Christmas cock tale

As I have decided to cut back on some of my sluttier adventures, it’s probably inevitable that this blog will be more about past deeds than contemporary escapades or will otherwise focus on fun with a smaller cast of characters. Which brings me to my ‘son’, about whom I have written on numerous occasions and who most definitely fits the description of ‘character’ as he is, as they say, larger than life.

He asked to visit ‘mum’ an ‘dad’ before Christmas, so as to deliver our presents and with one thing and another the only convenient time for us all was the evening of Monday 23rd December, before my children arrived to stay with us after work on Christmas Eve. It’s never enough for him to simply visit, however, and we have to agree a scenario with which we’re both comfortable and he often suggests a rough ‘script’ for us to follow. I’m sure he is a frustrated actor at heart!

He gave my husband, John, a very nice book and he brought me flowers and a bottle of Champagne (which I had on Christmas morning) and a beautifully wrapped little package. When I opened it, I found a very nice eight-strap, black suspender belt.  

My new suspender belt, a Christmas gift from my ‘son’.

Naturally he insisted that I must try it on to see if it would fit, although we both knew it would. I went upstairs and put on the belt and a pair of black point heel fully fashioned stockings, a leather skirt, a black quarter cup bra with my slashed pink top with which you’ll be familiar, a diamante ankle bracelet and some strappy and very high heels, heels so high they obliged me to descend the stairs rather carefully.

Dressed like a tart, I was ready for some milking action!

He was absolutely delighted with my outfit and made no effort to disguise the fact he was almost fully erect. “Oh mum, you look amazing,”, he said. John, chipped in “She looks like a tart”, but my boy was quick to respond “I know, that’s what I mean. I think she looks fantastic and I’m proud of my mum.”

Normally I don’t allow John to view my sessions, or not often but I thought, after all he is my ‘son’ and it is Christmas, and a family should be together at Christmas, so I had agreed he could stay and enjoy the show.

The three of us went into the lounge (as had previously been agreed) and I sat between my two men and we began to watch TV.  Both took the opportunity to feel my suspender belt straps and John adjusted my top so my nipples were through one of the openings in my top. After a few minutes we all agreed the TV programme was rather boring and our son suggested we watch some of my own, home-made, amateur porn instead. Watching me masturbating and sucking got both of them very much more excited and I found each of my hands stroking a cock to either side of me, beneath their trousers. A clip where I was driven to a car park and asked to remove my dress revealing black suspender belt, bra and stockings and then bent over a car and fucked from behind, immediately had the young man’s zip down and a big, fully hard cock appeared, which he then began to stroke.

Fucked in a car park.

“Don’t do that”, I said in admonishment. “That’s what I’m here for. Mummy will take of that.” On a side table I had what I needed: a pair of disposable black latex gloves and some lubricating cream. I got to work on his cock and John watched very intensely.

“Oh, mum, you’re so good at this. My balls are so full, I’m going to explode. Mum, I love you, I want to pump my seed inside you. Please let me …” and on and on he went. I walked him up to climax and then slowed to take him down a little about three or four times before I stopped altogether. This had also been pre-agreed but he still pretended to object.

“Don’t stop. You can’t stop now. I was just about to cum on you.”

I laughed and told John what I needed now: a Champagne flute and the bottle of Cava we’d put in the fridge earlier. When he returned from the kitchen, with the bottle and three glasses, all that was then required was another minute of firm stroking and manoeuvring the glass into position with my free hand … and then – BANG!

Lady Sonia had the same idea!

I’ve admitted previously that one of the reasons I like seeing my imaginary son is he produces truly impressive volumes of semen, probably as much, if not more, than any white man I have ever been with, and with impressive force too. But even I was slightly astonished by the result on Monday. He spurted five times and I mean really solid, plumes of very thick semen and I was either very skilled or very lucky to get all of his product into the glass, without losing a drop. Of course, he was shouting about his mum and so forth but I was concentrating so hard on catching it all that I honestly can’t remember what he was saying. Then he stopped ejaculating and I assumed he’d finished but of course I kept stroking, quite gently so as to squeeze out any remaining drops. But then, to my complete surprise, and after a delay of ten or fifteen seconds, it started again and he shot three more ropes of creamy white jizz into the glass, followed by a long trickle and further drops which continued for some time.

A glass of semen (but not the one from my ‘son’)

John was stunned. “That’s incredible”, he said. “What on earth do you eat?”

“Well, it’s your genes”, he replied. He wasn’t laughing and I do sometimes wonder whether in his head he convinces himself, at least in the moment, that we really are his mother and father. I was tempted to say that while John was a very good spunker in his younger days, I don’t recall him ever producing that volume of cum but I had more important things on my mind.

I’d expected maybe half an inch or even an inch of his creamy baby gravy but I was now holding a glass which was almost half full. I was still stroking his cock, warming him down, so John did the honours and uncorked the bottle. We all laughed as the cock flew out, as the analogy with the cock I still held in my grasp and which had just popped its own cork was all too obvious.

