Posted 01 March 2009
Please note: Most of the images in this post were shot on the same day, and the actual outfits discussed were slightly different when I originally wore them (e.g. my stockings and jewellery weren't always the same). It's easier for me to do this because I don't have to disguise the pictures taken in my bedroom, I avoid the problems of night time video, and I have someone to hold the camera rather than having it on a tripod as is the case when I'm dressing on my own.
One of the great pleasures I get to enjoy in the winter is to go out in my front-laced thigh length boots. I used to get to wear these a couple of times a year when I went to see my former business client Philip (see Business Slut), and I would always stop somewhere afterwards so I could put myself on display. I have also worn them on shopping trips too. I don't overdo it - two or three outings a year in the daytime is enough for me and maintains the novelty.
Obviously these are very unusual boots for a woman to be wearing in public, and it's the outrageous aspect of casually walking around in fetish boots as if it's the most normal thing in the world that appeals to my exhibitionist streak. I'm not trying to make a fashion statement and I don't hold any illusions that I'm somehow classily dressed, but that's not the purpose of wearing boots like these. I should add that not all men find this look particularly appealing in itself, but it's what it says about the wearer that attracts and maintains their interest. Who is this woman?
There's a particular look I go for when I'm out on my own in the daytime in these boots. I try to make them the absolute centre of attention. They will have been polished to a super shine, and whatever I wear above them tends to be fairly nondescript. It's the boots that an observer's eyes are naturally drawn to. This also serves to create some confusion in onlookers' minds. On various websites you'll find imagery of young girls going out in public in thigh boots, and the look they have is predominantly strong fetish - head to toe in leather or PVC. There's little doubt as to the message they are trying to send. In my case however I try to avoid such stereotyping. Although I'll wear a short coat that finishes above the top of the boots, the material and styling will be fairly conservative, not something that a blatant attention seeker might be expected to choose. I won't wear the coat open either when I'm outside, showing a practical desire to keep warm rather than display the outfit I'm wearing. Of course this has the added bonus of leaving male admirers wondering what delights lie hidden underneath. Clearly with a coat so short my skirt must be absolutely tiny. Oh, if I could just see it...
I prefer to go to London when dressed like this. It's the one place where there'll at least be the possibility in people's minds that what I'm wearing is merely the latest impractical fashion trend; maybe they missed it in the style magazines. You'll see clothing worn on the streets of London that you won't find elsewhere in the UK, and although this doesn't mean I'll avoid looks of distaste or disapproval, there isn't any rush to heap derision on me.
As I have emphasised in the diary before, there are two key points to consider if you want to go out in such a provocative mode of dress without making a fool of yourself. First, you must be able to walk effortlessly in boots like these, as if you were born to wear them. Women don't find it quite so easy to mock a girl who is walking confidently and elegantly in thigh boots, especially if she has the attractiveness and poise that could mark her as a professional model. Sure, they might feel the need to disparage her, but does that result from genuine contempt or is it simply due to envy?
Second, you must give no indication whatsoever that you are aware that your footwear is anything out of the ordinary. You are oblivious to the stares of men, the frowns from women, and the comments that are being made within earshot. You always act as though your mind is occupied with something that bears no relation to your mode of dress, and you never, ever, look around to confirm you are being admired. It means training your eyes to focus on nothing in particular when you walk, and when you sit you should always have a prop - a magazine, a newspaper, a business folder - to consume your attention.
The true test of whether I have succeeded with this look is the reaction I get from men. Obviously the outfit is designed to excite male onlookers, but I should still be able to retain their respect. Men will be forward with me when I'm dressed like this, especially when I'm sitting in a bar, but they will always be polite and courteous. In fact I'd say that they go out of their way to be chivalrous and gentlemanly, presumably to try to create a good impression. If men are acting like this with me then I've got it made and no amount of female condemnation can dent my armour.
Nowadays with camera phones and CCTV so prevalent and the ease of loading video on to sites such as YouTube, I'm not able to flaunt myself quite as openly as I used to. Nevertheless there are still plenty of places I can go where I can be reasonably confident that I can show off without repercussions. I only need somewhere where I have a captive audience of professional men, and then I can spend an hour or so posing in my boots. As I sit with a drink and a sandwich I don't seek anything more than to be admired, and if you've read my other diary posts you'll be aware of the additional methods I use to increase my enjoyment.
