My husband had been away for a few days on business and on the day he was due to return home I sent him this photograph, which I thought he might like. However, he slightly misunderstood my reason for doing so, thinking it was intended to entice him home and promise him a hot hand relief session, although if he had stopped to think he might have wondered who had taken the photograph.
In any case, when I heard his key in the door and him placing his suitcase on the floor I popped out from the lounge and after he had a quick feel of my suspenders and stocking tops, I put him straight, explaining that I had a young man with me, his hands handcuffed to a chair behind his back. When I added that I was torturing this lad, he for a moment thought I meant that I was using my cane, or riding crop or my dressage whip and he knows I can be a bit of a merciless bitch on such occasions. But I clarified that this was a different type of torture. James was a young man who had not ejaculated for almost two weeks and his balls were fit to burst with billions and billions of sperm and I hoped with a fountain of a seminal fluid too.
But by now I had been stroking him, gently, slowly on and off for over forty-five minutes and despite my very gradual approach to the task in hand (if you will excuse the pun) we had rapidly reached a point where I had to stop at regular intervals in order to prevent him unloading too quickly. So the return of my husband was a welcome interruption.
I had previously stopped to do some emails on my phone, to make a call and to just walk out of the room and make myself a coffee leaving him there writhing in sweet agony. I even went upstairs and found a face flannel, which I dampened and used to mop his face, as he was dripping with sweat and his face rather redder in colour than looked healthy.
Of course I forced him to beg for his release and to be fair as we went on he did so with gusto but each time he begged me to finish him off I told him that his pleading was not good enough, not convincing and he needed to do it properly, to really beg, beg as if his life depended upon it but each time he did so I told him it wasn’t enough and I withdrew my gloved hand and imposed another break in proceedings.
When I had explained the situation to my husband, he asked me if I had made this lad beg and I confirmed that with his hands cuffed to the chair behind his back he had no other option than to hope I would finally grant his release and allow him to ejaculate. But when I returned to the lounge, I left the door slightly ajar and invited my husband to stand just outside and listen as I tortured the poor boy further and this time I told him to speak up, to shout for mercy so my husband could enjoy hearing him plead so earnestly.
Hearing the arrival of my husband had softened James up a little, so I managed to keep this going a little longer, hoping to extend his agony to the one hour mark (which mayhave been a personal best for me) and in order to do so I took some further breaks but when the time came, I spoke in a clear, loud voice, knowing we were being listened to. By this time my ‘subject’, the cock owner was close to tears and he kept lifting his backside off the chair, as if thrusting his cock harder against my hand might complete the job for him.
Instead, I loosened my grip slightly looked him in the eye and said, “Right. I’m going to grant you release now and I want every last drop from those swollen balls of yours. I want you to shoot everything you have got here, “and I glanced down at my big chest. “Can you do that?”
He nodded his head vigorously and grunted, by now incapable of speech. I tightened my grip and began long, firm strokes but he only required three or four more before he let out an enormous bellow and began the process of unloading his considerable store of thick spunk. Although I had shuffled forwards and placed my chest in what I thought was the best position to receive his spunky gift, I should probably have anticipated that after such a long period of abstinence combined with almost an hour of hand torture his ejaculation would be as powerful as it proved to be as his spurts flew upwards, first landing on my face, over my nose and cheek and then my chin and much of the rest up my neck before it slowed somewhat and my white top got some of the soaking I had expected. He continued to release his semen for quite some time and then it stopped but as soon as I thought he was spent there was a second flurry of spurts and I was pretty heavily splattered.
I did as I always do and stroked him down for a couple of minutes but I was eager to get off my knees and show the mess to my husband. When I did I emphasised that he should note what a real, healthy, virile man can provide in contrast to his own “pathetic dribble”. Having stood at the door listening to proceedings he was ready to unload as well, so I quickly got to work on him.
As I did we were almost talking over one another as I mocked him for his pathetic cock and how that young man in our lounge was so much more of a turn on for me than he could ever be, while at the same time he kept saying things like, “Look at that mess. You’re covered in spunk, you filthy slut, you big titted tart…” and so on before he too moaned and unloaded his spunk over my gloved right hand.
Later I told my husband I was thinking about handcuffing him to a chair like that, next time I invited one of my young spunk donors over to be milked. “Would you like that”, I asked. Indeed, he would love to watch me he confirmed and if his hands were cuffed that could add to the experience. And then I had an idea: what if I did that but also gagged him, so I wouldn’t have to listen to his insults and blindfolded him, so he could listen but have to use his imagination. He was a lot less keen on this idea, which only made it all the more enticing for me!
One of the two men I wrote about is extremely aroused by suspender belts and the thought of women wearing them and even hearing me talking about suspender belts was enough to make him ejaculate powerfully while I masturbated him.
However, last year I decided to largely give up my role as a Masturbatrix and I had to let those men I had previously been ‘servicing’ by hand know that this would now come to an end. Tim, my suspender belt fanatic, was naturally disappointed, not least because for him, to just sit opposite a woman wearing a belt and stockings was an intensely erotic experience.
Naturally, I felt bad letting friends like Tim down and after he pleaded with me and offered me a temptingly large financial incentive, I came up with an idea which, although not as exciting as seeing me in person, has gone a long way to satisfy his particular interest.
Tim and I now chat online. While I chatter on, making as many references to stockings and suspender belts as I can, Tim strokes himself. He asks me occasional questions which I’m always happy to answer honestly but for most of the time I do the talking, while he does the stroking and it usually doesn’t take him very long before his sperm is released. And of course, the great advantage to him is that other than an occasional gift to me of a pair of stockings this doesn’t cost him a penny.
Of course, I always get dressed for one of our chats even though he can’t see me because it’s important for me to be able to say, “I am wearing a suspender belt and stockings” and mean it. I also find this quite erotic for myself and if I can arrange things I will sometimes chat with Tim (and with others, it must be said) before going over to my sex partner’s house for a good seeing to.
So, I might say to Tim, “as you know I’m wearing a suspender belt right now but I also wear suspender belts when I go out in the evening and my husband loves to feel my suspender belt straps under a tight skirt and I like to wear a belt and seams when I go shopping …” and so on. I have found a thousand different ways to work the words “suspender belt” into my chat as he masturbates and each time this has been enough to push him over the edge.
I talk about the number of suspender belts I have in my collection, the colours, the number of straps on each, my favourites, the metal clasps that I insist upon and so on. Initially, he was a little reluctant for me to even slightly stray from the very specific words “suspender belt” but he now quite likes it when I refer to alternatives such as girdles, waist clinchers, basques and corsets, all of which I do wear from time to time.
He loves to hear about when I’m out in public in seamed stockings, suspender belt and stiletto heels and how men react when they see this, when they see the outline of my suspender belt straps under a tight leather or satin skirt or a wet look dress. He asked me recently whether I believe some of those men go home and masturbate while they think about what they have just seen and I replied, “I certainly hope so”. He seemed a little shocked but very excited by the idea that I wanted men to do this and when I told him that if I’m approached by some of these men I am happy to chat to them and talk about the fact that I am indeed wearing a suspender belt, well that was enough to finish him off and secure another happy ending.
