Pete and Sarah's Guide to Seasonal Sex

by Peter Birch

  Title Page

  PETE AND SARAH’S GUIDE TO SEASONAL SEX

  Winter 2011

  Presented by

  House of Erotica

  Publisher Information

  Pete and Sarah’s Guide to Seasonal Sex

  published in 2011 by Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © Peter Birch and Sarah Berry

  The right of Peter Birch and Sarah Berry to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Cover Designed by

  Nick Tiseo and Matt Bateman

  Credits

  Sarah Berry – Isn’t She Lovely, Office Sex, New Years Revelations, Buck Angel Interview, Dita Von Teese Interview

  Peter Birch – A Winter Feast, Saucy Santa, Warming the Blood

  Nicky Raven – Editor

  Cover Design and internal art – Nick Tiseo / Matt Bateman

  Publisher – House Of Erotica / Andrews UK Limited

  Welcome From The Editor!

  Hi and welcome to the very first edition of ‘Pete and Sarah’s Guide To Sex’. I am so pleased to be bringing you this great collection of articles, interviews and stories from two of the leading lights in the erotic writing world. For those of you who don’t know me, hello from me also, and join us as we attempt to bring you a new fresh look at the seasonal adult fun that can be had by you all.

  I will let them introduce themselves, but I am sure you will know Sarah from her days as the editor of Forum, and Peter from his many published adult stories, and his involvement in the adult scene also. Together they will be bringing us a tour de force in adult reading, both factual and fantasy…

  This edition has some great interviews, from the Queen of Burlesque Dita Von Teese, and the adult performer Buck Angel, who will shed a little more light on what they get up to. We also have some season appropriate erotica tales, as well as seasonal adult articles on fetishes, and activities as well for your delight !

  So once again welcome to the inaugural edition of our new erotic fantasy tour, enjoy yourself, and back sure you come back in the spring for your next helping also !

  Nicky Raven – Editor

  About The Authors

  Peter Birch has been hopelessly addicted to sex his entire life but has made the best of what society at large sees as a problem. During the ‘eighties, while yuppies were sporting their filofaxes and falking into mobile phones the size of bricks, Peter and his girlfriend were experimenting with the joys of threesomes, dogging and spanking. In the caring ‘nineties he and his wife devoted their time to running sadomasochistic cabarets in London’s more specialised clubs. Finally realising that he needed to earn some money, he took to writing erotica, and has been at it ever since, becoming a prolific novelist, mainly under the Aishling Morgan name, writing guides to kinky sex and dabbling in journalism, which is where he met Sarah Berry.

  As an editor, journalist and spokesperson for the erotic realm, Sarah Berry’s wise words have graced such platforms as Radio Four’s Woman’s Hour, Bizarre, Diva, Scarlet, Fiesta and Forum (which she went on to edit). Famed for her reportage style, she has had the dishonour of crawling around a nursery as an adult baby, cycling naked past Big Ben wearing only a hat and tie and kicking men in the balls at a CBT class. Having overcome a sexual dysfunction called vaginismus, she also runs groups where women can get advice on, celebrate and even draw their own fannies – find out more at www.fanniesrule.com.

  Introduction

  It’s cold outside but it’s hot in here, our very first seasonal guide! And have we got a lot of presents in store for you? (yes we have!)

  A Winter Feast is a short story that combines two of Peter’s favourite themes, rude food and the beautiful, poised dominatrix, although not quite as you might expect.

  Saucy Santas & Vintage Vamps provides some useful tips for dressing for sex in the winter and Warming the Blood looks at why we should all be able to enjoy a good spanking.

  Fancy getting jiggy with a colleague at the Xmas party but don’t want to come back to drama in Jan? In Down to business Sarah helps you think outside the box.

  Read how Sophie enacts a porno in her living room as Sarah turns up the heat with her Holy Fuck fiction.

  We look down the pants of porno’s top tranny Buck Angel.

  Plus we find out what burlesque queen Dita Von Tease wants for Xmas.

  If you’re reading this with a cold wearing your best granny pants, an out of shape jumper, smelly feet and a bad case of windy pops, don’t fear someone still wants you. Turn to Isn’t She Lovely and marvel at Sarah’s fetish pin up.

  Sarah implores you to throw away that list of new year’s resolutions and make some naughty revel-ations.

  So grab a hot toddy and a box of Kleenex and enjoy the fruits of our labour.

  Pete & Sarah x

  A Winter Feast

  ‘I want her glazed in honey.’

  ‘Honey? I thought, maybe, maple syrup?’

  ‘No. The true gourmet uses honey.’

  ‘If you say so, Uncle Clive. And will powdered ginger do?’

  ‘No. It has to be fresh ginger root, the biggest chunk you can get. Just follow my shopping list, Stephanie.’

  ‘Okay. See you later then.’

