Condomless?

The First Adventure Part Four

The next morning, Hubby shook me away when we heard the sound of Laurent’s alarm clock buzzing.

“Go in there,” Hubby ordered me, “and take care of him.”

I grumbled and snuggled into the covers – until Hubby’s bare foot flattened against my bum and he pushed me out of the bed – bonk – onto the floor.

Naked, wearing only the collar, he led me into the landing and we pushed open the door to the spare room.

Laurent was lying in bed, a little bleary eyes. He smiled as he saw us.

Hubby gave me a smack on my bottom.

“Go on, then…”

Still feeling sleepy rather than sexy, I crossed the room and slipped under the covers.

Laurent was totally naked. His arms encircled me and I pressed my chilly body against his delicious warmth.

He was skinny, but had a nice body. Well defined chest. Hairy, but not too hairy. And a big, hard erection.

I didn’t waste any time that morning. I was already wet. I just slung one leg over his hips and straddled him.

My hand found his dick. I fumbled with it, aiming his throbbing head at the damp lips of my pussy. Then I hit the right spot and sunk down, down, down onto his rigid flesh.

My cunt swallowed him up, until he was buried deep inside me.

Laurent groaned. His hips bucked, thrusting himself deeper into me.

“Sssh,” I pressed a finger against his lips. Then, with him lying still beneath me, I started grinding my hips in a circular motion. Round and round, grinding my clit against his bony hips.

Laurent’s breath was ragged. His big hands each grabbed one of my big boobs and squeezed – hard enough to make me gasp.

I rode him, bucking my hips, grinding against him, working my body expertly and feeling the surprising rush of an oncoming orgasm. It had taken seconds.

“Uuuuuh,” I came, shuddering.

Laurent was gasping now – and despite my instructions to lie still, his bony hips were thrusting into me. The bed springs squeaked. My spasming pussy stretched to accommodate his throbbing dick.

“Oui… Oui…” He squeezed my breasts hard enough to leave marks – and thrust upwards, deep inside me.

His hips were still. I felt the bulge and throb of his cock inside my pussy. Warmth and wetness.

He’d just come in me.

Exhausted, but satisfied, I flopped down in the bed, pressing my sweaty body against his. We were both gasping for breath.

Giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek, Laurent rolled me aside. His flaccid cock slid out of me, followed by a dribble of sperm.

Totally unashamed, he walked naked past my husband, who was standing similarly naked in the doorway, watching the performance. Hubby’s big, hard cock was in his hand and he was stroking it.

A moment later Laurent was in the shower, his singing muffled by the sound of the running water.


Hubby threw back the covers and dived on top of me.

It was weird, embracing in the spare bed. It was hot with the Frenchman’s warmth and smelt like him. It felt… wrong.

But I liked it.

What felt just as wrong was Hubby, rolling onto his side so his hips were in my face and his head was disappearing between my thighs.

Sixty nine?

I looked at his straining erection, bobbing in front of my face. Then I felt his wide, rasping tongue between my legs.

I groaned.

“No, no,” I moaned. “No, that’s not right…”

He was licking me – slurping on my freshly-fucked cunt.

His tongue swirled around my clit. I shuddered, flopping back onto the bed covers.

Despite the fact that my pussy was filled with another man’s cum, Hubby was feasting on it.

As he coaxed me towards another orgasm, I reluctantly surrendered and engulfed his own hardness with my mouth.

Niether of us took long.

Hubby’s well practiced tongue had my pussy shivering and shuddering and I came… Meanwhile, his aroused cock soon spurted into my mouth, encouraged by an enthusiastic finger up his rear.

Recovering, Hubby clambered rightways up and spooned behind me, hugging me with a loving intimacy I could hardly have expected, considering I’d just fucked another man in front of him.

Slightly incredulous, I rolled onto my back and peered up at his kindly grey eyes.

Post orgasm, the lusty beast had gone. Here was my Hubby, not my master.

I kissed me. “I love you, Little Kitty.”

“I love you too,” I told him, realizing that I could taste Laurent’s sperm on his lips.

The First Adventure Part Three

I have never been fucked so hard as I was that night.

Hubby literally dragged me up the stairs and threw me onto the bed.

“Not so rough,” I told him. “The baby….”

