Puss In Boots
Posted 5 February 2006
Martin is standing by the doorway to the main lounge, moving the video camera around on its tripod so that it is centred properly. He maximises the zoom and then makes sure that the image that fills the rotatable LCD screen on the camera is of my glossy latex panties. Once he's satisfied that the camera is set up correctly he zooms out again, swivels the view screen round so I can see what is being filmed, and presses the 'record' button.
I'm lying in a very relaxed position on the main sofa. I have one thigh booted leg resting up on the sofa itself and the other is splayed outward, with the six-inch heel touching the floor. I'm still wearing the black PVC bra and suspender belt I wore to work that day and I've slightly unzipped the front of the bra so I can access and tease my nipples. I've also put on a long pair of black PVC gloves.
In my right hand I'm holding a 42" dressage whip and I'm idly tapping it against my thigh boot as I wait for Martin to come over to me. I'm extremely turned on, the expectation of the servile homage I'm about to receive creating a warm, sensuous tingling between my legs. It's been some time since I made Martin attend to me in the way I've chosen for this evening, but that isn't surprising in itself. There are so many ways to make a submissive give his Mistress pleasure that it can be months before I demand the same method again, and also I often forget about some of the devices and clothing available in my wardrobe. Nevertheless I'm surprised I've ignored this piece of gear for so long - it really is one of the best.
This is the scene as I remember it on Monday evening, and the garment that I'm talking about is a pair of black latex cunnilingus briefs, one of the most erotic items of underwear ever conceived. Mine, as by now you've probably come to expect, are very well made and cost a great deal of money (although when balanced against the excitement they have provided they've been worth every last penny). Basically they're like normal latex briefs but they have an integral zipped rubber hood. There's also a thin rubber collar attached and a series of metal eyelet holes in various locations to allow sufficient air to reach the hood wearer (although by design the feeling for the submissive is one of very mild suffocation).
There's a great deal of misunderstanding regarding the use of latex hoods by a domina. Many women find images of such headgear extremely disturbing - a reflexive repulsion kindled by subconscious associations with the rapist and the hangman. Others are repelled by their distaste for some of the more extreme foibles of ardent rubber fetishists. But for a dominant woman a latex hood is a means to an end. It's a device whose sole purpose is to enhance her submissive's feelings of devotion and servitude towards his Mistress. It is an instrument of control.
When my husband's head is encased inside a rubber hood, two of his major senses become impaired. His vision is restricted by the small or even non-existent eyeholes and his hearing is also weakened as sounds become muffled. This creates some temporary disorientation but gradually the brain compensates as it redirects consciousness to other senses: touch, taste and smell. And now all I have to do is to direct Martin to a single point of focus on my body and wait for those heightened senses to create an intensity of adoration and homage that few women would believe it possible for a man to give.
The target of worship can be something inanimate, such as a high-heeled boot. The taste of the leather; the smell of it; the touch of it on his lips and tongue, especially as each inch of the heel slides gently in and out of his mouth as he sucks. It's little wonder that after just a few sessions of such homage a Mistress's boots become an object of sexual reverence to the submissive.
But of course the greatest payoff comes when the centre of the slave's world becomes the domina's vagina or anus, for then the depth of the worshipper's love is transmitted to his Mistress's own nerve endings and she experiences breathtaking pleasure which is freely given for as long as she wishes it. To me this unconditional desire on behalf of a submissive to please his goddess is as beautiful as it is pathetic. I love my husband for this grovelling adoration he gives me, and I despise him for such nauseating self-debasement, for demeaning himself as a man.
Martin came over to the sofa and kneeled before me. He then moved his head towards me so his mouth was just resting against my waiting vagina lips. I leaned forward and pulled the two ends of the rubber collar from underneath him and buckled it around his neck, securing it with a small brass padlock when I judged I had the tightness just right. Then I pulled the two sides of the hood and began to zip them together an inch or so at a time, carefully feeding Martin's hair inside so that it didn't catch. When I had completely zipped him in I sat back and looked at the small video screen. It looked wonderful - his shiny rubber head trapped in bondage to his Mistress, his mouth a prisoner to my pussy.
