“Have you got something nice for me to wear?” she’ll coo, over the phone, if we get to talk earlier in the day.
“I have, but you’ll have to wait and see what it is,” I invariably tease.
She can’t keep much at home, obviously, so I have most of her kit (to which I occasionally add a new piece), and I lay out her outfit for when she arrives: there’ll often be stockings, heels, a basque or one-poece body, or maybe a bra and thong set, perhaps gloves or a mask. Choosing it – thinking about what she’ll wear and how it may suit what I have planned for her – gives me an anticipatory frisson. And however distracted or stressed her mood may be as a result of her working day, or her difficult escape from home, re-adjusting her make-up and getting kitted out for sex always soothes and relaxes her and turns her on. She sloughs off her roles as colleague or partner or mother and becomes the sex Barbie of her fantasies and my desires. So that when she emerges from the bathroom in her finery, graceful and gaudy as a new mayfly, she’s become a purely sexual being; one whose only purpose is to give pleasure and be pleasured, to desire and be desired. It has, then, become my job, my mission, to find her inner slut. (It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.)
I can’t say she wouldn’t welcome any desire I wanted to impose – since the imposition of that desire by me would be a genuine thrill for her – but all those emails and chats and feedback tend to shape my desires. So that what I seemingly demand of her on my own account is, of course, exactly what she would secretly want to do anyway.
I tend to have a rough narrative in my mind – some idea of what we’re going to get up to – simply because it’s much more difficult to be the firm and demanding lover which seems to be required if you haven’t got an agenda and are responding only to the whim of the moment. And as adulterous lovers, we don’t have time to take wrong turnings: we don’t see each other often enough, or for long enough, to indulge in trial and error: it’s got to be hot from the off. But my sense of what we’ll do is only in the form of mental bullet points; what transpires may not follow the script, as it were; it still has to adapt and respond to an urge which might take hold of us, to any one of a thousand strange alchemical reactions which may spark between us and carry us off in some new and unexpected direction.
We managed a double session last week – an afternoon and all evening (though obviously we both have to leave the hotel to go home at half-past five, as if from work, and then return in the evening, on a pretext).
“Sorry! I had to go and look at new furniture with D….” (her partner), she told me. “I don’t often take a lunch-break, let alone get an afternoon off,” she explained; “so I had to multi-task and make the most of it, if you don’t mind.”
Honestly, she is naughty, isn’t she? – shopping with hubby while her lover is in a nearby hotel deciding what sort of sexy kit she’s going to be wearing for the afternoon - and planning what lascivious acts she’ll be performing in it! (I say naughty, but this is nothing – wait til you read future posts….) You could suggest she was selfish for making me wait – and cruel for dismissing him so she could go and shag someone else - but then, she aims, she lives, to please; so pleasing two men in one afternoon, in two very different ways, is something of a result for her.
That afternoon, she had to wear a short, stretchy skirt over knickers and hold-ups, with heels, and her blouse over a cute matching balconette bra. When she was ready, I made her stand still, at first: partly so that I could admire the way she looked; partly because I find that being made to stand still, when she very badly wants to touch herself or touch me, is a very effective way of building up sexual tension. I undid the blouse, slowly, and toyed a little with her: raising the skirt enough to feel the crease in her arse and the soft skin of her thigh between stocking top and knickers; teasing her nipples under the fabric of the bra; running the tip of my tongue along her upper lip; brushing the back of my hand down her lean abdomen, curling my fingers under the waistband of the skirt and pushing down until my knuckles grazed her mons. But before I could move things on, I needed to put the blindfold on her.
Forget your fancy lingerie, your aphrodisiacs and pills; forget Barry White on the stereo and turning the lights down low: a blindfold, as we all know, is THE single most erotic item lovers can use, the simplest, the most effective and the sexiest accessory of all. It’s as simple as an old scarf and as effective as a drug. At a stroke, the wearer (male or female) is stripped of individuality and will.
Although she’s occasionally worn one in the past, routinely using a blindfold or mask is a recent addition. Why? Because for B, it has another function: when she can’t see me looking at her, she loses all anxieties about how she looks, and all inhibitions about me looking at her, or about what I’m making her do:
Not only does it take away the wearer’s self-consciousness and thus banish shyness: it removes your specificity as their lover, too. The blindfold makes you, the lover, faceless: you’re just a cock, hands (how many hands? – it’s hard to tell), a mouth, or more than one mouth. And for a woman like B, who is aroused by a submissive role, by performing someone else’s demands, a blindfold also means pleasurably giving herself over, into the power of the other; entering a world only of sensation, one where she must obey instructions and guidance, or she will totter and fall in her heels; where she must be led, must allow herself to be positioned, submit to being made to stand or sit, bend or kneel.
