It would be unfair to say that when I met the man who later became my husband, he was naïve or innocent but it is true that, sexually, he was not only a lot less experienced than me (I’ve never denied being a slut from an early age) but also less adventurous and bold.

I still remember our first ‘proper’ date when I wore a short, tight white cotton skirt over a black suspender belt, black fully fashioned stockings and high heels. I’m not sure I’d describe the skirt as a mini but it was short enough that I was displaying stocking welts when I was seated, maybe a little flash of thigh when I crossed my legs.

We met for a drink but it was only after a little time had passed and a few drinks had been consumed before he gathered the courage to say something which had been bothering him: did I realise that people could see the suspender belt and stockings beneath my skirt? I remember the surprise on his face when I laughed and told him that of course I did and that this was the point, I wanted them to.

On another occasion he asked if this didn’t worry me, people looking, some probably disapproving or thinking I looked like a tart. But my view was what do I care what some stranger in a bar or on a train thinks, as I’ll never see them again? He later told me that this ‘devil may care’ attitude was one of the things he found most attractive and exciting about me.

We’d been seeing each other most weekends for some months when I first told him that I would like him to ejaculate on my face. He was shocked and said he was uncomfortable doing this as he felt it was degrading for me and I had to tell him that that was a matter for me and ordered him to get his cock out and empty over my glossy, thickly lipsticked red lips. He did as he was told and gave me a very healthy pasting, as back then he was an impressive producer of spunk (sadly, no longer the case).

One Saturday we’d been out drinking and I was feeling as horny as hell when we went back to the flat I was sharing in Putney and as both my flat mates were away that weekend I decided to spice things up a bit. I got some items together – a pair of handcuffs, a scarf to be used as a gag and a riding crop – and I told him I wanted to be cuffed to the bed, gagged and spanked and then hit  – but not too hard – with the crop but he just stood there, stunned and after asking some pretty stupid questions (like, have you done this before?) he refused to play along. He told me he just couldn’t bring himself to spank or whip a woman, that he had too much respect for me, he liked me too much. It was very sweet but bloody annoying and I told him if he couldn’t do the things which turned me on most, he could f-off for good and more than that, I’d go back to the pub we’d just come from and find a man who would. That did it and he complied, although I see the irony that in order to get the crop cracking across my backside I had to bully a man as if I was a proper Dominatrix!

It’s strange how variable our memories can be with some things lost in the mist of time while other, often trivial details, even decades later remain pin sharp. I not only remember suggesting we play a game together but I even remember where we were: walking along the Old Brompton Road in South Kensington on a Friday evening, near where he worked at that time. I don’t know why I remember this so clearly, but I do.

The game I suggested I called ‘sleazing’. I was enjoying wearing sexy outfits to work and more daring ones when he and I went out at weekends but I wanted to do more and now I wanted to take things up a gear or two.

The basic idea was that I would wear very tarty outfits – short skirts, seemed stockings, stiletto heels and tops or blouses that showed off my big tits. I suggested that we find the sleaziest pubs in London in which I would display myself, ideally pubs full of men (and indeed we later found some where I was the only woman). Then I would let all of the punters have a good look at me, going up to the bar and bending over, showing my stocking tops, sitting on bar stools with my legs crossed, going to the toilets and removing my bra or wearing a black quarter cup bra under a thin white blouse or tight top.

He liked the idea, in fact he loved it but he did have some perfectly reasonable questions for me about this. For example, he asked how I would react if some of the men in a pub wanted to do more than simply look and came over for a chat or to comment on my outfit or my legs or bust. I told him that I wanted to excite these men so if they wanted to come over and take a closer look or have a little interaction, I was happy for them to do so provided I felt safe and they were polite and I made the point that I had a well-developed ‘nutter alert’ detector and if at any point I felt we’d encountered one, we’d get up and leave, pronto.

He went on to ask what if they wanted more than to look or even chat but might want a feel of my stocking tops or if they tried to follow me into the toilets, something we had already experienced.  I had to be honest with him and said I didn’t know how I would react in each case, as it depended on how naughty I was feeling, whether I fancied them, perhaps how much I’d had to drink but, yes, I could envisage occasions when I’d let a guy have a bit of a feel, maybe pop outside for a bit of extra fun.

