Maria The Loyal Wife (Well, Sort Of...)

Posted 22 October 2005

If you have read the two introductory entries of my diary you will know by now that when I go out dressed in short skirts, high heels and fetish underwear, I get very turned on. Men can sense this sexual energy when they see me and of course the clothes themselves are a huge come-on. It's almost inevitable therefore that some men will interpret my dress and body language as giving them a green light to take liberties that they wouldn't usually contemplate under more normal circumstances.

Some of this attention is unwanted and originates from unappealing men who have to be diplomatically rebuffed. There is also the very occasional weirdo, although such a man can quickly be deflected by a quiet word with a store security guard or hotel concierge (I'm careful never to put myself in situations where I'm vulnerable or alone). But as you might imagine, sometimes the advances come from a man who is very attractive and desirable. Over the past few years there have been a number of instances with such men where I would have loved to have taken things further, but in the end I've resisted the temptation to indulge in any extramarital entanglements. The principal reason for this is simply that I have always wanted to remain faithful as a wife. Despite Martin's constant urgings for me to sleep with other men, I've always felt that however much he might believe that he wanted to be cuckolded, the reality of me having sex with another man would be an emotional shock that he might struggle to cope with.

Having now declared my fidelity to date, I must also confess that I haven't exactly been whiter than white during our marriage either. There have been occasions where I've overstepped the mark without technically breaking my vows. I like to think of these as moments of rashness where a couple of drinks and the arousal of wearing tight, exciting clothing has caused me to lose some self-control. I don't really regard them in any way as serious breaches of trust.

To begin with, when I'm at the office I'm guilty of regular prick-teasing, but since colleagues know that I'm married and I've never given any signals that I'm prepared to stray, things have never got out of hand. To a certain extent the fact that I'm apparently not available yet dress so enticingly makes me even more appealing. Usually I'm out of the office seeing clients, but on the days that I'm there I always enjoy making my male work colleagues hot under the collar, especially the juniors who work directly under me (not literally though!). I don't wear anything too outrageous, but it doesn't need to be if you know what excites men most.

This is fairly typical of my normal office wear. The skirt material is thin enough to allow the outline of my suspenders to be visible and you can see one protruding in the picture on the right. The black seamed stockings and high heels create a strict, dominant look which is perfect for feeding men's fantasies.
Maria's day wear

A tight pencil skirt, black seamed stockings, black high-heeled sandals or courts - that's all you need to set pulses racing, and then you can enjoy yourself by bending over a desk to reach for something, or sitting with your legs tightly crossed so that the skirt rides up. I find the best office skirts are not overly short, but have splits which allow a tantalising glimpse of lace stocking top to be briefly visible if I move in a certain way.

I make sure that I don't wear low-cut tops at work, mainly because it would be a little too blatant when combined with my tight skirt / stockings / high heels look. I therefore usually wear high-necked blouses or jumpers, but I still use many tricks to excite men with my breasts. I don't wear 'comfort' bras, but very tight push up ones, some of which are either quarter-cup or peephole so that my nipples are exposed. My nipples become erect very easily, and I can keep them that way for hours on end using non-piercing nipple rings. I like to have them in this state when I'm due to see some of the young office juniors in a meeting. It's so comical to observe them trying not to look at my chest when I sit down in front of them. Another trick I use is to wear a thin black cardigan over a PVC bra. Because the PVC is so reflective it's often possible for the shininess of the bra to be seen through the stretched woollen material, a quite stunning effect if the bra catches the light at just the right angle.

With business clients things are somewhat more serious and here I'll admit that the temptations have got to me in the past. When visiting a client I dress far more suggestively than I do at the office. For a start I'm not so much at risk of setting tongues wagging, as my clients are spread across the country (and indeed abroad) and have little or no day-to-day contact with one another. Furthermore I only see most of them once or twice a year to update their requirements and inform them of new services my firm is able to offer. Another important consideration is that it's almost expected of me to use sexual attraction to retain my client base, and the same goes for when we're competing for a new contract. In today's politically correct environment this may seem shocking, but it's a simple fact of life. Providing there's no difference in the end service given, senior managers in large organisations would much rather have a business meeting or lunch with a sexy young bit of stuff with long legs and a short skirt than with a balding middle-aged man. Certainly I don't object to playing this role - as far as I'm concerned I'm the one who's doing the manipulating and I'm getting paid to dress up in clothes that I love wearing anyway.

