Billie’s Test Kitchen

Testing out new flavour combinations, with some small bites:


Gorgonzola dolce, apples, orange blossom honey, white balsamic

Pata negra, red pepper and almond pesto, black olive, thyme

Potted cheese, dried tomatoes, tuna in olive oil, pink peppercorn, lime, pink salt

Fig, goats cheese, parsley, honey, flowers

Roasted red pepper, preserved chilli

Olive tapenade, goats cheese, tomato, caper

Smoked mackrel, dill, black pepper, lemon rind, sherry vinegar

Octopus carpaccio, ricotta, pesto, fennel leaf

The Gift of Kindness

For any self employed person, this is a worrying time – even more so having just moved to a new area, with hopes of making new friends and taking the Billie Experience to the next level. It would be disingenuous to pretend I am hard up – but it has been a time of great anxiety, as I enter the first ever period of “unemployment” in my adult life. I would like to thank the amazing and thoughtful people in my life who have been selfless and generous in making the last few weeks easier for me, and those who have sent both mental and material support. I am a very independent person, so it’s a real surprise and a pleasure to have received such kindness! Thank you for being here in spirit.


Billie x

Quarantine Fantasy (Part 2)


For Part 1, please click here 


The officer widens the beam of his flashlight, and I stand, self-consciously, stark naked and barefoot, with my back pressed against the gate.


He silences the dogs and I see him reaching for his handcuffs as he slowly approaches me.


“Well well well…” He says, surveying my body with the flashlight, “What do we have here? Put your hands on your head and turn around.”


I stare at the officer defiantly, refusing to turn around, but panicking inside. As if to read his mind, suddenly the dogs leap towards me, barking furiously, teeth bared, and barely an inch from my bare and trembling body.


“Tell them to stop!” I scream at the officer, “Tell them!”

He watches me cooly, as I try to sink my back yet further into the gate in order to distance myself from the dogs.

“Turn around” he commands again, lazily, seemingly unbothered about my state of undress or my fear for my life. Silently I turn around, shivering in the cold.

“Hands above your head” his voice rings through the darkness, taunting me. I stretch out, and place both hands high above my head, my manicure clutching the ice cold gate. All at once the dogs become silent. I stand there, listening intently, hoping one of the guests (Anna?) might come back for me. But I soon realise they are long gone, and we are quite alone. I begin trying to work out what the best course of action is. I could get to my bag in less than 5 seconds, but it would take another 10 to unlock it and call someone. I could run, but the dogs would outrun me, and anyway, I’m naked in the middle of god knows where, so then what? I could try reasoning with the officer, could tell him breaking quarantine wasn’t my idea and see if he might speak to my lawyer. I suppose I could try to bribe him, but if I did that-


Mid thought I suddenly feel someone pressed against me and almost jump out of my skin. I feel the cool edge of a police radio, pressing into my shoulder blade, and his baton pressing into my upper back. Or at least that’s what I think it is. With my heels off, I stand at just a touch over 5’ 4”, and the officer, at least 6ft tall, towers above me, his chin just brushing the back of my head. I try to look over my shoulder, but am pinned against the gate. This is an abuse of power! I decide to stand for this nonsense no longer, and make a dash for it, or at least, that’s what I attempt to do, before realising the officer has cuffed my hands to the gate above me! My hands secured to the gate, I try to move backwards against him, but it does nothing but push my naked bottom into his groin, much to his amusement. His gloves still on, he begins groping me from behind, his hands squeezing and grabbing my bottom, and rubbing what I thought was his truncheon against me.


“You’re very fucking sexy” he says, aggressively grabbing my breasts from behind.

“How fucking dare y-” I am silenced, by a large, gloved hand pressed firmly over my mouth. I continue to try to wiggle away, but my now warm, peachy bottom, wiggling in his lap, does nothing but invite an even more thorough groping. His face is now very close to mine, buried in my hair and his mouth right next to my ear. I feel his hot, excited breath against my skin, his hard cock straining against his trousers. The night is deadly silent, as he whispers in my ear.


“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and If you scream, run, or say a word, I am going to have the dogs escort you, naked, back to the car, and you’re looking for an 18 month custodial for breaking quarantine, breaking and entering, antisocial behaviour, and of course” he kicks my dungarees so far there’s no way I could reach them, “indecent exposure.”

18 month custodial! The horror! I think back to my otherwise fun and carefree life. I couldn’t survive prison! It would be the end of me!

Silently I nod my head, and he slowly removes his gloved hand from my mouth and steps back. I remain silent, my hands are still firmly secured in cuffs above me, and I from the last five minutes of struggle, I can tell there’s no way I’m getting out of them.

“Part your legs” he commands. Silently, I move my legs to a wider stance, two shoulder widths apart and on my tiptoes. He approaches me again and this time I feel one of his hands – gloves off – slide between my spread legs from behind. He slowly rubs between my legs with two fingers, and very gently slides them inside.

I gasp, then close my eyes in embarrassment as he pulls them out, soaking wet.


“Bad girl!” he says, jamming the wet fingers into my mouth “Bad girl! You’re very excited, aren’t you? You filthy little slut”


Shaking with pleasure as he fingers me, I don’t respond.


He takes a step back, then silence, then more silence, then lands a cold then suddenly hot spank firmly on my bottom. I inhale sharply. Feeling very horny! After 10 more spankings, he stops, and I hear the miniscule “zzzzzz-p” sound of him undoing his zip. I glance over my shoulder, my pink lip gloss smeared over my face by his glove.


“Face that gate and think about what you’ve done” he orders me.

“What I’ve done!” I exclaim “I haven’t – I – So there was this party right – but it wasn’t my ide –“

Ignoring me, he grips my hips firmly from behind and slides his cock into my now soaking wet pussy. He puts one hand over my mouth again, the other arm wrapped around my middle and begins fucking me roughly and passionately from behind. At first, I’m too embarrassed to let him know how much I’m enjoying it, but after a few moments, I am overcome with pleasure, and give in to lust, enjoying a noisy, wet orgasm all over his cock. The officer lifts me up slightly bouncing me on his cock as he cums inside me. It’s been many months of quarantine and at feels amazing to release some pent up frustrations. My feet reach the ground as I am gently lifted down, a quick “zzzzz-p” of his zipper closing, and a gentle click as my handcuffs are released. I turn round to face him, and we begin kissing passionately in the moonlight, his hands touching and groping me all over. His radio crackles


“Pete…. Pete, are you there?” A faint voice calls from the radio.

“Um, yeah. Yes. This is Chief Constable Howe.” He says, his voice lowering so I can’t hear him

Chief Constable? I think to myself. Chief Constable!

“Um, yeah, nobody here unfortunately,” he says, glancing at me “They all managed to get away, I’m just taking the dogs back to the car.”