But he wasn’t listening and he didn’t seem to care.

Off came his jeans. He left his shirt on. Jutting out underneath was his erection and it looked thicker and harder and more straining than I’d ever seen it before.

Because of my round belly, I couldn’t lie on my tummy any more, so Hubby had me on my side, one leg stretched out and the other bent at the hip and knee – so he could straddle my leg and enter me from behind. Even though I was soaking wet after giving Laurent his blowjob, it hurt when Hubby forced himself into me because his dick was so hard and straining.

The bed creaked. The headboard banged against the wall. My big boobs bounced back and forth like jelly.

It took him seconds before the grunting began. Then, pulling himself from my pussy, Hubby got up onto his knees over me and rapidly jerked off his throbbing erection, splattering me with burning hot spurts of cum.

It was only after he’d rubbed out the last drops of his sticky load that his breathing slowed.

I was lying there on my side, panting, covered in globs of cum.

I hadn’t come again. I hadn’t even come close. Hubby had just used me to get off.

When he flopped back onto the bed, I turned around.

“Can you pass me a towel?”

“No,” he grinned crookedly, using one hand to rub his sperm into my skin. “You’re staying like that all night.”

And I did.

Which isn’t as sexy as it sounds. Hot cum quickly dries to cold, clammy damp spots and I was covered in them.

Nobody likes to sleep in the wet spot! Least of all BE the wet spot!

The First Adventure Part Two

Hubby gazed into my eyes with a sexy intensity.

“You’re going to go next door,” he growled huskily, “and give Laurent the blowjob of his life.”

I froze. My eyes widened.

“We’ve been talking about it for months,” Hubby growled. “I told you I wanted to see you suck another man’s cock. And after what you did…” He was referring, of course, to my encounter with Darren in that hotel room in Birmingham. “You owe me.”

I was conflicted. Right then and there, I knew, was the tipping point between continuing my abortive project to be a sexual submissive and just throwing in the towel. I was annoyed and disgusted with Hubby for hitting me with this demand right out of the blue.

But, don’t you know it? I was also wet.

I mean, Laurent was a great looking guy. And sexy. And I wouldn’t have gone along with Hubby’s filthy talk and submissive sex games if I hadn’t ever considered this sort of thing a possibility, right? In fact, I’d even been angry and disappointed at him for going on about ‘sharing’ me and never actually having the wherewithal to set anything up!

So fighting every instinct to say ‘no,’ I bit my bottom lip and made a conscious decision to do this thing.

Hubby grabbed the whiskey. I got the After Eights. And with butterflies in my stomach, I shuffled back into the living room.

Laurent was just sitting there, idly sipping his wine. He looked prissy and neat and twee. It occurred to me that he might have no idea about Hubby’s scheme and when I suddenly accosted him, he’d be horrified. I could just imagine the shock of a fat, pregnant wife and a creepy English husband sexually harassing him.

But Laurent’s eyes lit up when he saw the collar around my neck. I realized Hubby must have told him about his plans.

Hubby – I mean Master – wrenched me to a halt. He made me stand in front of Laurent in my jeans and sweatshirt.

“Stay there.”

Taking the box of After Eights, he flopped down into the armchair and poured two generous glasses of whiskey. He passed one to Laurent.

“Okay, my sexy little slut,” Hubby purred at me, peering up from his chair. “Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.”

Eyes flicking between Laurent and my husband, I nodded.

Grabbing the hem of my sweatshirt, I pulled it over my head and threw it to the floor. I was wearing a t-shirt underneath. I left that on as I pulled off my trainers and socks and threw them across the room (since I was worried they’d be smelly!)

I stood there in my big, unsexy cotton panties and t-shirt. My bulging belly… Well, bulged. And my big tits were squeezed into my ill-fitting bra.

But as unsexy as I felt, the appreciative (hungry?) eyes of Laurent and Master clearly proved that they found me rather appetizing.

I grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it off. Then I stood there in my big knickers and bulging bra.

Hubby’s voice was hoarse. “Take off the bra.”

I unclasped the front and slowly pulled the two cups apart. My big, swollen breasts flopped out.

Laurent gasped.

“Turn around,” Hubby ordered. Nervously, I did as I was told. “Now bend over.”

