A Slut Is Born
Posted 26 February 2006
Apart from last week, writing my diary entries has been surprisingly easy. Although I have been unable to reveal some of the punishments and humiliations I inflict on Martin, in most other things I have been able to write quite openly about my experiences and future plans. When I'm able to do this, the words come quite freely and it's simply a case of either recounting an experience as best I can recall it from memory, or just articulating my inner thoughts. From the email I have received I know this free expression has been one of the main attractions for my readers.
Last week's post was considerably harder to write because I couldn't unambiguously convey what I wanted to say. I had to couch it in other terms and although I know that most of you will have been able to read between the lines and deduce my real meaning, the fact remains that a certain area of my life is now off limits to this public diary.
This inability to properly express myself has now worsened and the frustration of not being able to fully acquaint you with the facts of an incident that happened last week has left me somewhat dejected. If my diary loses its openness, if everything has to be diluted or manipulated to hide key facts from readers, then there is no point in continuing. It wasn't just last week's event itself that was so exciting for me, but the significance of the moment for my relationship with my husband and other people that we know. It's this aspect that I would dearly like to discuss in detail, but I can't. I really can't.
Let me tell you what I do feel able to say. Last week, completely unexpectedly, I masturbated a man. Not my husband Martin, not my lover Matt, but another man. Martin and I have known this man for many years, and without wishing to disparage him in any way, he's not notably attractive (though he's not unattractive either). He hasn't got Matt's physical beauty and charisma, he's not tall, and he's not even intellectually stimulating. However there is a particular attribute that makes this man interesting. You could say that the position he holds in life marks him as being somewhat 'different'.
I see this man fairly regularly, but I cannot expand on this. He sees me in my sexy work clothes and has also seen me at private functions where I have dressed somewhat daringly. He has always ribbed me about this, and makes suggestive comments that we have both always just laughed about. It's only now that I dwell on this more that I realise that there are a great many men who flirt with me in much the same way. It's not surprising considering how they see me dressed.
This man has always been one for eyeing up my breasts, and whenever I've worn a top that shows a good view of them, he's quite unembarrassed with his ogling. Since I don't take offence and he sees that I'm clearly enjoying the attention, this just encourages him more. Last week when I saw him however I was wearing a buttoned cardigan and there wasn't that much for him to look at.
At some point in our conversation he remarked on this, as he has countless times in the past. It's a trademark interjection into our dialogue that we both joke about. He said something like:
"Hmm, I see you've covered yourself up again. Don't you think it would be a good idea to wear a bikini top when you see me?"
And I replied much as I have done many times before:
"Yes, well you should see the bra I'm wearing. I don't think you'd be able to deal with it."
And then the oh-so-predictable retort:
He knew what was coming next - my closing riposte, the one that would kill the exchange and allow us to move on to more mundane matters. I might have said: "In your dreams" or maybe: "I don't want to give you cardiac arrest". What he hadn't planned for - and neither had I - was what I immediately responded with this time:
"You really want to have a look?"
There was sudden confusion on his face. Uncertainty. This wasn't right, it wasn't to the script. He didn't know what to say and looked at me for some sort of guidance. I just held his eyes and in that moment I think he realised I was serious. What is so strange is that I can't really say why I gave him that opportunity, but as soon as I did I was curiously certain what I wanted to happen next - I wanted him to say 'yes'.
He didn't actually do that, but he didn't back away either. Instead he started mumbling with indecision and so I made up his mind for him. I started to unbutton my top. He stood there transfixed, a rabbit caught in headlights, as my fingers worked their way down until all the buttons were undone. Then I pulled the cardigan open to reveal what was underneath.
"Oh wow," he gasped, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Is that... is that rubber?"
I was wearing a black latex bondage bra, about as far removed from your everyday comfort bra as you can get.
"Yup," I confirmed, "it's rubber. What do you think?"
Again, the man was speechless for a moment. Then:
"It looks amazing. And you've actually been wearing that at work?"
"Oh yes," I said. "I often wear bras like this to work. Go on, touch it, feel how smooth it is."
He couldn't bring himself to make the move, so I calmly took his hand by the wrist and pulled it up to my left breast. I started moving his hand so that the fingers were making contact with the rubber and after a few seconds he no longer needed my guidance, running his fingers gently over the latex himself.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "Oh, yes," he said, "that feels brilliant."
A few moments later the realisation of what he was doing seemed to hit him and with some embarrassment he made to move his hand away. I grabbed his wrist and held it in place.
"Come on, don't stop," I coaxed. "You're enjoying it, aren't you? Come on, use both hands."
And I then took his other hand and pulled it to my right breast.
"Oh Maria," he suddenly moaned, and after some initial hesitancy his hands started to massage my breasts in earnest. All that pent up lust for me was starting to release itself and I can remember having an inner smile of satisfaction as this happened. It's hard to explain how I felt at that moment. I was loving it, but not because I wanted sex with this man. In fact I was quite detached and dispassionate about what was happening. No, what did it for me was the power, the control I was exerting over him. Having spent years arousing men and knowing that I was making them hard, I knew that I was about to take this a step further. I just knew I was about to witness a man ejaculating because he was besotted with me.