The line goes dead.

“So, er, I’m not going to caution you this time – but, just, make sure you stay indoors until the end of lockdown.” Howe mumbles at me, not looking me in the eye. He fastens his handcuffs to his belt, and within seconds, he and the dogs have disappeared back into the night.


I step back into my now muddy and dishevelled outfit, collect my purse from the ground and slid my feet back into my glittery Jimmy Choos. Slowly, I make my way back to the main road.




It’s several weeks later and lockdown has finally ended. It’s noon and I have decided to take my lunch at the Landmark Hotel. Whilst I’m waiting for my tea I scroll through BBC News on my iPad, and a “Breaking News” notification flashes on my screen. I pop in my headphones and press play on the video.


“And news just in this afternoon” reads Nicky Campbell “The Metropolitan Police have just named their new Police Commissioner. Now we go live to Scotland Yard for the latest –“


The screen cuts, and I watch silently, my mouth ajar, as a face I would recognise anywhere materialises on the screen, a few seconds into a speech.


“… a pleasure an and honour to serve Londonners, not only as a Police Commissioner, but also as a hard working Civil Servant who believes in the value of transparency and decency in the Police. My job is to serve you. I really do find it important in todays climate, that trust between the public and the Police is both built and maintained, and I will do my best to ensure that-”


My tea arrives and I pause the video, Howes smart and sensible image frozen on my screen, my heart beating and a hot wave passing over me, as I remember that night, many weeks ago now.


The waiter arranges my tea and strainer, my iPad screen catching his eye as he stands up.


“Ah I saw that news just now.” He says, beaming down at me, “Really good chap that Howe is, they really don’t make many like him anymore”


“Oh,” I say, earnestly “Don’t they?”


No, it really is great news for the Police. Former Sandhurst boy, cleanest of records, straight as anything. He stays here from time to time as it happens, really down to earth guy.”


“Well -” I start, suddenly flustered “I, he certainly seems like he’s up to the job” I finish, managing a weak smile as I sip on my tea.


To be continued….



Quarantine Kitchen (4)

Hi yummies! Can’t stop, wont stop… cooking! Hope you enjoy my latest creations. From top left:


Chilli beef cups with sweet and salty chilli sauce; Fennel sausages with chickpea puree and tender-stem broccoli; Smoked haddock en papillote, with new potatoes, capers, fresh herbs, and asparagus; Piadina “pizzas”, topped with tomatoes, mozzarella and chorizo; Vegetarian Lazagne; The “Hakkasan” crispy duck salad (if you know, you know!); Toasted chipotle chicken and salad wraps; Salad of Parma ham, heritage tomatoes, rocket; Anzac biscuits, in honour of Anzac Day (April 25th); Four cheese and tomato omelette; Chilli crab crostini; Salmon, lemon and dill, baked with crispy potatoes, and buttered asparagus; Chicken, leek, and mushroom puff pastry pie; Cajun salmon, with sweet potato wedges, and mango salsa; Billies Cheeseboard; Monkfish and tiger prawn stew; Fish pie, with brown crab and cheddar mash, asparagus.


Hope you are well, and looking forward to a delicious meeting of an entirely different kind in the future.


Kisses from the kitchen,

Billie xxxxx

Content in Confinement.

Spending my time flower arranging, working out, mushroom hunting (a morel?), reading, potting and growing a herb garden, doing my own manicure (the horror!), and enjoying the great outdoors (although unfortunately, mostly indoors!)

The Last Supper

Thinking back to my last dinners before quarantine (2 dinners in a row, lucky us!). Enjoying delicious plates and vintage champagne at Bob Bob Ricard (his choice), and the next evening creative modern Indian food and bubbles at Amaya (my choice – and definitely cementing it as my favourite Indian restaurant in London).

Memoirs of a meal or two.

(This blog was written just before lockdown!)


I miss being outdoors and have decided to start my golf lessons again when things clear up. I’m a bit anxious about the golf as I joined a much nicer club than the last one, and have a deep fear of sticking out. I don’t yet have any girly golf friends so it’s difficult to practice and learn when you’re relying only on your pro to teach you, and men who are only asking you to play because they fancy you! Being a woman in golf is a minefield of people letting you win, or assuming you’re the caddy-candy as opposed to an actual player, and sensibly deciding not to buy pink golf clubs because you want to be taken seriously.


Yummies, have any of your eating habits been changing recently? I’m finding myself becoming more and more conscious of sugar, and alcohol. I sound like a bore I know (I make up for it in other ways…) but I’ve been trying to cut down a little on unhealthy foods – so difficult when you enjoy the pleasure of food so much! I love the gym and I’m at a point where I can only progress so far without addressing my diet. I’m a foodie. Food is like sex to me: it’s physical for sure, but the best moments linger in the heart and in your senses for years to come. Plus, I am selfless sexually and love to give – with food I very much love to receive! I love gastronomy, everything from 3 Michelin star tasting menus, to being sat in the market in Barcelona being fed prawns and calamari and that delicious ham with sangria. I’m particular on many things but with food I’m easy, I’ve never been a fussy eater.


(Disclaimer: other than celery. Celery, I detest, it’s like the lovechild of cucumber and dental floss.)


I’ve eaten brain, ants, lung, chickens feet, you name it (fear not, no bat soup!). Many of the weirdest things I’ve eaten are for one of two reasons. One reason, is that a good friend of mine, a great academic has a taste in food that is both extremely simple and extremely narrow. He likes what I would loosely (and perhaps politically incorrectly) describe as “men’s restaurants”. St John, Quality Chop House, Entrecote, gastro pubs (but not the pretty ones), and so on. Places where you can get a simple, rare bit of meat, with a green vegetable and a good, bold, red wine. I pick the restaurants, but I know the exact type of space he enjoys, and so have over our many years of friendship, become something of a micro-expert in this specific type of restaurant. Many serve offal, and these restaurants are where I first tried heart, kidneys, ear, tripe, and so on.


Almost all the other weird things I’ve eaten came from a single meal. An away date with a gentleman from Denmark. It was back when NOMA had just shut and we were both lamenting having never gotten the chance to dine there. According to him on the flight there he was sat next to a woman who said “oh forget NOMA, you must try Alchemist.”

A few hours later I arrive and we make our way to a nondescript building on a residential street. We are let in to an almost indescribable Aladins cave. We sit at a bar (the whole restaurant consists of a single bar that seats only 20 and there’s only two sittings). Every inch of ceiling and wall is covered in plants. No one knows what is happening. We get given a menu that contained around 40 dishes(!) I am a sentimental person and 4 years later still have kept my copy of this menu. Here you see many unusual things – mealworms, bone marrow, duck hearts, lamb tongue, sweetbreads, lamb brain, chicken toes, and so on. I am a daring person and so I tried everything. I think in life you have to try everything. This meal was where I managed to eat the other half of the unusual things I’ve tried. I can’t explain the presentations of these dishes, it was like a Dali painting – live goldfish swimming in bowls, with a skewer balanced on top, edible canvases that we painted with edible paints then ate ourselves, a course that dropped down from the ceiling and hung in front of us. Something very special.


