I guess every workplace develops its own Christmas traditions. After graduating, I worked at a firm where a tradition had been established even before I joined that at the staff Christmas party all the women wore stockings – I had no complaints as I was wearing stockings to work almost every day anyway!

Now I work part time for one individual and as you probably already know we have an unusual arrangement whereby I must always wear seams and heels when I’m in the office – about twice a week, usually – and boring bras are banned, so it’s either a quarter cup, occasionally a bullet bra or none at all. And sometimes when I wear a bullet bra I’m told to remove it and hang it on the back of my chair! Each time when I do go to the office I give my boss, Chris, hand relief and sometimes he asks me to come in for this sole purpose – he still thinks it is funny to leave me a voicemail saying that something has come up at work which he needs me to handle personally!

So regular hand relief is our norm but the ‘tradition’ we have developed, if that’s quite the right word, is that in the run up to Christmas, I give him oral. In the past I’d just choose a day close to Christmas and surprise him by taking him in my mouth but now we plan ahead, so much so that I’ve even put it in his diary this year – Friday, 15^th December and a picture of some big red lips.

One of the reasons we arrange this in advance is that he likes to abstain for a week or more before so as to build up a really full load, which he knows I really like. Chris is one of those men who always produces a large volume of semen and who ejaculates with considerable power but I think he sees his oral treat as a performance, so likes to impress with an especially full load of thick, sticky spunk.

And it’s something of a special performance for me too. I always put on lots of thick bright red lipstick and then I gloss them so they’re shining like stars in the sky. I also put my hair in a ponytail, so it’s out of the way and also so he can grab it, for reasons I’m about to come onto.

When I’m giving him oral relief, Chris likes to do three things, if he can. The first is easy – he likes to hear me gagging on his cock. So I allow him to ‘force’ my head down, so I begin to choke as his cock hits the back of my throat and he pushes it down my windpipe. I don’t let this go too far as I don’t want to be bringing up my mince pie and Champagne but I make plenty of gagging noise.

Last year I managed to record some of this ‘performance’ and you can hear it yourself by following this link (as I don’t think I can add an audio file here).

The second thing he likes to do is give a lot of verbal abuse. Normally, when I am giving him hand relief, he starts these comments as he is approaching climax and says it’s because he begins to lose control, as his sap rises and he’s just about to spurt all over my chest. But with oral, it starts from the outset. Now I know a lot of women, most perhaps, would be insulted by such talk and wouldn’t tolerate it but I’ve never felt that way. In fact, when I’m giving any man oral I think being called twenty different versions of ‘whore’ is very erotic and it gets me wet and ready for my own orgasm.

And the third thing Chris likes to do is phone my husband, who can then listen as I’m sucking Chris off. Chris also taunts him and as he approaches his climax, he either informs my husband that he is about to ejaculate in my mouth or he has, on occasions, pretended to ask his permission: ‘I need to cum now. Would you mind if I cum in your wife’s mouth?’

My husband absolutely adores this and says it is probably his favourite thing in the world, especially as he then hears Chris groaning with pleasure, swearing sometimes and he knows at that precise moment I am busy gulping down lots and lots of thick creamy semen and sperm. There is so much and his ejaculation is so powerful that I have to really concentrate to gulp it down rapidly, otherwise there is a risk of my mouth being flooded and I could end up coughing spunk all over the office!

Of course, I continue to fellate post climax as I know this really adds to the whole experience for him and when I’m finished and I disengage there is aways lots of thick bright read lipstick smeared over his shaft and all over my face. A quick selfie which I send to my husband and my work for the day is complete.

Well, almost – when I get home I know there will be another erection waiting to be milked but after my earlier performance, I know it won’t take long.

Saturday 16th December

Yesterday was the day and as I have had a lot of enquiries I thought I’d add a postscript. Everything went as planned, I was dressed like a tart in a leather miniskirt, 10 strap suspender belt, new seamed black stockings (BTW – thanks to all who have gifted me stockings during 2023!), five inch heels and an ankle bracelet. I also had way, way too much makeup on, so looked like a 1970’s porn star.

Today I have a sore throat and sniffles, so perhaps I’m getting a cold but having a rock hard penis rammed down my throat yesterday may have something to do with it. Chris managed to keep the action going for quite some time, by allowing me up from time to time, demonstrating outstanding self control. He delivered a very healthy load, although I’d say thicker and creamier than usual rather than it being a particularly larger than average volume. I did manage to swallow all he had to offer and he was impressed, once more, with my technique and willingness to accept the way in which he held my head and rather forcefully drove it up and down his shaft.

So another year goes by and this girl has earned her wages and her bonus and received another five star performance review.