I mentioned in my most recent blog that Nick, a long-standing admirer for whom I modelled, many years ago, took the opportunity to explore some fantasies with me. I thought I would tell you about two, which both started with the same basic premise – namely me calling at his door but each went in very different directions. The first was entirely his idea but the second was one that we concocted together, perhaps with more input from me than him.
May I count on your vote?
Nick had a bit of a thing about me being “posh”, well-educated and it is true that I’m from a solidly middle-class background and with a university education. I think at first, he found it puzzling that I would pose for erotic photographs and allow some photographers to ejaculate on me and this first scenario was inspired by this contrast between my slightly genteel upbringing and this behaviour as a wanton slut.
For this scenario I wore a nice floral dress, albeit with a bullet bra, a PVC suspender belt and fully fashioned stockings beneath, together with some nice high stainless-steel heels. I knocked on his door and explained that I was canvassing on behalf of the Conservative Party and wondered if we could count on his vote. He looked me up and down and asked if I had time to discuss some of my party’s policies, perhaps over a cup of tea. The idea being that, foolishly, thinking I might have a convert to the party, I agreed and stepped into his hallway.
Of course, at this point things took a dramatic turn and he told me that he knew that what I really wanted was not his vote but a good seeing to. He pulled me down onto my knees and with his spare hand unzipped himself and pulled out his fully erect cock. “Now let me explain my policies to you”, he said with a chuckle, as he thrust it into my mouth. “Which is that sluts like you should get on your knees and suck cock whenever you are told to do so. Do you understand?”
Of course, at this point I could neither agree nor disagree with his own ‘policy’, as my mouth was full of his throbbing cock, so I did as he instructed and brought him to climax at which point he took it out of my mouth and shot his spunk over my face and as he came he shouted “I’ll vote for that!”
Wash your own car
We acted out the second scenario on my subsequent visit to his house. For this I dressed in a full Saint Trinian’s style uniform: pleated gym skirt, fully fashion stockings, high heel Mary Jane shoes, a white blouse and tie over a black quarter cup PVC bra and I had even managed to find a straw boater and a badge which said “Prefect”. It should have said “Perfect”!
I knocked and he opened the door. “Sorry to bother you mister, but we’re raising money for my school and I wondered if you’d like to help.”
“Well, I love your uniform, for a start. Very smart. What do you want me to do? Buy some chocolate brownies?”
“No. That’s too boring. You see our headmistress, or ‘Queen Bitch’ as I call her, she says we each have to raise £100 or the school might have to close and I don’t want to be making brownies or washing cars. That’s no fun and it’s hard work and will take too much time.”
“So what do you propose instead?”
“Well, mister, you like what you see, don’t you?”
“I certainly do. Tell me more.”
“It’s £25 for hand job or £50 for a blow job, £10 extra if you want deep throat. Would you be interested?”
“Yeah, definitely. But what if I gave you the whole £100 now? What would I get for that?”
“You mean, will I go all the way?”
“Yeah, something like that. What about a bit of everything? Start with your hands then you give me a blowjob and then I give you a good seeing too, like you said.”
“OK. £200.”
“But you said you needed to raise £100.”
“Yeah, so £100 to keep Queen Bitch happy and £100 for me.”
Up to this point we had been following a rough script that we had agreed for this scenario but as he led me through to his lounge, I decided on a fairly outrageous piece of adlibbing and said, “I’m only 16 you know. And I’m a virgin, so this is a very special moment for me. You will be gentle, won’t you?”
After he had finished laughing and saying the word “virgin” a number of times, he said “In your dreams. I’m going to treat you like the dirty little slut that we both know you are and I think you deserve a spanking to begin with for being such a filthy tart and selling it door to door like that.”
And so we got down to business and the little scene we had just acted out seemed to really energise him and he continued to speak to me as if I really was a lazy, slutty schoolgirl offering sexual services because I couldn’t be bothered to bake or wash a car.
This is the story of just one photograph, above. Or rather, it’s the story of what led up do it being taken and then the immediate events which followed.
However, to tell the story properly I need to go back more than 30 years. At that time, I was recently married, working full time and had not yet started a family. I had for some time enjoyed posing for what I like to describe as ‘tasteful erotica’ photos, mainly on the theme of fully fashion stockings, stiletto heels and suspender belts but I also enjoyed being photographed in uniforms, leather, PVC and what might be described as fetish outfits.
Of course, the money was good, sometimes great and when I was younger and saving hard for a car and to be able to pay the deposit on a flat the money was very much welcome. But to be totally honest, at least in time, I was motivated less by the financial rewards and more by the fact that I obtained a very significant erotic charge posing before the camera and meeting some of my admirers. Put bluntly, being photographed like this made me extremely horny and I often found myself hovering close to orgasm as my photographers snapped away and sometimes rubbed themselves against my legs and backside.
I had built up a considerable following and had a Yahoo photograph group with over 25,000 members and another Yahoo group on which I posted some of my videos, which also had thousands of members.
Naturally, I received hundreds of requests from admirers who wished to meet me and in almost all cases this progressed no further but in a small number of cases I offered to do a photo shoot with those of my admirers I thought I could trust. Inevitably, the sort of fee I proposed was too much for most of these men but for others it was not enough to deny them the opportunity to meet me and take those photographs they had always dreamed of and then a bit more besides.
I had discovered very early on that I could double or triple my modelling fee by offering to spice things up a bit and, in particular, having been introduced to the idea by another model I’d met at a shoot, that something referred to as ‘wet modelling’ could be especially lucrative and, perhaps more importantly for me, extraordinarily erotic. What wet modelling means is that the photographer is allowed (or should I say encouraged?) to ejaculate on the model and will then sometimes take additional photographs of her splattered with his semen. Sometimes this involved more than one photographer; in fact, for my very first wet modelling booking I had eight young men who, as you can imagine, left me heavily splattered with spunk!
I am not saying that the additional spice in all the photo shoots I did involved being spunked on. As I have explained in the past, I was a very enthusiastic provider of blow jobs in those days and so on occasions this would form part of the agreement when I attended a shoot with one of my fans. Now you might ask whether my husband was content with this arrangement but I had been doing erotic modelling long before we married and I can assure you that if he had had his way I would have been going a lot further and a lot more frequently that was the case.
Part Two
Which leads me on to Nick. Nick had been a longstanding fan of mine and he had sent me gifts of stockings and lingerie but he had made it clear that he didn’t just want to look at photos of me, he wanted to take some and as he was a reasonably accomplished photographer, I was interested too. Although only a year or two older than me, he had semi-retired having sold the technology business which he founded while at university for a considerable sum (I don’t recall precisely but from memory I think he received £36 or £38 million for his shareholding). He had bought a summer cottage in the West Country not far from Bath and he suggested I come down there for the day, do some photos both indoors and outdoors and have some fun. Normally, if I didn’t know the person already, I would be accompanied by my husband or by another male friend as a simple common sense precaution but Nick knew some people I knew who vouched for him and I had checked out is business profile and so I felt able to take this risk and go on my own.
