This is a slightly odd post, I know, as it’s really someone else’s story and one in which – as yet – I haven’t done anything of note. But bear with me, as it’s interestingly weird, I think.

I was invited to accompany a gentleman friend to a slightly odd lunch event, held just after Christmas. Each man was expected to bring a ‘glamorous’ lady companion and it seems that this was widely interpreted as meaning an escort, although one man I met there was with his secretary. Just so you have the idea, I’d agreed to wear the exact outfit you see in these photos – including the long gloves and ankle bracelet (save for the fact that I wore a ¼ cup bra and in the photos I’m wearing a white bullet bra).

My gentleman proudly introduced me to a number of other men there and he was fairly open in praising my “hand relief” skills and described me as “a Masturbatrix”, a few times and encouraged those I met to consider making their own arrangements to subsequently meet me, if they desired. And some did very much desire!

One gent who was particularly keen said he had a particular and probably rather peculiar request, which he hoped I would not find off-putting, if we did meet again at a later date. However, he seemed very reluctant to tell me what his particular ‘kink’ was, as he thought I might think him weird.

I joked that if he wanted me to use him as a toilet, the answer was most definitely ‘no’ but he said it was nothing like that, it was simply he’d want me to pretend to be someone else. Intrigued, I tried guessing – schoolgirl, nurse, a celebrity – but he shook his head. “My mother-in-law” he eventually said. He explained that for many years he has had a powerful erotic attraction to this woman and fantasises about her constantly.  I asked if she was aware of this obsession and he laughed a little and said she had died five years ago, yet he still thought about her constantly.

He went on to say that what makes his obsession particularly odd is that she didn’t like him – in fact, it seems she despised him, wished her daughter had never married him and took every opportunity to make her feelings clear. She said he was a waster who would never amount to anything. When in time he built a successful time-share and holiday rental business, she said this just proved he was a crook.

I asked if she had been a sexy lady. He began by saying she wore girdles and corselets and seeing her suspender straps under tight pencil skirts and dresses always greatly aroused him and that she had had a nice figure – big butt and bust is how he put it – but he didn’t think she was overtly sexy and that girdles were just what women wore when she was growing up and she was simply set in her ways and rather old fashioned.

Of course, he was delighted when I told him I have both a white and a black girdle and wear each from time to time and would be happy to do so if we met again or if he took me to a similar social event. And, naturally, he adored the suspender belt straps he could see before him, under my tight, wet-look party dress, which was one reason I had reminded him of Margaret, his mother-in-law, along with the big bust.

And that’s more or less how things were left: we exchanged details and I promised to consider meeting him while role playing his late mother-in-law. And I did want to think about it, as it just felt odd to me that he should be so powerfully aroused by a woman who had obviously disliked him so much and that I was being asked to play the role of a dead woman.

We exchanged some messages and then he told me that everything he had said at the lunch event was true but also incomplete. He’d held back an important detail, as he thought I might either not believe him or it would seem too strange and I would be shocked. I assured him I am pretty much shock proof and of course I was eager to hear this secret but he asked if he could tell me over a drink and so we met in London and after sharing a bottle of Champagne, he opened up about the missing piece of his story. This is what he told me.

When he married, they would alternate between his parents and his wife’s each Christmas. The first year after the wedding, his mother-in-law made clear her distaste for him and even told him to his face that she didn’t like the cashmere sweater he gave her on Christmas morning and suggested he take it back to the shop. Wrong colour, wrong style, wrong buttons, wrong everything.

In the evening, when everyone else had gone to bed, he found himself sat on the sofa next to her, as they finished watching a film on the TV. He said they’d both had a lot to drink and when she made another catty remark, he just told her the truth. He said he knew she didn’t like him, although he had no idea why but nevertheless, he found her an attractive woman and he confessed to his erotic attraction and that he even fantasised about her. He half expected her to slap him but she looked at him and said, “Go on”. So he confessed that this feeling was so powerful that on occasions, when making love to her daughter, he imagined it was her that he was fucking.

He expected her to storm out or slap him but instead she asked, “Are you aroused now?”. When he said he was, somewhat, she said “Show me”. He wasn’t sure what she meant, at first, but when she said, “Show me” and nodded at his crotch he understood. He asked, “Do you mean, get it out?” and she said “Yes. Show me”.

So he unzipped himself and pulled out his cock, at which point she grasped it and began to masturbate him. As she did, she insulted him: not even properly hard, stupid little willy, disgusting, sick, should be ashamed of himself, what would her daughter say … and so on until he gushed over her hand.