Over the years I have built up an incredibly valuable roster of tradesmen and professionals who are willing to do work for me, without charge, in return for sexual favours.  This began well over 30 years ago – I needed something done, money was tight, I knew he liked me, loved my outfit, couldn’t keep his eyes off my bust, so I asked if we could come to an arrangement which wouldn’t involve cash and … well, one thing led to another, as they say and I still see him to this day.

I really enjoyed that first bargain: it saved me money, of course, but it was very flattering too and I was excited by the slightly sleazy nature of the deal. Was I using my body to get what I wanted or was I selling myself like a cheap whore? I told my husband what I had done and he was very supportive and said I should think about doing this more often. And so it began.

I’ve sourced these plumbers, electricians, gardeners, builders, engineers, car mechanics and even some what might be called ‘professionals’ (accountant, architect etc) in a variety of ways.  Originally, I’d get a young tradesman round, I’d be in something sexy and sky-high heels and I’d hint at the proposed deal and see where it went. This was successful in some cases but proved a bit hit and miss, so I largely stopped using this approach. Some were introduced to me by others from my roster, people they knew and could vouch for and who had already agreed they’d be interested in a mutually beneficial arrangement. I even had one cheeky chap who had heard about my hand relief skills and simply came to my door and pitched his services for mine. I thought that was too forward and I turned him away.

One or two are men I’ve got to know through other means who have then turned out to be very skilled in a trade. And then there is the Internet, of course! For a time there was a website called “Cheeky Barter” (see photo below) and I looked though those offering services there and also placed my own advertisement. This got a good response, the only issue being that I like to have men who are reasonably local (not too local!!) so that if I have an urgent need – the lights go out, the oven stops working – I can get them over to my place within the day and some of those who responded enthusiastically lived quite long distances away.

I should say that some have come (no pun intended) and gone for various reasons. Some just did not work out, others proved a bit too demanding, some moved, one dropped his trade and became a policeman. But other than a chauffeur I have a pretty complete list and I love all of them.

There has always been an element of ‘rough justice’ in this set-up. For example, recently my electricity tripped out and each time I reset it, it tripped off again. It took my electrician about five minutes to identify the appliance responsible (a soup maker), but it took me longer to get into the nurses uniform and stockings he requested and I then spent half an hour or more giving him nice, unhurried relief, with plenty of post climax stroking. Yet if the job had taken half a day his “payment” would have been the same, which can seem unfair.

I’ve always said they must accept a bit of rough with the smooth but on occasions when it’s been a big job, I’ve invited them back for further servicing or given them some cash too, although handing cash to a man who I have just masturbated always feels the wrong way round to me.

But the other somewhat unfair element of all this is that some get to see me regularly or at least a few times each year while others – on standby, ready to help if asked – aren’t needed very often. So to take an obvious example, Ben who has been doing my garden for longer than I can remember has been here at least once a month this year. In fact, we’ve had so much done this year, getting trees planted and the lawn completely dug up and reseeded from scratch, that he’s had to bring a colleague each time, so I end up masturbating them both and getting a double dose of spunk. They like to joke that after spreading seed on my lawn they then get to spread their seed all over me! And my electrician and my plumber both know they’ll be needed at least a handful of times each year. However, there are those who may not be needed or only very rarely.

This bothered me so last year I tried an experiment which I intend to repeat this year. I looked at my list and identified those who had not needed to visit me to that point during 2022 and in the run up to Christmas I invited them to come over for a little Christmas thank you gift. I’m not sure if they were expecting a bottle of whisky or some chocolates but what they got was me in one of my outfits (naughty nurse is always a winner, as is a lot of leather) and then it was, sit back, gloves on and balls totally drained.

This was great fun and I think really generates a lot of loyalty. And as one of them brought me six bottles of my favourite Champagne, everyone was a winner! So this year, in the week or so before Christmas I know I’m going to be pumping quite a few cocks, as there are these lads and then there’s my boss of course and my husband always needs regular servicing, so whether it snows or not, it will be another white Christmas for me.

And I love it!!!!!

Well, the ceiling …

One question I am asked quite often is what is the youngest man I have played with. If I ignore some of the fumbling and sucking that went on in my early teens, the honest answer is seventeen, a seventeen-year-old schoolboy. I’ll explain.

I was at a local charity event with my husband. I wasn’t dressed sexily, although as you can see from this photo taken that evening, I was wearing patent boots. To be honest, it was rather a boring event and perhaps that’s why I’d had rather a lot to drink.

A fresh-faced lad came over and introduced himself as Robbie. He’d also had a lot to drink, too much in fact. He said he’d seen me around the area a few times and wanted me to know that he considered me to be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He described seeing me some time before in a particular supermarket in a leather skirt and high heels boots and said from that moment on he’d be completely obsessed and thought about me every day.