The initial set of captures below show an outfit I have worn this winter in public. On this occasion I only stopped briefly for a drink somewhere and I didn't undo the coat because what I was wearing underneath wasn't something that could be put on open display. The poses I'm making are very similar to ones you've seen before, and despite appearing to make them completely unconsciously when I'm in the company of men, in reality I know exactly what I'm doing. At any one time I know precisely how much thigh I am showing and whether a stocking top or garter strap is visible. There's no need for me to look down, although I very often do so because this is a submissive gesture that appeals to many men. When I'm dressed like this I'm not necessarily trying to capture those with a submissive mind, although the boots do of course create tremendous excitement in such men.
Could your wife go out like this and handle it? Could she walk around for a couple of hours in five-inch heels and not end up stumbling about as though every step were torture for her? Hopefully not, and that's why Maria will always be the centre of attention.
I also wore these same boots out of the house in December of last year, although the outfit I had on was completely different in style. You will recall that in the Lights...Camera...Action II post I recounted how I went with my boyfriend Matt to an old drinking haunt of his where I met some of his friends, three older guys who had taken Matt under their wing when he had moved out of his home after splitting up from his wife. On that occasion we used the pretence that we were on the way to a business client's birthday party and I had been asked to go as a kissogram by the client's wife because he had a bit of a crush on me. I ended up revealing the leather basque corset I was wearing under my coat, and the stockings and suspenders too. I was a huge hit that night, and not only with Matt's friends.
Matt and I had been back twice since then to see his pals again, but on both occasions I hadn't worn anything particularly exotic even though my boyfriend had urged me to do so. In particular he wanted me to wear my thigh boots because he knew full well the reaction we would get. His three friends were always talking about the evening I had put myself on display and he wanted to make their jaws drop once more. However, I wasn't overly keen. The pub itself isn't exactly the most upmarket establishment and that takes much of the gloss away for me. In addition I didn't want to undermine the impact I'd made that night when I posed in front of everyone in my underwear. I wanted Matt's friends to think I was just an attractive girl who was quite prepared to wear such unusual clothing when the occasion demanded.
When we visited the pub in December however it was to see one of Matt's friends in particular - Ron. He was recovering from an operation and had started to get out and about again. He had been quite poorly for a while and Matt wanted to drop in on him to see how he was doing. By all accounts Ron had been pretty low for a while, although he was now well on the mend. Even so, Matt twisted my arm that night - could I wear my boots to give his friend a surprise?
I did my best that night to give Ron something to remember. He's a car mechanic by trade and he also owns a couple of motorbikes which he spends his weekends lovingly taking apart and putting back together again. He's always been a keen biker, and in his younger days he enjoyed nothing more than cruising around on his bike with a girlfriend riding pillion. So I tried to come up with a sort of 'biker chick' look by wearing the zipped halter neck leather top you've seen before, and the thigh boots. I also wore a leather jacket and my opera gloves, but I didn't intend to keep these on all evening. I even tried a leather miniskirt as well, but there was just too much leather and so I settled for the short flared pinstripe skirt I'm wearing in the first picture of the Publish and Be Damned post.
This isn't a combination I would normally wear, but I really enjoyed displaying myself that night. All my visits to that place have been very light-hearted affairs, and although Matt's friends delight in ogling me and making risqué comments, it's all meant in good taste. Once again they were blown away by what I was wearing, and in particular I'll never forget their faces when I removed my leather jacket. I had the zipper on my halter neck top pulled down quite low, and from certain angles they got a very close look at my breasts.
Initially I was perched on a high chair just as I had been the very first time I went to the pub, and I had great fun doing my usual crossed-legged poses with the guys egging me on. Later they managed to persuade me to play a game of pool with them and it was hilarious as they kept encouraging me to bend over more so I could line up my shots better. There was also plenty of innuendo about all the black leather, and I very much played up to it, saying that I had some whips in my car that I'd start using if they didn't behave themselves. Finally I ended up sitting on Ron's knee for a few minutes, and by then the jokes were really flying. It was all harmless entertainment, so different from the much more intense and erotic outings that Matt and I normally make on a Saturday night.