  I ended the call and snapped my phone shut, then read Clive’s list again to make sure I’d got everything, talking to myself as I went through.

  ‘Ten pounds of King Edwards, check. Five pounds of parsnips, check. Five pounds of carrots, check. Two dozen Cumberland sausages, from the butcher, check. Mushrooms, red peppers, shallots, check. The best butter, check. One rosy red apple, check. That just leaves the honey and ginger root, oh, and a dozen perverts, but that’s not my business.’

  A woman who’d been examining the spices gave me a disapproving look, to which I returned a happy grin, hoping to disturb her even more. The grin reflected my mood anyway. Poppy was going to look a fine sight, naked on the huge silver platter, face down among the roasted vegetables and sausages, her bottom stuck high in the air and liberally coated with honey sauce. Uncle Clive and his friends were sure to enjoy her, in the fullest sense of the word, she would have lived out one of her darkest and most private fantasies and we would have a thousand pounds in our bank account, which would make a very nice Christmas present indeed. All in all I was pretty pleased with myself.

  With the shopping complete I made my way home, calling out for Poppy as I pushed open the door to the flat.

  ‘Are you out of bed yet, you little tart?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  She didn’t bother to help me unpack, and I came into the bedroom to find her lying face down, reading, and in nothing but pair of big white knickers she’d gone to bed in the night before. I gave her bottom a resounding slap, hard enough to make her squeak and pay attention.

  ‘Ow! Stephanie!’

  ‘If you don’t want to be spanked, get up.’

  ‘I am up.
’

  She went back to her book. There was only one thing to be done, so I sat down beside her on the bed and peeled down her knickers. She gave a low purr as her bottom came bare, and she’d pushed her hips up as I began to spank her, no longer hard but the way she liked it, each slap just firm enough to make her cheeks bounce and bring a faint pink flush to her skin. Soon she’d put her book down and laid her head on her hands, spreading her legs a little as she spoke up.

  ‘That’s nice. A little harder please.’

  I adjusted her knickers, pulling them down far enough to leave the lips of her cunt showing between her thighs. She responded with a happy sigh and I began to spank her again, full across the cheekiest part of her bottom until she’d begun to push her hips up and wriggle in encouragement. I began to talk to her.

  ‘You do know what we’re going to do to you, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. You’re going to serve me up for dinner, just as if I was a roast pig, with maple syrup all over me so you can all lick it off.’

  ‘Honey, actually, but yes, that’s right, you bad, bad girl. And then what’s going to happen to you?’

  ‘You Uncle Clive is going to fuck me. Make me come, Stephanie.’

  She’d stuck her bottom right up as we spoke, to let her cheeks come apart and show off her bottom hole as well as her cunt. I began to spank her harder, actually a little shocked by her behaviour.

  ‘You really are a disgrace, aren’t you, Poppy! And you definitely deserve this spanking. You know you’re going to have to be shaved, don’t you?’

  ‘Shaved? Oh, yes please.’

  Her voice was a sigh, rich with pleasure. I shook my head in despair and carried on with her spanking, and talking to her.

  ‘Yes, Poppy, shaved, so they can all see your bare, pink cunt. You’re going to have an apple stuck in your mouth too, just like a real roast pig, at least until Clive takes it out so that you can suck him erect for your fucking. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Well you certainly ought to be, you little slut! Imagine it, naked on a plate and covered in honey, with a rosy red apple stuck in your mouth while they lick you, you dirty little bitch. You don’t even know half of them, and half of them are men. You’re suppose to be a lesbian, Poppy. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, you shameless little fuck slut!’

  I was spanking as hard as I could and she had her eyes closed and her mouth wide in ecstasy. She was ready, and my hand was getting sore, so I added one last detail to the fantasy I knew would be raging in her head, the detail which excited her most of all.

  ‘And as for letting Clive fuck you, you filthy little tart, that really is the limit. He’s twice your age, Poppy, and he’s paying you! Do you hear me, Poppy? He’s paying you, isn’t he? And you know what that makes you, don’t you? A dirty little whore!’

  She cried out in ecstasy and I buried my face between her thighs, licking her from behind. I could feel the heat of her smacked bottom against my face and I could feel the way her muscles had begun to squeeze as she went into orgasm, hitting her peak even before I’d got a rhythm going on her clitoris. Again she cried out, with her body jerking on the bed as she squirmed herself into my face, only to go suddenly limp. She was done, but I wasn’t.

  ‘Right, you, roll over. I’m going to sit on your face.’

  Being an obedient little slut, she didn’t hesitate an instant, but rolled onto her back to allow me to straddle her body. I turned up my skirt and pushed my knickers down nice and slowly so that she could see what she was going to get, then sat my bare bottom in my face. My cheeks were wide open across her mouth and she hesitated only an instant before poking her tongue out to lick my bottom hole. I was already aroused, as I had been all morning for what was going to be done to her, and I knew what I was going to come over before my fingers even found my cunt.