It's a sensational experience having a man's head enslaved to you in this way. The great thing about my cunnilingus briefs is that when not in use the hood section can be folded, pulled beneath my legs and then fastened at the rear to a suspender belt or corset using a small attached chain. This allows me to wear the briefs quite normally under a loose skirt and as a consequence Martin has attended to me in some highly unusual circumstances. I've even worn them to business meetings just so I can get turned on by imagining that my client licks me in his office. Martin is almost beside himself when he sees me putting these on for work.
I'm often so aroused by the kinkiness of what we're doing that I'll climax within just a few minutes, but on Monday I needed to last longer.
"Just warm me until I tell you otherwise," I said casually, as if I had only a passing interest in what Martin was doing. He knew what this meant - he was not to use the full power of his exceptionally skilful tongue. Instead he began to very softly kiss my pussy lips and lightly work his tongue inside. I knew that soon he would be working his mouth and tongue very lazily, as if giving a slow-motion French kiss. This would set me blissfully on edge, but would fall short of provoking climax.
I used the camera's remote control to zoom into the scene for half a minute or so, making sure I had a lingering close up of Martin's cocooned head doing its duty. Then I gave him a few strokes with the whip - totally unjustified, for he had done nothing that deserved punishment, but if I'm holding such an instrument I can't resist using it. Finally I sat back and closed my eyes, letting my body relax and enjoy my husband's sensual massage. I'm no great fan of Mondays and this is the perfect way to remove the stresses and strains of the day. Normally I would have now let my mind wander into fantasy, imagining various contrived scenes where I would enjoy sex in highly unusual ways, more often than not with multiple lovers. But tonight I had another purpose in mind and so I dragged myself out of my semi-conscious state, reluctantly put down my whip, and picked up my phone. I dialled Matt's preset number.
I guessed he'd be in - he normally is on Monday evenings, and I'm now usually aware if he's going to be out somewhere midweek. However his phone rang for longer than I was expecting. Just as I was preparing in my mind what I would say when the voice messaging activated, Matt picked up.
"Hello?" he said.
[What follows is an exact transcript (except for names) of my side of the telephone conversation I had with Matt that evening. It's reproduced here in its entirety, and because I have given no indication of what Matt was saying, some of the dialogue will seem redundant and other sections will make little sense. However I want you to experience my call just as Martin did as he attended to me with his mouth. It was Martin who made the transcript (a suitably humiliating task for him considering the content) and I've added some occasional indicators of my attendant actions and expressions. Above all I'm trying to give you a feel for how I am with Matt after a just a few weeks of intimacy.]
Hi, it's me.
When I first looked at the transcript that Martin had produced from the video, I couldn't quite believe that it was accurate. It was only when I read it with the video playing back that I could accept that Martin had got everything exactly right. Apart from the fact that my diction isn't quite as crisp on the phone as I imagine it to be ('yeah', 'dunno' - sheesh!), it's made me realise that there are some things that words cannot properly convey, because vital expression, timing and nuance are lost in the dialogue above. Furthermore, only if you are able to reproduce in your mind the intense emotion I was experiencing towards the end of the call will the words not come across as being clichéd and embarrassing to read. On the other hand, despite these drawbacks, what makes the dialogue exciting for me is that it is not something I have recalled from memory with all the danger of embellishment but a perfect written record of the words I have exchanged with my lover during a moment of passion.
You may be wondering why I lied to Matt (a white lie, in my opinion) about Martin being present and actually being the major contributor to the swiftness of my orgasm. I did this simply because I don't think Matt would have been at all comfortable if he had known that my husband was attending to me while we spoke. He would have become distracted and it would no longer have been a private moment between lovers. Always aware of the presence of another, Matt would never have said the things he did, even if he knew that Martin couldn't hear him.
This does raise some issues and I think we will be revisiting this aspect of my affair with Matt many times over the coming weeks. I don't want to sound dissatisfied with my present situation - I think I've made it clear that I'm loving every aspect of my life since I cuckolded Martin. However at some stage it will be necessary - and I say 'necessary', not 'desirable' - for me to have a lover who enjoys humiliating my husband in the same way that I do. He will want to see Martin punished because it heightens his own sexual release. He will quite gladly whip Martin in front of me while I am either coming to orgasm with a sex toy or another man's prick. He will think nothing of having me ride on top of him while my spouse's face is strapped to my rear. And above all he will gladly perform on Martin those extreme humiliations which I haven't openly described but which you know I want my husband to endure for my own twisted sexual reward.
