Some time ago I had a popular Yahoo photo group (with over 25,000 members!) and the discussion turned to the subject of verbal abuse, which I admitted I find quite a big turn on, especially when I’m sucking a guy off. This raised a lot of interest and I started a competition: the men to send me the things they’d like to be able to say to me while I was bringing them off with my mouth, the winner to get the opportunity to say it all to me face to face. This was the winning entry I selected:

“Down on your knees your dirty slut”

I ram it down her throat. She’s an experienced whore and immediately breathes through her nose and takes my full 8 inches down to the hilt. But there’s a look of panic in her eyes when I pinch her nose shut and the air is cut off.  She starts to pull back, to free her throat of the blockage. But I’ve paid good money for this session and I’m determined to get value for my money and I grab the back of her neck and hold her there.  Her face begins to redden and she’s now choking. Her gag reflex – almost trained out of her from decades of oral and deep throat action – begins to kick back in and tries to cough my cock up out of her throat.

I don’t want her to puke so I get her slip back and she gasps for air.

“Take it easy, you bastard” she says with some venom.

“Shut up you stupid tart and suck my cock, you filthy old whore” I tell her.

She gets to work.  She knows if she wants any repeat business from me she has to satisfy my needs.  But she’s good – my God, she’s good at this!

“That’s so good” I tell her.  Her head is bobbing rhythmically in a steady beat, getting ever so slightly faster with each slide to the bottom and back up to the top of my shaft.

“You fucking slut. You big-titted slag.  You love doing this don’t you?  How many men have come in your mouth I wonder? Is it hundreds?” She doesn’t respond.  “IS IT?” I almost shout.

She mumbles her assent.

“More than five hundred?” She waves a hand side to side.  So about five hundred.

“God, think of all the cock you’ve sucked and all the spunk you’ve swallowed over the years, you filthy street walker.  Gallons of it!  What a dirty old trollop you are. You dirty slag, with your big tits and your stockings and your slutty high heels. You cock sucking whore. Do your parents know what you do? I bet your mum and dad would be proud of you, if they knew their lovely little girl had grown up to be a part-time prostitute.   Doing tricks in the afternoons to earn a bit of extra cash.  Oh yes, they’d be really pleased with the way you’d turned out wouldn’t they? A cock sucking, cum guzzling whore.  Do you think they’d like that?”

She doesn’t look too pleased with my verbal commentary. Her pace has slowed.  Too bad – I’m paying top dollar and I can say what I like.

“That’s it, suck it now. You dirty old tart. You busty slut. You like that name don’t you?  Proud of your big knockers, eh?  Fucking whore.  Dirty old slag.  Do your children know this is where the money for their birthdays and Christmas present comes from?  Do you think they’d be pleased about it?  Proud of their mummy working so hard to earn the money for all the things they want? Even if the work involves spending much of her day on her knees sucking strangers’ cocks and swallowing their spunk? Oh yes, I’m sure they’d be proud of their mummy and they’d tell everyone at school that their mum is a hooker”.

She keeps working away with her mouth and her tongue but she looks up at me and there are tears in her eyes.

Seeing her bright red lipstick smeared all over her face and her head bobbing away in a frantic rhythm I know I’m close to coming, and I start to shoot two weeks’ worth of spunk into her mouth. As I climax I let fly with a final volley of abuse “I’m coming in your dirty whore mouth, you fucking tart, swallow the lot …. go on swallow it all you big-titted old slag, oh yes, you cock sucking, cum gulping slut”.

I stand back to admire the mess – lipstick smeared all over her face, strings of semen hanging from her chin.  But she’s quickly cleaning up with a wet wipe and reapplying her scarlet lipstick in big thick layers.

“Sorry to have to hurry you love” she says “But I’ve got another two punters waiting for their blow jobs before the kids get back from school”.

“OK – I’ll see you next week then” I say as I’m pushed towards the door “You busty old slut”

p.s. the photos are NOT of me!

I was in a nightclub in my home town when I met Norman. I can’t remember if I was sixteen or seventeen but I know I was still in school. It was the fashion back then for girls to wear very slim pencil skirts – usually black – with a slit at either or both thighs and on a Friday or Saturday night these were often worn with fishnet or seamed stockings. A flash of creamy thigh and stocking top wasn’t always on show but they weren’t rare either.

I’d noticed Norman eying me while I was stood at the bar and he came over and introduced himself. He was old – I mean really, really old at least to my teen eyes, older than my parents, too old to be in a nightclub, I thought. But he bought me a drink and we chatted and then another and we chatted more and he had a little feel of my suspenders and stocking tops and when I went to leave, he took my number and I took his and we agreed we’d meet again and he’d take me for a drive down to the coast in the rather fancy car he owned.