Bent at the waist, my big arse in his face, I dug my thumbs into the waistband of my knickers and slowly wriggled them over my hips. Then my thighs. Then they dropped to my ankles.

“Putain…” Laurent breathed, staring into my round bum and hairy pussy.

I straightened up and turned around, peering down at Laurent, focusing entirely on him. I knew Hubby was watching, but it was this intense Frenchman who I was performing for and now I’d got into the spirit of things, I was wildly excited at the task Hubby had assigned me.

“You are beautiful,” Laurent purred.

My pussy gushed. I wish I’d have known about this! I’d have shaven it!

Dropping to my knees, I reached forward and placed my hot hands on the rough material of his jeans. I could see a bulge in the front of his flies.

My hands slid up, by thumbs tracing a path along his inner thighs.

My mouth was dry (the last thing I needed, given what I was about to do.)

Fingers trembling, I unbuckled his belt and popped the buttons of his flies.

Laurent just sat there, his breath deepening.

Pulling apart his flies, I saw the sheen of his tight boxers.

My fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans.

Then, with a sharp tug, I wrenched them and his boxers down around his knees.

Boing! From a nest of busy, black pubic hair sprung a long, thick, uncircumcised penis.

It smelt musky. It was dark – olive coloured, like Laurent’s skin.

My fingers touched the bare flesh of his thighs. He gasped.

I slid my hands up his thighs, feeling the bristly black hair against my palm. Then my fingers reached his hairy balls.

I turned to Hubby, looking for approval. The lusty look on my husband’s face reassured me that he was totally lapping up every moment of this.

My fingers tickled Laurent’s balls.

“Merde,” he gasped, reaching a hand up the run it through my hair. “That feels wonderful.”

The fingers of my other hand encircled his shaft. I pumped his cock for a few minutes, feeling the warm firmness throb in my hand.

Then, licking my lips, I lowered my head.

His musky scent engulfed my nostrils, just as my open lips engulfed his cock.

“Fils de Pute,” he gasped, jerking his hips upwards, jabbing his dick further into my mouth.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the strange sensation of a stranger’s dick in my mouth.

My tongue swirled. Saliva dribbled down Laurent’s balls. My fingers pumped his shaft as I lifted my mouth from his cock and replaced my sucking with firm, long licks. Up and down the shaft. Across the wrinkled skin of his balls. Pulling down his foreskin, I lapped at his swollen, purple cockhead like a kitten drinking milk.

“Uhhhh,” Laurent’s fingers curled into my hair, forcing my mouth back over his cockhead. A sharp tug of my black hair brought tears to my eyes.

There was the rustle of cloth. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear Hubby slide off his chair and come crawling up behind me.

His hot hands cupped my buttocks, spreading my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut harder, trying to process the dual sensations of Laurent’s throbbing hardness in my mouth and Hubby’s rough hands on my naked arse.

My head was bobbing up and down. Laurent’s thick cock was slurping wetly in and out of my suctioning lips. My tongue was swirling as if I was sucking a delicious ice-lolly.

I groaned hotly around the meat in my mouth. I’d just felt Hubby’s fingers part the hair lips of my pussy and slide inside my sodden cunt.

And I was sodden. Absolutely dripping.

“Mon dieu,” Laurent groaned hotly. “I’m going to cum…”

With Hubby’s slick thumb circling my thrumming clit and his fat fingers massaging my g-spot, I knew I wasn’t far behind.

I squeezed Laurent’s tight balls. I bobbed my head faster, up and down, feeling him lift his hips from the sofa to sink his cock deeper into my mouth.

I squeezed my thighs together. I came.

Clenching down hard on Hubby’s fingers, I felt my clit explode. The waves of shuddering pleasure forced a guttural groan which opened up my throat, letting Laurent sink inside my mouth up to the balls.

I couldn’t breath. My throat bulged. His hands held my head down, my mouth impaled by his dick.

I think I would have passed out if it wasn’t for Hubby’s fingers hammering between by sticky thighs – driving my orgasm harder and harder. I coughed and spluttered and groaned and choked and Laurent ignored it all as he forcefully fucked my mouth and spurted salty wetness across my tongue.

