Wednesday, October 03, 2012

Northern fuck-pup (Manchester redux: 2)

They say that 'The Sleep of the just' is peaceful - but it is nothing next to 'The Sleep of the just-cum'

I woke slowly - drifting into awareness with my Man's arms still around me: cradling my head on His arm and protecting me with His strength and His warmth. I lay for a while, simply allowing that protective warmth to soak into me - drifting in unthinking pleasure - until I felt my Man move, and knew that He was also awake.

With a grin and a small happy growl, I turned in His arms so that I could bury my muzzle in His furred chest - wiggling my puppy butt and nibbling into His fur to find the tender little nubs of His nipples... I felt His hand gently stroke the back of my head, and took His unspoken command to gently lick each nub of flesh until they hardened, then gently worked them with my lips and mouth. His hand tightening on my head let me know how much pleasure my attentions were giving Him - and encouraged me to nip and lick and suck all the more - my tail wagging and my hardening puppy-cock bumping against His belly as I let myself become caught up in the pleasure of serving Him.

Sir turned me on my side then - holding me in His arms as He had done the night before; I could feel Him, hard and hot and pressed against the already tender ring of my hole. I couldn't help but wiggle backwards against Him: subtly moving my hips and twitching my muscles to guide Him into me.

He was gentle - careful of my already abused hole. He let me slowly take Him - easing Himself in and letting me move beneath and around Him to find a comfortable angle that would let Him deep into my core.  

He was equally gentle in quietly fucking me down into breathless surrender - long and slow and deep and full - until I was clinging to His embracing arms, shaking and sobbing my love for Him: my Man, my Master, my Lover, my Friend.

And then He had me roll onto my belly and lie still - feeling as He carefully filled His sheath with warm piss, so that it swelled within me and made me grunt and squirm with perverted pleasure at being His piggy-pup: filled with rubber and His piss.


And then it was time to drag ourselves from the bed and off to the coast to visit my Parents...!

With all the humping and pissing, we'd missed breakfast - so when we passed a huge Ikea outlet Sir decided we should make a small stop to see if we could find something suitable in their cafe.

We didn't do badly - with some mushroom pancakes and a warmed pastry cheese-twist each; but it was worth the stop just to be asked by one of the serving staff  'Is it a special day, for you to be dressed like that?' (i.e. both in our leathers and Sir in His stetson) and to reply 'No - this is just normal everyday wear for us...' with a grin. To which the poor guy answered 'You look amazing. I'm from Transylvania  and we don't get people looking like you do very much...'

We also managed to terrify most of the straight men in the 'Family area' - but that could have been from the way that we letched after a very tall and muscular skinheaded guy, sat with his 'girlfriend' on a table opposite - and the way that we openly discussed how good he would look dressed in rubber and boots... :D

Once we got to the coast, Sir dropped me off at my parent's and then headed off for a planned day of exploring. My Mum was really disappointed not to meet 'the lovely Man who we've heard so much about' - and met me at the door with 'Oh - where's Nigel? I thought I was going to get to meet him' - so I had to text and ask if He wouldn't mind coming back and being fussed over...

Now, I'm small, but my mum is tiny - and it was just wonderful to hear her greet Him at the door with a delightfully Lancashire accented 'Oooh! aren't you TALL!'. I couldn't help but grin when I heard my Man's beautifully open answering laugh in return - or smile to see how He had to duck under the door frame.

In true Northern style, Mum plied us both with copious tea - and then I had to blush as she insisted on showed Sir her bookcase filled with all the family photos (poor Sir - I think He lost track of who was who after my 3rd sister and the 5th grand-child). She also gave us the tour of their small garden - pointing out the multiple feeding stations they have for the local red squirrels - and made us ooh! and ahh! over their new laminate flooring. But then she took pity on us spending the whole day indoors, and suggested that we go for a bit of a walk out to the dunes and the sea.

Mum may be small, but she's got legs on her - and she easily managed to out-pace us both as she strode along, chatting away about how they hadn't even realised that they were only a few minutes walk from one of the largest dune networks in Europe when they bought the house. There are miles upon miles of empty beach and amazingly beautiful wild dunes - and the views across the estuary where just incredible with a wind farm silhouetted against the wind-swept sky. Mum walked us for miles though, and both of us were quite breathless by the time we got back.

My Dad had been called into Liverpool for an eye appointment, so I hadn't expected to see him - but he called shortly after we got back from our walk to say that he would be back home within the half-hour. He also met Sir with a handshake and a 'Gosh - You're tall!' - and then proceeded to be thoroughly 'Dad'-like by boring us all with talk about cars and sport and other 'Manly' things.  Sir was a perfect gentleman, of course, and even managed to look interested when Dad brought out his 'Excel spreadsheet of the MPG of every car that I have ever owned' (I kid you not!). The embarrassment only got worse after Dad realised that Sir has medical training, though, and he insisted on telling Him about his various illnesses and operations: from his double-bypass and gall-stones to a very embarrassing story about 'having my willy re-plumbed'. 

Mum and I drew the line at letting Dad strip off to show Sir his scars, however...!

Dad offered to take us for a meal, but I thought that 5 hours of my parents was more than enough for anyone, and so I leapt in to say we had to get back to Manchester to meet friends. Dad insisted on escorting us over to Crosby to see Anthony Gormley's 'Another place', though - known locally as 'The iron men'. It was raining again, so we couldn't get out to walk amongst the iron figures, moulded from Anthony's own body - but the dramatic skies did make for a beautiful sight.

It was a long drive back to Manchester - and I think that I must have apologised a dozen times for making my poor man suffer such parental domesticity. He laughed and said that it had been an 'interesting' experience - and that He thought my Mum was really sweet.

Unfortunately, Sir couldn't find His wallet when we got back to the car park in Manchester - and we realised that He musty have left it on my Mum's kitchen table...!

I got my mobile out to call home and ask - only to find that I had left it on silent, and so we had missed a dozen calls and messages, and that my voice-mail was full of increasingly frantic messages from my Dad to say that they had found Sir's wallet, and panicking that we were heading back down to Bristol without it..!

Dad was very kind, and offered to drive out to meet us half-way - but we were both hungry and exhausted by then, and so we decided that it would be easier to pick up the offending article on our way home next day - and to find something to eat and then retire instead. It might equally have just been that neither of us could face any more of my Dad's 'fascinating' stories so soon...

We strolled through Manchester Central looking for somewhere to eat, and settled on Giorgios for a beautifully simple Italian supper of fresh bruschetta, pasta, pesto and a green salad, followed by an ice-cream and espresso affogato - and then it was a quiet stroll back to the hotel for a sneaky hot chocolate.

Both of us were a little shattered after our exciting day, so Sir held me tight to stop my wicked puppy-butt from wiggling, and then it was snuggles and drifting off to sleep with my Man. 


Manchester Redux:

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