John filled the glass with the sparkling wine. The semen was so thick that the two fluids did not immediately mingle, so letting go of the cock and using my gloved little finger I swirled the two together. John filled the other two glass with fizz and I said “Cheers, happy Christmas boys”, and downed my creamy, fizzy drink. “Now that’s what I call a Christmas cocktail”, I said.  “And you”, I added pointing at the drained cock owner, “have been on at me all year about wanting to get your seed inside me – well, now you have, although not in the way you meant!”

After we finished the Cava, it was my husband’s turn. He takes so long to climax these days that I don’t do any of the building up and edging. Instead, I go in fast and brutal, furiously pumping his almost hard cock. After a few minutes I pile the pressure on: “Come on, come on, for God’s sake. I don’t have all night. I’ve things to get ready, presents to wrap for Christ’s sake. If you can’t cum now, I’ll have to stop and try again tomorrow. But the kids will be back, so you’ll have to wait until next week or something.”

He whined a bit and apologised and said he was nearly there. Anyone not familiar with our relationship would think we hate one another. I said he was “pathetic” and not even hard and a waste of time anyway and he called me a big titted tart and a busty whore and the like. As he got to his final phase – I can tell when he is almost ready to pop – he suggested I use the Champagne flute again but I squished that idea and said there was no way I’d be willing to ever swallow his pathetic dribble of sperm again. And that was enough to have him spurt into the palm of my spare hand and, to be fair to him, it was a decent load which I’d extracted.

Not bad from a pathetic old man!

As a special treat for Christmas, I’d invited our boy to stay the night, in the spare room. In the morning, I decided to give him a little extra gift for Christmas. I put the belt, stockings, bra and heels back on and a white satin dressing gown, through which the black bra and belt show fairly clearly. He was propped up in bed, looking at his phone. I told him I had eggs, toast and coffee for his breakfast and asked if he had the normal early morning ‘problem’ most men in their twenties seem to ‘suffer’ from and he confirmed that he did, or at least he did now, pulling back the duvet to reveal another stonking erection. I said mummy knew how to deal with that and proceeded to prove that she does indeed know how to handle a young man’s hard cock.

Dressing gown with suspender belt and stockings (though here worn with boots)

After he’d cum, I reflected on the incredible power of nature. The previous night I had completely drained his gland and extracted an incredible volume of fluid. I firmly believe he had nothing left to give. Yet, here he was, less than twelve hours later, his ejaculate all over my hands, billions and billions of fresh, fertile sperm that his body had simply manufactured overnight. I licked up as much of his sperm and semen from my hand as I could, sucking each finger clean, a really lovely Christmas Eve breakfast snack.

He tried to persuade me to get into bed with him, so he could complete his Oedipal fantasy of inseminating his mother but I’d done my maternal duty for the day and after a decent breakfast, he was off.

But I know he will be coming back before long and he’ll be cumming for his mum.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

The run up to Christmas this year has been a little different to those in the past.  You see, in the past I have always attended some parties at the invitation of various gentlemen friends, as their companion for the evening and so the days and even weeks before Christmas were usually extremely busy.

The parties themselves covered the full spectrum, from your regular corporate or office party right through to attending a number of clubs that can be variously described as ‘couples’ clubs, ‘swingers’ clubs or sex clubs, plus some out-and-out fetish clubs (you might even recognise some of the names – Nightshift, Toucan Club, Swish, Old Hellfire, Club Rub etc.)

The only common denominator in all of these events was that I was expected (required, even) to wear a suspender belt with my signature fully fashioned stockings and stiletto heels, although for the fetish clubs it tended to be thigh boots and PVC or leather that was requested, plus a whip of course. There was one exception: each year I went to a club with a man who much prefers fishnet stockings to the fully fashioned variety and he liked me in knee length patent boots and mini skirt, as you see here.

Obviously for the ‘straight’ corporate events it was hair done specially that morning, smart party dress, and subtle make up but always wearing a suspender belt and stockings and for the sex clubs it was a case of ‘anything goes’ and for a time I used to like to take off my leather mini after the first hour or so and spend the evening walking around in a sheer black gown over my lingerie (with or without a bra or wearing a quarter cup for the best of both).

Here you see me at one of the corporate events, a party held by one of the large accountancy firms, and as you can see, I was accompanying a young admirer of mine. He absolutely adores ladies in fully fashioned stockings – and this lady in particular – and his little ‘kink’ on top of this is he loves to see the stockings wrinkled. As you’ll see from these photos, I wore a longer than average pair of stockings and I didn’t do the twelve suspender belt straps too tight, so even by the time I arrived at the venue, my stockings were already exhibiting lovely wrinkles at knee and ankle and as the evening progressed, the wrinkles became more and more distinct, until my friend couldn’t bear the excitement any longer and I had to take him to a quiet place for some much needed ‘relief’.

Which brings me to an important point. When I really got “into” the whole seamed stockings and stiletto heels (SSSH) look and fully appreciated how passionate so many men are about them, gathering a few thousand admirers along the way, though Yahoo Groups and some magazines, I always said to myself that if I went on a date with a man who we’d recognise as a SSSH fan, it would be unreasonable of me to expect him to go home with just a quick kiss on the cheek. And so it became my habit to always provide some form of ‘relief’. This could be as low key as a quick hand job at a bus shelter or in pub car park or sometimes inviting them to join me in the ladies or disabled toilets and allowing them to masturbate onto my stocking tops, up the seam or over my high heels (or boots). But in many cases, I’d provide full oral relief.