You may recall from the "Do You Want To See My Diary?" post that I singled out 'becoming a prostitute' as my number one fantasy. I had always loved the idea of being paid to have sex, as it reached into me on so many levels. For a start I would get to enjoy playing with lots of pricks and having sex in many different ways, and I would actually get paid to do it. What could be better than that? There was also the obvious bonus of making my husband live with the fact that his wife was a genuine whore; that the sweet girl he had married had become a professional hooker. On top of this though I used to spin fantasies in my head of how the fact that I was a call girl would be revealed to Martin's and my own parents. As you can imagine, many of these scenarios were pretty wild, with photos or video being 'accidentally' discovered which showed me having bizarre sex with a large number of paying clients, often taking on several at the same time.
When my diary returned in 2008 after a year's absence, I revealed that I had accepted payment for sex on more than one occasion, and in the 'Publish And Be Damned' post I had a little more to say on the subject:
I certainly considered asking for payment at one point. That would have fitted perfectly with the prostitute image I have of myself. As I've noted before, I have accepted money in exchange for sex in the past eighteen months. One reason was simply because I wanted the thrill of being able to say that I have worked as a genuine hooker, although I have to come clean and admit that I didn't just solicit guys off the street. All the same, I will never forget that first time when I walked to my car afterwards with the heels of my boots clicking loudly on the pavement in the still, cold air of early morning. I couldn't stop thinking about the knotted condom in my handbag and the envelope of cash that had paid for it to be filled while the owner's prick was inside me. The other reason of course was so that Martin would always have to live with fact that his darling wife had sold herself for money despite all the riches he had gifted her, a reality made even harder to bear by the knowledge that she absolutely loved the hard boning her John gave her.
As I suggested in that comment, the circumstances under which I have been paid for sex have been very much contrived and I can't really argue that I have genuinely worked as a prostitute. Nevertheless there's no taking away the fact that the man I had sex with on that first occasion was a virtual stranger to me, and furthermore I had vaginal intercourse with him, something that only a few individuals have enjoyed with me, and certainly an act that I won't normally contemplate with any man until I've known him for some time.
I'd been introduced to this man - we may as well call him John - at a function in London hosted by Gerald, although I had little recollection of actually speaking to him. He certainly remembered me though, and my name had come up for discussion on several occasions when he was talking to my friend. Gerald knew all about my prostitute fantasies and it was he who arranged for my liaison with John to take place. In fact I rather suspect that he paid for the whole affair as a gift to me, but I'd rather never know for sure; I still have the envelope that contained the money I received and it's one of those little keepsakes that I will always treasure.
I trust Gerald implicitly and I had no worries about seeing John alone, but I wanted to do more than just arrive at his house and have sex with him. I wanted to be picked up off the street, and I wanted to walk that street for a while before he hired me. This had the added bonus that I would need someone to watch over me before John arrived, and who better to do that than my dear husband, who would be able to observe his precious Maria standing on a street corner in her fuck-me boots with only a short, hooker-style PVC mac covering her shiny underwear. There wasn't any great risk in playing this game - I was only going to be on public display for fifteen minutes or so and I would be in an area far removed from the normal haunts of hookers. In any case I had role-played this scenario before with Matt on one of our Saturday night excursions.
Martin and I drove down in separate cars that night and I parked mine just around the corner from John's home. My husband then took me the few miles to where I would be picked up by my trick. It was quite late when I finally got out of Martin's car and crossed the street to exhibit myself. I was standing in a well-lit area in front of a small retail parade which included three restaurants, and the big plus for me was that I would be seen by diners as I walked along the pavement outside. In the high contrast lighting I knew my boots and PVC coat would create a considerable stir.
I loved those fifteen minutes striding along the sidewalk. The only thing that perhaps detracted from the image was the black handbag I was carrying on one arm, but this contained some needed accessories - a pack of condoms, a silver vibrator, a black rubber vibrating dildo, and some lube. I wasn't approached at all, but men found it impossible not to stare as they walked by, and if a guy had a woman on his arm then I'd give him the biggest come-on pouting-mouth look. I was so turned on with the expectation of what was going to happen that my excitement must have been written all over my face, and the reaction of any female companion told me in no uncertain terms what she felt about me. Apart from my 'SLUT' collar (which couldn't easily be seen) the actual look of the outfit itself wasn't totally in-your-face, but what other reason would there be for me loitering around dressed like that so late in the evening? And the fact that I was noticeably looking at any cars that drove by no doubt confirmed any preconceptions.