At that age, being driven anywhere, in any car seemed to me to be about as sexy as it could get!  We went down to the coast one Saturday afternoon and “had a fiddle” and then we began seeing each other from time to time.  He’d park around the corner so my parents wouldn’t see him and they thought I was seeing someone my own age, so didn’t think too much of it when I left the house in heavy make-up, high heels and stockings.

Norman was in the habit of giving me little gifts and he took me shopping and if I wanted something – a new top or some shoes – he’d offer to pay or he’d refund me if I’d splashed out on an outfit he liked. Like most men he was a stockings fanatic and he insisted I wear a suspender belt, seamed stockings and high heels when we got together but as I wore them much of the time anyway this was not a big deal for me and we’d park up, often at the coast looking out to sea and he’d have a little feel and then I’d toss him off. On one occasion I decided to show myself off in some new silver skin tight shiny lycra trousers which were all the rage and although he was disappointed at first, he got me to bend over the bonnet and rubbed himself up and down my backside until he ejaculated on me. Made quite a mess and when I couldn’t wash the stain out completely, he bought me two new pairs – silver and red.

But Norman had a peculiar little kink, because he ‘got off’ on being verbally abused. And not the usual ‘what a pathetic little dick you have’, which is quite common with a lot of men. I did do a bit of that but Norman’s kink was a bit more ‘specific’ or niche: he liked me to tell him what a dirty old man he was. In fact, he absolutely loved that and he’d often suggest the lines I might say, although I needed little direction.

I’d unzip him and pull out his erection, and as I began to wank him, I’d start.

“You’re a dirty old man, aren’t you?”

“You’re disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Sometimes he’d join in and agree with me. “I know, you’re right, I’m sorry”.

“You’re a filthy old pervert.”

“You make me sick.”

“You’re no better than a kiddie fiddler, aren’t you?”.

“You’re a dirty, disgusting old pervert, aren’t you?”

“I am, I’m so sorry …”

“Shut up you filthy sicko”.

“Going around corrupting children, I’m still a schoolgirl you know”.

“I know, I know I can’t help it. You’ve such lovely big tits”

“It’s barely legal what you’re doing.  Men like you should be locked up.”

“Forcing me to do this with your stupid little dick, it’s disgusting.”

“You turn my stomach, you sick old wanker”.

“I’m going to tell my dad about you, have you locked up …”

It would be at about this point he’d shoot his thick spermy load over my hand. But my fun didn’t end there. I’d express disgust at having his ejaculate all over my hands and make him wipe it off quickly, while his cock was still throbbing from his climax.

Then it would be my turn to lean back in the car seat and let his fingers do most of the talking, although he enjoyed his own running commentary about my body, my outfit and, most of all, my own sexual morals.  Or should I say lack thereof?

Those who know me today will know I’m a bossy woman – a dominant, strict, demanding bitch, standing for no nonsense. I also take pleasure in hurting and humiliating weak and pathetic men – and there are plenty of those around!

But what they may not know is that it wasn’t always this way. In fact, my first sexual feelings and fantasies were all about powerful men, often ‘forcing’ me to do things for them. Sometimes, in my imagination, it was groups of men, just using me for their pleasure. Why was it this way? Who knows where any of our sexual drives and fantasies arise from but for me one part of it was being released from any sense of guilt – if this brute makes me do this or forces himself on me, it’s not my fault, is it?

Being forced, being tied up, being punished and used, these were all fantasies of mine from a very young age, just 12 or 13. When I had my first boyfriend, I’d get him to tie me up and spank me before he ‘forced’ me to give him oral or brought himself off between my breasts. He’d also tie me to the bed and leave me for a little while before returning to punish and be beastly to me.

Once I left university and moved to London to work, I got into this theme even further, so much so that I reached a point where I couldn’t orgasm unless I was spanked or whipped first. Perhaps that’s putting it too strongly – I found it much easier to orgasm and do so quickly and intensely if I was first restrained and/or punished. I bought handcuffs and a leg spreader, riding crops, whips and canes and a leather dog collar and leash, and used scarves and ties as gags and blindfolds.

I don’t remember who first suggested I try a club called Moonglow, “The club for the sophisticated spanking enthusiast and connoisseur of the spanked female bottom”. I wrote to them and asked if I could attend one of their parties and some weeks later found myself at the back of a hall with about sixty or so men all on chairs facing a stage and three women who had been hired for the afternoon and who were brought onto the stage one by one, told how naughty they were and then a small group of men was invited onto the stage and took turns spanking these women (I think the way it worked is the men paid to attend and those who paid a premium could then spank the women).

I asked if I could go on stage too – I’d worn a pleated skirt, a suspender belt and fully fashioned (seamed) stockings and five-inch heels especially in anticipation of doing so – but the reaction I received was rather cool. I thought they’d be delighted to have a girl who was genuinely into being spanked and didn’t require payment, volunteering to go on stage and take a spanking but they seemed rather suspicious of my motives.

