Happy Anniversary

Posted 6 October 2006

In my last entry I got a bit ahead of myself by describing the meeting I had with Robert in July, but I'm sure you will understand why I wanted to recount that wonderfully exciting experience. 'The Shoe Queen' post is nearly 20,000 words, and although I was able to borrow material from my offline diary, it still took a great deal of time to write. Frankly the online diary is taking up a disproportionate amount of my time but that was always to be expected while I attempted to bring things back up to date.

The problem I'm now facing is that events are currently moving much faster than I expected and in the past week alone something totally unexpected happened which has made things far more complicated for me and makes the diary's existence quite a problem. I won't expand on this other to say that it involves Matt, Martin, myself, and a woman - a woman roughly my own age whom I have known for a very long time. If this develops in the way I now suspect then I can't begin to describe the possibilities. I'll know more within the next few days, but I should warn you that it may be quite some time until I post again and I may have to make some changes to the site, including removal/alteration of some of the pictures.

For the moment though let's move back to the period following Martin's trip abroad, because some important changes occurred during those weeks. Although I made it clear to my husband from the moment that he got back that he meant as much to me as ever, I didn't want him to become too comfortable. My need to manipulate and degrade Martin hadn't in any way diminished and I also wanted him to fully comprehend that Matt's brief tenure in our home had prompted some serious changes in my long-term plans. Much of this was spelled out to him as we sat over dinner on the Monday night, only the second day he had been back.

"You know, for maybe the first time in a long while I found work really tedious today," I said absently. I hadn't intended to start some deep discussion - the sentiment was genuinely expressed and I was merely giving voice to my thoughts.

"Because of last week?" he asked perceptively.

"Yes, because of last week. All I could think about all day was sucking prick and being screwed senseless. In the past I've always persuaded myself that this idea I have of enjoying sex all day, every day, would be complete tedium in reality. The thing is though, if you think about it I'm already well down this road. Many Saturdays are just one long self-abuse session for me, Sundays are often much the same when I'm dealing with you, and on weekday evenings I'm either with Matt, or punishing you, or playing around in the study. Last week made me realise that a life of almost continual sex is a life I can handle - maybe a life that I want."

"It was only a week," he said. "You'd soon get bored, and you'd really miss work - the dressing up, the social contact, the intellectual stimulation. There's more to life than just sex."

"Yes, I appreciate all that, and I'd never want to give up our social life, but supposing there was a way that I could have all those things that you'd say I'd miss, but instead of having to sit with someone going over the same dull business projections, our meeting would be a prelude to sex. Suppose for example I had lunch most weekdays with a different man - dressing up in the morning, going out in public, chatting over a meal with a glass of wine, and then going to a flat you and I own, or to his place, and we have a full afternoon of sex. Is there any reason why I couldn't do that? Any real reason?"

He hesitated then. I think he was trying to work out what traps might lie in this question and you also have to consider how difficult it will always be for Martin to be confronted by direct questions such as this. Nowadays I often say things like this quite matter-of-factly, forgetting that I'm asking my husband to comment on his wife's ambitions for having sex with other men.

"No, I don't suppose so," he eventually answered. "You know you don't have to work. But be serious Maria, you've always enjoyed your career. It would be a mistake to give it all up."

"Would it? I don't know. I used to enjoy it when I was just prick-teasing men, but now I'm beginning to feel as if I'm in a straitjacket. I want cock, Martin. Matt's not enough. I need more cock."

He looked at me closely then, as if analysing me.

"Come on," I said, a little unsettled by his stare, "you want me to have more cock too, don't you? If you're really honest?"

He had to look down then. It was his turn to feel uncomfortable.

"You know the answer to that," he said quietly. "Yes and no. It'll always be yes and no."

I put my hand across the table and rested it on his.

"Help me, Martin. Help me have more sex. There's no one like you for planning things like this, no one with your brain. Help me become a prostitute."

He was visibly shocked when I said this.

"Is that what you want? Seriously, is that what you're now thinking?"

"Not literally," I admitted, immediately backing off from what I'd just said. "You know I love that word - just saying it makes me hot. But in many ways I do want something similar. Just as I have a group of business clients now, I'd eventually like a portfolio of sex clients. I'd like them to have appointments with me, just as they would with a high-class prostitute. I'd like a diary which is booked up weeks in advance, with every session properly planned - what I'll wear, what toys I'll need, what punishments I'll give and receive, that sort of thing."

He relaxed a little now. I knew what he was thinking - I'd got myself all turned on and I was beginning to fantasise. Don't bet on it, baby.

"Does Matt know you feel like this?" he asked.

"He knows - he accepts - that I want other men. He doesn't know quite how ambitious I've become though."

"And now you want me to become your pimp, do you?"

"I want more than that," I said firmly, and Martin's eyes widened a little as I said it. "I eventually want you to be my bedroom assistant. If I'm having men here or some other place we own then I'll want to feel safe, and in any case I'll need someone to help me dress and someone to hold the video camera while I'm being fucked. Also with some men I'll require you to perform certain special tasks and with others I'll want you dressed as... well, you know the sort of things you'd have to wear. But I don't see how you'll be able to do all this if you've still got the firm, so maybe you really should look at selling it like you've been contemplating. You said yourself that now would be a good time, and you'd be set for life with the post-deal consultancy fees you'd get, never mind the capital."

He looked at me as if I were some sort of lunatic.

"Hang on, let's get this straight," he said. "You're going to give up your job so you can become some sort of pseudo call girl, and I'm going to sell the business so I can spend the rest of my days stuck at home polishing your leather and helping guide men's dicks into you? Is that your plan?"

He shouldn't have been so dismissive, and he definitely shouldn't have said the bit about guiding men's dicks. Yummy.

"I'd never force you," I shrugged, "but let me tell you for a fact that there are numerous men out there who would give anything for the privilege of serving me like that. I'm going to need that assistant some day, Martin, and if it isn't you then you'll have to put up with someone else living with us and fulfilling that role. Would you like it when you went off to work, knowing that there was someone else dressing me, licking my boots, preparing me for prick with his tongue, and wearing the sorts of things I make you put on? Hmm, come to think of it, it's not a bad idea is it? I could let him share my bed a couple of nights a week and there are plenty of things I could make you do together to entertain me..."

