adelehaze.com/2006/06/16/dvd-the-noise-lupus-pictures/">DVD: The Noise (Lupus Pictures)</a> (adelehaze.com)</span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Thoughts on Sex</strong><br /><a href="http://cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com/2006/06/opposing-forces-laws-of-attraction.html">Opposing Forces: Laws of Attraction</a> (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.msnaughty.com/blog/2006/06/15/read-my-lips-its-vulva-not-vagina/">Read My Lips: It’s Vulva, Not Vagina</a> (msnaughty.com/blog)<br /><a href="http://4thegirlgamers.blogspot.com/2006/06/ten-ambiguously-gay-game-characters.html">Ten Ambiguously Gay Game Characters</a> (4thegirlgamers.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://orgasmcurious.blogspot.com/2006/06/but-never-sexually-dishonest.html">But Never Sexually Dishonest</a> (orgasmcurious.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://submissiveinthecity.wordpress.com/2006/06/16/beneath-this-conservative-exterior/">Beneath This Conservative Exterior</a> (submissiveinthecity.wordpress.com)<br /><a href="http://www.caramelvixen.com/vixen-blog/?p=35">Eating Pussy</a> (caramelvixen.com/vixen-blog)<br /><a href="http://wanklog.blogspot.com/2006/06/denial.html">The Denial</a> (wanklog.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://radicalvixen.com/blog/2006/06/16/racist-caller/">Racist Caller</a> (radicalvixen.com/blog)</span> </p> <p><span style="font-size:78%;"><strong>Erotic Writing and Experiences</strong><br /><a href="http://theholidaylife.blogspot.com/2006/06/comfortably-decadent-part-one.html">Comfortably Decadent - Part One</a> (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://aliferestarted.blogspot.com/2006/06/her-surprisepart-one.html">Her Surprise (Part One)</a> (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.taratainton.com/tara/tara.nsf/vwLUBlogs/9521DF11CB3B43E70725718B0016112C?OpenDocument">Swapping and Smooching on the Strip</a> (taratainton.com)<br /><a href="http://ellabeecoquette.blogspot.com/2006/06/jekyll-hyde-and-happy-whore-place.html">Stories You Wouldn’t Write Home About: Jekyll, Hyde, and the Happy Whore Place</a><br /><a href="http://andrememberthattime.blogspot.com/2006/06/lunch-at-fountain-of-you.html">Lunch at the Fountain of You</a> (andrememberthattime.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com/2006/06/theatrics.html">Theatrics</a> (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com/2006/06/my-turn-your-turn.html">My Turn, Your Turn</a> (secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.kingdomofmean.com/sheets/archives/2006/06/summer_vacation.html">Summer Vacation</a> (kingdomofmean.com/sheets)<br /><a href="http://lustdemon.blogspot.com/2006/06/so-hot-so-hard.html">So Hot, So Hard</a> (lustdemon.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://fourstate.blogspot.com/2006/06/loving-vs-fucking.html">Loving vs. Fucking</a> (fourstate.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://dontwakethekids.blogspot.com/2006/06/two-in-one-day-or-i-want-some-cinnamon.html">Two in One Day or “I Want Some Cinnamon”</a> (dontwakethekids.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://talktovanessa.com/?p=73">Losin’ It</a> (talktovanessa.com)<br /><a href="http://designingintimacy.blogspot.com/2006/06/i-want-sunday-kind-of-love.html"> I Want a Sunday Kind Of Love </a>(designingintimacy.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://the-sensuous-libertine.blogspot.com/2006/06/middle-of-night.html">The Middle of the Night</a> (the-sensuous-libertine.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://www.easilyaroused.co.uk/archives/one-plus-two">One Plus Two</a> (easilyaroused.co.uk)<br /><a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/06/vegas.html">Vegas</a> (prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com/2006/06/god-is-infinitely-seductive.html">God is Infinitely Seductive</a> (totalsensuality.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://wetbeyondbelief.blogspot.com/2006/06/doin-tha-dirty-dishes.html">Doin’ tha Dirty Dishes</a> (wetbeyondbelief.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://dawnndirty.blogspot.com/2006/06/vivid-dream.html">Vivid Dream</a> (dawnndirty.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://sugarbabyweekly.blogspot.com/2006/06/little-tease.html">Little Tease</a> (sugarbabyweekly.blogspot.com)<br /><a href="http://sexblogthis.blogspot.com/2006/06/fade.html">Fade</a> (sexblogthis.blogspot.com)</span> </p><p><br /> </p>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1151228131471509942006-06-25T11:33:00.000+02:002006-09-27T15:05:02.510+02:00Vegas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/Picture%201.0.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/Picture%201.0.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I had lunch with Mrs. Jones on Friday, and she told me that years ago, she'd caught Mr. Smith staring rather appreciatively at a beautiful young Ukrainian woman with whom they both worked. She was inspired to write him a fantasy story about a threesome with the lovely Svetlana - a story that Mr. Smith apparently found most arousing. She happily sent it to me when I asked: and I'm happy to share it with you. <br />Enjoy!</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Prudence</span><br />* * * * * * *<br />"Is this what I look like?" I asked.<br /><br />"More or less," he answered, his voice low and sexy. "Every woman is a bit different. Like snowflakes."<br /><br />He leaned in and licked gently. She moaned quietly. I moaned quietly.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />We had bumped into him in a mall, a few hours earlier: : "Hey, fancy meeting you here!" followed by "Shall we all grab some dinner?" - "Sure! Sounds fun!"<br /><br />It was not a chance encounter, of course. He and I had scheduled it.<br /><br />There had been t-shirts and postcards for sale all over the city saying "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!" and indeed, we'd found the place had a deliciously pervasive flavor of debauchery. Naughtiness was easy to arrange, and hard to resist.