Can Matt ever be this man? I have my doubts, but what I do know is that if he eventually comes to enjoy seeing my worthless cuckold husband being punished he will have reached that stage without any manipulation from me. Yes, I am going to try to gradually create situations where Matt can begin to experience and understand my domination of Martin and let him see with his own eyes quite how contemptibly pathetic my husband is when he's grovelling before me. But what I won't do is play mind games with him as Martin did with me. I won't emotionally blackmail Matt and I won't try to change him - I love him just the way he is. I know from the fact that he gets extremely turned on when I tell him what I do to Martin that he has it within him to dominate my husband alongside me, but whether he can ever cross that bridge from imagination to reality remains to be seen.
It's early days. Things are going very satisfactorily so far.
On Tuesday evening I got to Matt's house quite early, around 6 o'clock. I love driving in thigh boots - I can't believe there are any women, no matter what their preconceptions, who wouldn't get turned on when sitting at the wheel of a car in high lace-up black leather boots with 5-inch heels. In a later diary entry I'll discuss the tricks I get up to when I'm in my car because it's worthy of a full post rather than just a mention here. But suffice it to say that by the time I'd reached Matt's house I was about as hot as you could get me.
Watching me leave had been particularly hard for Martin - I could see it in his eyes and in his demeanour. This might seem strange when you consider that he has already seen me leave for Matt's house wearing, for example, a backless latex spanking skirt, a collar with 'SLUT' written on it in silver studs, and a bondage top with chains running from my nipples to leather cuffs on my wrists. But that night I would be going out in public in what I was wearing, and that made all the difference in the world. Martin knew how much these exhibitionist moments meant to me, and this night I would be with a man who brought a whole new aspect to the scenario. When I was with my short, plain husband I could only be a domina with her slave or a hooker with her John, but tonight I could be a sex toy with her Master. Martin knew that given half a chance I would have worn a dog collar with a lead and Matt would be taking me for a walk.
I was wearing a long coat, undone at the front. Matt opened the door even before I rang the bell and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me. For a moment he was speechless and he just kept eyeing me up and down. Then he started shaking his head.
"Unbelievable, just unbelievable," he finally managed to say.
"Not got much of a vocabulary, have you?" I ribbed. " 'Unbelievable' is all you ever say to me when I get here."
"Yeah, well that's because you're er, ...unbelievable. There isn't another word. Are you serious about going out dressed like that?"
"Absolutely. Unless it's a problem for you."
"No, no, I'll be fine. Amazing."
My eyes narrowed and I looked at him intently.
"Matt, I need to be clear. You can't look embarrassed at being with me while I'm dressed like this. If you do, I'll feel embarrassed too and it will kill everything. I need you to look as if it's nothing special. Totally normal for you."
"Well, that part might be difficult, because it isn't something normal for me - it's something truly extraordinary. But I know what you mean... I'll be okay, don't worry. I'm really up for it."
I moved forward and we kissed. I love the moment when I put my tongue in his mouth again after not being with him for a few days. And I love feeling his hardness once more (he's always hard when I arrive), a potent reminder of what I'll be receiving in the hours ahead. For his own part, Matt reached down and ran the palms of his hands up and down the front of my skirt. He always performs this little ritual, like a child feeling through the wrapping of a present to get an idea of what's inside. My underwear is so varied that the anticipation of what he's going to find beneath my skirt is a major source of arousal for him.
This particular skirt is short, with the hem finishing well above the tops of my boots. It's got a faint check pattern and it's flared, not tightly fitted as I like my leather skirts to be. It's a big mistake to try to take the behind-closed-doors image of the leather-clad domina into the open air. It's too easy to be stereotyped. Therefore when I wear my thigh boots in public I try to counter the powerful, sadistic overtones of my footwear with a more relaxed, innocent style of clothing. It creates confusion in onlookers' minds. Or I should say women's minds, because the men couldn't care less about analysing you - they just want to fuck you.
