ukeweld, from Old French cucuault, from cucu cuckoo; perhaps an allusion to the parasitic cuckoos that lay their eggs in the nests of other birds

There was a lively discussion on a site about cuckolding and the more of that discussion I read, the more it became clear to me that a lot of people don’t really understand what it is about and have no real knowledge of the lifestyle or the dynamics within.

Cuckolding, unfortunately, is often thought of in very narrow terms, namely as a husband watching his wife having sex with another man, and in porn this appears to be about the only interpretation of the term. But this is so limited and to me misses the central essence of cuckolding, which is much more about power, control and humiliation than about sex and once that is grasped it becomes obvious that there are a thousand ways it can be played. And ‘play’ is an important word here.

I really think it’s unfortunate that cuckolding gets defined so simply as watching your partner have sex. It’s not just about watching, indeed some of the best cuckolding scenarios are all about the husband NOT watching or NOT being able to watch his wife. It’s much more of a mental game. Cuckolding is a spectrum covering such a wide variety of scenarios and ideas and behaviours that’s it is almost as varied as sex itself.

The spectrum covers everything from very mild teasing through to much more kinky things with quite deep degradation like cleaning up, feminization and even making the husband a bisexual sex object for another man. To be clear, although I (or we) have done a lot of cuck related things and the things we do and have done has evolved and shifted over the years, there are many, many cuck practices which we have not tried and not wanted to try, and I’ll mention a few of these later. But my view is that teasing and humiliation lie at the centre of most, if not all, these practices.

If I had one key piece of advice for those looking to embrace a cuckold lifestyle it would be this: make sure what you do is for both of you. I as the woman must want to do the things I do, I must enjoy them and get aroused by them, including humiliating my husband. But equally, of course, I’m looking to press his buttons, to turn him on, to turn some of his fantasies into reality. Naturally, part of this, for us at least, is pushing past his imagined boundaries, making him feel uncomfortable, getting to the point where he’s saying “I’m not sure. Do you really want to do that?” but it’s not about me taking my pleasures, my way and ignoring his wants and desires.

And having said I have one key piece of advice, here’s another: the imagination is more powerful than reality. It took us time to fully recognise and accept this, so when we started a lot of it was about him watching me playing with another man but over time we came to realise it was much more powerful if he could imagine all the things I might be doing with another man (but probably am not). So, for example, him dropping me off at a man’s house or a hotel and then going home and thinking about what I am up to was way more powerful than him simply watching me, so when I got back he’d be dribbling pre cum from his dick and hardly able to get in me before releasing all that pent up spunk. And sometimes I’d play on that and as we had sex – often multiple times – I’d exaggerate and embellish what I’d been up to or add little twists such as “He says he wants to bring a friend along next time. Are you okay with that?” This would almost immediately have him losing it and spunking in me again.

I’ll give you another great example. I’ve always had a very big thing about black men and years ago I discovered a club based in Wandsworth which is not far from where we then lived called “Black Lust” and which described itself as “a club for white women who wish to meet black men”. So of course, I had to go and I told my husband that he wouldn’t be allowed in as he is not black. Before my first visit I bought an extra-large box of twelve condoms and I “accidentally” let my husband see me placing the box in my handbag before we set off for the club. He drove me there, dropped me off and waited for my call to tell him to come and collect me afterwards. When we got back I was pulling things from my handbag looking for my keys and somehow, “accidentally” he saw that there were only 5 condoms left in the box. What he didn’t know was that I had removed 7 and hidden these but as far as he was concerned, I’d either had sex seven times with a total stranger at the club or I’d had sex with seven strangers or some combination thereof, whereas in fact I didn’t have sex with anyone that night (although I had done a bit of ‘deep throat’). But with his imagination running riot we had some of the best sex ever for the next week or so before I confessed and told him the truth. You see – the imagination is a very powerful erotic tool.

So let’s get into some of the cuckold practises, some we have done and some we haven’t, but I know others have, and I will mention each type as I go through this. This is by no means exhaustive, merely a few things we’ve deployed and some we’ve consciously avoided.

One of the easiest and most common is to have the husband help pick out the outfit his wife will wear for a date and this is one we did a lot and he helped me make sure the seams of my stockings was straight and even do up the straps of my stilettos or kneel before me and do the catch on my ankle chain.

Another obvious one is for the husband to drive his wife to meet her date and perhaps collect her afterwards (assuming she actually comes home that night) and again this is something we have done a lot and still do and as well as being part of the erotic humiliation it is also very practical because it means I can drink as much as I want but know I will get home safely afterwards.

My husband and I discovered that him knowing, perhaps being able to hear but not see was even more exciting for both of us than me just having sex in front of him. For example, I sat him outside our living room, with the windows open but curtains pulled while I had sex and of course in these situations, I always like to make it noisy, moaning loudly, shouting how I want to be pumped full of spunk, urging my partner on. Another obvious trick we have used many, many times is for John to be sat in an adjoining room while I’m being ‘serviced’ next door. Handcuffed to a chair and blindfolded so he can hear but not see or even touch himself is a variation we have tried, although not one we have used very often.

The phone is an important tool in our cuck lifestyle. For example, I used to work for a man who really enjoyed phoning my husband and taunting him, letting him listen as I was on my knees sucking him off. My husband even wrote a short piece about this for my blog, so you can read some of the filthy details here: https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2020/07/25/husband-gets-a-call/

When I found a lovely big black stud who has been my regular sex partner since, I thought it would be fun to phone my husband and let him listen while I was being fucked senseless by this brute of a man but our first few attempts at this were unsuccessful, because although I placed my phone on the floor before going on all fours, he found the sound was very unclear and often cut out. I was ready to give up on this but he wasn’t and he bought me a small Bluetooth headset and that did the trick. Now he can listen to me moaning and even yelping a little when the 10.5 inches of very thick black cock is first rammed into me by the stud or listen as I slobber and gag on it and he claims he can even hear me gulping down the spunk when that cock explodes the fountain of cum in my mouth. I don’t phone him very often, as I think rationing his experiences heightens them or, rather, too much repetition can dull the pleasure gained but I know he finds those calls amongst the best experiences he’s ever had.

Of course, being descriptive after a sex session is important. In the past, when I’d get back from a night out or a date, we’d have sex and as he rode me, I’ll tell him all the filthy things I’d been up to. Naturally, there was sometimes a bit of exaggeration involved – his cock was massive, there was so much spunk – but he loved hearing as much detail as possible, even asking me what I wore for my date, even though I’d be there on all fours in the same outfit! Of course, what added enormously to his arousal was the fact that I normally enjoyed sex bareback and so he’d be going into me and feeling all my lover’s cum oozing out of my sopping wet pussy.

Sometimes when I was feeling especially cruel, I’d belittle him when we had sex after I’d been fucked by someone else. I’d ask, “Are you in yet?” or “Have you slipped out again?” and I’d act bored and say, “Can you just get this over with? or “Can you hurry up?” or even “I can’t feel anything.”

