A Living Fantasy

Posted 25 March 2008

Please bear in mind that when this post and the ones that follow were originally authored, the four special posts you have just read did not exist.

The Perfect Threesome

Compare the image above, which I shot specifically for this post, with the leftmost thumbnail at the top of the page. This shows you just how much my life has changed since I last wrote online about my experiences.

When I stopped posting in February last year and later removed the web pages, I experienced a profound sense of relief and I was certain in my own mind that my writings wouldn't be seeing the light of day again. Although I knew I would very much miss being ogled and fantasised about, I had come to appreciate that this was a double-edged sword and that inevitably I was going to attract attention from individuals with an obsessive or overzealous nature. Although I didn't dwell upon this too much in my goodbye post at the time (and the reasons I gave for my departure in that diary entry were genuine) there's no question that some of the email I had started to receive was getting me down and had taken away the gloss from the earlier enjoyment I had experienced from exhibiting my lifestyle to a public audience.

So why have I returned, bearing in mind that much the same sequence of events is likely to occur again? Well, for one thing I'm going to take a far harder attitude to correspondence this time around. However discourteous and inconsiderate it may seem, anyone who contacts me must accept that I may not reply to their message, and if I do it will likely only be a few lines of acknowledgment. This will almost certainly apply even to those who have crafted lengthy and highly stimulating messages. Everyone is just going to have to accept that if they want me to stick around, then by necessity communication has to be a largely one-way street.

Let me try to be clear on this: I really enjoy receiving your feedback. I like you to tell me what effect I'm having on you; I like to get an idea of which of my outfits arouse you most; I like to read your fantasies and ideas on how I can indulge my oversexed nature to the fullest; and I have absolutely no problem with the fact that many of you dream of paying homage to me while I punish you, or having sex with me in highly unusual ways in front of my cuckold husband. You just need to appreciate that there are so many of you and only one of me, and consequently I cannot give you the attention you deserve.

To those who have sent me emails in the past twelve months or so (and there have been literally hundreds), I can only apologise. In order to insulate myself from the disappointment of no longer being online, I never got to read your communications. My friend Alison logged on to the site for me, and although I know she did view all the messages, I made it clear that I didn't want to know about the content. Until recently I didn't want to be drawn back, and I know only too well how persuasive and seductive you are with your words (I wonder sometimes who exactly is manipulating whom). All my past emails have now been deleted, but by all means send your messages again and I will do my level best to respond, albeit with the caveats mentioned above.

So now we have new ground rules, but this still doesn't explain what has actually prompted me to put the pages back up again. As those of you who have read my story from the beginning already know, the need in me to publicly relate some momentous experience that has recently occurred in my life has been the primary motivator for past reappearances. I have had such an experience recently (actually a connected set of experiences), a true fantasy come to life for me, but then again I have had many other such breakthroughs during my online absence. What initially precipitated my return this time was the urgings of a man I met a few months ago who in due course read my diary when I showed it to him. This man (I'll call him Gerald - not his real name obviously, but it suits a man of his class) is more than twenty years my senior and has been a great influence on me since we met. Actually, that last phrase may be a bit misleading; 'Great influence on me' sounds a little as though I have fallen under the spell of some Svengali-type character, but it's not like that at all. Let's just say for the moment that Gerald has opened an awful lot of doors for me since I met him.

Gerald was captivated by my writings and immediately started to persuade me to make mariasdiary.com active again. He argued that the diary is erotic art, and as such deserves to be enjoyed by others. In his opinion it is too good to leave unread and unappreciated, and he began using my own words and past thoughts to influence my feelings on the matter. What did I want out of life and what did I want to be remembered for? For being a good, upstanding member of our social set and a highly competent business consultant? Or as one of the sexiest women that had ever put words down on a page - a whore extraordinaire, the ultimate fantasy wife?

Gerald is amazingly well read and has given a number of book reviews for leading UK journals. Although I thought he was going way over the top with his gushing critique of my output (I'm sure having a permanent hard on while reading it was no influence whatsoever), you can imagine the effect this had on me, susceptible as I am both to flattery and any associations with leading a lifestyle akin to that of a high-class prostitute. He didn't win me over immediately with such arguments - I was too well aware of the reality of publishing such material online - but he planted the thought of making a return, and over the subsequent weeks the desire to display myself again grew with his encouragement.

The one area of dismay for Gerald relates to the photographs on my pages. Having seen the original shots, he regards the blurred and distorted captures that accompany the diary posts as a travesty. "To see your face is to understand your power", he once said, or words to that effect. "No one will ever appreciate just how desirable you are without having seen that face". As you know from what I've written before, I agree wholeheartedly with him on this issue but there are many good reasons as to why it's a bad idea to show my real self online, and I don't think I need list them here.