Two months later the restaurant was gone. He had shut down and disappeared. I considered myself very lucky to have experienced this.


Wow! Just out of interested, I just googled the restaurant and the chef reopened summer last year, (4 years later!). A similar 50 course concept but a much larger space. What are the odds I would be thinking about this meal from nearly 5 years ago, google the shut down restaurant and find out it’s just been re opened. I feel so happy for the chef and pleased that I dined with him when he was small. This is the magic of good dining partners and dinner dates. Memories that stay with you forever.


I would love to dine in his new spot – we shall have to make this happen! (as mentioned above, I wrote this blog before the prospect of international travel seemed like a pipe dream).


Here’s to future dinners to remember…


Billie x

Quarantine Fantasy (part 1)

Quarantine Fantasy


It’s the fourth month of quarantine, the final month before freedom, and I’m understandably bored. I’ve cooked every recipe known to man, watched every film on Netflix, and tried and failed to learn every language… or at least it feels that way. Just as I finish doing the washing up (for the umpteenth time) my phone buzzes, and a WhatsApp message flashes on the screen. I dry my hands and scroll through it.


“Dear Billie” the message reads

“You are invited to Ed’s Outlandishly Secret Quarantine BBQ Extravaganza. Saturday night at 8pm.

Extremely private country estate location, drinks, friends and good times.

RSVP for details.”


Well that’s absolutely ridiculous – I think, deciding not to respond.

Ed is a local big shot and eccentric – owns a few bars, has had a few husbands, is the proud resident of “the biggest penthouse in Soho”, and is well known for his camp, extravagant parties. My mind flashes back to a somewhat hazy new years eve, 2016 I think it was, in an aircraft hangar in Oxford. Very over the top and sexy of course – Cirque Du Soleil, live peacocks, pink champagne. Oh and the goody bags for all the guests to takeaway, stuffed full of Jo Malone candles, Liberty print scarves, and salted caramel truffles. Ed is the last of the great eccentrics, and that was a party! I sigh to myself and open the fridge. Ah, a chicken salad for dinner. Again. The days roll on, each as uneventful as the last: wake up, work out in the garden, breakfast, washing up, television, out for a run, lunch, television, book or magazine, dinner, washing up, chocolate, sleep, repeat. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s not particularly pleasant either. By Saturday morning I catch myself talking to my salad, and start questioning my sanity. I thumb through my WhatsApp conversations and pause at “Ed”, where his previous message remains, unanswered. I take a deep breath and reply –


“Hi Eddy, was wondering if there was any room for latecomers tonight?” and press send.

Two minutes later I have a response

“Darling of course! Shall send a car at 7pm. Ciaociao for now!”


It’s on.


At approximately 5pm I head upstairs and survey my wardrobe. I fling the doors open to reveal a neglected treasure trove of designer shoes, denim, slinky cocktail dresses and skinny fit jeans. God, I’ve been in leggings and t shirts for so long, I’ve almost forgotten how to dress! Hmm… what to pick, what to pick? It’ll be a warm night so I need something chic, summery, and fashionable. I decide on an unworn pair of creamy white pure silk dungarees (I bought these back when I thought we were getting out in spring), with a sparkly silver pair of strappy Jimmy Choo sandals with a six inch heel. I accessorise in silver and white: white feather earrings, a little Van Cleef necklace, silver bracelets stacked on my arm and shining brilliantly against my skin, a little pearl anklet, and slide some dainty silver rings over my French manicure. The dungarees hang low at the size, allowing a little peek of the side of my bust. I don’t want to ruin that effect or the drape, so decide on no bra or underwear, and spend the best part of an hour fashioning my hair into the biggest and most buoyant of curls. It’s a good skin day so I won’t wear makeup, just a slick of red lipstick and nothing else. I spritz myself with a Dior fragrance, open a drawer and choose a simple Bottega clutch bag. I check myself out in the mirror. Okay, this look is perfect, 70’s diva meets Rihanna meets Billie Style.


At 7:02, I hear a the loud beep of a car horn and run outside.

The street outside is quiet and empty, save for a double decker London bus, parked conspicuously outside, with it’s destination set to NOT IN SERVICE. I pause, looking for my ride. The bus beeps again and cautiously I approach.


“Billie?” the driver calls from the window, in an audible whisper


“This is your ride!”


I grin to myself, and step on board, this is all very “Ed”.

Other than the tinted windows, from the outside, our ride is completely indistinguishable from a normal London bus. But stepping on, I enter another world. Downstairs, the guests congregate around a cocktail bar at the back. My eyes are assaulted by an overwhelming assortment of mirror balls, taxidermy, Andy Warhol prints, velvet cushions, gold leaf, and clusters of pink roses hanging from the ceiling. I look around to see if there’s anyone I know. There isn’t, so I squeeze through the crowd, and make my way upstairs. The stairs are carpeted in a garish Zebra print, the hand rail replaced by a solid marble banister, carved to look like one, long, almightly snake. I reach the top, which is a more subdued and sexy place – tiny, dim, 1920’s lamps sit atop beautiful rosewood tables. Old atlases, binoculars, and antler horns are placed at strategic intervals, the ceiling is patchwork of leather and suede stars, the lighting is exceptionally dark, but punctuated by stacks of candles burning in every corner – dripping wax onto the Persian rugs that deck the floors.


Health and Safety would have a field day.


It’s art deco, meets the study of a famed explorer, meets Soho House. I walk through smiling and nodding at strangers, anxiously and gracefully accepting their compliments, until I finally see a face I recognise.


“Anna!” I call. But she can’t hear me.

I make my way to the back bar, and catch her eye.

“Billie babe! Oh my god you look amazing!” I grin, we air kiss, and are soon deep in conversation.


After what feels like an age, the bus begins to slow down. I hear the people downstairs cheering and stamping their feet. Anna and I carefully pick our way back downstairs in our sparkly heels, and step off the bus.


At what looks like the entrance of a grand a derelict house, are at least thirty golf buggies, decorated to look like dragons, the drivers clad in aviator jackets, leather trapper hats, shearling gloves, and flying goggles. The whole thing is decadent, gauche, and absurd. Anna and I jump into the back of one of the dragon-buggies. For her it’s an uncomfortable fit- she is extremely tall – a former model-come-high-jumper-extraordinaire. The buggies take a winding route and begin to slow at a second set of gates. Just as we are slowing, an powerful beam of light swings from above through the ground, illuminating our party, through the dark night. Seconds later, the chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga of what is unmistakably a helicopter. I look upwards to the source of the light and the noise.