She said “There. Look at the mess you have made” and she got up, went into the kitchen and washed her hands and returned to the lounge only to say “I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”

The next day, nothing further was said and that was that, or so he thought. However, it wasn’t. On another occasion when they were otherwise alone at his in-laws, she suddenly said “Right, let’s get this over with” and unzipped him, gave him a rough and furious wank and then held her hand up to his face, his spunk trickling down her arm and said “Look at this disgusting mess” and walked off to wash her hands.

This then became a ‘thing’. He said it wasn’t frequent, as he didn’t see her often – five or six times a year – but each time she masturbated him. On one occasion he decided to see if it could become a regular pleasure and contrived to visit her with some plants for her garden, when he knew she’d be alone. When she opened the door her first words were “You’ve got a bloody nerve, coming here, unannounced” but a few minutes later he was gasping and spurting over her hand again. But when he asked if he could visit her again for more like this she told him no and if he did so she would not open the door to him, so that was the end of that possible avenue.

Nevertheless when I asked him how often she had masturbated him like this he said it must have been well over a hundred times, perhaps as many as two hundred as he’d been married for over thirty years when she died and pretty much each time they met she’d wank him off. He mentioned doing it in her kitchen, in the garden, a church yard and even his car, as places where she’d extracted his seed.

A couple of little details he told me intrigued me. When he ejaculated, she stopped pumping his cock almost immediately and would rush off to wash her hands, almost as if his semen was toxic, as if it genuinely disgusted her. There was no follow though or warming down, it was a case of bang, you’ve cum, now put it away. Another was that on occasions, she grabbed a tea towel and masturbated him onto that and then immediately threw it in the wash. After she’d tossed him off nothing would be said and she continued to let him know that she simply didn’t like or trust him, often ignoring him when he spoke or expressed an opinion about something. All very odd.  

That was his story and I now understood why he wanted a mature woman to replicate this experience for him. And so I told him that I am willing to give this fantasy of his a go. When I told him I though she sounded like she had been an absolute bitch he laughed and said, “That’s why I think you’ll be perfect.”

I will let you know how I get on.

Perhaps I should tell you a little more about humiliating my husband, which is something I really enjoy. In 2010 I informed him that I planned to find a younger black man to service me on a regular basis and that once I did I would no longer be willing to have sex with him. I was attending a club called “Black Lust” which was described as being “for white women wishing to meet black men”, so it didn’t take long and the ban was imposed and has remained in place ever since. I see my black stud once or twice a week and we have the most tremendous sex I’ve ever had, leaving me pounded, stretched, and flooded with his semen.

While I continued to give my husband oral on occasions, the focus switched to me giving him hand relief. After a time, I told him I was no longer willing to have his pathetic dick in my mouth. This was especially humiliating for him, as he knew I continued to give other men – including my boss – oral relief. Being denied a pleasure I give fairly freely to others was painful for him, much to my joy.

However, he enjoyed my hand skills and as he knew that very many men wished to have hand relief sessions with me he suggested I turn professional as a Masturbatrix, devoting one or two days a weeks to pleasuring fee paying clients. I took this as an opportunity to humiliate him further, so I said if this is what he wanted, he could become a client himself. Thereafter, I have made him book an appointment with me if he wants relief and I charge him a fee, albeit I fairly modest £100 per session, as a sort of loyalty discount. I also banned him from masturbating, so his only form of release now is by my gloved hands. I wear disposable latex or other gloves as I can now boast that I have not even touched his penis for some years.

Of course, as I am giving I him ‘relief’ I often take the opportunity to tell him how pathetic his dick is, as is his tiny dribble of semen, how worthless his sperm is and even how I wish I had never met him and had married a well hung black instead. I also describe the fun I have had masturbating and fellating other men and most of all taking by black stud’s massive, thick cock deep inside me during our fucking sessions.

He loves all this of course, the pathetic loser.

As readers of my blog will know, I enjoy giving men “hand relief”, so much so that I sometimes refer to myself as a Masturbatrix. But this wasn’t always the case, because although I wasn’t adverse to giving a man a quick hand job when circumstances required, I was much more likely to drop to my knees and bring them off with my mouth. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I was a prolific cocksucker and giver of blow jobs.

My penchant for oral probably began with my first proper sexual experience, the same day I acquired my first suspender belt and a pair of Aristoc Harmony Point fully fashioned (i.e. seamed) stockings, bought for me by a friend of my father’s and who I sucked off in the back seat of his car that evening, at the tender age of fourteen. When his cock exploded in my mouth and spurted five big gulps of semen into my young mouth, I was hooked. After that evening, and during the summer holidays, he would pop round to our house while my parents were out and I’d be ready for him in gym skirt, stockings and heels. I wasn’t ready for full sex, so I confined myself to blow jobs and he had no complaints about the service he received!