John drove up as planned almost to the minute. I knew it was him from the car make and registration, and I sauntered over as sexily as I could and bent down to talk to him as the passenger window opened. I didn't bend my legs as might be expected but instead used the straight-legged pose that I described in the first "Lights... Camera... Action" post when Matt and I filmed our first video scene together. With a coat so short I'm almost certain that my suspenders and stockings would have been visible to anyone looking across from one of the restaurants, and quite possibly my shiny PVC briefs would have been on display too.
John looked quite embarrassed. He was no doubt uncomfortable with this playacting and I tend to forget how natural my boyfriend Matt is when we have similar exchanges - we really do immerse ourselves totally in our respective roles. It took a little of the shine off the moment to have my prospective client so wooden with his delivery, but there wasn't much we were going say so it wasn't the end of the world.
"Hi, is there anything I can help you with?"
"I was just wondering if I could give you lift?"
"Well, I wasn't planning on going anywhere. Do you have somewhere in mind?"
"My house is not far away..."
"Hmm, that sounds cool. I tell you what, why don't you drive me there and on the way we'll have a little chat about what you want to do when we arrive, and what I might want in exchange. How does that sound?"
"It sounds fine. Jump in..."
I doubt that brief conversation bears any resemblance to what happens in reality, but I didn't want to say anything in public that would explicitly reveal what I was intending to do. John only had to say a few words, and the whole point of the dialogue was so that I could have a memory of soliciting a man while standing in the street in front of onlookers. I also knew that Martin would be observing events from the other side of the road, and that was fantastically exciting, especially when I got into the car and my husband watched me being driven away to have intercourse with a man I barely even knew.
With the stilted script out of the way John became far more relaxed and we chatted easily during the drive to his house. He recounted how he had first seen me and had been mesmerised by what I was wearing, and from there things moved on to a discussion of Gerald and some of the other guests he had at his house that night. Despite my own outwardly calm manner I was feeling so awesomely hot to play this scenario out, and that had nothing to do with the desirability of my companion. When I first set eyes on John as he wound down the car window I could see why I had forgotten him so quickly - he was simply nondescript-looking, an everyday, slightly balding middle-aged executive who was in need of fewer calories and far more exercise. It wouldn't have mattered what he looked like though - after parading herself dressed like that, Maria the Hooker wanted to play with a prick, and any punter's prick would do.
The original plan had been for me to spend just an hour with John. He was paying a large amount of money to have sex with me, and on an hourly basis this would put me firmly in the high-earnings league (which of course is where I feel I belong). However as I thought about this more in the days leading up to my visit I began to feel it was a wasted opportunity for both of us. I wanted to show off and let John see what I liked to do, and an hour was much too short a time for that. So by the time I got into John's car that night he already knew that I intended to spend a least a couple of hours with him.
It turned out to be nearly two and a half hours, and it was past midnight when I left his house. I'm not going to give you a blow-by-blow account of what I did for him, and don't get the idea that all of this time was spent having vigorous sex. For example, when I first sat down with John on his sofa I showed him some of the pictures on my phone, images of me in various outfits (mainly the Maria's Diary ones), and I talked him through each one, describing why I like particular garments and what I have done while wearing them. I was able to start gently massaging him as we did this and I also encouraged him to start fondling me. I still hadn't taken my coat off at this point, and I was very keen for him to put his hand up it and feel the underwear I had on before he actually set eyes on it.
I ended up sucking him a great deal, and this is something that I don't particularly enjoy if my partner is wearing a condom. I didn't do this with any gusto because the last thing I wanted was a premature ejaculation, and I warned John that he should withdraw if he even felt a twinge that suggested he might climax. However I did want him to experience some of the different positions I do this in, and not just with me kneeling in front of him.
Before we had intercourse John witnessed me bring myself to climax twice with my toys, and he induced a further two orgasms himself - one with his fingers and another in a way that I won't describe here. This capacity of mine to repeatedly come in a relatively short space of time is a huge plus in situations like this, and it was mind blowing for a guy like John to see that I was really getting off on what we were doing. It made the whole affair so much more special for him.