After a bit of humming and hawing, I was eventually invited up to the front, bent over a chair and three gents came on stage and took turns to make my backside glow. Two were quite tame but the third really went for it and was spanking me so hard his glasses fell off, at which the audience roared with laughter.

Afterwards I was chatting to one of the other women there – mid forties, blonde, quite chubby but very nice looking and a few of the gents joined us and were asking how I felt (hugely turned on was my answer) and one asked if I did private parties. The woman said something along the lines of oh, you must, great fun and she rubbed her fingers together suggesting the money was good. As a twenty-something straight out of college, saving for a car and a flat and more than happy to be spanked, I said sure, why not and so one of the gents took me to one side, explained what he enjoyed doing, suggested a fee which seemed very fair or even generous and asked if I was free the next weekend.

And that’s how I found myself, one Sunday lunchtime, in a flat in Tooting, in gym skirt, seams, heels, white blouse and school tie. Robert – late 40’s but doing a good impression of a much older man – was in a tweedy suit, checked shirt, regimental tie and polished brown brogues. I made the mistake of congratulating him for getting into his character’s uniform – he wanted to do a naughty schoolgirl and headmaster scenario – but it turned out this was his normal style of dress and it was only when he put on an academic gown and mortar board hat that he was ‘in uniform’.

Robert explained a sort of ‘problem’ which was that he didn’t feel able to really get into a spanking scenario unless he genuinely felt the woman was wayward and would actually benefit from a hard spanking, so he proposed we have a little chat and he asked me questions: was I a virgin? Had I ever performed fellatio? Did I enjoy it? Did I swallow the ejaculate? Had I ever had sexual relations with an older man?  With more than one man in the same week? (he looked shocked when I replied I’d had sex with more than one man in the same room!).  He even asked if I had ever asked for or received payment for providing sexual services, in response to which I pointed out he was paying to spank me, so he should know!

He seemed genuinely angry with me for that reply and so the conclusion from my interrogation was that even at my tender age I was a fallen woman intent on leading innocent men astray and therefore I needed to be taught a lesson, delivered through a firm spanking.

So, over his knee I went, skirt lifted and my lesson began. As he spanked me, he muttered things and I remember some of them as they all seemed so old fashioned. I was used to being called all sorts of names but with each strike from his hands he said things like“jezebel”, “trollop”, “brazen hussy”, “harlot” “strumpet”, “tart” and “scrubber” and even “jailbait” and there was some French, which I think was “fille de joie”. 

Although it wasn’t too hard, I nevertheless pleaded for mercy and pretended to sob with the pain and shame which seemed to greatly add to his pleasure, judging from his erection, and after about ten minutes of this my cheeks were glowing and I knew I wouldn’t be sitting down on the tube on the way home.

At this point he asked me to stand up and bend over the back of a dining chair and produced a cane saying, “Time for six of the best”. I protested, as this had not been part of our arrangement as we’d only discussed spanking and caning is quite a different matter, but after his wallet came out and the terms of our agreement suitably modified, I resumed the position with his promise that there would be only six strokes and not too severe at that. Well, the cane really did bring tears to my eyes and my yelps in pain were anything but fake and I knew I wouldn’t be sitting down anywhere for a day or two, as my buttocks came up with six purple wheals.

When the six strokes were complete, he said he hoped I had learnt my lesson but I remained in position and took his right hand and guided it to where I very badly needed it to be. “Oh my God” he exclaimed, “you’re so wet” and as he pushed a couple of fingers in and out of me a few times I had a rip-roaring, thunderous orgasm which left me gasping for breath and clutching the chair for fear of hitting the floor, as the room seemed to spin around.

We then had a short discussion about how he might also take his pleasure and although I offered to fellate him, I think for reasons of economy – he was learning I wasn’t quite such a cheap slut, after all – he decided he would masturbate over my bruised and swollen buttocks and proceeded to shoot his sperm and seminal fluid onto my throbbing globes and rubbed it in, saying it would make them better.

As I packed my things away, he asked if I’d be willing to have a repeat lesson but one where one or two friends of his might join.  It didn’t take long to agree the details, so almost a fortnight later I was back in his flat and introduced to his friends, Simon and Nicholas, who he joked was known as ‘Nasty Nick’. I was about to find out why.  All three were Moonglow members and enthusiastic spankers of young ladies, he told me.

So, it was over each of their knees for two minutes with each, then back round again, then touching my toes I felt the sting of a wooden ruler (not bad at all, really), then it was time to bend over a chair and be caned and here Nick showed his nasty side pulling me by the hair and delivering some brutal strokes. My buttocks went from glowing, to bruised, to swollen and purple over the course of an hour or so but for the finale, Nick told me I needed the belt, which he took off from round his trousers. He put me face down over the dining table, pulled my hands behind my back and tied them together with a rope and then went at me with his belt.  Now that really hurt and after ten or twelve hard lashes and with me screaming for mercy, Robert stepped in and told Nicholas to stop as he was “in danger of ruining our young lady”.