<br /><br />Dinner was at a nice steakhouse. The maitre d' put us at one of those corner booths where we were all on the same bench, in a semi-circle. Svetlana was between us. Knowing that inhibitions must be lowered and senses of humor and playfulness heightened, he kept our glasses perpetually full (while limiting himself to half-portions, I couldn't help but notice).<br /><br />Giggly stories of our adventures trying to buy underwear, our fruitless search for the perfect pair of shoes, set the tone. He was his usual witty self, full of fascinating and funny stories. I teased him about his place-dropping ("Mister 'When-I-lived-in-Montana-Singapore-Melbourne-Rome,' thinks he's sooooo cool.") We easily got Svetlana talking about herself, too.<br /><br />Then I had the clever idea (if I may say so myself) to launch the topic of "My Wildest Sexual Adventures." A few rounds of "I had sex in a snowdrift at college." "Oh, that's nothing, I once ..." and the whole atmosphere of dinner became intimate and sexy and very playful. "Have you ever kissed another woman?" he asked us at one point. "Not yet!" I replied, carefully avoiding her eyes. "Me neither," she said, just as carefully avoiding mine.<br /><br />And then, after coffee: "Come up to my room and have some more champagne." A statement, not a question. Chemicals and pheromones were raging: He was wildly horny and she was as helplessly drawn to it as I always am.<br /><br />When we got to the room, I got glasses out of the minibar and headed into the bathroom to struggle with the cork in the champagne bottle, to let them have a few minutes of "privacy" for a first kiss.<br /><br />When I came out, his suit jacket was off, and she was measuring the breadth of his chest with long strokes of the palms of her hands. She is smaller and even more slender than I; he was cupping her entire bottom in one hand.<br /><br />It was she who saw me approach. "I definitely need that," she said with her charming accent, taking the glass of champagne I extended to her.<br /><br />He kept a hand on her bottom while reaching out to pull my face to his. I had thought he was already lost to his coursing desire, but when our brief kiss ended, we shared a very lucid look of complicity and shared pleasure. My knees were weak with desire for him.<br /><br />As he kissed her again (...he was understandably more excited by the newer toy...), I came around behind him and nibbled on the back of his neck. He groaned in pleasure into the hollow below her ear. Svetlana was standing, he was pressed against her, facing her, and I was pressed against his back: a manwich.<br /><br />"Clothes. Clothes off," he choked out, huskily. Rather unlike him, to be so rushed. I decided things were a bit too serious.<br /><br />"He's rather bossy, don't you think?" I stood on my tiptoes to ask Svetlana over his shoulder.<br /><br />"He is!" she agreed, with a wink in return.<br /><br />"I am?" he said, suddenly Mister Innocent.<br /><br />" 'Clothes off'," I imitated his strangled voice seconds earlier. "That's no way to treat a lady."<br /><br />"Or two," said Svetlana, arching one brow. It was perfectly placed, perfectly timed, and all three of us laughed.<br /><br />He took a deep breath. "Aha. You prefer a more gentlemanly approach," he said, refilling our glasses and handing them to us, "Perhaps something like this?"<br /><br />And then he brought us both to the bed, slowly removed our things, kissing what he uncovered, marveling aloud at what he saw and smelled and tasted.<br /><br />Soon, we were all naked, and he was lying on his back on the king-sized bed, with me on one side of him, and Svetlana on the other. The drunken playfulness of dinner was still upon us. We poked and pinched and kissed and licked him, laughing with each other about his twitching, and teasing him verbally.<br /><br />And then, she and I caught each other staring as his very erect penis, which we had thus far ignored. Without warning, the weather changed in the room. It was time to stop playing. In an instant, her mouth was on his cock, and my mouth was on his mouth. As I kissed him, I was aware of his awareness of Svetlana performing wonders further down the bed. It was unbelievably erotic. And then he pulled at the small of my back, drew my leg over his head, sank his clever tongue deeply into my steamy cunt. Lapped and licked and flicked his tongue around until I came with a shudder. The sensations were so intense that I had to pull away.<br /><br />I used the pause to break in on Svetlana. She smiled at me and spoke a long sentence in Ukrainian, so lost to the moment that she apparently couldn't remember what language to use. She sat back and watched closely while I gently drew his balls into my mouth, one after the other. Then I heard him say a few words to her, and she crawled upward up to run her hands along his chest, and kiss him very deeply. I wanted to watch, so I shifted from mouth-mode to pussy-mode, sliding on top of him and impaling myself on what was a <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> hard penis. As I pumped slowly up and down, I watched him fondle and kiss Svetlana's breasts in a way that made her cry out in pleasure. I knew just what she was feeling, and the thought of it sent me over the edge again.<br /><br />When I returned to my senses, Svetlana was looking at me with a smile. "You are now very much ahead of me," she said. I did not understand, until he said, "I think she means: in orgasms."<br /><br />I smiled. "I know just the man to fix that," I said, but the man in question said to me, "I think you should help."<br /><br />And in a few quick movements, she was on her back, he was between her legs and I was lying right next to him.<br /><br />"Is this what I look like?" I asked.<br /><br />"More or less," he answered, his voice low and sexy. "Every woman is a bit different. Like snowflakes."<br /><br />He leaned in and licked gently. She moaned quietly. I moaned quietly.<br /><br />"Now it's your turn," he said.<br /><br />"What do I do?" I asked.