When we finally had full sex I got him to sit on a dining chair, and while facing him with my hands on his shoulders I lowered myself on to his erect prick, taking all of it inside me. He's roughly Martin's size and I won't normally consider having vaginal sex with such an everyday cock because it doesn't do much for me (especially with a condom), but in this position I could ride his penis in a way that allowed me to control the action on my clit. Also I'd inserted the vibrator into my rear and zipped my briefs back up again, and John was able to reach behind me and massage the buzzing toy in and out of me as we screwed. With this double penetration I knew I would have little problem reaching orgasm.
I kissed John passionately as we fucked, something I know a true professional probably would avoid, but I love to kiss while I'm having sex and there's never any pretence when I do it. With me doing this so genuinely, and after everything he'd witnessed and had done to him, I fully expected my client to come very quickly and I was sure I'd be left to finish myself off afterwards. In fact it turned out to be me who couldn't last and within just a few minutes I had a very powerful release which had me virtually screaming with delight. It was the thought of what I was doing more than anything else - I had a prick inside me that belonged to a man that I didn't find attractive, and were it not for the fact that I was going to be paid for my services then there's no way I would have been in his home that night. But I was going to be paid, and for that reason I was going to let him ejaculate while his cock was in my pussy, something which very few men have ever done, even to this day. What I was doing was wonderfully depraved because I didn't need the money; it was the reputation and experience I wanted, another vital career milestone for my slut wife CV.
After I climaxed I lay down on John's expensive rug and he fucked me while he was on top of me. I was goading him with the sort of dirty talk you've heard before, and I was also urging him on with my boots by kicking the back of my heels into his buttocks (I wish I'd been wearing my spurs). The line I used in one of my earlier posts - "fill the condom for me John, see if you can make it burst" - was first uttered that night, totally without forethought. Thankfully my customer didn't burst the condom, but he certainly filled it beautifully and he loved the idea of me taking it home as a trophy to show my husband.
As I was tidying myself up afterwards John handed me my bounty, and even though I knew the money would all be there I still theatrically opened the envelope and thumbed through the notes as if checking the amount was correct. This is for real, I remember thinking, I really am a prostitute. Well, in retrospect I'm not sure I can quite make that claim, but it's certainly true that I have prostituted myself - not quite the same, but I'm sure you see my point.
No doubt John was expecting me to leave at that point, but as you know I don't like to depart from a man I've had sex with until I've got him at least partially aroused again, and that night was no exception. So I put my coat on and then just sat there for a few moments massaging my client while I told him how much I had enjoyed the fucking he'd given me, and thanking him for all the orgasms I'd received. It wasn't long before he was reasonably hard again, and I even unzipped him and got his prick out for a few final seconds.
"Oh well," I said with apparent regret, "I guess I'd better be on my way. It seems such a shame to leave a hard cock like that, but I think I've done enough for one night, don't you? Maybe next time you'd like to fuck my arse with it."
I just said this as one of my usual prick-tease statements to leave the guy desperate for more of me, and I wasn't expecting the reply:
"Oh wow, yes, that would be incredible. I've never done that before."
I immediately felt a pang of guilt as he said those words, because as far as I was concerned there wasn't going to be a next time with John, at least not for penetrative sex. I'd like to be able to say it was this guilt aspect that prompted my subsequent actions, but I have to be quite honest here - the immediate thought of taking his cock in my rear and showing him how good I am at bringing a man to climax through anal masturbation really appealed to me. Ah, what the heck, I thought. It's only five minutes and I'll have something else to boast about to Martin.
"It's no good," I said as I stroked his prick some more, "I've just got to have it up me. Come on, go and sit on that chair again."
I don't think he could believe his luck, and he did exactly as I told him. A few seconds later I was rolling another condom on to his cock, and I then removed my coat and turned to face away from him, pushing my backside temptingly towards his face.
"Unzip me," I ordered, and I heard him mutter a groan as he pulled open the zipper on my high-waisted PVC briefs. These are perfect for anal sex as the zip starts halfway down the rear of the briefs and they only need to be undone a few inches for full access to my rear. I used to wear these regularly to work before I even started having extramarital sex because I loved the fantasy of a client making me bend over his office desk and then unzipping my shiny panties before aggressively butt fucking me.