I’ve said this before, but I was a prolific cock gobbler and there are not that many pubs in some areas of London (around the Strand, for example), where I haven’t spent time bent over or kneeling down in the toilets, fellating a guy. For a time, I had a thing going with two guys I worked with – one white, one black – and we used to go to the pub most Fridays after work and I’d spend quite some time in the toilets sucking one off after the other and they were enthusiastic repeaters. In fact, on one occasion, I didn’t leave the toilets all night, and they just brought my drinks in with them, when they joined me for their next blow job. I know, I know – you’re thinking, ‘what a dirty slut’ and you’re right, of course.

So, naturally, when I was invited to these parties, I knew I would be expected to ‘perform’. I used to sometimes say a party is not a party unless I leave with the taste of Champagne and sperm mingled in my mouth. At the sex and fetish clubs, providing relief was easy, as people openly had sex and I really enjoyed getting down on my knees and sucking a guy off before a little audience of fellow club visitors. At the more ‘mainstream’ events of course I had to be more discreet but some of my hosts booked a hotel for the evening, so then it was not a problem, although I did have a few rather risky experiences. At one rather grand event I had such a frustrating experience trying find somewhere suitable to suck off my friend that I eventually asked one of the bar staff if we could have the use of a room for, as I put it “a bit of a kiss and cuddle” away from prying eyes. He got the message and took us to a back room but on condition that he be allowed to watch, so there I was in a storage room, on my knees, sucking this guy off while the bar man wanked himself off!

Naturally, I expected to be suitably rewarded in return for my time, my company and for wearing the outfit of their choice and I always insisted on a car to take me home or, ideally, both ways to the venue or hotel.

More recently, as most of my readers will know, I’ve done a lot less oral and instead provided excellently executed “hand relief”. Perhaps some men might think this a step down from a full cum-in-mouth oral service but once they’ve experienced my skills and experience as a Masturbatrix, there are no complaints and most subsequently ask me to attend other events with them. I even had one take me to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy a couple of years ago, on condition I wore my stockings and heels and a top so low cut I was almost falling out of it when I bent over, which of course I did a lot (just to view some of the artwork, darling!).

I look back on those times now and while I do think I was a dreadful tart, sometimes getting to Christmas day thoroughly exhausted and hung over and counting how many loads of spunk I’d extracted and even swallowed I don’t regret anything (well, almost nothing) but time moves on and I was getting a bit old to be accompanying 30 year olds to parties without eyebrows being raised, so this year I’ve forsaken all that slutty behaviour and had a Christmas with a lot less of the white stuff than I’d normally experience. Who knows, it might snow instead.

Happy Christmas everyone and thanks for all the support so many of you have shown me in 2024.

Birthday wish, birthday bitch

It was my husband’s birthday earlier this month and as I hadn’t got him very much in the way of gifts, I told him I wanted to grant him a sexy birthday treat.

“A blow job?”, asked hopefully.

After I’d finished laughing, I replied “Don’t be stupid. You’re never going to put your pathetic dick in my mouth again.”

“Oh, okay. What then?”

“You can watch me get ready and then you can drive me over to his house. He’s expecting me.”

Of course, he knew immediately that I was referring to my regular sex partner, and that I’d be looking forward to his 10.5 inches of incredibly thick, black cock.

“And you’re going to wait for me in the car, as I’m only popping in for a quickie. And then we can go and have lunch at “The Old *” (and here I mentioned one of his favourite pub/restaurants, tucked away in a Surrey village, where we’d be unlikely to bump into any friends or neighbours).

“And, as it is your birthday, I’m going to phone you, while you wait for me in the car and I’m going to let you listen as he fucks me. But don’t have the sound up loud on the speakers in the car or his neighbours will hear me when I cum. And no fiddling with yourself either. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly. Let’s hope the sound quality is too.”

I held up the small Bluetooth microphone he bought me a few years ago. The first couple of times I phoned him while enjoying a sex session with another man, he found the sound very muffled and this frustrated him so much that he bought me the Bluetooth mike and now if I wear it he can hear every word I say, every gasp, every groan and he can listen as I gag on that monster cock when it is forced down my throat.

“Brilliant. Thanks, honey.  Just make sure you talk really dirty and make a lot of noise when you cum, will you?”

“Of course. It is your birthday, after all.”

I got ready. Letting him watch me putting on my stockings, selecting my heels, choosing a short skirt, knowing that I am dressing for my sex partner, wanting to please my Stud is half the fun. I asked him how I looked.

This is the same outfit I wore to my Stud’s house that day, other than I wore a suspender belt and seamed stockings and not the fishnet tights in this photo

“Like a slut”, he replied.

“Perfect.” I remembered to bring a longer skirt and more modest top, as I couldn’t walk into the restaurant dressed like some cheap tart. Perhaps when I was younger, but not these days.

I sometimes wonder how it must feel for my husband, when he sees me walking up my lover’s drive and stepping into his house, when he knows what is about to follow.  I won’t bore you with all the details, suffice to say as it was a quickie it was a case of knickers off, and assume the position, which in my case was in his lounge and on all fours but only after I had made sure the microphone connection was working properly and my husband could hear me clearly. It was a case of ‘Soundcheck complete: reading to be penetrated.’