Once I started thinking seriously about putting my postings back up, I made myself a promise - I wouldn't even contemplate it without the prior agreement of both my husband Martin and my boyfriend Matt (yes, both men are still at the centre of my existence and I couldn't imagine it any other way). Knowing Martin's tastes I suspected that he had probably become aware of Maria's Diary when it had originally been online, but he had simply kept it to himself. On the other hand I was near enough certain that Matt had not known about it. He knew full well that I kept a detailed diary of my experiences and he had seen most of the images from it, but he didn't know that a version had been made public. It had always been a source of great worry for me that Matt might discover what I had been doing behind his back, with the thought that he would regard the whole affair as some unforgivable betrayal which would permanently damage our relationship. I wasn't going to allow myself to get into that situation again.

A few weeks ago I revealed to both of them that I had been publishing a running commentary of my experiences. I was a little nervous about the reaction I would get from Matt, although considering what he has put up with me doing in the past few months I didn't think it would result in anything more than some harsh words. I didn't sit with him when he read through it all however. I had no idea how long it would take, and I knew he would rush his reading if I sat waiting expectantly for his response. Instead I left the files with him one weekday evening and told him that I would return the following night to discuss it all.

I was hoping that he would call later that same night to give his initial reaction, but he didn't contact me and the next day was one of considerable trepidation as I began to fear that I had made a big mistake. When I eventually went to his home he thankfully didn't seem out of sorts when he greeted me, but nevertheless I felt like a schoolgirl who had been called to the headmaster's study as I sat opposite him in his sitting room awaiting his judgement.

He had his laptop on the table and I had already seen that the main index page of my site was active in his browser. He was infuriatingly expressionless as I waited for him to say something, except for moments when he would look up at me, stare straight into my eyes and then just raise his eyebrows noncommittally before looking elsewhere. I had no clue whether these were looks of recrimination or amusement and I've no idea how long I sat there waiting for him to initiate some discussion, but it seemed like forever. I didn't want to prompt him though, so I just endured it with an increasing mixture of irritation and discomfort.

Finally he pulled the laptop in front of him, making it the focus of his attention. He didn't look angry or upset, and there was an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes.

"I don't really know what to say," he began. "I mean, it's just brilliant. It's you; it's just so perfectly you. The way you think, the things that turn you on, the honesty - and the sexiness. I've always known that I've been lucky enough to be with one of the sexiest women alive. This just proves it."

I had to say it: "You're not angry?"

He thought about this for a moment, as if he were somehow able to monitor his emotions in a detached, purely objective way.

"Surprisingly no, I'm not, but I know I should be. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it might cause a rift between us - and anyway at the time I was enjoying myself too much. I thought you might make me stop."

"Yeah, well that much is true. I think I would have, but not out of concern for me. To me it's obvious who you are. Anyone who knows you will recognise you instantly. I mean, for goodness sake Maria, that pic of you in the leather mini, the day you met me in the hotel when I was with my team - if any of them saw that and read the dialogue..."

I'm sure it wasn't Matt's intention but I was already beginning to feel like a very silly little girl who was being given a good talking to by her father.

"I know, I know, that was pretty much Alison's reaction when she first saw the pictures, but the thing is, deep down I think there's a part of me that wants to be recognised. I'm not ashamed of the things that I do, it's just that I worry about the consequences of it becoming known what I get up to, and the public stigma for Martin. I don't think I was ever under any illusions that people who know me well would be fooled."

I recall how Matt sighed condescendingly at this, as if he were indeed dealing with a child.

"I don't think you properly considered the fallout from what you were doing. You know what people are like..."

That last comment was like a red rag to a bull, and Matt was probably taken by surprise by the ferocity of my response:

"Oh yes, I know what people are like, and do you know what? I don't give a bloody toss, because at the end of the day the men will still want me and the women will still envy me. Things have moved on since I started writing the diary, Matt, you know that, and it's not as though people don't know about us. As for the other stuff, I managed to keep things quiet for a long time, but it was inevitable that rumours would start circulating. Someone can't keep his mouth shut, but it really doesn't bother me. I don't need the approval or acceptance of these people any more."

"These people? They're your friends."

Whoa, that was a slap in the face, and he was right to say it.

"I didn't mean it like that," I said, instantly embarrassed by his admonishment, "but how long will they remain friends as more of the truth comes out? You know the answer to that."

Matt looked as if he was about to continue the debate, but he stopped short. There were so many sides to this argument and no doubt we could have gone on and on, but I suspect my sudden impassioned indignation had set off a new train of thought in his mind:

"So, why are you showing me this now?"

I hate it when he does that. It makes me feel so transparent, so easily readable. I must have had the guilt written all over my face. It probably didn't help that I lowered my eyes when I answered.

"Because I want to put it back up again."

