The Festive Season
Posted 14 February 2012
I know many of you would like me to update my website on a regular basis, but I'm afraid that my online diary isn't a priority for me at present, and despite not working for a living (at least officially), I have periods where I'm very preoccupied with various projects and activities. I've mentioned before how time has become a more precious commodity to me since I've been going into London for a couple of days each week (now sometimes three), and when the diary is active it consumes a great deal of my focus. I'm regularly thinking of what I should write about, what pictures should accompany the text, and of course new posts prompt a great deal of reader feedback, much of which is highly stimulating and extremely distracting.
I'm always busier in the autumn and winter months because I take every opportunity I can to display myself in public, and there aren't many days when I'm not out of the house. Given the choice between sitting at home authoring diary posts and walking down a busy high street in thigh length boots, there isn't a great deal of decision-making involved. Furthermore, because of the current problems in the Eurozone, a large amount of private capital has been flowing into London recently seeking a safe haven and this has created a demand for the sort of specialist advice that I used to give when I was working full time. Although I'm understandably somewhat rusty on current practice and legislation, I'm still in contact with those who are on top of things and this has given me considerable worth as an intermediary. The rewards for doing freelance work like this are embarrassingly high, but even so I don't think I would bother getting involved were it not for the potential to promote myself for other reasons.
During December I also get invited to a large number of social functions, many of which present me with excellent opportunities to simultaneously enjoy myself and antagonise my husband. Like many others, I am guilty of severe overindulgence during the festive period, although in my case the vice isn't food or drink. Even so, Christmas itself was a quiet one for me this year and I have to admit that I really enjoyed the homely nature of it all. My parents came to us on this occasion (usually it's the other way around) and they stayed for a couple of nights along with two other family friends. On Christmas Eve we all went to the village church for the late night carol service, and on Christmas Day Martin and I shared the cooking of the traditional turkey dinner. It was all very relaxed and pleasant, even though my mother's obduracy can drive me up the wall at times.
It's very unusual for my parents to stay with us (there was a particular reason this Christmas) and having them and the other two guests in the upstairs bedrooms created quite a lot of work for me considering my unusual lifestyle. Unlike in London I don't have a great deal of dedicated furniture or equipment for my games at home, but I do have cupboards and wardrobes packed with exotic clothing and footwear, sex toys, punishment devices and bondage accessories. I can be a bit disorganised at times in where I place things, so I had to meticulously go through every drawer to make sure there wasn't any incriminating evidence in it. I got Martin to strip all the beds, look under the mattresses, check down the back of chairs, store away the baby monitor, the radio handsets, the video cameras, the wall pictures, etc. There were so many little things that could have caught me out, and despite checking over and over again I still managed to forget that one of the small kitchen drawers where I keep a notepad and pencils also contained a small pack of the 'Maria' business cards that I use in London, and these particular ones had my website address on them.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas I was tormented by the thought of having sex with a lover while my mother was in the house. Matt would be away with his own family that weekend, but my friend Andy was available and the prospect of being fucked throughout the night by him while dressed in my leather and latex with my parents sleeping just across the hallway was extraordinarily compelling. Unfortunately I could think of no good cover story for Andy being there, and in any case it would have been far too risky to take him to my bed. If Alison had been able to visit at Christmas then I'm sure we could have cooked something up, with Andy playing her latest boyfriend, and I could have had a lengthy session with him downstairs when our guests had gone to bed. I would also have been able to suck Andy during the daytime, most likely in the hallway just outside the main lounge where our guests would be enjoying their after dinner liqueurs. With Alison casually standing in the doorway ready to give a prearranged signal if anyone got up, I could have done this quite openly and with little risk. That would have been absolutely incredible sucking off a guy and fingering myself just fifteen feet away from my mother. Alternatively I could have bent over the hall table and Andy would have been able to fuck me anally, again with very little risk, and I could have joined our visitors in the lounge afterwards with a rubber plug holding his cum in my rear.
These scenarios aren't in the least far-fetched, and if I get the opportunity to do something like this in the future then I'm pretty sure I'm going to do it (and I'll want my husband to video it as well).