He was a fairly proficient amateur photographer and when he picked me up from the station, he explained that he would like to take both black and white and colour photographs both indoors and outdoors and so a number of cameras and lenses were involved. But I’m going to cut to the chase and explain the significance of this single photograph.
It was a sunny day and we were outdoors and I was posing, bent forward over a stonewall when he stepped forwards and adjusted my thong. Foolishly, I assumed he was simply straightening my outfit so I was totally unprepared for what happened next. Having tugged my thong to one side, he thrust his cock deep into me. I promise I said no, told him to stop and tried to wriggle free but he had me pinned against the wall and my efforts to shrug him off were rather compromised by the fact that as he thrust into me I had an intense orgasm which made my legs go weak and I think I briefly blacked out, resting on top of the wall as he held me by my hips, his hands on my suspender belt and took his pleasure.
If this wasn’t bad enough, he said something along the lines of “I knew you wanted it” or “I know you want it” and then I felt him thrusting so hard into me I was worried we might fall through the wall before I felt him begin to spurt his spunk into me. He had me pinned like that and I knew I couldn’t wriggle away from him and so I had no choice but to wait as he slowly continued to push himself back and forth in me.
When he let me go, I was absolutely furious, so angry I must have used every four-letter word I’ve ever known. In many ways he made things worse by chuckling at me and waving his hands up and down saying “calm down, calm down”. I marched back inside and began packing my case of lingerie, heels and uniforms but he pleaded with me not to leave and suggested could come to some arrangement.
“Surely”, he said “this isn’t the first time you have gone all the way with one of your fans, is it?”
I pointed out that that wasn’t the question because had I ever done so it would be at my choice a new one before had ever simply forced themselves on me and without even wearing a condom so I was now left with his jizz inside me. But of course, this gave him a chink of light and he asked what fee I would have commanded if we had agreed in advance for something like this to happen. I was reluctant to go down this line of thought but he kept asking the same question in many different ways so eventually I thought of a number and pretty much doubled it. He whistled in response but said he’d agree on one condition, namely that we could carry on for the rest of the afternoon.
We went back inside and he placed some cushions on the tiled floor and sat in a chair. It was blowjob time! I did my thing and was pretty pleased with my performance but he was even more pleased with himself after he had ejaculated on my face, as he had managed a very healthy load and not that long after coming inside me. He grabbed one of his cameras and snapped some photos of me kneeling there, looking up at the camera with a big smile on my face, covered in spunk. I’d love to share some of these photos with you and there’s a really good close up of me licking his sperm from my lipstick lips but that’s not possible.
He went on to ride me face down over a large oak dining table, and then had me on my back with my legs up vertically and over his shoulders at one point and then later he placed me on a wooden staircase, took some more photos, got me to stand up with my back to the camera for some more shots and then he fucked me bent over the stairs.
I recall he kept saying it had been obvious I had wanted to be fucked and of course, each time I had an orgasm it validated this view. And he loved it when I called out “God, that’s so deep” as he thrust into me and at one point I yelled “That’s a bit too deep” as he smashed against the neck of my womb and he was absolutely delighted and said it was obvious my husband wasn’t able to properly service me.
It was a very warm summer’s day and I was very hot, and now when I look at the photographs from all those years ago I can see that my face is beaded with perspiration, so you might say I worked hard for my fee that day and I was fairly exhausted by the time we’d finished and he dropped me back at the railway station but I’d enjoyed it not only because I’d had a number or orgasms but I was sort of thrilled with the sheer filthy way in which the day had developed, with me thinking I was going to do some sexy photos and then finding myself on my knees or face down over a table being bare backed by a man I’d never met before. And it didn’t finish there.
When I arrived back in London, my husband came to collect me from the station. He asked me how I had got on and as he drove, I told him what had happened. I thought he might be angry with Nick for forcing himself on me like that, but quite the opposite, he was electrified and the moment we walked through the door he pulled me into the lounge, place me face down and was in me within seconds. Inevitably, as he rode me, he told me what a filthy unfaithful wife I was: “tart; whore; slut; bitch; cock sucker” etc.
We had sex three times that evening but the effect lasted for weeks and he couldn’t keep his hands off me. He was further thrilled when I agreed with Nick to do a further session with him. On that occasion, and one subsequent to that, the photography was very much secondary as he focused on enjoying my body and the numerous outfits I brought with me and as we acted out many of his fantasies, some of which were distinctly kinky. Perhaps I can write about some of these another time.
I really enjoyed sex with Nick and in the days leading up to our two additional sessions I found myself extremely aroused in anticipation, once so much so I had to nip into the toilets in a shopping centre and make myself cum. By the time I arrived at the station where he collected me, you might say I was wet and willing! However, there is a rather sad epilogue to this story.
Epilogue
As I continued to do occasional photo sessions with some of my admirers, I’d sometimes be asked for a reference. It was understandable that before handing over fairly substantial sums of cash, some wanted to check out that I was for real and to hear from those who had booked me in the past. Nick agreed to play this role and whatever he said appeared to put minds at rest and persuade the recipient to go ahead with me.
However, I subsequently was given a cop of what he had written and I was shocked and rather upset by his words. While he said many nice things, such as “without doubt the sexiest woman I have ever met” and that he and that I had given him “some of the most amazing days in my life” but he also revealed some things I had told him which he must have known sounded bad and he said some very unpleasant things too, essentially branding me a nymphomaniac. He also described my husband as “odd” for being a cuckold and wanting his wife to have sex with other men, which is surely a matter between him and me and was none of Nick’s business.
I told him I’d read what he’d said and that, consequently, I would not be seeing him again.
A few years later a mutual acquaintance emailed me and asked if I knew that Nick had died. She sent me press cuttings from two local papers, which said he had died suddenly of heart failure. I might have expected the press to be interested because he was quite a well-known and very successful businessman and that was mentioned but their main focus was on the fact that in his teens he had been a guitarist in a band which – under a different name and after he had left – went on to be one of the most successful of all time, one which if I were to name it you would know. And the weird thing is I didn’t know this, he never mentioned it and I don’t even remember seeing a guitar in that house.
Despite our falling out, I felt sad at his very premature death and was left wondering, how well do we ever really know a person?
One of my lovely admirers, who was kind enough to gift me a pair of fully fashioned stockings, emailed me details of an imaginary meeting with me in a bar. I liked it but I then wrote my own variation of our encounter, one in which I play a more ‘processional’ role. I though I’d share it with you – let me know what you think.
We agree to meet in a bar I have chosen and you arrive early in anticipation. Your cock is hardening as you sit awaiting my arrival as I’ve told you the outfit I will be wearing and you haven’t played for a week so your balls are heavy with semen awaiting release.
As I walk in, everyone turns to look, as I’m wearing a tight leather skirt, which in reality is too short to be worn with stockings but I’m in the fully fashioned stockings you gifted to me anyway, five-inch heels and with an ankle bracelet. My make up is on the heavy side and my lips are thickly coated with bright red lipstick, which has then been glossed and sealed. I’m wearing a white stain blouse and a black PVC, quarter cup bra.