I was sobbing and my legs were like jelly and I had to hold onto the chair to remain upright but Robert didn’t delay in using his fingers once more and I didn’t delay in having my orgasm, either. Then all three stood behind me and unloaded over my backside, suspender belt and stockings, all of them muttering about what a naughty girl I was, filthy, slutty, dirty bitch etc.

I think that evening I’d reached my limit and although Robert invited me back to ‘party’ with them again and even suggested I take discipline from a larger group, I declined.

NB: for the avoidance of doubt, I don’t feature in any of the photos used to illustrate this piece.

Here’s a game I sometimes play with my husband.

Before I describe the game, let me offer a little background, if you’ve not read my blog before.  I enjoy controlling and humiliating my husband. A few years ago, I told him I had found a sex partner who is better able to satisfy my needs and that, therefore I would no longer have sex with him and he would have to be satisfied with ‘hand relief’ and occasional oral (and I subsequently stopped providing oral relief too).  Added to which I banned him from making himself cum – the only way he is allowed to climax is by my hand – and I charge him a fee each time he requires milking, although I do give him generously low rate, as a loyal and regular cock.

So to the game. As he has got older and less potent, he can often take quite a long time to reach climax, as those of you who have viewed my videos might have noticed. So, from time to time I take the cash for his ‘relief’ session and then tell him it’s against the clock. I set the timer on my phone – it could be four minutes, or six, or three and he must climax and ejaculate before the buzzer goes. I go fast and furious with my gloved hand, pounding his cock as hard as I can.

Then there’s my verbal assault too: “Come on, come on for God’s sake” I’ll say “I haven’t got all day. I’ve got better things to do, so if you don’t cum quickly, I’m going to stop. Come on, you’re pathetic, do you know that? With your tiny flaccid dick and when you do cum it’s hard to tell, there’s such a pathetic little dribble of cum. I’m used to much bigger ones than this, proper hard cocks with huge loads of spunk …” and so on.

Now he concentrates really, really hard and tries to get to his climax before he’s timed out and probably about half the time he succeeds, and then there’s a big shout of joy and relief from him, his sperm shoots out and I slowly stroke him down until he’s calm once more. But if the buzzer goes and he’s not cum, I stop immediately. Then he has to get dressed and we reconvene the next day and try again but this time, I shave some time off the clock, so he has to try and cum in even less time than the day before.  Oh, and he must pay the fee again too.

I’m a heartless bitch, aren’t I? But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’d agreed to join him for a drive in one of his rather lovely cars, of which he appeared to have too many for a man only just in his thirties. We drove out into the country and although we both knew what was going to happen, it had never been said out loud, so there was a certain tension in the air and I was excited to see how things would develop.

I was – as requested – wearing my very tight faux leather trousers, an extremely low-cut black stretch top, which showed an acre of cleavage and some of my favourite shoes which have 6-inch steel stiletto heels, with a deep platform sole, enabling me to walk in them, although not too far!

As he drove I noticed his gaze was increasingly on my cleavage, so I warned him to keep his eyes on the road and he laughed and agreed and said that as we’d approached some speed humps a minute earlier, he had hoped I might be bounced out of my top altogether. This was my chance, so I said “If you’d like to take a closer look, I’m sure we can arrange that, when we’re parked somewhere quiet”.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and I thought maybe I’d shocked him but he said “Yes, I’d like that” and then added “I know a place”.

As we drove on I told him I thought his car was sexy and it just felt sexy being driven like this, “There’s just something about this which is quite a turn on for me, you know” I added. This opened the conversation and he said he was glad to hear that and that he too was feeling very turned on, so I asked him if he was getting hard at all and he said “I was completely hard the moment you got in the car”.

So I said “Let’s just see if that’s true” and I leant across and squeezed his cock through his trousers. “Oh my God, that feels massive”, I said. It was true but I would probably have said something similar even if it wasn’t. He was certainly fully erect. “I’ll have to do something about that, won’t I?”.

“That would be great” he almost squeaked, as I continued to gently stroke his hard-on.

“We can’t have you going home like that, can we? Wouldn’t be safe, would it?”

“What do you have in mind?”, he asked.

Now I was aware that he already knew I’d offer him gloved hand relief in return for a little token of appreciation, if I can put it like that, because I’d stroked off a friend of his during a test drive, and this is how we came to be introduced to one another. I knew I’d been highly recommended.  So, do I come right out and say it, I wondered?

“Let’s just say, I’m good with my hands” I offered.

“Yes, so I’ve heard”, he replied.

“Shall we agree everything when we’re parked up?” I suggested and he agreed.

We drove on for what seemed a very long time and I thought the excitement might begin to fade but he was taking us to a place he knew where we could park and be guaranteed not to be interrupted.