I played the part brilliantly, if you'll excuse the immodesty. I leaned forward and kissed him, the sort of kiss that he perhaps has never experienced, or at least not shared for a long time. After softly closing my lips on his I began to gently move my jaw, simultaneously allowing my mouth to slowly widen and widen. Finally I eased my tongue into his mouth. He seemed surprised, as if he didn't know what to do, but he sort of got the hang of it and then for some time we were locked together like this as I patiently let him explore my rubber-encased breasts with his hands.
Eventually I reached down and gave him a massage of my own. He was nice and hard, just as I expected. Just an everyday, average cock, but I really couldn't have cared less what he had. It wasn't going into me and I wouldn't be sucking it. All it had to be capable of was spraying cum; that's all I required of it.
After a while he moved his mouth from mine and started kissing my breasts instead. I knew he'd eventually start licking the rubber. You don't have to have a fetish for latex to want to tongue it when it's stretched across the objects of your dreams. His hands started to rove, first feeling my rear and then rubbing my suspenders through my skirt, but soon they were back where he really wanted them, fondling my kinky bra.
I unzipped him and took his prick out. Wow, I told him, you're so hard. What a lovely cock. And I started masturbating it, reaching down with my other hand and cupping it under his balls, pressing hard upwards towards his prostate. "That's a good boy," I said, "soak that rubber. I want to see that shiny rubber dripping with your saliva."
As he licked away with abandon, I unbuttoned the front of my skirt, pulled it open and began rubbing his prick against my inner thighs and suspender clips. I could feel a little wetness on my legs from his pre-cum, and that feeling of satisfaction rippled through me once more. Then I pulled a suspender strap outward, slid his cock beneath it, and let the elastic close again. With his dick now strapped to my leg, I let my skirt fall back and started rubbing him through the material.
"Come on," I urged him, "wank yourself against my leg."
He started moving his body rapidly back and forth, getting all the friction he needed from the garter strap and my hand. I unbuckled the straps on my bra and pulled the cups down slightly, revealing my erect nipples. I told him to suck my breasts. Eat them, I said. Feed on them. He was so excited now and I knew that he was well on the way to climax. I gasped as his tongue began to dart over my nipples as he sucked and sucked, and about a minute later he gave a few grunts before making one big thrust with his body and then holding the position. That was the most memorable moment for me - knowing that his hot spunk was pumping into the satin lining of my skirt, and moments later feeling the wetness against my leg.
I would guess the whole thing took no more than ten minutes, and yet it was a gloriously satisfying ten minutes. In those ten minutes I was a prostitute with her John, and I had controlled both myself and the proceedings with perfect aloofness. He was putty in my hands, and that power to make a man abandon all caution and shoot his load in a matter of moments is like no other power open to a woman. It's a power I now know that I want to exercise again and again.
He was embarrassed then, probably ashamed of what he had done, but I made light of it.
"I said you wouldn't be able to deal with it," I joked as I buttoned up my skirt and cardigan, and that seemed to ease his misgivings. He gave a half guilty, half sheepish grin.
"Yeah, you were right."
I lifted his chin with my hand and made him look at me. "Hey," I said, "come on, that was fun. It's probably something you've always wanted to do, and no one's ever going to know."
Then I kissed him again, just a short kiss of reassurance.
"Er, what about the er...," he said uncomfortably, and I saw him looking down at my skirt.
"Don't worry about it," I said dismissively, "I'll deal with it. Anyway, you were going to tell me about the holiday you've booked. What was it you were going to say...?"
I didn't stay too long after that and as I drove home I initially felt some uneasiness about what had happened. At the drop of a hat I had come on to this man, someone who is not really my type at all. Where would this sort of thing end? Was I turning into such a depraved tramp that I would soon be having sexual encounters with every man I knew? And what would everyone think of me if word started spreading around that Maria was prepared to take on all comers? What had I been thinking, and why had I done it? This wasn't sophisticated sex; it was dirty, grubby, back street work worthy of the cheapest of hookers.
However, as I thought more about it my doubts eased, or to be more precise I simply discarded them from my mind. For a start this was no ordinary man (though I can't tell you why) and I had every confidence that he would never reveal to anyone what had happened. And in any case, who was I trying to kid? I loved having that power for those few minutes. Feeling him spurt down my leg was fabulous, and as I drove I could still feel the wetness of my skirt and my lace top stocking. I've always loved prick teasing and I'd just discovered that taking that teasing to its logical conclusion was just as exciting as I had imagined it. Face it, girl, you love making men hard, and now you know you love milking them as well.
On top of this was the fact that I had a new weapon to use against Martin. This wasn't a further cuckolding for my spouse and I had no intention of playing it as such. Instead I was going to use it as an excuse to punish him for another reason - for being so sexually useless that he had driven his wife into becoming an unmitigated whore. She was deprived of adequate sexual satisfaction for so long that she is now prepared to accommodate any man, to prostitute herself indiscriminately. Martin is going to have to come to terms with the fact that he is married to a true slut, and for once I'm not saying it just for effect. I really mean it. I am a slut, and I love being a slut.