  I closed my eyes, imagining the beautiful girl who now had her tongue stuck well up my bottom hole as she would be later, trussed up like a sucking pig with an apple in her mouth for a dozen men and women to enjoy, myself included. It was a beautiful picture, and as I began to come I’d added one extra, deliciously humiliating detail in my mind’s eye, a rubber pig’s snout.

  Poppy loved the idea and we were sure Clive would too, so once we’d got everything else ready I sent her into town to buy one from the joke shop. By then she was shaved, which had turned her on even more, so much that she’d been shaking as I kissed her goodbye and started up the steps to Uncle Clive’s house.

  He was the success story of the family, a yuppie in the ‘eighties, CEO of a blue chip company by the ‘nineties and now retired early and sufficiently comfortably off to devote his life to his hobbies, which mostly seemed to involve extremely rude behaviour with a handful of debauched friends. I’d always got on well with him, and when I’d come out he’d been the one who stuck up for me and made the rest of the family see sense.

  I greeted him with a hug and a kiss, allowing him the gentle pat to my bottom as he steered me into the house. The dining room door was open, as we passed I saw that he had the table already laid out with a glittering array of fine chine, silverware and glass but with the centre vacant but for the magnificent silver platter on which Poppy was to be served. I couldn’t help but smile as we walked through into the kitchen, where I spread out my shopping for his inspection. He picked up the 1 kilo jar of honey I’d chosen, inspecting the label.

  ‘Norfolk lavender with real honeycomb. Hmm... delectable, although it rather begs the question of who would use fake honeycomb. Did you get a decent piece of ginger?’

  I showed it to him, a bulbous, tan coloured root longer than my hand and nearly as wide.

  ‘This is the biggest I could find. I hope it’s okay?’

  His mouth had spread into an evil grin with which I had been familiar for years as he took up the root.

  ‘Ideal, I would think. I take it you know what it’s for?’

  ‘The sauce, I suppose? Honey and ginger...’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. Prepare it at the last moment, just before you take the roast out of the oven, and use a sharp knife to carve a plug, as big as you can manage, or at least, as big as you feel little Poppy’s anus will accommodate.’

  ‘You want me to stick it up her bottom!?’

  ‘Yes. It produces an intense burning sensation, or so I’m told, which should add a little extra something to her experience, as will having it sticking out of her bumhole so everybody can see. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to think about wine. The real question would seem to be how best to partner the honey. A St Emilion, perhaps?’

  He was talking to himself as he made for the cellar and I was left to get on with preparing the dinner. It was going to take a lot of work, but I was grinning to myself as I begun to peel the potatoes, imagining Poppy’s face when I told her she was going to have a plug made of raw ginger root stuck up her bottom, and better still, when it actually went in and she began to feel the burning sensation from the juice. I knew she’d love it, in the end, and very nearly rang to tell her what she had coming, only to decide it would be better as a surprise.

  Everything went smoothly, although by five o’clock I was beginning to wonder why Poppy was taking so long. The guests were due to arrive at six, but she was to stay hidden and not due to be served until eight, so I wasn’t unduly worried, assuming she’d decided to spend some of her share of our ill-gotten gains in advance. Even when my phone went and I saw she was calling me my answer was casual.

  ‘Hi, slut. If you’ve been shopping it’s going to be spankies time again, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I haven’t been shopping. I’m stuck in traffic.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the ring road. I think it’s closed ahead.’

  ‘That’s a pain, but don’t panic. We don’t really need you until about half-seven. Did you get the pig’s nose?’<
br />
  ‘Yes. Bitch.’

  ‘You are going to look so funny! Oh, and do you know what the ginger’s for? I have to carve a little plug, which goes right in up your fat pink bottom!’

  I cut the connection, laughing, and went back to work. A few minutes later the doorbell went and I caught Clive’s voice form the hall as he greeted the first of the guests, a woman who’s high, sharp voice I immediately recognised. It was Sylvia Daintree, a wealthy widow who generally had at least one pretty young man in attendance, and at the sound of a second, deeper voice I realised that this occasion was no exception. She also liked girls, and had more than once suggested that I would benefit from a spanking or an afternoon as her maid, apparently oblivious to the fact that I only dish it out.

  Others began to arrive, but I stayed in the kitchen, busy with my preparations and growing increasingly worried about Poppy. Eventually I rang her.

  ‘Well? What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m exactly where I was before.’

  ‘Haven’t you moved at all?’

  ‘No. I told you. They’ve closed the road. I’m completely stuck.’

  ‘Shit! Can’t you turn around or something?’

  ‘I’m completely hemmed in.’

  ‘Poppy! You have to be here.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do? I told you, I’m stuck.’

  ‘What are we supposed to do then?’

  ‘You’ll have to do it.’