<br /><br />"You know what to do," he said, in the same calm, reassuring voice he used to give me professional advice.<br /><br />And I realized I did know what to do. The first touch of my tongue - my first taste of a woman - was strange and unexpected and lovely. With the second touch, I felt her soften under me and purr slightly: very arousing. At the third lick, I felt his lips on the back of my neck and his index finger toying with the edges of my very wet slit. Then I stopped counting and kept licking: She had her first orgasm of the evening before I had my third, but just barely.<br /><br />He pushed me aside as soon as my climax shuddered to completion and plunged impatiently into her, lifting her legs high and grinding in deep. In no time, as I watched, fascinated, she came again, clenching her arms around him, her head tilted back. I reached out then to fondle his balls but he slapped my hand away, spun around in a wrestling move, and plunged his happy cock into me. Far, far away, I heard him speaking, and then felt his mouth on mine; an instant later, it was her mouth; and his was on my ear. The stimulation was too much for me: I came with a roar and then wilted, suddenly exhausted. They left me for dead. When I wrenched my eyes open again, she was sitting atop him, riding hard. I crawled along side of them and kissed and licked and stroked and fingered everything I could reach. As I played with her nipples, Svetlana began to groan rhythmically, drew a great gasp of air and went stiff and silent. Watching her come with his cock inside and my hands on her tits was his undoing. I saw his face contort in bliss as he pumped his joy into her.<br /><br />Time slowed down for the rest of the night. At times, we drank (champagne, water, more champagne.) At other moments, we flopped together, a tangle of arms and legs, stroking each other softly and waiting for another burst of energy.<br /><br />The very early morning found Svetlana on her back; me on my knees, my tongue insistently teasing her clitoris; and him on his own knees behind me, his cock very slowly sliding in and out of me while his fingertips tickled my bottom and pushed gently into my pucker. Indescribably pleasurable: she tasted delicious, and he felt amazing. I never wanted it to end. But as Svetlana's heavy breathing became the groaning of a woman coming, my pussy clamped down in giant spasms of climax around his cock, which immediately doubled in volume and shot hot liquid into me like a rocket. Orgasm, cubed.<br /><br />An hour or so of sleep later, Svetlana slipped away. I heard a shower running, and then she came out fully dressed, kissed us both deeply, murmured in Ukrainian, and left.<br /><br />Some time later, I staggered, bow-legged, back to my own room (the bed un-slept-in since my arrival several days earlier) and into my own shower.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />That afternoon, at the trade show, I looked across the stand and saw Svetlana looking in another direction with a small, secret smile on her face: when I followed her gaze, I saw him wink almost imperceptibly at her and then look straight to me with the same sort of smile. I bathed for a nanosecond in the glow of his private glance and then, to close the circle, turned back to where she, of course, was waiting for my eyes.<br /><br />We worked on projects with her again several times in the future, but after that moment on the stand, we never discussed - or even acknowledged - what we all did that long lovely night.<br /><br />What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.<br /><br /><br />* * * * *<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:100%;" >Go to the latest post: click </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">here.</span></a><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:100%;" >Are you in the mood for another extra-naughty one? Prudence is most sympathetic: click </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2005/11/grumpy.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">here.</span></a><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:100%;" >Perhaps erotic stories are your thing? Prudence can certainly help! Click </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2005/10/msg-test.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">here</span></a></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:100%;" > for another lovely bit of fiction.<br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1149278585977492082006-06-02T22:02:00.000+02:002006-10-02T21:43:44.606+02:00something in the air<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/1600/eiffel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2341/956/200/eiffel.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My goodness, Readers, through we're still waiting for spring to arrive here in Paris this year, something is certainly making Mrs Jones quite warm. Read this delicious mail I just intercepted...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = =<br />Not sure what the hell is in the air here today. I am <span style="font-style: italic;">incredibly</span> horny for you. I dreamed about you all night: kept waking up wet and aroused, having to breathe deeply, take a sip of water, try to shake it off. Right now I keep thinking about stroking my hands down your chest, taking your cock slowly into my mouth, feeling your body hum silently as I touch you and lick you for as long as you'll let me ... and then at some point you'd decide that was enough of being on the bottom and flip us around, drive yourself into me, mmm, sweet relief ... kissing and licking me now, making me crazy with touches everywhere at once, and the feel of you on me and in me, and your amazing wet tongue and the softness of your skin and your coarsely hairy chest and that incredible way you have of touching me, perfectly, in just the way that makes me so turned on, unable to concentrate on anything but what you're doing to me until I just explode ... and then it still doesn't stop: it all feels even better and more intense and you know it, so you keep at it...