Martin's head dropped. Why do you always have to win? He didn't have to say it, it was in his defeated eyes. His only hope was that I was merely fantasising.

It's certainly true that I began to get a little carried away in that conversation, but sitting here several months on it's equally true that what started as an exercise in wishful thinking has now morphed into something more substantive, but in planning only. The problem has never been whether it's actually possible to live a life like that, nor is the problem Martin, who has little choice but to do anything I decide for him. No, the difficulty is always going to be finding the men, absurd as that may seem at first glance. This is why the experience I had with Robert was so momentous for me. It showed me that even the most unresponsive of individuals might eventually lower his defences if I showed enough patience and persistence. And if I can find just a couple of such men each year and not lose them...

I was busy editing videos for the rest of that week, doing my best to get two or three sequences ready for the coming Sunday when I could finally make Martin watch Matt and me together. As the weekend approached I began to get very excited as I anticipated my husband's reaction to seeing me eating my lover's prick, and on the Friday night there were two special kickers to my regular visit to see Matt. First, Martin would be driving me there for the first time, and second, he would be wearing a chastity device throughout that evening.

I'm not going to tell you the make of this device, or show a picture of it. I don't know how many of these things are sold into the UK, but I'm sure you'll understand why I'm not going to be too specific about details. True aficionados will be able to identify it, but they may be disappointed, as it's not a device designed for wear under everyday clothing, or for longer-term use.

Basically it's a sort of metal cage that is strapped to the wearer so that it's not possible to massage the penis. The cage volume is quite large and doesn't in any way prevent an erection, but the thin metal bars are simply too close together for the wearer to get any real play on his cock. He could maybe stroke his prick a little and I suspect it's possible for a truly desperate soul to engineer some sort of climax, but I don't see how enough friction could ever be created to produce a satisfying release.

I chose this device because I loved the look of it from the pictures that I saw, and I especially liked the idea of being able to see Martin's caged erection if he got one - witnessing his desperation as he is prevented from touching and stroking his prick as he is so used to doing at home. I've never really warmed to the idea of his erection being almost completely suppressed, but before you put pen to paper to educate me why I should consider this, let me just say that I understand the rationale behind this sort of discipline over a man and I accept that I may be missing out on the whole essence of permanent chastity control. Maybe it's something I'll progress to in due course, but at the moment it's not for me.

Having tested the waters with chastity for several months now, I'll admit that I do get considerable enjoyment from the power I have over Martin when his cock is locked away. In particular I like the feel of the padlock keys around my neck, or clipped to one of my suspenders under my skirt. There is unquestionably a sense of ownership of the male, of him being a true slave to his Mistress. Martin currently wears two devices depending on the circumstances: the metal cage when I'm with Matt (but not always), and one of the more popular, inconspicuous devices when we're out with friends or when visiting either Martin's or my own parents. With this latter device it's the ownership aspect that really prompts me to make him wear it, not erection control. I've not fallen head over heels in love with chastity training, but it's unarguably useful, it excites me, and I'll certainly be using it on other men in the future.

I had ordered Martin's new cage before he went abroad and I had expected it to be waiting for him when he returned home, but it didn't actually arrive until the Wednesday after he was back. When I showed it to him for the first time he looked at the metal cage with clear fear. Normally he'll be aroused at the sight of any new bondage device I buy, even if he knows it will cause him some discomfort. In this case however his sharp mind was immediately able to calculate that what I was holding in my hand was a very powerful weapon - a weapon that could deliver almost unbearable frustration at my slightest whim.

We had a brief trial run with it on, as I was already aware of one or two potential issues with this device from reviews I'd found on the Web. Although Martin wouldn't be wearing it day after day, he would at times be locked into to it for several hours while I wasn't at home. Thankfully, as far as I could see there wouldn't be any great problems with this.

The true test came on the Friday itself, and at work I began to imagine the sorts of games I could play with Martin locked into his metal cage. By the time I arrived home that evening I was really up for a humiliation session and I immediately dragged my husband upstairs and made him remove his trousers and briefs in front of me as I dangled the cage mockingly in front of his face. The device is a little fiddly to put on because of the way it's secured, but ten minutes later Martin's prick was fully behind bars, and I'd added a little bonus by inserting a butt plug into him, holding it in place with the leather strap of the cage that passed tightly between his buttocks.

I stood back and looked at my handiwork. "Oh God, that's fabulous," I said, genuinely excited by what I was looking at. "Don't move - I've got to get the video camera."

A couple of minutes later I was back, and after loading a tape I began to film Martin wearing his cage.

"Come nearer the window, into the light," I told him, and when he'd done so I bent down on my knees, holding the camera right in front of his groin. "Pity you can't get erect," I lamented. "Still, that's why I bought it, isn't it? Maybe if you wear this regularly you'll be able to stay hard for longer, and maybe you'll appreciate how generous I've been over the past few years, letting you wank whenever you feel like it."

The sight of his little prick imprisoned in such a degrading way had turned me on even more. "Stay here," I told him as I stopped the camera recording, "I'm just going to put some boots on."

I returned about five minutes later after zipping myself into some thigh boots and exchanging my work skirt for a much shorter one. I was also wearing a thin rubber collar which has a single silver 'O' ring at the front. In my hand I had a small silver clip ring, and after opening this I picked up the three keys for the padlocks on the belt and slid them on to it. It was as I clipped the keys to the ring on my collar that I realised that all those wives who had written to me urging me to put Martin into chastity had known what they were talking about. The feeling of power as I felt those small keys touching my throat was astonishing. To have such a hold over a man, to have his penis enslaved to me in such a way, made my knees buckle. I can vividly remember how an image came into my mind at that point of five or six men on dog leads kneeling before me, all wearing devices like Martin's. As I tower over them wielding a long whip, they kiss and lick my body, and pleasure my pussy and rear, all vying to be the lucky one who will be released from cock-bondage that day. In his ten minutes of freedom the lucky winner is permitted to masturbate against my boots, eventually spraying his cum over them and giving his fellow slaves their first mouth-cleaning task of the day.

"...ria, are you alright?"

It was Martin who brought me out of my fantasy.

"Yes," I said distractedly. "Er, wait here, I'll be back again."

I left the bedroom once more only seconds after I had come into it, and this time I returned with a dog lead, some wrist cuffs, and a rubber stranded whip which has a penis handle. "Take your shirt and socks off," I told Martin as I clipped the dog lead to the metal cage holding his prick.