I’ve written elsewhere in this blog about how a couple of years later I found myself sucking off my headmaster. The version of that episode I posted here is somewhat fictionalised and meant to be humorous, but the event was real and although today people would say he abused his position and me for that matter, I’ve no complaints and I enjoyed it, although being caned was sometimes a bit too severe!!

One inevitable question I get asked is do you swallow and my answer is “hell yes”! I love the taste and texture of semen and I gulp it down with glee. Over the 46 years I have been regularly sucking guys off, I must have swallowed hundred perhaps many thousands of pints of semen. Indeed, I like it so much I encourage my men to abstain for as long as they can and to edge themselves before a fellatio session, as this tends to result in much more and much thicker semen.

However, I don’t always swallow. Here’s why. When I was eighteen I was looking through some porn magazines with a boyfriend, and saw some photos of a lady who had ejaculate all over her face and dripping down onto her breasts. I was fascinated! Up until then I’d never thought of taking a facial and no one had suggested I should but now I knew I wanted to. Fortunately, that boyfriend, who was only seventeen, had particularly good volume and a powerful ejaculation, so I suggested he masturbate onto my face, so I could be like the lady in the magazine. He was actually a little reluctant at first, as he said it might make me feel ‘degraded’ which was sweet of him but I told him not to be a pussy and to spunk on me, which he duly did. Suffice to say I got one of the biggest loads I’ve ever had and when I looked in the mirror (with one eye, as the other had a huge glob of spunk on my eye lid) I was stunned and excited, as it looked awesome!

From that day on, the first time I gave a man a blow job I would begin by giving them a choice: cum in my mouth and I’ll swallow all you can offer me; or withdraw and cum on my face and I’ll lick up as much as I can reach with fingers and tongue.

My husband always says that when we met I was ‘casual’ about blow jobs. What he means is that I had a view that if I went for a drink (or to a party or other social occasion) with a man and I went in full ‘gear’ – suspender belt, stockings (often seams but sometimes fishnet or lacy stockings), high heels, top or blouse showing of my tits etc, then I would expect them to be aroused and get hard and that, therefore, it would be unfair to expect them to go home in this state, so I would always offer some form of ‘relief’ even if it was only them wanking onto me in a bus shelter. But, more usually, I’d take them into the pub or restaurant toilets and suck them off. I felt it was almost an obligation on my part.

As you might imagine, I became very popular with the lads in the office where I worked in London and there was always someone who wanted to take me out for a drink. Fridays were always very boozy nights and I’d normally end up on my knees at some point in the evening, gulping down some guy’s seed. And at the staff Christmas party I pretty much had a queue of them waiting to have a dance and feel me up on the dance floor. When I left that company to join another, the lads in the office bought me a pair of knee pads as a ‘joke’ leaving gift, such was my reputation.

My husband has never forgotten (or stopped talking about) the first Christmas party I went to after we got married, when I returned home in the early hours, so drunk I could barely stand up in my heels and woke him up to declare “I’ve got spunk from two different men in my tummy and now I want yours”. He tells me – I don’t remember that much about this night – that although I could hardly walk and my speech was badly slurred, I gave him a very proficient blow job while he told me what a filthy slag I was. He says this was “muscle memory” because I’d already done thousands of blow jobs by this time, it was now almost automatic.

Before we married and occasionally thereafter, I did a bit of erotic modelling for amateur photographers who were usually stockings and heels fanatics, although big boobs and fetish gear were also sometimes themes. Again, I never thought it would be fair to send them packing when the photos were done without some form of ‘relief’. I’d got into what is sometimes called “wet modelling” which means the photographer or photographers are permitted to ejaculate on the model and will often take additional photos of the splattered woman. I really enjoyed having guys gush on me like this but from time to time more was requested and in the right circumstances I was happy to get on my knees and bring them off into my mouth – or over my face or tits if they preferred to end their blow job in this way.

I think many of my readers and admirers will know I’ve been into aspects of ‘cheeky barter’ for many, many years. Indeed, I have built up a reasonable list of men – mainly tradesmen like plumbers, electricians, builders etc but also some professionals such as accountants and the like – who are willing to trade work for sexual pleasure. These days it is pretty much entirely payment with hand relief but in the past I would often (perhaps I should say usually or almost always) offer oral relief in return for work done. Shortly before I married, we bought a modest house in Wimbledon and had a new kitchen installed. Naturally, we paid for the kitchen itself and all of the appliances but the fitter – an absolutely gorgeous black man, by the way – didn’t charge a penny for his labour. Instead, each evening when I returned from work, he’d be waiting for me and I’d give him a nice, sloppy, deep throat blow job. 