<br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1148496585572586762006-05-24T20:48:00.000+02:002006-10-02T21:48:28.936+02:00soundtrack<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Dear Readers,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Sounds like fun, wouldn't you agree?</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Prudence</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >= = = = =</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />"I used to wonder where that half-squeal, half-laugh sound you'd hear in the movies and on TV came from…" he said, a propos of nothing, at least from my point of view. He was naked, I was naked, he was lying along side of me, and I could feel his very erect penis pressing into my thigh.<br /><br />"What?" I asked, and then stopped thinking for a minute while his warm tongue lapped once again at my ear.<br /><br />"That giggling you hear sometimes on laugh tracks," he continued, pausing only to continue to flick his tongue against the curve of my ear. I had absolutely no clue what he was talking about, but frankly, didn't much care. One of his hands was slowly and gently caressing my tummy and thighs in a way that made me half-crazed with desire, and his lips were pressed against my mouth in a wet, deep embrace. Then, he broke away, and began nibbling his way toward my other ear.<br /><br />"</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >That</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> sound," he said in a somewhat self-satisfied manner a few minutes of delicious torture later.<br /><br />I bit back the urge to ask "What?" once again and tried to think. This man was not given to random, senseless utterings.<br /><br />He made his tongue into a point again and flicked at the shell of my ear.<br /><br />"Mmm," he murmured sexily, "Very nice. That one had some decent volume to it."<br /><br />And then I heard it too.<br /><br />It was a sort of a giggle, commencing with a great gasp of air, ending on a bit of a squeal; perfectly timed to match the rhythm set by the teasing strokes of his tongue.<br /><br />And it was, of course, coming from me.<br /><br />= = = = =<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-size:100%;">To read another post on Mrs Jones' volume-control issues, click <a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/01/overheard.html">here</a>.<br /><br /></span><br /></span></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1146656538566107282006-05-03T13:40:00.000+02:002006-05-03T19:57:57.016+02:00bite me<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mr. Smith doesn't write to me quite as often as Mrs. Jones does, but I pestered him recently for a story, any story, about something that happened in bed with his mistress. Nothing like an old lady pleading for a sexy anecdote to free the muse, it would seem. Here is what he sent me. Enjoy!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = =<br /><br />We were cuddled together, our legs tangled, my arms wrapped around her. She didn't used to enjoy this; now she sometimes even sought it out herself. Small victories.<br /><br />This, however, was not going to be a long snuggle. I could sense her restlessness. I was about to ask her what was up when she bit me. On my bicep. And then again on my forearm. All became clear.<br /><br />"Feeling a bit oral?" I asked unnecessarily, as she rubbed her lips again the back of my hand.<br /><br />"Mmm," she said, now against my palm. She wasn't kissing me, wasn't even licking me, really; more like touching me, feeling me with her mouth. She sprung to her knees and I braced myself for what was to come. But instead of the expected assault on my rather ticklish neck, she crawled down the bed to my rather ticklish feet. I screwed up my face and concentrated on not involuntarily kicking her while she brushed her lips around my ankles and bit gently at the fleshy part of my calves. It felt somewhat unpleasant and yet strangely enjoyable; an annoyance and yet a thrill.<br /><br />It had been a bit surprising the first time it happened, needless to say. Years ago in the very beginning, after a quick round in the sack, she had rejected the warm afterglow and crawled out from under me to nip at my bottom and thighs.<br /><br />"I get a bit ... oral ... sometimes," she'd said by way of explanation when I'd yelped and spun around, adding almost meekly "Let me satisfy the urge?" I did. And ended up getting a few urges of my own satisfied too. The journey of discovery her mouth makes around my body always finishes at the highest scaleable peak, where oral fixations are always most welcome and appreciated.<br /><br />This time, however, she was going to find the peak monument closed. We'd fucked four times in the past two days: the mind was always willing, but the flesh had given all it had.<br /><br />She moved from ankles to knees, where her gentle biting on some ultra-sensitive bits had me calling out her name in what I hoped was a menacing tone. She lifted her head like a gopher popping out of its hole and said "Yes?" with wide eyes and an innocent smile. I felt a stirring in my tropical zone. Amazing.<br /><br />Now, the hard part. On her knees to one side of me, her ass bobbing in the air in a way that made me dizzy, she bent over my belly, dragged her nipples against my chest and slowly licked my other side from hip to armpit, while I held my breath and recited the alphabet backward in my head. If I stopped her, she'd just start again. Apparently emboldened by her success, she made an attempt at nuzzling the smooth skin that lies right below my armpit; I quickly put a stop to it by plucking her off of me with the superhuman strength of the incredibly overstimulated man.