The Police!


It’s every man (or woman) for themselves. We scatter in our hundreds, glitzy shoes, champagne glasses, and fur scarves being thrown off in wild abandon, saxophones and trumpets scattered across the grass by what I assume to be the fleeing band, everyone trying to make their way over the half-acre of grass, to another gate, that separates the estate from the forest. There is no way the helicopter can see through the dense cover of the forest. You just have to make it there. Running, my heels sinking into the grass, I look around for Anna. She is at least 200 meters ahead already. A man in a paisley suit, runs into me in the darkness, and I fall, silk dungarees, skidding through the mud. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder, not stopping to help. Finally, I meet the gate, I am one of the last to do so (blame Jimmy Choo). As I begin climbing, I hear the relentless bark of police dogs, and the flashing of powerful torches. Panic stricken, I desperately try and make it over. With one hand on my clutch bag and the other holding me up, to my horror I feel one shoe beginning to slip off. I do the calculation in my head:

If I let the bag and the heel fall I have a 90% chance of getting over the gate. If I let my heel fall, but save my bag I probably have a 70% chance of getting over. If I let the bag fall, but try to save my heel, a prized limited edition of 1, gifted to me by a dearest friend, I have probably a 50% chance of getting over. Foolishly but perhaps predictably, I make a split second and somewhat stupid decision to save my heel. I let my bag drop to the ground, and attempt, one handed, to secure my heel back on to my foot. Just as I’m nearly there, the first of the police dogs, a German Shepherd, reaches me and begins trying to jump up at me. I let out a terrified scream as he bounds upwards, the muddy trouser leg of my silk dungarees firmly gripped in his mouth, the dog pulling on it incessantly and viciously.


Soon after, the clasps over my shoulder give way, and my dungarees are ripped off me, downwards, by the police dog, bunching at my ankles. I shake off both heels to escape the dungarees, and, fully nude, make a final attempt to climb over the top of the gate. I look over my shoulder, just as a policeman flashes his light in my direction. It startles me, I lose my footing and fall to the floor below, onto the heap of my clothes, bag, and shoes, and am suddenly surrounded with barking police dogs.


The officer widens the beam of his flashlight, and I stand, self-consciously, stark naked and barefoot, with my back pressed against the gate.


He silences the dogs and I see him reaching for his handcuffs as he slowly approached me.


“Well well well…” He says, surveying my body with the flashlight, “What do we have here? Put your hands on your head and turn around.”



To be continued…


Billie x

Navigating Waitrose During Quarantine

(In the Style of George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London).

Waitrose, by this stage in quarantine has evolved, or perhaps descended, to being a great leveller of both man and beast. Like a deadly cult, or inheritance tax, one can neither resist nor avoid it. Here are my observations as a consumer, during the curious and uncertain times of quarantine during pandemic.


On getting in:


To arrive after 9am is to brand yourself a fool, and an agent of wasting time. To erect your own greenhouse, plant, grow, and harvest your own produce, is a more efficient and appropriate process than arriving at Waitrose at 9am. One must arrive at strictly 7:30 am – no sooner nor later, and the few savvy enough to suffer an early rising, are greatly rewarded with a small or non-existent queue. As you approach, the temptation to run will be difficult to control but you must – to run in pursuit of food is the height of vulgarity and both the mob and your conscience will hate you for it.


The orderliness of the queue provides a soothing sense of familiarity at an otherwise unpredictable time. As sure as the blood in my veins runs red, is as sure as you will (much to the joy of your heart) find a queue of no less than six or eight men, should you arrive at 7:30am. But here’s the trick – the shop does not open to the public until 8am, and is open only for NHS workers and the elderly until then. For this reason, most people do not arrive until 8. Their reasoning is sound, but flawed, and this is most advantageous on a Monday morning, when most households have already purchased their “weekly shop” over the weekend, and you will find that at 7:30am on a Monday, there is a satisfying scarcity of NHS workers and the elderly shopping – most of whom take advantage of priority shopping later in the day, and do not need this “golden hour”. With little to no priority shoppers present, a kind chap that guards the entrance like his first born child, glances at his watch, and utters a “you might as well go in then” or a “okay, we’ll have fifteen people in now as it’s empty,” long before 8am arrives.


So now you’re in.


It’s Monday – which means the following things: The weekend staff (often part time or student workers) have now been replaced by the far more competent full time, weekday staff, who even if blindfolded, can stack a shelf or check out a trolley at at least double the efficiency of their weekend colleagues. The shelves, once depleted by eager weekend shoppers, are now fully and completely stocked, and finally, even the briefest of glances at the shopping trollies of the few “priority” shoppers, provides a pleasing conclusion – they aren’t buying anything you want.


By your third week in quarantine, if you have not befriended both the instore butcher, and fish monger, you are both a fool and an ass. Visit these counters twice per visit, every visit, should you intend on buying anything there or not. If the refrigerated steaks cost £12 and identical steaks at the butchers counter costs £18 – pay the extra and consider it a wise investment. Otherwise, ask the butcher for something you know he won’t have (oxtail, tripe, beef cheeks etc) and use this opener as an opportunity to strike up conversation. Engage in general chit-chat about the sorry state of affairs and irrespective of their age or gender, and your age or gender, allow some flirtation to occur. Ask his name and remember it. In these dark and desperate times, the butcher has all the power and agency of a corrupt Mayor. The ability to save you things – to add an extra lamb chop to your bag after he’s already weighed it (with a wink, which you eagerly reciprocate). The Fishmonger is a more curious subject: Fishmongers are honest people – they will not steal for you. But are still able to produce seemingly “sold out” items from under the counter, should you ask in a way that makes him believe you shall surely die, should you not receive the juiciest scallops, or largest king prawns.


On leaving:


By the time you leave, the post-8am queue has assembled, and it is fifty men long. They stare at you with a longing jealously. Try not to look too pleased with yourself, as you leave with both your patience intact and the last of the lamb chops.


Billie Farlow

Quarantine Kitchen (3)

Hi Yummies, am cooking up as storm as usual. Making sure everything is fresh, tasty, and from scratch. Here are my recent creations: 


Chicken satay, with cucumber and lime pickle. Linguine with nduja, cornichons, tomatoes and capers. “Oven Fried” chicken wings with home made apple slaw. Hot smoked mackrel, baby new potato and green bean salad. Dried tomatoes and chillis, preserved with olive oil and oregano. Warm chorizo, tomato, feta, and avocado salad.  Chocolate, banana and walnut cake. Miso cod with Asian pickle. Home made meatballs with tomato sauce and linguine. Roasted chicken with slaw. Oven baked salmon with green beans, new potatoes and home made pesto. Fillet O Fish burger, with hassleback potatoes and purple slaw. Mushroom risotto with parmesan and truffle. Ginger and soy king prawn stir fry. Shredded crispy duck pancakes with hoi sin. Apple crumble with vanilla custard. Pulled chicken Caesar Salad.