He was left standing there naked, apart from the contraption strapped to his groin. Seeing me in the short skirt and boots had brought signs of life to his prick, and I picked up the camera again. "Lie on the bed for a minute," I instructed. "On your back."

When I'd got him how I wanted I started the camera recording and lifted one leg up so my foot was next to his face. Martin never needs any prompting to start licking my thigh boots, and he immediately began paying homage. I laughed as his hand simultaneously reached for his cock, only to find the cage in the way. I hadn't expected that, but it perfectly summed up his new predicament.

"See, it's a reflex with you," I giggled. "You're going to have to show some self-control now, aren't you?"

I kept the camera focused on his crotch. Bootlicking will always produce an erection from Martin, especially when he starts sucking my heels. I watched as his cock hardened and at last made proper use of the internal metal rings of the chastity cage which are designed to hold his prick upright.

"Awesome," I said. "Even your crappy little prick looks good in this. God, imagine what a proper one like Matt's would be like."

A couple of minutes later I switched off the camera and put it down. "Come on," I said, tugging on the dog lead. "Time for walkies."

Martin got up and I led him from the bedroom by the lead. He looked ridiculous as he did his best to keep up with me, and I kept turning round, looking down derisively at his caged prick and laughing. Once we were downstairs in the hallway I stopped and made him get to his knees and kiss my boots again. As he bent over to do so I gave him some initial lashes with the whip. As a punishment tool the rubber whip I was using leaves much to be desired as the strands on it are just long ribbons of thin rubber which have no real bite to them. But it does have the advantage that you can strike with every bit of force that you can muster, and the dildo handle gives other options too.

I led him through the kitchen to the back door and after unbolting it I took him outside into the bright light of the early evening. He began to panic as he realised I was going to force him to follow me across the large back lawn.

"Maria, for goodness sake!"

We only have a single house anywhere near to ours, and even this is fairly well screened by trees and tall shrubs, but our back lawn is partially overlooked from one of the upstairs windows of our neighbour's property. It's a fair distance away and the chances of being seen in the few seconds it takes to cross the overlooked area are remote, but it only has to happen once, doesn't it?

"Come on, wanker boy," I laughed, "try and keep up."

He had little choice but to respond to the tugging of the lead, but then he suddenly looked mortified as I stopped right in the middle of the lawn.

"Lick my boots," I commanded.

"Jesus, what are you doing? We can be se..."

"LICK MY BOOTS!" I shouted, and my voice must have carried some distance.

"You're insane," he said, but he dropped to his knees and began to tongue-service the shiny black leather. I remember the deep satisfaction I felt as he dutifully obeyed me despite all his misgivings, and I shan't forget the delicious buzz I got from taking such a risk. I looked over to my neighbours window and I imagined someone standing there witnessing this bizarre scene. I waved to this potential onlooker, as if this whole performance were being staged just for their benefit.

"Okay, that's enough," I said after what must have seemed one of the longest minutes of his life. "Get up."

He probably expected us to return to the house then, but instead I pulled him in the opposite direction, towards the spinney of trees at the end of the garden. This area is completely screened.

"Come and stand here," I ordered, and I directed him to one of the nearby trees. "Put your arms around it."

Martin did as I directed and stood facing the tree with his arms positioned as I'd demanded. He wasn't quite able to touch his hands together, and I fastened the wrist cuffs to him and connected them with the length of attached chain. I then left him there briefly as I returned to the house to get the video camera and a tripod to stand it on. On the subsequent video recording, you see me walk up to one side of him, waving the whip menacingly in front of his face.

"When I told you to lick my boots just then, you didn't obey me straight away, did you?" I say with clear displeasure in my voice.

"No," he admits. Martin at least has the sense these days not to compound his errors.

"Also," I continue, "when you finally did what I had very reasonably asked of you, you made some comment about me. Can you remember what it was?"

You see him swallow hard, and his eyes drop. "I, er... I think I, er, said you were... insane."

"That's right, you said I was insane. Do you regret saying that now, Martin?"

"Yes, I do," he nods. "Very much so."

"And why's that? Because you don't think I'm insane? Or because you now realise that you're going to be punished for saying it?"

"Both," he says. "I don't think you're insane. I'm sorry, I don't know why I said it."

"Do you think you deserve to be punished?"

"Yes, I do."

"How much? A little? Moderately? Severely?"

He has to think about this one. "Quite a lot," he says after a pause.

I hold the dildo whip close to his face now.

"It's not really a proper whip, but I'm going to give it everything, Martin. So how many lashes do you think you deserve? I've got a figure in mind, and if you guess above that figure, then that's how many you'll get. But if you guess below it, then you're going to get double the number I'm thinking of. Do you understand? You'd better choose carefully."

He stands there thinking for a while, and I don't interrupt him. Beads of sweat are beginning to form on his brow.

"Forty," he eventually says.

"Forty?" I laugh incredulously. "Forty!? Good grief, you're going to tire me out. I was only thinking of fifteen. You could have said 'one' and still had less. All the same, if that's what you think I owe you..."

I smile as his eyes close and he grimaces. You moron, he must have been thinking to himself.

I stand behind him and take my stance. I'd never given him that many strikes in one go with any whip before, but I was determined I wasn't going to hold back just because of the high number. Instead I decided I'd try to distribute the strikes as much as possible.

I am true to my word and give it everything as I lash him, walking into each strike to add the power of my legs to that of my arm. It's surprising how loud the whip sounds as it strikes him. The rubber strands make a sort of collective 'slap' noise rather than the normal 'crack' of my more severe whips. The wide strips of rubber were never going to come even close to breaking his skin, but the back of his body soon becomes very red and the stinging must have been awful. It's obvious that I'm absolutely loving it - a true sadist at work.

After he's taken the first twenty lashes I stop and undo the chain connecting the wrist cuffs. Then I get him to turn around and put his hands behind him around the tree, whereupon I fasten the cuff chain once more.

I have worked myself into quite a state by now, and my left hand is up my skirt playing with myself. I can imagine many dominas thinking it's extremely bad form - almost a betrayal of the sisterhood - to openly show such emotion in front of a slave, but this is me I'm afraid, and the fact is that nowadays I get off in a very big way when using the whip.

"Oh God, look at your prick," I moan. "It's really hard now."

