I am well aware that I am not the world's best time keeper. That is abundantly obvious to everyone - but I do actually try. It is just that the gods of punctuality have it in for me. There I was, imagining I had oodles and oodles of time to spare- my appointment was set for 2 p.m.- plenty of time for me to dash over to Heathrow and pick up Bud at 4.30.

Not.

First the appointment ran very late for reasons that were beyond my control. Then I lost my parking ticket and had a major row over paying the TWELVE QUID that they charge if you can't produce the ticket. I had to pay. Then I found the ticket so I had another major row demanding my refund. I had to fill a form in triplicate and it will be dealt with in the fullness of time. By the time I get the dosh back from Hampstead Council our currency will no longer be sterling.

So off I trotted at the speed of light- or the five miles an hour that central London favours for motorists. Where do all the cars come from? Can't they get off the fucking road and go home while I get to the airport? Please God delay that plane- I do not want to annoy Bud anymore than I have done already!

God was having one of his occasional rest days. I hit the worst traffic jam imaginable. That was it. I was late. I tried to ring Bud but his phone was off. That must mean he hadn't landed yet. Drummed my fingers on the wheel. Changed lanes a few times. Stuck fingers up at anyone who complained. Stuck my tongue out as well for good measure. Used my horn liberally. Didn't make them go away or me feel any better.

My phone started making that noise that means it is running out of battery. I rooted in my bag for the spare. Changed it over. It was flat. Bugger! Couldn't do anything now. I would just have to rely on fate and Bud's good nature. Might as well write my death certificate now.

Finally, at almost six o'clock, I reached the airport. Parking was a nightmare but I was beyond caring. I zoomed in and took a spot someone else was waiting for, screamed: "I'm about to have a baby, I can't stop" at them and ran for arrivals. And there he was. Pacing up and down like he was about to belt someone.

"Sorry, Bud. I was delayed," I ventured in my most contrite voice, the one that Terry generally accepts with a mere raised eyebrow.

Bud stopped, turned round and said: "Oh yeah? I would never have guessed."

"Bud, don't be mad, I had an appointment that ran late...."

"Yeah, you did...with me."

"I had another one first."

"Yeah, the important one."

He wasn't going to let this go lightly.

"Bud...I couldn't help it and the traffic was awful..."

"Ever heard of a phone?"

"My batteries were flat."

"Oh sure."

"Bud, I said I was sorry!"

"Seems that's all you do say to me these days. What the fuck am I even here for?" He picked up his bag and walked over to ticketing. He was going to fly back.

"Bud...please....wait...stop!!"

He ignored me, flexing his neck and setting his jaw. He doesn't feel easy being nasty to a woman, even if he thinks she deserves it. He set down his luggage and demanded to change his return date. I grabbed him by the arm.

"Excuse me, Miss...can I just discuss this with my friend?..." I pulled him away and hissed. "Bud! This is ridiculous! You can't fly straight back. Don't be so petulant. You're acting like a baby who dropped his dummy..."

"Dummy? I'm some kind of dummy?"

"No, you dummy! Dummy means...those things babies suck, I don't know what you lot call them...."

He suddenly smiled. I giggled. "Pacifiers. You think I need one?" We both laughed.

"Maybe I can give you something to suck later?"

Bud snorted, said "Jesus Christ!" and his anger subsided. I breathed out slowly. That was a good start, wasn't it? The day could only get worse now.

Bud said very little when he entered the house except "Nice place. Must have cost you."

I agreed but didn't make a big deal about it. I have the feeling that Bud is not really an aficionado of House and Home magazine, so I kept the details to a minimum. He looked around though and did finger a few objects and fabrics as if to give his aesthetic response. I was happy with that.

His room, the Brothers' room, seemed to meet with his approval- he unpacked and showered and then joined me for a drink downstairs. We talked for a while and he finally dropped his belligerent act. It was good to get him back to the way we usually are together and it seemed a lifetime ago since we had been like that.

How we are together. So, what exactly do I mean by that? Let's review. I was the sister who first brought up the question of cuffs with the Bad Ass. It was the two of us who once broke a bed together. There is a sort of unspoken legend that suggests we indulge in some quite disturbing practices together. We have this bad effect on each other. Don't we? Who says? Not me, actually. I don't believe I have ever really spilled the beans before.