All I could do was laugh and say it was very flattering to hear this. It was fun flirting with a lad still in the lower sixth form of a local school and as the conversation went on, he used words from which I deduced he was very interested in mature, dominant women. I don’t remember exactly what he said that evening – as I’ve said, I was pretty drunk – but it was about my being stern and my husband knowing his place and he thought I was clearly commanding and someone who demanded obedience.

I probably shouldn’t have but I acknowledged that I am rather dominant and like men who do as they’re told. He asked if I ever dressed in a style to assert my dominance and I admitted that I sometimes wear thigh length boots and love them and that I have quite a collection of PVC, leather, uniforms and the like. At this point he looked like a puppy with his tongue hanging out. Then I mentioned the magic word “whip” and he was almost bouncing up and down in his chair with excitement. “You have a whip?”

“Several”, I confirmed. “Two riding crops, two bullwhips, one long dressage whip and a cane and, of course, handcuffs, a gag and a leather dog collar and chain leash.”

We had even more drinks, and the conversation turned kinkier. He asked if I ever use my whips or handcuffs with my husband and I explained that he’s not really into the pain thing but that I do occasionally do such sessions with other men. He was beside himself with excitement by now. “Doesn’t your husband mind?”, he asked. “No, not at all. He knows I enjoy it. And, anyway, he does what he is told.”

Now he made his move: would I do a discipline session with him? He was willing to pay whatever I demanded; it would be an honour. He wished to serve me, do work for me, clean my house and so on and on.

Now at this point a light came on in my head and I sobered up a little, as it suddenly struck me that this lad lived locally, went to a nearby school and while I didn’t know his parents personally, I knew who they were and chances were they knew friends or neighbours of mine. So I tried to ‘back off’ and said it had been fun chatting to him but it was all a bit of harmless fun and I had no intention of doing a Miss Whiplash session with a boy. “Why not?” he pleaded. “You’re too young, and you’re too local” I told him “And I don’t want people I know gossiping about me.” He begged, he pleased, he offered me his savings but the only concession I made was to take his email address and promise to send him some photos of me in some domina outfits for him to “enjoy”, on the promise he would keep them strictly private. The next day I sent him some – I can’t remember exactly which ones but along these lines.

I received a series of emails from him begging me to reconsider and to give him the greatest thrill of his life by agreeing to a domination session. Of course, I politely told hm it was simply out of the question and I shouldn’t have told him the things I did, blaming too much wine.

But all the time, the idea kept going around in my head and I couldn’t shake off the idea of having a young lad, horny and full of virile spunk, lying at my feet. As is usual, I told my husband of my dilemma: lots of reasons not to do this – too close to home, being the major one – but admitting that the idea was giving me a thrill. He was very clear: he thought I should do it as a one-off and only with a very firm agreement that it must remain our secret.

For weeks and weeks, I thought about it and I continued to receive his emails pleading with me for just one hour with me. I kept saying no but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head and I came to realise that if I didn’t do it, I would never be able to stop thinking that maybe I should. So, eventually, hesitantly I said I would, provided he agreed it was a one off, that he’d never request another meeting and we’d probably never meet again and that he would not breath a word of this to anyone. No bragging about this at school on Monday! He readily agreed.

And so I did it. We waited to a weekend when his parents had gone away to Paris, so there was no chance of being disturbed and I went to his house in ‘plain clothes’ and a long overcoat which concealed my outfit, just in case any of his neighbours spotted me. When I took off my coat and he saw what I was wearing, I thought for a moment he might faint, as his face went white and his mouth just opened and closed but no words cam out until, finally, he said “awesome!”

I wore a PVC suspender belt and PVC quarter cup bra, fully fashioned stockings (naturally!) and thigh length, high heel boots, long PVC gloves and a PVC mini skirt and PVC jacket, each item in black. I brought with me my long dressage whip and a riding crop, smuggled in under my long overcoat, and a pair of handcuffs in my pocket, should I need to restrain him.

I won’t go into all the ins and outs of what we did but he had told me he wasn’t looking for a heavy punishment session, or severe whipping, more one of domination and control, so I quickly had him on the floor kissing and licking my boots. After a while, and as I became more and more aroused, I opened my jacket and ordered him to suckle on my breasts. He took a few mild strokes from both whip and crop too and one or two slaps across the face. For the finale, I told him that I intended to masturbate him and drain all of his young, healthy sperm from him. By this point we were in his bedroom and I handcuffed him to his bed and got to work. I worked him up and down towards his climax but I wanted him to suffer through delay and denial and he began to plead with me to finish him off. He was made to beg while I edged him, before I was willing to grant his wish.