You can't see it on the video, but Martin's cock was fully erect, held in a completely vertical position by the rings inside the cage. Seeing it trapped there like that just added to my excitement, and at this point you see me start to masturbate in earnest, not caring about the fact that Martin is able to watch me.

As I eventually approach climax, I start to whip again. Matt has seen this video and he says that if he ever had to make a list of the most erotic things he's ever seen me do, this particular sequence would be in his top ten. I don't recall being aware of the camera, but I'd definitely turned towards it more and you can see the ecstasy on my face as I deliver the remaining blows (although by then I was no longer counting). My panties are pulled down and I'm vigorously massaging my clit with the fingers of my left hand. As each blow lands my eyes close and I let out what sounds like a cross between a scream and a high pitched moan. The whole thing is like some pastiche that would be made if someone tried to parody a sadistic woman getting off on whipping a man, except this is no staged piece of fiction. This is real. The moans are real. The shattering orgasm I experience as another strike lands on Martin's caged groin and upper thighs is real. And the shout of "Yes, yes, yes!" I make when it happens is real.

You see me thrust the dildo end of the whip into me at this point. I used it to sustain the orgasm, and by manoeuvring it slowly back and forth I was able to keep the waves of pleasure going. It was a fantastic release, quite beautiful for so many reasons - the wonderful feeling of power I always get when wearing my thigh boots and holding a whip; the sight of Martin's erect, enslaved prick; the knowledge that we may have been earlier seen and now quite possibly overheard; and the sheer unadulterated pleasure of punishing a man in bondage. In that warm, sunlit evening setting in the trees I found my own little corner of heaven.

Various parts of Martin's body were bright red from the lashings he'd taken, but I guessed that within a couple of hours you'd hardly know what he'd been through.

"Have you learned your lesson?" I finally ask.

"Yes, I have," he says in an emotional voice. I remember his eyes were red and I knew he was holding back some tears. It had nothing to do with pain - it was the humiliation he'd suffered. Even the turn on of seeing me do myself while whipping him hadn't lessened his demeaning, and the cock cage now added a new level of indignity.

"Your cock's still nice and hard," I say soothingly. "Would you like me to masturbate you now?"

"Oh, yes please," he moans and his eyes finally show some brightness.

"I'm sure you would, Martin, but bad boys who say bad things don't get rewards like that. They only get to suck the cunt juice off rubber cocks that have been up me."

He winces as I thrust the dildo head of the whip handle into his mouth. For a while then I just pump away with my arm as I give him a lecture on why disobeying his Mistress will never get him the sort of things he wants. Absolute obedience is the road to pleasure, I tell him, only absolute obedience.

"I'd better go and get ready for tonight," I then say, and it was here that I switched the camera off and went to have a shower before dressing myself for the evening. Martin was left there chained to the tree, and it was nearly an hour before I finally went outside again and released him.

He looked drained and distressed, but he tried not to show it. I didn't even acknowledge that he may have been suffering.

"What do you think?" I asked as I stood in front of him and did a quick twirl. "Suitably fuckable?"

"You know you are," he said wearily as he rubbed his wrists vigorously to try to coax some life back into them. "Going to school again are we?"

Maria the booted college slut. Personally I don't think this look is really me, but Matt loves it.
Maria the booted college slut

"Well, more like college lectures tonight," I said. "It'll all boil down to the same thing though. Not altogether me is it? Still, it's what Matt likes."

I was wearing an extremely short grey tartan [plaid] miniskirt, a white top with no bra, stockings and black knee length boots. Matt had really taken to a fantasy we started playing where I'm a schoolgirl (eighteen years old of course) or college fresher and he is my teacher or lecturer. I'm a real slut who likes to wear high-heeled boots and kinky underwear to school and get all my male classmates to gang-fuck me. For being such a 'naughty girl' I am kept in detention after school has finished, and my teacher 'educates' me as to the error of my ways. Matt's even got an old school desk at his house now which I sit at while I'm being properly reformed.

Somehow I can't see Matt ever making it in the teaching profession - he has some highly unusual correction methods which seem to include breast bondage, spanking, caning, dildo and ball gags, chains, and a few other techniques which it might be best not to mention. Also, I was under the impression that it isn't quite the done thing nowadays to make actual physical contact with a student, so I'm a little unsure as to why I have to constantly suck my teacher's penis, bend over my desk while he fucks my pussy from behind, or lie on my back on the desk top with my boots in the air while he conducts a science class, using various phallic devices on my front and rear to improve my understanding of the physics of force, motion, mass and volume.

While I do love playing these games, I don't think I make a particularly good schoolgirl - I think I'm too old these days, and I've got the wrong sort of figure to look convincing. My body's more Monica Bellucci than Keira Knightley, and although I'm not unhappy with that, I'm a little uncomfortable playing roles where I'm meant to be almost half my age. I know it may disappoint some of you, but I'm not really into the whole uniform thing, although I realise it's becoming increasingly popular with many couples. Sexy uniform costumes are great for fancy dress parties, but I don't get the thrill from wearing them that I do from putting on something that I might conceivably wear outside the house at a more conventional venue. I think it would be different if I really were, say, a nurse. Then I'm sure I'd love to dress up in a rubber nurse's outfit and killer heels and imagine that I'm bending over a patient with my latex-enclosed breasts inches from his face as I adjust his bedclothes. And I'm sure on the actual hospital ward I'd stretch the dress code rules to the limit by wearing stockings and suspenders and making darn sure all the male patients knew I was doing so.

One thing I do wish is that I could be back at university again with the same outlook I have today. There was no dedicated transport when I was at college and I used to catch the public bus to get there. I'd love to get on that bus now in my short pleated skirt wearing a pair of five-inch heeled knee boots with silver spurs. I'd sit next to some older man and he'd look down and see my garter straps in full view. A glance to one side and he'd see the that the white satin bra I'm wearing beneath my thin silk blouse only has quarter cups and my nipples have silver rings on them. When I open my bag in a belated attempt to finish my assignments, he'd see the bondage chains and the thirteen-inch rubber dildo inside it. And maybe this man would learn that if he makes sure he's behind me as I walk up the stairs to the upper deck, then he can look right up my skirt and see my frilly white split-crotch knickers, with the stretched elastic straps of my clit stimulator clearly in view.

Oh to be young again...