It's always possible to find a fashionable skirt and top which accommodates this look. My top that night was a black, high-necked, short-sleeved one which has small buttons all the way up the front. There was no sign of the buckled PVC bondage bra I was wearing underneath. My clothes rarely have much embellishment to them - I dislike anything that looks too 'designer'. Plain and simple is my aim, because I want to make whatever exotic piece of gear I'm wearing (boots, skirt, gloves etc.) the centre of attention.
The accessories I'll wear on a night like this are extremely suggestive - even blatant - but these never register with people at first. They see these only when they study me more closely and when they're near enough to me to be able to do so. Even Matt didn't notice them for some time. My earrings at first glance just look like dressy, dangly ones with silver tassels. It's only when you look more carefully that you realise that they are in fact miniature silver whips. The same goes for the thin necklace I wore - it looks quite plain, with a single small charm hanging from it. Get close enough though and you'll see that the charm is a smooth silver penis. The message to all is clear - the wearer is obsessed by sex, and unusual sex at that. Men are both intimidated and captivated by it. Women are appalled.
[I'll show some pictures of this jewellery in a future post.]
I realise that there will come a day when I can no longer carry off this flirtatious act any longer. Some of you may already think that it's pushing it for a thirty-two year old to be out and about in such a short skirt, but I think I'll know when that day has come and it won't be for a number of years yet. My legs aren't nearly as girlish and perfect as they were ten years ago, but I believe they're still pretty good and the rest of my body's holding up well too. As for my face, well that is probably the key. In this state I am so turned on that my eyes are alive with lust and my mouth is moist and pouting for cock. Men are drawn in by my sensuality and they end up wanting me just as much as I want their roving hands up my skirt and inside my panties. I become an uberslut, and I love it.
When we parted from our initial embrace on his doorstep, Matt saw that I was holding something in my hand. He'd missed it before because I was partially keeping it hidden behind my back.
"What's that you've got?" he asked.
I handed over the dildo harness to him. He'd seen it before, but only with a single dildo attached. Tonight there were two. His eyes widened when he saw it and he looked up at me questioningly.
"It's entirely up to you, but I'd like to wear it tonight," I said. "That's why I'm here slightly earlier. I'd like you to help me put it on."
"Hell yes. Oh yes, that'd be... oh God, this is too much. You've got to stop doing this to me. I can't take much more of it."
"Ah, poor baby," I said mockingly, and I brushed my hand against his face. "Maybe I need to find someone with more self-control."
"Yeah, well maybe you'd better get inside and bend over my kitchen table," he said, quick as a flash. "Now."
Those next twenty minutes when Matt dildoed me up for the evening were some of the most erotic I've ever experienced. He knows I love ritual and he turned it into just that - a sexual ritual which was as powerful as anything I could have made up in my head. I went into the kitchen and removed my coat while he went upstairs to get some lube. By the time he came down again I was just finishing removing my buckled PVC panties (they match the bra). I would wear the harness and nothing else while we were out.
I bent over the kitchen table, spread my legs, and felt my skirt land on my back as Matt lifted it up and over itself. I was expectantly waiting to feel the cold rubber phallus against my rear, but suddenly had a shock as a hard slap landed on my bottom.
"You're a dirty little girl, aren't you," Matt said. "Only dirty girls want to go out with rubber cocks in them."
"Yes," I moaned. "I'm a dirty girl."
Smack!... Smack!... Smack!
Matt gave me a good spanking and in between each set of slaps he would slide his hand under me and ram two or even three fingers into my soaking pussy. I was already so wet that he must have known that lubing up the vaginal dildo would be a waste of time.
Even after that he wasn't ready to plug me yet. He came round the other side of the table so he was in front of me.
"Suck the cocks that are going to be screwing you when we're out," he demanded, and he thrust one of the dildos into my mouth, pushing it so far in I nearly gagged. I eagerly sucked on it as he had ordered and after half a minute or so he switched plugs and made me feed on the other one.
"Now do both," he said sadistically, and he put the two dongs together and pushed them hard against my mouth. At first it didn't seem like there was any way they would go in, but I stretched and stretched my mouth until finally the two rubber cock heads entered. My face must have looked grotesque in this contorted state but Matt just laughed and couldn't hide his delight when saliva began to dribble uncontrollably from my mouth.
Finally he released me from this bizarre dual fellatio and unzipped his trousers.