In short, I look like a tart but the staff know me here and know what this is about, so barely give me a second look. However, I know all the men in that bar will be getting hard, thinking about what they’d like to do with me.
As I take my seat you see my skirt is too short to cover my stocking welts and as I cross my legs half an inch of creamy thigh and four suspender belt metal clasps are revealed. After pouring the Champagne, you push the envelope full of cash across the table and I pop it into my handbag. “Bad boy”, I say with a laugh.
You ask if you can feel me and of course, I agree. I want you fully hard. As we sip our Champagne you run your hand over my thighs and stocking tops, and when I push the heel of one of my shoes into your foot, you stiffen more. I then put my hand on your crotch, just to check. I squeeze you and give it a gentle rub but after a few moments you grasp my wrist and ask me to stop – “I’ll cum in my pants if you don’t” you say.
So, I know it’s time and you are already leaking fluid. I get up and go to the disabled toilets. I’ve chosen this bar specifically because this facility is around the corner, observed by no one and out of ear shot and as the staff know me, I know we won’t be disturbed, even should one of them see you sneaking in after me.
You give it two minutes, as ordered, then follow me in.
I sit you down on the toilet, pull your trousers down and kneel in front of you. Now things can develop in one of two ways. If you have selected my hand relief service, I take a pair of disposable latex gloves from my handbag, pull them on and squirt a little lubricating jelly into the palm of my right hand. I grasp your fully erect cock and get to work. I try to make it last, going slowly, stopping a couple of times, but I saw your shorts were soaked with precum, so even I can’t keep this going as long as I would like and after a few minutes, your cock erupts. I try to catch your fluid with my left hand but such is the force of your ejaculation, inevitably some hits my face and hair.
However, if you had chosen an oral service (and the envelope had contained a suitably larger tribute) I would take your cock in my mouth and show you my deep throat skills, practiced thousands of times since I was still at school. I would have asked you to make a choice before we started: would you prefer to ejaculate in my mouth and watch me gulp down your heavy load or to withdraw at the last moment and ejaculate all over my face and then watch me lick up as much as I can? Either way, I now have thick lipstick smeared all around my mouth and your cock is smeared too.
“Better get that wiped off before your wife sees it” I say.
“Better clean your face up before you go back into the bar”, you reply.
“Not so quick,” I reply. What about me? You hadn’t expected this.
“I thought you were just here for the money.”
“God, no, love. I don’t need the money. I’m here because I’m a horny bitch and doing what I’ve just done has left me gagging for it. Now you need to do your bit.” I bend over the toilet with my back to you and guide one hand to where it needs to be with two fingers pushed into my soaking wet pussy, the other hand up to squeeze and pull my nipples and tits and I cum in less than one minute.
Back in the bar, we finish our drinks. The barman looks across and winks at me. He knows I’ve just extracted your sperm and semen. You suggest a second bottle, perhaps thinking you can get hard again quite quickly and pushing your luck a bit, ask if a second visit to the toilet might be on offer but I’ve other ideas.
“No, sorry love but I’m meeting another punter here in …” and I look at my phone, “… ten minutes, so you’d better be going.”
You’re obviously disappointed. “Will he be checking out the disabled facilities here as well?”
“Yes, I’ll be on my knees again shortly. He’s booked a full cum in mouth service. One of my regulars. He’s a bit naughty, this one, likes to make me gag, you know, ram it down my throat a bit, hear me choking on it. Makes him feel big. Anyone walking past might think someone’s in there throwing up, as I like to make a lot of noise for him, he loves that, pays extra.”
“And will he also … you know …” and you wiggle two fingers in front of me.
“Tim, you know what I say. Life is too short not to orgasm every day. And once is never enough. So when I get home tonight, I’ll tell my husband all about what I’ve done today, every filthy detail as I stroke him off. And then I’ll be ready for my third of the day.”
This is a tiny clip from one of my videos. If you’d like to view all of it and the 103 other videos in my collection, all I ask for in return is a single pair of fully fashioned stockings, to help keep me in these lovely nylons.
If you’d like to know how to gift some stockings, email me at ladyinseams@gmx.com (but please only email me if you are sincere about this).
As I lean over the customer’s table to take his order, he appears transfixed. As I am wearing an extremely low-cut top, a 1/4 cup bra and displaying an acre of cleavage, I am not altogether surprised.
“What would you like?”
However, not only is he unable to take his eyes off my cleavage, he seems unable to speak either.
“Can I interest you in one of our specials today?”
“Mmmm … probably. What do you have?”
“Well, as you can see we have some delicious breast meat today. So, if you would like to suckle on them, that is one choice we can offer. Or perhaps you would like to try our world-famous gloved hand relief option.”
“That sounds very tempting. Can you tell me what’s involved?”
“of course, no problem. Wearing glossy latex gloves, I stroke you until you are on the edge of climax and then I keep you there for a while, maybe even make you beg for it and then eventually I grant you release and you can unload onto my cleavage. Or we have a slight twist on that option, whereby I wrap my breasts around your erection and use those rather than my hands to bring you off. It’s a tit wank you will never forget. And finally, there is the full cum in mouth oral service and for a small supplement you can add deep throat to that, if you’d like to hear me gagging and choking on your cock as I take it down my throat all the way to your hilt.”
“Oh my God! How can I choose? They all sound delicious. Can I be greedy and order two things from the menu?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Would it be possible to suckle on you for a while and then try the hand service?”
“Yes, I don’t see why not, a sort of starter followed by your main course.”
He laughed at this.
“Just one question: for your hand relief main course would you like the standard busty service or would you prefer topless relief. There’s a supplementary charge for topless.”
“No, I think I will go for the busty option as I would like to splatter your cleavage.”
“Oh, promises, promises. I hope you will!”
I reached down into my top and lifted each of my full, heavy breasts out. I was already very aroused and my nipples were hard and engorged. Before popping them into his mouth I swung my breasts across his face backwards and forwards and this stimulation was enough to take me close to the edge at my own climax. So when I shoved my tits into his face and he took one in his mouth and began to suck and slobber on it, I knew I wouldn’t last long and when he took the other breast into his mouth, caught the nipple between his teeth and gently bit down on it and pulled his head back away from me stretching my nipple, I lost control. As I began to orgasm, I let out a bellow that must have sounded a little like a cow.
I think he was a little shocked at how quickly I had climaxed or even that I had done so at all and he stopped suckling on me. He was more than ready for his main course however, so I pulled on my black glossy latex gloves and got to work on his cock.
The challenge wasn’t to make him ejaculate, the challenge was to stop him doing so too quickly. After only a minute or two and I could tell he was ready to explode, so I slowed down and actually took my hand away once or twice which I knew was very frustrating for him but ultimately it was for his own benefit, adding power and force to his climax. After making him beg a few times I manoeuvred myself into position so that my cleavage was under his cock and my busy right hand.
“Right”, I said, “I am going to allow you to come but I want every last drop out of you and I want it all over my tits. Are you ready? Can you splatter me like you said?”