Matt gave a small chuckle then, almost certainly because he knew I was going to say something along those lines.

"You just want to put it back up again, or you want to add to it?"

I couldn't give a straight answer to this, simply because I hadn't decided exactly what I wanted to do. My response to Matt's question took quite some time and I can't remember the exact phrasing I used to explain how I saw things. I can give you the gist though because it's important that you understand my outlook regarding the diary. From the past emails I've received I know that many of you get this already, but I want to reiterate my philosophy for those who haven't already grasped the wider context of my life.

My sexual relationship with my husband developed very much along the lines of fantasy - his fantasies, which in turn were nurtured and augmented by the drawings (often accompanied by stories) of artists such as Bill Ward, Eric Stanton and more recently the likes of Sardax. At first I viewed this material with a mixture of weary disinterest, amusement, and occasionally concern. However, I did my best to copy the stereotypes that stimulated Martin so much, simply because I enjoyed seeing his response - something which in turn enhanced my own excitement.

Over time however I began to identify more and more with the women in these erotic drawings, particularly Ward's leather-opera-gloved, thigh-booted, sadomasochistic socialites. In due course I became genuinely aroused by the pictures and stories, and on Saturdays when Martin was away from the house I would often pleasure myself as I looked at them. Furthermore, my husband's fantasies of me having sex with other men led me to read and absorb a great deal of fiction relating to cuckoldry, something else that I eventually used to arouse myself when I was alone.

You need to appreciate that it's these aspects of Martin's sexual fixations that have shaped my own personality and which in the past few years have driven me forward (and continue to drive me). Three years ago I realised that I wanted to consciously become the physical embodiment of the idealised women in those drawings, not just with the clothing, but also with the bizarre experiences. The establishment of my online diary was a means to amplify that process; I knew I was going to start having sex with other men, and I knew that publicising my liaisons would add enormously to the excitement.

There are, I believe, very few women who could emulate what I have done. I'm very fortunate to have been gifted a body which is well suited to the domina role and to also have been given the looks to complement it. Another vital aspect of my character is my extraordinary sexual drive, something that many women might regard as a curse, but in my case I absolutely cherish. I'm practically always hot - I love having orgasms and the experience of one doesn't in any way lessen my desire for yet another. The development of this abnormally intense libido is something that fascinates me, because it's clearly more than just a genetic trait. Before I met my husband I certainly used to enjoy sex and would often play with myself in private, but the Maria of today bears no resemblance to that relatively restrained girl. Nowadays I live for sex and, as you already know, not what might be considered normal sex. I live for exactly the sort of kinky, warped sex that Ward and Stanton's ravishing dominas revelled in.

If you met me you'd probably be initially surprised at how comfortably I fit into this role, until you realised that it's not in fact an act. This is me. Through deliberate design, through tremendous effort, practice and self-study I have turned myself into a living fantasy, a totally sex-obsessed dominant pseudo-prostitute wife, and the kick I get from knowing how rare and special I am to men is exhilarating for me.

The problem I face now with the diary is that I don't see how I can easily acquaint you with my present lifestyle and encounters without the whole thing appearing to be nothing other than fantasy. Does that make sense? Can you appreciate my dilemma? I know I've always said that it's no bad thing if readers view my words as make believe because of the protection it gives me, but I just have to be honest here - it does gnaw at me, and I really can't see the point in spending time and effort crafting my posts as truthfully and accurately as I can just to have them dismissed as highly entertaining but essentially fictional daydreaming.

This has all been made worse by the current freedom I enjoy in life. Midway through last year I resigned from my job, something you perhaps guessed I was building up to from the comments in my posts. Although it was a huge step to abandon my career, I had no qualms or regrets in doing so. Martin, who had earlier warned me that it would be a grave mistake to take such a course, fully supported my decision. He had seen the frustration build in me over the months as I dressed for work each day in the same restrictive, shiny fetish underwear I had been happily wearing for years at business meetings, only to return home somewhat dejected with no damp patches of semen on my clothing for my husband to remove, and the condoms in my briefcase all disappointingly unused.

I may no longer have a briefcase with me when I leave the house these days, but I still make sure I have all the necessities a modern woman needs for emergencies in my handbag. It's surprising how often such essentials can end up being utilised during the course of a day.
Maria packs her handbag

Those days when I did have sex with other men didn't sate me as they perhaps ought - instead they just left me wanting more. As far as I was concerned I wasn't getting any younger, and every hour spent sitting in front of a client regurgitating the same technical spiel or working at the office preparing some new business plan was an hour wasted in which I could be being penetrated in some way. It didn't even have to be a real guy doing it - one of the great holds I have over men is that they know that I don't need them. The sensational rubber lovers I have obediently waiting for me at home can outmatch any man in both length and girth and they are always beautifully hard for their cock-loving Mistress.