However, the very reverse approach can work too. They say you have to be cruel to be kind but the opposite can be true as well. For example, I will sometimes say to him things like, “I know you’re doing your best” and “It’s not your fault” or “I know you can’t get fully hard these days, but you shouldn’t blame yourself.” Me being kind to him, or at least appearing to be so, can be very humiliating for him.

Over time our relationship changed and once I decided to deny him full sex completely (and not long after banned oral too) that really upped the humiliation aspect, so while I gave him ‘hand relief’ I’d tell him his cock is too small to ever satisfy me, that my lover is so much bigger, how he stretches me, the way he floods me with his sperm and so forth.

A very important aspect of a cuckold lifestyle can be public humiliation. There are almost limitless ways from very simple through to elaborate means of letting the world know that a husband is a pathetic cuck. Let’s begin with simple: wearing an ankle chain with a ‘Queen of Spades’ symbol on it is something I’ve only started doing in recent years, but when I’m out with my husband it’s a very obvious way for me to signal to the world that’s he’s not able to satisfy my sexual desires and needs and it sometimes generates enquiries from curious men and women too, when we visit pubs and those questions are a glorious opportunity to tell people that hubby’s not up to it and that I do indeed have a deep and long standing desire for black cock. One man we chatted to for quite some time in a pub asked the question: if you love black men so much, why is it that you married a white man? I told him my husband earns a high salary, so I married him to use him as my personal ATM but on the clear understanding I could have as much cock, including black, as I wanted. Watching my husband’s face as he listened to me describing him as a sexually inadequate human cash machine was wonderful!

One spin on this is I’ve also recently been wearing a key on the chain, which many interpret as meaning he is locked in chastity. In reality, he’s not and it’s not something which has ever appealed to either of us and the truth is the key belongs to a fan of mine who is locked up who pays a monthly fee for me to keep and wear it but if people look and assume his little cock is in a cage, well, I don’t mind their misapprehension.

More elaborate public humiliation includes telling my husband to sit in a bar or restaurant while I’m on a date. In one of my videos while I am masturbating him you can hear me asking if he has any objection to me going on a date with a young man and when he quizzes me about what I plan to do, I tell him that I will probably take the lad into the pub toilets and suck him off. But then I ask if he would like to come along and sit in the pub sipping his pint and watch the two of us together. We followed through on this idea and as I returned to my seat from the toilets, I looked across at my husband and ran my tongue over my lips, which is our signal that I’d just completed a full cum in mouth service and swallowed my date’s sperm and ejaculate.

We ramped this up, just once, many years ago, shortly after we married. I had a thing going with a gorgeous black guy at work who just happened to possess the biggest cock I have ever seen in my entire life and oh so, so thick too. We went to a restaurant and my outfit was very OTT: mini skirt, seamed stockings, five-inch heels, a black PVC quarter cup bra under a fairly sheer while blouse and I’d piled the make up on, so not to put too fine a point on it I looked like a tart. My colleague was, as I’d requested, wearing very tight leather trousers and no underpants and his hard cock was visible as it swollen length was halfway down to his knee.

My husband was sat at another table watching as I stroked that cock under the leather and my date felt my suspender straps and stockings tops and even pushed my skirt up my legs, so I was displaying some creamy white thigh.  When the waiter took our order, I told him what I wanted and said, “And my boyfriend will have the same”, establishing the relationship in the waiter’s mind and he seemed amused as he saw my hand run up and down the leather trouser leg. When we’d finished and he brought the bill I said, “Oh could you give that to my husband over there. He’s paying this.” That was a blast. I should do that one again.

Getting him to pay for items a boyfriend has asked me to wear or even booking a hotel room is a variation on this theme we’ve done many times. At one time I had a bit of a Dominatrix thing going with a submissive and he asked me to get a dressage whip for our sessions, so when I went to an equestrian centre near Epsom to purchase it, I brought my husband and insisted he paid for it. I’m sure the girl who served us – as we’d explained the whip wasn’t for any equestrian discipline but for domination whipping – must have assumed it would be his backside feeling the impact of that vicious bit of equipment.

Another great idea I’ve heard of but not actually done myself, is to get the cuck to wash the bull’s car while he’s in couple’s house ‘servicing’ the wife. Can you imagine when a neighbour goes past and asks, “Oh is this a new car?” and the cuck either must come up with some implausible bullshit or admit he’s washing his wife’s boyfriend’s car while she’s being fucked!

Why would I ever NOT want this?

I’m going to get onto things which can be part of a cuck life but which simply don’t appeal to us and which we’ve never done in a moment but before that I need to cover one which is a very common theme and which I have been asked about countless times. It’s something which we have done only once and that’s cleaning up or licking out. We tried this when I had a bull who was an exceptionally heavy spunker and I’d been taunting my husband about this for a while. I don’t recall whether it was me or him who suggested we try this but we did it and, furthermore, we set up my camcorder so we could record the moment, thinking we’d enjoy watching it back later.

The bull placed me face down over our kitchen table while my husband sat in the lounge. As soon as he’d flooded me with a big load of thick, creamy spunk I shouted for John to come through and he immediately dropped between my legs and licked out the spunk. I’d love to say this was a spectacularly erotic experience, but when we discussed it later we both admitted it hadn’t really worked for us (although I will concede that seeing my bull’s semen smeared all over my husband’s face was rather nice) and so it’s one where we can say “tried it once.” He just didn’t especially enjoy it and I think the fact I’d just had an orgasm with my bull meant the physical sensation as he licked me out just felt a bit numb.

Our one and only ‘cleaning up’ experiment, captured on my video

However, we did a variation on that theme which worked really well (and again we video recorded this and it is available view in my collection, for those who access to my videos). I got a guy – a different one but also an impressive cummer – to take me from behind but with strict instructions to withdraw at the last moment and shoot his spunk up my back, which he did, very effectively, managing to shoot some up and over my PVC suspender belt. Then John was told to step in and his job was to rub his erection back and forth on my backside and my back until he also spunked up my back and on my belt. Believe me, it didn’t take him long to cum and he said after it had been extremely humiliating for him to have to use my lover’s semen as lubricating fluid on his cock and I loved his sense of humiliation and degradation that evening.

Then onto a few other common facets of some cuckold relationships which we’ve never done and which just do not appeal to either of us. There’s feminisation or sissyfication of the cuck. No thanks. There’s also forcing the cuckold into some form of bisexuality, like fluffing the stud so he can service the wife (again) or making him suck the bull’s cock clean after he’s been fucking the wife or even having the bull sodomise the cuck. I’m not saying these things are morally wrong – who am I to judge others? – I’m just saying I know John would point blank refuse anything of this nature and as they do nothing for me, why bother?