Of course, I made more noise than normal and really emphasised that I was taking an enormous cock. As he went into me from behind, I called out in pain and yelled, “Not so deep! That’s too much. Ease off, you’re too big for me. Ow, you’re hurting me.”

Bang on cue he said, in an equally loud voice, “Shut up and take it, bitch.”

I knew my husband would be loving this.

So, I called him an animal and a brute and shouted out “That’s so deep. Christ, that’s fucking fantastic! You’re really stretching me! So good. Mmmm … god, I’m going to come. It feels like you’re going to split me.” and he replied with a string of epithets of the ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ variety.

I’d been more than ready for this encounter, gagging for it you might say and very wet, and I panted and moaned my way to a rapid orgasm and as I came I shouted out “Oh god, spunk in me” and he pulled me back even more firmly onto his cock, so that as I was climaxing I could feel him smashing against the neck of my cervix, really ramming me and he asked “Do you want me to come inside you?” and although he obviously already knew the answer I manged to pant “Yes, yes, fill me with spunk” and with brilliant timing, as I was still experiencing the crashing waves of my own orgasm, he went “Oh, oh, oh! Fuck!!!” and rammed himself even further inside me and pumped his full and thick load of semen and sperm deep inside.

We were both panting and groaning, entirely naturally I’d add, but I was certainly making as much noise as possible. I knew my poor old hubby would be sat in the car, as hard as he ever gets these days and dribbling precum into his pants.

I wasn’t quite finished. After a couple of minutes of slow, rhythmic thrusts, he slid out of me, still hard as rock and I turned to my Stud and said “That was absolutely fucking fantastic. My husband never made me come like that. Look at the mess! I’m leaking so much spunk!  I’m going to have spunk dribbling out of me all day now, you beast.”

He chuckled. “Get him to lick it out.”

“In his dreams. He’s getting a pub meal, a pint and a harsh hand job. And I’ll wear latex gloves so I don’t have to even touch his pathetic, limp little cock.”

I knew my husband would be beside himself at this point, humiliated and excited in equal measure.

“I just wish I could stay here all day with this monster tool”, and I stroked his erection. “You’re still lovely and hard, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I’m ready to ride you again, if you want. And I’d like to shove it down your throat, make you choke. Why don’t you just tell him to fuck off and have a wank and stay here with me instead?”

Readers, I was sorely tempted. But while I may be a callous bitch, who uses her husband as an ATM and loves to humiliate and degrade him, a birthday is a birthday and anyway I was actually looking forward to my lunch with a bottle of fizz (he was driving!) and then when we got home, really emphasising how much I’d enjoyed the seeing to I’d just had from the Stud, while emptying his gland once more, before making him deliver my second orgasm of the day with his own hand.

Am I a completer bitch? Perhaps, but my husband wouldn’t have it any other way. Or if he ever suggests otherwise, he’ll find out quite how expensive divorce can be and how his liberated ex-wife is happy to be a play thing for a lot of black men.

Backside bitch

I’ve mentioned here before that a few years ago I started doing some ad hoc work for Dave, who runs a business dealing in high end used and classic cars. I’ve not done much for him of late, partly as his business has been quiet and partly because I’m stepping back from some of my sluttier adventures.

I did attend the Concours of Elegance at Hampton Court Palace in September with a gentleman I first met through Dave’s business (https://concoursofelegance.co.uk/). I felt a little self-conscious there, as although I’d suggested an elegant dress and RHT (i.e. seam free) stockings, he insisted that I wear a black wet look dress, with long, wet look gloves, teamed with a 12 strap suspender belt, black fully fashioned stockings and a bullet bra and he even got me to wear a diamante ankle bracelet just to complete the “I am a tart” look you can see in the photo.

Then he paraded me around amongst all those beautiful cars and amongst all those incredibly wealthy men. As he introduced me to some of his pals, he invited them to inspect the immaculate body work! But after a bottle or more of Champagne I lost most of my inhibitions and was soon talking dirty to some of these men and explaining the difference between a hand job and hand relief and what being a Masturbatrix involves.

A few weeks ago, Dave got in touch again, out of the blue, to say someone I’d met at one of his cocktail parties had asked if he could arrange for us to meet. To be honest, it took me a little while to recall the gent in question as it must have been well over a year ago when we met but eventually, I could place him: Mick or was it Mike? He’d spent a bit of time ogling me, dressed as I was, the way Dave likes, in tight faux leather trousers, a tight white top over a black quarter cup bra (nipples pumped and plumped to their very best hard as bullet status) and perilously high steel heel stilettos but he’d been rather hesitant in conversation, which is probably why I didn’t immediately remember him.

Dave asked if I’d be willing to pop into his office for one of our special meetings with Michael. Now, in case you’ve not read any of my previous blogs – and you really should read them all – I need to step back and explain something. What Dave likes me to do is come to his office in the leather look trousers, very high heels and tight tops and bend forwards over his desk. He then rubs his cock up and down my backside and whacks his erection against me until he ejaculates on over my leathered buttocks. We first did this a few years ago and have done it many times since and, from time to time, he has had a friend join in, so it’s been two on one and plenty of sticky mess on my backside. This is what he proposed now.