My arse had been perfectly primed for prick by the lubricated vibrator, and I guided John's cock into me very easily. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed as the head entered, and with just a few movements up and down I gave him full penetration. I don't think he could believe how sensational it felt, not only because of the tightness but also due to my movements and muscle control. For my part I didn't find it that stimulating because his prick wasn't fully erect. Even though I don't like a large phallus in my rear, I do like it to be absolutely rock hard. Don't get me wrong though, I very much enjoyed the experience, but the pleasure came more from the control I was exercising over John rather than the physical stimulation I was receiving.
He didn't even last five minutes, which for once didn't bother me in the least. One of the major problems I constantly have to face when having anal sex is premature ejaculation. I can't really complain about this considering I have gone to such great lengths to learn how to provide pleasure to a man with this form of sex, but it does irritate me if a partner releases far earlier than I was anticipating. I like to climax while the cock is still being powerfully thrust into me, and it takes much of the excitement away if a guy ejaculates unexpectedly and I then feel him losing both his erection and his interest.
This time I didn't hang around to warm John up again after he'd climaxed. He looked drained but he was ecstatic with what I had allowed him to do, and I remember how satisfied I felt at that moment. I take great pleasure in giving a man an experience that will almost certainly be a one-off for him, and I didn't need to speak to Gerald to find out that John regarded those couple of hours with me as the greatest sexual encounter of his life. In the end he got far more than his money's worth, and he was left with memories that will provide masturbation material for years to come.
This is the only time I have been paid to have vaginal sex with a man. I've also been paid once to have anal sex, and I've twice accepted money to masturbate a man with my leather opera gloves. That is the limit of my career as a prostitute, and really it's all been about wanting to tick boxes to say that I have done these things. The idea of being a hooker still has great appeal at the fantasy level, but I wouldn't actually want to go down that road and start seriously accepting payment for sex. There are too many potential pitfalls and in particular I feel I relinquish some control if I demand a fee for what I do; it means I am somewhat obligated to a man rather than having complete freedom to run things exactly as I want.
Having a select client base for sex is highly tempting, but not on a professional basis. For now I think I'll stick to being an amateur whore.
Bringing Dreams To Life
I have received more feedback regarding the pictures of me wearing dildo briefs in the "Training Day" post than any other set of captures I've shown. In second place to these would be the series of images from "The London Meeting" post, and indeed many readers have found the photos which have a 'businesswoman' theme the most exciting, even though they are in general the least explicit. Many of the regular visitors to my site are career professionals and it's very easy for them to imagine scenarios where I'm in their office with my garter straps on full display as I sexily cross my stockinged legs in front of them. In addition to fantasising about what exotic underwear I might be wearing, the thought that I could have a clitoral stimulator strapped to my vagina or dildos harnessed into me is also highly stimulating. Obviously I'm very much aware of the allure of the prostitute-consultant image, but dressing like this in public has always been as much about turning myself on as it has been about turning men on. For example, before I started having extramarital sex I would periodically go to a business meeting with rubber plugs strapped into me, and there was no prospect whatsoever of this being revealed to my client. I did it purely for the personal kick I got from it.
In the ‘Publish And Be Damned’ post I outlined my plans to allow certain individuals who had been introduced to me to use my diary as a sort of advertising brochure for the experiences I could offer them and the clothing I could wear. As a result of this I was recently asked to dress in an outfit very similar to the one I'm wearing in the London Meeting post. The man concerned, Kieran, even asked if we could have lunch at the same hotel where I had made the business presentation on the day when Matt and I arranged to go out for dinner together.
Kieran had a slightly unusual request regarding the outfit he wanted me to wear - instead of the knee length boots I had worn to London in 2005 he wanted me to put on a thigh length pair, but he also wanted my skirt to cover the tops of the boots. At first I assumed he wanted a below-the-knee skirt so he could sit with me knowing that I had thigh-highs on while avoiding any embarrassment from us being stared at, but it turned out that he still wanted a shortish skirt - it just had to cover the boots when I stood. It was a particular look that he had seen many years before in a magazine, and he simply wanted to see me dressed in such a style. There was no deeper motive than that.