Each person and each situation is different and what works for me and for us may not work for you or for anyone else. But I would say the best thing I have done within our cuckold journey is to ban most forms of sexual pleasure with my husband but continue to enjoy them with other men. Over fifteen years ago I began to feel that having many different men in my life with whom I might ‘go all the way’ was getting too complicated and just didn’t suit my lifestyle anymore, so I set out to find the perfect bull with whom I could have a long term, although purely physical relationship. I’ve written about this elsewhere in this blog so won’t repeat that part of my story other than to say I knew what I wanted: black, athletic, well hung (thickness more than length although I got both, boy did I get both!) a very heavy cummer and he had to be really ‘into’ me enjoying the whole dressing up part of sex, especially stockings and high heels but also uniforms, PVC, leather and so forth.

“Paying” my builder for a job well done, and free of charge

Once I found my bull, I told my husband I would never have full sex with him again. Shortly after I told him that oral relief was also now off the table. This was especially humiliating for him because he knew I continued to occasionally give other men oral, including my boss at work. You might wonder why I did not ban all forms of sex but continued to provide him with hand relief. The simple answer if I didn’t think a complete ban was realistic and he had said if I went down that road he’d look elsewhere for his release so it was better to keep him within the fold, although I did prohibit him from masturbating himself, insisting that he preserve whatever little semen his pathetic body produces exclusively for me to release.

After all this description and analysis, I can imagine the majority of people, though not necessarily the majority of people reading this blog, might well be asking “Why do you do it?” of “Why do some people appear so attracted to the idea of cuckolding?”

I recently read an interesting review of a book called “The Intimate Animal” by Justin Garcia. In that book Garcia argues that because the period between conceiving a human child and it being able to fend for itself is very long, compared with other animals, mothers need support and form close bonds with others — especially the male parent — to lighten the load. However, he goes on to argue that the pattern of long-lasting relationships between two individuals has since outgrown that original function.

The primary argument of The Intimate Animal is that human relationships are defined by the conflict between these two initially complementary seeming instincts: intimacy and sex. “Humans are wired to be socially monogamous,” Garcia writes, “but we are not necessarily wired to be sexually monogamous. What this means is that our sexual impulses are often in direct opposition to our existential need for love and intimacy.”

And that rang a bell with me. I actually love my husband and we have been happy together for a very long time but I would argue that is not despite the fact that I been an unfaithful wife from the outset, a very highly sexed woman (as slut, some would say) who loves the variety and thrill of sex and sexual acts with other men but because of it.

I am not advocating for the cuckold lifestyle, and it is certainly not for everyone, I just know it has worked for John and me. And as we only have so may trips around the sun I do think life is too short not to orgasm every day that one can.

A friend sent me this AI generated image and asked ‘Could you write a story explaining what is going on here? Oh, and could you make it filthy?’ The answer to both questions is ‘yes’ but what follows is certainly a taboo subject so if you’re of a sensitive disposition, back up now and read something else.

Like any proud father, he thought his daughter looked more beautiful than ever on her wedding day. Certainly, the money he’d given Lucy to have her already naturally full breasts significantly enlarged to help with her modelling career had been money well spent. Unlike most fathers, however, he expressed his love for his daughter and his admiration for her beauty and her body in the manner which they had both enjoyed many, many times over the years.

Before she set off for the church, he bent her over, tugged down her knickers and began by roughly sodomising her, which made her yelp with pain, initially, but when he switched to her wet vagina she had an orgasm almost immediately yelling, “I love you daddy” and he responded with, “I love you Lucy” as he spurted inside her.

As he mopped his brow he said with a chuckle, “I hope I haven’t ruined your appetite for tonight or Greg will be disappointed.”  She laughed and said, “Don’t worry, daddy, I’ll be gagging for it again by then. This was just a snack before the main meal.”  

“Well, he’s in for a great night then, lucky sod.”

They both knew that what they did was wrong or, rather, that most people would think it wrong. But they loved one another, had always been close and had enjoyed the physical expression of their mutual love after the death of her mother brought them even closer together and since Lucy first developed into a beautiful young woman. They even made a joke of it when she wore a t-shirt with “Daddy’s Girl” emblazoned across the front of her enormous bust.

However, what her father did not know that day was that Lucy and Greg had already agreed that they should aim to start a family once married and so a month earlier she had stopped taking the pill. So, you can imagine the sudden shock Lucy felt a few weeks later when she felt sick and threw up while putting her make up on for a photo shoot. After a dash to the chemists the little blue line told her what she suspected and what should have been a moment of joy was dashed when she counted back the days and realized her pregnancy began around the time of the wedding. After all, she’d been wet and gagging for cock all that day and while at the time she put this down to the excitement of it being her big day, she knew she always felt incredibly, almost insatiably aroused when she was ovulating. That’s natures way of ensuring peak fertility is not wasted, she knew.

Naturally Greg was thrilled at the news and she didn’t share her worry. But when beautiful Connor was born, she immediately thought she saw the likeness and as time went by and the baby grew and his features developed it became more and more obvious to her and a paternity test only confirmed what she already knew: Connor was her son and her half-brother; and his grandad was also his father.

As time went by, Lucy became convinced that she could no longer keep the truth from Greg, particularly as members of the family had begun innocently to remark on the striking resemblance between her father and her son.

Eventually the burden of this secret became too much for her and so one evening she sat Greg down and told him the truth. As you would expect, he was appalled, shocked and disgusted by the revelation. He asked her to tell him that it had only been a one off, perhaps some drunken evening but she couldn’t lie to him any longer and told him the blunt truth, which was that she and her father had been intimate, regularly and for many years and the copulation in question had been on the morning of their wedding.

Greg switched tack: it wasn’t really her fault, her father must have abused her as a child, that was why she now thought of this sick relationship as if it were normal, they should go to the police, have him locked up. But again, she refused to lie and she told him that she after her mother died, she had comforted her father and it moved from cuddles and kisses to fondling and eventually when she recognised that he had a firm erection she had unzipped him and proved how adept she was at fellatio. Although she didn’t intend to rub salt in the wound, she said she physically enjoyed it more with her father than with any other man, ever, and that included Greg.

Not surprisingly, this was too much for Greg to accept and he moved into a nearby hotel for a few days. But he loved Lucy and he loved his son and didn’t want to lose either of them and so he came back to their home and told Lucy that he had to acknowledge that what was done, was done and there was no point now wrecking their marriage when this would change nothing and he said he would accept the situation and help bring Connor up as his own son but on one condition: that Lucy and her father must never engage again in the terrible things in which they had previously indulged.

He felt that this was extremely magnanimous on his part and so was shocked when Lucy refused point blank to make such a commitment and she told him that he must not try to force her to choose between him and her father because if he did he would find the true meaning of the expression ‘blood is thicker than water’ and that she could easily find another husband should she be pushed to do so. “I mean, look at these” she said looking down at her enormous bust, held upright under her tight sweater by a bra which was almost a piece of industrial engineering, such was the size and weight it supported.