On Christmas Day I wore quite a glitzy dress with high heels, but there was nothing suggestive about the outfit and I wasn't in the mood to put on fetish underwear or something even more risquι such as a clit stimulator. Nevertheless as we sat eating our Christmas dinner I remember smiling mischievously across at Martin, and he looked back at me quizzically as if to say "what's up?" I just shook my head in a sort of unspoken "don't worry about it - it's nothing" reply because I couldn't openly reveal what had prompted my amusement. The whole atmosphere was so civilised and conventional, and I had suddenly found myself wondering what our guests would think if they became acquainted with some of the things that had taken place in that room over the past few years. The dining table alone held its own sordid history that would take several chapters of a novel to recount.
What also struck me at that moment was how important this social normality is for me. It's the contrast between the outwardly unremarkable, orthodox upper middle class lifestyle which friends and family believe I lead and the quasi-prostitute slut wife reality that makes every day of my life so exciting for me. There we were chatting about the different birds that were coming to the feeders this winter and the pond fish that had died the previous year in the severe cold snap, and sitting on the table in front of us with its flame flickering hypnotically in the fading light was a white candle that just forty-eight hours previously was being worked in and out of my vagina as I was simultaneously being spanked by a tall, attractive, thirty-five year old man in front of my husband. Two months before that I had been sitting in the exact same place as my mother was now, and while I sat talking with Alison and two male friends as we ate our meal Martin was kneeling beneath the table licking my pussy. And if anyone had happened to lift the festive tablecloth and peer underneath they might well have remarked upon the unusual scratches near the table edge that have accumulated over time due to my metal suspender clasps rubbing back and forth against the polished wood as I'm being fucked from behind.
[In case you hadn't noticed, supersluts share much in common with superheroes they lead a dual life, presenting an innocent, ordinary face to their everyday social circle, but once they take on their alter ego they dress in a fantasy costume (with boots featuring prominently) and they often have unique skills with a favoured weapon.]
Martin had to sleep in my bedroom on those two nights, the first time he had done so for some considerable time. You might expect with his sub status that I made him sleep on the floor, but this seemed unnecessarily silly to me, and I had no problem with him sharing my bed. In any case this presented a great opportunity to frustrate him in a number of ways, and I intended to lock him into a chastity cage on both nights to prevent him playing with himself (I like to make him erect but not be able to do anything about it). Again it would have been so special if I could have had Andy with me as well, with Martin having to lie there impotently as my lover fucked and dildoed me to exhaustion.
With my husband in my bed I would have liked to have dressed up in the full works, with lace-up thigh boots and plenty of tight strapping, but there was always the possibility that I might have to get up in the night to assist someone and you can't quickly remove gear like that. Instead I simply wore a PVC bra, garter belt and panties set (which unlike rubber or leather would be odourless) and some black stockings. I also had my beautiful thirteen-inch dildo beside me, and before I locked Martin into his cage I held this alongside his prick, just to remind him that there could never be any going back. I didn't say anything as I did this; I didn't need to.
Both of us sat upright in the relative darkness (I just had one small reading light on) and I had my knees pulled up so that I had something to rest my tablet computer on. Then I started working my way through my daily journal, the offline version of this diary. I scanned through the entries fairly quickly, stopping now and again to read certain sections more carefully and to study specific pictures, and although I would occasionally acknowledge Martin's presence with a comment, I didn't look at him and a lot of the time I spoke as though talking aloud to myself. It didn't take long for the diary material to get me highly excited, and that awesome black rubber shaft was soon beneath the bed covers, reminding me once again why conventional vaginal sex with an averagely-endowed male is essentially a thing of the past for me.
"Oh God, look at that!" I would suddenly blurt out as quietly as I could, and my hand would reflexively start moving more vigorously beneath the sheets. "Do you remember him doing that to me? That was fantastic. I'm going to get him to do that again next summer..."
"Wow, look at that leather... it's saturated, and I drove all the way home like that. I'll never forget the look on your face when I walked into the kitchen with it dripping off me. You completely lost it."
"Oh yes... YES!! Oh I want that... I want it so badly... that's one of the things we'll be doing on Wednesday... I can't wait, baby, I just can't wait... it's been so long since I've had the three of them here together."
Martin was also regularly making involuntary utterances of incredulity and desire even though he had read the various entries and obsessed over the pictures numerous times. Unfortunately for him there was nothing he could do to assuage his lust, and several times he asked me to unlock him. A terse 'no' was all he got from me in response, and eventually I told him not to ask again.