Another problem I faced was that I wasn't really getting what I wanted from my sessions with the businessmen I was seeing, although this is something that needs further explanation another time. In essence though the venues where I was meeting these men limited the scope of my games. For example, when I'm about to be anally penetrated in bondage I like to be disciplined first, either via a prolonged open-handed spanking or with something like a studded leather paddle. You can just imagine the noise this makes, especially as I also tend to be quite vocal when this is being done to me, even if I'm gagged. You really need to be in a private residence to do this, and certainly not somewhere like a hotel room.

It was a great decision to pack in work, the right decision, and once again I'm kicking myself for not having done this years ago (although I do console myself that at least it allowed me to meet Matt). I should have used my husband's wealth to indulge myself much earlier in my marriage, and I have no qualms whatsoever in now requiring Martin to foot the bill for my decadent life of self-gratification. Each day brings a new variety of pleasures for me, and you have to imagine the Maria you already know so well given a totally free rein to pursue her desires and fantasies. But doesn't leading such a superficially vacuous lifestyle ever get tedious? No, it often gets very tiring, but never tedious.

Entertaining men at my home during the daytime had originally never been part of my plans, apart from having someone special like Matt visit me. It seemed sensible to ensure that I met my lovers well away from where I lived, places where no one really knew me and where the comings and goings of the actors involved would not draw too much attention. As it transpired though I quickly found that there were many advantages to having special visitors during the day. I could make as much noise as I wanted; I had all my wardrobe and toys available; I had video cameras at my disposal; and of course I could choose to have Martin present if my plans dictated it.

Nowadays I love hearing the sound of a car coming up our gravelled driveway when I have an appointment, and very often I will video myself walking out of the house to greet my guest. I particularly like to capture the initial embrace, the roving hands fondling my rear as we kiss, my skirt eventually being lifted or unzipped to show Martin what special panties and garter belt his wife has chosen to wear for her admirer that day. Or if it's a submissive man you'll see him kneel and lick Maria's boots, then raise his head to kiss her skirt or suck the strapon she is wearing, while she in turn fastens a collar around his neck before leading him inside on all fours on the end of a chain. You can just imagine what these scenes do to my husband when he sees them.

There was another fortuitous development that occurred after I had finished work, one that has added enormously to the excitement of my life. When I wrote last year about how I was approaching the development of closer relations with my clients I genuinely thought it was really only a matter of persistence and patience. Surely in the end my desirability would overcome any barriers, and as you know I was already enjoying some success by dropping noncommittal asides during meetings, something I undeniably have an intuitive skill at doing. Nevertheless, hard though it is for me to admit, I didn't make as much progress as I was expecting. I'm not short of convincing explanations for this - for a start, from the relatively limited client base I had it was perhaps unreasonable to hope that all but a few of these businessman would fall under my spell. Furthermore the majority of these men had seen me turning up at meetings for quite some time in provocative clothing, and save for suddenly arriving one day in a twelve-inch rubber miniskirt there was no easy way to convey to them that my intentions had changed. I was being undermined by my own past behaviour.

Though there's plenty of validity in those arguments, I think the more likely explanation is simply this: I have very little experience in picking up men. Sure, I may be a world-class prick teaser, but when it comes to making the move that converts mutual attraction into a physical exchange, I'm little more than a rank amateur. In my teens I was so reserved that I was never the one to initiate a relationship and by the time I got into my twenties I had committed myself to Martin. I've never developed the courting skills that become second nature to many other girls. I have no problem once I have a definite signal from a man, such as the one that Matt had given me before we went to the London meeting, or Robert had given me in his office, but without such a green light I really don't know how to make the vital move (you've no doubt noted that I'm talking in the present tense here - I still don't really know how to make that move).

In my defence I think part of this problem stems from the fact that I simply refuse to give any overt come-ons to men (I'm excluding former clients such as the leather-skirt-loving Charles here, with whom I was already effectively involved when I began having sex with him). In my prick teasing games it has always been vital to remain outwardly oblivious to attention. To suddenly start eyeing men up in a blatant hey-do-you-fancy-a-bit-of-me way is utter anathema to me. There's just no way I can do that as I find it unacceptably demeaning - it should be men that come on to a woman like Maria, not the other way around.

When I left my job this was initially a major worry for me. I wanted more men, but I didn't know how to meet them. I know that may sound ridiculous to you, but believe me, finding men to have sex with isn't as easy as you might think if you're not prepared to be forward about it. And who wants to throw herself at other men? I'm probably the last woman on the planet who should say this, but I think it totally destroys a woman's allure when she comes on to a man too strongly. Once he's made a move then fine, anything goes, but until then the air of mystique must remain (I'm curiously old-fashioned, aren't I?).