Greg was once more appalled and disgusted because he now realised that his beautiful wife fully intended to continue to have regular sex not just with another man but with her own father. But the more he thought about it the more something began to trouble him even more and eventually he found the courage to tell Lucy that he had a secret of his own.

He began by admitting that he could not get the thought, the image of Lucy and her father having sex out of his mind, made worse by the fact that she had told him she regularly enjoyed anal sex with her father, something she’d never even suggested doing with Greg. But worst of all was each time he thought of it, he found himself becoming extremely aroused. In fact, so bad had that issue become that now he thought of nothing else while he and Lucy were making love. He said he thought it was imagining them together that accounted for this “problem” and he wondered if he could watch them together whether he might then be free from this torment.

Lucy tried not to laugh but she couldn’t help pointing out that he had always said his greatest fantasy was a threesome and how much he would love to watch Lucy enjoying sex with another man, so this was simply an even greater than normal taboo version of his fantasy.

But she admitted that her father was a kinky old devil, up for just about anything and she thought he’d leap at the chance to nail her while Greg watched them at it and she promised to organise this if he thought it would help.

What was meant to be a one-off piece of theatrical therapy for Greg proved so successful for all three of them that it became a regular, if unusual, family get together, as every couple of weeks they would book a babysitter and head over to her father’s house where he would give Lucy a good work out before taking a rest and handing over to Greg and then back to her father and so forth with only an occasional spit roast, as Lucy found it hard not to vocalise while she was on her hands and knees being fucked or sodomised by her dad.

As the saying goes, the family that plays together stays together. And they all lived happily ever after.

Well, they did until Connor was old enough to do ask questions and do some tests of his own.

A quick wrap up on the blog and other data: in 2025 I added 39 new posts during the year and there were 292,946 visitors, an increase of 34% (or a little over 74,000) from 2024.  The photos on my Flickr account have been viewed more than 20 million times, an astonishing number, to me at least. There are 104 videos of me ‘in action’ which I now only make available to those who have been kind enough to gift me a pair of stockings (FFNs, of course) and although I don’t have complete data for how many times they have been viewed  – and, I hope, wanked over – one popular one has gained over a quarter of a million views so if I was to guess I’d say something comfortably over one million views.

Thanks for all your support and comments during 2025 and a Happy New Year.

Having said I’d probably not blog again or not for a while, here I am again! But I thought I should alert those who do look at this blog to something which might be of interest.

For those who don’t know, SSSH (short for Seamed Stockings & Stiletto Heels) was a very popular organisation or members club devoted to this subject, which published newsletters, magazines and videos and held occasional events where members could get together.

I was an active member for many years and regularly featured in their newsletters and magazines and in one of their videos. It was run by Paul – a very good photographer – and Vanessa, who has the loveliest, longest legs you could wish to see and who featured in all their videos and magazines.

From time to time I chatted with both and got to know them quite well and was due to do a photoshoot with Paul when I found I was pregnant and it never happened. Sadly, Paul died very suddenly, and Vanessa decided to close SSSH.

I (with a bit of help) have gathered together all the SSSH newsletters I could find and compiled them as a PDF eBook. There are 109 editions within the eBook (only one is missing), amounting to a whopping 368 pages all packed with photos submitted by members or taken by Paul. As a rough estimate I think there are over 2,000 photos and they’re a rich mix of professional style shots and amateur submissions and even some art work.

Rather than let it sit on the electronic shelf, I thought we could make this fantastic, historically significant, publication available to all and raise some money for charity so I will send a copy to anyone donating £10 (or more, if you wish) and 100% of any money raised will go to charity.

If you would like a copy, please email me at emmainheels@gmx.com or just use PayPal using the same address to make payment and please send the money as a gift, so 100% will go to charity, without PayPal taking a slice. Please also let me know your email address if you make payment direct, so I can send you your own copy to enjoy.

I wanted to let you know that my most recent blog post, uploaded earlier today, may well be my last for some time or even simply the last. There are several reasons for this.

First, writing and composing the blog and selecting appropriate photographs to accompany each one does take quite a considerable amount of time, and I feel my time could be better spent on other things. Second, although I know a lot of people enjoy reading the blog (and I’ll come on to some of the statistics which prove this, below) the level of feedback in terms of comments or direct emails has been disappointing. Third, as I am now a lot less sexually active than I have been over the past 40 years or so, there is a lot less to say about current adventures and I have found myself delving more and more into the past in the blogs I have published recently, as you may well have noticed.

I recognise and appreciate that the number of people visiting the blog each day continues to be very strong and increases year on year. Last year the bog had 218,703 visits. This year, to the end of November, there have been over 270,000, an increase of 23%. If I extrapolate to the end of the year the total should be around 295,000, an increase of 35%.

Given this level of interest I have considered turning all 136 the blog posts into a single ebook, available for purchase and with all of the proceeds going to charity and this is something I might do in the future (and my thanks to David at SHQ for encouraging me to do this) but it would require a lot of editing to get it into a shape to make a coherent read, not least because much of the text refers to photographs in the blog which would not be reproduced in an ebook. If anyone fancies having a crack at turning the entirety of the blog into a single document, I am willing to consider this so please get in touch if you would like to do this.

By complete coincidence, my very first blog post was uploaded on the 30th of November 2018, exactly seven years ago to the day. I have enjoyed writing it and I have enjoyed the obvious pleasure it has given to many people. Thank you for your support and feedback over the past seven years and particular thanks to all those who have been kind enough to send me a gift of fully fashioned stockings (or in some cases, many pairs). I will continue to keep in touch with all those kind individuals, they will continue to have access to all of my videos as a small “thank you” and I will continue to do online chats with some of that group of people, who I consider to be my “in a circle”.

If it’s not too early to do so, I would like to end both wishing everyone a happy Christmas and a prosperous new year – may it be filled with orgasms a lot of spunk.

When I wrote a recent blog about attending Christmas parties ‘fully tackled up’ in the past I was tempted to write about Giles, as we had dinner shortly before Christmas on two occasions, but that blog was already getting too long and, in any case, I had dinner with him at other times in the year between those two dates.

Anyone sitting in the hotel restaurant where we met might have thought nothing of it, other than to note the considerable age difference, as he was mid 50s but looked older to be blunt (that rather florid face and jowls that suggests too much claret and brandy) and I was in m y early 20s. A father and daughter, perhaps or uncle and niece enjoying a convivial meal? Although if they looked closer, probably not, as Giles liked me to dress somewhere between a naughty schoolgirl and a sexy secretary and so for our meetings I always wore seamed stockings and stiletto heels and a black quarter cup bra beneath a fine white blouse, nipples pumped and hard, with slightly flared skirts, a little like a longer netball skirt. Perhaps other diners would think the boss and his secretary, having an affair but to be honest no one paid us much attention.

However, if they had got close enough to overhear our conversation they would have realised that things were rather different because Giles had a particular format which always applied, a sort of Q&A in which he would ask me a question I would give a very short, often one word reply and he would comment about that and then ask his next question.

