Little Kitty Slave

Adrienne Bailon Nude

2008-11-12T09:03:00.000-08:00

Apparently Disney's 'Cheetah Girl' has lived up to her boyfriend's (Robert Kardashian) family name and leaked nude pictures of herself on the 'net.

Tired...

2008-08-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the lack of posts - and the fact that most of them are pictures. As you can imagine, with a lil' baby around it's VERY difficult to find the time to blog. It's especially difficult to find the time to do sexy things and then blog about them.

I think I'd been talking about Laurent and the first time my Hubby succeeded in sharing me with another man - and that was a pretty exciting and sexy time. More happened than just what I wrote. I mean, on that Friday night, I got naked and on my hands and knees and gave Laurent a long and sloppy blowjob... Then Hubby took me upstairs and fucked me roughly... Then the next morning I had unprotected sex with Laurent and let him cum inside me and...

That was what I was going to write...

Yep, it looked like Hubby had a fetish he hadn't exactly been open about. I'd never really thought much about the fact that he sometimes dove down between my legs and ate me out after he'd cum inside me... I thought that was his way of being attentive.

But when I've got some other man's cum inside me, it seemed really gross and wrong and just a little bit gay, to be honest.

Anyway. More on that later. Let me tell you about the rest of the weekend.

Well, on Saturday, Laurent got up, had a shower and headed off to London. He ended up meeting a friend there and staying the night, so I didn't get to see him again until he came back on Sunday evening.

Sorry - too busy to write. Here's an arse shot instead!

2008-08-11T18:14:00.000-07:00

Not bad considering Hubby was using a cheap camera...

Big unsexy Mummy Panties

2008-08-08T17:58:00.001-07:00

Going Bareback

2008-08-08T12:26:00.000-07:00

I've had several emails since my last post - all triggered by the fact that I didn't use a condom when I fucked Laurent and I let him come inside of me.

They were basically split into two camps - first off, the ones from angry readers saying: 'I don't think your blog is real. If it was you would have used a condom when you fucked a virtual stranger.'

Secondly, there were the ones saying: 'I can't believe how irresponsible you are! Don't you know how dangerous unprotected sex can be! You're setting a terrible example!'

So before I continue with my story, I thought I better clarify.

Yes, this blog IS real. And NO, I didn't use a condom when I fucked Laurent.

There are various reasons for this. First off, I was six months pregnant at the time and since birth control has never agreed with me, it's fucking WONDERFUL to have totally free, wild and spontaneous unprotected sex whenever you want. (Also, I have to admit, I was half asleep that morning and it didn't even occur to me to ask Laurent to put a rubber on.)

Secondly, horny Hubby gets so fucking hard at the thought of another guy coming inside me that he'd have been disappointed if I made Laurent wear a condom - and I KNOW that's the lamest excuse you've ever heard (one email said: 'Doesn't your husband care about your sexual health at all?' But the fact is, it turned him on and that turned me on and did I mention I was half asleep when it happened?)

Thirdly, Laurent wasn't exactly a virtual stranger. Hubby had worked with him for weeks and while he didn't come with a certificate of non-AIDSness, I knew from Hubby that he had a single steady girlfriend and didn't fuck about. Girls get shagged senseless in nightclubs every weekend without johnnies and not all of them have their coochies shrivel up with syphilis. So at the end of the day, I'll just have to say I took a calculated risk (and since I've had every blood test known to man since baby was born, I can confidently say it was a good call.)

YES - I know, I know. It's not smart to have sex outside of your marriage without using protection. It's dumb and I was stupid and it was a spur of the moment decision that could have been a disaster.

But it wasn't. So thanks for the emails. Now stop sending them, pls!

And forthly? Maybe I AM just a bit of a whore. I made the concious decision to have sex with Laurent without a condom and at the end of the day, it's difficult to justify that

Condomless?

2008-07-30T04:09:00.001-07:00

The First Adventure Part Four

2008-07-29T11:13:00.001-07:00

The next morning, Hubby shook me away when we heard the sound of Laurent’s alarm clock buzzing.

“Go in there,” Hubby ordered me, “and take care of him.”

I grumbled and snuggled into the covers – until Hubby’s bare foot flattened against my bum and he pushed me out of the bed – bonk – onto the floor.

Naked, wearing only the collar, he led me into the landing and we pushed open the door to the spare room.

Laurent was lying in bed, a little bleary eyes. He smiled as he saw us.

Hubby gave me a smack on my bottom.

“Go on, then…”

Still feeling sleepy rather than sexy, I crossed the room and slipped under the covers.

Laurent was totally naked. His arms encircled me and I pressed my chilly body against his delicious warmth.

He was skinny, but had a nice body. Well defined chest. Hairy, but not too hairy. And a big, hard erection.

I didn’t waste any time that morning. I was already wet. I just slung one leg over his hips and straddled him.