<br /><br />With an annoyed huff and a pouty look of protest, she straddled me. I could feel the heat of her pussy where it touched my chest, and my spent penis gave another gasp of life. She scooted down a bit and bent over my neck. By then, of course, even the thought of her lips and tongue touching me was enough to make me squirm. When she leaned in to my right side, I turned my head to the right to block her access, and when she made for the left, so did I. It was an old game that we hadn't grown tired of playing; but alas for me, the rules clearly stated that I did eventually have to let her in. I relaxed my shoulders and she milked the suspense for a few long seconds before kissing and licking me there, until we were both laughing.<br /><br />"Mmmmmm," she said, like you'd say about the first ice cream cone of the summer. She loved this. We played some more. My ears, my shoulders, the hollow of my collarbone. My heart was pounding: an hour in bed with this woman was better cardiotraining than any workout at the gym.<br /><br />Propped up on one arm, she stared at me until I opened my eyes and then looked rather theatrically downward. I lifted my head. I'll be damned. Junior was up from his nap.<br /><br />With feline slinkiness, she rose to her knees and crawled south. All the nibbling, nipping, kissing, licking and sucking performed so far had just been a warm-up act for the gusto with which she attacked my very happy member. I felt myself hardening even more inside her warm mouth. Her tongue flickered around the head of my cock in ways I couldn't describe. When she moved her fingers down to stroke my balls, the lights went out. Explosion. Her lips still tight around me. And still more licking, though gentler now, as I shuddered through an aftershock. And then she released me, and set to lapping at me softly, as if to get every last drop. Nothing felt better than this.<br /><br />When she was done, she crawled up the bed and lay down on the other pillow.<br /><br />"Get over here," I whispered, hooking an arm around her and pulling her against me. I held her tight for a second or two until she relented and melted against my chest.<br /><br />The last sound I heard before falling asleep was her soft, contented "Mmmmmm."<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1145278600201564962006-04-17T14:53:00.000+02:002006-10-06T10:31:51.406+02:00Rule #3: Erase your text messages<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br />Dear Readers,<br />Perhaps like Smith and Jones, you have discovered the joys of sending and receiving text messages from your mobile telephone. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >There certainly is an ever-renewed thrill to be able to have private "conversations" in public places thanks to this form of communication.<br /><br />However, as much as it may be tempting to save some of these messages for re-reading and enjoying in the future, I must strongly encourage you to erase them from your phone immediately – or at least before going home. Which leads us to ...</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rule #3 for Having a Successful Extramarital Affair: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Erase your text messages.</span> </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Just erase them! The same goes for your incoming and outgoing call logs. Even if you don't have a snooping spouse, it's just much wiser not to leave any trails...</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />* * * * *<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Read </span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/02/rule-2-anonymous-e-mail.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Rule #2</span></a></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">.<br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Read </span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/02/rule-1-prime-directive_06.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Rule #1</span></a></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">.</span><br /><br /></span></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1143644915082644332006-03-28T10:07:00.000+02:002006-03-30T10:42:10.656+02:00ride home<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sometimes I think Smith and Jones are just TOO cute. Overall they're pretty dry-eyed and hard-nosed about their adulterous affair, but under the mostly frosty surface, they're really pretty mushy. Don't say I didn't warn you as you read on…</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">= = = = = = = =</span><br />Driving you home last night was great fun. You were terrific.<br /><br />Fun.<br /><br />Funny.<br /><br />Sexy.<br /><br />Seductive.<br /><br />Affectionate (<span style="font-style: italic;">several</span> terms of endearment escaped your lips, and I would swear at least one of them was spontaneous and natural, not sassy)<br /><br />Proffering a great gift. (Thanks again, by the way!)<br /><br />Effortlessly stroking me almost to a point of no return.<br /><br />A whole batch of Grade-A compliments.<br /><br />Hearing your amazing voice when I can't look at you: I've just decided that driving you around is the upright fully-clothed erotic equivalent of the way you sometimes whisper into my ear when we're horizontal and naked.<br /><br />A brief moment of endearing self-doubt (and I quote: "You're not getting bored with it, are you?") sandwiched between gobs of your regular irresistible self-assurance.<br /><br />A very interesting bit of philosophical waxing on the unbelievability of it all.<br /><br />Enjoyable transcripts from your weekend's home movies.<br /><br />Beauty tips.<br /><br />Movie suggestions.<br /><br />Some thought-provoking "What if" queries (to which answers and follow-up questions continue popping into my head unbidden, I might add.)<br /><br />A spot of VBI<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">* </span>forward planning, always good for my mental outlook (makes the in-betweens easier to bear when I have an idea when the next one might be)<br /><br />The general impression that you like what you see.<br /><br />Just terrific.<br /><br />You, sir, may have a ride home whenever you wish.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">= = = = = = = =</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">*Wondering what a "VBI" is to Smith and Jones? Click </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2004/06/vbi.html">here</a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"> to find out!