When I meet a prospective male client for the first time I take very careful note of his body language, and without in any way making it obvious I track his eye movements at all times, noting very carefully what part of me seems to attract him most. Often a sure giveaway is that the client will deliberately not look at some part of me, with just an occasional involuntary flick of the eyes betraying his true desires. After years of studying reactions I can now very rapidly tell what sort of man I'm dealing with, and what does it for him. I make notes on what reactions I've seen, and when I meet the client again I test out my theories by dressing especially to appeal to his particular kink. Once I'm certain I know precisely what turns the man on, I'll then do my level best to give him some unforgettable sights at subsequent meetings. For a boot lover, for example, I may eventually wear thigh boots at a meeting and sit and move to give my client a feast he will never forget. Not surprisingly, I have the best client retention ratio in the whole of our firm.

Here I'm dressing for an appointment with a business client, one of two such meetings last year where I wore thigh boots. Considering the effect they have I'd like to wear them to all my meetings, but I have to be realistic.
Maria wearing thigh boots

Such flirtatious conduct on my part has inevitably led to me being propositioned by a client. In most cases it's very easy for me to decline such an offer because I don't fancy the man, but there have been several occasions where I've been very tempted. This has especially been the case with submissives, who appeal to me because I know exactly how to handle them, and it would be delightful to have a man other than my husband kneel before me and lick my boots while he masturbates at my command. I'm equally tempted by very good-looking men, not only for the obvious reason but also because I can't help associating handsome men with large pricks. There's absolutely no logic of course that says a man with good looks will have a large penis, but this doesn't stop me fantasising that it's so.

Most clients who make a move either invite me out for dinner or ask me to join them as their guest at some major event that their company is sponsoring. Others haven't been quite so subtle however and I've had a couple of instances where it has been implied that I would receive substantial business in return for 'services' from me. This is going to sound awful, but I may as well be honest - I seriously thought about it, particularly with one of them. I can't really explain why it appeals to me so much, but it just does. I get very excited by the thought of being a prostitute of sorts and I know that Martin would love the idea, since it means I would be having sex with someone else but with little threat of any emotional attachment developing. Only loyalty to my marriage has so far prevented me from selling myself out, but if such an opportunity ever arises again (and I believe it will) I can no longer guarantee I'm going to say no.

Twice I've actually been physically interfered with. On the first occasion I was alone with a client in a lift and he made some comment about how fabulous my leather skirt was. While saying this he put his hand on the rear of the skirt and started rubbing my bottom, saying how smooth the leather felt. It was a pretty pathetic excuse to have a good feel, but I loved it and I was disappointed when he took his hand away after just a few seconds.

On the other occasion I was with a different client in a London restaurant at lunchtime. There were four of us sitting in a booth and the lighting was quite dim. The main board director I was sitting next to put his hand on my thigh under the table and started stroking it. I was really shocked when it happened but I couldn't really blame the guy - I knew he was a legs and stockings man, and that day I'd deliberately worn a skirt with the lining removed so he could get a good eyeful of my suspenders outlined through the material. Consequently I did absolutely nothing to deter him and he just carried on doing it. He was very clever, moving his hand at regular intervals above the table so that his colleagues didn't cotton on to what he was up to. Somehow I don't think I was the first girl this had been tried on.

Initially he was stroking me just above the knee, but each time his hand returned from above the table he would massage that bit higher up my leg. Eventually my skirt rode right up and he reached my suspenders. He carried on like this for the rest of the lunch, sometimes rubbing my inner thigh, other times fingering and pulling my suspenders. I got quite damp while all this was going on and was more than ready for him to work his hands even higher, but to my regret he never did.

This incident reveals a great deal about me I feel. Although I'm somewhat ashamed by my reaction to what was a blatant groping, I can't deny that it really excited me, and the fact that it happened in a public place with the very real risk of discovery added enormously to the appeal. In this respect I do think that I display all the hallmarks of being an out-and-out slut. I can't help fantasising about being 'touched up', and in these fantasies I imagine several men molesting me at the same time. Three or four pairs of hands simultaneously find their way up my skirt and start having a good feel. My suspenders are played with, my legs are caressed, and fingers work their way into my pussy and arse. It always happens in public too. For my own part I usually end up massaging several crotches, giving every encouragement I can to my admirers.