He grunted, which I took as confirmation of both. I went a little faster with my hand and with some swearing and a very deep moan, he began to spurt. I knew he had abstained for nine days and had been edging himself daily while watching my videos, so I was neither surprised nor disappointed by his powerful ejaculation, which initially hit me in the neck rather than on my cleavage but by swiftly and slightly altering my position I managed to gather much of the rest into the canyon between my breasts and distributed the remainder first on one and then on the other, so that by the time he had finished spurting and then dribbling my chest looked completely glazed with fresh sperm and semen.
“Oh wow! That’s impressive.”
“So my waitress will not be expecting a tip, is that right?”
“I’ve just received it. So how was your meal deal?”
Gareth and I had agreed on how his fantasy scenario would play out but I had decided on a nasty little surprise for him.
He was certain he wanted me in full ‘Domina’ style. I wore a PVC suspender belt, my signature black fully fashioned stockings, a black PVC quarter cup bra, a red PVC skirt and a black PVC jacket, long black PVC gloves and – most importantly for him – my black, high heel, patent, thigh length boots.
To be fair to Gareth, I knew that he was more into the psychological aspects of submission and domination than the physical, pain related themes, although he had said that the odd crack of a cane or whip could add to the occasion. But what he wanted, what he craved was a mature and genuinely dominant lady who would bark orders at him, bully him, make him feel worthless and generally act like a cruel, cold bitch. It was more about being controlled, being treated like an inferior being by a goddess, a cold, heartless bitch than about chains and whips, if you can understand the distinction.
We exchanged views on possible scenarios but what became clear was a quite specific set-up which he’d been entertaining in his mind for some time, years even. He would be sat behind his desk in his office. I should explain that Gareth has a rather senior position in a manufacturing business (and, as an aside, I’ve often found the men who most crave submission very often have authoritative professional roles, a theme I should probably explore further in a subsequent blog) and for this reason we had to have our fun on a Saturday afternoon, when his workplace was otherwise closed.
As he sat there reviewing whatever it is directors of a manufacturing business might review, I was to walk in wearing the outfit I’ve described and clutching my black riding crop, I would shout abuse at him and demand he do this or that – he left it to me to think of things he must do but he wanted me to tower over him, make him kneel before me while I intimidated and belittled him.
I was happy with our agreed scenario and I do find such situations a massive turn on. I once even had a completely unexpected orgasm while delivering a topless whipping. But I’d decided on a surprise little twist for Gareth, to move us away somewhat from a purely fantasy role play into a sphere of authentic fear for him.
As I stepped into his office, that Saturday afternoon, I had fully psyched myself up for what I was about to do. As he looked up at me from behind his desk, I raised my riding crop and I hit him with all of the force I could muster. Perhaps because I have done so many thousands of hand relief sessions my right arm is stronger than I imagined but that single blow across his arm and chest had such force he was almost knocked out of his chair. He screamed, I think as much in astonishment as in pain and as he raised his arms above his head to stop any further strikes, I could see from his face that he was almost numb with shock.
I yelled at him and as I came round the desk towards him, he pushed his chair back and shouted “No, no, no!”
I raised the riding crop above his head, as if to hit him again but I knew already this would not be necessary, as he cowered back in his chair, arms raised to protect himself from the bitch who had proved more vicious than he could have imagined.
“Please!” he cried. And he really did look as if he was about to start blubbing.
“Shut up, you pathetic wanker!” I shouted. I placed the end of my crop on his chest and pushed him back a little further.
“Kneel.”
He dropped to his knees.
“Lick.”
He began licking one of my boots and as he did so, I stroked my riding crop across the back of his head and over each side of his face. I could still see the shock on his face at what had just happened and he was shaking with fear as to what I might do next.
“Up!”
He got to his feet and I pushed him face down over his desk. I tugged at his trousers but he was wearing a belt and with only my left hand free I struggled to get them down, so I ordered him to drop his trousers. When he had done so I removed his belt.
“I should use this. Would you like it across your face so everyone on Monday will think you’ve been in a car crash?”
He began to whimper. I knew that just the hint of further, extreme violence was enough to make him tremble. Whether he was really enjoying this or not, I was less sure about but I was also unsure whether I cared either way. I was loving it!
“No, no, please not that. I’ll do anything for you. No need to hit me. I’m begging you.”
I left him lying face down on the desk, as I first ran his belt back and forth cross his buttocks and then my riding crop.
“Lie down.”
“Where, mistress?”
“On the floor, moron.”
Trousers around his ankles he lay down next to the desk. I sat in his chair and placed my feet on his face at first gently, then I began to apply more pressure until his face had a sort of cartoon character to it. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear but I noticed he was now fully erect beneath his shorts.
“You look funny”, I told him and he did. Jacket, shirt and tie but lying there in boxer shorts, his trousers around his ankles, brown shoes so shiny they reminded me of conkers. I scrolled through my messages and emails for a while, every now and again giving him a little kick, just to hear him groan.
I moved one foot towards his groin and rubbed his cock for a few seconds and he moaned. “Oh, you’re hard aren’t you, you filthy pervert? You make me sick. You’re disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself”.
Using my phone, I took some photos of him lying there.
“Rubbing your cock against my boots, you’re disgusting. I should send these photos to your wife. Should I do that?”
“No, no, please, this isn’t what we agreed.”
“Shut up, you sick, depraved piece of shit. You know I’m going to blackmail you, don’t you? A nice monthly payment or your wife gets these photos”.
As he began to protest, I placed the sole of my boot on his mouth and pressed hard. He went quiet.
I stood up from the chair.
“Up. Sit.”
When he was in the chair, I put my crop on the desk and took each of his wrists and placed his arms on his lap in front of him. He was about to be astonished for a second time, as I took a pair of handcuffs from under my jacket and cuffed his hands together. He looked down, puzzled.
“You are a dirty little wanker, aren’t you?” He didn’t respond. I lifted the crop and placed the business end on his nose. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes I am”, he blurted.
“So, go on then. Wank.”
He looked a bit confused, so putting my face about two inches from his I yelled at the top of my voice “Wank!” I noticed I’d flecked his face with spittle and that gave me an idea.
He reached down and began to masturbate, using both hands, the handcuffs jangling as he did so.
I stood back and laughed. “Look at your pathetic little dick. No wonder you have to pay to get your kicks. It’s useless and you’re worthless.”
I unzipped my jacket to the waist and began to stroke and squeeze my breasts. I was heartily aroused and as I did so I sensed an orgasm might be on its way.
“Look at my lovely big tits. Do you like them?”
He nodded and panted as he worked on his cock.
“Do you like my stockings?” I stroked the welts.
“My boots?” and I raised one up onto the chair between his legs.
He groaned and said “God, yes!”
I could tell he was close but I thought I’d give him a little prompt. “If you don’t cum for me soon, I’m going to pull you onto the floor, kick you in the face and stamp on your balls. Would like me to do that?”
He shook his head vigorously from side to side but he seemed unable to speak as he was so close to release. I leant forward and spat on his face.
That was it! That did it! He bellowed, his face contorted and he threw his head back as if looking at the ceiling and he began to ejaculate.