I’ll admit I always enjoy doing this, and Dave is always generous about it, so although I should be saying ‘no’ to such proposals I said ‘yes’. I’ll be a good girl next year, I promise!

So after putting my nipples into nipple pumps for 15 minutes before heading off, I marched into his office trying not to wobble in 6 inch heels and was reintroduced to Michael (Mick, I think he said).

To get things going, Dave ran his hands over my legs and squeezed my backside and then moved up to my chest and said, “She loves having her tits squeezed, don’t you?” Mick joined in and that seemed to get all three of us warmed up and as I assumed the position, his trousers were off and I felt his hard cock sliding up the seam between my buttocks. “God, lovely”, he gasped as he got faster and faster I said “Don’t forget my tits” and Dave said “Oh, yes, she likes you to squeeze her tits while you rub yourself” and so both his hands came around my front and I felt a wave of pleasure ripple through my body as he pulled and squeezed my big melons. Not enough to orgasm but certainly on the journey towards that destination.

Dave said, “She’s such a great slut, isn’t she?” and rather than agreeing with him Mick groaned and bucked behind me and then I felt the gentle patter of his semen splattering down onto my backside. He hadn’t lasted long and I hoped that hadn’t been a disappointment for him. I reached behind me and pulling my fingers though his sticky mess, managed to gather some up and after licking my fingers I said “Delicious”.

Mick had stood back and seemed ready to put his trousers and pants back on but I suggested he continue to rub his cock through his pool of semen until the sensation subsided. However, Dave was now very aroused and keen to crack on and already had his cock out and was stroking his erection. They swapped places. Dave technique is a little different, as while he also rubs his cock against my arse, he also likes to whack it against me and through this combination achieve climax and this tends to make it last quite a bit longer.

He also slowed down, while still rubbing himself against me, in order to give my tits a thorough work over – squeezed, nipples pulled, at one point nipples pinned to the desk surface under each of thumbs. Once clamped down like this, I slightly raise my torso and my nipples become stretched, really stretched and this was sufficient to make me lose control. I remember gasping and shouting something – I think it was “Spunk on me!” and then, as Dave had anticipated, I had an orgasm. I felt him turn slightly to Mick and laughing slightly he said, “There she blows” and Mick said “That’s incredible.”

My head was spinning and I just slumped over the desk, unable to hod myself up any longer but this didn’t deter Dave at all and he was now sliding his hard cock up and down my backside in a frenzy through his friend’s spunky mess.  He didn’t last much longer and I received a second gush of thick, warm semen and sperm.

As he slid up and down my arse, enjoying the aftermath, he asked Michael what he thought.

“She’s amazing, incredible”, he replied.

“She’s a dirty bitch”, said Dave. “You should take he number and arrange your own little parties.”

“I’d love to. What do you think?”, he asked me.

I laughed. “Spunktastic”, I said.

At Christmas time

I originally posted this in 2021 but I thought it warranted a repeat

Please spare a thought for all those health workers who continue to look after people in need of treatment.

For example, I’ve just visited a young man who asked for a home visit and badly needed treatment. He was obviously tense and has had difficulty sleeping, his mind racing with uncontrollable thoughts. I quickly diagnosed that he had had an excessive build-up of sperm and seminal fluid, not helped by his habit of ‘edging’ five or six times a day while viewing videos of me, something he’d been doing for over a week.

The treatment required was obvious: release the sperm and fluid so he could relax and get some sleep, so I pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves and got to work. I didn’t want to rush his treatment, as I’ve found a cautious, gradual approach works best so, after applying a generous amount of oil to his engorged and throbbing penis I slowly built him up towards the moment of release. I had to stop a couple of times, to make a phone call and to just walk around and look out of the window and each time I had to start the treatment again, slowly taking him nearer and nearer to his climax but postponing it for as long as possible to ensure as much fluid could be extracted as was possible. Finally, I told him that I wanted him to climax and ejaculate as much fluid as he possibly could onto my chest, that I wanted to get every drop out of him and leave his gland completely dry.

He was a good patient and quickly complied with my instructions and a very large plume of semen hit my neck and chin, followed by three more large spurts over my cleavage and neck. There was then a short pause, where nothing emerged and then he started to spasm again, releasing three or four more healthy jets of fluid. By now I was quite heavily splattered with his ejaculate but in my line of work I am used to finishing treatment with the patient’s fluid all over my uniform and body. It sometimes even gets in my hair!  You should see my dry-cleaning bills!

An easy mistake some therapists make is to stop stroking the patient once their fluid has been removed but I know from experience that for the health and happiness of the patient, it is important to continue to gently stroke their member until it become flaccid and only then should the hand be withdrawn and the gloves removed.

I left a very happy and grateful patient but as I pointed out to him as I left, he’ll almost certainly need further treatment sessions before long, so I expect to be seeing him again before long.

Just another punter

I’m in one of my full on, ‘tart’ outfits – heavy make-up with highly glossed bright red lips, pink slashed top with a black quarter cup bra, leather mini, black seamed stockings, six-inch heels and even a cheeky ankle chain with a ‘Queen of Spades’ symbol, just so those who know about such things realise I have a strong preference for black cock. But a punter is a punter and I need the money for Christmas. Champagne is not getting any cheaper.