The resolution to this dilemma came about purely by chance, the result of a few too many glasses of red wine one night when I was sitting with Alison. By this time I was seeing a couple of men on a regular basis at home, and she made an off-the-cuff remark about how I could meet more. I remember we both laughed at the thought and then at almost the same moment we both became serious.

"Bloody hell, that's not as stupid as it sounds," I said.

Alison's thoughts had obviously paralleled my own: "No, it's not, is it," she agreed.

Wind forward several months from that frivolous conversation and the situation I find myself in now is just thrilling for me. I don't go looking for men; instead they come to me by way of introduction. I'm tempted to say more here, but I think the story of how an initial meeting over lunch or dinner can morph into me taking a new man into my bed should be the subject of a later diary post. All you need to know for now is that Maria can currently have as many men as she wants, whenever she wants. And of course with such power at her disposal she uses it prudently - the men who get to play with her are very lucky men indeed, the Chosen Ones.

In case the above has given you the impression that I have lovers coming out of the woodwork, let me assure you that this isn't the case at all. With my business clients who were spread across the country it seemed both sensible and practical to only see them a few times each year, but the present men in my life tend to be closer to home, mainly in the London area. Most of them see me at least once a week and it's now not unusual for me to have more than one visitor between mid-morning and late evening.

I don't see such men every day of the week as I know I would soon find it irritating. I still very much enjoy my own company, especially with the equipment that is now available for aroused females in need of stimulation. On days when I'm not due to see anyone at home I'm usually out of the house for part of the day, whether it's just for lunch with friends or a meeting with a man somewhere. As you can imagine though, I also like to dress up and go out to prick tease. Without the restriction of having to be circumspect in what I'm wearing to work I have a fabulous time exciting men with my short skirts, stockings and high heels. I'll go to bars, restaurants or hotels just to get ogled, and even stopping at a service station to refuel my car has turned into an exciting opportunity to momentarily display myself. Alternatively I'll drive around in my car in something far more risqué, knowing that drivers in taller vehicles or pedestrians walking by at traffic lights may look inside my car and see me in my rubber microskirt with visible garter straps. I return home after these exhibitionistic games desperate, just desperate for release, and that's when I have some of the most memorable adventures with my toys.

You only got a short glimpse as the sports car overtook you, but OH MY GOD! She had the window down too so you could see right inside! What an unforgettable sight... your friends are never going to believe this one.
Behind the wheel in thigh boots and rubber

On those days when men do visit me I only tend to have one full session during the daytime, something that takes around two hours and which is always videoed. I know this is going to sound terribly cheap, but I like to have the additional visits (many of which are made at very short notice) because I like men to masturbate as they watch me play with myself and then have them ejaculate over my fetish clothing. I absolutely adore having cum sprayed over me and it also gives me a good excuse to change into some other outfit, with the exciting bonus of being able to leave the soiled garments for Martin to clean up when he arrives home.

I'd very much like to take you through the history of all these developments, and particularly the evolution of the privilege/reward system that has emerged from it all, but as you can see with just the above few paragraphs it's not going to be easy to document my activities without apparently sliding into the realms of implausibility. And I can guarantee that any account of the events that have occurred since the beginning of this year would stretch your credulity to the breaking point.

It's this that is causing me to hesitate in writing more about myself, not the lack of desire or will to do so. I simply don't want to undermine or devalue the story you have already been told by posting accounts that apparently lack credibility. It's not so much that the things I like to do are extremely unusual, because I think you already know that. What I fear will seem unrealistic to you is the fact that I do all these things on a daily basis as a matter of course, either on my own or with others.

I've touched on this before, but let me remind you again: apart from when I'm in the shower or taking a bath, I'm invariably wearing some sort of fetish clothing, even if it's just a leather bikini in the garden on a hot summer's day. I very often sleep in leather, rubber, and PVC, even wearing high-heeled boots to bed when the mood takes me. I love the tight restriction of laced corsets, and I love the feeling of wearing suspenders and stockings - the way the garter straps stretch as I'm walking, or even more exciting, when the rear straps reach what feels like snapping point when I bend over. To cap it all, I also get a fantastic kick from being continually pleasured and penetrated both at home and in public by either wearing a clitoral stimulator, briefs with an internal dildo, or a buckled cock harness.

Can you ever really accept that there is a woman who actually leads a life like this? I don't think you can, but I keep telling myself that it doesn't matter, because you want to believe it don't you? If Maria is for real, then oh wow. I mean, WOW! A slut-whore babe wife who just can't eat enough prick, who's always ready for a hard cock to satisfy her hungry wet pussy, and who soaks her shiny panties when she thrashes a man's backside with her whip. It's knowing that I'm vicariously fulfilling some dream for you that makes me want to do the things I do and tell you about it.