Now I’ve been rude about Gareth’s penis – it wasn’t particularly small, maybe six inches erect and reasonably thick. I wouldn’t have minded masturbating his but his Goddess was never going to touch his dick. But I’ll give him this: his ejaculation was impressive. Spunk flew upwards and it was one, two, three, four quite big spurts then a slight pause as if his body was gathering all his spermy resources and then it began again, with almost as much force and more semen flew up over his legs and chair and some even landed on his desk.
Of course, afterwards, and if you would excuse the pun, I debriefed Gareth about our session together. He admitted that he had been absolutely astonished, horrified even, when I marched in and absolutely whacked him with my riding crop but he also said that it had set a brilliant tone for the rest of our encounter because he had felt that at any moment I might snap and inflict even more pain, more damage upon him and that fear was for him electric.
And that was that. Except there is something of a strange twist. Naturally, I had assured Gareth that I had no intention of sending the photographs I had taken to his wife or had ever had any intention of blackmailing him with the photos and I said I would delete them from my phone, it had just been part of our mutual mind game. However, he’d said “No, hang on to them for now”, without explanation which I thought was a little odd but we were locking up at the time and I didn’t give it much thought.
But a few days later Gareth got back in touch with me and said he had been unable to stop thinking about my blackmail threat and he wondered whether we could continue with this idea, whereby I would threaten to send the photographs to his wife or even go to his house and show them to her and tell her that her husband was the pathetic, depraved pervert and he would be forced to buy my silence. This, he told me, would be the most humbling, humiliating experience of his life and he begged me to be a blackmailing bitch.
I’ll leave you to imagine how that particular idea developed.
As well as a Champagne reception and a wonderful lunch, he offered to generously reward me for my time but there was one proviso, namely that I would wear the outfit you see here, including the long gloves and the ankle bracelet, an outfit which he had seen in one of my photos and which he was determined to see me wear for this event. I demurred slightly, not because I was completely opposed to such a brazen outfit but because I feared others attending the event would assume I was his escort, which he might find embarrassing. However, quite the opposite was the case, because he intended to parade me around and, on the day when he introduced me to some of his friends there, he made it plain that I was a sexual trophy for him that day, his ‘escort’ if you wish.
He even told one man that I am a professional Masturbatrix. He was staying at the Mitre Hotel, across the road from the Palace and when his excitement became too much, too visible, we went there so I could provide him with some much needed “hand relief”. When we returned to the event he boasted to the same man about the incredible ‘service’ he had just enjoyed, which he said was the best he’d ever experienced and he pointed out that my right glove was marked. He also encouraged others to discuss whether I might accompany them to other events, similarly attired. He thoroughly enjoyed showing me off and we had a wonderful day.
What follows is NOT the discussion I had with other men that day but is what I later imagined I might have said, perhaps some of it is what I wished I had said but I was too cautious to do so.
Tony introduces me to a little group of men who have gathered around to admire the view.
‘Why don’t you explain what I mean when I say that you’re very good with your hands and also why I asked you to wear those wonderful long gloves?’
Well, I hesitate for a moment and wonder what to say but then I plough on. ‘I am a professional Masturbatrix. I provide men with a hand relief service. I really enjoy masturbating men and that’s what I do’.
I give each of them one of my business cards.
‘Why don’t you tell them a little bit more about how you do it, because it’s very special, your style, your approach.’
‘OK, well to begin with I should explain that I always dress for the occasion and I would usually wear whatever it is the man has requested, within reason of course. I don’t generally go in hard and fast, in fact quite the opposite, I want it to last as long as possible. So what I do is I slowly stroke the cock until the man is hovering on the edge of his climax and then I try to slow things down or I will stop completely if necessary, so as to prevent them from ejaculating too quickly. If successful, this can go on for quite some time, 15 or 20 minutes or even a half an hour or more. By that point the man is normally begging me for relief but I like to make them wait even longer before I tell them but I want them to climax, to ejaculate on me if they can and when they do it is very often an extremely intense experience for them and I am frequently told that it is the most intense they have ever experienced’.
The men look at me, stunned and it’s left to Tony to speak and he asks about my fees for this service.
I tell them that I wish to make one thing clear: I am not a prostitute or a sex worker, this is my hobby, I do it because I enjoy it, it’s fun and I love giving so much pleasure to men in this way.
‘Then why are we talking about fees’, one of them asks ‘if this is just a bit of fun for you’?
‘Because if I didn’t charge the queue of men wanting me to masturbate them would be a mile or two long. But the moment I state the minimum that I’m looking for before I even consider putting on a suspender belt and putting on my stockings then that queue becomes considerably shorter and much easier for me to manage’.
‘Wow!’ one of the men gasps.
‘And in any case, if my hobby was baking cakes, or making dresses or gardening would you expect me to give away cakes or dresses or transform your garden for free?’
‘That’s a very good point’, one of the men agrees. And then he asks, ‘Is it just hand relief you do or are there other ways in which you have your fun?’
‘It is principally hand relief, that’s my thing, as I say I’m a professional Masturbatrix but from time to time I do other things. For example, as you can probably see I am rather busty and some men have quite a fixation about my big tits and so I do sometimes get tit fucked or I can use my breasts to bring them off with an oily tit wank.’
‘You enjoy that?’, he asks.
‘Very much so. Getting a pearl necklace is a real joy for me and if everything works out exactly right I can often have an orgasm while I’m being tit fucked or giving a tit wank because my breasts and especially my nipples are extremely sensitive, so it doesn’t take that much to make me climax. I also enjoy giving oral from time to time and before you ask, yes, I do swallow the semen unless the client prefers to ejaculate on my face and then I will lick off as much of their spunk as I can afterwards’.
‘And if it’s discipline a man craves, I do that and I can be a very strict and merciless bitch. It’s mainly psychological – you know, control, humiliation, servitude, that type of thing – but if they need pain to get their kicks then I have quite a collection of canes, whips and riding crops. My long dressage whip can do serious damage and I’ll admit I do get off while inflicting pain. In fact, I once had an orgasm while whipping some pathetic creature’.
‘Do you ever go all the way?’, one of them asks.
‘If you mean full penetration, intercourse, then the simple answer is that this is not something that I offer to my clients but of course there is a price for everything, isn’t there?’
And they all chuckle at this.
‘So if someone wants to throw is stupid amount of money at me for their ultimate experience then I am willing to listen but as I don’t like condoms, they will need to have a health check first’.
Another of the men says, ‘You mean it’s bare back – they spunk inside you?’
‘Yes, absolutely, as many times as they are able to in fact. I love being flooded with sperm and semen.’
Tony pipes up at this point. ‘But you’re married, aren’t you? Does your husband know that you do this sort of thing, doesn’t he object?’
‘No not at all, he loves it and he wants me to have fun and enjoy myself. He’d like me to do more in fact. When I get home, dressed in an outfit like this, maybe splattered with a client’s ejaculate he is ever so excited and of course I have to give him hand relief almost immediately but his greatest thrill of all is if I come home and tell him that I am carrying another man’s sperm in my stomach or in my sopping wet gash. Then he wants to know every last detail and needs to be given daily relief for at least the next week. I know that he has never regretted marrying a slut like me and he would love it if I was being fucked by one man after another every day.’