When I did, an extraordinary thing happened, as his first spurt was so strong, so powerful, it actually hit his bedroom ceiling. Now, I should add here that his room was quite small and the ceiling not particularly high but bloody hell, I had never seen a cum shot as powerful as that, as it flew past my face (just) and literally hit the ceiling. He had four more very large spurts, all of which hit me and then there was a pause and I thought he was fully drained but after a pause, he began spurting spunk again, albeit with decreasing power until his fluid just poured and then dribbled out over my PVC gloved hand.

It was a wonderful experience and he was so thrilled he could barely speak. He stuck to our agreement and never emailed me again asking for a repeat session. However, each year to this day I receive a Christmas card from him with a short note and he is doing well. I wonder if he has a domina in his life.

If I am being completely honest, I felt two slightly contradictory emotions for some time after the session at his house. While it had gone perfectly, I did feel a degree of guilt about dominating and masturbating a schoolboy, especially one living so close to my own home. But on the other hand, I kept thinking about his ejaculation and I talked about this with my husband. At first, I was tempted to contact him again and suggest a hand relief session or maybe oral, as having a cock explode like that in my mouth and having to gulp down so much semen was an idea that excited me and still does. My husband asked if I might not prefer to invite him to our house and get him to ride me one afternoon, and pump me full of seed, the idea of a very young spunk filled stud inseminating a housewife much older than his mother was something which we both found very erotic.

But caution ruled the day and I parked the idea and gradually the temptation to revisit faded. Sometimes it is better to leave things as they are with wonderful memories after a perfect encounter. But I will never forget seeing his spunk fly past me and later dripping down from his bedroom ceiling.

I’ve previously explained the slight problem I have had with a young man who loves me to role play being his “mum”, insofar as we had begun out of fresh ideas for scenarios which result in his “mum” giving him hand relief and had sometimes repeated previous scenarios. I’m fairly relaxed about repeating things (I do the same scenarios with my boyfriend many times if we have both enjoyed them) but my “son” is rather more creative and likes to always be trying new things.

He suggested one new scene which we’ve just tried and it worked reasonably well, I think. The idea was that I was giving my husband – his “dad” – hand relief, but I was hoping for a good volume of semen across my breasts, so as to get a few naughty, spunky photos to post on my Flickr photo stream (https://www.flickr.com/people/ladyinseams/), as I know how much my followers like such images.

However, as is fairly typical my pathetic husband could only manage a disappointing volume of fluid.

So, as I was leaving the lounge to clean what little there was I told him what a pathetic dribble it was, how useless he is and asked if it is any wonder I have to see other men. But my “son” overheard this and came downstairs and said, “What’s up, mum?” so I explained that I had been hoping to get some interesting photos for Flickr but that his father had, once again, failed to come up with the goods.

“I can help with that, mum. You know I can, all you have to do is ask.”

“I know love but somehow it doesn’t feel right to be sharing photos of my tits covered with my son’s sperm, does it?”

“But no one will know, mum, all they’ll see is your beautiful breasts splattered with lots of fluid. It doesn’t matter who the donor is, does it?”

And with that impeccable logic I returned to the lounge put my gloves back on and stroked off my “son” onto my tits and then proudly held them up for the camera, glistening, shining like great white orbs of flesh glazed with lovely, fresh, virile sperm.

Thanks son!

Please note the photos used to illustrate this experience (which are still frames from a video which you can view within my collection of videos, if you have access to these) were not taken with my young friend but do show how our scenario played out.

I’m a devoted suspender belt and stockings girl and have been for over four and a half decades but I acknowledge there are other sexy outfits and different people like different things. I knew the first day I met Dave that I looked good in a tight white top, with a black quarter cup bra beneath it and in tight faux leather trousers, combined with a pair of five-inch spike heels. What I hadn’t anticipated is the extent to which this outfit would blow a fuse in his brain!

Since that day, I’ve done some work for Dave, helping him with his business of buying and selling high end used cars. I won’t repeat the whole story, as you can read about it in some of my earlier blogs but what Dave likes me to do – in addition to some genuine work, I should quickly add – is to go to his office in those tight faux leather trousers or wet look leggings or shiny vinyl trousers and ‘assume the position’, which is bent over his desk, ready to be spunked on. He also likes me to wear tops or blouses which show off my tits and when it comes to shoes his view is simple: the higher the heel the better.

Initially, he would stand behind me, masturbating, until he was ready to cum and then he’d step forward and unload over my backside while muttering a few expletives. In time he slightly adjusted his technique, so now he tends to rub himself up and down my backside and slap his erection against me until he is ready to ejaculate. This seems to get him to climax more slowly but delivers ones with greater intensity. In the meantime, with his free hand (or sometimes hands) he gives my tits a welcome level of attention, squeezing and pulling them until I sometimes reach climax before he does. When this happens, I can slightly lose control and find myself more or less shouting “Cum on me, spunk on me, I want you to spunk all over me!” and such like. It’s not very dignified urging a man to use me as their cum dump but lordy I enjoy it!