The Frenchman kept my head held down hard, forcing my to swallow the mouthful of cum. Only after my throat bulged and I gulped down his seed did he let me up. My mouth detached wetly from his limp cock, great, sticky strands of saliva and cum stretching from his flesh to my lips.

Laurent lay back on the sofa, gasping for air. He smiled.

I wiped my wet lips and chin with the back of my hand.

“That,” said Hubby, still knelt behind me with his fingers buried deep within my cunt, “was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

More Candid Pics...

Just some pics of my post-baby body.

This fantastic vibrator of mine can be bought here.

The First Adventure Part 1

It was about six months into my pregnancy when it happened.

It being one of the memorable sexual adventures in almost a year bereft of sexual adventures.

It was a Friday night and Hubby was coming back from Paris to spend the weekend – and bringing a colleague of his with him. Apparently this guy, Laurent, was going to be moving to the London office and wanted to get a lay of the land and scope out some accommodation first.

So feeling fat and unattractive (even though Hubby promised my early pregnancy bulge was beautiful) I drove to Waterloo station and picked them up when their Eurostar came in.

Hubby came staggering down the platform, looking wrinkled and disheveled in the same suit he’d been wearing for most of the week. And behind him, straight-spined and elegantly dressed, was a deliciously handsome Frenchman.

I knew he was French from the moment I saw him. He was wearing a sharp suit, pulling a suitcase along behind him prissily on wheels. Olive complexion, slicked back, luxurious salt-and-pepper hair. Perhaps a little short and skinny, but definitely an attractive proposition.

I gave Hubby a hug as they loaded their bags into the car and then he introduced me.

“Darling, this is Laurent.”

“Enchante,” The charming man gave me two kisses on each cheek, his cologne filling my nostrils. I swooned.

We drove back home down the M3, Laurent sitting upfront and Hubby snoozing in the back. Laurent made idle conversation. He was charming – mentioned what a ‘glow’ I had and how attractive pregnant women where. I blushed furiously.

When we got back home, I gave the boys a few moments to freshen up and dutifully put the Marks and Spencers in the oven.

Laurent came down in jeans and a shirt, bearing gifts in the form of a bottle of Claret and some pungent French cheeses. I told him I couldn’t have either, because I was preggers.

“Nonsense,” he sounded very authoritative and snotty. “Pregnant women have been drinking wine and eating soft cheese in France for generations.”

That’s probably why they’re all so short!

Hubby eventually came down too, dressed more casually and with a look on his face I can only describe as ‘shit-eating.’ He popped open the wine and we ate and drank enthusiastically.

It was pretty late to be dining (we didn’t get back from the station until nine o’clock) so it was almost midnight by the time we finished – and hubby convinced us to go into the sitting room to continue chatting.

Laurent sat on the sofa, still sipping his first glass of wine (I have since learnt that the French aren’t as big drinkers as we boozy Brits would like to think.)

Hubby suggested the After Eights and a snifter of Scotch, so I was dispatched to the kitchen to get them.

It was while I was in there, stretching up on tip-toes to grab the Glenmorangie from the top shelf, when I felt Hubby’s hot hands encircle my waist.

He kissed my neck.

“Did you miss me?” I cooed, nuzzling back at him and sticking out my bottom so it ground against his crotch. Although the week without him had been lonely, I guess it’s true. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

But just as I was feeling warm and rosy in the bask of husbandly affection, I heard a familiar jingle. There was the softness of leather around my throat.

I pushed him back… Hubby had just slipped my ‘collar’ around my throat.

“This is hardly the time…” I opened my mouth to protest, but Hubby pressed his finger to my lips.

“The collar’s on, Little Kitty Slave,” he hissed. “And you know what that means…”

I wish I could tell you that I bowed my head and dutifully became the submissive little slut I promised to be whenever he put the collar on me, but of course I didn’t. I was tired and felt fat and unattractive. There was a virtual stranger next door. The last thing I felt like doing was playing some kinky sex game with my Hubby. I’d have rather he’d just made love to me normally.

But a firm ‘spank’ on my butt eventually convinced me to at least play the part.

“What do you want?” I demanded, reluctantly adding ‘Master’ afterwards.

Hubby gazed into my eyes with a sexy intensity.

“You’re going to go next door,” he growled huskily, “and give Laurent the blowjob of his life.”