</span><br /><br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1141984364741982842006-03-10T10:49:00.001+01:002006-03-11T15:11:28.306+01:00start your engines<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Smith is in New York, Jones is home alone in Paris. I just intercepted this text message exchange between them...<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = =<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith:</span> Greetings from New York. Back at hotel after meeting. Very tired. Jet lag. No gas in my engine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jones: </span>Home alone here. Drinking my second glass of wine and watching bad late-night TV. Frisky as hell. Bet a woman loosened by delightful wine into a state of sloppy horniness, lapping at your cock and balls, would rev that gasless engine quite a bit.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Hmm. Would be interesting to test that assumption.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Jones: </span>There's really no downside. If it works, you're happy. If it doesn't, you fall asleep in the arms of the woman and she reconducts the test in the morning<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smith: </span>Where do I sign up?<br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1141390039198128652006-02-24T13:43:00.000+01:002006-10-07T16:25:43.426+02:00Rule #2: Anonymous e-mail<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Dear Readers:<br />Computers and e-mail are both helpful to your affair, and potentially very dangerous. If you and your lover send each other e-mail (and I'm sure you do!) then I strongly suggest the following...</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Rule #2 for Having a Successful Extramarital Affair: Anonymous E-Mail</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />- Use an online account (from <a href="http://gmail.google.com/">Google</a>, <a href="http://mail.yahoo.com/?.intl=us">Yahoo</a>, or <a href="http://www.hotmail.com/">Hotmail</a>, for example), and do not "POP" your mail onto a mail reader that lives on your harddrive (such as Microsoft Outlook). Read and write your e-mail online -- and only online. That way, there is no trace of your affair on your computer.</span><ul> </ul><span style="font-size:100%;"> - Create for this account a completely anonymous name; indeed I recommend making up a nonsense or random-word name: nothing that might make anyone think of you.</span><ul> </ul><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Prudence</span><br /><br />* * * * *<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >Read </span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/02/rule-1-prime-directive_06.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Rule #1</span></a></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">.<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Read <a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/04/rule-3-erase-your-text-messages.html">Rule #3</a>.</span><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1140277282482024172006-02-14T16:30:00.000+01:002006-02-18T16:41:22.483+01:00roll over<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">I recently reminded Mrs. Jones how much I love all the juicy details of her nights with Mr. Smith… and I do, oh, I do!<br />Read this tasty scene from a night our lovers recently spent together.</span><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence.</span><br />= = = = = = = =<br /><br />"Roll over,'' I whispered.<br /><br />His eyes narrowed a bit. "Why should I?"<br /><br />"C'mon, roll over!" I said with a pretend pout and a poke to his side, "I want to play."<br /><br />He looked at me with still-narrowed eyes, but then unwrapped his arms from around me and rolled over with a dramatic sigh implying endless hardships endured. He was fooling neither of us. Once, early in our thing, I sent him a flirty text message that said I'd like to nibble on him, and he had replied, and I quote, "You should start with the back of my neck. Makes me crazy." I had very happily followed these instructions at the next possible occasion: his self-assessment has been correct.<br /><br />I let him settle onto his belly, place his head onto his folded arms; and then climbed atop his back, stretching my naked body along the length of his, caressing his legs with mine for a minute. I moved my mouth up to his head and brushed my cheeks against his soft hair. Then I pulled away and looked at the nape of his neck. His shoulders tensed.<br /><br />"I'm not even touching you yet!" I whispered teasingly.<br /><br />"Mnmn," he grunted into the pillow. He knew what was coming.<br /><br />I lowered my head, and slowly, gently, softly, brushed my lips back and forth against him, right at the line where his hair became skin. He tensed up again. Then I kissed him firmly a few times in the hollow right at the center of the back of his neck, a few dry "smacks" in a row. Just as I intended, he relaxed a fraction. I could practically hear him thinking "OK, I can take this…"<br /><br />Just a few more gentle strokes of my lips against his fragrant skin, and then I slipped the tip of my tongue through my lips. I managed to trace a wet circle, perhaps a circle and a half, against his ultra-sensitive skin before he scrunched up his shoulders with a small yelp. I laughed. Sometimes he can take a bit more, but we'd already gone a round in the ring together. Like all of us, he was much more sensitive after an orgasm than before, and this was "afterplay" -- though perhaps "in-between-play" is a better phrase, considering how things ended up.<br /><br />"Let me in," I whispered, brushing my lips against his ear.<br /><br />A definitive "Nnn-nnn!" came from the pillow.<br /><br />"Oh, don't be such a weenie," I teased him again, "Relax, come on, let me at you…" I went back to brushing my cheeks against his hair.