"This won't seem as big now..." he said calmly.
I took his erect prick into my mouth, and once again I was staggered at its size. I've been sucking this monster for several weeks now but I still haven't got used to its girth. It's opening my jaw wide enough that's the problem. With Martin I was always able to close my jaw a fair amount when I used to suck his cock but with Matt it has to remain almost fully open as I close my lips as best I can on to the shaft.
"You're going to suck me until I come," he said with relish, "but you're not to swallow, okay? You keep my cum in your mouth and I'm going to use it to oil your cocks."
I felt like screaming with the sheer horniness of the idea, but my mouth was stuffed full and all I could do was make some passionate grunts of delight. I sucked him with all my powers, giving him as much pleasure as I was able as I anticipated the arrival of his creamy milk. I gave everything I could as I sensed him approaching climax. Any second now. Don't swallow. Don't swallow. Any moment...
Just as I thought he was going to explode he cruelly withdrew from me.
"No!" I screamed. "No! Please! Please!" I couldn't believe he'd done it.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said. "I want to be as turned on as you tonight. If I come it'll take the edge off things. I'll come in your mouth later - when we get back."
"You bastard!" I shouted. "You did that to wind me up!"
Then all the breath was expelled out of me in one shocking moment as Matt gave me the hardest single spank he had ever made. It must have left his palm stinging, and I was left gasping as the pain finally registered.
"Don't you talk like that to me, bitch!" he hissed.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean it." Oh, you're gorgeous, I remember thinking. You're just getting better and better.
"Okay," he said with clear satisfaction, "enough of that. It's time to fill you up."
I couldn't see what Matt was doing, but half a minute later I felt a lube-soaked finger rubbing against my anus. A few seconds after that it slipped inside my rear and began opening me up. One finger became two, and once he judged me ready I felt the end of the dildo probing me. He wasn't rough and it was a quite wonderful feeling when the black rubber shaft finally slid inside me. Matt masturbated it in and out for a while, each time getting just a little more up me until finally I could feel the flared base touching my rear on the forward thrusts. The dildo isn't very large but it has no tapering like a butt plug and can only be worn for about three hours maximum because of the continuous pleasure it gives. If I'm wearing a harness all day I use a more conventional shaped butt toy that isn't nearly as demanding.
Matt then got me to stand up and I undid my skirt, pulling it right up as he fed the harness underneath me and proceeded to ease the front dildo into my expectant pussy. It was then just a matter of buckling the two ends of the harness together around my waist.
"Is that tight enough?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I like them really hard up. I usually have it on the last buckle hole. It cuts into me a bit, but I don't like the plugs to feel loose."
Matt undid the buckles again and pulled the harness to the tightness I wanted. My waist was squeezed and the rear strap was forced harshly between my bottom cheeks, sending the dildos as far into me as they could go.
"That's perfect," I gasped. "Just perfect."
I turned to him and we kissed again, a really long, sexy kiss accompanied by unrestrained groping and fondling. We were both enormously turned on. How we ever made it out the door I'll never know.
If you've never had an anal dildo inside you before I suggest you give it a try. Some won't like it, but I'll wager that will be more to do with guilty thoughts at what you're doing rather than actual distaste for the feeling (and learning how to properly clean yourself for the experience will go a long way towards deflecting such guilt). For my part I find it exhilarating, a quite unique sensation that cannot be described by words. Those of you who have already been down this road will know that what I did that night is not something you can do on your first time. It takes experience and self-control to be able to walk normally, sit down comfortably and generally act as if there's nothing out of the usual going on when your rear is plugged by a toy of the type that I had in me that night (a vaginal dildo is far easier to cope with).
This outer calm I display when I'm anally plugged is completely superficial. Underneath the surface I'm usually almost beside myself with the desire to finish myself off, to masturbate my arse until I orgasm. In particular, when I sit down the temptation to start rotating my hips or shift up and down in my seat can become almost overwhelming and it takes all my willpower to resist such urges. This of course is all part of the eroticism. The rest comes from the sheer kinkiness of the act - wondering what others around me would think if they knew my ass was rubber-pricked.
Matt had picked a popular bistro for us to go to, somewhere not far from where he used to live when he was married. There was a remote chance that someone who knew him would see us there, but he had no qualms about that. He said he'd love to show me off to his old acquaintances.