At the same time it hurts you doesn't it? That's why you envy Martin. Oh, if only your own wife could be like Maria. To have a woman like that to control you, a woman who likes to dress as a hooker, someone who would actually get turned on doing all those delicious things you dream of having done to you... why can't you be the lucky one to have a Maria? It's not fair is it? It just isn't fair.

That's how I explained things to Matt that evening as I tried to help him understand what the diary meant to me and why it might be unwise to write any more. His view on my republishing was no more than I could expect really. He said that he wasn't in favour of me going back online again because there were too many downsides. In any case, he added, the same sequence of events would happen again. It wasn't so much me, it was true of any internet forum or blog which becomes popular. Just through sheer weight of numbers I would eventually attract some undesirables who would ruin the enjoyment of others, either consciously or inadvertently. He also said that I should accept that if the diary is around for any length of time that I will eventually be recognised or outed by someone I've become involved with. Was I prepared for that? In his judgement he thought I was, because he believed that I was building up to some new phase of exposure that would allow online viewers to watch me having fetish sex. I'd have to give you more background than I'm prepared to at present to help you understand what prompted that last comment from him, but in any case it simply wasn't true, and I forcibly told him so.

If it's what I wanted though, Matt continued, then he wasn't going to try to stop me. I hadn't broken any trust by showing pictures of him and he admitted that he rather enjoyed reading the descriptions I had given of him (and so he should - he is without doubt the most attractive man any woman could ever hope to meet). He totally understood why I would want the site up again. Apart from Martin no one is more aware of my need to exhibit myself than Matt, and he has now been out in public with me when I'm dressed as something akin to a streetwalker far more than my husband ever has. As for writing additional diary entries, Matt thought I should be cautious and wait a while to see what feedback I received on my return. Since then he has also urged in the strongest terms that my most recent activities should not be publicised, even though he knows full well that it is those very games that I really want to tell everyone about.

This is typical of the sort of picture (minus the overlay of course) that Martin currently receives during the day via phone or email. This is a 'before' photo, and such shots will normally be accompanied by some 'after' ones which show the inevitable results of my handiwork. I love to have my clothing despoiled in this way, and nowadays it's not unusual for my husband to receive pictures from more than one such encounter in a single afternoon.
Maria busy with her hands

While I'm sure you can understand why I sought Matt's acquiescence before I reactivated my website, you may find it more surprising that I also wanted to get my husband's approval. The current status of our relationship is not one of equals in marriage. Martin is totally dominated by me these days, and although I regularly seek his counsel before taking a course of action, he has no veto or leverage whatsoever over my decisions. In public I like him to maintain his self-respect and socially I still play the dutiful wife, but in private he does what he is told when he is told, and I rarely tolerate dissention or even recalcitrance. However I still love him dearly and one thing that I will never be able to do is to adequately express my gratitude to him for how my life has developed. Yes, I know I rant away at how useless he is and how he has held me back, but we all know the reality. No Martin, no Maria. No relentless cajoling and praise, no Maria. No leather fetish, no Maria. No submissive tendencies, no Maria. No cuckold fantasies, no Maria.

Martin is publicly belittled in my writings in a way that would be very hard for most men to endure. It's one thing to take such humiliation behind closed doors, even if it's in front of other men or women, but to have his failures and sexual inadequacy aired on a website that is accessible to virtually anyone in the world (and as a consequence openly discussed by his wife in correspondence with her readers) is a completely different ballgame. My husband's success in the field of business and his enviable intelligence and education would count for little if his role as Maria's servile whipping boy became known. He would simply be seen as a weak and pathetic man who is unable to satisfy his insatiable wife.

I owe it to Martin to do as much as I can to minimise any fallout from my writings and the pictures I post. You will never know how hard it has been for me to restrain myself from showing pictures of my husband being disciplined by me or attending to me. The positions, the accessories and the clothing would mesmerise you, that much I can be sure of. But the moment such pictures are put on the page, Martin loses his last refuge of deniability. I told myself I must not allow that to happen, and I no longer wanted to post my diary entries behind Martin's back. At the very least I wanted his acceptance and if I couldn't get it then I didn't want to proceed. He endures enough at my behest these days without this added extra burden.

Since I'm here again, it's obvious that I got what I wanted from Martin, but his reaction was totally unexpected. He genuinely hadn't known about the site, something his initial body language confirmed for certain. I allowed him to digest my pages alone in private, just as I had done with Matt, but I locked him into a chastity device before he started reading. Whatever he felt about the whole affair, I knew he would get aroused while absorbing my words and that in turn would create a conflict of interest in him that would work in my favour. I didn't want him ejaculating, which might immediately change his outlook once any passion had been nullified.