And so the game began! We hunted for suitable pubs and bars and realized that the ideal were at either end of a spectrum – either really tatty, sleazy, rough places or at the other extreme places like the bars at the Ritz, Café Royale and Clarridges also worked well for a brazen display of sexy outfits. John found a pub in London which was near a major building site and on a Friday night it was packed with builders, scaffolders and he like and that worked well and I often had little groups of men gathered around me, taking a look and seeing how saucy they good be with the chat.

But more often we played the game on Saturday nights. I’d go to the bar and put my handbag down, which necessitated me bending right down so my stockings tops and suspenders were clearly visible. Then I’d have to bend over again to get my purse out and, having paid for our drinks while John enjoyed the view and watched for the reaction of others, for a third time as I replaced my purse and retrieved by bag.

The game developed over time. We found a group of bars in close proximity to one another in Clapham and so we would sometimes go from one to another and of course, after five or six drinks I would get a lot more brazen and had some interesting encounters with various men on these occasions.  For a time I had a short black skirt which already showed stocking welts nicely but which also had small short zips at either side and after my first drink or two, I’d unzip these and let the stocking tops and an inch or two of creamy thing show too.

That little black skirt, zips undone

We both found this ‘sleazing’ to be a massive turn on and we would quite often either go to the toilets for a good fucking session or find somewhere outdoors. On one occasion we were in a car park outside a pub and John had me face down over the bonnet of a BMW and was giving me a hard spanking and telling me what a filthy slut I was for parading myself around in the pub like a cheap tart when we heard a cough and a man, stood by the driver’s door holing up his car key said “Can I have my car back, please?”

Even though we both had our own rental places, there was something extra sexy and, yes, extra sleazy about having sex and giving him blow jobs in the pub toilets or in places where we might be “caught” – alley ways, car parks, once on a building site and on one occasion inn the City we noticed that the CCTV camera had swiveled in our direction and we both imagined a previously bored security guard enjoying the view as I demonstrated by fellatio skills.

And – going off topic, slightly – even after we married and had our own house, we carried on with a lot of this. In fact, sometimes on a Saturday night we’d stay in and I’d get into one of my ‘outfits – thigh boots and PVC was a big thing for me at the time, I recall – and have a meal and drinks and then we’d go out for a daring fuck or blow job (or both). There’s a footbridge over the railway line near where we lived at this time and we’d go there and he’d bend me over and take me from behind. On one occasion my climax to exactly coincide with a train passing beneath us and sounding its hooter. John said it was ‘a hooter for a hoor’. That was some climax!

So the sleazing game became a big part of our lives and something we did about once or twice a month either on a Friday night after work, or more often on Saturdays and we enjoyed planning which bars we’d go to and what I might wear. What I was prepared to do was less pre-planned, as it depended on the reaction, how horny and naughty I felt and how much I’d had to drink.

The reaction we – or should I say I – received varied a great deal. This being London a lot of the time, it was sideways glances but heads down and no direct interaction. This reminded me of the comedy sketch in which a couple have sex in a train carriage full of other passengers and no one says a word but when they light a post coital cigarette a suited gent says “Do you mind? This is a non-smoking carriage”. But on other nights I’d be followed to the toilets, chatted to at the bar or sometimes surrounded by groups of men eager to take a closer look and have a bit of dirty chat and maybe even see if there was a chance of a feel or more.

I am the first to acknowledge that some of the outfits I wore were brave to say the least, and looking back I might even say I was almost looking for trouble. I certainly wouldn’t dream of being quite so brazen in public today. Even at work I wore short skirts, seamed or fishnet stockings and high heels (although to be fair to me this was no so exceptional then and many of the girls in our office wore seams and stilettos) and I like to go braless with satin blouses or wear a black, quarter cup bra under tight sweaters or quite thin white blouses. I even wore thigh-length boots for a time, as I loved them as so did many of the boys at work but I was told they were not appropriate for the office so had to stop.