My hand found his dick. I fumbled with it, aiming his throbbing head at the damp lips of my pussy. Then I hit the right spot and sunk down, down, down onto his rigid flesh.

My cunt swallowed him up, until he was buried deep inside me.

Laurent groaned. His hips bucked, thrusting himself deeper into me.

“Sssh,” I pressed a finger against his lips. Then, with him lying still beneath me, I started grinding my hips in a circular motion. Round and round, grinding my clit against his bony hips.

Laurent’s breath was ragged. His big hands each grabbed one of my big boobs and squeezed – hard enough to make me gasp.

I rode him, bucking my hips, grinding against him, working my body expertly and feeling the surprising rush of an oncoming orgasm. It had taken seconds.

“Uuuuuh,” I came, shuddering.

Laurent was gasping now – and despite my instructions to lie still, his bony hips were thrusting into me. The bed springs squeaked. My spasming pussy stretched to accommodate his throbbing dick.

“Oui… Oui…” He squeezed my breasts hard enough to leave marks – and thrust upwards, deep inside me.

His hips were still. I felt the bulge and throb of his cock inside my pussy. Warmth and wetness.

He’d just come in me.

Exhausted, but satisfied, I flopped down in the bed, pressing my sweaty body against his. We were both gasping for breath.

Giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek, Laurent rolled me aside. His flaccid cock slid out of me, followed by a dribble of sperm.

Totally unashamed, he walked naked past my husband, who was standing similarly naked in the doorway, watching the performance. Hubby’s big, hard cock was in his hand and he was stroking it.

A moment later Laurent was in the shower, his singing muffled by the sound of the running water.

Hubby threw back the covers and dived on top of me.

It was weird, embracing in the spare bed. It was hot with the Frenchman’s warmth and smelt like him. It felt… wrong.

But I liked it.

What felt just as wrong was Hubby, rolling onto his side so his hips were in my face and his head was disappearing between my thighs.

Sixty nine?

I looked at his straining erection, bobbing in front of my face. Then I felt his wide, rasping tongue between my legs.

I groaned.

“No, no,” I moaned. “No, that’s not right…”

He was licking me – slurping on my freshly-fucked cunt.

His tongue swirled around my clit. I shuddered, flopping back onto the bed covers.

Despite the fact that my pussy was filled with another man’s cum, Hubby was feasting on it.

As he coaxed me towards another orgasm, I reluctantly surrendered and engulfed his own hardness with my mouth.

Niether of us took long.

Hubby’s well practiced tongue had my pussy shivering and shuddering and I came… Meanwhile, his aroused cock soon spurted into my mouth, encouraged by an enthusiastic finger up his rear.

Recovering, Hubby clambered rightways up and spooned behind me, hugging me with a loving intimacy I could hardly have expected, considering I’d just fucked another man in front of him.

Slightly incredulous, I rolled onto my back and peered up at his kindly grey eyes.

Post orgasm, the lusty beast had gone. Here was my Hubby, not my master.

I kissed me. “I love you, Little Kitty.”

“I love you too,” I told him, realizing that I could taste Laurent’s sperm on his lips.

The First Adventure Part Three

2008-07-25T13:14:00.000-07:00

I have never been fucked so hard as I was that night.

Hubby literally dragged me up the stairs and threw me onto the bed.

“Not so rough,” I told him. “The baby….”

But he wasn’t listening and he didn’t seem to care.

Off came his jeans. He left his shirt on. Jutting out underneath was his erection and it looked thicker and harder and more straining than I’d ever seen it before.

Because of my round belly, I couldn’t lie on my tummy any more, so Hubby had me on my side, one leg stretched out and the other bent at the hip and knee – so he could straddle my leg and enter me from behind. Even though I was soaking wet after giving Laurent his blowjob, it hurt when Hubby forced himself into me because his dick was so hard and straining.

The bed creaked. The headboard banged against the wall. My big boobs bounced back and forth like jelly.

It took him seconds before the grunting began. Then, pulling himself from my pussy, Hubby got up onto his knees over me and rapidly jerked off his throbbing erection, splattering me with burning hot spurts of cum.

It was only after he’d rubbed out the last drops of his sticky load that his breathing slowed.

I was lying there on my side, panting, covered in globs of cum.

I hadn’t come again. I hadn’t even come close. Hubby had just used me to get off.

When he flopped back onto the bed, I turned around.

“Can you pass me a towel?”

“No,” he grinned crookedly, using one hand to rub his sperm into my skin. “You’re staying like that all night.”

And I did.

Which isn’t as sexy as it sounds. Hot cum quickly dries to cold, clammy damp spots and I was covered in them.

Nobody likes to sleep in the wet spot! Least of all BE the wet spot!

The First Adventure Part Two

2008-07-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

Hubby gazed into my eyes with a sexy intensity.

“You’re going to go next door,” he growled huskily, “and give Laurent the blowjob of his life.”

I froze. My eyes widened.