Time, and how to spend it.

Hi Yummies!


If you’re like me, you spent the first few days wallowing in despair and masturbation, but have now emerged (somewhat dishevelled) and are piecing together a plan of how to spend the next few weeks. Let’s be realistic. You’re not going to be a fluent Mandarin speaker by the end of this, you probably aren’t going to marathon train every day, and all that stuff in the shed? It’ll probably be there forever. But I have some realistic things I would like to do, and so am working towards them. First and foremost, as you know I am an extremely passionate cook. So one of my main focusses during this time has been (and is) cooking. Next week I hope to really progress and try some much more ambitious recipes – the ones I’m more likely to skip when I’m looking through a cookery book because they require more time, patience, and ingredients than I usually have to hand. I’ve also started running again. I found a really useful app called “Runkeeper” (god, I’ve turned into one of those women who cooks all day and has a running app – will need a good spanking when this is over to shake me out of my new life as a domestic goddess!). the running app is really good and is helping me pace myself through longer runs. It is GORGEOUS where I’m staying, beautiful English countryside, blue skies and very pretty gardens, so running outside is a real joy. I love animals and breezing (okay, huffing and puffing) past sheep and horses is a real pleasure.


Another thing I’m doing it writing, and updating my page (have opted for “Hermes” orange as my new accent colour – what do you think?) Last year I had a massive writers block – I had a lot going on and didn’t pen anything new or brilliant. I feel like I’m “back” and am enjoying writing again. I’m also researching some courses that I’d like to do when things are back to normal. I already have my butchery course lined up, and through my constant food posting online was contacted by a well known fishmonger who has offered to teach me a few things, and a Michelin Star chef who has offered the same. I would love to pursue cooking in a more meaningful way, but currently just working out what that is and what it would look like. After my short course at Le Cordon Bleu, I have realised that my classical skills are lacking, so I’m looking into various places that I can improve them. I’m considering emailing some of my favourite chefs and attaching a photo (utterly shameless, but highly effective) and asking if they would consider taking me on for some work experience. I almost have enough home recipes to write a cook book, which is something I’m considering. They say everyone should publish a book, and whilst the mob may be calling for Billies Saucy Memoirs, if I were ever to put something in print, I would definitely like that to be a cook book.


I’m supposed to be reading George Orwells “Keep the Aspidistra Flying”, but I admit, I haven’t yet started. What happened to me? I used to read sometimes 2 books at the same time, and now, even during quarantine I’m finding it hard to find the time to read. I know it sounds silly but some how I had more time before because I would use long taxi journeys and flights (and of course holidays) as an opportunity to read more. Somehow, I’m doing this quarantine without drinking (I know right, the champagne guzzler herself is exercising self restraint? Crazy!). I think as I’m working out less, I decided that sitting in the garden with a massive gin and tonic, whilst absolutely delightful, is probably a bad habit to get in to at this particular time. Plus if you have good company, alcohol doesn’t matte… okay, that’s a lie, but I’m managing!


If you could be quarantined with two other people (alive or dead) who would they be? I thought about this today and my first thought was, oddly that if I could choose where to be quarantined, it would be in the beautiful mountains, and I probably would prefer to do it by myself. My second thought was, I’m not in the mountains, I’m in Hertfordshire, so with that in mind, my choices would be Michael Portillo, and Alain de Botton. I developed a disturbing crush on Portillo whilst recently watching his documentary about trains (now there’s a sentence I never thought I would be writing!). And a funny story about Alain de Botton – I actually thought he was dead! I read his book “The Art Of Travel”, and I have no idea why I imagined he wasn’t a living author, but realised a few days ago that he is very much ali…


Wait I’ve changed my mind. My second quarantine buddy would be the chef Michel Roux (Sr), who recently passed away. I adore that man! And we would grow vegetables together, and he, and his absolutely delicious French accent could teach me how to cook and then me, him, and Portillo could have wonderful dinners with good wine where we’d talk about life, and food, and music, and when this bloody thing is going to end. Roux will eventually become jealous of my love affair with Portillo, and will try to win me over with ever more complicated and extravagant cooking – little heart shaped profiteroles and so on. A girl can dream!


But anyway, back to reality and a little advice on what you can (should) be doing with your spare time:


Planning our post-quarantine date!

Planning our post-quarantine date!

Planning our post-quarantine date!


Just a thought!
“Life is too short” has taken on a whole new meaning. Imagine this happens again or something, and we never did that trip to Rome, or that sexy overnight you’ve been thinking about. Time is of the essence – hope we can make the magic we both deserve, when our quarantines are over. Can’t wait to see you then!


Kisses all over,

Billie xxx

The Quarantine Boyfriend Questionnaire

Designed to reveal the hidden depths of your inner psyche (scientifically proven to be accurate)! Find out what type of quarantine boyfriend you are.


Please answer A, B or C, honestly:


1. It’s the first day of quarantine. You have prepared by:
A. Bulk buying all of your girlfriends favourite snacks and toiletries, and planning the evenings ahead to make sure you don’t get bored.
B. Making sure you’ve got plenty of champagne in the fridge, and that your Netflix subscription is up to date
C. Buying a 100 pack of condoms and gallon of baby oil, in preparation for a 3-week long sex fest. You’re sure your girlfriend will be very pleased!


2. Your Quarantine Girlfriend loves wearing:
A. Comfy loungewear or a onesie with slippers
B. Leggings and a crop top
C. High heels and nothing else!


3. During your outdoor exercise time, your girlfriend and you:
A. Go on a romantic couples jog together
B. Head to the park for an intense and sweaty HIIT session
C. Find a secluded spot for some wild and passionate outdoors sex


4. Your girlfriend wakes up in the middle of the night. She:
A. Needs a cuddle and reassurance that everything will be okay
B. Has just had a brainwave on how to solve the whole crisis
C. Is horny again! How irritating! This is the fourth time this night!