Of course, there’s quite a clean up operation required afterwards, as I’m not going to ruin my car by getting in and driving home with his thick, sticky semen all over my backside! But a trip to the drycleaners is often required to get the stains out. I visit one where the owner knows I often have garments with spunk stains – he was rather shocked when I first told him why a skirt I had brought in had so many whitish stains on it but now he seems to find it amusing.

I had been doing these little fun sessions with Dave for a while when he said he had something to ask me: how would I feel if he was to ask a friend of his to join us for one of them. ‘To watch or to join in?’ I asked. It was most certainly to join in he told me. OK, I thought, why not, provided my role is properly recognised and appreciated, the more the merrier.

So, one afternoon we met in Dave’s office. There was a bit of dithering about whether it was both at the same time, one on each cheek, or in sequence but in the end it was decided his friend would go first, watched by Dave, who would then add a second load. I was excited!

Some men go very quiet when they’re doing something like this and some men like to talk. This one liked to talk! As I leant over the desk I hear him unzip. ‘You’re a very naughty girl, aren’t you?’

‘Very’, I replied.

‘Yes, very naughty indeed. Filthy even. Do you like men spunking on you?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Have a lot of men spunked on you?’

‘Oh yes, hundreds over the years.’

‘Where do you like it?’

‘Everywhere. My tits, my high heels, boots, suspender belt, stocking tops, backside – obviously – face …’

‘Oh, you take it on your face, do you? You really are a dirty, dirty lady. Mmmm. I’m going to spunk on you in a minute. You ready? You want it?’

‘Yes, spunk on my arse.’

‘Oh, I will, don’t worry. I’ve not cum for ages, so you’re going to get a lot.’

Then he was panting and saying disjointed words and phrases like ‘Dirty girl. Heels. Naughty, filthy, leather arse, big tits …’ and then with a grunt and a ‘Fucking hell’ I felt his fluid splattering down on my backside. I allowed a minute for him to squeeze out the last drops of jizz on me and rub his cock through the mess before I reached back and felt the puddles of sperm and semen on my backside. He had been right, there was a lot.

As he stepped back Dave was immediately in position and wanking away. His friend was still vocalising on his theme ‘What a dirty bitch she is. Look at her. Filthy. So naughty. She loves being spunked on Dave, give her what she wants, she’s a cum slut, she wants loads of spunk, doesn’t she, what a dirty, naughty …’ and with a groan and a thrust of his cock up my backside Dave almost doubled the size of the spermy lake, all over my bum.

When the panting had died down and trousers adjusted it was suggested I do a quick walk around the office so they could inspect the gorgeous mess they had created and their semen dribbled down the back of my legs and some dripped onto the floor. It took quite a while and a lot of wet wipes and kitchen towel to get me cleaned up sufficiently that I could contemplate going home and telling my husband all about my wonderful, sticky afternoon’s work.

You know by now that I have been seeing a wonderful, kind gentleman who has a fixation with my big bust. In my last blog I told you about how he had me marching down streets and jogging up and down stairs in London, wearing a satin blouse and no bra.

More recently he proposed a tight white top with my black PVC quarter cup bra, or perhaps I suggested this as it is one of my favourite combinations and really shows off my chest to good effect. I suggested two possible tops – one is this fine lambswool sweater from Benetton…

And the other was this tight t-shirt …

He found it difficult to decide but eventually plumped for the latter but on condition that we’d meet gain soon with me wearing the sweater.

Before setting off to meet him I put my nipple pumps on for around 15 or 20 minutes, as these make my nipples rock hard and very prominent, like bullets and they stay like this for quite a while once pumped up. I combined the top with my tight faux leather trousers. As he’d asked me to wear these spike steel heels and acknowledging that they’re not easy to walk any distance in them, he kindly arranged a car to whisk me into central London.

I say “whisk” – have you seen the traffic in London recently? Normally he likes to parade me around in public but on this occasion, I was driven straight to his club where, as usual, he had booked a private room.

Once in there and with my coat off he was straight on task. He admired the swell of my breasts tumbling over the top of my quarter cup bra which is only just strong enough to hold my tits up and horizontal, with my nipples pointing straight at him. Then he stood behind me and began to cup them and squeeze them and pull my nipples. I could feel him grinding his erection against my backside, as he squeezed and shook my breasts. I suggested he get his cock out and that he rub himself against my backside properly. He didn’t need a second invitation and as he pushed his hard cock up and down my arse he began to groan with pleasure, so I asked if he’d like to spunk on me like this (so many men do!). He admitted he was sorely tempted but he wanted to tit fuck me even more.