My willingness to dress up in the outfit of their choice and drop to my knees and swallow all they could offer became so well known amongst the tradesmen in our area that I began to receive direct approaches from men offering to do jobs for me free of charge and I even had one cheeky chap who knocked on our door and offered his services in return for mine. Another one who had done some work for me previously, even more cheekily, turned up to do a job accompanied by his young apprentice and suggested I should blow them both, one after the other. I thought that was a bit rude – what sort of girl did he think I was? – so he was dropped from the roster.

As you all know my useless husband has had the pleasure of watching me with other men. But if asked he would tell you that, for him, the ultimate sexual pleasure is watching me sucking another man off, or rather the crucial moment when a man starts to groan with pleasure, as his cock spurts into my mouth and he can see me gulping down their seed. Seeing me wearing a big smile with my thick, bright scarlet lipstick smeared all over my mouth and perhaps a string or two of semen dangling from my lips – he says it doesn’t get any better than that.

On a few occasions I’ve also had my boss and, previously, a local businessowner I used to see, phone him while I’ve been giving oral. My husband liked hearing me slobbering away and gagging on cock but he absolutely loved the moment when Chris, my boss, said he was about to ejaculate in my mouth and asked if that was OK.

This blog has already become far too long and I haven’t yet covered many topics and experiences I had which I could write about: for example a party where I did a lot of oral, the time my husband ‘caught’ me in the toilets at a swingers’ club, sucking off a black and also the subject of ‘forced oral’ (or oral rape) and also being throat fucked and the like. But time to draw this one to a close for now.

p.s. a quick plug for my videos: amongst the 104 available to view, there are many of me providing oral relief and in some I am wearing a clip on microphone, so you can hear me slobbering away on cock and in one I’m giving deep throat, so gagging and choking on a nice rock hard, thick cock being pushed down my throat. If you’d like access all I ask in return is a pair of fully fashioned stockings (using a simple online voucher, details of which I can explain if you’re interested).

We can probably all agree that charity is a good thing and so raising money for charities is also a good thing. But there are as many ways to raise money as there are charities, or so it seems. Some people do a sponsored walk, some bake cakes and others, mad souls that they are, choose to run a marathon or cycle from London to Brighton or from Lands End to John o’ Groats.

I’ve been asked to say a few words about a charity related lunch I attended. I’ll try to keep this brief (and by the way, this was many years ago).

I was one of several ladies asked to help at a charity lunch in London. I don’t remember the exact words but we were asked to dress ‘glamorously” or ‘sexily’ or something similar, as the idea was we would go to each table asking for cash donations (yes people carried cash back then!), soliciting bids for auction items and selling raffle tickets and it was mainly a business i.e. male audience.

I wore the tight dress you see in these photos with a very deep suspender belt, seamed stockings, high heels (and no bra!).

There was a lot of flirting and sexy banter as we extracted the donations and I probably got most attention because of my outfit. At one table a gent was about to put £5 in my cash bucket but said he’d increase that to £50 if I sat on his knee. Well, it was for charity (any excuse) so I was happy to oblige. He had a good feel of my suspender belt and straps under my dress and he was sort of moving me back and forth on his lap and I could feel his erection against my backside. I didn’t let that go on for too long and said something along the lines if he wanted more of the same he’d need to be equally generous in buying the raffle tickets.

At the end of the event he came over to me and said he thought I looked stunning and he adored my dress and especially my stockings and asked if I’d be willing to have lunch or dinner with him.  When I hesitated, he said he’d give £500 if I wore the same outfit, for me to keep for myself if I wished. I took his details and said I’d think about it.

Long story short, turns out he owns a huge estate in Surrey and when I said my husband might have to accompany me, he assured me I’d be quite safe as he had staff there who would serve our meal, so in the end I agreed to lunch. My husband drove me there as I’d already confessed my weakness for Champagne and he took these photos before I went into the house (or should I say mansion). I’ll admit now I was feeling very sexy and I knew what I was going to do and perhaps what was expected of me.

We had Champagne and as he showed me round his hands were frequently on my back and I knew he was feeling my suspender belt, so to make things easier I told him to go ahead and have a feel and his hands were then everywhere, feeling my suspender belt, my stocking tops and squeezing my tits. I felt his erection and asked if he’s like me to take care of it for him. I dropped to my knees, unzipped him and he quickly came in my mouth.

We joked about my pre-lunch appetiser as we enjoyed a lovely meal – and it was served by his staff who must have wondered who the tart was but said nothing. When we’d finished, I phoned my husband to come and collect me but as we were almost saying our goodbyes, his hands were all over me again and perhaps because I’d had a lot to drink, one thing led to another and … well, another blow job, so my husband was sat outside in the car on the drive waiting for me, while his wife performed fellatio for the second time.