I turned Kieran down on the hotel visit, even though I was more than happy to go out in public with him dressed in this way. I'm more cautious now about displaying myself at busy London venues so I suggested an alternative place to go for lunch which was less conspicuous but where I would still create plenty of interest with my mode of dress. He had no problem with that, and on the day concerned he quickly realised why I had chosen this particular establishment when he saw me perched cross-legged on a high bar stool before we sat down for our meal.
The boots were all part of the image that Kieran wanted to see, but his real fantasy had its roots in a comment I made at the end of the "A New Year, A New Life" post, and as we sat at the dining table he was able to quote the relevant extract almost verbatim:
I do intend to indulge myself however. Penetrative sex with others may now be off the menu, but I'm now keener than ever to offer 'extras' to some of my business clients. Basically I'd like to masturbate a client while he puts his hands up my skirt and feels my suspenders and panties, or fondles my breasts.
It was the last three words that really appealed to Kieran, and he told me that he found himself constantly looking at the pictures from the London Meeting post and imagining running his hands over my shiny satin blouse. It was wonderful at that luncheon to have a man discuss things like this so openly with me, and it has made me realise how reading the diary can take away much inhibition from a man and allow him to express his desires freely and without shame. Although there will always be a thrill for me in breaking down a man's defences and allowing him to explore some of his latent fantasies, there's equal enjoyment in sitting with someone and knowing that in an hour or so you are going to give him his dreams. Nor is it just the pleasure of giving either; I knew I was going to be receiving as well, and the turn-on of knowing that my companion would soon be licking and sucking my breasts as I stroked his hair and coaxed him on with words of praise left me wet with excitement. Here I was sitting with a guy almost twenty years older than me and there was no prospect of penetrative sex that day, but I was as hot for his attentions as I would have been had a twenty-five year old stud with an eight-inch dick been sitting there. This is the big difference between me and most other women I feel; the whole groping/fondling thing has always been so attractive to me, and I don't necessarily need full sex to get satisfaction. Being touched up and worshipped; seeing a man lose all control as he runs his hands over my body and pays homage to me with his mouth; these are all acts that simultaneously feed two seemingly opposed self-images - Maria the Slut and Maria the Goddess.
Kieran spent an hour and a quarter with me in private later, and all of that time was spent on breast play. I don't think he understood at first how deeply developed this sort of fantasy is within me, and it was ten minutes before I even took my jacket off. A few minutes later I had to stop him when he began undoing the buttons on my blouse. No, I said, I want more of your hands rubbing over me, feeling my nipples and squeezing through the satin material. We've got as much time as we need, I assured him. Make it last, and let's have you feeling me in different positions - sitting in a chair, lying on my back, bending over a table. Here, take this twelve-inch plastic ruler; see how whippy it is? Okay, now flick it so it hits my tits; no, I'm serious, hit them with it - it doesn't have to be hard, but flick your wrist so that the flat side of the ruler smacks against my breasts. Yes, that's it, just like that, but a bit harder so it makes a better sound. Y-E-S, excellent, that's perfect. See, it's not hurting or anything but it's sexy don't you think? Give me a dozen of those on the same breast then the hit the other one. After that I want you to actually hit my nipples when you do it...
So, for how long do you think you could suck a woman's breasts before you got bored? Maybe an even more pertinent question would be how long that woman would allow her breasts to be sucked before she got bored. Well, I think Kieran and I would have been there all afternoon had he not ejaculated when he did. We'd been going at it for nearly forty minutes and I certainly wasn't ready to stop, nor was he showing any signs of flagging either. He did keep backing off because he thought I must have had enough, but I kept telling him to keep sucking and licking. We also stopped once so I could reapply lipstick to my nipples, and on a second occasion he painted them himself. After he'd done this I also goaded him into writing 'FUCK' on my right breast and 'SLUT' on my left in bold red letters.
It won't surprise you to learn that he spurted all over my breasts, but he didn't make a move to clean up his own mess, and since he had read my diary he must have known my feelings on this, so I didn't make any comment. I was left sitting there still wanking his cock before it became totally flaccid, and cum was running down my stomach and also dripping from my breasts on to my skirt. That was fine by me, and I was quite content to drive home in my soiled clothing, knowing full well that my husband would soon be viewing evidence of my afternoon relaxation.