Obviously, this was a very long time ago and over the course of the five or six dinners we had together he must have asked me hundreds of questions but I can remember many of them and so I can give you a flavour of how our little Q&A sessions went.

Do you deliberately display your large breasts in public so as to excite men?

Yes.

So, you admit that you are what is known as a prick teaser?

Yes.

That’s very wicked of you. Have you ever had sex with a married man?

Yes.

That’s reprehensible. Do you enjoy oral sex?

Yes.

Dirty girl. And do you spit or swallow?

Swallow.

Filthy. Have you ever had sex with more than one man in the same day?

Yes.

You really are a very naughty girl, aren’t you?

I suppose.

There’s no suppose about it. You were extremely naughty. Have you ever had sex in public?

Yes.

That’s risky. Do you always practise safe sex?

No.

You don’t always use condoms?

No, I prefer without.

That’s absolutely filthy and very risky, it’s girls like you that spread infection. Have you ever allowed a man to ejaculate on your face?

Yes.

Often?

Yes, quite often.

And you enjoy it?

Yes.

You really are a wanton slut, aren’t you?

If you say so.

I do say so. You can’t deny it. You’re dirty, a slut, and you need to be taught a lesson.

Yes. You will do that.

I will. Don’t you doubt it. You need correcting. Have you ever traded sexual favours an exchange for something from a man?

Yes.

Money?

Yes.

You’re a harlot.

And so it went on. On occasions there was a quasi-religious tone to his commentary. For example, when I answered one question in the negative but honestly he refused to believe me and said that if I wished to be forgiven for my sins and to achieve redemption I needed to be honest and confess to all the sinful things I had done.

As you might imagine this back and forth left him increasingly aroused and by the time the waiter was asking if he wanted a coffee or a Brandy he could barely contain himself but I have to be honest and acknowledge that I was also extremely turned on too, wet, nipples rock hard and ready for my orgasm because I knew what was about to follow and as I have explained in a previous blog post I was at this time very much into being spanked.

You can read that one here:

Moonglow

So at this point, we moved upstairs to his hotel room. He insisted I walk in front of him both so that he could get a good view of my seams and heels but also so as to shield him somewhat as he attempted to disguise his erection.

When we got do his room it was straight down to action. He sat on a sofa and pulled me over his knee, took down my knickers and began to spank me.

I should explain that when it comes to spanking there is spanking and then there is spanking, by which I mean in many cases it is rather performative and the man is aroused simply by the fact that he is able to slap a woman’s bottom. However, this was not the case with Giles. He spanked me so hard that his hand was almost as swollen and bruised as my buttocks. In fact, so much so that after our first spanking session I even suggested that he might like to wear a leather glove so as to protect his hand and allow him to spank me even harder and for longer but while he thanked me for the suggestion (which only served to further confirm to him that I was an experienced whore) he said he liked to feel his hand singing after a hard spanking session.

On the one hand, and in contrast to many of the other men with whom I had “punishment” sessions, Giles never showed any interest in caning, belting or whipping me. His sole focus was on spanking and only spanking. But on the other hand, this was the hardest spanking I ever received. He spanked me without stopping for about two or three minutes at a time, then he would pause and while rubbing my buttocks and ask me another question.

Did your father spank you?

No.

Well, there we have the problem. He should have done.

Did he ever see you going out dressed like harlot?

Yes, often

And he did nothing to stop you? It seems to me he liked seeing his daughter dressed like a whore.

No, that not true …

And then he’d start to spank me again, harder still for answering back and the pattern would be repeated again and again for about half an hour. When he was finished my backside was a bright deep red and very swollen and it would take at least a week for it to return to something like normal. He spanked me so hard that there were times when I tried to get him to stop, at least for a few moments but of course he was having nothing of this. On one occasion, when it was too much for me, I began reaching back with my hands to try and stop the blows but this only seemed to excite him even further. He started to talk about limits and thresholds and how it was only by pushing on through one’s own limits that one truly understood things and correction could be achieved and the moral compass reset or at least that’s what I think he said but I was in so much discomfort I didn’t really focus too much on his Babble I was just happy to have bought some time. It didn’t really work because he removed his tie and used it to tie my hands together behind my back and then went back to work on my backside and he clearly enjoyed listening to me howling in pain and sobbing, begging for his mercy but knowing there would be none. Of course, I had volunteered for this treatment and knew full well what to expect so my protestations, while genuine, also hollow.

With the spanking complete he placed me face down on the sofa and stood behind me. He unzipped his trousers and shortly after I felt his spunk splashing and dripping down onto my glowing buttocks and then he massaged it into the bruised and broken skin. Then, and as directed by me, he inserted two fingers inside me, noting how sopping wet I was by this point, and with his other hand grasped one of my nipples and pulled it hard. I had taught him that this was how I would almost instantly achieve my orgasm and I always did when we met.

Why did I do it? Looking back now I can see that it was clearly a phase I was going through, although it was a phase which lasted many, many years. For most of the time it was a relatively mild kink for me but there was a deeper phase, which I’ve written about in this blog before, where things became much more intense for me, to the point where I found it quite difficult to become fully aroused and to orgasm readily unless I was restrained or spanked or more or some combination of these things. And sometimes this was difficult to fully experience with boyfriends of my own age some of whom simply refused to play the way I wanted and so I tended to gravitate towards a much older set of men, men who were devoted to spanking and caning women (and to be blunt, men who were willing to pay quite considerable sums of money for the opportunity to indulge their fetish).

So, why did I stop? To be clear, I didn’t actually stop being handcuffed, spanked and so forth at least not until many years later when my much more dominated side emerged but I did move away from spending almost every weekend being severely spanked by men such as Giles. In fact, he was one of the people that made me realise I needed to get my spanking fetish under control or rather some of the things he said did so, because I began to think about limits and borders and about being taught a lesson and learning not to be such a dirty slut, so perhaps he was right that my father should have taught me some of those lessons when I was much younger.

Giles was extremely disappointed when I told him after our final hotel spanking session that it would be our last because I was the best subject he had ever met and he pleaded with me to carry on and promised less severe treatment if that was what I wanted but I knew that for him it was the severity of the spanking he delivered and seeing my buttocks bright red and turning purple by the time he had finished and his own hand glowing and swollen, I knew that was what did it for him and anything less would always be a disappointing compromise. In the end, he was very gracious and even generous to me. A gentleman, you might say, although one who loved to make women suffer and hear them howling with pain and sobbing for it to stop.

These two sets of photos (actually still frames from two of my videos) are the only ones in this blog post of me. In the first set I’m being spanked by my husband after he ‘caught’ me having sex with another man – we’d set it up so I would be caught and punished – and in the second set he is spanking me as he fucks me, as this brought me quickly to orgasm.