At one point he squeezed my tits so hard I couldn’t help letting out a yelp of pain and I asked him to take it a little easier on me but he was in full throttle and he continued to cup and squeeze them very hard.

I was well on the way to my own orgasm and once he pinched both nipples between his fingers and thumbs and shook my tits up and down very vigorously and feeling his hard cock really grinding against my leather clad backside, I was over the edge, the fireworks in my head were lit and my legs went weak as a powerful orgasm ripped through my entire body.

He allowed me a few seconds of ecstasy before ordering me to take off my top and bra and lie on the floor. My head was still spinning as he put lube on his cock and as I squeezed my breasts into a deep valley for him, he began to hump my tits, I think harder than he has ever done before. He didn’t last long. He called me a few rude names  – I always enjoy being called a ‘busty slut’ and the like – and then he managed to point his cock slightly upwards and began spurting all over my mouth and my chin.

You know by now that I have been seeing a wonderful, kind gentleman who has a fixation with my big bust. In my last blog I told you about how he had me marching down street and jogging up and down stairs in London, wearing a satin blouse and no bra.

More recently he proposed a tight white top with my black PVC quarter cup bra, or perhaps I suggested this as it is one of my favourite combinations and really shows off my chest to good effect.

I suggested two possible tops – one is this fine lambswool sweater …

And the other was this tight t-shirt. He found it difficult to decide but eventually plumped for the latter but on condition that we’d meet with me wearing the sweater at a later date.

Before setting off to meet him I put my nipple pumps on for around 15 or 20 minutes, as these make my nipples rock hard and very prominent, like bullets and they stay like this for quite a while once pumped up. I combined the top with my tight faux leather trousers. As he’d asked me to wear these spike steel heels and acknowledging that they’re not easy to walk any distance in them, he kindly arranged a car to whisk me into central London. I say “whisk” – have you seen the traffic in London recently? Normally he likes to parade me around in public but on this occasion, I was driven straight to his club where, as usual, he had booked a private room.

Once in there and with my coat off he was straight on task. He admired the swell of my breasts tumbling over the top of my quarter cup bra which is only just strong enough to hold my tits up and horizontal, with my nipples pointing straight at him. Then he stood behind me and began to cup them and squeeze them and pull my nipples. I could feel him grinding his erection against my backside, as he squeezed and shook my breasts. I suggested he get it out and that he rub himself against my backside properly. He didn’t need a second invitation and as he pushed his hard cock up and down my arse he began to groan so I asked if he’d like to spunk on me like this (so many men do!). He admitted he was sorely tempted but he wanted to tit fuck me even more.

At one point he squeezed my tits so hard I couldn’t help letting out a yelp of pain and I asked him to take it a little easier on me but he was in full throttle and he continued to cup and squeeze them very hard.

I was well on the way to my own orgasm and once he pinched both nipples between his fingers and thumbs and shook my tits up and down very vigorously and feeling his hard cock really grinding against my leather clad backside, I was over the edge, the fireworks in my head were lit and my legs went weak as a powerful orgasm ripped through my entire body.

He allowed me a few seconds of ecstasy before ordering me to take off my top and bra and lie on the floor. My head was still spinning as he put lube on his cock and as I squeezed my breasts into a deep valley for him, he began to hump my tits, I think harder than he has ever done before. He didn’t last long. He called me a few rude names  – I always enjoy being called a ‘busty slut’ and the like – and then he managed to point his cock slightly upwards and began spurting all over my mouth and my chin.

I felt so good lying there, my tits a little sore and swollen from his rough handling, my nipples as stiff as pegs, his sperm dribbling down over my lips, allowing me to lick up a good amount while the rest tricked down my chin and dripped onto my neck and chest.

I can’t wait for ‘sweater day’ and nor can he!

If you have read all my previous blogs – and if you haven’t go back to the beginning and do so, you naughty boy! – you already know I see a lovely gentleman who has a complete fixation with my big bust and believes there is no finer pleasure on earth than tit fucking me or having me tit wank him.

However, as a prelude to such ecstasy, he likes me to show myself off in public places or should I say, perhaps, that he enjoys parading my bust around. For example, last year he took me to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, an event more associated with blue rinses and retired accountants than with sexy fun, but to which I wore a ridiculously low-cut top with a quarter cup bra, displaying more cleavage than even I thought possible, which caused quite a stir among the art lovers! One gentleman told me that of all the beautiful objects on display at the exhibition, I was the most attractive of them all!

More recently he has proposed a few things which even for a daring exhibitionist like me are simply too much. For example, he asked that I go to a pub with him wearing this sheer white body suit under a little jacket, similar to what you see in this photo and that after one or three drinks – as many as you need for Dutch courage, he said – I remove the jacket and allow everyone to admire my big, heavy breasts. I would love to have done so for a dare but it just felt too much, so I had to decline.