In his car on the way I could have let myself go if I'd wanted. There was nothing to stop me, but I knew that by the time we arrived I'd be in such a state that I wouldn't be able to hold on for long. In any case, I wanted Matt's eyes on the road, not glancing over at my gyrations. Fortunately both of us had calmed down somewhat in the ten minutes I'd spent repairing my make-up and hair before we left Matt's, and I wanted it to stay like that while we were in public.
It was about 7.30 when we drew up in the car park. There were plenty of other cars there already and Matt told me that this was the sort of place that was busy from early evening onwards, collecting a good deal of business from the nightly London exodus - stressed-out professionals who couldn't be bothered to cook or who wanted to delay their arrival home to avoid the even greater stresses of parenthood. The place sounded perfect - quite large with many dining tables and with seating at a long open bar for those who wanted just a drink or one of the speciality sandwiches.
Matt walked slightly ahead of me as we ambled over to the side entrance. He kept looking back as if he needed to confirm yet again that I was for real. My long coat was flapping open in the light, cold breeze, revealing my tightly fitted boots, black stockings and gently swaying skirt. I had already moved into aloof mode, my head held arrogantly high. I was carrying a small black bag in my left hand, and my right hand would periodically flick my hair back, that involuntary gesture that all women make when they know that they are about to be studied. My leg movements were causing the dildos to shift slightly back and forth with each stride, but I gave no indication whatsoever that I was being double masturbated as I walked.
Matt held the door open for me. I gave him one last look before we went in.
"Okay?" I said.
"Sure," he replied. "Can't wait."
I have experienced this moment so many times in the past that I ought to be used to it by now, but like an actor who suffers butterflies before the curtain goes up even on the hundredth performance, I still feel my heart racing as I make my entrance. My movements also respond, quite unconsciously, but quite noticeably when you see the video Martin has taken of me. I sway my hips more, I push my breasts out, and my stride is just that little bit longer than normal. I hold my hands in a slightly irregular position, with the fingers somewhat posed instead of hanging naturally. But the one thing I don't do as I walk into the arena is acknowledge my audience, at least not visibly. This isn't a woman who appears interested in what others think of her. The way she dresses marks her as a shameless attention-seeker, and yet she is apparently oblivious to anyone's attention. Who is this woman? She is a contradiction.
But I see and hear everything, my eyes and ears completely attuned to those reactions that centre on yours truly. At a table I'm walking past a hand is raised to the mouth and the person leans to another. Far on the left dark blobs suddenly change to light ones - faces have turned towards me. The barman briefly freezes as he looks my way. I hear the usual muttered expletives - some just audible, others unashamedly open. "Oh yeah, baby", "Ooh'ya bastard, look at that!", "Jesus, look at that girl who's just walked in!".
And many of them haven't even seen me properly yet. They've had a mere glimpse as my legs emerge from the front of my coat. No, the big moment comes when we get to the bar and we briefly discuss where we're going to sit. "Want to sit at a table?" asks Matt, fully aware of what my answer will be. But I appear to give this some consideration, keeping my inner thoughts to myself. Oh yeah, like I want to sit with my legs hidden under a table when I can perch on a bar stool with the world ogling my legs.
"Hmm, no, this will do fine. We're probably not going to be here that long."
And this is it. I turn around and my tall, perfectly formed partner eases the coat from my shoulders. As he pulls it away I hear the conversation rise. Another expletive. Someone on the right is pointing. It doesn't get any better than this. Thigh-booted, mini-skirted, and if they only knew, double-dildoed. An unforgettable, outrageous sight for many in the room.
I turn round and climb gracefully on to the stool. No reaction to the sudden pressure from the butt dildo as it's thrust further into my rear. Another flick of the hair. A sexy smile at Matt. A quick adjustment of the skirt. A glance at the bar tender, a sweet smile of acknowledgement to him. And then the tricky part - crossing my legs. Tricky that is unless you've practised it a thousand times in front of a mirror as I have.