So you can imagine for our sleazing date nights the outfits often went a bit further, as I’d never see the other customers in the places we visited again.  Just to take two examples, I wore this skirt and stockings combination when we went for some drinks at the Ritz in London. As you can see the skirt is very short and it also has a small split to reveal my stocking tops even when standing. At the Ritz the polite, generally elderly clientele smiled at me and one or two of the gents clearly enjoyed the view as I sat with my legs crossed but it was all very comfortable, and I enjoyed showing myself off there.

The skirt and contrast seam stockings I wore to the Ritz – not leaving much to the imagination!

It was a slightly different experience when I wore the outfit you see in the photos, below. As you can see I am wearing fully fashioned stockings, a leather miniskirt and thigh length patent high-heeled boots and I’m either braless or wearing a quarter cup bra, I don’t recall which. We went to a riverside pub. I can’t recall how we chose it, other than it was a bit rough, with men fishing on the riverbank and occasionally drinking there too. I wore a long coat, but it was soon off and I was really putting on a display. I knew I probably looked like a prostitute, and I think I’d gone for a sort of ‘hooker’ look that night especially with the miniskirt and boots. The reaction was palpable. As I ordered some drinks at the bar one man turned to me, looked me up and down and asked, “Are you Miss Whiplash?” I said something along the lines of “You’d better believe it” and he said “So it’s not fancy dress then?”

Outside the riverside pub, post coitus

A little group of men, about six or so, gathered around where we were sat on high stools and there was a bit of banter back and forth, much of it directed at John. The guy who had made the Whiplash comment told John he’d better behave or it looked like he’d get a proper thrashing later.

John asked how I felt and whether I fancied taking any of them into the toilets for “a bit of fun” which at that time usually meant me getting down on my knees and giving deep throat. Although I had been feeling turned on before we even stepped in to that pub (just putting on my stockings and boots was enough to get me properly wet and ready for action) and all the attention had heightened by arousal I demurred but I asked how he felt about going outside by the river, bending me over and giving me a good seeing to.  I think you’ll not be surprised that he was more than willing as he’d been sat there, hard as rock and his cock dribbling precum for the last hour or so.

When we went outside, I wasn’t surprised, nor particularly worried when about six or eight men followed, as John had told them he was going to fuck me outside if they wanted to watch. As we crossed the road, followed by this group of punters, he turned back to them and told them they could watch but not touch me and asked that they keep their distance a bit and they all did as asked.

John got me bent over and holding my hips and occasionally reaching down to feel my stocking tops and boots he really went for it. As I was so worked up already I came within about two minutes but once I’d recovered some composure I was able to glance to either side and saw a number of them had there cocks out and were wanking. I briefly considered shouting out that they could spunk on my boots but I restrained myself. Given the ‘audience’ participation I found myself building towards a second climax as it is such a turn on to be watched like this but then John bucked behind me and I felt him shooting his load deep within me and I knew that that was it, for now. But it was a long night of fucking and being called a whore when we got back home!

I’ve fixed feelings about that night and some other similar experiences. I don’t feel ashamed – it was fun and exciting at the time and they lit a spark each time in our sex lives which lasted days and weeks as we replayed the scenarios and talked about the ways things might have developed (for example, me offering to suck off every man at the riverside) but I do look back now and ask myself, what was I thinking, walking into a pub dressed like that and provoking men to masturbate. It was probably foolish and risky and I certainly wouldn’t do anything like that today but at the same time, boy, it was FUN!!!

Chatting with someone on SHQ this week, the subject of spermy facials came up and this set me thinking back to the first time I received one.

This was way back when – I was only sixteen or seventeen, certainly still at school. I had a sort of boyfriend who was eighteen and when my parents were out he’d come round and I’d get into my seamed stockings and strappy high heel sandals and netball skirt (very St Trinian’s vibe) and I’d usually suck him off.

We’d found some adult magazines somewhere, I think he’d got them from a store where he had a Saturday job and one afternoon we were flicking through these, reading some of the stories and readers’ letters. They were mostly of the ‘Mayfair’, ‘Men Only’ and ‘Razzle’ variety but there was one very glossy smaller size magazine – I think it was German but I might be wrong. To be honest and revealing my relative innocence, I was a bit shocked that they showed full penetration and women with cocks in their mouths, as I’d thought such images were illegal but I found them quite a turn on and I remember admiring some of the outfits the women wore, with lots of high heels and stockings. And then as I followed a sequence in which one woman and a man appeared to be having sex and when I turned the page, I saw what was obviously spunk on her face, lots of it and I was like “Wow – look at this” and over the page she appeared to be licking the spunk off her lips. I was fascinated and flicked back and forth between these pages and I asked my sort of boyfriend, “What do you think?” and he said something along the lines of “Yeah, that’s nice. Want to try it?”