“We’ve been talking about it for months,” Hubby growled. “I told you I wanted to see you suck another man’s cock. And after what you did…” He was referring, of course, to my encounter with Darren in that hotel room in Birmingham. “You owe me.”

I was conflicted. Right then and there, I knew, was the tipping point between continuing my abortive project to be a sexual submissive and just throwing in the towel. I was annoyed and disgusted with Hubby for hitting me with this demand right out of the blue.

But, don’t you know it? I was also wet.

I mean, Laurent was a great looking guy. And sexy. And I wouldn’t have gone along with Hubby’s filthy talk and submissive sex games if I hadn’t ever considered this sort of thing a possibility, right? In fact, I’d even been angry and disappointed at him for going on about ‘sharing’ me and never actually having the wherewithal to set anything up!

So fighting every instinct to say ‘no,’ I bit my bottom lip and made a conscious decision to do this thing.

Hubby grabbed the whiskey. I got the After Eights. And with butterflies in my stomach, I shuffled back into the living room.

Laurent was just sitting there, idly sipping his wine. He looked prissy and neat and twee. It occurred to me that he might have no idea about Hubby’s scheme and when I suddenly accosted him, he’d be horrified. I could just imagine the shock of a fat, pregnant wife and a creepy English husband sexually harassing him.

But Laurent’s eyes lit up when he saw the collar around my neck. I realized Hubby must have told him about his plans.

Hubby – I mean Master – wrenched me to a halt. He made me stand in front of Laurent in my jeans and sweatshirt.

“Stay there.”

Taking the box of After Eights, he flopped down into the armchair and poured two generous glasses of whiskey. He passed one to Laurent.

“Okay, my sexy little slut,” Hubby purred at me, peering up from his chair. “Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.”

Eyes flicking between Laurent and my husband, I nodded.

Grabbing the hem of my sweatshirt, I pulled it over my head and threw it to the floor. I was wearing a t-shirt underneath. I left that on as I pulled off my trainers and socks and threw them across the room (since I was worried they’d be smelly!)

I stood there in my big, unsexy cotton panties and t-shirt. My bulging belly… Well, bulged. And my big tits were squeezed into my ill-fitting bra.

But as unsexy as I felt, the appreciative (hungry?) eyes of Laurent and Master clearly proved that they found me rather appetizing.

I grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it off. Then I stood there in my big knickers and bulging bra.

Hubby’s voice was hoarse. “Take off the bra.”

I unclasped the front and slowly pulled the two cups apart. My big, swollen breasts flopped out.

Laurent gasped.

“Turn around,” Hubby ordered. Nervously, I did as I was told. “Now bend over.”

Bent at the waist, my big arse in his face, I dug my thumbs into the waistband of my knickers and slowly wriggled them over my hips. Then my thighs. Then they dropped to my ankles.

“Putain…” Laurent breathed, staring into my round bum and hairy pussy.

I straightened up and turned around, peering down at Laurent, focusing entirely on him. I knew Hubby was watching, but it was this intense Frenchman who I was performing for and now I’d got into the spirit of things, I was wildly excited at the task Hubby had assigned me.

“You are beautiful,” Laurent purred.

My pussy gushed. I wish I’d have known about this! I’d have shaven it!

Dropping to my knees, I reached forward and placed my hot hands on the rough material of his jeans. I could see a bulge in the front of his flies.

My hands slid up, by thumbs tracing a path along his inner thighs.

My mouth was dry (the last thing I needed, given what I was about to do.)

Fingers trembling, I unbuckled his belt and popped the buttons of his flies.

Laurent just sat there, his breath deepening.

Pulling apart his flies, I saw the sheen of his tight boxers.

My fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans.

Then, with a sharp tug, I wrenched them and his boxers down around his knees.

Boing! From a nest of busy, black pubic hair sprung a long, thick, uncircumcised penis.

It smelt musky. It was dark – olive coloured, like Laurent’s skin.

My fingers touched the bare flesh of his thighs. He gasped.

I slid my hands up his thighs, feeling the bristly black hair against my palm. Then my fingers reached his hairy balls.

I turned to Hubby, looking for approval. The lusty look on my husband’s face reassured me that he was totally lapping up every moment of this.

My fingers tickled Laurent’s balls.

“Merde,” he gasped, reaching a hand up the run it through my hair. “That feels wonderful.”

The fingers of my other hand encircled his shaft. I pumped his cock for a few minutes, feeling the warm firmness throb in my hand.

Then, licking my lips, I lowered my head.

His musky scent engulfed my nostrils, just as my open lips engulfed his cock.

“Fils de Pute,” he gasped, jerking his hips upwards, jabbing his dick further into my mouth.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the strange sensation of a stranger’s dick in my mouth.

My tongue swirled. Saliva dribbled down Laurent’s balls. My fingers pumped his shaft as I lifted my mouth from his cock and replaced my sucking with firm, long licks. Up and down the shaft. Across the wrinkled skin of his balls. Pulling down his foreskin, I lapped at his swollen, purple cockhead like a kitten drinking milk.