I'm teasing again. Bud and I are ...an enigma. In many ways we have nothing in common but we sort of get each other. He finds me intriguingly odd. I find him incomprehensible. It can only work....

So after dinner we settled down for one of our usual sessions. We had a couple of drinks and had some real fun. It all began when Bud said: "Have you heard what Max did in New York?"

I screamed. "No...tell me...tell me...tell me..."

"I don't think so. If your old man didn't say anything, I'm not gonna."

"Come on, Bud...you can't say that...you just can't...not now you've raised the subject. Go, on...what did he do?"

But, no matter what I said, how I said it, what offers I made in exchange for the information- his lips were sealed. No one does sealed lips better than Bud.

"You are such a pain. You only said it to wind me up. Now I won't sleep."

"I'll give you something to help you sleep," he smirked.

"Oh no, White...think again. You play me out...you are getting nothing. This is total war."

He laughed. Boy, would he be sorry about that. "So little Miss Tough...what'll it be?"

"Torture."

He laughed again "Oh yeah? You gonna torture me? What you gonna do- nag me to death?"

Now, most men with a modicum of concern about their balls would have thought twice about challenging me. But then, Bud is a tough guy. We all know this. He is quite confident that he can take care of his own balls. That is exactly when I like men most- over confident. Pride comes before a fall.

"You scared, Bud?"

"Oh yeah...I'm trembling here...." He sat sprawled on my lounge suite and drank his bourbon slowly.

I licked my lips. "Want to take a few chances?"

He eyed me up. "What you talking about?"

"Bet you wouldn't let me blindfold you."

"Don't be so sure. Even blind, I can take you, honey." So I found a scarf and blindfolded Bud White.

"What if I stripped you?" I whispered in his ear and then slipped away as he turned to the sound of my voice.

"So strip me."

He was lying back against the deep cushions of my couch. I knelt before his legs and began to undress him slowly. First his shirt, button by button, until it was hanging open. I ripped it from his pants and pulled it off his shoulders to let him shrug his arms from it. Then his vest- dragged over his head and cast it from him. I lay against his body and massaged his naked chest with my own. He smiled lazily, enjoying the sensation, and letting me take the lead. Then I returned to my task. Shoes, socks, belt, button and zip. He was hard. Was there any doubt he would be?

Pulling gently on the hem of his pants, aided by his raising his butt, I eased them from him. He lay there, stroking himself through the thin cover of his cotton shorts. I shivered. My God, he is a big man. What a sight!

"Bud? Stay there...I'll be back in a minute..."

I ran upstairs and found what I was looking for quickly enough, running back to where he still lay. "Take off your shorts, Bud. I want you naked."

He listened, frowned slightly at my commanding tone and then smiled. He did what he was told. I looked at him sitting there, naked, erection prominent and bobbing free of constraint. He knew I was looking.

"Like what you see?" he asked quietly, his right hand jerking himself for me, his teeth gritted against the erotic compulsion to come when being watched by an unseen woman.

"I like it fine. You still want to take a chance?" I whispered huskily. I saw the change in his demeanour- he was suddenly alert, like a thoroughbred animal, sensing rather than seeing his stalker.

"What you got in mind?"

"I got the cuffs, Bud. This time it's your turn. You trust me?"

"Like fuck I trust you."

I giggled. "Is the big boy scared of the little girl?"

He made a grunting noise, annoyed but also aroused. I know Bud. He won't actively ask for something a little dangerous - but he wants it. His dark side draws him in and the idea of being helpless before a woman both disturbs and drives him.

"I ain't scared of you."

"Then I'll take that as a yes." I cuffed his wrists in front of him. He did not resist.

"Kneel on the floor. Lean against the couch."

He hesitated. He pouted. His chin shot up in defiance but he still complied. His body said "I'm not fooled by you" but his behaviour suggested something else. He didn't have a clue what was coming next.

Joining him on the floor, I leaned in against his back. I was fully clothed. I ran my hands down the muscular anatomy, felt the sweet cheeks of his arse and then slid my finger between, to glide up and down his crack. He has a fine butt and he feels like all man. "Wider, spread 'em." I murmured and he did. I grasped his balls and rolled them tenderly. He moaned deep and low.

"Don't move."