I asked if he’d ever done it before and he said he hadn’t but was willing to give it a go provided I was okay with it. “Why not”, I thought.

One detail I’d noticed in the magazine was the woman’s make up: she had bright red lips, very thickly applied light blue eye shadow and lots of pink blusher. She looked very slutty but I decided if I was also going to get a cum splattering I wanted my face as brightly painted, so I told my sort of boyfriend I needed ten minutes and I went upstairs and after tying my hair back I piled on my makeup, so when I remerged my  face looked like a that of a china doll.

This might sound daft but looking back I don’t know why I didn’t suck him off and just get him to spurt on my face at the end but I didn’t. Instead, I knelt down in front of him and he wanked himself while stood over me. It didn’t take long – we’re talking about a randy eighteen-year-old who hadn’t cum for days in anticipation of a bit of oral relief from me and of course when he came it was a very full load. I remember the first rope hitting my face and going directly up my cheek and over my right eye (fortunately I shut it just in time!) and then he aimed three more in slightly different directions. Feeling each falling across my face just felt wonderful. I hardly let him complete his unloading before I leapt up and went over to the mirror. I could only look with my left eye, my right being closed to avoid getting a spermy eyeball but that didn’t reduce my joy.

“Fucking hell. That’s incredible!” I shouted. “Look at that!” and I turned my head from side to side, admiring my new look. I just thought it looked fantastic, so, horny I was almost cumming in my knickers.

After admiring myself for a minute or two his semen began dribbling down my face and dripping onto the mantlepiece so I used my fingers and tongue to scoop up and swallow as much as I could and then used a tissue for the rest. “You’ve ruined my makeup” I told him and we both laughed.

As I’m reminiscing, recalling many silly details I’ll risk going somewhat off topic (this was meant to be about the first time I got a facial) and add a bit more from my memory bank.

It feels like to must have been around this time but maybe it was later because at some point VHS recorders were available and I watched quite a few porn films. You’ll probably not be surprised to learn that inter racial and cum shot videos were my favourites and to this day I still remember a sequence in one which was introduced with a caption “A Faceful of Sperm”  – I loved that title – in which a skinny black man pulled a white women around on a table and as she appeared to struggle to get free he unleashed a fountain of semen and sperm all over her face. I rewound and replayed that sequence dozens of times and on one occasion, while on all fours facing  the TV I was fucked while I watched it and managed to get my orgasm to exactly coincide with the moment the guy pasted the woman’s face and I can tell you, that was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.

Then a man I was seeing brought me a tape which I think was called ‘Sperma Festival’ or something like that in which a series of women were shown kneeling or lying back while dozens and dozens of men ejaculated on their faces. I was astonished, shocked even. Why did they do it? Money, obviously but some appeared to really relish getting absolutely plastered with cum.

I couldn’t get those images out of my head and of course, it set me thinking: would I do that? If so, how would I go about it?  Would I need to do it on camera? I had a lot of fantasies about various scenarios, including a lot in which I was tied or handcuffed to a post and a long queue of men formed and one by one they ejaculated on my face. I even had one crazy one in which all the men in a village where I was held captive were invited to use me as a cum dump and this sequence ended with an appearance from the vicar who, while telling me that I was a harlot who would burn in hell for me sins, shot the biggest load of all, right into my mouth.

Now, you are wondering did I ever do it? The short answer is I didn’t. It was certainly an erotic fantasy for me and I have experienced two men ejaculating on my face – for a time I had a thing going with two men at work and on a Friday night we’d go to a pub and after plenty of drink and dirty talk I’d take each into he toilets and give them blow jobs but on a couple of occasions they both joined me and both came on my face, one from each side. But there was something about the idea of twelve or twenty or forty men all spunking on me one after the other that I just couldn’t bring myself to do. Maybe I just felt it was too extreme or two degrading (although the degrading aspect of taking a facial is part of the thrill, for me at least).