… for services to prostate health (and sperm destruction) …

After my last blog about prostate ‘flushing’ through ejaculation, I was asked how many hand ‘relief’ sessions I have delivered. The honest answer if that I don’t know exactly, although for a time I did keep a record each year, so I have some reasonable estimates.

I’m taking as the starting point for these calculation June 2010 as that’s when I really got ‘into’ the whole Masturbatrix thing. Of course I had given hand jobs before then, hundreds of times I would think, but it was from the middle of that year that I actively sought out opportunities to masturbate men, so I am only counting the last fifteen years or so.

Over those years I probably gave my husband ‘relief’ about 3 times a week and my boss 2 to 3 times a week, so I’ll take a conservative estimate of five times a week or 260 times a year. Now obviously I was also providing ‘relief’ to other men and as I said in my last blog, in 2018 I did over 300 and in 2019 I completed close to 400 so if the bottom end of a reasonable range is about 5 times a week, I’ll say the top end is about 7 times a week.

Doing some simple maths this means I was doing between 260 and about 360 hand relief sessions every year, which over15 years equates very roughly to between 4,000 and 5,500 cock milking sessions.

Speaking of milking, the average human ejaculation is about 5 milliliters, which means I have extracted about 1.3 to 1.8 litres of semen a year (or 2.3 to 3.2 pints if you prefer imperial measures). I actually believe it was much, much more because: (a) I asked the cock owners to abstain from ejaculation for as long as possible prior to their ‘relief’ and to edge themselves daily beforehand and my most regular ‘subjects’ – my husband and my boss – didn’t ejaculate at all between their ‘relief’ sessions and (b) I very much favour really heavy cummers, so many of the men I masturbated produced seminal volumes considerably greater than the average but, nevertheless, I’m sticking with the average to keep the numbers conservative.

Multiplying this up over 15 plus years means that I extracted, as a minimum, between 20 and 28 litres of semen or between 34 and 49 pints of spunk, or if you wish more than 6 gallons at the top of that range. Wow! I’d love to have even one gallon of spunk to play with right now!

Even more amazing is to think of the number of sperm I have removed while pursuing my hobby as a Masturbatrix. There is a very wide range for the estimated number of sperm in an average ejaculation but to keep things simple I’ve taken the middle of the range provided by the Open University (biology degree course) of 1.1 billion, which means that over the last 15 years or so I am responsible for extracting and destroying about 4 to 5.5 trillion sperm.

One can say each of those sperm was capable of fertilizing an egg and creating life, but I would argue that they were all worthless, served no useful purpose and it was much better to drain them from the cock owners and give those men intense pleasure, often the most intense they have ever experienced. In fact you might say I have been a noble charity worker and deserve to be beatified as a saint, although the image of a saint spattered with loads of spunk and with a big smile of her face is not one normally found in religious iconography.

Recently, a good friend of mine was diagnosed with prostate cancer and I have to say his condition is very serious as the cancer had spread before his diagnosis.

This has led me to do some reading about this very common condition. You may wonder what this has to do with a blog intended to describe the experiences and adventures of a highly (some would say overly) sexed woman. But bear with me, as there is a relevance and my reading has led to a change in my relationship with my husband.

In a landmark study, researchers at Harvard University followed over 30,000 men for nearly 20 years. They found that men who ejaculated more frequently, about 21 times a month or more, had up to a 33% lower risk of developing prostate cancer. One commentator said, “I know 21 times a month might sound like a high number, but for many, it’s a healthy and regular frequency”.

So, why does this work? The explanation is simple. Regular ejaculation acts like a cleanse for the prostate. Think of it as an internal cleanup. Each time you’re helping flush out old secretions, dead cells, and potential toxins that could build up in the gland and cause inflammation or damage over time. The Harvard study concluded that the health benefit lies in the frequency of ejaculation itself, whether with a partner or through masturbation. Of course, you will know from my blog that I don’t see those two as mutually exclusive, as I enjoy masturbating my husband and other men.

The beauty of this method is that it works naturally without the need for medications. To be clear regular ejaculation is not intended to negate the value of a PSA test and digital rectal exams when appropriate and of course you should never ignore symptoms and should consult a GP if in any doubt at all.

How does this link to this blog and to how I now treat my husband?  As I have said many times before, I truly enjoy masturbating men. I have done it thousands of times with dozens and dozens of men, and I always get a thrill from giving a man “hand relief” and I believe that I am extremely good at it almost intuitively, but also as a result of so much practice. I have even described myself as a ‘Masturbatrix’ or a ‘relief worker’.

I also love seeing a lot of seminal fluid flying or flowing from a nice hard cock and I enjoy being splattered with lots of spunk (I don’t really know why this is but I just accept it is how I feel, just as I don’t know why I prefer one colour over another but I do) and with this in mind I would ask men to abstain if possible before a relief session and to edge themselves frequently before our appointment, so as to increase both the volume and the power of their ejaculation. However, I now realise that at least for older gentlemen this may have been a mistake if it was building up cells which ought to be removed, flushed out (albeit I certainly then removed every last drop during our sessions) so in future I will suggest less delay and accept lower volume and less powerful ejaculations.

How then does this relate to my husband? Again, if you’ve been reading this blog, you probably know we have an unusual sex life together but as there are now 133 posts here I know it can be hard for newer visitors to navigate to specific ones so I will briefly explain our situation.

Some years ago, I gave up my more promiscuous lifestyle and found a single black man to be my regular sexual partner. At the same time and wishing to ramp up the humiliation for my cuckold husband, I banned full sexual intercourse for him and told him he’d need to be content with just oral and hand relief. A little later I also stopped giving him oral sex as I realised it would deepen his humiliation still further knowing that while he would never again put his penis in my mouth I would quite happily get down on my knees before other men and give them glorious, sloppy, deep throat blow jobs and swallow all the ejaculate they had to offer.

Once his only form of sexual pleasure with me was though ‘hand relief’ I decided to impose one further restriction, which was to ban him from masturbating. In other words, the only way in which he could experience any form of climax was by my own hands alone (eventually, always gloved, so I could honestly say I’d not even touched his penis for years). Now, I know you are asking yourself, how on earth could I prevent my husband from masturbating and that is a good question but I was usually able to tell when he had ‘cheated’ on me this way and when I suspected this I imposed a hand relief ban of a week or more and he would be reduced to begging me for my service and so learnt to do as he was told. Now he was completely under my control and would do almost anything I asked in exchange for ‘relief’.

I went through a phase of doing a lot of relief sessions. In addition to my husband I was working for a man for whom I had promised relief each time I went into the office (about two or three times a week, on average) and I did (and still do) some ‘cheeky barter’ where tradesmen I had found willing to do jobs for me without any cash changing hands but with ‘hand relief’ as ‘payment’ and, later, I did some ad hoc work for a man who operates a used luxury and classic car business and some of his best clients discovered that in the right circumstances, a ‘test drive’ could include some road side ‘relief’ too. And of course, I occasionally met up with a select number of my admirers either for straight relief or for photos followed by sperm extraction.