He didn't. I ran my hand over his hips, plunged down and grasped his cock- he had been grinding it steadily against the seat as I had played with him. I squeezed and jerked with one hand whilst continuing to fondle his butt with the other.

"You like this, don't you? You are very sensitive. Let me make you more sensitive..."

I broke off and poured a sweet oil onto my palms, rubbed them together and began to massage his butt cheeks and then grease up his cock. He was rocking now and trying to make contact with me. I avoided him.

"What you playing at?" he muttered. "Don't you want some?"

I chuckled. "You first. I want to play with you first. Will you let me?"

He paused and I saw his back stiffen. He was unsure and was beginning to wonder where this game was going. He is smart and thinks a lot.

"Depends. What's this about? You still think you can torture me?"

I did not answer but used my knee to thrust up gently between his legs, catching his gland and his scrotum and rotating against them. He dropped a little further against the chair and gave me the access I wanted. I poured some of the oil down his now exposed crack; he shuddered slightly at the oleaginous sensuality of its slow creep down his tender flesh.

"Ever been fucked, Bud? Want me to make a woman of you?"

My thumb pressed down and found entry; he grunted but did not stop me; my other hand continued to work his gland. I opened him wider, used two fingers and had him exactly where I wanted him. With my left hand, I reached out and found Voyager. I had already oiled it in readiness. He had no idea.

"What do you think of this?" I slipped the penile tip, cool and smooth, thick with lube, into him, he stiffened.

"What the fuck is that?" He shouted.

"A dick." I answered.

"Take it out."

"No"

"I don't want to hurt you, honey, but I ain't being dick fucked." He began to try and straighten up; I leaned my whole weight against him. It was pointless. He could have tossed me aside so easily.

"You move and I will stick it so hard up you, you will see stars," I threatened.

"You just try it, sweetheart and you will be fucked," came his inelegant response."Oh, I do hope so. But only when I have finished with you, big boy...you know, my money is on you coming while I fuck you..."

"Uma- this is not a joke. Cut it out. Take that fuckin' thing out of my ass..."

"Then tell me what I want to know."

"Know?"

"'Bout Maximus"

"You crazy bitch. I'm warning you..."

"Tell me. Just a few little words and I will let you go...." I pushed the tip a little harder and it sank further in. He grimaced.

I must have smiled, or relaxed or something. For a second, my guard was down and he sensed it. With a lunge, a twist and a roll he avoided me and spun round, taking me in his arms, and turning the tables. Remember he had his hands cuffed. It made no difference He simply raised his arms, slipped his cuffed embrace around my neck and over my torso to hold me tight and thrust me onto my face, holding me still with his body.

"Now you have two choices. You remove your pants and let me have you. Or I will tear them off with my teeth. But I shall have you." He grinned against my cheek.

"Budddddd. TELL ME!!"

He laughed. I pulled off my pants and underwear. He thrust his cuffed hands up my T-shirt and rolled each nipple roughly. All the while, he was rubbing his hard prick against my butt, in mimicry of what I had done to him.

"Bud...not without lube...please...you're too big..." I gasped.

"My dick's oiled. That will have to do..." he grunted and pushed forcefully.

"No, Bud...not there...in my cunt...please...I'm wet...really wet..."

He chuckled. "You begging for it?"

"You want me to?"

"Beg for it, honey..."

"Fuck me, Bud...I am wet just touching your beautiful arse...come on, let me put you in...take it Bud...it's all yours..."

I eased my hands between my legs, found his prick and worked my butt round until I had him positioned. He pushed, I backed onto him, he thrust, I swallowed him tight. We both gasped at the feel.

"Fuckin' shit!" he groaned as he started to grind his hips into me.

"You like this? You want to fuck my arse...then tell me..."

"Tell you what? I don't know shit. I was only joking. But it sure as hell got you going..."

"Bud!" I tried to back away but he was not the novice I was. His joined hands slipped down my torso to find my legs and then his fingers were on my clitoris. I was wide and exposed, unable to stop him. I didn't want to stop him. As he pounded into me, his fingers rubbed me, more gently than I deserved and I was done for. My body loosened as his grew more tense; the fire in my clit began to surge outwards and invade my lower belly and deep within me. I felt the rise of the pain and pleasure, I cried out, he worked me harder, no more words, just the rhythmic grunts of his effort and my frantic pleas for mercy, coupled with my contrary movements which thrust myself down on his invasion. "I'm coming...oh Jesus...I...AM...COM...OHHHH!"