“Uhhhh,” Laurent’s fingers curled into my hair, forcing my mouth back over his cockhead. A sharp tug of my black hair brought tears to my eyes.

There was the rustle of cloth. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear Hubby slide off his chair and come crawling up behind me.

His hot hands cupped my buttocks, spreading my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut harder, trying to process the dual sensations of Laurent’s throbbing hardness in my mouth and Hubby’s rough hands on my naked arse.

My head was bobbing up and down. Laurent’s thick cock was slurping wetly in and out of my suctioning lips. My tongue was swirling as if I was sucking a delicious ice-lolly.

I groaned hotly around the meat in my mouth. I’d just felt Hubby’s fingers part the hair lips of my pussy and slide inside my sodden cunt.

And I was sodden. Absolutely dripping.

“Mon dieu,” Laurent groaned hotly. “I’m going to cum…”

With Hubby’s slick thumb circling my thrumming clit and his fat fingers massaging my g-spot, I knew I wasn’t far behind.

I squeezed Laurent’s tight balls. I bobbed my head faster, up and down, feeling him lift his hips from the sofa to sink his cock deeper into my mouth.

I squeezed my thighs together. I came.

Clenching down hard on Hubby’s fingers, I felt my clit explode. The waves of shuddering pleasure forced a guttural groan which opened up my throat, letting Laurent sink inside my mouth up to the balls.

I couldn’t breath. My throat bulged. His hands held my head down, my mouth impaled by his dick.

I think I would have passed out if it wasn’t for Hubby’s fingers hammering between by sticky thighs – driving my orgasm harder and harder. I coughed and spluttered and groaned and choked and Laurent ignored it all as he forcefully fucked my mouth and spurted salty wetness across my tongue.

The Frenchman kept my head held down hard, forcing my to swallow the mouthful of cum. Only after my throat bulged and I gulped down his seed did he let me up. My mouth detached wetly from his limp cock, great, sticky strands of saliva and cum stretching from his flesh to my lips.

Laurent lay back on the sofa, gasping for air. He smiled.

I wiped my wet lips and chin with the back of my hand.

“That,” said Hubby, still knelt behind me with his fingers buried deep within my cunt, “was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

More Candid Pics...

2008-07-23T16:55:00.001-07:00

Just some pics of my post-baby body.

This fantastic vibrator of mine can be bought here.

The First Adventure Part 1

2008-07-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

It was about six months into my pregnancy when it happened.

It being one of the memorable sexual adventures in almost a year bereft of sexual adventures.

It was a Friday night and Hubby was coming back from Paris to spend the weekend – and bringing a colleague of his with him. Apparently this guy, Laurent, was going to be moving to the London office and wanted to get a lay of the land and scope out some accommodation first.

So feeling fat and unattractive (even though Hubby promised my early pregnancy bulge was beautiful) I drove to Waterloo station and picked them up when their Eurostar came in.

Hubby came staggering down the platform, looking wrinkled and disheveled in the same suit he’d been wearing for most of the week. And behind him, straight-spined and elegantly dressed, was a deliciously handsome Frenchman.

I knew he was French from the moment I saw him. He was wearing a sharp suit, pulling a suitcase along behind him prissily on wheels. Olive complexion, slicked back, luxurious salt-and-pepper hair. Perhaps a little short and skinny, but definitely an attractive proposition.

I gave Hubby a hug as they loaded their bags into the car and then he introduced me.

“Darling, this is Laurent.”

“Enchante,” The charming man gave me two kisses on each cheek, his cologne filling my nostrils. I swooned.

We drove back home down the M3, Laurent sitting upfront and Hubby snoozing in the back. Laurent made idle conversation. He was charming – mentioned what a ‘glow’ I had and how attractive pregnant women where. I blushed furiously.

When we got back home, I gave the boys a few moments to freshen up and dutifully put the Marks and Spencers in the oven.

Laurent came down in jeans and a shirt, bearing gifts in the form of a bottle of Claret and some pungent French cheeses. I told him I couldn’t have either, because I was preggers.

“Nonsense,” he sounded very authoritative and snotty. “Pregnant women have been drinking wine and eating soft cheese in France for generations.”

That’s probably why they’re all so short!

Hubby eventually came down too, dressed more casually and with a look on his face I can only describe as ‘shit-eating.’ He popped open the wine and we ate and drank enthusiastically.

It was pretty late to be dining (we didn’t get back from the station until nine o’clock) so it was almost midnight by the time we finished – and hubby convinced us to go into the sitting room to continue chatting.

Laurent sat on the sofa, still sipping his first glass of wine (I have since learnt that the French aren’t as big drinkers as we boozy Brits would like to think.)

Hubby suggested the After Eights and a snifter of Scotch, so I was dispatched to the kitchen to get them.