I’ve been invited to take part in ‘greedy girl’ parties many times and of course the women who participate are paid to do so. In fact, there is a swingers club not far from where I live and which I attend, occasionally, which hosts mid-week Bukkake parties where they get a few women and all the male club members are invited to spunk on them and after seeing me giving a gentleman ‘hand relief’  on their stage, the management urged me to volunteer for a spunk party but I told them I’m not that sort of girl, although I didn’t tell them I fantasised that I am exactly that sort of slut for weeks afterwards. If only they had offered to have one of the men dressed as a vicar, I might have changed my mind!

p.s. I have many dozens of photos of my face after being splattered with cum and quite a few videos as I used to like to film myself receiving lots of warm jizz but for (what I hope are) obvious reasons I cannot share these so instead I’ve used other photos to illustrate this blog.

As you might expect, I get a lot of requests from admirers wishing to meet and, more specifically, from those who would like to experience my “hand relief” service. As I explained in this blog last year, I decided to not make any such appointments (other than with a small and select group of loyal fans who I see from time to time for some ‘relief’). Once I explain this I am then asked if I know of any other women who one might describe as a Masturbatrix.

I did an online chat with one of my admirers earlier this month and he asked me a question which set me thinking. He asked, if he was to look for the perfect Masturbatrix what characteristics should she have? And as I thought about this, I identified four critical criteria, together with some other nice to have but not necessarily essential qualities. So here it is, my guide to what makes the perfect Masturbatrix.

1. The first and most important criterion is that this is a lady who is doing it because she really enjoys masturbating men and finds it a real turn on. Of course, the money can be good but if a woman is doing this simply because she wants easy money or may even desperately need the money then what you can expect is a quick hand job after which you will be out of the door ASAP as she gets ready for her next client. For me providing hand relief is a joy, it is my dirty hobby. I love getting ready for a session (about which more in 3. below), I love wrapping my hand around a rock hard cock, I love hearing the owner groan with pleasure and then pleading with me to finish him off, I love seeing his face as he climaxes, I love watching the spunk, whether it shoots out with force or simply pours out over my hands and I simply love being splattered with lots of thick creamy semen. This is what you should seek in the perfect Masturbatrix and if she is not almost as excited about a session as you are, I wouldn’t bother.
2. The second critical criterion is that a Masturbatrix needs to properly understand the physical aspects of an expertly delivered executive hand relief service. By that I mean that she must be able to do three things: build the man up gradually towards his climax; second, be able to keep him there for as long as possible before finally granting release; and thirdly, after he has ejaculated, continue to stroke his penis for some time as a sort of ‘warm down’ as I know that a lot of the sensation continues for many minutes after the point of climax. Of course, there are times when a fast and furious hand job is what is required. For example, when I did some photos with an admirer at Hampton Court Palace we concluded with a hand job in the car park but this was not an occasion to hang around too long as there were people moving back and forth and CCTV cameras and given my outfit we had already attracted a great deal of attention so I needed to get his spunk out and onto the gravel pretty quickly, otherwise we might have found ourselves talking to the police! But here in this blog I am talking about a professional Masturbatrix providing a proper hand relief service and this is not something to be rushed. As to the second part of my description, this is where a really skilled and experienced Masturbatrix comes into her own because getting a man to the edge of climax but then being able to keep him there is a genuine skill, or even an art. I almost have a sixth sense for when a man is about to cum and can respond accordingly. Some men even go so far as to attempt to disguise where they are on their masturbation journey but I am somehow able to detect this and will deliberately delay matters even to the point where I have had some men sobbing in frustration because I won’t grant them their wish and allow them to come there and then. Of course, the obvious thing that I do in these circumstances is to simply slow matters down and tell them that they must wait or if there is a real risk that they will simply spurt anyway I can take my hand away and stop altogether but there are more subtle ways in which climax can be deferred. For example, I might ask them if their wife knows where they are. That usually does the trick! Or I’ll ask how things are at work or how many children they have. Again, that usually puts a stopper in their cock and some will even become a little flaccid as a result. Of course, the main objective in doing this is to make the sensation as intense as possible when they do climax with the added bonus of more powerful ejaculation and often impressive volumes of sperm and semen but I won’t disguise the fact that I get pleasure from seeing them writhing and bucking as they hover just short of the ultimate satisfaction and making men plead and beg for release is something I find incredibly erotic.
3. The third vital element is very simple: a Masturbatrix need to make an effort with her appearance. It never fails to astonish me how in many porn films where a woman is giving a man a hand job, she looks like she’s about to set off the supermarket, dressed in T-shirt and jeans or joggers and when they are naked that is no better to my mind. So, the perfect Masturbatrix will make an effort – in my case, that almost always means wearing a suspender belt and fully fashioned stockings with high heel shoes or boots and often a uniform, or leather, PVC or other fetish outfits. Gloves are also very important to my style and I have written about this before in the blog. And a little makeup or even a lot of makeup doesn’t go to miss either.
4. Finally, it’s no good a woman calling herself a Masturbatrix if she has an aversion the sperm and semen. Even from a very young age I always loved it when a man ejaculated on me. I can’t fully explain why this is, I just know it’s true and embrace it. When I do a relief session I look forward to having them spurt on me and in some of my videos you will hear me urging the cock owner to come all over my tits. From time to time, I have had men ask if they can ejaculate on my face, as it’s often been a strong fantasy of theirs but one which they have never been able to experience and I have no problem in making their fantasy come true as I find a face full of sperm very erotic.