My lunch companion later invited me to stay the night at his house and also offered to take me on holiday with him to his house in Florida and substantial incentives were offered but I decided against and we didn’t meet again.

I mentioned in my last blog (https://wordpress.com/post/ladyinseams.home.blog/353) that when I had a meeting with my young friend who likes me to role play being his “mum”, I took a taxi from Waterloo station to the hotel in Bloomsbury where we were due to meet and had an interesting conversation with the cab driver.

He was one of those ‘old boy’ East-end characters we get driving taxis in London and must have been well into his 70’s, maybe late 70s even. Nevertheless, he had a sharp eye, because after I got into the taxi and sat down – long coat opening in the process – he asked if I was going to a wedding at the hotel.

I told him I wasn’t but asked why he thought I might be and he explained that he’d spotted by “wonderful stockings” when I was stood in the queue and thought perhaps they were for a special occasion, given how infrequently he gets to see seams like mine in his cab these days. So, naturally, we had a brief chat about fully fashioned stockings and suspender belts and I opened up my coat so he got a better view.

“So what is the special occasion today, then?” he asked. I told him it wasn’t really a special occasion but that I was meeting a friend, staying at the hotel, who likes me in seamed stockings and high heels.

He immediately picked up on the fact that I had referred to him as a ‘lad’ and asked what this lad had done to earn a vision like me and how old he was. Now here was my dilemma: how much to say? Do I tell him this man is just 24 and that I’m 58 (as I was then)? Do I say I’m old enough to be his mother? Or do I go all in and tell him I’m not only old enough to be his mother but I’m expected to pretend I am his mother, and that shortly I would be masturbating him? On the other hand (excuse the pun), I didn’t feel able to say nothing, as by this point he probably thought I was a prostitute – after all I was dressed like one!

I wasn’t sure how far to take this so I just laughed and said “He’s a lot younger than me”.

“Lucky lad” he replied. But then he said he’d noticed I had a wedding ring. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but you separated? Divorced?” he asked.

“No, happily married” I replied. Oh Lord, how to explain? There was an awkward silence and I felt his disapproval. So I added, “It’s okay, my husband knows I’m seeing him.”

There was another silence and he said “Oh, one of those marriages, is it?”

“Sort of” was my rather lame reply. As we edged through the traffic past Holborn tube station, I suddenly fell compelled towards full confessional mode. Well, almost. I told him I was not meeting this ‘lad’ for sex, not full sex anyway but that I was planning to give him “hand relief” and that I liked doing it and did it quite frequently and with other men too and I even found myself explaining what a Masturbatrix is.

“Masturbatrix” he said, almost savouring the word. “I’ve never heard that one before and I’ve heard most things in my time, believe me”, he said with a big chuckle.

I wondered what he would have said if I’d told him that I would shortly be pretending to be this young man’s mother and that we were due to act out his incest fantasy, with me masturbating him and encouraging my ‘son’ to ejaculate all over my breasts. I decided against that level of disclosure.

As we pulled up outside the hotel he gave me his card and said “Call me when you’re ready to head home. I’d like to hear how you get on”. And with that he wished me a wonderful day and drove off. I’m sure he was shaking his head in amazement.

I’ve written here before (see https://wordpress.com/post/ladyinseams.home.blog/80) about a young man I met in 2019 who has a very particular fantasy, namely sexual attraction to and interaction with an imaginary mother. When he first proposed this scene to me I tried to talk him out of it, as it held no appeal for me and it felt rather deeply weird. However, one thing led to another and I tried it and – to my complete surprise, I really enjoyed it.

Since then we have got together from time to time and acted out various scenarios which he proposes. He is a very flamboyant individual, very theatrical and he enjoys setting a scene and even sketching out lines of dialogue for us both to follow. In addition to particular scenarios, which always end with me giving my ‘son’ firm ‘hand relief’ we have been shopping together and been out socially too.

When we have been shopping or in a bar I’ll admit there have been times when I wasn’t sure if my sense of embarrassment was greater than my desire to just laugh out loud at some of the things he says and does.

For example, while shopping for shoes and lingerie in Soho – me in leather skirt, seamed stockings, 5 inch heels, and very heavy make up (he likes his ‘mum’ to look like a cheap tart!) – in a very loud voice he said things like “Oh mum, you’d look great in this” very loudly, while holding up a corset and “Mum, do you think your boyfriend would like you in these?” pointing to a pair of thigh length patent boots with stripper heels. He even held up a huge black dildo and said, “I know you’d really like one of these, wouldn’t you mum?” and then asked if my boyfriend’s cock is bigger than that.