It was while I was in there, stretching up on tip-toes to grab the Glenmorangie from the top shelf, when I felt Hubby’s hot hands encircle my waist.

He kissed my neck.

“Did you miss me?” I cooed, nuzzling back at him and sticking out my bottom so it ground against his crotch. Although the week without him had been lonely, I guess it’s true. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

But just as I was feeling warm and rosy in the bask of husbandly affection, I heard a familiar jingle. There was the softness of leather around my throat.

I pushed him back… Hubby had just slipped my ‘collar’ around my throat.

“This is hardly the time…” I opened my mouth to protest, but Hubby pressed his finger to my lips.

“The collar’s on, Little Kitty Slave,” he hissed. “And you know what that means…”

I wish I could tell you that I bowed my head and dutifully became the submissive little slut I promised to be whenever he put the collar on me, but of course I didn’t. I was tired and felt fat and unattractive. There was a virtual stranger next door. The last thing I felt like doing was playing some kinky sex game with my Hubby. I’d have rather he’d just made love to me normally.

But a firm ‘spank’ on my butt eventually convinced me to at least play the part.

“What do you want?” I demanded, reluctantly adding ‘Master’ afterwards.

Hubby gazed into my eyes with a sexy intensity.

“You’re going to go next door,” he growled huskily, “and give Laurent the blowjob of his life.”

Bonjour from Little Kitty Slave

2008-07-22T14:07:00.000-07:00

So after such a monumental gap between posts, I really don’t know how to get back into my sorry, sordid (sexy) saga.

I’m sorry I gave up. The fact is, I’d wanted this blog to be sexy and steamy and the fact is, sex and steam were the last things on Hubby or my mind for months and months after I found out I was pregnant.

Everything I WANT to write about – like being a submissive LittleKittySlave – was put on the back burner and while Hubby and I had a pretty healthy sex life (all things considered) if wasn’t exactly worthy of inclusion on a blog.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There are some important things I learned:

1: When you’re pregnant, you can’t get more pregnant, so no condoms. And sex without condoms ALL THE TIME (instead of just when it’s ‘safe’) feels really, really good.

2: Being pregnant is a great excuse for not doing the shopping, cleaning the house and eating mountains of junk food. “I’m tiiiired, Hubby. Can’t you do it?”

3: Being pregnant is (in the short term) cheaper than a boob job. Boing! Instant ‘D’ cup. Although they say in 18 years of life, a baby costs a total of £150,000 so maybe my maths are off here.

4: Pregnant women’s skin is awesome. Smooth, soft and no breakouts. Saved a fortune on Oil of Olay.

There are some downsides though.

5: No more than a glass of wine a week (gack! How did I cope?)

6: Constipation, heartburn, sweaty-boob pits.

7: None of my sexy clothes fit.

8: Wearing sexy heels feels like something the UN would class as Cruel and Unusual Torture.

9: Flirting with sexy men falls entirely flat when you are with-sprog.

10: You end up looking (and feeling) like a fucking cow.

So in a nutshell, that’s how I spent most of the nine months of pregnancy. Although there were a couple of highlights I will write about a little later.

But let me get back to telling you what happened and how things are now.

Hubby got the job in Paris. He’s back and forth on the London Eurostar every Monday at some ungodly hour, stays with a mate (previously a hotel) until Friday and then comes back home at about 11pm at the earliest.

Fortunately, the Eurostar is fucking fantastic and takes three hours (and you gain an hour going there) so Hubby doesn’t have to spend the weekend traveling. Catches a train from Basingstoke at 6am, straight to Waterloo, onto the Eurostar, arrives at about 9:30/10am and Gare du Nord is, like, ten minutes from where he works.

The downside is coming back, since he loses that hour he gained (so the trip takes four hours as opposed to two) and British Rail is it’s normal fucking useless self, so he spends as long on the train from London as he does on the train from Paris.

Also – it’s FUCKING expensive. He earns half as much again as he did in England and almost all of that goes on travel and whatever he pisses it on in Paris (hopefully not slinky French whores – although I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt on that one.)

And worse of all – despite all the shit we went though – I miss him.

Let me tell you this. It’s no fun being fat and pregnant with swollen ankles at home ALL ALONE when you can’t even drink wine to make up for it.

So that’s how it was for most of my pregnancy, with one or two bright (strange, sexy) exceptions I’ll tell you about later. I gave up work three weeks before I was due.

When it about came for me to pop, Hubby asked for a temporary assignment to their London office and they gave it to him, plus his prerequisite eleven days paternity leave, so when my beautiful, darling baby boy was born (an Aquarius) he was there to pick up the pieces (and he was an eight pound little lump, so the pieces he needed to pick up were the shredded remnants of what used to be my perfectly plump, tight little vagina.)