To me that hour or so I spent with Kieran demonstrated once again that I have a rare ability to understand what makes men tick, and furthermore I instinctively know what to do and what not to do. At no point did my partner touch my boots, my legs, my suspenders, and he certainly didn't fondle my pussy. Why didn't I ask for this? You know I wanted it, so why not request it? I didn't contemplate this because I somehow knew that Kieran didn't really want to do it. I could maybe give reasons for this, but please bear in mind that Kieran himself will likely be reading this post, and in any case I don't really care why. I give men what they want because one way or another I get what I want. I had no problem with finger-fucking myself as Kieran sucked away, and in the time I was with him I came twice. I'll admit they weren't the earth-shattering orgasms I've had under other circumstances, but I certainly wouldn't want that time back, and I'll be seeing Kieran again for another session. Now I know what he really wants, he's going to be given some experiences that will show him just how inventive I can be. When I first cuckolded Martin I commented on how Matt's interest in my breasts was a relatively novel experience for me, and since then I've learned a great deal. It's surprising how many different ways there are to tether and discipline a woman's breasts, and Kieran's education will begin at our next meeting.
It had been some time since I'd worn that satin blouse in public with a shelf bra, and I loved the feeling of it and also the look of the outfit when I saw it on video - even the thigh boots. As a direct consequence, in a couple of weeks' time I'm going out for lunch in the exact same outfit with two male friends, and Martin will be driving us home afterwards.
I've been in the back of my husband's car with two men on a number of occasions over the past eighteen months, but this has mostly been at night and Martin is required to turn the driver's mirror away so that he can't see what is happening behind him. This time however I'm going to make him stop the car on the way home and I want him to turn around so he can watch me being attended to by my two companions.
When I've spoken before about having two men with me I'm sure you've been left with the impression that what counts is the fact that two men = two pricks = two penetrations. That was certainly a primary factor in 2007 when I was shooting my staged videos that enacted many of my group sex fantasies, but in all honesty I don't find the double cocking experience that exciting any more. I still love being double cocked by dildos and there aren't many days when I don't enjoy this, but with physically powerful men who are highly turned on I find the whole deal too painful when they're both banging away with real passion. Furthermore, the positions you have to get into are highly contrived and it's just not a satisfying way to have sex.
I'm in danger of digressing here and I'll leave any discussion of what I do at home with multiple partners for another time. What I want to say now though is that in the early days of having more than one partner it was this very base two-pricks-is-better-than-one attitude that drove my games, but as time has gone on I've come to realise that this isn't the real advantage of having more than one lover simultaneously attending to me. The plain fact is that two men can provide more pleasure than one can, and three can provide more than two. It's not just about cocks, it's about hands and mouths as well, and the men I'm with have learned to be gentle and sensuous with me when I'm being fondled as a prelude to more aggressive sex. The feeling of having two pairs of hands roving over my clothing, caressing me; of two mouths kissing and licking my body; holding and masturbating two large, hard pricks while this is being done to me; the experience is utterly sensational and unforgettable.
That's what Martin will witness as he watches me in the back of his car, and I'm fairly sure he won't find the experience all that painful any more. He loves seeing this done to me, and the only humiliation he will suffer is that I'll demand that he wanks himself as he watches. He'll love seeing me French kiss one lover while the other kisses and licks my neck; he'll love watching the hands rubbing over my shiny satin blouse, occasionally squeezing and tweaking my highly erect nipples; he'll get off on seeing hands work their way up my skirt as they rub the insides of my thighs, play with my suspenders, and ultimately press into my pussy. He'll get even more excited when my vibrating clit stimulator is turned on and I begin to wank the two big cocks in earnest, and also when my blouse is unfastened and he sees my breasts being sucked by two men at the same time. Above all though he'll love looking at my face as he sees me completely lost in pleasure. I won't even be aware when my lovers both ejaculate and spray cum over my skirt and boots, because I'll be consumed by the waves of ecstasy from my own climax.
Every woman should experience sex like this just once in her life. The problem for any husband is that it won't be just once; she'll always want to come back for more.
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