Although he had already read many of the diary posts (not realising they were online), it was still over three hours before he came downstairs to where I was sitting in our front room. Without saying anything he walked over to me, got on to his knees, and began to kiss my high-heeled leather boots. I also said nothing for a moment, although a warm glow of satisfaction was now running through me - no words had been exchanged, but I knew I was going to get what I wanted. I also knew my task then was to give Martin a memorable sexual reward in return.

When I eventually did speak it was very calmly, a soft, soothing tone:

"Did you enjoy that, thinking about all those men looking at me?"

"Yes. Just fantastic."

"...sitting in front of their computers, jerking off?"

"Oh, yes. Oh God, yes."

"Would you like to go upstairs in a moment and hear some of the things they wrote to me about? The things they wanted to do to me, or me do to them?"

"Oh, please. That would be..."

"Yes, you'd love to hear all that wouldn't you? Do you want to guess how much some American guy offered to pay me? Not for sex, but just to tie him up and whip him?"


"Yes, really, and he wasn't the only one."

"Were you ever tempted?"

"Oh, yeah, I was tempted. You bet I was tempted. But I never seriously considered it if that's what you mean."

All this time Martin's head was still bowed at my feet. He was now licking as well as kissing.

"Martin, I miss not having the diary online. I want to put it back."


That was a shock. Just a flat, matter-of-fact 'okay'.

"You have no problem with that?"

"Would it make any difference if I did?"

"Yes, it would make a difference. I'm actually asking you. Can I put it back?"

There was absolutely no hesitation, no apparent assessment of the consequences whatsoever.

"Yes, of course. You should put it back. It's just amazing. You definitely should put it back."

"It doesn't bother you... the things I say about you?"

He looked up at me then, looked straight into my face.

"Of course it bothers me. But you explained it in your diary... I have a need... I can't really explain it, but I have a need to..."

He left the words hanging. I finished the job for him:

"You have a need for men to look at me, to want to touch me, to want to fuck me."

His head went down to the boots again and the kissing resumed.

"Yes, that's what I need."

"You know, you might be surprised to hear that the majority of men who wrote to me said that they'd rather be you than Matt. Can you believe that?"

"Yes, I can believe it. I know how fortunate I am."

"Hmm, I suppose you are. And you're especially fortunate tonight because you're going to be sleeping in my bed and I'm going to be wearing my thigh boots and dildo briefs all night."

He instantly grabbed my foot and held it tightly to his mouth, kissing it passionately before starting to lick the six-inch heel.

"Thank you," he eventually gasped. "Oh thank you so much."

Although Martin's judgement that evening had been clouded by sexual desire, in later conversations with him he didn't show any signs of having a change of heart. The important thing for him was the caution I had sensibly taken - making sure that actual video captures of him being humiliated in extreme ways had not been included on my pages and therefore there was no definitive proof to back up anything I had claimed or hinted at. He even encouraged me to restore the original pictures I had shown in a couple of entries, photos I had removed or edited because I felt they revealed too much.

The one other person I consulted at length about making an online return was my dearest friend Alison. Without her inventive mind and amazing contribution over the past year my life could not have developed as it has. We've had one or two ups and downs along the way, but nothing that has ever remotely threatened the closeness of our relationship. I think things have worked so successfully for us because we complement each other so well, but rather than expand upon this here I intend to explain it in more detail another time.

I'm going to cut this post short now because I promised myself I would finish it today. I originally intended to give you the broad brush strokes of what has occurred over the past year without giving too much away in specifics, but I'm now very pressed for time. It's almost midday and I have a visitor at 2 o'clock. I'm already dressed in a tight rubber miniskirt, stockings and knee boots, but this man likes me to wear a particular type of outfit that appeals to his tastes and so I need to get ready for him after grabbing a light lunch.

[Oh wow, I just tapped that out on the keyboard as aloofly and dispassionately as I could, but I've got to tell you that it has just given me the shivers and left me very wet indeed. It's just so horny to be able to write things like that now, knowing that later this afternoon I'm going to have a cock in me in my own home while my husband is busy at his office earning my keep. I can't believe I was once stupid enough to actually work for a living.]

Assuming I am going to post again, I've got an awful lot of catching up to do if I'm ever going to familiarise you fully with events. I don't think I've been reckless over the past year, but I have been very proactive. There's always this underlying feeling that I'm fighting the march of Time. I don't worry so much about the domina side of things - there will still be queues of men wanting to be whipped by me in twenty years' time and beyond - but I can't be so sure of my natural desirability to non-submissive men. I want to get as much prick as I can while I'm still so highly fuckable, but it's not indiscriminate. I make particular demands on the men who play with me these days, as you will discover.