Two months ago, I made the decision to give up my job and become what the Yanks call a ‘stay at home Mom.’ The question of whose home it would be was up in the air, since without my (generous) paycheque, we couldn’t afford for Hubby to work in Paris and for us to keep our house in Hampshire.

So, gasp gasp, we made the decision to move to France.

So. Here we are. On the outskirts of Paris in a tiny two bedroomed apartment. Me, my hubby and a screaming baby (that’s not fair. Baby is actually very calm and good natured.)

I’ve gone from bossy career bitch to stay-at-home wife and mother and if my descent into a real life submissive ‘little kitty slave’ was going to begin anywhere, I guess it would be with me abandoning the mantle of shit-hot, sassy saleswoman.

But Paris has been both terrible and amazing. Suddenly after all those months spent with nothing to write about, I’ve been inspired to start blogging again and tell you all about it. I hope there are still some readers out there who are interested in reading about my sexual misadventures!

Blast from the Past...

2008-07-21T11:53:00.001-07:00

Before I went on my extended hiatus, I wrote this post. I just never got around to posting it...

>>>

One thing we both seemed to realize pretty quickly was that we were going to keep the baby. Neither of us discussed the possibility of an abortion. I mean, I am the MOST LAPSED CATHOLIC anyway, but my Italian parents had drilled enough of the dogma into me and Hubby? I don’t know. He just seemed to come to terms with it. Not overjoyed at the prospect of a little monster growing inside his wife’s lovebox, but certainly not horrified by it. I honestly think this was when I realize he DID love me after all.

So we worked at it.

Hubby went off for his first week in Paris and I continued my job. And it was weird.

My hormones were all over the place. One minute I’d be yelling at Darren and Matt (vive la change, as Hubby would have translated) and then I’d be sitting in my office crying. It didn’t help that I came home to a silent, cold house and I couldn’t even enjoy a glass of chardonnay. My poor little unborn bastard (or bitch) was going to be a tee-total baby.

I’ll tell you one thing, though. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.

After that first week, I drove to London and picked Hubby up from the Eurostar and he met me with a big hug and a kiss (and he smelt awful.) He’d brought flowers and a big bag from Galleries Lafayette and it was honestly the most romantic I’d ever seen him.

That night he had a lovely pasta dinner and Hubby put on some cool jazz and I unwrapped a bunch of parcels he’d bought me. Jewelry. A knocked off Louis Vitton purse (I’d have preferred the real thing) and a sexy black negligee/teddy thing. We soaked in a bathtub brimming with bubbles and then I let Hubby slather my wet body with baby oil.

I was feeling fat and horrible due to my raging hormones, but Hubby had never seemed more into me. His big hands rubbed the oil into my shoulders and back. He caressed my heavy breasts and round tummy. As he rubbed my bottom I felt his hard-on poking me in the small of my back.

Soon I was glistening and relaxed – and Hubby looked like he had a thick, foot-long salami pointing angrily from his crotch.

Still moist from the bath, I took his hand and led him into the bedroom. We encircled each other like dogs, curling onto the covers like a tan (that’s me) and white (that’s him) ying-yang symbol.

I’ve never been a fan of sixty-nine. I’m very short and spanning the distance from crotch-to-mouth is quite an effort. Tonight, though, I felt flexible and focused. Lying next to my husband’s hot, damp skin, I stared at his magnificent cock and felt his rough hands part my thighs.

Soon his was literally eating me alive. I heard the wet slobber of his lips and tongue on my freshly shaven punani (I had done some forward planning.) My clit strummed like a guitar string.

Hubby pointedly hadn’t gone down on me since I revealed my infidelity. Tonight, I realized it had been worth the wait. His strong, powerful licks and slurps were well-placed. What was different was his new enthusiasm. It reminded me of Darren, desperately slurping and licking in a pathetic attempt to please me. Hubby had that same passion and enthusiasm – except his nimble tongue knew exactly where to go to get a result.

Squirming with pleasure, I opened my mouth wide and gobbled up his straining cock.

Oh, it was amazing. Hot skin on skin. Saliva dribbling wetly from both ends of us. I closed my eyes as I worked, swallowing his shaft deep into my mouth. My fingers caressed his taut balls. My little finger wiped up a stray trickle of saliva and wetly penetrated by husband’s tight little bum.

That forced a happy groan from him, which rippled wetly into my pussy. His fingers dug into my round arse. His thumb slipped effortlessly inside me, deep inside to rub my g-spot. Within seconds, he was coaxing me to a delicious orgasm.

I shuddered in bliss, gasping for oxygen around the big, throbbing fuck-stick buried in my esophagus. I plunged my finger up his backside until he groaned. His cock swelled tremendously and then I felt my throat swell with saltiness. Spurt after spurt, deep into the back of my mouth. Like a dutiful LittleKittySlave, I swallowed every gooey glob.

Licking my salty lips, I snuggled up obediently and fell right to sleep.

I'm back... almost...

2008-07-20T09:35:00.001-07:00

Hello my loyal and infinitely patient readers...