Once again we come back to the issue of cause and effect, and I'm fascinated as I wonder whether these feelings have arisen because of Martin's machinations or whether they were already in me before I met him. I don't recall having these fantasies in my teens and yet I do vividly remember the tremendous arousal I got when I saw the film "Internal Affairs" while I was at university. As I remember it, at the beginning of the movie Richard Gere caresses a woman's thigh in a bar while her husband is sitting opposite him, unaware of what is going on - remarkably similar to my own experience. Later in the film the same husband walks into a bedroom at home to find his wife having (and loving) anal sex with Gere. I had to tightly cross my legs when I saw that scene, and this was some time before I met Martin.

This fantasy of being groped and fondled really comes to the surface at house parties with a fancy dress theme, and it's easy to see why. For someone who likes to dress to provoke, a fancy dress party is an opportunity not to be missed. At many of these events it's almost expected that the young attractive women should dress sexily, and even where this isn't the case it's usually possible to bend the rules a little (or in my case, bend them a lot!).

Martin's friends will always be very keen to know what outfit Maria is going to wear to such a party. He will deliberately play things down, saying that they'll be disappointed this time, that I can't keep living up to their expectations. Forget it guys, no skimpy clothing this time. You'll have to get your kicks elsewhere.

We'll deliberately arrive at the party late so I can have maximum impact as I make my entrance. And what an entrance it will be. Sexy Schoolgirl, Nympho Nurse, Tarty Teacher, Horny Housemaid. Killer high heels, micro-miniskirt, stockings, suspenders, a couple of buttons on my top undone to reveal a shiny three-quarter-cup PVC bra, kinky knickers, fetish collar. Great hair, great make-up; a walking, talking, sex doll.

Maria the Maid, taken at a fancy dress party around four years ago. It's not my husband's knee I'm sitting on.
Maria the Maid

You can imagine what sort of mood I'm in a couple of hours later, especially after a few drinks have put me into hyper cock-tease mode. I usually end up sitting in the kitchen with a group of male admirers around me and Martin will deliberately lose himself elsewhere so they won't be hindered or embarrassed by his presence. I'll make sure my legs are crossed in the most provocative way possible, revealing as much of me as I can. There will always be one or two men - usually the attractive ones - who won't be afraid to start getting 'tactile', just for fun. My suspenders will get pulled or they'll try to undo one or two more buttons on my top. Shamelessly I'll play along with them. I'll just watch the suspenders being toyed with or the buttons will somehow manage to stay undone.

If a comment is made about my shoes, I'll start teasing with them. I'll lift my leg and point the spike heel at the perpetrator, asking the others what I ought to do with it. Often the joker will call my bluff, only to find out that I'm not bluffing, and I'll push the sole of my shoe forward so it and the heel actually press into the guy's groin. That always gets a roar of laughter, and plenty of calls for me to push harder.

Often I'll be coaxed into sitting on someone's knee and somehow I'll always end up in his lap instead. This always provokes more mirth, although when I look around I'm often aware that some of the onlookers are definitely getting off on what they're watching. I'll playfully wiggle my bottom and then slap away the groping hands of the lucky recipient as he either strokes my legs or gets a little too friendly with my breasts.

I absolutely adore this sort of attention, but despite things getting fairly risqué at times I can't really say that I've ever found it truly erotic. The whole atmosphere at a party like this is too light-hearted. When I get home I'm really ready for a major sex session, but that's mainly because I've got high on all the gawping and ogling I've received. I've never thought: Wow, wouldn't it be great if all those guys gang-banged me. Turning men on is wonderfully exciting, but it doesn't necessarily mean I want to have sex with them.

This wasn't the case two years ago at a more conventional party, and if fate had dealt different cards I'm not quite sure what the outcome would have been. It was a friend's thirtieth birthday party, and when Martin and I got there we were surprised to see an old friend of ours had also been invited: Josh.

Josh was one of the original circle, the group that would have us in stitches every Friday night with their quick fire routine. There aren't many women who don't fancy Josh, and in my case my heart missed a beat when I saw him as we walked into the main lounge. He always looks so cool, and there's a carefree nonchalance about him which is really attractive. He's quite a bit taller than Martin, and physically much more striking. He's the sort you always give an extra long kiss to on News Year's Eve.