‘Would you ever do a group of men, a group like us for example?’, one of them asks.
‘Yes of course, I can do that. I’ve even provided the entertainment at the stag party but nowadays I prefer to limit it to a smaller group, say four, as it’s more manageable but it can be more cost effective for them too. For example, if I was to do a hand relief session with four of you cost for each of you would be less than an individual session and you still get the same incredible hand service, although a little quicker for each compared to the one-on-one service I like to provide. For me one of the benefits of doing this with a small group is that I can end up heavily splattered with all their spunk all over me, dripping off me, and I really like that, that’s a very big turn on for me and so then I will be desperate for my orgasm, so one of you would be invited to use your fingers deep inside my pussy and frig me off to climax. Added to which when I get home and show my husband my outfit splattered with spunk from all you lovely men, well, you can imagine his reaction’.
‘Now, who wants to join me in the hotel across the road?’ I’m looking at a group of men who are almost drooling as they look at me and I can see an erection in every one of their trousers. At this point it’s clear that I have a number of new clients and a busy few hours ahead of me. Perhaps I should be thinking of all the money I’m about to ‘earn’ and what I’ll spend it on but all I can think of is all those lovely hard cocks and the enormous amount of spunk I’m about to receive.
One question I get asked quite frequently is what is the sexiest thing you have ever done or, phrased differently, what is your most erotic experience? I find this an almost impossible question to answer, partly because as you know I’ve done a lot so it is difficult to select just one but also because I think it is fundamentally a very tricky question, similar to being asked what is your favourite record, book or film. Why choose one, rather than a wide range of music, books and films which you have enjoyed?
So what follows is not necessarily what I think of as being the sexiest thing I have experienced but it is certainly one of the filthiest. In order for this to make sense, I need to go back a long way as this happened when I was dating my husband John but long before we were married and you need to know about the things I was into back then.
I have previously explained that when I was young I was very sexually submissive and had a lot of powerful fantasies about being overpowered, forced to do things, even taken by groups of men and used by them and I really got off from being spanked or even a bit more and sometimes being restrained, tied up or handcuffed.
I remember, shortly after we began seeing one another, going back to my flat with John and his shock when I got out a pair of handcuffs and a riding crop and asked him to cuff me to my bed and punish me for being so naughty, using the crop. At first, he simply refused, as he said he would never want to hurt me, so I had to explain to him my erotic fantasies and desires and I think I told him just stop being a wimp and give me a few firm strokes with the riding crop or get out of my flat.
Winding forwards a few weeks or months and he was now very much into this himself, partly because he saw how much it turned me on and how horny I became after a good spanking. In fact, he discovered that he can be quite a sadist.
We didn’t use the handcuffs or ropes I had acquired very often but more often than not I would go over his knee or face down over a table or the back of a chair for a bit of a spanking before sex and by the time my buttocks we’re glowing, I was wet and absolutely ready for a good seeing too.
I’m not quite sure how we first discovered the next little kink I’m about to describe but at some point when he had me tied or handcuffed to the bed he decided to leave me there like that and he went into the lounge or the kitchen for a few minutes before returning to find that this had taken my state of arousal to an even more intense level, one whereby I would orgasm almost immediately he went inside me or if he plunged my vibrator into my wet pussy. This became a bit of a thing for us and gradually he extended the period of time when I was left helpless, sometimes handcuffed to the bed, sometimes my hands tied or cuffed behind my back, sometimes blindfolded, occasionally gagged.
Then one Saturday evening, after getting me firmly secured he said, “right, I’m off” and at that I heard him pick up my door keys and leave. I couldn’t believe that he would leave me like that and I thought for a moment that he had gone back to his own place and I would be left like that for the whole night but in fact he had gone to the pub which sat on the other side of the road opposite my flat. He told me later that he had had a pint there before he returned to my flat to find me extremely relieved by his reappearance and more than ready for some action.
As we went at one another that night – and back in those days we would often have sex for quite some time, he being able to come three, four or five times during a session and me enjoying multiple orgasms – he repeatedly played with the theme that he could have brought someone back with him from the pub, asking if I would have liked him to do so, beginning by suggesting this stranger could have watched him fucking me and then he asked if I would have liked it if this anonymous stranger had wanked while he watched and maybe spunked on me and maybe even spunked on my face, but as I responded positively and shouted out that I wanted this to happen, he suggested that next time he’d bring someone back and he would do the watching while the stranger would fuck me, fuck me over and over again and I as I would be tied or handcuffed to the bed there would be nothing I could do to stop this happening.
This became something we would do every few weeks, usually on a Friday or Saturday night and he talked more and more about bringing someone back to my flat and the two of them taking turns with me and using me as what he called “a piece of fuck meat”. On one occasion he even went so far as to pretend that he had actually put this fantasy into action Having left me on the bed blindfolded, he came back into the bedroom and said he wanted to introduce a new friend who was ready to fuck me. For a moment he fooled me and I was terrified, angry but also excited.
However, I had made it crystal clear to him that while the fantasy of the stranger taking advantage of me while I was restrained (and I should make clear, always fully tackled up in a suspender belt stockings and high heels) was exciting and one I was happy to play along with, and while we enjoyed some phenomenal sex, with me saying how much I wanted him to bring a man back or even a group of men back and fuck the living daylights out of me, it was exactly that, a fantasy and there was no way that I would ever want him to bring someone from that pub, as they would then know where I lived and who knew what the consequences of that might prove to be. It was way too close to home! John knew not to ever place me in that degree of jeopardy and also that should he ever do so he was history.
Now, that was a very long context but without it what follows and what happened would probably make no sense to you.
We had been playing this game, from time to time, for some months along with some other fun experiences and experiments, as when we got together every weekend, we liked to try different things and have a bit of kink in our lives.
John was both working very hard and studying for a postgraduate qualification, which took up much of his time, getting up early each weekday morning to study before heading off to work and studying all day on a Saturday or a Sunday or sometimes both. So when his exams were finished, I thought he deserved a treat and so I surprised him by arranging “a dirty weekend” away and what better place to do that than in Brighton?
And so one Friday, we met at my flat after work, as I was to drive us down to the coast. He knew he was in for a good weekend when he arrived at my flat and saw my outfit, as I was wearing a suspender belt and seemed stockings and a very short skirt, combined with a white fairly transparent blouse beneath which I was wearing a black PVC quarter cup bra. I sort of naughty secretary look. He was even more excited when I showed him my suitcase because I had not only packed suspender belts, basque, a girdle, numerous pairs a fully fashioned stockings and stiletto heel shoes but also a pair of thigh length boots, a PVC miniskirt, a cane, a riding crop, a bullwhip, a wooden ruler he liked to spank me with and a pair of handcuffs, some ropes, and a few scarves with which he could use to tie me up or blindfold or gag me.
To be honest, I felt as horny as hell and I think he was semi erect during the entire journey. He told me that he had not come since the previous Saturday and was ready to glaze my face or pump a huge load deep inside me.