Despite my apparent neglect of him, Martin's comments were all registering with me and I was consciously measuring his spontaneous reaction to each picture as it came into view. Despite the dismissive way I sometimes talk about him these days (the 'Journey's End' post is a good example) I still often wonder whether the reality is that I remain a prisoner to his fantasies. I simply cannot deny that if I sense that Martin has become indifferent to something that I do then that something quickly loses its appeal. Take vanilla sex with a man behind closed doors for example, where on a couple of occasions I have gone to a guy's hotel room and shared his bed for two or three hours. When I wrote about these encounters and discussed them with my husband I received a very muted response. It was clear that me being with a faceless guy with no kinky angle to the sex didn't do much for him, nor did it frustrate him, and consequently such a scenario doesn't do much for me either and I won't contemplate it these days.
On the other hand I can go to a function in a short leather skirt and a blouse that gives a teasing hint of what I'm wearing beneath it, and even though nothing particularly remarkable may have happened Martin will be highly animated over dinner as I recount the events of the day. How many guys talked to me? Was I propositioned? What did the men say? Did they keep looking at my garter straps through the leather? Did I get any comments about my high heels or the seams on my stockings? Did my nipples become fully erect as usual? What was their reaction to that? Did I fancy any of the guys? Did I give a contact number to anyone?
This questioning and probing can go on for a long time, and all I have to do is place a single picture of me wearing that outfit in my offline diary to have my spouse wanking in front of his computer as he recreates the public scenes in his head of me walking along the street dressed in that manner or sitting in a bar with my legs crossed enticingly as a couple of men chat to me. There doesn't have to be any sex to get him excited, and the same goes for me. I find it exhilarating to exhibit myself like this and I'm quite happy to get release on my own later, but significantly, when I'm out in public I'll be thinking of Martin thinking of me.
Because I am so attuned to my husband's longings I now prefer any impromptu sexual exchange to be relatively brief somewhere between ten and twenty minutes during which time I will massage a man in a number of ways, all the while encouraging him to grope and caress me. As the guy approaches climax I will either roll a condom on to his prick and finish him off with my mouth or I will urge him to indiscriminately ejaculate over my bra or stocking tops. I really love this sort of impulsive, clothed sex where I can control the conversation as I pleasure a guy, and I particularly delight in going to some sort of social event, discreetly disappearing with a man to a bedroom, back room, garden patio or car (just as examples), and returning a short while later to mingle once again with the other attendees as though nothing has happened, all the while wondering what their reaction would be if they discovered that my underwear was now sodden with cum or that I had a filled sheath in my handbag as a prize to show Martin. The most memorable events are those where I get to perform such antics more than once during the course of an afternoon or evening (with a different man each time), and December seems to supply a disproportionate number of such opportunities.
I will have penetrative sex on occasions but I only tend to do so if there's some sort of kicker involved, and the style is almost always what might be termed as 'forced anal'. I'm usually bent over something like a table or car bonnet with my skirt pulled up around my waist and my panties unzipped or roughly pulled down, feigning shock as I fantasise that I have never been taken in this way before. Then gradually I will succumb to the pleasure and my attitude changes to one of unbridled desire, with me urging my 'assailant' to fuck more aggressively and penetrate deeper as he holds me by the hair or pulls on my corset and tells me what a slut I am.
The other mode of sex that I have become increasingly drawn to (once again because it provokes such a strong reaction from my husband) is the one that I gave you an insight into in the 'Perfect Lover' gallery post, where more than one man will caress and stimulate me at the same time. This is essentially an extension of the format that developed at the special parties Gerald organised for me at his London home, and in the 'Hostess' post I tried to convey to you how thrilling it is for me when I parade myself in front of a group of men in sexy outfits, allowing them to fondle me, discipline me, and pleasure me with toys. Gerald's soirees have lessened in frequency over the past couple of years and the guest list has become fairly exclusive, but I'll address the reasons for this another time (although if you're thinking that it's because things have become wilder and more explicit then you're mistaken).
The picture below gives you some idea of the sort of scene that you might witness if you attended one of my hostess events or one of the daytime get-togethers that I regularly enjoy in London. This is fairly typical of how I will be dressed for my male companions and how I will be dealt with by them, and as far as I'm concerned this sort of staged, exploitative sex is quite beyond words to experience and provides me with just as much excitement as full penetrative intercourse. The men often don't expose themselves until I pleasure them individually later, and sometimes a guy won't even go that far. One great advantage of playing these clothed games is that many men don't regard it as cheating on a partner. It's viewed more as 'boys having fun', and after going little further than kissing, caressing, and spanking me they actually go home with a totally clear conscience. Amazingly this can even be the case if I suck or wank a man.