"You'd better go and put some clothes on," I said to Martin. "We'll have to leave soon."

That night Martin was driving me to Matt's house for the first time, and he would be collecting me later. This was one of the initial changes I made after Matt agreed that I could work towards having my husband nearby when we had sex.

I followed Martin into the house and when he got to the top of the stairs I asked him whether he wanted to use the lavatory, as he would be required to wear the chastity cage during my absence.

"I'm not desperate, but I suppose it would be a good idea," he said.

"Okay," I said as I unclipped the keys from my collar, and I led the way to his bathroom. He followed me inside and stood there expectantly.

"Actually, I've changed my mind," I told him. "It's too much hassle to unlock you. You can do it with your cage still on."

He looked at me forlornly. He's no fool, and he knew this was a set-up. He still tried to wriggle out of it though.

"Oh, it's okay," he assured me, "like I said, I'm not desperate. It'll wait."

"No, Martin, it won't. You'll do it now."

He couldn't even protest, not after the beating he'd just taken for his prior disobedience.

I felt a tingle of excitement as he sat down on the lavatory seat. How could a man allow himself to be subjected to such humiliation? I asked myself. Who cares, another side of me countered. I'm getting off on it and that's all that counts.

He realised at this point that doing it sitting down like that with his cock held upright by the metal rings could be very messy. He began to look frustrated and confused.

"Come on, Martin, I haven't got all day. Get on with it."

He stood up and climbed into the bath. After turning the taps full on, he squatted down and bent forward to try to angle his prick into a more horizontal position.

"If you could just see yourself," I said with contempt, and I lifted one leg so that my foot was resting on the side of the bathtub, close to his face. "Come on, lick my boot while you do it."

And that is how my husband first urinated while wearing his chastity cage. I've seen him look pathetic many a time, but this was up there with the best of them.

"Can you imagine someone like Matt doing what you're doing now?" I said with loathing as he emptied his bladder into the running water while kissing and licking the black leather. "There should be a special box for individuals like you to tick on application forms. Not 'Male', not 'Female', but 'Fucking Pathetic Eunuch Faggot Pussy', because that's exactly what you are."

When he'd finished he splashed some water over the front of the cage, stepped out of the bath and dried both himself and the metal bars with a towel. He then went off to put his clothes on.

I laughed when I saw him again. "Wow, Martin the Stud," I mocked as I looked down at the all-too-obvious bulge in his trousers. "If you were really like that I wouldn't be going off to see Matt tonight would I? What a shame."

As we went downstairs to leave, I got Martin to carry the small bag I had packed which contained the chains, whips and toys I was taking that night. Matt has actually got a selection of these at his house now, but I like my husband to wonder what's in this bag each time I take it. It all adds to his suffering.

When we got to the car Martin walked round to the driver's side, opened the rear door, and put the bag on the back seat. He was about to open the driver's door when he saw me standing on the other side of car expectantly.

"I'm not sitting in the front with you," I said in a tone that made it clear that I considered such a thing beneath me. "You're my chauffeur, Martin. You'd better learn to act like one."

He dutifully walked round to the passenger side and opened the rear door, standing there holding it for me. I can imagine he would have loved to have said a heavily sarcastic: Good evening, m'lady, and where might I take you this evening?, but he knew he'd be skating on thin ice if he tried it. I recall wishing I was wearing something a little classier than the cheap miniskirt and top I had on. Then again Martin didn't really look the part. That was something I would have to think about, I told myself.

Once in the car I instructed Martin to turn the driver's mirror away so that he couldn't use it and I gave him warning that he should always do this whenever he was driving me. He would have to use the wing mirrors instead. Partly this was just for safety, as I wanted him to keep his eyes on the road. Also, however, it presented another avenue through which I would be able to torment my spouse. I was certain in my mind that in due course Matt and other men would be in the back of that car as Martin drove, and the sounds of zips being undone, of leather creaking, of me sucking and moaning, and of buzzing vibrators, would all add to the pain/pleasure of his cuckold existence.

The journey was also an opportunity to goad him, but I was subtle. I tried to converse with him in a manner which further cemented the developing mistress/servant relationship between us. I spoke to him as if he were some sort of confidant, but one where he clearly had lower status. By this time I really had begun to take it for granted that I owned Martin and that his priority in life was my gratification. I'd meant what I said about him assisting me. It was no longer enough for him to be a passive victim of his cuckolding - he needed to accept that he would have to start actively planning and thinking of ways for me to have more cocks and more orgasms.

When we arrived at Matt's I waited as he got out of the car and came round to open the door.

"I want you back here in the driveway at midnight," I told him as I got out. "I doubt I'll be out till later, but you'll just have to wait."

As I walked up to the house he got back in the car and drove away. I'd promised Matt that we'd be moving one step at a time with these changes, and on this initial occasion it was enough that Martin had actually driven me there. Even so, when I left the house at 12.30 that night I had the pleasure of kissing Matt goodbye with my husband watching from the car. Matt was tense, but I didn't allow him to just peck me on the cheek and close the door. The porch light was on and we had a full, long kiss in open view, with my right hand massaging Matt's crotch.

"Give my backside a feel and then lift the skirt up and pull the suspenders," I urged Matt as our lips parted.

"I don't think..."

"Please, baby. For me."

Matt hesitated for a moment, but then did as I asked, and I find it impossible to describe in words the thrill of having my husband helplessly watch in cock bondage as I was fondled by another man. Remember that Martin had yet to see any of the video we had shot the previous week, and that moment was the first time he had ever seen someone kiss and caress his wife, even though he'd pictured it in his mind countless times. It was a truly profound experience. After massaging my rear for a few moments Matt lifted my skirt as I'd asked, and as he pulled at my rear suspenders Martin would have been able to see the two studded leather straps of the harness I was buckled into, something I hadn't been wearing when I arrived. What my husband couldn't discern from that distance was what dildos were strapped into me, but he would already be suspecting that I was carrying a special present for him from Matt.

I walked as sexily as I could as made my way to the car, and Martin got out to open the door for me.

"Hello, Martin," Matt said, with clear discomfort.

"Hi, Matt," Martin replied equally woodenly.

As I got to the car door I looked over to my lover. "See you next week," I said. "I'll be thinking of little else but you."

As I climbed inside I looked at Martin and spoke to him almost in a whisper: "Make sure you say it."