After another six (eight? Nine) month gap, I'm nearly ready to start my blogging again. I have lots of sexy stories to share with you. I promise I'll start soon.

Until then... Here's a little teaser. I hope you missed this (and me.)

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Nine

2007-10-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

As it turned out, Hubby’s fantasies took an immediate place on the backburner for two reasons.

First off, he had to move to Paris. His job started pretty much immediately.

We discussed it over dinner and agreed that I would continue working at my job and he’d work at him just while we got settled and money saved up. This was a pretty big decision – especially since I’d just revealed my infidelity to him. During the week, Hubby would stay in a hotel in Paris (on the company, thank goodness) and then come back to me via Eurostar at the weekends. It was an expensive proposition (even with our two combined salaries) but we figured that a couple of months would be enough to put us firmly in the black and let us decide what happened next.

The question of what happened next was especially valid when it came to problem number two.

For about four days, when Hubby had revealed his new job, we’d been fucking like rabbits. I’d figured it was a safe time of the month and therefore we hadn’t used any contraception. In fact – especially after revealing my dalliance with Darren – Hubby had been so turned on with his wife sharing fantasies that he’d blown his load inside me every opportunity he had. I think he was pretending that it was other men coming deep inside my pulsating pussy when he orgasmed. I’d never seen him so aggressive and domineering – and I’d never been so full of cum in my life.

Anyway. Four days and about fourteen creamy cum injections proved problematic when ‘that time of the month’ arrived. Because it didn’t.

No period.

Now this put a kybosh on all sorts of things, not least of which Hubby’s fantasies. Was I pregnant? It was the worst possible time, with Hubby about to leave the country and my career in the height of it’s upward spiral. Not to mention our marriage certainly hadn’t got back on track and I didn’t want to tell my kid in twelve years time that he or she was the product of an angry/horny daddy and a slutty/shameful mummy having dirty, irresponsible, unprotected sex in a desperate attempt to save their doomed relationship.

When I told Hubby about it, he didn’t exactly jump onto the enthusiasm bandwagon. If there is an entry for ‘Oh, Shit’ in the Encyclopedia, it had a picture of my Hubby’s face next to it. I could tell he was thinking the same things as me. Was this marriage going to work? Did he still love me? Was I just some unfaithful whore? Was this kid even his? I mean, OF COURSE it was but he didn’t know that for sure, did he?

I peed on one of the pregnancy tests and it revealed what we’d both been dreading. I had a bun in the oven.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Nine

2007-10-19T12:54:00.000-07:00

So for the next few days, I lived the strangest double life you could possibly imagine.

One moment my husband would be moody and quiet and avoid talking or looking at me – the typical behavior of a jealous husband who’s just found out his wife was fooling around with another man. But then he’d get all lovey-dovey and sexual and fuck me – I mean REALLY fuck me – while talking about the dirty shit he’s going to make me do.

Getting another guy to fuck me. Making me pick up strange men. Gangbangs. Gloryholes. Orgies.

To be honest, it started to lose it’s appeal after a day and a half. I mean, I loved the passion and energy he showed while he ground his throbbing dick into me, biting my shoulder, squeezing my tits, slapping my arse and cumming in buckets deep inside my pussy… But I started to feel like a piece of meat.

It’s like he couldn’t bear to be intimate with me unless he was talking about another guy fucking me. I’d stopped being his wife – or his LittleKittySlave – and just became a whore he wanted to use and abuse. It stopped being sexy and started just getting weird.

The worst part was when he got his rocks off and came. Then he’d suddenly flip back to being moody, distant and jealous. I could tell my confession had both inflamed and disgusted him. He’d never found me more sexually attractive but he was disgusted by me as a person.

Eventually, I had enough. Recapturing a little bit of the bossy career bitch attitude I showed earlier that day at work, I sat down and said: “What are we going to do?”

“About what?”

I explained how I felt and he nodded in mute agreement.

“I can’t stand it,” he eventually admitted. “It’s like I’m going mad. Careful what you wish for and all that.” He shook his head. “I’m just so hurt and angry about what you did.”

“How are we going to get over that,” I demanded. “Can we get over it? Are we going to have to get a divorce?” I honestly thought that was what it would come to.

Eventually, Hubby said something that surprised me.

“I just want to see it. To be in control of it.” He explained. “I think I’ll be okay with it if I can see you with another guy and get it out of my system.”

“You mean you want me to…?”

“I want you to fuck another guy,” Hubby nodded, and I could already see a lump swelling in the front of his trousers. “I want to see you suck his cock and lick his balls and be the totally submissive slut… But I want to be there and be in charge. I want it to be on my terms so I can deal with it.”

I guess I could understand that. Sometimes I’m a bit masculine in my thinking (helps in the office, I can tell you) so I guess I couldn’t get the subtle difference between me sucking another man’s cock at my husband’s insistence (his ultimate fantasy) and me wrapping my lips around a dick in my own spare time (like I’d done with Darren.)