While I toyed with her - in her dark world, reduced to sensation – toyed and teased and touched, I explained what she was going to be doing for me that afternoon. Urgent lust has its place. (In fact, we had a hilarious session, recently; when we were trying to discuss a lot of serious stuff we really did have to get through, yet couldn’t keep out hands off one another: as a result, we ended up fucking like maniacs, while still talking). Generally speaking, though, it’s good to delay and tease: it’ll get urgent enough in due course; but there’s no harm in upping the ante by telling someone first (and in no uncertain terms) what you’re going to be doing to them: thus giving them time to anticipate and speculate.
What she was going to be doing, was a bit of a performance with a dildo. I’d had an email tip-off that something of the sort was on her wish-list, anyway:
I knelt then and licked my way up her legs. I don’t open her up straight away with my tongue, but instead concentrate on an extended tease: running the tip of my tongue up her inner thighs, almost to her opening; kissing and nuzzling that soft place to either side of her cunt where her legs meet her belly; dragging the whole flat width of my tongue very lightly up her crease, without letting it enter; pausing promisingly over her clit before descending almost to the tight little button of her bum, and then starting over.
Once I do get my tongue into her slit, I love the way B is so eager – instead of passively being licked, she squirms on the end of my tongue, starts to move her hips backwards forwards, as if to fuck my face. It makes me want to give her more, to give her the dildo as well; so once I’ve really got her going, we swop places, with her in the chair and me kneeling between her legs.
Wearing the blindfold, she can’t see me and so she doesn’t feel self-conscious about being exposed to my gaze. I lube-up the dildo (a sort-of jelly one in a cock shape) and begin to slide that slowly between her lips, while I lick and flick her clit with my tongue. This seems to please her, judging by the blasphemies to which she begins to give voice. One of her own hands is soon under her arse and the other, the right one, has liberated both her breasts from the half-cup of the bra and is fondling them, squeezing the nipples, as she so often prompts me to do.
Inspired, I change my grip on the jelly dong, with my fingers around the bottom and my thumb along the top, curved upwards; so that the pad of my thumb is nudging her clit each time I slide its slick length into her. It’s an old seven-incher, re-commissioned because of her renewed interest in toys. Being more rigid and cock-shaped, it’s better for her to lick – though not so good as the new big one for this sort of trick, because that enables me to get a firmer grip on it, while still giving her a good six inches. This one’s working, though; it’s definitely working, as I bend to alternate fingers and tongue. Soon she’s panting and beginning to yodel, getting so excited she’s lifting her arse right off the chair, pushing herself onto the dildo. I take it in my left hand, so that I can give her a steady, slower action; while the middle finger and thumb of my right hand keeps up a quicker, lighter rhythm on her clit. This does it for her – and it does it in a noisy, tearful climax, this first time – I only hope neighbouring guests haven’t checked in yet.
(Of course, the other mental note I can’t help making while I’m giving her a bit of dildo action, is that this would make a good position for her to take a second cock. She wouldn’t have to turn her head much to enable another man, standing beside the back of the chair, to present his cock to her mouth. It’s an exciting thought I intend to discuss with her soon. Because really, once someone is wearing a blindfold and taking cock and dildos, willy-nilly, in every orifice, the question of whether to bring in someone else to give her a bit of extra, live wood at the same time as you, instead of extra prosthetic cock, ceases to be an emotional issue and becomes one of logistics and boundaries.)
Perhaps it’s on the strength of this line of thought that I inform her I want to see her suck the dildo while masturbating. So we have a little cooling off period, in which she gives my cock some welcome attention, and then I tell her to get up onto the bed on all fours. For some reason, it isn’t quite right. You’d think it would be easy enough, wouldn’t you, to flex your back into a nice, concave curve and stick out your tush, invitingly, while bending your head down to suck a synthetic cock? She muffs it, though: back arched, like a human doing the cat pose in yoga; instead of like a receptive feline queen in heat.
If she gets something wrong in this way, she has to do it again, until she’s doing it to my satisfaction. If she persists in getting it wrong, she’s ‘punished’, by a spanking; or by being ‘denied’ pleasure. Again this isn’t my idea, but I must confess I’m quite happy to oblige:
If she gets it right, she’s rewarded - with cock, toy, fingers or tongue.