Once he'd closed the door Martin turned around, but instead of getting back in the driver's seat he began to approach the house. Matt tensed, looking suddenly concerned.

"Matt, I'd like to thank you again for fucking Maria. I really appreciate you giving her what I can't."

Matt looked stunned, as if he didn't know quite what to make of the surreal world he'd entered. I didn't catch his reply, but Martin told me he'd merely said: "Er, okay, sure."

As Martin turned out of Matt's driveway I gave out a big sigh, closed my eyes and leaned my head back as I put my hand up my skirt to massage the vaginal dildo that was holding Matt's cum inside me.

"Good night?" Martin asked.

"Wonderful," I said. I didn't add that, enjoyable as it had been, it could never compare to that short moment when he'd watched me at the doorway. "He's becoming extremely inventive."

"Oh?"

"Hmm. You know the school desk? He's put four of those eyelet screw thingies into the top of it, two at the back and two on the lid at the front. Tonight he put clamps on my nipples and attached chains to them, clipping the other ends to the desktop. Then he cuffed my hands behind me and made me sit on a dildo that he'd strapped to my chair. I was impaled on it. He then went and watched TV for half an hour, leaving me there with my breasts chained to the desk."

Martin was silent. He knew I neither fabricated nor exaggerated these accounts - I didn't need to. But these were games that he had never been allowed to enjoy with me in all our years together.

"How's the cock cage?" I asked him, changing the subject.

"A bit painful actually," he said. "It wasn't too bad at first, but now the bottom of it is rubbing against the inside of my legs and making them sore."

"We'll sort something out for that," I said. "How are you coping with not being able to play with yourself?"

"Not very well," he admitted. "It's frustrating. Very frustrating."

"Have you been hard?"

"Almost constantly."

"There you are then. It just goes to show that it's your inability to leave it alone that's causing your problems. When you can't touch it you stay erect."

"Maybe," he said, "but what's the point if I can't get any satisfaction?"

"What's your satisfaction got to do with anything?" I said with more than a hint of annoyance. "It's what matters to me that counts, and I'd like to have a husband who can at least get a hard-on, even if he's only got a very small prick."

Believe it or not, there was an element of truth in this last statement. Although I enjoy seeing Martin cringe with embarrassment at his flaccid dick, there are going to be times when it will be useful for me to have him erect for longer than just a few minutes. The cage training has a purpose that goes beyond mere denial.

"Are you hard now?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

He didn't answer.

"Since you saw us at the doorway?"

There was silence for a moment, but then he said it, almost inaudibly: "Yes."

"How did that feel, seeing him touching me like that?"

"Come on, you know the answer to that. Jealous, humiliated... inferior. That's what you want isn't it?"

"And yet it makes you hard."

"Yes, it makes me hard. Don't ask me why."

"Do you wish you could turn the clock back? Wish you had been different with me all those years ago?"

He said nothing for a moment, but I correctly guessed that he was thinking this one over.

"No, not really," he finally offered. "I like how you are. You're perfect. I just wish..."

His voice trailed off. "Yes?" I prompted after several seconds had passed.

"...I just wish I were like him. I wish I looked like him. You know, you can have all the money, all the intelligence, all the apparent trappings - including the drop-dead gorgeous wife - but it still seems unfair when there are people given what he's got. You've said how women drool over him, how they're always fawning over him. I wonder what it's like to be like that, to be able to walk into a room and have women fantasise about you and come on to you."

I was torn at this point. I didn't know whether to pour salt into the wound he'd just revealed to me or give him some crumbs of comfort for being so honest. In the end I did both:

"However much you envy him, remember that his looks didn't help him enjoy a happy marriage. He's had his share of pain, Martin, and I can tell you now that he looks at you and holds similar feelings of jealousy. You're married to me, and he's not, and that hurts him.

"All the same, I can understand what you're saying. I'm not going to lie to you and give you a load of bull about looks not being important. However unfair, the fact is that physically he's just about as perfect as any woman could want, and he's smart, charming, and humorous too. Having sex with him compared to having it with you is... well, there just isn't any comparison. If you want to stop this eating away at you, you need to try to mentally come to terms with the fact that he's a better man than you - a far superior male. In a while you're going to be licking his sperm from me, and you ought to consider it a privilege - I certainly do when I swallow his cum."

That was a real conversation killer, and we both sat silently for quite some time. We were well over half way home before I spoke again:

"If you're still hard when I take your cage off later then I'm going to give you a boot wank," I said fairly disinterestedly. "You've taken a great deal today. I think you've earned it."

"Thank you," he said quietly, but with clear relief.

But poor old Martin never did get to kneel before me and put his prick between my boots, because his caged erection disappeared by the time I released it from bondage. It was the old problem again of wanting to please and impress me. What was worse for him was knowing that his flaccid little pencil only had to touch the leather of my boots for it to become as hard as rock. I wasn't going to be shaken by sentiment however.

"Oh dear, what a shame," I commiserated, "but I need to be cruel to be kind here. You need to understand that staying hard for me will reap big rewards. Still, it's early days, and I think we'll need to keep you in the cage quite a bit before we'll see any progress. Don't worry Martin, we'll get there, but tonight I'm afraid you'll just have to wank alone in your room."

Since that night Martin's cock has been caged many times. I know that he finds it unbelievably frustrating to be unable to stroke and play with his prick, and of course I derive great pleasure from that. At the same time though, there's no question that his chastity training has been beneficial to him. At the time of writing my husband is always hard when I unlock him from his prison, and I've been true to my word - he is always rewarded with a cock massage. If you're a man, you can take it from me that if I were to give you one of my special masturbations it's not something you'd easily forget. I'd empty your balls in ways you wouldn't believe possible, with the added bonus that you get to release all of your load over yours truly.




Some time before this diary came back online - I'm not going to say exactly when - Martin and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. I know that this isn't considered a particularly noteworthy event, but considering the unusual situation of our marriage, it seemed only right to mark the occasion in some memorable way.

To a certain extent I'm disappointed that this milestone occurred when it did. Six months from now I think there will be numerous ways in which I can cruelly remind Martin of just what it means to be a cuckold husband, but earlier this year I was more constrained. Things were moving along nicely with the Matt and Martin situation, but we weren't yet at the point (and still aren't) where I could do some of the really exotic things I have planned.