Bonjour from Little Kitty Slave

So after such a monumental gap between posts, I really don’t know how to get back into my sorry, sordid (sexy) saga.

I’m sorry I gave up. The fact is, I’d wanted this blog to be sexy and steamy and the fact is, sex and steam were the last things on Hubby or my mind for months and months after I found out I was pregnant.

Everything I WANT to write about – like being a submissive LittleKittySlave – was put on the back burner and while Hubby and I had a pretty healthy sex life (all things considered) if wasn’t exactly worthy of inclusion on a blog.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There are some important things I learned:

1: When you’re pregnant, you can’t get more pregnant, so no condoms. And sex without condoms ALL THE TIME (instead of just when it’s ‘safe’) feels really, really good.

2: Being pregnant is a great excuse for not doing the shopping, cleaning the house and eating mountains of junk food. “I’m tiiiired, Hubby. Can’t you do it?”

3: Being pregnant is (in the short term) cheaper than a boob job. Boing! Instant ‘D’ cup. Although they say in 18 years of life, a baby costs a total of £150,000 so maybe my maths are off here.

4: Pregnant women’s skin is awesome. Smooth, soft and no breakouts. Saved a fortune on Oil of Olay.

There are some downsides though.

5: No more than a glass of wine a week (gack! How did I cope?)

6: Constipation, heartburn, sweaty-boob pits.

7: None of my sexy clothes fit.

8: Wearing sexy heels feels like something the UN would class as Cruel and Unusual Torture.

9: Flirting with sexy men falls entirely flat when you are with-sprog.

10: You end up looking (and feeling) like a fucking cow.

So in a nutshell, that’s how I spent most of the nine months of pregnancy. Although there were a couple of highlights I will write about a little later.

But let me get back to telling you what happened and how things are now.

Hubby got the job in Paris. He’s back and forth on the London Eurostar every Monday at some ungodly hour, stays with a mate (previously a hotel) until Friday and then comes back home at about 11pm at the earliest.

Fortunately, the Eurostar is fucking fantastic and takes three hours (and you gain an hour going there) so Hubby doesn’t have to spend the weekend traveling. Catches a train from Basingstoke at 6am, straight to Waterloo, onto the Eurostar, arrives at about 9:30/10am and Gare du Nord is, like, ten minutes from where he works.

The downside is coming back, since he loses that hour he gained (so the trip takes four hours as opposed to two) and British Rail is it’s normal fucking useless self, so he spends as long on the train from London as he does on the train from Paris.

Also – it’s FUCKING expensive. He earns half as much again as he did in England and almost all of that goes on travel and whatever he pisses it on in Paris (hopefully not slinky French whores – although I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt on that one.)

And worse of all – despite all the shit we went though – I miss him.

Let me tell you this. It’s no fun being fat and pregnant with swollen ankles at home ALL ALONE when you can’t even drink wine to make up for it.

So that’s how it was for most of my pregnancy, with one or two bright (strange, sexy) exceptions I’ll tell you about later. I gave up work three weeks before I was due.

When it about came for me to pop, Hubby asked for a temporary assignment to their London office and they gave it to him, plus his prerequisite eleven days paternity leave, so when my beautiful, darling baby boy was born (an Aquarius) he was there to pick up the pieces (and he was an eight pound little lump, so the pieces he needed to pick up were the shredded remnants of what used to be my perfectly plump, tight little vagina.)

Two months ago, I made the decision to give up my job and become what the Yanks call a ‘stay at home Mom.’ The question of whose home it would be was up in the air, since without my (generous) paycheque, we couldn’t afford for Hubby to work in Paris and for us to keep our house in Hampshire.

So, gasp gasp, we made the decision to move to France.

So. Here we are. On the outskirts of Paris in a tiny two bedroomed apartment. Me, my hubby and a screaming baby (that’s not fair. Baby is actually very calm and good natured.)

I’ve gone from bossy career bitch to stay-at-home wife and mother and if my descent into a real life submissive ‘little kitty slave’ was going to begin anywhere, I guess it would be with me abandoning the mantle of shit-hot, sassy saleswoman.

But Paris has been both terrible and amazing. Suddenly after all those months spent with nothing to write about, I’ve been inspired to start blogging again and tell you all about it. I hope there are still some readers out there who are interested in reading about my sexual misadventures!