The above shot (which I'm only showing a portion of for this post) was taken before Christmas in the early evening after an afternoon function at a private home. Most of the guests had left, but Gerald and I stayed on, something that had been pre-arranged with the owner of the house, Oliver (I have briefly referred to him elsewhere). Additionally there were two other men present, both of whom had played games like this with me before. When we were finally alone I changed into the shoes you see here and I also chained a vibrator into my rear. This combination is one that I regularly use at Gerald's parties, and I have found that men become particularly aroused by the sight of silver chains holding stimulation devices inside me or connecting my clamped nipples to a bondage collar or wrist cuffs.
Oliver is spanking me in this scene while groping one of my breasts and my other friend is massaging the vibrator in and out of my arse. He's also rubbing his other hand over the front of my shiny skirt, feeling the suspenders through the leather which is something I really like a man to do to me before he puts his hand up the skirt, plays some more with my underwear, and then fingers me to climax. Gerald at this point has called my husband but he isn't saying anything he's just holding the phone up so that Martin can hear the buzzing toy, the spanks, my moans, and Oliver's admonishing comments to me as his blows land. The fourth guy is holding the camera.
Martin never gets tired of viewing pictures like this one, and sessions of this nature provide him with masturbation material for many months to come. It's unfortunate that I have so few pictures from my periodic hostess parties, but I think it's been a wise move to keep these as private as possible, with very little evidence of what has taken place. In the 'Publish And Be Damned' post I showed a shot taken by Gerald at one party where I'm kissing a man I have only just been introduced to, and in the 'Hostess' post itself there's a picture taken soon afterwards where that same guy is working a hand up my leather pencil skirt.
Let me emphasise to you though that I have NEVER been fucked at one of Gerald's parties and no man has ever exposed himself in front of other guests. I do accommodate men with my hands and mouth, but only one at a time and always in private. Despite what I'm wearing and doing, men generally don't become fully aroused in the presence of other guys at a function like this, but if a guest has become a little overwhelmed at what he's seeing or if he simply gives me a signal that he'd like to be pleasured then I'll take him to Gerald's study and allow him to rub his prick all over my outfit before rolling a condom on to him and finishing him off with a boot, shoe or suspender wank, or I'll fellate him in a position of his choosing. As you can imagine, I adore doing this and the big plus for me is that I get a collection of used sheaths to take home with me, not all of which are properly filled because some men like to be milked by me more than once during the evening.
Much to my surprise, arguably the most popular outfit I wear at these gatherings is the tutu style latex skating skirt/net underskirt combination you saw in 'Just Another Day - Part II' coupled with a latex halter neck top. I only wore this ensemble as an afterthought at a party early last year but it proved to be devastatingly effective and men can't keep their hands off me when I'm dressed like this. I'm not quite sure precisely what it is that does it for guys but I suspect it's the length of the skirt and the fact that it's held away from me. This means that I only have to bend over slightly and my panties and garter straps become enticingly visible, creating an irresistible temptation to touch my underwear and also to spank me.
Additionally guys can't resist playing with my breasts when I'm wearing the shiny rubber top, and several men have told me that the sensation of running their hands over boobs encased in smooth, polished latex is quite unlike anything they have experienced before. When I'm alone with a guest in Gerald's study in this gear the guy will often become almost rabid with his attentions, licking and fondling all over the rubber and groping me aggressively. Very occasionally I have to ask him to cool it a little, but most of the time I'll be egging him on, taking his cock out and wrapping it in the cool latex of the skirt as I start to wank him. Then I'll talk to him in the way that you've heard so many times before, and if it's a newbie (sadly quite rare nowadays) and I like him then I'll ask him whether he'd like to book a proper private session with me where he could fuck me or be whipped by me while I'm wearing the same clothing.