<br /><br />Slowly, he forced his shoulders down. I brushed my lips against the back of his neck and took several soft nips, and then tried to slide my teasing tongue down toward the side of his neck: this, however, was too much of a nerve-ending hot zone for my deliciously overstimulated lover. He yelped, bucked and turtled his head again, squashing my face in between his shoulder and his jaw. I licked at what skin I could reach for a second or two, until he literally pulled me off of him, flipped me over and growled "Game over! Now it's my turn…"<br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1140276779345749252006-02-06T11:20:00.000+01:002006-10-07T16:23:44.663+02:00Rule #1: The Prime Directive<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >When I <a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_prudence-tells-all_archive.html">started</a> this blog, one of my intentions was to create a sort of "how-to" guide with tips for organizing your very own successful extramarital affair. I've gotten so carried away relating the relations of Smith and Jones that I've somewhat lost sight of that objective. I intend to start rectifying this from now on, starting with this post.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Rule #1 for Having a Successful Extramarital Affair: The Prime Directive.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />The most important thing to remember about having an affair is that your spouse and your family must <span style="font-style: italic;">never, ever</span> find out. Tremendous care and attention must be given to hiding what you're doing from others.<br /><br />Indeed, most of the Rules that I'll share little by little from now on will be practical applications of this rule.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Come back soon to read more Rules!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Prudence<br /></span></span><font><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Jump to </span><a style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);" href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2006/02/rule-2-anonymous-e-mail.html">Rule #2</a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">.</span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><font><br /></span></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1138136407913539292006-01-24T21:56:00.000+01:002006-01-24T22:07:50.290+01:00overheard<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I just intercepted this e-mail from Mrs Jones to Mr Smith. Read on -- I'll be back with a question.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = = = =<br /><br />He walked somewhat slowly over to my table in the restaurant and sat down in the chair across from mine. He was easily 75, maybe 80, but when he smiled at me, I saw the handsome young man he'd no doubt been. I smiled back, glancing around the room and wondering to myself if he thought I was someone else.<br /><br />"No, I'm not senile, my dear," he said presciently, with another smile, "I know perfectly well I've just sat down at a table with a woman I don't know. Coffee?"<br /><br />He held up the insulated carafe that was on the table between us. I nodded, and he poured me a cup. Then he set to buttering the toast he'd brought with him from the hotel's breakfast buffet against the far wall. He was wearing a shirt and tie with a sweater. The smile hadn't really left his lips. He evidently had something else to say. I took a spoonful of yogurt and waited.<br /><br />"Lovely old hotel, isn't it? So much more charm than the glass-and-steel things they build in cities these days."<br /><br />I nodded, again fully aware that this was in no way idle conversation; he was clearly going somewhere with it. A lawyer, before retirement, I wondered?<br /><br />"Of course," he said, looking up to stare me straight in the eye with a twinkly smile, "These old structures just aren't as soundproof as a decent hotel should be."<br /><br />A beat. Then another. Then the nickels dropped. Dear sweet Granddad here must have had the room next to ours last night.<br /><br />"I'm curious: Are you two always that … frisky?" he asked, clearly enjoying himself, "Or was last night more wild than usual?"<br /><br />I fear I was in a bit of a silly pose, the spoon frozen halfway to my lips, my mouth agape, while my brain analyzed and rejected a dozen different things to say.<br /><br />"I'm … " I stuttered, clearing my throat and starting again, "I'm sorry if we disturbed you…"<br /><br />"My dear," he said teasingly, "Please don't make me say something trite and cliché like 'Surely you don't think your generation invented sex.' Come now, you'll never see me again. Make an old man feel young again, and tell me about your night. It's the least you can do after keeping me awake and fascinated…"<br /><br />I glanced around – at that hour of the morning, we were essentially alone in the restaurant. He was so amused, and so sincere, and most importantly so right about never seeing him again (When would we ever go back to St Louis?), well, I guess I figured: why not?<br /><br />"We'd been at a … function together earlier in the evening," I ventured, "I mean, my … my friend … and I. A cocktail party. A business thing."<br /><br />"Ah," he said, somewhat knowingly, "And I assume you aren't, how shall I say this delicately my dear, an 'official' couple? No, I didn't think so. Lovely. Do go on: you were together but not together, and drinking…?"<br /><br />"Champagne," I replied, "Evidently too much."<br /><br />"Nonsense! No such thing," he said, "Go on: then you met back here as planned? I refuse to believe this was your first encounter together."<br /><br />"No," I admitted, smiling back at his naughty smile, "We've… We are… We…"<br /><br />"I see indeed."<br /><br />And then, somehow (actually easily in fact) I told him about our evening back in the room – or rather, I filled in some of the details to go with the soundtrack he'd already heard. About how we stumbled, drunk (to put a word to it) through the door of the room and into bed. About your unexpected foreplay technique of holding me down and tickling me everywhere while demanding that I confess to flirting with that accountant just to rile you.