5. Your Quarantine girlfriends drink of choice during this time is:
A. Green tea
B. Vintage Champagne
C. Cum!


6. You are queuing at the Supermarket. On your girlfriends shopping list is:
A. Pasta, Home and Garden Magazine, Jo Malone Candles
B. Sunday Newspaper, cheese board, playing cards
C. lube, lingerie, vibrator (essential items)


7. Your Quarantine Girlfriend is in the garden:
A. Tending to the flowers and her vegetable patch
B. Practicing her yoga
C. Flashing the neighbours


8. Your Girlfriend plans to make you feel better with her:
A. Loving and caring personality
B. Humour and wit
C. Exceptional deepthroat skills


9. It’s your birthday three weeks into quarantine. Your girlfriend surprises you with:
A. A home cooked roast dinner with all the trimmings and a freshly baked apple pie for dessert
B. A movie night, featuring your favourite film, favourite wine, and a takeaway from your favourite restaurant
C. Anal


10. You are planning a post-quarantine holiday. Your girlfriend would like:
A. To visit Rome, explore the monuments and have a tour of the Vatican
B. To spend a week chilling in Ibiza
C. An orgy


11. In the kitchen, your girlfriend:
A. Is a real talented cook – able to cook and bake everything and anything
B. Prefers to cook simple healthy food
C. Loves being bent over and showing you her “disappearing carrot” trick


12. By week 4, your girlfriend is probably
A. Scared
B. Bored
C. Gagging for it


13. The NHS needs volunteers. Your girlfriend
A. Signs up immediately as a carer for the elderly
B. Signs up immediately as a community leader
C. Arrives at the hospital in a naughty nurse outfit and stockings. Causes several heart attacks and gets sent home.


14. Your girlfriend has started complaining that she isn’t getting enough:
A. Cuddles and affection
B. Exercise and intellectual stimulation
C. Doggy and spankings


15. Your quarantine girlfriend has decided to use this time to learn
A. How to crochet
B. How to speak Mandarin
C. How to put her legs behind her head




Mostly A:
You are a Quarantine Cute Boyfriend.
Congratulations on being a nice guy (yummy!). Your ideal quarantine girlfriend is thoughtful, caring and sweet. Although this situation isn’t ideal, you value intimacy and using this time to get to know your girlfriend. Report to Billie immediately for some cuddles and affection!


Mostly B:
You are a Quarantine Cool Boyfriend.
You’re a chilled out guy, who enjoys the company of a smart and sassy girlfriend who keep you on your toes. This time with your girlfriend will be spent deep in conversation, enjoying good food and wine, and trying your best to get through things with good humour. Report to Billie immediately for the dinner date of your dreams!


Mostly C:
You are a menace to society and should be self-isolating permanently, for the good of the nation.
Constantly horny and in need of some TLC, your dream quarantine girlfriend loves having her ass up and her mouth full! This quarantine has come as a great opportunity to get to know your girlfriends many sexy talents. Report to Billie immediately for the passionate date of your dreams!


Which Quarantine Boyfriend are you?!


Billie x

Quarantine Kitchen (2)

(Below from top left)

Slow Roasted Lamb (5 hours) with Dauphinoise potatoes. Avo salmon bagels. Baked salmon with mac cheese. Lamb ragu (left over lamb from roast) with Mafaldine. Massaman chicken curry. Burrata tacos. Strawberry granola breakfast bowl. Harissa and honey poussin with paprika couscous and tzatziki. Chicken and vegetable pie.

Army Cadet Fantasy (part 2)

My progression through the Special Forces has been swift and well deserved. As the only woman to make it into MI5s so called “Anonymous Unit”, the last few weeks have been spent tirelessly trecking through Peru. The mission: Find, intercept and prevent a drugs deal with street value in excess of 10 Billion GBP. A lot has changed since my early days in the Forces. Hair cropped short, and face somewhat hardened, the comrades have nicknamed me 3B (Three B’s: The Brutal British Bitch). I got here the hard way, and the rumours are true: No man has ever managed to withstand my harsh (and not strictly legal) interrogation techniques. I don’t do the meanial work; When my boots are on the ground, I mean business. My job is to crack El Castillio, the notorious drug lord who has remained elusive and escaped our clutches for nearly a decade. In the back of the armoured vehicle, I open my wallet: therein lies a small amount of local currency and nothing else. No cards, no photos, no keys. Strictly speaking, “we” don’t exist. My radio crackles and I swiftly tune it in to frequency 1090Hz. Immediately I recognise the voice of Jack Judson, nicknamed High3 (he used to be called High5 but we switched it up on account of him having lost two fingers in a Russian arms deal gone wrong – long story)

The radio crackles
“3B to High3. Received. Do we have Goldilocks alive? (all our suspects are given the names of fairy tale characters, no one can quite remember why)
“Affirmative Ma’am.” High3 replies “But it’s going to take a sledgehammer the size of the Amazon to crack this one”
“Received High3. Good thing you’ve got me on board. We need him at base by 5pm. If you see so much as a sand lizard on your way, shoot it dead, then shoot it again”. I order.
“Affirmative Ma’am”
The radio crackles and cuts.

Time to get to work.

By the time I get to base it is 6pm. Sundown is early in this part of the world and we have had to change routes three times to avoid detection. Our inside man, face wrapped in a bandana meets me at the entrance to our base.

“Bandino” I say, without looking at him, “Thank you”.

I shove an unmarked brown envelope stuffed with local currency into his hands and within moments he disappears into the night. Before visiting El Castillio, I re-enter the back of the armoured vehicle and change into civilian clothes. This type of detainee will need an unorthodox approach. I leave the vehicle, feeling the cool night breeze on my now bare legs.

“Where is he?” I bark at High3. My voice pierces the near silent night
“They’ve got him in Unit 9-0 ma’am”.

I enter the unit, a large suitcase trailing behind me. It’s a small, dimly lit room, and El Castillio is sat on a steel chair with his arms cuffed and cable tied behind his back, and his legs also secured. Stage One of the interrogation process is designed to crack those who are the most weak willed. I know it won’t work, but Geneva convention, yadda yadda, combatants must try reasonable force first. Dressed in my army boots, denim hot pants and a cropped blouse, I walk towards the detainee, looking him directly in the eye, my gaze never faltering.

El Castillio begins talking, a thick accent making his words almost indistinguishable.
“No entiendo… porque estoy aqui -” he begins
“Okay so let’s cut the crap”. I interrupt. I’ve read your file, I know you speak English.
His tone immediately changes and he responds in perfect, measured English, his glare meeting, but not quite matching mine
“What do you want?” He asks. “You want money? I have more money than you can dream of”.
“We know what’s happening at 12:00 hours tomorrow, we just don’t know where” I reply.
El Castillo pauses for a moment, clearly surprised at our Intel.
“Why would I tell you that ahh?” He asks “You can’t extradite me, you can’t kill me, and if you jail me I will have paid my way out by sunrise so what makes you think I’m going to tell you about my… business affairs?” A smirk spreads across his defiant face.

I don’t reply.

Initiate Stage One.