Martin was already there when I got home. He was sitting in our main lounge watching a news bulletin on TV, and I just calmly walked over to him and unbuttoned my skirt again. I peeled the material back and showed him the lining and my leg. "Look," I said.
The evidence was even better than I was expecting. There was a large wet patch in the black lining, about a quarter of which had started to dry and the whitish stain was becoming quite visible. My stocking also had streaks of wetness, but the best part was the lace top, where strands of cum could still be seen stretched in the gaps between the lace. One of the suspender straps had also obviously taken a hit, and the material was damp and sticky.
Martin took all of this in and then looked up at me. "I didn't think you were seeing him today," he said.
"I didn't," I answered, and my voice hardened as I felt the excitement and sexual contempt rise in me.
"Get on your knees and start licking that cum from my stocking. Come on, you prickless little shit! Do something useful for once!"
A moment later I had one of those divine, unforgettable moments again when I saw my husband feed on another man's ejaculation. Words can't describe the ecstasy of watching him suffer this degradation.
"Wank yourself!" I commanded. "It's about the only thing you're good at. Come on, get that little lollipop stick working. Give me a laugh."
I knew Martin would mistakenly assume that I'd masturbated a client and I didn't enlighten him otherwise as I started talking him through the encounter. I unbuttoned my cardigan again as I described how I had let the man rub his hands over my rubber bra. I kissed this man as he fondled me, I told him. Do you like the thought of that? Your wife kissing someone else now, and not just Matt? Ah yes, and I suspender-wanked him too. And you thought that little pleasure was reserved for you. Oh, Martin, you really opened Pandora's Box when you got me hooked on this extramarital sex kick. The cocks I'm going to play with over the next few years...
"Come on," I urged him. "I'm going upstairs for a bath and then I'm going to have a vibrator session on my own. You're keeping me waiting."
I grabbed his hair and pulled his head to my latex panties, making him lick my vagina through the rubber. I then waited for the right moment, just as he was approaching climax.
"Do you want to know who it was, Martin? Do you want to know whose cum you just licked up? You're going to be surprised..."
He hesitated for just a moment when I said this, but he was past the point of no return.
"Who was it?" he managed to say.
He must have heard the relish in my voice when I gave him the name. The sweet joy of utter humiliation. Poor old Martin, another perfectly aimed kick in the balls from his sex-mad wife.
"No, I don't believe it! Oh, Christ, no I can't believe it. You're kidding. You've got to be kidding. Oh no, oh no, ahhhh..."
The mere mention of the name had caused him to climax immediately, and it left him shaking. There's no way he would have had an orgasm of such intensity had I not told him who it was who had played with me, which just goes to show that my husband is as warped as I am. He got a tremendous kick from his humiliation; deep down he revelled in it.
Whatever you think of this incident, the sad fact is that you will never appreciate the magnitude of its significance for both Martin and me because there is so much background I cannot give. It's that context that makes the episode so exhilarating for me, and without it this is just another sex story, a rather pointless retelling of the sort of encounter that I expect will be happening quite regularly in my life soon. It very much comes back to the symbolism that I discussed a couple of posts ago. My sexual adventures have meaning, have a symbolic kicker to them that doubles the pleasure for me due to the simultaneous humiliation they inflict on Martin. If I can't let you see this side to an event then I'm not interested in letting you see any of it.
What's become patently clear over the last few weeks is that it's not possible to write openly about my life without putting relationships at risk, and this is not something that I'm prepared to allow. I did warn about this problem some time ago, and the moment has come to make a choice between the enjoyment I'm getting from writing and the enjoyment I'm getting from living. It's not really a contest, and regrettably therefore my diary writing must cease.
This is the last regular entry I will be making. I will leave the pages up for a while and for the moment I'm not saying I won't occasionally add some further discussion or pictures. What you won't be getting though is a step-by-step commentary on my life, and that's probably no bad thing considering what I plan to do over the next few years. It's unfortunate that the diary couldn't have been text only because then it would have been far harder to associate events with me, but then again I don't think my words would have been as powerful without some imagery to stimulate your imagination.
There are so many things I still want to tell you about and so many exciting events are no doubt going to be happening over the coming months. For one thing, Martin will be going abroad for a week soon and Matt has agreed to stay at my home. When my husband returns there will be several hours of video waiting for him, and I'm sure he'll love viewing them while he's on all fours with a gag in his mouth. I'll be behind him urging him on with my dildo briefs as he is forced to watch close-ups of his wife sucking her lover to ejaculation... (hmm, I might not be able to resist putting up a few photos). But it's time I started acting with some common sense and stopped showing off to the world. I'm too greedy for attention, and now is a good time to retreat back into obscurity.
I'll still be writing my diary, but regrettably it will be offline from now on. Maybe one day I'll throw caution to the winds and put the whole thing on this site.
I think it's going to be quite a read.
|To contact me, email maria at this site|