Having thrown a few more such ideas around, he came up with one I was happy to go along with, as he asked me to wear a satin blouse without a bra. Personally, I think this looks sexier with a quarter cup bra but he had a very clear idea of what he wished to see and that was me, striding down a busy street in very high heels, so that my boobs would bounce and sway very noticeably.

We discussed if this should be with leather skirt and seamed stockings but he felt this would distract too much from my boob display and so we settled on my tight leather-look trousers instead. Sexy but more understated than seams and a tight leather mini.

He stood at one end of the street in London and asked me to walk quite quickly towards him from the other end, as he wished to see what reaction I received.  I didn’t like to say that walking swiftly in five-inch heels is no easy matter but off I set. I hadn’t got halfway down the street when a man walking in the opposite direction stopped me, said hello and said how much he liked my satin blouse. We chatted for a moment and I could tell he was more interested in my chest than the blouse but he was avoiding saying anything to which I might object, so I made it easy for him by explaining that I was going to meet a friend who likes to see me without a bar. He admitted he had noticed and thought it quite daring, given my … and here he hesitated so I said, “Big tits?” and he laughed and said yes, but he didn’t mean to cause offence. I assured him no offence taken, and that I’m proud to be so busty and enjoy showing off. We talked bra sizes and then he asked if he might take my number, buy me a drink sometime, chat more. I politely declined but took his email address and later that day sent him some ‘busty’ photos which I know he has ‘enjoyed’ a great deal.

When I reached the end of that street my companion was thrilled and wanted to hear all about my new admirer and what we had discussed.  We repeated this little exercise on two more streets but although people looked and, in some cases, stopped and stared as I bounced past them, no one else stopped me. We then went to a big set of stairs and he had me sort of skip up them and then back down again a couple of times. This had my tits bouncing so much I was in danger of slapping myself in the face!

By now he was massively aroused and we went straight onto his club where he had again booked the private room for our little session – blouse off, a little lubricating jelly between my breasts and I clasped my breasts around his erection and began to stroke him off. Sometimes when I’m doing this, he likes to say things to me, call me names but today he wanted me to talk and he gave me a few pointers as to what he wanted to hear. This is what I said, or approximately so as obviously I’m doing this from memory:

I know I have lovely big tits. I’m really proud of my big tits and I enjoy showing them off. Everywhere I go men notice my big boobs and often they stare at them. I know a lot of them want to tit fuck me or suck them or squeeze them and pull my nipples. I like being braless but I also like to wear a bullet bra which makes my tots look enormous or a quarter cup so my nipples really show. And when I show off my cleavage …

At this point he began to gasp and said something about me being a cock tease with big tits and spurted up and over my breasts.

Often when doing this I can reach orgasm before him, because my breasts are so sensitive and when I’m aroused – which I more certainly was by this point – my nipples are like bullets. The fact that I climax while tit wanking him or being tit fucked is probably the thing that thrills him more than anything – he simply adores my very horny nature and the fact I can climax with only my breasts being stimulated. But on this occasion, I didn’t quite get there before him which, while a disappointment for us both, was no tragedy as after he did a bit of nipple pulling and tit squeezing, I got what I very badly needed.

I’ve subsequently done another little trip to his club, which I’ll write about in my next blog.

You know already that I have a great love of, perhaps even an obsession about, fully fashioned stockings, sometimes referred to as vintage style seamed stockings or nylons or just ‘FFNs’. This has been a constant for me for over forty-five years, since I acquired my first suspender belt and a pair of Harmony Point stockings when I was just fourteen. If you read this blog, I assume you share something of my passion.

But there’s something else about FFNs which I love but I know not everyone agrees with or even likes, namely wrinkles in stockings. One of the things I liked best when I first put on that pair of Harmony Points was how sheer and ‘hard’ the nylons felt, after all my previous stretch tights. FFNs are non-stretch and as a result they can wrinkle at the knees and ankles and sometimes even be a little ‘baggy’ on the leg and I love that.

As I said, I know some people disagree, even some men who love FFNs. They believe the suspender belt straps should be tightened so the stockings are taut and the seams kept straight and I understand that and I will often go for that look myself, especially for more formal occasions (weddings, parties, etc), sometimes stretching suspender straps across my buttocks keeping things tight and revealing lovely suspender belt “bumps” and the outline of the straps themselves, as you see in this photo.

But for me there is something about wrinkles in FFNs and the extra information they convey (yes, they’re most certainly stockings and I am wearing a suspender belt or girdle!) that I know a lot of men absolutely love. If I am out, say shopping, wearing seams and high heels, I am often followed but I have noticed that I am followed more often when my stockings are wrinkled, maybe even a little baggy on my legs.