When you look at my pictures you may have noticed that I carry my stockings quite high on my legs. They're not fastened as you see catalogue or glamour models wear them, with the suspenders very long and the stockings almost mid-thigh. If I wore stockings at this length the tops would be visible even when I stood up, never mind when I sat down. When I'm wearing a loose-fitting skirt I try to set the length of my suspenders so that a very small section of the black lace tops is just visible on the underneath of my legs when I cross them. After that it's just a matter of deciding how adventurous and revealing I want to be. It's simple to cause the skirt to hitch up higher if I want to show more.
You need to practise the move of crossing and uncrossing your legs in front of a mirror until you know just by looking briefly down at your skirt how much you are revealing. This is especially important if you're not wearing panties. You can also learn how to 'flash' yourself momentarily when you uncross your legs. I've never done this deliberately in public (I've probably done it accidentally) but I've done it in front of a client before when I've been wearing panties with a silver metal zip.
So that's the scene. A woman sitting at a bar in full view of restaurant diners wearing leather thigh boots and short skirt, with her legs sexily crossed. Her handsome, impressive partner is ordering drinks. She's staring at her fingernails, relaxed, content, so at ease. There's no sign that her pussy is soaking with excitement, the rubber phallus inside it the only thing preventing her from leaving telling evidence of where she has been sitting. There's no sign that her ass is on fire from over an hour of permanent stimulation. Nor can you see her hugely engorged nipples trying to burst out of their plastic confinement. But you can see her lust. This she cannot hide. Her mouth and eyes betray all.
We spent about an hour at that bar, just talking to each other, apparently totally disinterested in both our surroundings and our fellow patrons. We'd look round the room occasionally, but it was clear that nothing caught our eye. It was as though what we were doing was conventional for us, an everyday event in our lives.
If you were expecting more, then I'm sorry, there isn't any. This is it, this is the way I get my kicks - just from being there dressed like that, cocked up like that, in full public view. Maybe you think it's strange that this sort of experience has such a profound effect on me and will remain forever as a cherished memory, but you weren't there. You had to be there. You had to see it for yourself. Then I think you'd understand.
Matt got it. He was struggling to hide his erection all the time we were there and it was a good job he had his own coat to hide behind. When we got back in the car he gave out a long breath as if he'd been holding it all the time we were in the bistro. Then he made out as if he was banging his head on the steering wheel.
"Fucking unbelievable!" he said several times. "I can't believe you did that! You gorgeous, fabulous, dirty fucking slut! You had cocks in you! Rubber cocks! With no knickers! In there, with them all watching!"
I was outwardly calm. Inwardly I was just loving his loss of control. I reached over and felt his crotch.
"I'm amazed you managed to hide that," I teased, almost mocking him.
He put his hands to his face and groaned.
"Oh, I'm going to give you such a fucking when we get home. You'll be glad you've had that rubber dick up you all night."
"Get in the queue," I said. "These dildos are going to do me first. Only fair on them."
And that's exactly what happened. Back at Matt's I mounted the stair rail just as I do at home when I'm on my own and I went for a ride. With Matt urging me on with a leather belt, I bounced up and down frenziedly, forcing both dildos to give me a sensational dual arse and pussy fuck until the orgasm I had been keeping at bay all evening finally overcame me. It was beautiful, just beautiful.
Matt was lying. He didn't give me 'such a fucking'. Instead he gave me three of them, and he was so ensnared by his own inner desires that he was far rougher with his thrusts than he'd ever been before. I couldn't care less and goaded him on with dirty talk which just made him even more uncontrollable. It was well after midnight when I got home, and I was utterly drained. I barely had the energy to climb into bed, let alone have a session with Martin as I had originally planned.
The following day I felt the full effects of my recklessness and even on Friday night at Matt's I had to ask him to go easy on me. He was upset to find out that he'd made me so sore but I went to great lengths to reassure him that I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was confirmation of my power to excite. That's what I do to men. That's what I make men want to do to me.
And Martin? There's no question that this was a major blow. I'd felt so comfortable having Matt with me and I lost no time in rubbing this fact into my husband. Matt had given me leverage over women that Martin could never supply. Before, they might be jealous but they could console themselves with the fact that my partner was unimpressive. That's the only sort of man you'll get if you dress like that. But with Matt with me there was no hiding place for them, nowhere to retreat to. I held all the aces.
Look girls, this is the sort of man you get if you dress like me.
Lock up your husbands, ladies. Maria is on the prowl.
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