A punter approaches me (in reality, my husband, in case you should get the wrong impression about me!) and eyes me up and down.

“Looking for business, love?”, I ask.

“Yes, I might be. Do you offer, eh, you know … hand services?”

“Of course I do love. What are you after, a quick hand job or a full hand relief service?”

“I’m not really sure. What’s the difference? And prices?”

“Okay, love, a quick hand job I do here and now and that’s just fifty quid. I unzip you and wank you off, quick as a flash.”

“What, here in the street?”

“That’s right, just behind those garages. But if you want the full treatment, that’s a hundred and fifty. We go to my place, I wear gloves, lube your cock and stroke you but I make it last. Really last. I try to stop you cumming for as long as possible. Build you up like, make the sap rise but hold you off until you can’t bear it any longer.”

“Edging. Sounds fantastic.”

“Even better, after you shoot your load, I keep stroking you, make it last even longer. It’s completely unhurried.”

“Awesome. Just one more question, when I cum, is it just over your hands?”

“Where would you like to cum, love.”

“I’m not sure. On your tits, I think. You’ve got fantastic tits.”

“Thanks. I’ve been told that before. You can cum on them, no problem. But if you want to cum on my face or in my mouth, that’s an extra fifty quid.”

“Wow. Do you do the hand thing with a lot of clients?”

“Oh yes, I’m a professional Masturbatrix, you see. I’ve masturbated hundreds of men, thousands of times in all. I’m very experienced and I’m very skilled too.” I hand him one of my business cards.

In response, he hands over fifteen crisp £10 notes.

Thirty minutes later, he’s gasping and groaning and after spurting one small stream of semen onto my cleavage the rest dribbles out over my latex gloved hand.  Not a bad load by his standard, however, perhaps because I’d kept him on short rations for a few days previously.

“Blimey, I needed that”, he gasps.

As promised, I continue to stroke him slowly for a few minutes, so he gets the full benefit of the service but as his cock becomes flaccid I stop and say “Can you clean yourself up and get dressed please, I’ve another client due in a few minutes.”

“Oh”, he says as he wipes himself with the wet wipes by his chair and pulls on his pants and trousers. “Another hand relief fan?”

“Not this time – this guy visits me for oral”.

“You didn’t offer me that”, he says, slightly petulantly.

“Well, this guy’s one of my regulars. Once a week, a full cum in mouth service is what he wants. And before you ask, yes I do swallow and, furthermore, he manages about ten times your load, which makes it much more rewarding for me.”

“You like lots of spunk then?”

“What’s not to love, love?”

“You really are a filthy whore, aren’t you?”

“Would you want me any other way?”

And we both laugh at that, as he knows it’s true.

Giving head for numbers

I was delighted when the number of people reading my blog soared last year, with over 62,000 visits in 2023. This year has been even more astonishing: in November alone visits exceed half of the total for the whole of last year with almost 32,000 visits and, yesterday, the total for the year, so far, exceeded 200,000 (200,002 to be exact). Thank you for all of your interest and support, your comments on the blog and your private messages to me. They are all appreciated.

Equally gratifying, my Flickr profile (https://www.flickr.com/people/ladyinseams/) continues to receive a lot of traffic, and my photos there have been viewed over 16 million times, which to me is a staggering number.

I hope that through my blog posts, my photos and (for those with access) my 100+ videos I can claim responsibility for stimulating the release of many billions of sperm and lots of pints of semen or ejaculate.

Finally, as I know these data are probably of much more interest to me than they are to you, here’s a photo of my lovely tits for you to enjoy. Suck on these, boys!

A game for the whole family

I recently explained to my bog followers that I am stepping back a bit from some of my sexual encounters and have left my job, a role in which in addition to more ‘standard’ duties I was also expected – maybe I should say, required – to give my boss regular ‘relief’.  As a result, I no longer meet many of the lovely men I previously saw for ‘hand relief’ or similar forms of relaxation therapy, although I still see a small number and I keep in touch with some of the others.

One I thought I had ‘let go’ was the young man I first met in 2019, when he was just 22 years old, and who liked me to pretend to be his ‘mum’, although through the various scenarios he concocted his ‘mum’ always ended up giving him a helping hand, if I can put it like that.

If you’re not familiar with my relationship with this young man, here are the links to my previous blogs about him and our encounters, in chronological order:

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2019/10/25/a-mother-gives-her-son-a-hand/

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2022/11/12/my-boy-my-client/

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2023/04/02/loving-mother/

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2023/09/29/your-suggestions-please/

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2023/11/08/my-boy-saves-the-day/

https://ladyinseams.home.blog/2024/08/02/spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child/

I thought we’d lost contact for a number of reasons. First, I’ve always found the intensity of his ‘incest’ fantasy, although great fun, to be a little odd. Second, we were finding it difficult to come up with new scenarios and so found we were often repeating ones we had done before: I’ve lost count of the times I have ‘caught’ him going through my lingerie draw or masturbating to my videos! Some of the scenarios he proposed, I wasn’t prepared to indulge, especially those in public. Which brings me to the third reason we had not seen one another for a few months.