In fact, I became such a prolific Masturbatrix I even set myself a numerical target. After exceeding three hundred in 2018 I set myself a target to deliver four hundred relief sessions in 2019 and although I didn’t quite get there, I get close enough, averaging more than one per day throughout the year and I was proud of that. 2020 looked even more promising but then Covid struck and along with many other plans, that one went out of the window.

My husband was pressing me to turn professional: offer it as a service, with price being the only determinant of who was selected for milking. He might later come to regret this suggestion, as you will see. However, I did consider it for a time because I was loving not only the act itself but the whole scenario including the dressing up part: what outfit did the cock owner want, what uniform to wear today and so forth and as there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men asking if a relief session might be possible, I knew there was considerable demand and excellent money to be made doing something I really enjoyed. We even went so far as to look at premises (a clinic which had previously been occupied by a podiatrist) with an outline plan that I would work there two days a week seeing five or six ‘clients’ each day. My husband loved the idea of me coming home from work absolutely splattered with loads of spunk, my ‘Miss Massage’ overall soaked and needing him to take it off me and washing and ironing it for my next shift! It didn’t happen, as the landlord decided he wanted rent for each week in full and anyway I got cold feet about what was really a hobby of mine becoming a job instead.

But as my husband pressed more and more for me to turn my fun hobby into lucrative work I turned the table on him and said if he considered me to be a sex worker, I would now treat him like any other ‘punter’. From that point on, I insisted if he wated ‘relief’ he had to book an appointment with me and he had to pay me in cash. Initially I charged £100 per session (that was with a substantial loyalty discount), which I subsequently increased to £150 (‘cost of living crisis, darling, haven’t you heard?’) but later agreed he could obtain ‘relief’ even without an appointment but only with a fee supplement of £50, meaning if he felt the horn and needed to cum he had to pay me £200.

I know by now you must be feeling sorry for him and thinking what kind of a bitch charges her husband a fee for sexual pleasure and treats him as if he is some anonymous client. And you’re right, it is odd, I’ll admit. But ask him and he will tell you that when I get back from my sex partner’s house and wrap my gloved hand around his cock and, as I slowly stroke him to climax, mock his little cock and complain about how his ejaculation is now no more that “a pathetic dribble” and describe the tremendous sex I’ve just enjoyed and how I have been stretched and pounded and pumped full of spunk by my black stud, he will tell you it’ s the best feeling in the world and worth all the money he possesses.

Why is any of this relevant to where we began, thinking about prostate health and its opposite? Because having done my research, I have completely changed the arrangement with my husband. Rather than ration him, rather than make him book an appointment with me and pay to play and rather than forbid him from masturbating, we have a new agreement. He still has to pay me as I don’t believe in granting him freebies and any way he enjoys the idea that I’m just like a regular whore but now he pays £2,000 a month and in return I give him gloved hand relief when ever he asks for it, with a minimum of 20 times a month capped at a maximum of 25 times and he is permitted to masturbate on any of the days when I’m not servicing him, so his prostate is flushed out almost every day.

Of course with this new level of frequency I could spend much of my days getting dressed up for him, doing my make up and then giving long, slow stroking to climax sessions and I’m not prepared to do that so instead he has accepted that there will be more fast and brutal hand action, in which my aim will be to pump him dry as quickly as possible and then get back to other tasks or watching TV etc. In fact, one method we have found works well is that we put some of my videos on the TV or my computer and as we watch some and discuss them, I work his cock hard with my hand and he seems to cum very quickly this way.

I know this blog has become far too long, so let me get back to the central message. It is healthy for you to ejaculate frequently. Daily or more if you can. And it may be unhealthy to abstain, even though I know this intensifies the sensation and gives bigger and more powerful ejaculations. I hope my photos may give you the material you need for daily ejaculation, but I cannot recommend my videos strongly enough for this purpose. There are 104 to view, so many hours or even weeks of stimulation and in exactly half of them (by chance I might add) I am filmed providing hand relief, almost always in seamed stockings, high heels, boots, uniforms, leather, PVC etc. Yes, you need to gift me some stockings to gain access if you have not already done so but I am so certain you will find great value in them that if you obtain access and decide they’re not enough for you and you let me know this within 24 hours, I will refund the cost of the stockings, so you simply cannot lose!

But most importantly, please ask a lady for some hand relief or get wanking and flush your prostate for a longer and healthier life!!!

Here is a little clip from one of my videos, showing me flushing a prostate gland …

In my last blog I described going to an office Christmas party with a very young man who had a passion for much older women wearing stockings and heels (hence why I was invited to be there) and he told me an interesting story about meeting a much older lady in a pub and over time becoming more than friends with her.

I was going to recount what he told me in the previous blog but it would have become too long and taken us away from the theme of that blog, which was about going to Christmas parties and getting down on my knees and fellating my host (and sometimes others!).

This was his experience with that woman. He was in a pub near Oxford Street in London with a friend for a lunchtime drink and as they were getting to leave, and he went to get his card from behind the bar a lady walked in by herself.  She was in her mid-to-late 50s, he thought, quite heavily made up and he later noted she was reasonably ‘chesty’ and she was in quite high heels.

As he stood at the bar, she turned to him and said she felt a bit self-conscious about being in a pub having a drink on her own. He said he would be happy to have a drink with her if she felt more comfortable and so they sat together and chatted. She was there for a beauty treatment nearby which someone had given her as a gift and she’d arrived very early, hence the pub visit. The gift had been intended to cheer her up as she was having a bad time due to a messy divorce.

They got on well, had another drink and when it was time for her to go, he said he’d like to see her again and asked for her phone number and he said she seemed intrigued by his interest and after some hesitation, she gave it to him.

Thereafter they spoke on the phone a few times. He said at first, she was a bit hesitant, cautious as he pressed her to meet him again and eventually, she asked why he was interested in her, so he explained his considerable attraction to good looking, mature women and he told her he thought she was very sexy. However, still she didn’t agree to meet again but on another call she asked what else he found attractive in women, other than their age (which I thought was a good question), so he confessed his almost obsessive interest in women wearing stockings and heels and asked if she ever wore them.  She said yes, of course on occasions, parties, date nights, special occasions like weddings and so forth. She asked him “If I meet you again, am I expected to wear them?” and he had the presence of mind to assure her this was not the case, that he’d just be happy to see her again and continue their chat.

They met again in the same pub and after a while she lifted one of his hands and placed it on her thigh and he felt the suspender belt straps – she was wearing fishnet stockings and high heel boots. He raised the idea of being useful or serving her and she liked the idea and a few weeks later he visited her house and did a few jobs for her, cleaning, fixed some lights and so forth. She was wearing stockings and boots again and he loved it when she stood over him and told him what she wanted doing next. When all the little jobs were done, she told him she had one more task for him to perform, took him upstairs to her bedroom, took off her knickers and went on all fours on the bed and told him she wanted ‘servicing’.