In a bar in Covent Garden, he began stroking my satin skirt, feeling the suspender belt straps which were clearly on display and saying how sexy this felt but all the time referring to me as his mother at every opportunity and saying how lucky his father is to have such a sexy wife. On one occasion he made a loud comment about how magnificent by bust looked in a low cut top and said it was no wonder so many men were after his mum.  To say we got some odd looks would be a considerable understatement!

However, the scenario I wanted to write about here was one which involved me visiting him one Saturday morning at a hotel in Bloomsbury, in London. I suggested I get changed at the hotel but he insisted, no, I had to travel by train into Waterloo and then take a taxi in my full ‘work’ uniform, namely leather mini skirt, seamed stockings and heels, a diamante ankle bracelet and a tight white top over a black quarter cup bra, “ready for action”. Needless to say I wore a long coat over that lot or I might never have made it to his hotel!

The scenario he had painted was that he was a young man in London on business and, bored and lonely in his hotel room, he’d phoned an escort agency. He’d specifically asked for a mature, busty lady who must be wearing seamed stockings and high heels  and as a special request he’d like her to have glossy red lips, as this lady was there to perform oral.

There’s no denying, I was excited when I got to the hotel (I’d had an interesting conversation with the cab driver but that’s another story for another day). I went up to his room and after removing my coat and tweaking my nipples to make sure they were rock hard and showing like bullets beneath my top, I knocked on his door. Of course, the script then required that when he opened the door and I saw my client was my own son I had to say “Simon!” in a shocked tone and he had to say “Mum! What are you doing here?!!”

Then we each had to explain our respective roles – he’d called for an escort and asked for a mummy lookalike character and I had to reveal I’d been doing some escort work to earn some extra cash.

I asked him why he wanted a call girl and he told me he couldn’t stop fantasising about me and wanting to fuck his mum. In turn, I explained, I liked meeting different men and giving them hand relief, while not denying the money is good and it allowed for one or two luxuries and helped cover the cost of all my fully fashioned stockings, heels and lingerie.

My ‘son’ was completely shocked (according to his script) by this revelation and wanted to know – in some detail – what I did with these men and I told him I was primarily a Masturbatrix, offering busty hand relief sessions and some domination services. Did I enjoy it, he asked. I love it I told him: I often have an orgasm while masturbating a client, especially if they pull or suck my boobs, I added.

“Does dad know?” he asked.

“Of course he does. We have no secrets. He loves me doing escort work – in fact sometimes he drives me to meet punters and he wants me to do more”.

But then I told him I didn’t want him associating with escorts and call girls and the likes. They have pimps, I told him, you could be robbed. And some of the girls, they’re crack addicts, they’ll do anything and you could get a venereal disease or worse.

This was the key moment in the script, because he asked what he is expected to do, when he can’t shake off his overwhelming sexual desire, for me, his mother. My response – as you can probably predict – was to say that if it kept him away from prostitutes, I was willing to give him hand relief and satisfy his urges this way, so he no longer had to waste his money on whores. “I’ll be your whore” I said “No need for a substitute when you can have the real thing”.

He asked if oral was an option but I explained that while mummy was happy to masturbate him – onto her chest if he liked – she would not be putting her son’s cock in her mouth. “Even your dad doesn’t get to do that” I told him.

I so we moved on from the dialogue to the action.  I donned my signature glossy latex gloves and after he removed his trousers and pants I squirted his erection with Liquid Silk and got to work, but nice and slowly. As he began to approach climax, I explained I’d have to stop and remove my top as I had not brought any spare clothing (after all, I’d been expecting to give my punter a blow job) and I knew he was likely to shoot a huge load on me and I made the interval last a few minutes so he softened a little and then I got back to work and told him I wanted him to glaze my tits.

He asked if he could suckle on my tits as I stroked him and with a bit of adjustment in positions, I was able to lean over him, get by breasts in his face and still stroke him. I couldn’t resist a bit of an ad lib, saying it was just like when he was a baby and I used to breast feed him and as he sucked and slurped on them, I was close to orgasm but before I could cum I sensed him close to his climax so I knelt back down and told him I wanted all his semen all over my big tits  and at that his cock exploded and shot his fluid all over my neck and breasts. I managed to keep stroking him, extracting every last drop of sperm and semen but as his climax slowly ebbed away, I shoved my tits back in his face and just said “Suck” and as he did so I managed to trigger my own wonderful, body shaking orgasm, which nearly caused me to topple over, as my body focussed on the muscle spasms in my vagina.

He wanted me to stay and have some drinks with him in the hotel bar, no doubt embarrassing me by shouting about me being his mum, with me dressed like a street prostitute. But I decided on another bit of ad libing: “Sorry love but I’ve got another punter waiting for me in Claridge’s.”

