🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries Ep 12: The Remote-Control Disaster

Dear Diary (and nosy readers),

There are moments in a woman’s life when she should know better. Moments when she should pause, reflect, and think: Sue, darling, maybe this isn’t the night to insert a buzzing bullet into your bits and then attempt fine dining.

Spoiler alert: I did not have that moment.

The Gift of Buzz

It all started when Mark – the upstairs neighbour, part-time tormentor, and full-time bad influence, he showed up at my door with a smug grin and a suspicious-looking gift bag.

“Go on,” he said, plonking it into my hands. “Consider it a token of appreciation… for your services rendered.”

Now, if you think he means my world-class lasagne, you’re wrong. If you think he means Dan, my trusty vibrator, accidentally falling into his bath one Tuesday, you’re closer to the truth.

I peeked inside. A sleek, pink vibrator egg. With a remote. My eyes lit up. “Mark, you shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, I absolutely should,” he said, plucking the little black remote from the box and waving it like he’d just won the lottery. “And I intend to.”

The Set-Up

Fast forward an hour and I’m standing in front of the mirror, slipping into a red dress so tight it looked like it had been spray-painted on. The egg was already tucked snugly inside me – I figured I’d test-drive it at dinner. Self-control, after all, is the spice of life.

Dan, sulking from his drawer, practically radiated jealousy. I swear I heard him hum in protest. “Don’t pout, darling,” I told him. “You’ll always be my number one.”

Famous last words.

Breadsticks & Betrayal

We arrived at the restaurant – you know the type: dim lights, breadsticks that double as weapons, waiters who look like they’d rather be in Ibiza.

I was halfway through ordering sparkling water when I felt it. A tiny hum. A flutter. Right between my thighs.

My body jerked, and I nearly told the waiter to bring me seven orgasms instead of seven olives.

“Mark!” I hissed, clutching the menu like it was holy scripture.

He grinned, remote in hand. “What? Just warming up the starters.”

I snapped a breadstick in half. Snap. A man at the next table flinched.

Moans & Mains

I tried to stay calm. I tried to look elegant. Unfortunately, elegance is tricky when your neighbour-turned-sexual-saboteur is controlling your insides with the click of a button.

“Stop it,” I muttered.

“Why?” Mark smirked. “You look… lively.”

“I’ll lively your balls off if you don’t—oh GOD—stop.”

A waiter appeared just as the vibrations cranked up a notch. “Would madam like the chicken or the sea bass?”

“Yessss!” I blurted. “I mean… bass. Definitely the bass.”

He blinked. “Would you like a sauce?”

“More! Yes! Oh, sauce. Yes, plenty of that!”

Mark’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

The Toilet Tango

I attempted a strategic retreat. Standing up was mistake number one. My knees buckled, and I waddled towards the loo like a penguin who’d been out on the sherry.

In the corridor, the vibrations pulsed higher. I leaned against the wall, panting, praying no one walked by. Spoiler: someone did.

“Evening, Sue.”

It was Sharon – yes, the Sharon from Episode 9 with the Sybian weight-loss revelation.

She raised an eyebrow. “You look… flushed.”

“Detox,” I gasped. “Very intense. Sweats out the… toxins.”

Sharon smirked. “Sure it does.”

Dessert Disaster

I thought I’d regained some composure by dessert. Wrong. Mark must’ve been waiting for the chocolate mousse, because the second it landed on the table, he hit the final button.

It was like a tidal wave. A roaring, earth-shattering, leg-clenching explosion of sensation that left me gripping the edge of the table like I was riding out a hurricane.

“Ohhhhhh—” I moaned, slamming my hand on the table so hard a spoon flew into the air and landed in someone else’s wine glass.

The entire restaurant froze.

Mark leaned back casually, sipping his wine. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he deadpanned.

Public Performance

I couldn’t stop. Waves of ecstasy ripped through me. I tried to disguise one orgasm as a sneeze. “Ahhh-choo—ohhhhhhYES!” The couple next to us applauded.

An old lady muttered, “Well, she’s clearly enjoying the tiramisu.”

Someone else started a slow clap. By the time I collapsed into my chair, glowing, breathless, and sticky with spilled mousse, half the restaurant was cheering.

The Aftermath

“Mark,” I panted, “you are dead. Dead, do you hear me?”

He tucked the remote into his pocket. “Funny. You didn’t look dead a minute ago.”

I wanted to storm out in fury, but the truth was… I’d never been more turned on in my life. My thighs were jelly, my hair was wild, and my dress clung to me like a second skin. I looked like I’d been through a storm – a very sexy, vibrator-fuelled storm.

And I bloody loved it.

The Neighbours’ Gossip

The next morning, Mrs. Thompson from across the hall caught me on the stairs.

“Lovely dinner last night?” she asked sweetly.

I blinked. “How do you-”

She winked. “Word travels. Orgasms echo.”

Final Thoughts

So yes, dear diary, Episode 12 will forever be known as The Remote-Control Disaster.

Moral of the story? Never trust a man with batteries.

And always, always test-drive new toys at home.

A Note from Sue the Masseuse

💋 “Darling, why keep your body waiting? You’ve teased yourself long enough. Book your sensual massage with me and let those knots, cravings, and whispers of desire melt away under skilled hands that know exactly where to linger. Don’t make excuses – your body deserves more than promises. Slip into the indulgence you’ve been fantasising about… and let me take care of the rest.”

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