This became their thing for some months, always with a bit of mild domination to begin with and then up to the bedroom for sex and he said she was incredibly sexy, always ready for it and it was one of his best experiences. However, she called a stop when she patched things up with her husband and he moved back into their home, and my friend never saw her again.

I was fascinated by his experience and let him tell his story more or less as I have just summarized it. When he finished, I asked if he was looking for a similar arrangement with me and, not surprisingly, he said this would be a dream come true for him. I quickly put him right on one point: that there was no question of my having full penetration sex with him and I explained the arrangement I have with my boyfriend/sex partner (aka the Black Stud). But I also assured him that I would have no problem in providing a young man like him with “hand relief” and to reinforce the point, I managed to find a quiet room at the party venue and invited him to join me there. There was no lock on the door but we rested one of the tables being stored there against the door and it felt secure enough for him to drop his trousers and for me to get to work extracting his sperm and semen.

Subsequently we did discuss whether he might come to my house to do some jobs for me, accepting ‘relief’ as a form of payment and perhaps me giving him a taste of my riding crop, cane or bull whip but I think my interest in punishing him, with a bit of whipping and kicking may have put him off as, for whatever reason, this never happened and I’ve not seen him since that Christmas party.

Although I won’t be doing much if any of this sort of thing this year, in the past I was frequently invited to Christmas parties by some of my more ardent admirers and I enjoyed attending some of these. The type of party varied considerably, from your regular office Christmas bash which I attended as the ‘plus one’ companion to events at ‘swingers or ‘couples’ clubs and, a few times, at fetish clubs in London. The only constant was that I would always be asked to wear a suspender belt, my ‘signature’ fully fashioned stockings and some very high heels (or boots).

I went to one office party with a very young admirer and as all the staff from his office were there, my outfit needed to be at the more subdued end of the scale of possibilities but as you can see from these photos I did wear seams and heels and I managed to allow a few wrinkles to develop in my nylons as I knew he really liked this little detail.

I have to say it was a great party, no expense spared, including limitless Champagne and he was a lovely, polite host. Given our age gap – I was more than twice his age and old enough to be his mother – I did wonder if he might feel a little self-conscious about bringing me as his ‘plus one’ and whether his colleagues might think it rather odd. However, when I asked him about this he laughed and said he wasn’t worried, firstly because he thought I looked more than a decade younger than my actual age (such flattery will get a young man just about anywhere!) and, secondly, because his immediate colleagues and friends at work all knew that he has a strong preference for mature women.

He told me an interesting story about meeting a much older lady in a pub and over time becoming more than friends with her but as I’m trying to remain ‘on theme’ for once, I’ll recount his experience in a separate blog for you.

Of course, whether I was dressed appropriately for an office party or for one at a sex club, I would always be wearing a suspender belt and stockings and no stockings crazy man (i.e. about 99% of all men) can resist the arm around the waist to feel the outline of the belt and once on the dance floor I expected their hands all over my legs and thighs and to feel the lovely bulge in their trousers to be pressed against me. Given my figure and especially if I was wearing a ¼ cup bra or even no bra at all, there would be plenty of ‘above the waist’ action going on too but as my breasts and nipples are extremely sensitive, I’d usually make no effort to stop them giving them some attention too.

Another of my party outfits, which clearly showed the outline of my suspender belt

I used to go to a party each year with a man who liked to see me dancing with other men and he’d sit back and watch as I was being felt up on the dance floor and he even encouraged some of his friends to dance with me and explore my figure. More about him in a moment.

I have always been of the view that if I go on a date with a man and I dress provocatively – seamed stockings, high heels, maybe something which chimes with the description ‘busty’ – then it would be unfair and unreasonable to send them home hard, frustrated and dribbling pre-cum. These days I’m a bit less of a slut than I was in the past, so I tend towards offering ‘hand relief’ to deal with this issue in such situations, should it arise but in the past I was a prolific cock gobbler and to be honest, at times I used to think that any party which did not involve getting on my knees and taking it in the mouth didn’t feel like a real party at all. In fact, I used to sometimes say – half jokingly – that it’s not a real party unless I left with the taste of Champagne and sperm mingled in my mouth.

One of my more daring party outfits – it didn’t take long at this one before I was on my knees!

Naturally at some Christmas parties it wasn’t always easy to find a suitable private space for this (unless my host was staying at a hotel) and as well as spending quite a bit of time in the toilets (and here’s a quick tip: the disabled toilet is more often than not the one to go for) I found myself sucking off men in car parks, alley ways, bus shelters and even once under the flyover in Hammersmith.

No such problem exists at the sex clubs however and getting down on my knees and slurping away on a big hard cock as people, gather around to watch has been a considerable pleasure for me in the past. At one club, they have a stage by the dance floor with a large throne style chair and on one occasion I popped my host down in that chair and ‘performed’ on stage, demonstrating my deep throat skills and as he was about to climax he pulled it out and unloaded on my face. It was an impressively large and thick load (presumably why he whipped it out, the show off!) and we gained a small round of applause. He was so pleased with himself for his Peter North style performance that he stopped me from licking off his spunk and instead walked around the club with me and even took me over to the bar, with my face splattered with his thick cum. What the barman made of this I don’t know but he served us two drinks without comment.

I mentioned earlier the man who liked to see me dancing and being felt up by other men. I went to a Christmas party at a sex club with him every year for five years and he always liked me to wear the tartiest of outfits possible – “the tartier the better” he said. One year he introduced me to a friend of his and encouraged us to have fun on the dance floor. Cutting the story short a little, this friend of his was overwhelmed with excitement and couldn’t keep his hands off me. It got a bit OTT and at one point he got his cock out and pulled my hand down to hold his erection. Then my host came over and whispered in my ear that he’d like to watch me suck his guy off before servicing him in the same way. I wasn’t too sure about this but after a bit of persuasion and negotiation I did it, first his friend while he sat watching and then him.

When I went to these parties, my husband knew what I was getting up to and not only fully approved but gave me carte blanch to do as I wished. As I’d often not return home until the early hours, he’d have gone to bed but our agreement was that I’d wake him and usually I’d be pretty drunk and I enjoyed describing in detail what I’d got up to that evening, and we’d often have terrific sex as I did so and, to be honest, by this point I would be gagging for it. But he often liked to start with oral, knowing that’s what I’d been doing a few hours earlier. He was incredibly excited when I told him about the double blow job at the club and naturally insisted I gave him the same service before he put me up on my hands and knees and gave me a seeing to while telling me what a dirty slut and a whore I was.

As we were about to fall asleep he asked me how it felt to have sperm from three different men in my stomach. I think he may have expected me to say I felt ashamed at my whorish behaviour and that I regretted gulping down three loads of spunk but I didn’t, so I told him how I honestly felt – fantastic. And I slept like a baby that night.