Still bound to the chair I approach El Castillio. Without a word and with the swiftness of a true professional. I unbuckle his trousers. I see his brow furrow, trying to work out what I’m about to do. I pull his trousers down to his ankles. He knows better than to struggle- he’s going nowhere. I stride to the suitcase, and remove an unmarked tinted bottle. I unscrew the top and walk back to the detainee. Stood between his legs with my back towards him, I unbutton my shorts, and pull them down, efficiently. My bare, peachy bottom, exposed in front of him. I bend over to pick up the bottom, making sure Castillio gets a full view from beind. In the bottle is no poison, no truth serum or skin irritant – just a simple oil. I pour the oil over my ass and casually take a seat on El Castillios lap. Of course, his cock leaps to attention hardening between my bum cheeks. I hear his breath quicken and his chest heaving behind me. I sit there for 5 minutes or so without moving; then slowly begin rocking backwards and forwards on his lap, I stand up then turn around, straddling him on the chair, with nothing but the warm oil between us.

Looking into his eyes, I stroke the side of his face, an immaculate manicure tracing a rough, hairy cheekbone.
“Castillo. How about you tell me where the deal’s taking place?”
I ask.
I push myself right up against him, his cock erect and pressed against my bellybotton. We are nose to nose. I put my arms around him and rest my head on his left shoulder. Speaking softly,
“If you tell me, no repercussions, no arrest, we go or separate ways and you keep face.”
El Castillo stays silent, but his body betrays him. Chest to chest I feel his heart beating frantically beneath his shirt.
“No?” – I ask. I lick the sweat from the side of his face – “No?”
Casually, I lift myself up slightly, then lower myself slowly onto his cock. His arms strain against the cable ties which bind him to the chair. Another trickle of sweat courses down his temple. 10 seconds of heavy nose breathing as I sit there motionless, eye to eye and sat on his throbbing cock. I begin to ride him; at first slowly, but then… The heat of the jungle… 18 months with no sex… finally face to face with my enemy… who part of me begrudgingly admires… passionately I ride his cock like a machine, sweat running down my back, keeping frantic pace for 5 minutes or so until I feel him ready to explode.

5… 4… 3… 2…

Just as it’s about to happen I abruptly stand up.
“What?” He tries to lunge towards me, but of course, is incapable “Get back here, you little bitch!”

I roll my eyes. A long, slow, patient breath escapes me.
“I’m not a bitch, I’m THE bitch.” I reply.

His cock is still rock hard, so close to cumming yet… so far.

I stand in front of him, squatting slightly so we are at eye level, and laugh in his face.

“Just tell me, where the deal is taking place?” I press, “Tell me…”
I reach down my nails teasing his balls

Finally he opens his mouth, resigned.
I’ve won, he’s proven very easy to crack.

I run to my suitcase, scrabbling to find a pen and notepad, then returning to his chair with both in hand. “Go on then Castillo, tell me what you know” My face is etched with eager anticipation, my pen poised to take the coordinates

His mouth assumes a small smirk, eyes blinking up at me with an earnest humour

“Suck my dick, bitch.”
He replies.

A hot wave of anger washes over my face. I feel my temper rise – no one makes a fool of me. No one!
Time to initiate Level Two.

(To be continued…)


Billie xxx

Quarantine Kitchen

Hi Yummies

I trust (or hope) you are well.
Over the last few years I can honestly say there’s been no bigger pain in the arse (and I’ve had plenty… literally!) than this virus. Thank you to the few gentlemen who have reached out. It would be disingenuous to pretend that some time away from being “Billie” has left me in poverty, but still, I am an extremely obsessive saver and it’s nice not to have to dip into my nest egg. Many thanks yummies, you are a class act!

Onwards and upwards… or perhaps downwards, to a rumbling stomach and this week’s solutions.

In times like this, I don’t feel creative in the kitchen, and instead reach for my tried and tested favourite recipes. This week: home made sausage rolls, which I enjoy making and then adding a little extra flavour too (half parmesan and italian herbs, half wholegrain mustard; with intentions to try these again with half harissa and honey, amd the other half balsamic, sundried tomato, and red onion). They were delicious and disappeared very quickly.

Another one of my all time favourites (and extremely simple) is Salmon en Papillote: a masterclass is simplicity. You add layers of fennel, potatoes, dill, butter, salmon on top and a dash of white wine and some seasoning. That’s it, and the result after 25 minutes of cooking is spectacular. A sort of gastronomic ready meal, and I always have a spare one wrapped up in the fridge for a quick lunch.

I’ve also been experimenting with Asian flavours, and made the most delicious prawn and noodle broth (made the broth myself, 7hours of simmering). This was very delicious – heavy on ginger, chilli, lemongrass, and shitake mushroom., Yesterday I tried these fantastic pork chilli bbq ribs, with roasted vegetables and baked potatoes. Yum! None of these meals come from a recipe book – more my own imagination and experience, coupled with what I can get in the supermarket on any given day, which is something of a challenge in its own right!


Sending you love form my kitchen to yours…

Big kiss! (I wish!)


Billie x 

Army Cadet Fantasy

Hi yummies! Hope you’re holding up okay. I’m fine, have fled London in favour of the beautiful countryside, and am somewhat enjoying the slower pace of life, although truth be told, I’m so used to being a busy bee that it’s hard not to get bored, so I’m reading and writing (and of course cooking) a lot. One of my biggest frustrations is not being able to get to the gym, but I’m doing my best to avoid the snacks, keep calm and carry on. Finally, a big thank you to those who have offered help and support during this confusing and scary time!


Shall we crack on with a little story?



I thought I would share with you one of my favourite fantasies. This one is not for the faint hearted and probably best read when alone! If you’re self isolating with the family, or already presenting symptoms, it’s probably best for your respiratory system and family life, that you leave this one for another time. If you’re feeling brave (and possibly horny), then please continue…






I hang the “VISITORS” pass around my neck and walk into the hall. I am dressed in jeans, heels and a cardigan and as I walk in, I nervously take in the other people in the room. There are about 20 of us in total. Approximately 15 men and 5 women, standing around trying not to make eye contact. We wait in silence, until finally the door swings open, and in marches a bald man, around 5ft10 tall and broad at the shoulders, clad in a camouflage print jacket and trousers, heavy boots on his feet, and a cap pulled low on his head.

“CADETS!” he shouts, his voice echoing across the hall “SOME OF YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOU ARE EXCEPTIONAL. SOME OF YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE YOUR RICH HARVARD DADDIES GOT YOU HERE AND SOME OF YOU THINK YOU’RE HERE FOR A GOD DAMN FASHION SHOW” he barks, looking pointedly at me. I fumble self-consciously with my Chanel cardigan buttons, noticing that everyone else is already in full army gear.