We were in a pub in London and I was dressed in a manner to stimulate him but sufficiently restrained that I didn’t feel uncomfortable – leather skirt, black seamed stocking, five inch stiletto heels and he was giving it the whole ‘Oh mum, you look so sexy, I love your stockings, your boyfriend is so lucky, mum …’ etc in his usual ‘a bit louder than is necessary’ voice.

A man had been eyeballing me for some time before he came over and introduced himself and asked if he could buy us both a drink. Naturally my ‘son’ invited him to join us when he returned with the drinks and he sat the other side of me and was having a good look at my leather, seams and heels combo.

And naturally my ‘son’ went into overdrive: didn’t he agree that mum looks so sexy, she always wear suspender belts and stockings, I may be her son but I still think she is the sexiest woman in the world and so forth. It’s hard for me to describe the look on our new friend’s face, a mix of amusement, astonishment and fascination.

I sort of played along with this, although I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable but then when this man said he didn’t know if he could manage or get anything done if he lived in the same house with me dressed like this, my ‘son’ leapt in and said that he would be exactly the same were it not for the fact that mum is so lovely and recognises the effect she has on him and so gives him happy endings.

Now the look of astonishment was complete and his mouth was open in shock. But my ‘son’ wasn’t backing down, in fact he wanted to up the ante and was saying how good I am at it and that I wore gloves for masturbation sessions with him and with his dad, sometimes both together and on and on he went.

At this point, I’d had enough and so I said “You probably realise this is fantasy. I mean, I do dress like this for him and for other men and I do masturbate him but he is not my son, he’s just a friend. A friend who likes to pretend I’m his mother.”

And this poor man just said “Wow” and began to laugh. Eventually he said, “I was beginning to wonder.” Of course, he then wanted to know about my “hand relief” hobby and how he might get in on some action but my ‘son’ had fallen silent for once and I could sense his discomfort and so we made our excuses and left.

We were each furious with one another: me for him making me feel so uncomfortable and so embarrassed, expecting me to play along with a total stranger in a pub with the idea that I regularly provide sexual relief for my own son; and him with me for stepping out of character as his mum, the one thing he had always insisted I should never do.

And so off we both went, mad at one another and both feeling it was over between us. I felt justified in being angry and in cutting him off but I also found I missed him. He’s funny, he’s flamboyant, he’s creative and imaginative, maybe even a tiny bit camp and he makes me laugh. And he has another attribute which is much in his favour: if he is not the heaviest spunking white man I’ve ever met, he’s certainly not far off it. On one of my birthdays, I masturbated him into a Champagne flute and he filled it halfway, so my cocktail was 50-50 sperm/semen and Champagne. And I like that, I really do and I missed it.

So when he got back in tough with me recently, and asked if mummy had forgiven her son I didn’t have the heart to turn him away. I agreed to meet but took the opportunity to impose a condition: no more public displays of son and over loving mother, no more taking me to parties and introducing me to everyone as his mum, while dressed like a tart, no more shouting out in shops about how fantastic mum would look in this suspender belt or that pair of thigh boots. Just nice, quiet, domestic role play and masturbation.

We met a few days ago and the scenario we had previously agreed was I was just on the way out to my boyfriend’s house (I wasn’t, by the way, this was just the ‘set up’ for what followed) and so was dressed in a leather mini skirt, seams, heels, ankle bracelet, a top showing off my big tits and make up on the heavy side, in other words the sort of outfit and appearance which by black sex partner loves. But just as I was about to put on a long coat and sneak into my car before the neighbours saw me, the doorbell goes and it’s my one and only beautiful boy.

“I’m just on my way out, sorry.”

“Oh mum, you look fantastic. Good enough to eat. Are you going off to get some black cock.”

“I am.”

“You must be nice and wet then, right?”

“I’m ready for him, yes. I need it.”

“I bet you do. But you can’t leave me like this”, at which point he ran his hand down his crotch and I could see his erect cock though his chinos.

I sighed, as if reluctantly and said, “Ok, but we’ll have to be quick. I’m gagging for it.”

He stepped inside and said, “Thanks mum.”

“Go and choose one of my belts from the drawer upstairs.” And as he ran upstairs, I shouted, “A black one, please.”

He returned with a black suspender belt with 12 straps and proper metal clasp (purchased from SHQ), one of my favourites, by which time I had pulled on some black latex gloves, perfect for masturbation, with their smooth, glossy sheen and I nodded for him to go into the lounge.

With his trousers and pants off, I wrapped the belt around his big, hard cock. And I was reminded again of why I like masturbating young men, men in their 20s, as I had to pull his cock away from his stomach as it was pointing vertically at the ceiling, rock hard.

With the belt pressed against it, I established a firm grip and began pumping him.

“I want you to cover this belt with your sperm,” I said. “I want you to spunk all over it. Do you understand?”

“Yes mum, thank you.”

As I made long, firm strokes the twelve metal clasps jangled and as I increased my speed the sound became more and more pronounced.

“Do you hear that? That sounds fantastic, doesn’t it?”