He asked what was on the menu with this man. I looked at the schedule on my phone (so many men, it’s hard to remember). “He’s getting oral – full cum in mouth service. And before you ask, yes, I will be swallowing”.

“Oh mum, you’re such a whore, aren’t you?”

And with that I was off, in reality off home to my husband who I knew was waiting to hear all about how our boy was and what I’d been up to that morning, while I stroked him off yet again.

Delighted to say this blog had 547 views last week alone. In October last year it had almost 1,800 views – lets see if we can beat that this month! Spread the word!!!! Remember, it’s 100% free.

We did it! In October 2022 this blog received 1,922 visits, comfortably higher (over 9%) than the previous highest month, October 2021 when we had 1,759 visits.

The first year that I started writing this blog, I had 340 views. This year, 2022, it’s approaching 14,000! Thank you all for viewing and especially those who add comments.

I am sometimes asked what the difference is between a hand job, ‘hand relief’ and ‘hand domination’.  I can only say what each of those terms means to me. To me there is a clear distinction between the first two but less clear difference between ‘hand relief’ and ‘hand domination’. 

With a hand job the aim is to make the man cum and to do so quickly, without a lot of build-up, delay or tease. There’s a time and place for hand jobs. Say I meet a man in a pub and I decide I want him to cum and we go outside to the car park. There are people around so it’s risky. In this situation I’ll unzip him and go for it. Strong, fast, determined strokes, my hand a blur as he approaches climax and very quickly we reach the magical moment where his sperm is pouring over my hand and onto the ground. Job done and all in a matter of a couple of minutes. I’ve done this is bus shelters, shop doorways, trains, cinemas, the changing room in a department store, once on a aircraft, in cars … you name it and there’s a good chance I’ve wanked a guy off there.

For me hand relief is very different. First, as the word ‘relief’ suggests the subject is usually almost bursting with untapped semen and sperm. I will often have asked that he abstain from climaxing for as long as he reasonably can, often two weeks or more. I also encourage them to edge themselves each day, as this seems to promote the generation of even more sperm and creates lovely thick, white semen.

My approach to the ‘task in hand’ is to wear gloves (usually), to lubricate the cock with baby oil or lube and then to slowly build the strokes until the cock owner is approaching climax. I will then often slow it down or even stop altogether if necessary. Then I build them back up again. And down. And up again and so on. Even with a cock that’s not ejaculated for two weeks or more, in anticipation of our session, I can easily make this last for half an hour or more, as I’m very skilled at it. I’ll sometimes make them beg for release. When they are finally allowed to climax it’s usually very, very powerful and the force of ejaculation often results in their semen spurting over my cleavage and hands. Getting the first few plumes of sperm over my lips, chin and neck is not that unusual either. I’ve provided thousands of hand relief sessions, so I’m extremely experienced.

Another very important difference between a hand job and hand relief is what happens immediately after ejaculation. With a hand job there’s usually not much time to hang around, so cleaning up the mess and zipping him up is often the next step. With hand relief, I like to continue to stroke the erect penis for quite a long time, sometimes over ten minutes. I think the mistake a lot of women make is to think “there, you’ve cum, that’s it” but the reality is that long, slow strokes prolong the pleasure for the man and I know from the feedback I get from my cock owners is that this is almost as pleasurable as the moment of climax itself. So come on ladies – keep stroking, tell them how much you enjoyed it, how wet it’s made you, how you loved their ejaculate shooting over your cleavage or pouring down your hand or, if it’s your husband, tell him that his cock is pathetic, that hand relief is all he will get in future and that you’re off to meet a real man who will fuck you senseless and satisfy you in a way he never can.

Hand domination is very similar but here I might stop altogether and cancel the session, simply to demonstrate that I will decide if and when the man can ejaculate. I may also mock his small penis or lack of firm erection. Making them beg for release is a joy and I have sometimes reduced men to tears because the frustration has become too much for them. If feeling particularly cruel I may start but stop and demand they perform some favour for me before I finish them off. On occasions, I’ve done some online shopping for heels and stockings using their credit card. I also sent one gent to the shops to get me some items before finishing him off on his return, desperate, humiliated and totally under my control.

And of course the outfit can be different if domination is part of the mix – more leather or PVC for example, perhaps whips or riding crops as part of the visual stimuli and lovely patent boots – knee length or thigh length add a certain something to the occasion.

I’m pleased to say that after hand relief or some hand domination, many men have told me that it was the most intense orgasm they have every experienced and most are so completely drained of seminal fluid that they are unable to ejaculate again for some time.