The undistorted full size picture of me being spanked by Oliver in London was one of the ones I selected as a candidate to give to Martin as a special present this Christmas. This has now become an annual tradition ever since 2006 when I gave him a framed print of me sucking Matt's prick to go alongside the ones I had given him when we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary earlier in the year. I print these out on glossy A3 paper and the lack of professional lighting is more than compensated for by the power of the content. They provide a constant reminder to my husband of his cuckold status and they never fail to arouse me when I set eyes upon them.
It's always an agonising exercise trying to choose which particular photo to frame and enlarge, but at the same time it's highly enjoyable and I deliberately restrict it to a single picture only so that my task won't be an easy one. There aren't usually too many to choose between because I won't use an image that Martin has already seen, and so at the end of the year I'm left with four or five photos which have been kept to one side because I regard them as extra-special. They won't by any means be the most dramatic shots I have captured during my games (except for the 2007 one which is a stunning capture of me being triple-cocked while dressed in black latex), but instead I try to select something which is highly symbolic, something that is able to encapsulate the reality of our marriage. The London one would have been a good choice because these sorts of sessions where I am being groped and abused by several men have become a core part of my activities. However in the end I chose another shot, one that I felt was even more representative of my everyday life and something that Martin would be particularly tortured by.
To a casual observer this video capture would seem remarkably mundane, but any husband out there who understands how painful it would be to see a man arouse his wife in a way that he has never been able to would appreciate the power of this image. A framed enlargement is currently hanging on the wall opposite Martin's bed, and despite its simplicity it contains so many elements that drive my desires. I'm sitting on a lover's knee, and I'm wearing laced thigh boots and a black leather skirt, totemic items of the dominatrix and prostitute which I love to put on and which create extreme jealousy within my husband when he knows I am wearing them for other men.
Then there's my lover himself, in this case a man some fourteen years younger than my spouse and who is so superior physically to him that it's embarrassing to even think about it. I can be perfectly okay with Martin and not be thinking anything detrimental about him, but when I open the door and see a guy like this standing there my attitude changes almost instantly. Suddenly my eyes are opened and I see that my husband doesn't come close to being worthy of me; that I married a weak, short, plain, submissive, boot-licking nobody with a substandard prick. My lover is so attractive that I go weak at the knees and I'm desperate to have him, and I can see in his eyes that he feels the same about me. We are so perfectly matched; so right for each other. And together we must punish and humiliate the pathetic individual who is standing across the hallway pitifully massaging his crotch as he watches us embrace.
The scene itself the wife sitting on another man's knee, kissing him as he puts a hand up her skirt and fondles her is one that takes place virtually every day of my life. It doesn't matter whether it's down in London or at my home, or whether I'm with a good-looking man or a not-so-good-looking one, I will never say no to this sort of exploitation. These guys all get to know what I like... start by gently running your fingers lightly across my boots, skirt and breasts... then begin feeling my garter straps through my leather skirt... next move a hand to my thighs and massage them, gradually working your way higher... and keep moving upwards until you can play with the suspender clasps beneath my skirt, pulling them or unclipping one so that you get to see the sexy sight of me refastening it... now work your hand even higher until your fingers are pressing against my pussy... can you feel something hard there? Yes? In that case you know I'm wearing a stimulator or I have a dildo inside me, so start to push this back and forth, gently at first but more forcefully as my passion grows. Otherwise you need to find the zipper to my panties and unfasten it (there will almost always be a zipper if I don't have a toy pleasuring me). Now ease two or three fingers inside me and discover just how excited your attentions have made me, but before rubbing and kneading my clit in the way I have taught you, withdraw your hand again and hold it up to my mouth, making me suck and lick your glistening fingers. Do this several times, feeding my own lust to me, and don't be surprised if I keep changing position on your leg as I try to work the rubber plug in my rear deeper inside me.
There are also elements to this particular picture that cannot be seen but which will always evoke disturbing yet powerfully arousing memories for Martin. He was the one holding the video camera when this shot was taken, and as he stood there naked he had to listen to me talking to my lover, telling him what I had planned for us that afternoon and what I wanted him to do to me. After filming us making out like this for five minutes or so my friend and I moved to one of the sofas, and once he had mounted the camera on a tripod Martin came and joined us at my instruction. I was kissing my lover and being fondled by him as my spouse sat wretchedly next to me masturbating, but several times I took over from Martin and wanked him for a while (although I rarely looked at him). Holding my husband's cock reminds me why I've become such a size whore and makes me even hungrier for the far more impressive offering that will soon be working its way into my throat.