Blast from the Past...

Before I went on my extended hiatus, I wrote this post. I just never got around to posting it...

>>>

One thing we both seemed to realize pretty quickly was that we were going to keep the baby. Neither of us discussed the possibility of an abortion. I mean, I am the MOST LAPSED CATHOLIC anyway, but my Italian parents had drilled enough of the dogma into me and Hubby? I don’t know. He just seemed to come to terms with it. Not overjoyed at the prospect of a little monster growing inside his wife’s lovebox, but certainly not horrified by it. I honestly think this was when I realize he DID love me after all.

So we worked at it.

Hubby went off for his first week in Paris and I continued my job. And it was weird.

My hormones were all over the place. One minute I’d be yelling at Darren and Matt (vive la change, as Hubby would have translated) and then I’d be sitting in my office crying. It didn’t help that I came home to a silent, cold house and I couldn’t even enjoy a glass of chardonnay. My poor little unborn bastard (or bitch) was going to be a tee-total baby.

I’ll tell you one thing, though. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

After that first week, I drove to London and picked Hubby up from the Eurostar and he met me with a big hug and a kiss (and he smelt awful.) He’d brought flowers and a big bag from Galleries Lafayette and it was honestly the most romantic I’d ever seen him.

That night he had a lovely pasta dinner and Hubby put on some cool jazz and I unwrapped a bunch of parcels he’d bought me. Jewelry. A knocked off Louis Vitton purse (I’d have preferred the real thing) and a sexy black negligee/teddy thing. We soaked in a bathtub brimming with bubbles and then I let Hubby slather my wet body with baby oil.

I was feeling fat and horrible due to my raging hormones, but Hubby had never seemed more into me. His big hands rubbed the oil into my shoulders and back. He caressed my heavy breasts and round tummy. As he rubbed my bottom I felt his hard-on poking me in the small of my back.

Soon I was glistening and relaxed – and Hubby looked like he had a thick, foot-long salami pointing angrily from his crotch.

Still moist from the bath, I took his hand and led him into the bedroom. We encircled each other like dogs, curling onto the covers like a tan (that’s me) and white (that’s him) ying-yang symbol.

I’ve never been a fan of sixty-nine. I’m very short and spanning the distance from crotch-to-mouth is quite an effort. Tonight, though, I felt flexible and focused. Lying next to my husband’s hot, damp skin, I stared at his magnificent cock and felt his rough hands part my thighs.

Soon his was literally eating me alive. I heard the wet slobber of his lips and tongue on my freshly shaven punani (I had done some forward planning.) My clit strummed like a guitar string.

Hubby pointedly hadn’t gone down on me since I revealed my infidelity. Tonight, I realized it had been worth the wait. His strong, powerful licks and slurps were well-placed. What was different was his new enthusiasm. It reminded me of Darren, desperately slurping and licking in a pathetic attempt to please me. Hubby had that same passion and enthusiasm – except his nimble tongue knew exactly where to go to get a result.

Squirming with pleasure, I opened my mouth wide and gobbled up his straining cock.

Oh, it was amazing. Hot skin on skin. Saliva dribbling wetly from both ends of us. I closed my eyes as I worked, swallowing his shaft deep into my mouth. My fingers caressed his taut balls. My little finger wiped up a stray trickle of saliva and wetly penetrated by husband’s tight little bum.

That forced a happy groan from him, which rippled wetly into my pussy. His fingers dug into my round arse. His thumb slipped effortlessly inside me, deep inside to rub my g-spot. Within seconds, he was coaxing me to a delicious orgasm.

I shuddered in bliss, gasping for oxygen around the big, throbbing fuck-stick buried in my esophagus. I plunged my finger up his backside until he groaned. His cock swelled tremendously and then I felt my throat swell with saltiness. Spurt after spurt, deep into the back of my mouth. Like a dutiful LittleKittySlave, I swallowed every gooey glob.

Licking my salty lips, I snuggled up obediently and fell right to sleep.

I'm back... almost...

Hello my loyal and infinitely patient readers...

After another six (eight? Nine) month gap, I'm nearly ready to start my blogging again. I have lots of sexy stories to share with you. I promise I'll start soon.

Until then... Here's a little teaser. I hope you missed this (and me.)