He nodded in agreement but I knew he wasn’t going to last long and I pumped him hard and the clasps and straps were bouncing up and down and I could feel his cock throbbing beneath the black satin belt and he gasped and shouted, “I’m coming, I’m coming, mum,” and then the torrent of ejaculate began and boy did it spurt and flow. I won’t waste words describing his volume because immediately after he had emptied his balls onto my suspender belt, I took a photo and you can see it for yourself here.

It was an incredible explosion of sperm and seminal fluid, thick and warm and healthy. He thanked his mum for providing one of the most intense climaxes he’s ever had. And I am sure from this you can understand why I’ll always be his mum and he’ll always be my special boy, giving his mum what she craves so badly.

When that flood of fluid had dried a little, although it remained damp and sticky, I put it on, attached the 12 straps to a new pair of black fully fashioned stockings and with a pair of spike heels, I went out to do a little Christmas shopping. Walking around a shopping centre, feeling the damp suspender belt against my skin, knowing it was soaked through with the virile spunk of a healthy young man had me highly aroused and ‘ready’ if I can put it like that. I think if a young man had approached me that day, as they often do, he might have seen a bit more of my stockings than he would reasonably have expected but, alas, it was not the case.

I’ll have to get my sone back for another soaking.

Carry On Nurse

‘So how are you this morning Mr C?’

‘Oh, not too bad nurse, thank you, though I didn’t sleep so well’

‘Oh dear. Why’s that?’

He pulls back the sheets and I see the problem.

‘You’re obviously suffering from what’s called PEP’

‘PEP?’

‘Yes, Permanent Erection Problem.’

‘Well, is it any wonder with you walking around in that little uniform, wearing a suspender belt and seamed stockings and those killer heels?’

‘You forgot my boobs. Don’t ever forget my big bust’.

‘How can I when they’re practically falling out of your uniform?’

‘Well, there’s nothing to stop you masturbating if it’s causing you an issue’.

‘But I’ve got relief therapy as part of my health insurance policy. That means you should do it. If I buy a guard dog, I don’t expect to have to bark myself’.

‘Cheeky. Don’t compare me to a dog or I’ll lock that little cock of yours up for a month.

‘Sorry.

‘But you’re right, I am here to provide relief therapy, as required, but you know there’s a £150 excess charge, don’t you?

‘Of course I do, otherwise I’d have you do it every day but I can’t afford it, so it will have to remain at two or three times a week. But are you a qualified therapist, that’s what I would like to know, given how much this is costing me.’

‘Of course I am. I am a highly qualified -and may I add, highly experienced – Masturbatrix, trained to the very highest level. I have provided thousand of therapy sessions for hundreds of men across many years and my patient feedback is exceptional. If I was on Trustpilot it would be five stars very time’

‘Yes, I’ve heard you’re very skilled.’

‘Let’s get you sorted then’.

I pull on a pair of disposable surgical latex gloves and reach into my pocket for the lubricating jelly, a little of which I squeeze into the palm of my right hand and a little onto his erect penis. The I begin to stroke him, gently at first but quite quickly gathering speed. I want this over with promptly.

‘Of course, some of my other patients prefer me to use my mouth for this type of therapy’.

‘I’d like you to do so too. Will you?’

‘I’m afraid not. Your policy doesn’t cover you for an oral service’.

‘I’ll pay more.’

‘No thanks. But I’ve a home visit later and he is getting the full treatment.’

‘Tell me about his therapy then.’

‘You know already. I offer a full cum-in-mouth service and of course I will be swallowing everything. Saves on mess and cleaning up afterwards. I’m hoping for a very full load as he’s not had any release for quite some time. I’ll gulp it all down.’

‘You love spunk, don’t you, you filthy whore?’

‘If you’re going to insult me, Mr C, I’ll have to stop your treatment. Hospital rules.’

He looks defeated but to prevent him flagging I lift my breasts out over the top of my uniform with my left hand.

‘Look at those babies, Mr C. Can you cum onto those?’

Suddenly I sense him moving up a gear, and I feel his back begin to arch off the bed. I begin to really pump him, my right hand moving so fast it’s almost a blur.

‘Come on Mr C, I haven’t got all day. I’ve other patients to attend to’.

‘Suck them off …’

‘Yes, I’m happy to do that, unlike with you. It’s so nice to really stretch my mouth around a really big, really rock-hard cock and know it will soon explode in my mouth and have me struggling to gulp down all their virile, warm sperm and …’

I didn’t get to finish my sentence, as he bucked on the bed, shouted something obscene and spurted his ejaculate onto my right breast. Normally I like a nice, slow ‘warm down’ for my ‘patients’ but on this occasion, I stopped almost immediately, peeled my gloves off and threw them in the bin and said, ‘Right, that’s got rid of your worthless sperm for now. We don’t want you spreading your degenerate genes now do we?’

I hand him a wet wipe and say, ‘Clean yourself up Mr C, I’ve other jobs to do now. And a cock to suck.’

For the avoidance of doubt, my patient, Mr C is in fact my husband and we love to play nurse and patient. And I didn’t suck another man off that day. It was the next day!

I heard that you were feeling ill. Headache, fever, and a chill. I came to help restore your pluck, because I’m the nurse who likes to fuck.

As a postscript, for those who have access to my videos there are quite a few which show me in one of my nurse’s uniforms, masturbating a ‘patient’, from which the still frames shown here have been extracted.