"FUCK!" he shouted as we both came shuddering into each other. It was so intense that I felt the orgasm in my toes and in my brain at the same time. It was simply total absorption. I don't know about Bud but he seemed too weak even to move off me. I wondered vaguely how long I could live starved of oxygen. He suddenly moved. I could breathe again but had rather liked the dreamy sensation of lack of air and the heavy dead weight of his solid masculinity slumped upon me....

I sipped my drink. He poured another whisky. We talked. I asked him about writing this up; he shrugged. I got an idea.

"Hey, Bud, help me write this diary. Help me get you just right, dialogue and all."

I began to type at the laptop, he read over my shoulder. 

"Bud...what would you say for... 'Not bloody likely..,'?"

He thought a moment. "No fuckin' way." I typed that. 

"No...drop the 'g'. Fuckin' not fucking. I'm not a fuckin' Limey." I giggled and erased the g. He grinned.

"Jesus Christ, Uma...you cannot say that...that is so fuckin' crude..."

"I just did. I don't give a shit, me." I threw my head back and laughed. He hit delete and changed what I put. I hit delete and corrected his spelling.

"You know, you can't even spell when you speak, never mind when you type," I observed.

"Fuckin' A. And you know something else, baby...you can't talk when you fuck. No wonder we all like to keep you at it," he added with an indecently wicked smirk.

I pulled out my tongue at him. "You're not mad at me anymore, are you, Bud? You know...not only can you not spell, you can't stay angry when you've come either. You've no blood left to get up. I have found your secret weakness. Your Achilles heel. It's like Samson without his long hair."

Bud looked unconvinced. "Me and every other fuckin' guy in the world..."

"Au contraire, Bud, my boy. The rest go to sleep to avoid discovery. You, however, stay awake and turn into Mr. Confidential. No wonder the girls love you..."

"Thought that was a minus point?" He asked, confused, not for the first time, by my logic.

"Bud, you have no minus points. Just one big plus." I raised my eyebrows saucily and gave his groin a squeeze. He removed my hands with a shake of his head, his disapproving face on. I love it when he does that.

We settled down on the large couch and I switched on the TV. He has such a wonderful body to cuddle up to. The news had never been so much fun, even though I had to put up with his usual complaints of "Can't these fuckin' dicks get the fuckin' plums out of their fuckin' mouths?" And "More fuckin' rugby? They ain't even gonna give the NFL scores?" Jesus fucking Christ who the fuck cares about fuckin' cricket... Can't we have any real news?" I think he puts it on for my benefit. I just lie there and giggle hysterically and say "Bud...say fuck again...go on...do it again...do it again!!" I laughed so much that I thought I was going to throw up. I have such fun with Bud White, Bad Ass Cop and Scaredy Cat.

The next morning we were having breakfast. Bud was his usual talkative self, slumped behind a newspaper, I began to clear up and suddenly shouted out loud; he looked up.

"I broke a nail," I shrugged. "This drawer is so stiff...it's been like that since we moved in and I keep telling Terry..."

"Let me have a look," he responded, putting down the paper and sauntering over to have a look. He asked for a screwdriver. It was running smoothly in seconds.

"Fantastic, Bud. Terry's hopeless. He says he'll get to it but he never does. And the bloody rugby has kept him on his back all month..."

Bud shook his head. "Anything else I can do while I'm here?" He seemed to be amused; no doubt the idea that Mr. International Fixit did not seem to apply the same rules to his personal life gave him a sense of superiority. Can you imagine Bud letting Darcy wield a screwdriver in their house? But I am not one to turn down an offer of aid and Bud looked so hunky in his jeans and vest doing the odd job man routine. It was like a perve's dream as he stretched up to put in light bulbs, wriggled under a sink to tighten a stop cock, hefted a drill to put up paintings and hoisted empty crates and things I didn't need into the attic. I kept him at it all morning, plying him with coffee and exclamations of "Oh Bud, you are so strong," or "How did you manage that so quickly?" and other signs of my abject devotion. By the time he had finished, carried out the trash and sorted out the window screen wiper on my car that was a bit scratchy, he was pleased with himself and I was in love again. You know how I am. I very nearly cooed.