Of course I can only watch this for so long, before wanting to replace the dildo with my own cock. It’s a hot sight and I want to keep on looking; but more than that, I need those encircling lips, that eager tongue around my own aching, straining member. I tell her that she’s got it right – she looks so good, I’m going to give her some cock. At this, she lets out a keening sound of pleasure. I kneel in front of her on the bed, take a bunch of hair in my right hand and lift her head up from the dildo. Avidly, she takes it in. The hand which held the dildo begins to wank the shaft, while her head travels backwards and forwards over the head of my cock. Her other hand rubs feverishly, wanting to make herself come again at the moment my spunk shoots down her throat........
The evening is always different again. How strange, to return to the same room, in darkness! I smooth the rumpled bed, put away discarded lingerie. I’ve a chilled bottle of wine with me and pour myself a glass, switch on some side lights. Daytime sex has a different kind of energy and I find I come more easily, quickly – and often she does, too. I put some music on (I’m planning to make some noise – and get some noise out of her, too), and I light some candles.
Once the children are in bed and her excuses to her partner have been made, B will get a taxi across town to the hotel, calling me as she approaches, so I can go down to the lobby in the lift to meet her. We’ll kiss, riding up in the lift, while a taped female voice, calm, Amercian, tells us which floor we've reached. She’ll sip some wine, shed her little jacket and the bag with her yoga kit in (yeah, yoga’s the excuse – we’ve done all the jokes); she’ll expect me to admire her (and I do, I do), waiting for the compliments, as she stands before me, or adjusts her hair and make-up in the mirror over the desk.
She doesn’t need a lot of chat, having seen me that afternoon.
"What have you got for me to wear, then?" she’ll ask, after I’ve kissed and fondled her. And I’ll show her the things laid out, ready for her arrival – a Luxxa body which is mostly black organza ribbon and elastane, with push-up half-cups, but no pretence whatsoever of actually providing even token coverage to the lower half, hold-ups with deep lacy tops, lace gloves, a diamante choker, and naughty high heels, with a pattern of sequins and cute little bows. She goes to the bathroom to change – a process of calming transformation.
While she prepared herself behind the bathroom door, I thought about how much penetrative sex we were having nowadays. Since I’d got her high on it, we were filling every hole with something at fairly regular intervals - and yet we weren’t getting anywhere – although the attempt was certainly pleasurable.
What I didn't know before loving you is that I really,
really like being penetrated by, well, anything
really. Anything hard and approximately cock-like at
least. I absolutely love you spanking me.
Oh, and having you fuck me with a dildo. I like to
fuck myself with whatever comes to hand as much as the
next woman but I must admit that the big pink silicone
dildo is very very exciting.
thighs. I can't stop thinking about it. The most
exciting thing of all was being teased and only licked
now and then. When you slid the dildo in I was in
heaven.
And another thing, which I can add in retrospect: on this particular night, she complained she’d had to service her partner the evening before; when she’d rather just have concentrated on an extended grooming and preening session in anticipation of our meeting. Then she complained to me the next day, too; this time that she’d had to attend to him yet again when she got home from our one-day fuck-fest – at a time when she’d rather have quietly masturbated in the bath, while re-living its highlights. Now we don’t normally go into our home sex-lives too much – it’s generally recognised that they’re mostly uninspired, and in their case, mercifully infrequent. Of course I recognise that married lovers inevitably act as fluffers for the ‘wronged’ partner back home sometimes (see my earlier post ) – but you have to ask - why two nights in a row on a weekday? One can only assume that she was giving off such an excited, sexual vibe that she’d pricked his dormant interest. And she may not even have been aware of this herself, but for all her complaints about his intrusive needs, I nevertheless detected a certain vain contentment, at finding herself the focus of unbidden, surplus male desire; as if it was self-evident that when you were a woman like her, available and acquiescent - and when you went around extra loved-up and gorgeous – then having to take cock from every direction was more or less par for the course.
In short, all things considered, try as I might, I wasn’t ensuring she was getting enough penetration. Fun though all our antics were, it seemed increasingly obvious to me that we were going to have to call in help. She wasn’t averse:
I really like having your cock and being penetrated too. I am very satisfied with a silicone cock though I would have real one for you darling if you wanted me to.
I didn’t mind – but I was convinced she’d feel so much happier if we could get a nice big cock into her from behind while she was sucking mine. And recently, I was proved right.
Nearly as tall as me now, she emerged from the bathroom on elegantly long legs, a walking wet dream.
"Well?" She asks me.
But she already knows the answer, because she’s examining herself in the full-length mirror while she poses in front of me, tilting her hips first one way and then the other, to extend her legs even further. She pretends to be appalled by the Luxxa body.