“Tell me how this works” he said when we finally got there. I explained what I wanted and he readily agreed and I as I pulled on a pair of black, very glossy latex gloves I told him that I planned to squirt a big dollop of lubricating gel into my right hand and then slowly, slowly stroke him towards climax but keep him this side of orgasm for some time – “You can beg for release if you wish: I’d like that” I added – and then I told him I’d like him to gush all over my cleavage. “I want you to cover my tits with your sperm” were my exact words.

He was happy with this, very happy in fact but he also had a request: would he be allowed to take a closer look at my boobs first? Looking down at my assets I said “Of course, be my guest”.  So out they came to be squeezed, pulled and – oh my God – sucked and sucked. Now, my breasts and nipples are extremely sensitive, and I was riding a wave towards something special, when he seemed to stop. He was just pausing for breath but I managed to groan “Don’t stop, I’m going to cum” and he dived back on them with gusto and that was it, my back arched, my head became light, my vision blurred, the world seemed to spin for a few seconds and then the wave of orgasm crashed down on me and rippled through my body.

He said afterwards that I had cried out, but I hadn’t noticed that and didn’t remember it either.

After I’d recovered, it was time to lube my gloved hand and get to work. I did my best to postpone his own climax but even though I stopped a couple of times I knew he couldn’t last long and as he began to beg I shuffled down so that my breasts were perfectly positioned under his very swollen cock and I said “OK, I want you to spunk all over me, come on, cover my tits with your sperm, shoot your load on me now …” and at that point his first spurt shot up my chest, and over my chin onto my lips, his second hit the underside of my chin – this was a guy who clearly had a forceful ejaculation – the third arched upwards and came down onto the target area and he continued to gush over my chest for another ten seconds or so.

After licking his sperm off my lips and scooping some more off my chin, neck and chest, I began the clean up operation with wet wipes. I know some may say I should have made him lick it off me but he told me that wasn’t his thing.

He said after that it was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had and that he didn’t think he’d ever shot so much fluid with such force before “Maybe when I was about 16” he joked. But he said for him, the best part, the bit which caught him completely by surprise was when I had my orgasm and, apparently, went into a sort of spasm. Knowing that I’d been as turned on as him was the most erotic thing he could ever imagine, he told me.

So, already, he has asked if I fancy another drive. This time he wants me to wear a suspender belt and seamed stockings and the same shoes and he’s asked if I’ll consider bringing him off with my mouth. Well, with that much sperm on offer, how can a lady refuse?

My mobile rings.

“Hi. John?”

“Yes”.

“Hi John, it’s Chris”.

I should explain that Chris is the man who employs my wife, part time. He’s a sole practitioner with his own professional services firm and she is the only other person in the office. She only goes in two or three times a week but they have an ‘arrangement’ which needs some explaining. Basically, she has agreed to always wear seamed stockings and high heels when she’s in that office and he further insists that she either wears a quarter cup bra or no bra at all. Each day when she’s there she gives Chris hand relief. In return he pays her well and gives her a share of his firm’s profits. She also likes how much he is besotted with her and the way she dresses for him and she loves the fact that he is a heavy spunker. It’s an arrangement which works well for both.

“Oh, hi Chris”, I said.

“John, I’m here with your wife but she can’t talk to you right now”. Throughout this call he referred to her only as my wife, not by her name. I understood the message he was conveying. “Do you know why?” he asked.

I did, immediately know but I played along. “Why’s that, Chris?”

“Because her mouth is full of hard cock. My cock. Listen …”

He must have held the phone down near her mouth, as I could clearly hear her slurping away on his cock. After a minute or so of this I heard her gagging and it sounded like she was trying to cough up something.

“That’s right, take it all down, you dirty bitch” he said. She told me later he had grabbed hold of her ponytail as she was kneeling at his deck fellating him and rammed his erection down her windpipe.

He came back on the line. “Yes, she’s a dirty little whore, your wife, isn’t she?”. I could only agree with him and said “She’s a slut”.

“She’s a slut alright” he concurred. “Do you want to know what’s she’s wearing?”

He didn’t really need to tell me as I’d seen her getting dressed and heading off less than an hour before. Ten strap suspender belt, black seamed stockings (Manhattan heel, I had noticed), five-inch heel black court shoes, leather skirt and a white satin blouse, over a black PVC quarter cup bra. But he ran me through the details anyway, pointing out that she’d removed her blouse “So I can see her big tits” and her skirt, so he could view her suspender belt as her head bobbed up and down over his lap.

Chris continued to talk to me. Told me she was good at oral, very good, had obviously practiced a lot, hundreds of men had experienced her skills over the years, apparently. Asked me if I’d known she was an unfaithful slut when we married, and how I felt about her being a prostitute. At this point I started to object, as she’s not and that’s not a term I would ever use about or to her but he interrupted me and asked “Why do you think your wife is sucking me off, John? Because I pay her so well, that’s why. So what does that make her then?”