Martin had to return to work that day so he wasn't there to hear me being serviced upstairs by my visitor, but before he left I made him kneel on the front porch in the open daylight and I commanded him to pull his trousers and underpants down once more. Then with his head on the stone floor and his bare arse raised high, I took off my lover's belt and beat my spouse about a dozen times with it, castigating him as I did so. Afterwards I handed the folded leather strip to my male companion and instructed him to do the same while I stood in front of Martin and made him lick my boots, dispassionately (outwardly at least) informing him of the manner in which he would consume my lover's ejaculation when he returned home. It takes a lot of patience and coaxing to get a man to physically punish a cuckold husband, but once the breakthrough has been made it leads to some exceptionally erotic moments. It is desperately humiliating for a man to be whipped or paddled by his wife's lover, but it is the knowledge that his wife has ordered this and becomes sexually excited as she watches it happen that is so psychologically penetrating. It inevitably creates strong feelings of inferiority, unworthiness and shame, and yet with a man like Martin it simultaneously inculcates a powerful desire to experience such humiliation again.
This contrast between how I act when I have another man with me (especially an alpha male) and at other times continues to fascinate me. During those three days at Christmas when my parents were with us I didn't harbour any such thoughts of contempt against Martin and in almost every sense we were just your everyday happily married couple. It was only in bed where the imbalanced status between us became apparent, but even then there was little to suggest that I was in any way dissatisfied with the man lying beside me. In fact on the second night in bed we both lay there looking at each other and I remember how warm and loving I felt towards my partner. We were talking softly, and it was like going back fifteen years, although the same couldn't be said about the topic of conversation. I asked Martin what had been the most memorable moments for him during 2011. He immediately responded with a couple of incidents that I haven't broached upon in the online diary and I won't do so now, but he also added an event that you have heard about:
"Oh, and Howard as well. Yeah, that was really something. I thought you'd exhausted the surprises for me, but that..."
"God, that was kinky wasn't it?" I sighed. "You imagine your mother - and mine - seeing that video... I mean just think about it..."
"Yeah, I know..." Martin responded and his sentence drifted off as he pictured that scene in his head once again (see 'The Shock Of The Old' if you need a reminder).
There was a pause for several seconds, but Martin had brought up a subject that had been on my mind for some time. I turned over and opened the bedside drawer, taking out the small key that unlocked my husband's cock cage. I then pulled down the covers and released him from his prison, dropping the device on to the floor. He would sleep free that night.
With the bed covers back over us I reached down and took his prick into my hand and began gently massaging him.
"Baby, I want to do something like that with Howard again next year. I know it was meant to be a one-off, but I really got off on it being so... you know, so wrong. I often think about it when I'm alone and I get really turned on. So next year I want to get some video of Howard having anal with me... and in a number of different positions, including a couple outside."
"Oh, fucking hell Maria... you've got to be kidding."
"No, you know I'm not kidding, and don't pretend that it doesn't do it for you as well. I can feel how excited you are."
"I know, but for goodness' sake... just the thought of you doing that..."
"Yes, you just think of me doing that," I goaded as I began to wank more vigorously. "Imagine me in my leather corset and thigh boots, chained up outside to the pergola with a leg spreader and single bondage glove... bent over with my glossy latex open-rear briefs glistening in the sunlight... my nipples tethered to my ankles... and Howard opening me up with a lube-soaked dildo and spanking me before he stands on a box, grabs hold of the fuck-chains attached to my waist and slides his dick into my arse... think of the saliva dripping from my ball gag as I urge him on with moans and grunts to fuck harder... think of him squirting his cum inside me once again... you just imagine that... and all captured in the open daylight in beautiful high definition video..."
"Oh, stop it, Maria... please... oh God..."
"Tell me you want him to do it, baby."
"Yes you do. I know you do. Come on, tell me the truth."
"Oh, stop it... I can't hold it..."
"Tell me the truth then. Tell me you want him to do it."
"Oh God... oh yes, yes, I want him to do it... I want him to do it..."
"Do what, Martin? What do you want Howard to do to me? Tell me."
"I want Howard to fuck your arse. I want him to bugger you."
"That's right! That's excellent. You know what, I think I'm going to have to let you spray all over my stockings for being such a good boy. I'm so glad that's settled, and on Tuesday you can video me when I call Howard and tell him what I'm planning."