So, years ago I learnt at least three things which help develop proper, distinct wrinkles. First, I buy my stockings on the long side. I do so partly because I like to be able to wear them with short skirts but also because a longer stocking will develop wrinkles more readily. Second, I don’t try to get the stockings too taut, nor to tighten the straps of the belt too much – not too loose either or the stockings rotate too easily and the seam can end up on the side of my leg but not too tight, a judgement call I don’t always get right. And third, just wearing them all day and walking from place to place and wrinkles, often very deep and clear wrinkles will almost always develop. After a day at work, I’d often be sat on the tube or train home with very, very wrinkled stockings and I found that many men really liked this look.

Of course, the other way on which these wrinkles and a certain looseness develops is during a good hard fucking session. My lovely black fuck buddy likes to put me through my paces and give me a solid work out, jack hammering me on all fours and then putting me face down over his dining table and then on my back, with my legs held up high in the air as he pumps another load of thick spunk deep inside me. After a couple of hours with him my stockings are often all over the place, as is my hair and makeup!  When I return home my husband says it just adds to my image as a complete slut and as I stroke him off and tell him what I’ve been up to I know he likes to admire my wrinkled seams.

So let’s celebrate this look (and no stupid jokes about Nora Batty from those who don’t like them, as I’ve heard them all before and they are VERY boring!) and the joy of non-stretch nylon!

From time to time, I receive requests for an update on some of the men I’ve written about here. For example, there is the unusual scenario where I role play a gentleman’s late mother-in-law, Margaret. I’ve continued to visit this gent and there’s little to report, as we simply act slight variations of the same situation, wherein I give him a fairly rough and disdainful hand job. It’s not how I usually like to do things but if my mission is bringing pleasure to men, which it is, then I must be willing to fulfil their fantasies.

However, I wanted to update on another friend and perhaps ask for your ideas. You may recall I see a young man who likes me to play ‘mummy’ to him. I like him – he’s funny and flamboyant and very imaginative with many of the scenarios he suggests (although therein lies the problem) and he also has a very good cock, which gets so hard it’s vertical and I have to pull it down away from his torso and his ejaculation is very powerful and there is always a lot of semen, which I really like.

But the problem is we appear to be running out of ideas. Or, rather, I feel uncomfortable about the things he now wants to do and have found myself saying ‘no’ to the last four or five proposals he’s made. We began with me ‘catching’ him masturbating while watching one of my videos and being the loving mum I am, and feeling horny as I did, I offered to finish him off. The I ‘caught’ him going through one of my lingerie drawers and getting ready to splash his seed all over one of my black suspender belts. Naturally, I wrapped that belt around his rock-hard cock and slowly brought him to climax. I brought him a cup of tea in bed one morning and helped with his ‘morning glory’ hard on. And recently he came to me just as I was about to go to my boyfriend’s house – and hence I was in full gear of seamed stockings, high heels etc – and said he’d taken two Viagra tablets and could not get his erection to go away. No problem, his mum knew how to deal with that issue and she soon has his spunk all over her cleavage.

All of these are terrific fun and I want to do more such scenarios. But he most enjoys the public appearances if I can put it like that. Going shopping and making loud suggestive comments to his mother, for example. Or in a pub, when in a loud voice he said ‘Oh, mum, you’re such a slut!’ And he somehow persuaded me to go to a party with him, dressed in my usual seams and heels, with a leather mini and low-cut top and then he introduced me to everyone as his mum, asked a couple of guys if they agreed his mum is super sexy and told some others that he was proud of his mum for still being so sexy and active at my age. Even after a few drinks I felt very self-conscious and embarrassed about this.

The he asked if I could bring him with me, when visiting one of my men for hand relief, and I did try, telling the gent that my husband was unavailable and my son would accompany me for my security, which he just about bought, but when I said my son would like to watch he absolutely refused and I hadn’t got to the part where I was to say I would also be offering my son hand relief, after his own session was complete. I had to go back to this man, later, and explain it had been a fantasy scenario and did not involve my real child.

My ’son’ has also said that his ‘mum’ should be prepared to service him using her mouth which I’ve refused to do, as while I can just about see some mums might be prepared to give a horny son a hand job, I don’t think this would extend to blow jobs too. I did say that if he is absolutely fixed on me providing oral, I’m happy to do so (remember, I love to swallow a really big load of thick semen!) but that we’d have to drop the ‘mum’ and ‘son’ before I could agree. He has even suggested a bareback session, which I’ve told him isn’t going to happen even if he drops the son and mum fantasy!! Even my husband is denied that pleasure.

So, my request to all you horny folk out there is this: can you come up with some fantasy scenarios where a mum can satisfy the lustful energy of a horny young man who simply adores his mother and thinks she ticks every one of his sexual boxes but in which she only provides him with hand relief?