I could see his point. “You should get her on the game, John. Pimp her out, make a few bob. And she’d fucking love it, I can tell you. She’s a natural. She’s a whore.”

The phone then moved back down towards her again, as the sound of her slurping became much louder and she was sucking much more rapidly now. Again I could hear that he was pushing himself down her throat and I heard her wretch, as if she was about to be sick but I knew she could cope with deep throat. She manages her boyfriend regularly and he sports ten inches of thick black cock.

I also heard her moaning in manner I recognised as moans of pleasure.

Chris delivered another wave of verbal abuse – cocksucking slut, dirty bitch, big-titted tart … and on and on speaking more quickly and panting at the same time. She’d previously told me that he tends to be very abusive, verbally, as he approachs his climax, so I guessed it couldn’t be long now.

“Are you still there, John?”, he asked.

“Yes, yes of course.”

“John, is it okay if I ejaculate in your wife’s mouth?”

I didn’t have time to respond before he said “I’m going to cum in her mouth. She’ll swallow all my spunk, you know. Your wife … filthy … fuck … whore … oh God …” and he let out a little bellow, followed by a deep, deep groan “oh Jesus Christ, fucking hell …” I knew he was cumming and I was sure I could hear her gulping down his sperm.

After a pause of half a minute or so, when all I could hear was his little sobs of pleasure and a gentle moan he said “She’s still going you know. Christ she is so, so good at this, isn’t she? She’s just swallowed my huge load of spunk and she’s still sucking on me, fuck, what a woman. What a dirty bitch”.

I laughed.

“You’ll want the same, later, won’t you? Well, you’re not getting it. She’s already told me, you’re getting nothing more than a hand job. How does that feel, John?”

And so I told him how it felt. Knowing I’d later be getting hand relief from my horny wife, wearing latex gloves and in her stockings and heels, big boobs out on display and talking me through her blow job with Chris, how much semen she’d swallowed and how much she’d enjoyed it, that felt – right then – absolutely fucking fantastic.

If my school file said anything about this – and I’ve no way of knowing if it did – it would have recorded that I as “sexually active” from a young age. My first proper sexual experience was on the back seat of a car with a friend of my father’s when I was just 14. He’d taken me shopping, bought me a suspender belt and FFN stockings earlier that day, we’d been to see a film and of course I wore my new stockings and on the drive home, we stopped, I got in the back with him and sucked him off. And I bloody loved it!

I did quite a lot of oral after that but clung onto my virginity, as my mother urged me to do, until I had turned 16. And then I REALLY started to enjoy sex, mostly with older men. These days they’d be in trouble and people would call them paedos but back then, late 1970’s, this was fairly common and quite a few of the girls at my school had active sex lives with older men. Sometimes with a lot more men than me!

Not being stupid, I got on the pill and when I noticed a slight discharge (as it turned out, nothing to worry about) I went to the doctor.

Again, I think a difference today would be the doctor would have a female nurse with him but in those days, it wasn’t like that and we were alone when he examined me. He asked some questions about my sex life, symptoms, whether I used condoms etc and I remember he wore latex gloves when he placed me in stirrups, legs wide apart and mid-air. With a speculum he opened my vagina and examined me. He reassured me there seemed to be nothing to worry about and asked me to kneel on the bed with my backside in the air, my front bent down. What we now call the cat position in my Pilates class. His fingers went into me and he only probed and looked for a few seconds but something must have alerted him to what was happening – either I pushed back onto his hand or I let out a moan or both but he said, very calmly, “I’ve probably finished here but do you want me to stay like this?” and I managed to gasp “Oh god, yes …” and he held his hand firmly against me, his fingers not moving but inside me and I had a shuddering orgasm, and as my vaginal muscles spasmed, I knew I was crushing his hand very, very tightly. I was almost crying with the incredible sensation, coming on this stranger’s hand and he was saying “it’s okay, it’s okay, don’t worry” but I was absolutely mortified and kept apologising, saying “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it …” I was in tears. I felt ashamed. Would he tell my parents? Report me to the school?

But this lovely doctor hugged me and said “Don’t worry, it’s okay, it’s perfectly natural, it happens more times than you might imagine, lots of women experience this, it’s okay, it shows your body is healthy and normal, just relax, take deep breaths …” and so on until I stopped sobbing and apologising.

From that day on, I’ve had a very powerful fantasy about medical ‘examinations’ and I always get my husband to wear a latex glove when he ‘probes’ me and I think of that day, as I have yet another thunderous orgasm.

A few years ago, I was contacted by a company which said they had a proposal for me and asked me to ring them, to see if I’d be interested. I spoke to the Managing Director and he explained that he’d seen some videos in which I’m giving ‘hand relief’ and he wondered if they’d been professionally shot and when I said not he expressed surprise because in his view they were of exceptionally high quality and the lighting and angles all seemed to be of studio standard, adding that he should know as making such films is what he did for a living. I had to tell him they’d been shot on a home camcorder, sat on a tripod with just me and mainly my husband.