In the end it came down to a choice between two scenarios for what we did on our anniversary night. The first was for Matt and I to stay at the hotel where I had spent my wedding night. I would then call Martin and he would be made to listen on the phone as I compared the penetration he had given me in his half-drunken state ten years ago with the one Matt was giving me at that moment. This little script very much appealed to me - Martin would not even be present with me on his wedding anniversary, and he would be tormented by the fact that his wife was away enjoying herself somewhere with another man. Also, the hotel was located within central London so we would be reasonably close to the nightclub where Matt and I were going that night to celebrate.

Despite the attractions of the above, I eventually chose to play things in the other way I had planned. Matt knew how poignant this anniversary was going to be for me, and after considerable coaxing he had agreed that he would stay at my house that night after our visit to the nightclub. We would be arriving home very late and I assured him that Martin would be confined to his bedroom, and would be gone the following morning before we got up. Although it would mean quite a lengthy journey into London, I couldn't miss the opportunity to make a breakthrough in my relationship with Matt. I knew that once he had shared my bed that first time, it wouldn't be difficult to persuade him to share it again.

I did toy with the idea of Martin chauffeuring us that evening, and the thought of making him sit and wait in the car for several hours while Matt and I enjoyed ourselves was very appealing. However I didn't think Matt was ready for such a situation and I imagined it could easily backfire. The first trip with Martin driving the two of us needed to be a fairly short one - this one would be far too long.

As for what I would wear that night - well, to me it seemed fairly obvious. I had married with a pure heart wearing white silk, and ten years later I would wear black leather, symbolic of both my marital betrayal and the sexual fetish that had contributed so much to my husband's submission. I told you in the 6th January 2006 entry how Matt had wanted to take me to a nightclub in the leather halter neck top I showed in that post, and that is what I subsequently wore that night. I combined it with a leather pencil skirt, one which had a long offset zip which I would wear predominantly undone, and I even wore a studded leather collar. Originally I was also going to put on my long leather gloves, but somehow they didn't look right, although a pair of PVC ones definitely did, especially for the lighting in the club. Once again I looked fairly unusual, but in London clubs you'll see all sorts of wild clothing and I had one huge advantage: Matt was by my side. If dressing like I did got you a man like that, then I could see many girls putting on the leather next time they went out.

I had a marvellous time that night, even though I had elected to do the driving. The club we went to is a regular haunt of media types and the place had its fair share of middle-aged sugar daddies with peroxide blond bimbos on their arms. Despite having all these young wannabes around me I didn't feel at all intimidated or outdone, and the constant looks and attention I received were the only form of alcohol I needed.

The outfit I wore to the nightclub on my tenth wedding anniversary. No bra is worn under the halter neck top, and that night my nipples were tethered with thin leather cords. The stimulation this provides keeps them permanently erect. Look how the skirt suddenly bulges out at the top of the legs in the rear view - a giveaway sign that suspenders are being worn.
Maria in leather


Maria in leather

Towards the end of the evening they started to play some 'slow-smooch' tracks and I asked Matt to dance with me. He refused, not because he didn't want to, he said, but because he didn't trust himself when dancing close to me when I was wearing such an outfit. He was scared he'd not be able to walk off the dance floor again. I was in full tease mode by then, with the drug of attention having its full effect. I wanted my dance because I wanted to be out there with everyone watching me. If it couldn't be with Matt then it would have to be with someone else.

At a table across from the bar where we were sitting were three guys, and one of these hadn't taken his eyes off me all night. He looked several years younger than me - twenty-six or so - and he was quite attractive, certainly the best looking of the three of them. I can usually tell when a man's turned on by my leather clothing and I wasn't getting that vibe from him. I think he was just drawn to my looks and body. Whatever, he seemed more interested in me than any of the other girls in the place. Without any fear or hesitation I simply got up and walked over to his table. I bent down to his ear so that he could hear me properly.

"Hi there - would you dance with me?"

He was clearly shocked, as were both of his friends. He looked nervously over towards Matt, but to his credit my boyfriend had realised what I was up to and had diplomatically turned away to make things easier for me.

After some hesitation he said: "Er... yeah, sure."

I immediately led the way on to the floor, not giving him a chance to reconsider. He still looked confused when I turned to embrace him, but I just gave him a sexy smile and mouthed 'Thank you'.

We danced for the rest of the track and for the whole of the next one. I didn't do anything silly like pressing myself into his crotch or rubbing his backside, but I did hold myself close to him and for a while I closed my eyes as I rested my head lightly on his shoulder with my mouth very close to his neck. He was a little wooden at first, but that was through embarrassment, and as he relaxed during the second song we both started moving perfectly together. What delighted me more than anything was when he eventually discovered the profile of my suspender belt and began to gently map out the contour with his fingers, including at one point sliding his hand a little down one of the garters. I've no idea whether this was a conscious response or not on his part, but it added enormously to the sensuality of the whole experience. I'm sure I was deluding myself as I imagined all the men with their eyes on me as we danced, but that thought was enough to give me that familiar warm feeling between my legs, and when we parted and I kissed him on the cheek there was no disguising the fact that he had made me hot.

Matt had his signature mirthful eyes as I walked back to him.

"You looked like you were really enjoying that," he said.

"You bet," I replied with a sigh. I glanced over at my dancing partner and saw that he had gone into a huddle with his friends. Every few moments they would look over at me and then resume their debate.

"Time to go home, I think," I said as I looked longingly into Matt's eyes. "I think I need taking care of."




I'm sure that every wife who has fantasised about cuckolding her husband will at some point have dreamed about what it would be like to make love to another man as her spouse listens outside the door or in a nearby room. This had always been one of my great fantasies, and on the night of our tenth wedding anniversary that dream became reality. I'm not going to describe what Matt and I did together in great detail because I think you can largely imagine for yourselves what went on, and how I made sure that Martin was kept awake for the whole of the night.

When we arrived home I showed Matt the anniversary gift I had given to Martin. The box was still lying on the kitchen table and the contents were stacked next to it. A couple of weeks after I'd made my videos with Matt I'd purchased a printer that is capable of producing superb quality A3+ output. I was taken aback by how relatively inexpensive it was. Martin's present was six framed photographs - captures from that week of filming which I had framed myself. Selecting which particular shots to give him was an almost impossible task, and it was made worse when I started messing around with Photoshop plugins which can simulate professional-looking exposure settings and moody effects such as film grain. At least I have the consolation that I can produce many, many more over the coming months.