Those are my four essential criteria for the perfect Masturbatrix. Then there are a few not necessarily essential qualities, but which go towards making the perfect executive relief experience.

For example, I know I am lucky because I have a large bust and this will not always be the case with every Masturbatrix but I certainly like to show plenty of cleavage for my men to gaze at while I masturbate them. In fact, as they approach climax I will often urge them to cum all over my cleavage and glaze my tits. I also do topless relief sessions with a similar end result of splattered mammaries.

Dressed for a hand relief session

Another nice to have is the verbal component and this can work either way or even both ways. I’m happy to ‘talk dirty’ while masturbating. For example, with my husband I will often tell him about experiences I’ve had with other men while I am stroking him off or I tell him about my most recent sex session with my boyfriend. With others I may chat about how I love big, thick, rock-hard cocks or how I love being spunked on or just what a slut I have been over so many years, with so many men and so many different cocks. Some men have specific things they want me to talk about and in most cases, this presents no challenge for me.

In the other direction, some men like to engage in what might be described as ‘verbal abuse’. I completely recognise that not all women are happy with this and I would suggest you always check with a woman first before name calling her or you might find your session reaches a premature end or you are not invited back. But not only do I have no problem with this, I find it quite a turn on and, again, you may hear me be being subject to some verbal abuse in some of my videos. Not only do I like this, but I also sometimes even suggest things that they can call me if they want to, things like ‘busty slut’, ‘big titted tart’, ‘dirty bitch’, ‘filthy whore’, things like this.

And here is the final nice to have quality for a top Masturbatrix: is she turned on by what she is doing? Is she wet, after you spunk? In my case, I find this such a turn on that after the cock owner has been drained of his fluid I want to cum too. Sometimes I can go to my boyfriend’s house for a good seeing to and if I can do this immediately after a hand relief session, this is about the best sex I can ever have. But this is not always possible, so then I will usually either ask the man to finger fuck me to orgasm (I cum very quickly, often within seconds) or I will simply do it myself while they watch. And for the guy, I know that seeing me so aroused and panting as I orgasm, really is the cherry on the cake of an unforgettable experience with the perfect Masturbatrix i.e. me!

Lady Sonia, a porn actress who regularly played the Masturbtrix role on film

There’s been a bit of discussion on SHQ about ‘dogging’ (https://forum.stockingshq.com/index.php?/topic/71133-dogging/)

and as I’m not sure that is an appropriate forum for this topic but wanted to add my own, pretty limited, experience and my perspective I thought I’d do it via this blog.

Before doing so, I’d say a mistake some of those on SHQ have made is to assume that dogging means a single type of activity, namely a woman going to a public space and having some sort of sexual action with several complete strangers and I don’t think that’s correct, as I’ll explain.