"Oh my God, it’s just so very very rude!" she observes.
But I can tell she’s very happy with her appearance; glancing at herself approvingly over the rim of her wine glass.
"How do you want me, then?" she asks; her habitual opening gambit.
I wanted her sitting on my face. I wanted her lavishing the sort of emergency resuscitation technique on my cock that I’d watched her give the dildo earlier. And then I wanted to fuck her brains out.
As I say, I’ll generally have a rough agenda in my head – just so that it touches all the bases she needs me to touch and so that B evolves naturally from A and segues smoothly into C. I may put it together from urges or fantasies of my own; but if it isn’t based on them, I’ll certainly be throwing in hints and pleas from her emails....
My agenda right now is devoted to hair-pulling, name-calling, arse-fucking, spanking and fucking myself silly with sex toys. Also being tied up (which I fantasise about now), blindfolded, and teased with cock. I have very intense feelings about your cock. I want to see it, touch it, lick it but I also like to know you are touching it when I can't see it or touch it. Especaially with a cock ring. What are you trying to do to me? That was too much. I like you looking at me when I'm dressed up so if you make sure I look good and blindfold me, you can do what you like.
I wondered if you would have an objection to me using a toy in my arse while you fucked me? If I was wearing lingerie, stockings and heels, and doing everything you asked me to. Do you think that would be OK to try?
Already revved up by the afternoon’s shenanigans, the teasing tonguing I’d had in mind soon turned into an urgent, hungry 69. She loves a face full of cock and greedily licked and sucked; while I bit the inside of her thighs, then held her arse and ate her up until she hollered:
It was so hot I can't explain last time we were together – I mean the first time you made me come in the evening, under your tongue. That's what I like...What you were doing to me... wow, it’s not like any sort of clit-licking I've ever had before you, it was more like being eaten alive. It was rough, intense and I didn't feel you were doing it to please me, it was as if you were hungrily satisfying yourself, accidentally-on-purpose satisfying me at the sametime. I particularly love 69 (oops, perhaps I should have told you before, though I think I may have?) because 1. the focus is equal so I don't have to think, and 2. I get cock in my face. Though I had actually forgotten just how mindblowing it is (for me) to have a fit body within holding and licking distance, on top of me. So it's a joke really to say that the focus is equal because I can't focus at all and couldn't give a decent blow job if my life depended on it. I found it ridiculously exciting.
Then, of course, I fucked her – on her front, on her back, sideways. Legs in the air, feet behind my back, on her knees, on her stomach, arse out over the corner of the bed. Not for as long as I’d liked to have done, though; eating her out had got me so excited, I had to come. And I had to see it. I got her to frig herself with her fingers, straddled her chest, with her tits between my legs, and for the second time that day I fucked her face, spunking over her outstretched tongue.
After we’d had a bit of a break, she gave me probably THE best floor show you’re ever going to see. No, I tell a lie – it wasn’t quite slow enough. I insisted on seeing the whole thing again when we had more time on a weekend away – THAT was the one which was the best floor show you’re ever going to see... (to be linked) This was the first time I’d actually watched her arse-fuck herself, though (I know, I know – I’m so slow – but we have a long agenda and not a lot of time). Awesome! - it absolutely blew my mind. I got so excited, I had to fuck her again – of course. Inevitably, I wanted to fuck her up the arse, given the display she’d just given me; but I’m a pretty reasonable size and anal sex takes time and relaxation, which we didn’t have at that point in the evening. So I made do with her request for a double-fucking, with a toy and my cock. I got her bum-up on the bed and her fingers were already between her legs, as I slid my greased cock up the crease in her rear and wanked it, nudging her button, a sensation she loves. I withdrew and got the toy in first – a small silicone phallus for anal, smaller than the glass dildo – and she sighed with pleasure as I very very slowly sank it, til my knuckles met her arse. Then I slid my cock into her cunt, feeling the toy in her rear against the bulbous ridge of the glans. I fucked her very slowly – the whole length of my cock sliding in right to the hilt. Then after a while, when I had a rhythm, I fucked her arse with the toy at the same time, but at a different pace; even slower than my cock in her cunt.
With both holes filled and her own eager fingers busy with her clit, there was pandemonium underneath me, as B bucked her hips and spat a muffled, indecipherable mixture of curses and praise into the mattress. I kept double-fucking her until she came – again, noisily; we are THE worst hotel neighbours - and then I wanked my cock until it spunked onto her arse – producing another stream of blasphemies, expletives and happy sighs.