Picture one is a close up of Matt's prick in my mouth, captured when I did my utmost to throat him. My face looks a little contorted, but you have to try to put yourself in Martin's position to understand the power in this image. Then again, this is true of all of the pictures.

The second shot is another close up, taken from the slow motion camera as Matt ejaculated over my face. He's on his third main spurt of cum, and the first two are already splashed on my face, with my mouth and chin practically drenched in the stuff. This third rope was the only one that cleanly went straight into my mouth, and the sperm is caught in mid-air, a long thread of semen that has already passed between my lips at its leading end.

Photo three was taken from the unforgettable Monday bondage scenario, and there were so many candidates for this that the indecision nearly drove me up the wall. I finally selected a shot which showed Matt in full flow with the whip, giving it just about everything. You can't see his face, but the tension in his arm muscles is plain to see and it's clear that the punishment isn't being faked. I'm standing perfectly with my legs locked straight and arse high in the air, my arms are pulled up viciously behind me by the chain connected to the leather bondage glove, and my head is pulled back by the chain connected to the harness I'm buckled into. This one really is a work of art, and I wish I could show it to the world.

I had originally selected another capture for the fourth framed photo, but I changed this when I witnessed Martin's reaction to the cameo where I wore the semi-transparent plastic knix with Matt's cum in them. This shot is taken fairly close up, and it's from the moment outside when I got in my car to go to work. I'm sitting on the driver's seat with my legs apart and I'm fingering Matt's sperm inside the panties. You can clearly see the fluid gathered around the lips of my pussy, and I have no doubt that this particular photo will be wank fodder for Martin for years to come.

Picture five shows Matt penetrating me. It was obvious that I had to have one of these, but choosing which particular one was a nightmare. In the end I got a brilliant shot which was taken when Matt screwed me as I was lying on my back on our dining room table. My legs are pulled up and Matt was holding my boots by the ankles, although the shot is too close to see this. His prick looks absolutely massive and it's about halfway inside me at the point of capture. It's amazing that my pussy can actually take it, and it's hard to imagine that I'll ever be able to accommodate anything larger. If my husband ever develops delusions that he can win me back as his true wife, he only needs to look at this photo to bring him back to his senses.

The final photo may seem a bit mundane in comparison, but I'd argue that it holds more pure power than any of the others. It's a shot of my face, nothing else, taken at the point when Matt gave me another sensational orgasm. My eyes are closed and my mouth is open, and if ever you need to see a visible depiction of the word 'ecstasy', then you need look no further than this. I can only imagine what Martin thinks each time he sees it, but it's something he has to come to terms with every day of his life, because this photo has been hanging on the wall beside his bed since the day after our anniversary. He wakes up to see this picture and it's still there to haunt him when he goes to sleep again hours later. Just thinking about the torture this picture inflicts is making it difficult for me to finish this piece.

While Matt studied the framed photos I briefly went up to see my husband. I was a little surprised that he hadn't taken the pictures to bed with him, but probably the frustration would have been too much. He was lying in bed and I pulled back the covers so I could examine his chastity cage. He was as hard as I'd ever seen him.

"You know, that's almost impressive," I said as I rubbed my shiny gloves between his thighs. "Have you been like this long?"

"All bloody night," he moaned. "Can you take this thing off now? It's really uncomfortable."

"I would, but I think you'd just start abusing yourself, and you've got work tomorrow. I want you to get some sleep, so I'm afraid it will have to stay on. I'll take it off in a few hours."

"You know I won't be able to sleep," he protested.

His appeal didn't even register with me.

"Do you need to go to the loo? I'm going to chain your wrists to the headboard."

"No," he replied testily.

"Okay, good," I said as I began to buckle the restraints on to him. "I'm just doing this so you can't creep up to the doorway and listen in on me."

When I'd finished securing him I bent over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Try and get some sleep, my baby. We'll be as quiet as we can."

One of the most magical things about that night was that despite his prior misgivings, Matt played with me no differently than he would have done had we been at his own house. I've mentioned before that he gets off on seeing me humiliate Martin, and when I told him how my husband was lying in his bedroom chained and cock-caged, he seemed to lose all inhibition. Maybe he was a little more relaxed because he knew that Martin had already seen him doing extreme things with me on video, but I think there's a considerable difference between viewing these things on film and actually witnessing them first hand, even if it's just sounds only.

One of the first things Matt did when we went up to my bedroom was spank me in my leather skirt, something I thought I would have great difficulty persuading him to do. That sound alone was the perfect torment for Martin that I craved. To hear his wife being disciplined in such a manner, to hear her gasps and moans, and to actually hear her shout: "Please, harder!" - it was all more than I could possibly have wished for, and the experience was unforgettable. To all those wives who have thought of such a night, I say: "Do it." I'm not able to convey within the limitations of written language just how beautiful an experience this is, so I can only urge you to not be afraid if you're considering travelling down this road yourself.

The same goes for when Matt later - much later - penetrated me. Whatever you think pleasure for a wife is, you haven't truly experienced it until you've knelt on all fours and had eight inches plus of rock hard cock stretching your gaping pussy to the absolute limit, your moans and screams echoing across the hallway into your tormented husband's ears. You don't know what delight is until you've been given an orgasm from a gorgeous, big-pricked lover and you know that the shriek you make as you climax is going to be imprinted in your spouse's brain for the rest of his days, never to be expunged. I say 'screw you' to all those who counsel against cuckoldry within marriage. I don't care if some couples can't handle the aftermath - cuckolding a man is the pinnacle of sex. It's the ultimate experience.

After Matt had ejaculated inside me for the first time that night, I held my hand to my vagina and immediately went into Martin's room. He was half-blinded by the light as I switched it on and I could see that he was sweating with frustration. I immediately mounted him and pulled his head to my soaking pussy. As I withdrew my hand I held it up above my head and I watched as a large glob of Matt's semen gathered under the force of gravity, preparing to drip downward on to my waiting tongue. In that same instant I felt a far more substantial flow of cum begin to leak out of me into my husband's wide-open mouth.

"Happy anniversary, darling," I said as I closed my eyes. "Let's both drink to the next ten years."



To contact me, email maria at this site