Which brought him on to the reason for the call. His company was working for an adult entertainment company which was about to launch a web site called ‘Cheeky Barter’. The idea behind the site was that people could place adverts, either offering services (like plumbing, building, driving etc) in return for sexual favours or looking for tradesmen and others willing to do work on this basis.

What he wanted to know was would I be interested in appearing in a video they wished to make for the launch. He explained the scenario: I’d be addressing the camera, with my hand wrapped around a very large, thick hard cock, belonging to a male model with a six pack – “a real hunk” he said. I’d be stroking this cock and saying something like “This is Mike. He’s my [plumber, painter, electrician, they hadn’t get decided on the final script]. I met him through Cheeky Barter, the adult bartering network site. And this is how I pay him …” and at that point, he’d ejaculate. He said they’d not yet identified the male model, but they were looking for someone from the porn business who could both cum on cue and shoot a very large volume.

He said it would take about half a day to film and told me the fee, which was nice while not spectacular. Was I interested? My first question was, would you show my face? He laughed and said no, it would be a close crop of hand, cock and muscled guy’s groin and stomach and the tricky part was getting the guy to the edge so he could climax just as I finished my last words.

I was cheeky myself and asked if they might find a black male model (I had visions of nipping off to the pub with him after the shoot and seeing what other fun we could have together!) and he laughed and said “Oh you like the black lads do you?” but thought this might be a great idea and would ask the agency they were using to put forward a couple of profiles and let me choose which guy I preferred to work with.

I told him I was interested and would discuss it with my husband. He quickly assured me that my husband could accompany me, and it was all very safe and professional and that his wife, who was also a director, would be there throughout. My husband was predictably keen – he loved the idea and couldn’t wait to watch me saying my lines and masturbating a stud to climax in front of the cameras.

Unfortunately, it never happened. By the time I got to visit the studio to see the set-up the client had changed the brief and insisted that the shoot would begin with the camera close cropped on my face as I started to speak and then pull back to show that I was masturbating the stud cock, just as he started to shoot his load. They tried to sell the idea to me by saying my hair and make-up would be done professionally and I would look fantastic, but I said it was a flat “no way” and so the idea died. In fact, I don’t think they ever made the video at all.

I placed a couple of adverts on their site and encouraged others to do so. I got a modest level of interest and found one guy who was willing to be my chauffeur for a short while but the site never generated sufficient interest to bring in the advertising revenue it needed and after year or so, it closed.

I’ve never had any interest in incest fantasies – they seem a peculiarly American phenomenon and slightly disgusting. So when a young admirer – just 22 years old – contacted me and told me I was his ultimate mummy fantasy and he wanted to meet me and act out a scenario with him, I was flattered but dismissive.

Instead I tried to convince him that what he really needed was me, dressed as a nurse, providing him with hand relief. But he was adamant and after a few weeks back and forth I agreed to meet him and give it a go. Oh, boy, am I glad I did.

His scenario was this: his ‘mum’ was about to go out, heading over to her boyfriend’s house for a good seeing to. Naturally, she was wearing her signature suspender belt and seamed stockings with extremely high heels, a leather mini skirt and a low-cut black top worn over 1 /14 cup bra. Her hair was done nicely, make-up on the heavy to excessive side and a diamonte ankle bracelet completed the ‘my mum’s a bit of a tart’ look.

I go into his room to say goodbye and there he is, in front of his PC and he’s masturbating! I go to look at what he’s viewing and even from a distance I can see it’s a porn video but only as I get closer do I realise it’s one of my videos, one in which I am moaning with pleasure as I ride up and down a huge black cock.

“What are you doing?” I shout at him.

“Sorry mum. I found these videos of you … and I just couldn’t stop myself.”

“Oh, God. How many have you watched?”

“Dozens, loads. Over and over. But don’t worry I won’t tell dad.”

“Tell him what?”

“About the other men. This black man, for example.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I say, “Who do you think filmed me?”

“Dad? He already knows?”

“Yes, of course he knows. He likes to watch. He enjoys me seeing other men. It’s his thing, you know?”

“Oh God, please don’t tell him about me.”

“How often have you been wanking to my videos?”

“About once a week. I save myself up.”

“OK, don’t worry. Don’t feel ashamed. A lot of men want to cum when they look at your mum. I like it. I like making men want to masturbate. It’s a turn on for me knowing so much spunk is being spilt by men looking at me. And you’re a young man now and it’s natural to be attracted to a sexy woman like me, even if I am your mum.”

“You do look fantastic mum. You’re every man’s fantasy.”

What you need is hand relief, done properly”

At this point I take a pair of glossy black latex gloves from my handbag and a small tube of lube jelly. I pull the gloves on and squirt the lube into the palm of my right hand. Then I begin to slowly stroke his hard cock.