We stopped briefly for something to eat, so that when we got to the hotel and checked in, we could have gone straight to our room and got to it but once we had unpacked a few things I suggested we try out the hotel bar, show myself off and flash my stockings at whoever might be there. John asked if I was sure I wanted to sit in a bar with a skirt as short as the one I was wearing because once I was sat down there was no way that the stocking welts at a minimum would be other than on clear display and probably some white thigh but I was really in the mood for something very sexy and so we went down to the bar. By this time, after I drive down, it was fairly late and the bar was pretty busy but I found a stool at the bar and crossed my legs and gave everyone a really good look at what a pair of beautiful fully fashioned stockings and high heels can look like on a leggy girl and I even did a bit of bending down at the bar and there was no doubt I got a suitable degree of attention from the men and even from some of the women.
We had quite a bit to drink and some sexy chat before we went back to our room, both eager for some action. I can’t remember the sequence exactly as it was both a long time ago and I’d had a bottle of wine but I remember going over his knee and being spanked pretty hard, the ‘justification’ being that I had displayed myself like a cheap tart in the bar and needed to learn not to be such a brazen slut. Then I was placed face down on the bed and handcuffed to the bedhead.
By now – as you might imagine – I was absolutely gagging for it, and I was certain he was too, so you can imagine my surprise and frustration when he said, “I’m going back to the bar for another drink. You will have to wait.” And off he went.
I can’t say exactly how long he was gone, but it felt like an eternity. I lay there, wriggling pointlessly and becoming more worked up by the minute. Eventually I heard the key in the door with some relief. But he had a surprise for me! In fact, he had someone with him who he quickly introduced. The man said hello but he sounded nervous. He asked, “Is this OK? Are you OK with this?” I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say but John said, “Yes, it’s OK. She wants this. We’ve talked about it.”
There was a bit of back and forth between John and this man and as they hesitated I grew increasingly frustrated to the point where I suddenly shouted, “For God’s sake, will one of you just fuck me!” At that, things began to happen. John produced a condom, which made me realise this was not an entirely spontaneous event because we did not use condoms and I wondered if he had set this up before we even left for Brighton. However, I subsequently learnt that when he went back to the bar the man approached him and asked what had happened to the lady he had seen him with earlier and John told him that I was handcuffed to the bed upstairs and gagging to be fucked and as the conversation developed John asked if he would like to come up to our room and join in the fun.
I only learned this after the event, of course but in our room, trousers were removed, I heard the condom packet being ripped open, John lifted me up onto my knees and the man from positioned himself behind me, placed his hands on my hips and suspend about and thrust his hard cock into me. The whole situation was so extraordinary, so exciting, so unbelievable then I had an orgasm on his third or fourth thrust. He continued to pump away at me for a couple of minutes before slowing almost to a stop and groaned loudly and I knew that he was spurting into the rubber sheath.
When he withdrew, he asked us if we would like him to leave. I think he said, “Leave you to get on with it” but John said no, he should stay and watch, adding, “We’re not finished yet.” John then took his turn with me and as he rode me, he took pleasure in telling me once more what a dirty tart I was, a whore. By chance I reached my second orgasm just as he began to unload almost one weeks’ worth of spunk deep inside me.
As he was riding me, I was only vaguely aware of the other man but either from the sound or perhaps a shadow moving I’d only half consciously brn aware that he was stroking himself but as soon as John had finished enjoying his ride in me, he turned to the man and said, “You’re up next.” The man barely hesitated and was about to take me again but then John stopped him and said, “Spank her first. She wants it. She’ll come more quickly if you do.” Understandably, the man hesitated and I could sense his reluctance but John turned to my suitcase and said, “Look at the things she brought with her. She loves to be spanked, she likes being punished. In fact, use the cane.”
The man mumbled something I didn’t quite hear but it was obvious he was reluctant to hurt me, but John picked up the cane and gave me two firm strokes, which made me yelp and I might have jumped off the bed had I not been cuffed to it. Then John handed him the cane and said, “She needs four more and then she will be ready to be fucked again. Get on with it”.
And so he did, although rather more softly then my loving boyfriend had done and when he had delivered those blows he rather sweetly massaged my buttocks and with another condom in place he fucked me again and I had my third orgasm.
At this point, we had a break and John uncuffed me from the bed. My new sex partner kept saying it was unbelievable, and incredible and he asked if we might be able to meet again for a repeat but we both said something along the lines of it had been something we had always wanted to try but not necessarily something we were looking to do again and he accepted this with good grace, got dressed, gave me a kiss, thanked both for a most incredible experience and left.
If anything, John was even more electrified than he had been before, stimulated by the experience of watching a complete stranger fucking me and by my obvious pleasure and so our evening was by no means finished. He still wanted to punish me for my tarty display in the bar but even more so for saying, in effect, that I had felt so horny I was willing to have any cock inside me and it didn’t matter whether it was his or that of a complete stranger. He wanted to hit me with the riding crop but I knew that when he was in this type of mood it could be quite severe and so I did a bit of bargaining and accepted a second over the knee spanking and then I was placed on my back and with my legs lifted up towards the ceiling and almost behind my head he slammed deep inside me and I quickly reached my third climax before he pumped his seed into me.
As you can probably imagine, the rest of the weekend had a similar vibe and he couldn’t stop reminding me that I had allowed, or indeed encouraged, a man I had never met and who I would never meet again to fuck me twice while he watched. This of course justified further corporal punishment sessions and the riding crop, the bullwhip, cane, and the wooden ruler were all put to use.
One thing I do distinctly remember was that when I went back to work the following Monday morning, I was reluctant to sit down, indeed I think I pretty much avoided doing so for the entire day and the bruises and whip marks was still visible at the end of that week.
We frequently talked about that evening and it added even more erotic fuel to our relationship. What would I have done if he had come back with two men from the bar? What if it had been a group? A stag party, for example. Of course this was all provocative fantasy material but if we were having sex or even if he was fingering me or plunging a vibrator into me I would go along with it and say how much I wished he had handed me over to this imaginary group of men, sat back and watched the show.
In more sober moments I made it clear that it had been a most amazing experience and I had no regrets but I had no intention of repeating it and emphasised that he must never take it upon himself to organise anything similar again without my prior agreement. As it happened, this was not the last time we explored the outer reaches of our sexual fantasies but that is a tale for another day and another blog.
p.s. a word about the photo I have used to illustrate this blog post. That is me and, yes, I am handcuffed to a bed but this photo wasn’t taken in Brighton or even around that time, but many years later. It has its own dirty story: I was doing a photo shoot with one of my fans and he asked if he could take some of me handcuffed like this. A little reluctantly, I agreed and he took half a dozen or so photos. But then he got his cock out and began wanking furiously, climbed up onto the bed and positioned himself over my face. Realising what he was about to do, I protested: this was not part of our agreement! But there was nothing I could do to escape and within a minute or two, he ejaculated onto my lips and over my face and, once, he was fully unloaded, he picked up his camera again and took more photos of my lying there, helplessly, my face covered in spunk. I was furious with him and his clear breach of trust but afterwards he agreed to double my modelling fee because he was so delighted to have spunked on me like this and to have the photos of my face, with his cum all over it, so in the end I forgave him.
Lady in Seams 