<br /><br />"That explains the shrieking and laughter I heard, my dear," he said, adding "Quite delicious. I imagine your young man must have been rather aroused."<br /><br />And then I told him how I finally "confessed" -- and how you whispered triumphantly, "I knew it!" releasing me only to pull me to my feet and push me roughly against the wall (rattling the light fixtures on our unintentional audience's wall, it would seem). I told him how you purred at me, "Do you think you need to try to make me jealous to draw me to you?" while biting my neck and ears and pinching my nipples and apparently making me moan in a way that could not be misinterpreted for discomfort. I blushed somewhat, suddenly remembering fumbling at your boxer shorts, and calling out for you to "Put it in me, please, put it in me!" In retrospect, not very elegant; but frankly, by then, I was beside myself with desire for you. I watched this elegant man watch me and smile: perhaps he was thinking the same thing? He had to have heard me.<br /><br />"You must tell your friend that I admire his stamina," he said then, "I wasn't exactly counting, but he certainly took you to the top of the mountain several times before allowing himself release." I smiled, pleased and proud that you were mine.<br /><br />A few minutes later, he stood, thanked me for confiding in him, and bade me goodbye.<br /><br />= = = = = = = =<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">So, readers: has your night in a hotel ever been enlivened by the</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> sounds of the amourous couple next door? Perhaps</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> you've been in the room next to Smith and Jones! </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1135272958363114342005-12-22T18:32:00.000+01:002005-12-22T18:35:58.393+01:00allocation guidelines<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />My favorite lovers met at work, and extramarital affair oblige, almost always speak with each other during the week, never in the evenings or on weekends. This means their contact continues to be made from one office-enviroment to another: something which occasionally rubs off on their communication, if only in jest. Take this instant messaging exchange I just intercepted, for instance…</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Prudence</span><br />= = = = =<br />Smith: hi. boring meeting here. whatcha doing?<br /><br />Jones: boring meeting here too. wicked horny. been too long.<br /><br />Smith: we should update the implementation and allocation guidelines<br /><br />Jones: a forward-planning for the project needs to be developed, yes.<br /><br />Smith: i've got an idea for the deliverable...<br /><br />Jones: hmm. thinking. "allocation guidelines" sounds like something that needs to be done in a User Group, which poses some irresolvable membership issues<br /><br />Smith: maybe the planning committees should be separated into geographies.<br /><br />Jones: yes, I see your point: or at least hold separate sessions for the headquarters and for the rest of the world.<br /><br />Smith: well of course; a global conference is very ill-advised, given the context. there are too many complex governance and process issues to address<br /><br />Jones: indeed. And we certainly don't have anything resembling consensus among the various users yet<br /><br />Smith: if I can speak freely: thank god there's no steering committee<br /><br />Jones: I can understand why would you feel that way. Unlike so many ventures, revenue-sharing has never been called for; it's only time-sharing which remains an ongoing issue; but is generally resolvable with back-channel efforts<br /><br />Smith: the customer satisfaction feedback suggests we don't need to run in with a band of consultants yet to start any re-engineering efforts<br /><br />Jones: the project does seem to be meeting or surpassing all quality projections<br /><br />Smith: ok - so let's focus on the schedule of meetings and the deliverables<br /><br />Jones: sounds like the way to get the best ROI<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(pause)</span><br /><br />Jones: metaphor aside: when do we get to see each other naked again?<br /><br />Smith: hang on, let me pull up my agenda…<br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11667307.post-1133944995998056792005-12-07T09:41:00.000+01:002005-12-07T09:45:07.976+01:00special rates available<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Dear Readers,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Our Smith and Jones do love their text messaging. For two busy professionals trying to have a secret affair, it certainly is a private way of communicating at any moment of the day. I just captured this exchange, which must certainly have spiced up a boring meeting</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> or a long afternoon...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Prudence</span><br />= = = = = = = =<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">JONES:</span> All I want right now is to have my twat licked until I pass out from the unbearable pleasure. Which, with you as the licker, shouldn't actually take very long. What would you charge for such a service?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">SMITH: </span>First time free. Special volume rates available. Better pricing if you join the club. Best rates if you sign up for two years.<br /><br /></span><br />* * * * *<br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:78%;" >Click </span><a href="http://prudence-tells-all.blogspot.com/2005/09/astounding.html"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:78%;" >here</span></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);font-size:78%;" > for another text-messaging post.<br /><br /></span>Pruhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08942181344149947558noreply@blogger.com0