Let me leave you with one last thought before I finish. In 'The Girl Who Loves Cream' post I listed ten major fantasies of mine in order to give you an idea of what excites and drives me. You may recall in a later post I related how I had discussed with Martin one evening the probability of me turning these fantasies into reality. By that time I had already succeeded with some of them, but I was dismissive of others. As it turns out I perhaps should have been a little more introspective when I made my comments, because I totally underestimated my ambitions that day. I can tell you now that every one of those items on that list has been ticked off since my diary was last online.

The one you might dispute is the 'becoming a prostitute' dream; I most certainly am not a prostitute, but I have accepted payment for sex on more than one occasion, principally so that I can taunt my husband with the knowledge and possibly shock others as well if I find the need. There's no denying me the others though. I have been triple-cocked in front of my husband and have the video to prove it. And yes, I have also had my boots licked in a public place, and not by Martin.

Keep your fingers crossed - I might be around long enough for you to read about it all.

As you well know, I have always been extremely ambivalent about the pictures that I show with my posts. On the one hand I love exhibiting myself in public, and what better place than on the Web? I very much want to show myself without distortion and I would like to post more exciting content. I now have hour upon hour of video footage of me having sessions with men other than my husband, much of which I believe would stun you with its originality and commitment to turning cuckold and BDSM fantasy into reality. At the same time however I have the ever-present privacy and deniability issues to consider, and thus far I think that my instincts in this area have served me well. I have to be very careful not to overstep the mark, especially these days when I have far fewer distractions to keep me from being aroused.

In the past when I have brought up this issue and the problems it was leading to, many readers of my diary wrote to me and advised that I make the diary text only. The words were quite sufficient, they argued, and without the video captures the chances of me being recognised would fall dramatically. I would be given the freedom to tell everyone exactly what I do behind closed doors with my husband, and I would not attract so much obsessive attention.

I just can't take that step I'm afraid, even though I can't refute the logic. To me the pictures are as much a part of my diary as the words. This is certainly true of my offline diary which I have continued to update (personally I think it's the offline diary which is the true work of art - this cut down online version is only a pale shadow in comparison). No, I need pictures to be shown, with the operative word here being 'need', and not 'prefer'.

When I first came online I only really had video captures of me dressing to go out, or from sessions alone or with Martin. Once I had cuckolded my husband however these shoots became far more exciting because I was actually dressing for extramarital sex. Letting others see some of these images online added considerably to the arousal I got from doing so. When I was putting on my latex underwear and zipping myself into a shiny leather skirt it felt as though all of you were in the bedroom with me, watching my every move. It felt as if it were not only Martin that I was cuckolding when I left the house, but you. Whether you really do suffer pangs of jealousy seeing me dressing for sex with another man isn't really the point; what's important is that I'm able to fantasise that you get jealous and so the cuckolding kick for me is magnified tremendously.

The same goes for scenes where I'm dominating a man. I know that when I show pictures of me dominating someone it isn't just the guy in the scene who's receiving pain. Submissive readers of my pages also take some pain, the pain of wishing that they were in that session being chained up, then spanked and whipped by Mistress Maria. Just to kiss her boots and to be made to lick her while she skilfully wields that vicious black riding crop; to have to bend over that table and be forced to take six inches of rubber punishment; to be there for that divine moment, one of the greatest moments a slave can ever hope to witness, the moment when his Goddess climaxes with delight from the erotic joy of striking a man repeatedly to the limits of his endurance. You want that, but you can't have that, and such knowledge dismays you. Only a few very lucky men will ever have that.

If you can understand this element of what the diary gives me, how it augments the thrill of giving myself to other men or punishing slaves, then you will also understand why I would want you to get an idea of what Martin sees me doing these days, both in the flesh and on camera. Even if you don't experience the envy that I describe above, I would at least like you to put yourself in my husband's place for a moment and try to imagine the emotions that course through him when he witnesses my infidelity. I'm sure many of you are married or have a permanent partner, and I want you to think what it would be like to watch that woman - the woman that you love - having sex with other men in ways that will forever be denied to you. Or what it would be like to be banished to another room while someone else gets to masturbate against her boots, worship her body, and taste her whip. How much would that hurt you? For how long could you cope with such a reality?

Who on earth in their right mind would go out to work when you can be doing this all afternoon, and not just with one guy. In an upcoming post I'm going to tell you about what I did during the day these shots were taken
Maria enjoys afternoon relaxation

Maria enjoys afternoon relaxation

Maria enjoys afternoon relaxation

Although I hope to show some slightly wider content from now on, I want you to be in no doubt that it will only be a tame taste of what I do at my home and elsewhere, and once again the pictures will be infuriatingly disguised. As before, I am only going to show material where there is no possibility of anyone other than me being recognised, and there will be enough distortion of the images to leave you with plenty of doubt as to whether they are genuine. Much as I want you to know that my life is for real, I still want that deniability, and I know that Martin, Matt and Alison want me to have it too.

To contact me, email maria at this site