One gentleman told me earlier this year that the experience had been life changing for him, as he no longer wishes to have full sex with a woman, preferring to teach her the art of hand relief and now only cums by the hand. I felt proud of that.

p.s. if you are interested in hand relief, you will almost certainly love my videos. There are 104 of them and in 52 of them I am providing hand relief, usually wearing gloves and in almost all in seams and high heels (in a few I’m in tight leather trousers), uniforms, leather, PVC etc. To gain access I do ask for a pair of stockings in return (using a very simple online gift card) but with many hours of home made material, well worth it I believe. Ask if interested.

If you’ve read my previous blog posts you will know I do some work for a business which deals in luxury used cars. Mostly I help host occasional drinks events where we show some of the cars and I also take customers for test drives and sometimes collect them from a hotel or the airport and so forth. I’m not paid a salary, and rely largely on commission, although Dave, the owner, does give me something each time I help at one of the drinks events.

Dave absolutely loves the way I look and he asked me to help his business because he firmly believes that when it comes to wealthy clients and luxury cars, sex sells and he has a very fixed idea of what I should wear – tight leather look or wet look trousers, tight white tops with a quarter cup bra supporting my 40E cup bust or sometimes very low-cut tops showing an acre of cleavage and the highest heels I can walk in without toppling over.

A while back at one of our drinks receptions I met Ross, a charming gentleman about my age who was absolutely fascinated seeing by 40E bust held up by a black PVC quarter cup bra under a tight white top and he hold me exactly that and asked if we could meet again. I took his details and later sent him some photos of the ‘busty’ variety, as he had confessed to being a big boobs fanatic.

After a bit of back-and-forth communications, he made a proposal: he asked that I come to his club in central London, wearing the same outfit I was wearing when we met at our drinks event and he’d take me around and introduce me to some of the other members, who he thought would be interested to meet me.  Then he proposed we’d retire to a private room where I could tit wank him.  I was a bit anxious about the last part, not at the idea of giving a tit wank, which is something I’ve always enjoyed, but at doing it in a club rather than a private house or hotel but he assured me the room locked from the inside and there was no CCTV, so it would be totally private.

He sent a car to collect me, which also waited to take me home. I was nervous, I’ll admit and I had not fully appreciated was how much it meant to him to ‘show me off’ or, one might say, parade me around. Not only did he introduce me to some of the men there, but he also he specifically commented upon what he called my “magnificent bust” and when he introduced me to two particular friends he described me as something of a Masturbatrix and after we chatted about what one called “hand therapy” and which I called “hand relief” both expressed interest in meeting me subsequently for ‘treatment’.

After they’d had a good look and a bit of dirty chat with me, Ross took me off to the private room and there I removed my top and bra and, after putting some lube on his cock and between my boobs I got to work and wrapped my tits around his erection. I am very fortunate to have extremely sensitive breasts and nipples and I can often achieve orgasm from having them squeezed or pulled, licked or sucked and, indeed, I sometimes find it difficult to get to orgasm unless my tits are receiving such treatment. Consequently, while I knew my job was to tit wank him, I was already turned on from being paraded around and the earlier dirty chat, so as I worked on his cock, I was rapidly closing in on my own climax. Fortunately, just seconds after I managed to gasp that I was about to cum his cock began to spurt and as the sensations crashed through my body, I felt the familiar sensation of thick ropes of semen hitting my chin and neck and I was soon proudly wearing a beautiful pearl necklace.

He was absolutely blown away by the fact that I had orgasmed while tit wanking him and he couldn’t wait to arrange another session with me. However, his desire to show me off – or maybe I should say, to show off my tits – seemed even more important to him than being tit wanked again.

He asked me to meet him in a pub wearing a white body stocking under a little jacket (as you can see me wearing in the photo here) and his idea was we’d go to a pub and after I’d had a few drinks to relax myself, I’d take off my jacket and let everyone in the pub have a good look at my big boobs. I would loved to have agreed to this as I am a shameless exhibitionist and the idea did excite me and I wanted to please him but it was just too much for me to do. I suggested some alternative tops, still very daring I thought, but he was unimpressed and we dropped the idea.

Then he changed tack and asked that we meet privately, and me to wear a satin blouse without a bra. When we met, he got me to sit on a chair and stood behind me and began squeezing my boobs and pulling my nipples, though the blouse. I knew in advance this was his plan but I hadn’t realised he wanted to squeeze so hard and pull me so roughly. Although it was extremely erotic and I was building to orgasm it was also quite painful and I asked him to be a little gentler with me but he carried on like this.

I was panting and moaning and he said, “You’re going to cum, aren’t you?” and I manged to mumble “yes” just before I did so, a great big crashing wave of orgasm washing over me. As I was trying to lift my head and focus – the room had gone a bit blurred – he stood in front of me and stroking himself released a series of quite thick ropes of creamy white semen all over the front of my blouse, later handed to my husband to be dry cleaned!)