It was great to see him again, even better when he started dishing out endless compliments to me.

"Wow, Maria, you used to be the pretty young thing we all liked to look at, but look at you now... Sexy Woman. You just get better and better..."

We found out that Josh wasn't able to drink that night because he had to drive to his parents' house later, and Martin immediately suggested that Josh come home with us in our taxi. We could drop him off the following morning. Josh said fine, thanks, that would be great.

At the point the offer was made, there was no other motive involved. It was a genuine offer to assist an old friend, and nothing more. As the evening wore on however, a seductive thought kept entering my head: the thought of lying in bed with Josh. Kissing him. Touching him. Letting him... No! No way, Maria, you must be mad. Don't even think about it!

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Soon it was all I could think about. At one point I went to the bathroom upstairs and stood in front of the mirror, giving myself a good talking to, telling myself what a bad idea it would be. Then I'd suddenly think again of having Josh penetrate me. Shafting me... ejaculating in me...

Stop it! Oh God, please stop it!

I managed to compose myself and went back downstairs. I was okay for another half hour or so, but finally desire got the better of me. Martin was standing next to me and I whispered in his ear:

"When we get home I'm going to disappear upstairs for a while and change into something special for Josh. When I come back down I'm going to tell you to go to bed, and you're going to do as you're told. Okay?"

Martin's eyes went wide with a mixture of surprise and lust. He must have been able to see that I wasn't kidding, but he didn't seem to be in any way fazed that this was for real. Maybe it still hadn't properly sunk in that with those words I had just declared my intention to share my bed with another man.

From that moment on my mind was buzzing with excitement as thoughts flashed through my head: What shall I put on? How do I do this so he's not frightened off? He won't like the situation... too bizarre... but then there's me standing there in all the gear. Who would say no? Surely he won't be able to resist the chance of giving sexy Maria a good fucking? Have we got some condoms? Wish I could get the video out... no, too kinky for the first time...

This went on and on, and I struggled to respond when someone spoke to me. I was so outwardly vacant that people must have wondered what was wrong with me.

Normally at a party like this we'd stay until around 2am, but once it got to midnight I couldn't bear the anticipation any longer. I pressed Martin to leave:

"Let's go, I want to get home."

"Maria, we can't leave yet. It's only twelve o'clock. Josh certainly isn't ready to go right now."

"Half an hour then. Then we're going." Oh, come on.

Then my world fell apart, or at least it felt that way. I walked into the kitchen looking for Josh, only to find him talking intently to a very attractive girl who I knew had arrived at the party alone. It was immediately obvious that this wasn't any idle chit-chat. Josh was making a play.

I was stunned, and utterly crestfallen. It felt as though I'd been rejected, even though Josh could never have known what my intentions were. I found it hard to breathe, and my eyes began to water as the frustration and disappointment tried to find some escape.

"Maria, are you okay? You've gone really pale."

It made it worse that it was Josh who was expressing concern for my welfare, but I managed to mutter that I just need a little air. I went outside and I felt so bad I nearly threw up. I was angry that the opportunity had been denied me, but I also felt ashamed. What had I been thinking of? How stupid would I have looked?

It was fortunate in the end that Josh never returned to our house. I don't think it would ever have worked out as I'd planned it in my head. It would probably have led to acute embarrassment for all of us, with the possible ending of a long and valued friendship. What it showed me however was that under the right circumstances and with the right man I was definitely prepared to overstep the boundary of fantasy. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that I would have had sex with Josh that night if he had returned home with us and been responsive to my advances.

Martin was also desperately disappointed that Josh hadn't come back with us. He had obviously psyched himself up for what I was planning and I can only wonder at what thoughts must have been racing through his head as he imagined me slowly walking downstairs, dressed for a night of sex with one of his closest friends. To this day he still talks about what a missed opportunity it was and how he would have loved to have lain in bed listening to me being satisfied by Josh in the lounge below, and later in my bedroom.

What Martin doesn't realise is that he's going to experience something very similar in the not too distant future if my current plans work out. Somehow I don't think he's going to find it quite as much fun as he imagines...

...especially when he finds out who's going to be screwing his wife.


To contact me, email maria at this site