I have added this Valentine's Day post principally to let you know that I'm still alive and kicking and that my activities haven't meaningfully changed over the past few months. I'm very settled at present and I love living the way I do even though in some people's eyes my life is one of waste and appalling self-indulgence. I fully accept that I'm little more than a naughty girl who likes dressing up and doing things that violate established social mores just for the kick of it, and I know I'm very fortunate to have the financial means to do whatever I want (although these days I think could survive quite adequately purely on the generosity of male acquaintances such as Gerald). Nevertheless, as far as I am concerned there is nothing nothing whatsoever to beat studiously dressing in front of a mirror in highly provocative underwear and outerwear and then going out into the big wide world and witnessing the response from men, capturing one of those men with the right looks and words, and then milking him in a manner that he will never forget (and in some cases tying him up and physically punishing him as a prelude).
Although my lifestyle is centred on my sexual activities, I have now engineered things so that I combine my unusual games with normal social pursuits, so it's not as though I am stuck at home awaiting my next male visitor. I'm always out and about, dining, visiting the theatre, art galleries, the cinema, and I play sport too. I meet a number of very interesting individuals and the level of conversation is well above that of banal cocktail party chit-chat. I won't try to defend myself against the accusation that I am morally decadent and that I am a high class prostitute in all but name, but I'm not going to fight my true nature and I know exactly what I want. I have no specific plans for the future, but mentally I have a general roadmap for at least the next ten years of my life, and although it's regrettable that I have to get older, I don't see that as being a major barrier to me over the next decade at least.
For me it isn't so much about getting laid and physical copulation; that's just a natural consequence of my games. It's more about exhibitionism and control - using my looks, body and clothing to pull the strings of the men around me, to hunt out their fantasies and coax them into doing things that they never would have believed possible. Even when a man is apparently dominating me he's in reality dancing to my own tune and I am the one who directs the scenarios we will play out. The men who spank and whip me, who attach clamps to my vagina and breasts, who violate me with all manner of phallic devices and who unhesitatingly humiliate my husband at my behest - these men are not sadists and they are primarily playing a part I have chosen for them. It's vital that my cuckold husband and other slaves are fully aware that there are males out there that their Mistress will apparently submit to, but only to satisfy her own sexual urges. Men are placed by me in a relative hierarchy with my boyfriend Matt at the top of the heap and my husband at the very bottom, but not one of them is immune to my dominance. It may surprise you to learn that I have never been involved with a man whom I consider to be truly dominant such a relationship simply couldn't work.
Breaking a man's will in this way is supremely satisfying and that's why I can no longer resist the sort of unpremeditated encounters that I occasionally enjoy in London and elsewhere these days. Last year for example a man who had been faithfully married for over thirty years without a single indiscretion accompanied me to my car purely because all afternoon he had not been able to take his eyes off the full length silver metal zipper on the rear of my short leather skirt and the tell-tale bumps reflecting off the highly polished material. I don't think he knew what to expect, but as we sat in the front seats of my parked vehicle I started talking about that skirt to him and without a hint of embarassment I began to massage his crotch. You couldn't take your eyes off it could you? Is that because it's so shiny? Or is it the length? Come on, don't be shy... touch it, feel the smoothness. Yes, that's right, feel the suspenders too. Oh I see, it was the suspenders in combination with the skirt. Okay, well you keep feeling them and in a while I want you to put your hand up my skirt and play with them. Oh, and did you know I'm wearing a lacy rubber bra? Let me unbutton my top and show it to you...
Ten minutes later I had that guy eating out of my hand, completely under my control. He didn't flinch or raise any objection when I slid the wedding ring off his finger and inserted it alongside my own into the condom that I was about to roll on to his throbbing, rock hard dick. He fed on my own exclamations of excitement when we both fixed our eyes on those two bands of gold imprisoned inside the latex sheath as I skilfully wanked him, and he uttered a groan of disbelief when I told him that I was going to suck him to ejaculation and I wanted him to drown our rings in his cum while his prick was in my mouth. It was a wonderful, exquisite form of marital betrayal, and yet this isn't the only way in which I have symbolically marked the breaking of a man's fidelity due to irresistible lust for me. And in case you're wondering, I experience no feelings of guilt whatsoever when I tempt a guy in such a manner because I am not being duplicitous in any way; in the end it's his choice to get into that car and all he has to do is say no when I make the suggestion.