I’ll admit, sexually adventurous as I am, I’d not even heard of dogging until I read an article in a magazine (I think it was Mayfair but I may be wrong). It described various forms of dogging but the one which stayed in my mind was a couple driving to a known dogging spot and having sex in the car while men gathered around to watch and masturbate and the mental image of men ejaculating on the windows but not being able to touch, well that grabbed my imagination.

I’ve always been an exhibitionist and around this time my husband and I occasionally visited couples’ or swingers’ clubs and some fetish ones too – some of you may even recognize the names: Nightshift, Toucan Club, Whiplash, Club Rub etc. I enjoyed these, as I felt able to wear very ‘out there’ outfits and uniforms and then we could do things while others watched – oral and full sex for example, spanking etc.

I’d never really considered sex in a car with men gathered round but after reading the article I mentioned it to my husband and asked if he fancied giving it a try. He has a ‘try anything once’ attitude, as do I, so agreed we should, but I’ll admit I was nervous about turning up at a site in some tarty outfit with maybe dozens of men I’d never met and didn’t know. What if they somehow overpowered my husband and assaulted me? Gang bang may be a common fantasy but gang rape? No thanks!

At this time I had my own very active Yahoo photo and video groups – from memory the photo group had around 25,000 members – so I decided to invite some of my fans to come and view me and watch me being fucked by my husband. By this point I’d changed my mind about sex in the car (cramped, uncomfortable) and instead had decided to pose for a few photos and then bend over the car and be fucked but only by my husband.

However, I attached some strict conditions and only those agreeing to them were then sent the details of where and when I would be. The first condition was they had to be available at around 7pm at a location in Surrey; second, they had to provide me with their registration number, so I would know that those there had been invited. I did this as there were stories of the police arriving in unmarked cars and arresting people for ‘gross indecency’. Third they had to agree that there would be no photos or video, other than those taken by my husband. They agreed to keep their distance, only approach if invited to do so and not to touch me at any time. And, finally they undertook to allow us to leave first and not attempt to follow.

So this was never meant to be sex with loads of blokes I’d never met but rather a carefully controlled opportunity for admirers to see me for real, view me in seamed stockings and stiletto heels and watch me having sex. Of course, they were free to masturbate as they did so and this I positively encouraged.

The result was a list of sixteen of my most devoted fans, who committed to these conditions and to whom I sent the details: I’d be at Wisley at 7pm on a Saturday evening in July.

On the day, I was incredibly nervous about this whole idea and I drank a whole bottle of Champagne to calm myself before setting off with my husband on what was a very bright, sunny evening. The photos here were taken that evening by my husband.

When we arrived, I was surprised that only about six or eight cars were there. As instructed the men remained in their cars initially but when I got out and paraded myself around, and posed for the camera, the cars gradually crept forwards.

As we’d previously agreed he placed me face down over the bonnet of the car and lifted my skirt up. At this point he beckoned to the men in the cars that they could get out and come forward to watch. As he penetrated me, I could see all the cocks out being stroked and some being wanked hard. It wasn’t long before I saw a really big plume of semen flying up and towards us.

We had planned a spectacular ending which was for my husband, when ready to cum, to withdraw and I’d turn around and he’d spunk all over my face. In anticipation of this he’d abstained from coming for about two weeks and in the days leading up to our ‘show’ he’d frequently edged himself and, as a result, I knew he was carrying a very full load. I’d been looking forward to getting a really big faceful of sperm and allowing some of my admirers to see me receiving it and then I was going to walk around in front and between them as I licked it up, as I was sure they’d love this. But that evening I lost my nerve and as he thrust into me, I told him not to withdraw but to cum inside me. I knew he’d be disappointed by this, but he does as he’s told and so he was soon spasming inside me and I could feel all that built up semen and sperm spurting into me.

Meanwhile my audience had all been wanking. One guy moved very close, and his ejaculation either splashed me or got extremely close. I didn’t especially mind but it was an indication he might not be great at following rules and showing respect and so it later proved.