“Oh God, mummy, that’s so good.”

I’m leaning over him at his desk, making sure he’s getting a very full view of my cleavage. After a few minutes he lifts my breasts out of my top and begins the suck my nipples.  I have exceptionally sensitive breasts and nipples and by this point, I’m already aroused. He’s switching from one breast to the other, suckling like a baby and after only a couple of minutes of this I am hit with a very deep and intense orgasm. I have to clutch the arm of his chair with my left hand, to stop myself keeling over but my right hand keeps the rhythmic pumping going. It’s almost an unconscious act for me now after so many years of doing hand relief, so many masturbation sessions.

He realises I’ve had an orgasm and his own arousal leaps a gear as a result. He hadn’t expected that and neither had I!

Now he’s tensing and I sense he’s preparing to cum so I speed up my hand. I move my breasts close to his throbbing cock and say, “I want you to spunk all over my big tits.”

“Ok mummy,” he manages to grunt in reply.

Then he shouts out “Oh mummy” and the first big thick rope of his semen flies out and hits my chin and the top of my neck. Another follows and goes straight over both my breasts, then a third and a fourth … and for a moment I think to myself, where is all this semen coming from, then I remember he’s 22 years old, he’s abstained for a week in anticipation of our meeting and he’s been edging himself many times each day as he has worked his way through my video collection.

This is one reason women like me love young men like him. This is the biggest load of semen I’ve taken from a white man in quite a few years.  When his ejaculation is complete, my chest and neck are covered with his sperm, my black top splashed, even my leather skirt has his seed running down one thigh. It’s everywhere, and I’m properly splattered.

I know immediately, that this won’t be a one off. I want his cock and his semen again and if that means playing ‘mummy’, well what’s wrong with that? The family which plays together, stays together.

In June 2010 I took on a young black man as a regular sex partner, my stud. His 10.5 inches of hard cock is so thick I often squeal with pain as he penetrates me. At the same time, I told my husband I would never have sex with him again and that he would have
to be satisfied with hand relief. Later I also banned him from making himself cum, insisting he only do so by my hands. After he pressured me to take on fee-paying clients, I turned the tables on him and said he would have to pay for my services and so he pays £100 each time he requires relief. Last year this cost him close to £15,000. This is from a recording of one such session …

“This is pathetic” I tell him. “Why aren’t you hard?” I ask, as I wrap my right hand, encased in a glossy, black latex glove around his cock, which I’ve just coated in lubricating oil. I’m wearing a suspender belt, seamed stockings and 6-inch steel heel shoes, a leather mini skirt and a top which shows off my big bust, but his penis is semi-flaccid.

 “I know, I’m sorry but I will be in a minute.”

“You’d better hurry up as I’ve got other things to do, you know.”

“OK, sorry.”

“I want to get some black cock in me today. You know that don’t you?”

I pump his gradually stiffening cock. “God this is such a waste of time. Your pathetic little limp dick and then there’ll be an even more pathetic dribble of cum. I don’t know why I bother.”

“You’re used to much bigger ones, aren’t you?”

“Yes, much, much bigger. Much harder too. Big and thick. I can hardly get my hand round some of them. Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day. If you can’t cum soon, I’m going to stop and we’ll have to do this again tomorrow.”

“Oh no, please don’t stop” he begs in a rather annoying whiney voice.

“Get on with it then. I wish I never married you. You’re completely pathetic. I wish I never met you in fact. I could have been married to a well-hung stud.”

“A black.”

“Yes, a black man. He’d have fucked me every morning before he went to work and every evening when he got back. And at the weekend he’d invite one or two of his friends around, to take turns with me.”

“Would you really have liked that?”

“I’d have loved it, you know I would.”

“But they would just have treated you as a spunk bucket. A cum dump. Just a piece of fuck meat to pass around.”

“And what’s wrong with that? All that lovely, big, thick black cock. Better than having to put up with your puny dick.”

“You’re just a big-titted tart aren’t you? A busty slut.”

When he starts to talk like this I know he is close to climax. His body is tensing, his breathing rapid, his cock is properly hard now.

“You’re a filthy fucking whore with big knockers aren’t you, going out dressed like a tart, parading yourself around, sucking and fucking, you dirty slag, you’re just a black man’s plaything …”

He lets out a yell and a plume of semen shoots from his cock and I catch most of it with my left hand. Then there’s another smaller one and then his semen slowly flows out and down my gloved hand. I don’t rush this part: in fact I spend another 10 minutes slowly stroking his cock as I know the sensation continues and is very deep inside him. He’s paid, so he deserves a proper service and to be left totally drained.

When he is done and completely soft once more I say “Right, I’m going over to [my stud’s] house to get some proper cock. Would you mind giving me a lift? I’ll give you a call when he’s finished with me so you can bring me back.”  And god am I ready to cum by now.