On that particular day the condom I used added to the excitement of the encounter, but in general condoms are the bane of my existence. If I could ignore health aspects and have unprotected sex with every man I saw then I would be able to deliver some sensational humiliations to Martin and my other submissives. Also I think it's far more profound for a husband when he knows that a guy is actually spurting cum directly into his wife's pussy, arse or mouth as opposed to a latex sheath. Certainly when I'm having bareback sex with a lover there's more of a sense of treachery towards Martin when I take the ejaculation inside me, and then there's that gorgeous feeling afterwards as the cum leaks from me into my panties.
As far as oral sex goes, I now love to suck a sheathed prick but nevertheless it doesn't compare with pleasuring an unprotected one. With no condom involved I'm able to feel the texture of the skin and map out the topography of the cock with my lips and tongue, and it always feels bigger to me. Also it's a huge turn on for a guy to know that I'm going to swallow his ejaculation, and that makes him extra hard for me. It's acutely disappointing that I cannot live out many of my cum-swallowing fantasies because of this issue, and I know the guys in London would be completely blown away if I were able to use some of the special funnels and tubing that I employ at home in my video shoots.
There is one redeeming feature of condoms however: their trophy value. I'm sure every cuckoldress remembers that first time she took a used sheath out of her bag and waved it mockingly in front of her spouse's face. Look what I've got, darling. What do you think I was doing while you were at work today, hmm? In my case such taunting soon created the irresistible temptation to do more than just display the sheath to Martin, and for this reason I still intermittently have my lovers use a condom even though there is no real need to do so, and Gerald always wears a sheath when I give him a final sucking as I'm about to leave for home unless I want him to spray over my clothing instead. I have accumulated a lot of video where I am humiliating either Martin or another sub with one or more filled condoms, and I have never tired of these games despite their somewhat repetitive nature.
The real fun comes when I arrive home with more than one condom in my handbag and it's obvious from the impressive contents that they have been loaded by several different men. Juvenile as it may sound, if you're a woman like me who revels in the thought of being a whore wife then the accumulation of filled rubbers is accompanied by a sense of achievement and pride - it's a measure of oneself as a slut. It's also really horny just looking at them, and in my case the more there are, the greater my excitement another reason why Gerald's parties have such allure and why the anticipation builds in me throughout December as New Year's Eve approaches.
This must be the umpteenth time I have tried to explain what makes me tick, but I still receive messages from guys who seem to think that I'm lying on my back all day being endlessly fucked. Nothing could be farther from the truth, and if we're talking about women who have a lot of intercourse then trust me, I am way, way, WAY down the list. If we exclude Matt then I'd say that having full sex three or four times a week is about par for the course for me, and on some weeks I don't even get screwed at all. At certain times of the year I'm more active than this December being one of them, and also when I'm doing a video shoot with multiple friends or when one of Martin's business customers is staying with us. I don't sleep overnight with men other than my boyfriend either, and in fact I find the very thought of this quite unpalatable. I like to be alone in my bed when I sleep properly, and even though my boyfriend will read this diary post I'll say quite openly that in the unlikely event that I leave Martin to live with him instead then I will insist upon us having separate bedrooms. Furthermore if Matt ever became jealous of my close attachment to the thirteen-inch stick of rubber that shares my bed every night and he gave me an ultimatum over it, then my response would be swift and unwavering he would not be permitted to fuck me again until he apologised, and I would make darn sure that every night he heard me being pleasured by my superbly-girthed black stallion.
If on the other hand we're discussing masturbation of the male (in its various forms) and fellatio then I suppose it's fair to say that labelling me with the word 'promiscuous' wouldn't be at all inaccurate. I set a couple of personal records in this regard in 2011, and I have every expectation of breaking them again in 2012. Even though I believe I have calmed down significantly from my unforgettable year of unashamed debauchery in 2007, there's little doubt in my mind that this year will be the busiest of my life so far for my mouth. Gerald and his closest circle of friends alone seem to have me working overtime in this respect at the moment, but I'm not complaining - I absolutely love being in such high demand and I seem to spend half my waking hours refreshing my lipstick these days.
Will you get to hear about any of these games? I'd like to think so, so drop in on my gallery from time to time. No promises though.
|To contact me, email maria at this site|