We got back in our car and set off. However, Mr. Spunky had obviously decided our agreement didn’t apply to him and he immediately followed our car. Once on the A3, my husband slowed down to a crawl, wound down the window and signalled for our follower to overtake us but, no, he slowed too and continued his pursuit. We were both outraged by this and there was no way we were going to drive to our family home with this clown trailing us, so we pulled over onto a hard shoulder and our ‘friend’ pulled up behind us at which point my husband went and had a word with him – I believe he asked if he’d like him to take his shotgun from the boot and shoot out one of his tyres. At this point the moron sped off.

As a bit of a postscript, we were so concerned by that guy’s behaviour that we decided to stop off at a pub on the way back, just to make sure we had properly shaken him off. Once I’d had a drink we discussed the evenings experience, and I had to admit to my frustration because I’d been so tense and nervous and so busy watching the men wanking that I had not managed to orgasm (which is unusual as I cum very readily). I also told him he’d flooded me and I was sat in the pub with two little streams of spunk dribbling down my inner things. That was enough to get him ready for action again, so we went into the toilets and he fucked me for a second time and this time I came too!

The next day I asked those who had say they would attend but had not done so as to why they failed to appear, and the list of ‘the dog ate my homework’ excuses was rather funny and included ‘my brother came round’, ‘I had a puncture’ and even ‘I fell asleep’.

We decided that doing this with an invited list in bright sunlight was one variety of dogging but that we should also try going at night, unannounced and a few weeks later returned to Wisley. This was a disappointing experience. I’d gone to the trouble of getting into a miniskirt, seams and heels again but when we arrived we discovered it was either mainly or entirely men and they were not only much more interested in their homosexual action but positively hostile when I emerged. There was a bit of shouting at us because we had arrived with headlights on (who knew gay doggers can drive at night without lights?) and we left quickly and vowed never to go back.

I’ve tried a couple of related things. We drove to another location where doggers were said to hang out and I took my blouse off and after posing for a few photos (some here) we had sex up against our car while men in the bushes wanked and we went a couple of times to another well-known location in Surrey during the day; on one occasion there was no one there and on another two men watched as I gave my husband oral and we got a little round of applause after I’d swallowed his semen (and we noticed quite a few condoms lying around).

But after talking through these experiences, we decided this was not really a scene for us. Our experience of just turning up at a so-called dogging site is that there will often be no one there or its more for gays wanting to bum strangers and when instead I tried to arrange something with my admirers, many don’t even bother to turn up and among those who do there’s always someone who will behave like a dickhead.   

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not in any of these five photos.

There is an event at Hampton Court Palace each September which gathers some of the world’s rarest (and most valuable) cars. If you’re interested, you can see more details here:

Last year I was invited by a gentleman I met while doing some work within the luxury and classic car field and it was a grand event. Even a simple entry ticket costs over £100 but I was invited as a VIP guest, with a Charles Heidsieck Champagne reception, a 3-course lunch with fine wines etc.

There was one condition to my invitation, that I wear the complete outfit he had seen among my photos, and I reproduce that photo here. And yes, I wore the ankle bracelet and kept the gloves on throughout the day!

He really enjoyed showing me off and introducing me to all his friends and contacts and although I was a bit self-conscious at first, the Champagne helped me relax and I know a lot of the men there really enjoyed seeing my seams and the ten straps of my suspender belt clearly visible beneath the tight wet-look dress. My host was not the only one who became rather excited!

In fact he became so aroused it was rather embarrassing. Fortunately it was a very warm day, so he was able to carry his jacket in front of him for a time, in order to disguise his erection but I felt this was becoming a little too obvious, so I suggested we pop out of the Palace across to the lovely Mitre Hotel, where he was staying and once there I was able to deal with the “problem” of his hard on by delivering my superb hand relief service.

I was a little shocked on returning to the event when he told one of his friends what he had just obtained “relief” from me and that having me in front of him on my knees was a most beautiful vision. I only hope no one noticed the mark on my dress where we had had to wipe up a big rope of semen which had hit me when he ejaculated or, if they did, they simply thought I’d been careless with my ice cream!

The question is not has he invited me again for this weekend’s event – of course he has – the question is what outfit will he stipulate this year and I am waiting to hear that and is he serious in suggesting that some of his friends may wish to join us for some fun at the Mitre. It could be a busy weekend!