“SIR-YES-SIR!” we reply in unison.
Only ten burpees in and I am already struggling. In heels and tight jeans I can barely make the movements and my ankles begin to burn as I try to make the 15th burpee.
Another officer pokes his head around the door and Corporal McKinley walks to the door to speak to him. As soon as he is out of eye shot, I turn to the rest of the group, faking an over the top American accent and standing in McKinleys trademark wide legged stance “I am Corporal McLoser!” I sayin, in a mocking tone. The room erupts into laughter. “I am an Ammuurrrcaaan Eaaaagle-“ but this time, no laughter, as the other cadets shuffle awkwardly, looking at their feet. I suddenly feel McKinleys hot breath on the back of my neck, and spin round, horrified- “CADET BILLIE. YOU FANCY YOURSELF THE CLASS CLOWN DO YOU?” he screams at me, flecks of spit flying into my horrified face “ARTHUR, TAKE THIS CLASS, I AM GOING TO TAKE BILLIE FOR A NICE INTENSE BURNOUT SESSION.” The other officer runs in to take over.


I follow McKinley silently out of the room, my feet aching from my heels and my jeans nearly torn at the knees. We walk across the grounds for what feels like ages, until finally we reach a large outbuilding, clad in silver and rusting corrugated iron, with a large double door on the front. He opens the door and silently, I walk in. The inside is a cold, nearly empty box, brightly lit with strip lighting.
“Cadet Billie.” He starts, inches from you face “You ever undermine me like that in front of other cadets and I swear on the almighty flag you can pack your bags and be on the first flight back to London by this evening. Understand?”
“Sir-yes-sir.” I say sulkily, glaring at McKinley.
“You are dressed inappropriately Cadet Billie… You want to act like an animal? Okay, I’ll treat you like an animal. Take all your clothes off. ALL OF THEM. Do it now.”
“Don’t play with me Cadet Billie-“
“Sir-yes-Sir” I reply, slowly unbuttoning my cardigan. I strip to my vest and my underwear- a plain white bra, French kickers and heels. I take my heels off and drop 5 inches, McKinley now towering over me. I remove my vest and bra, my nipples immediately hardening in the cool air, then my knickers.
“Put those on” McKinley nods at a pair of battered lace up army boots.
I walk to the far side of the room, put the boots on and lace them up.
“I want fifty star jumps cadet Billie.”
“But McKinley! I’m freezing! I’m naked! I can’t-“
“OK so you’re not made of the right stuff. That’s fine Billie. Get your things you can leave.”
“NO!” I gasp. I’ve been trying for three years solid to make it this far, giving up is not an option.
“Then start jumping Cadet. Show me what you’re made of.”
I begin my star jumps self-consciously, my breasts jumping uncontrollably, my ass bouncing up and down. Soon, I am drenched in sweat and panting for breath. McKinley sits on a nearby folding chair and watches.
“Turn around and do another 50 Cadet Billie.”
I turn around, my back facing him, starting another 50 star jumps, my bottom bouncing about and jiggling after every jump, exposing myself completely from behind with every star. Drenched in sweat, I complete my 50 and turn around. McKinley is still in the chair, and to my horror, camouflage trousers unzipped and stroking his cock.


“Oh my god! Officer McKiniiii-“
“Mmmm turn around and touch your toes 50 times Cadet Billie”
Silently I turn around and touch my toes.
On the 23rd rep, I feel McKinley approach me from behind, I feel him rubbing his cock between my legs from behind, one hand squeezing my bum. Sliding smoothly, grunting, his precum dripping between my thighs. I can’t help but start to get wet, as the tip of his cock teases my clit. 12 more reps to go… Just as I’m touching my toes for the 39th time, McKinley looses control, grabbing me tightly around the middle from behind and slowly sliding his cock inside me. I scream out loud, trying to struggle away. He puts his hand over mouth and begins fucking me roughly from behind like an animal. He picks me up with his cock still inside me and carries me to the table, bending me over it, and bouncing me on his cock in doggy. My juices run down my shaking legs, and he shoves four large fingers into my mouth. I suck on them, my eyes rolling back, trying not to scream, my muffled moans echoing off the bunker walls.
“You’re my bitch now Billie” he says, pulling my hair around so I’m looking him in the eye as he plunges deep into me “You’re going to swallow everything like the little slut you are.” He stops and I fall to my knees. He pulls my head up, shoves his cock into my panting mouth and cums down my throat. I choke and swallow, letting a little dribble down my chin. Tears in my eyes, and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I make a sudden and foolish attempt to get out of the building- dashing for the door, naked, frantically turning the metal handle- but its locked! I sob in frustration still trying to open the door, McKinleys booming footsteps not far behind me.
He drags over another chair and sits down. Cock already hard and pulsing again.
“I want you to do 50 squats.” He says, reaching out and grabbing my ass with both hands “And I want you to do them over my lap.”
This really is fucking ridiculous, I think to myself. But I have little choice. With McKinley sat in the chair, I stand with one leg on either side of the chair and my bum facing him. I manage the first 10 or so squats with no problem. Half way through, my legs begin to shake under the pressure. I try to keep upright, but eventually my legs give way, and I collapse downwards onto McKinleys hard and throbbing cock. Too weak and horny to resist, I allow him play with me, both hands using my waist to bounce me on his cock, feeling embarrassed at how aroused I am, hot and sticky between the legs begging for more in my head. I don’t want to cum but I can’t help it. As I start cumming, I hear him whispering in my ear “You love this don’t you, Cadet Billie?”
“Sir-yes-Sir” I reply “Fuck me harder, I want it harder! Fuck me harder Officer McKinley!”


He lies me on the floor, grabs my army boots, and pins my legs right above my head. Holding them up there he begins teasing me in missionary, going so deep I flinch with a shock of pleasure every time.
“Choke me Office McKinley-!” I beg, tears of pleasure streaming down my face

“He begins choking me, and unable to hold on any longer I cum very hard on his cock, shaking and screaming and begging him to fuck me harder and cum on my face. McKinley keeps the slow and deep pace, taking his time, choking me and fucking me at the same time. Gasping for breath it feels so good that I feel another orgasm coming. This time, he lies right on top of me, one arm around my neck, drenching me in sweat as he takes me selfishly, holding me down, my naked body squirming with pleasure underneath him, my toes curled in my army boots.
“Ohh fuck you’re tight-” he moans, slowing down to cum inside me, pinching my nipples. After he’s finished, he stays there for a long while, still inside me, making sure I know who’s boss.
McKinley finally stands up, chest heaving.
“Clean me up Cadet Billie”
I kneel on my knees, licking the cum and sweat from his cock, lapping at his balls making sure I don’t miss a drop, gently sucking the tip of his cock, enjoying his taste in my mouth.
“Good. You can leave now.” He says, zipping his trousers up and adjusting his shirt.
I stumble to my dusty clothes and put them back on. McKinley unlocks the door and I make my way back to the rest of the group. In the distance I can hear one of my comrades ask “Gee, what d’ya think happened to Cadet Billie? She looks a mess! That McKinley sure knows how to put you through your paces!”


(to be continued…!!)


Billie x