But men are fragile, insecure little creatures. They like to think they’re in charge.

In any event, just talking it through did help things. Hubby put his arm around me while we watched House that evening. He laughed and joked as we did the washing up. Things almost seemed to be returning to normal.

Were we any closer to Hubby actually making good on all his fantasies? Well, I hated to undermine my new, dominant Hubby – but I’d believe it when I saw it.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Eight

2007-10-16T11:25:00.000-07:00

Oh course, once the blissful agony of orgasm had worn off, it was time to come to terms with the horrible reality.

Hubby and I say on the floor, the sweat growing cold on my skin.

“You really cheated on me?” Hubby demanded.

I burst into tears.

“I thought you were cheating on me!” I sobbed. “I thought you were with somebody else!”

Hubby was tight lipped.

Sniffling, I told him what had happened.

At first I talked in stilted sentences, sniffling and struggling to get the words out. I told him about sending Darren up to my room. I told him about forcing him to eat me out. I then told Hubby about reaming the poor boy out with my jackrabbit.

Hubby’s face was a mask, but his sticky, exhausted cock was twitching as I told him.

“I-is this… T-turning you on?” I sniffled.

Hubby rubbed his temples.

“I don’t know what it’s doing,” he admitted. “Half of me is sickened and disgusted… But half of me is SO turned on by the idea.”

I started crying again.

“I’d never have done it if we weren’t fighting,” I promised. “I just thought…”

His cock twitched again.

Without even thinking about it, I flattened out, lying on the carpet on my belly. Shuffling forward, I was level with his flaccid cock. It was all sticky, crusty and slimy with the results of two days intensive fucking.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, reaching out with one hand to stroke his penis. Like a little bird, it reared it’s head. Without even thinking about it, I shuffled forward and opened my mouth.

I suckled on his soft cock without thinking of it as anything sexual – more of a sign of submissiveness and surrender. Finally, after all those weeks ‘pretending’ to be a Little Kitty Slave, I actually felt humbled, subdued and submissive. My Hubby had discovered what an evil, unfaithful slut I was. He’d just spent two days fucking and spanking the stuffing out of me. I finally felt – really believed – that I was his property and he was my master.

I suckled his man-flesh pathetically, tasting the saltiness of my juices, his cum and our mingled, mutual sweat encrusted on his dick.

“You must promise me,” Hubby growled, his penis slowly swelling in my mouth, “that you will never do that again.”

I pulled my mouth away, strands of saliva stretching from his cock head to my lips.

“I promise I’ll never touch another man.”

“No!” Hubby grabbed my head and sunk himself back into my mouth, awkwardly reminding me of how I’d manhandled Darren that night. “You just have to promise me you’ll never touch another man without my permission.” His cock was at full mast now, buried deep within my mouth. “I want you to touch other men.”

His cock throbbed, sinking awkwardly into the back of my throat until I thought I was going to gag.

“I want other men to touch you.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, I felt his cock throb. He grabbed a great big fistful of my hair and yanked me up.

His slick cock slapped me in the face. Tears sprang to my eyes as Master (he was Master now, no longer Hubby) wheeled me around and then back I went, face buried in the carpet and big, hard cock (slick with my saliva) crammed back into my raw, puffy pussy.

He fucked me for what seemed like hours, until we both collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

How I've spent the Last Six Months Part Eight

2007-10-15T13:02:00.000-07:00

So imagine this.

The marriage you’d just condemned has suddenly been resurrected. The wimpy, pathetic, hateful husband you’ve detested and derided for the last three months suddenly ends up landing a job that earns even more than you do. You go from having no sex for almost three months to Hubby dragging you upstairs, throwing you face down in the pillows and fucking you hard and fast and fucking BEAUTIFULLY until you scream into the cushions and Hubby deposits a pint of sticky stuff deep inside your creamy little cunt.

Now I’ve never had a second honeymoon (we hardly had a first – I got food poisoning the second day in) but that week really felt like it. I have never found my husband sexier or more dynamic. He wasn’t the useless fucking prick I’d accused him of being. He was the beautiful, muscular man with the good job and that long, thick, hard cock that seemed to be permanently hard every time I touched it.

I actually took two days off work – and I’ve NEVER taken a day off work – the stay in bed with Hubby.

We took the collar out and I he was deliciously dominant for an entire day. He kept me naked from morning until night. He tied my hands behind my back and pounded my pussy until I screamed. He took a cheap plastic fly swatter and went right to town on my big, round ass – and I loved it.

In fact as much as that fly swatter stung – and MAN did it sting – that was the best part of it all.

Hubby must have been taking three months anger and frustration out on my arse. I was accepting it for all the things I’d done my Hubby had no idea about.

Lying face down on the bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, I gritted my teeth and took the blows.

WHAP! Whap! WHAP! Oh, Christ, I thought I’d die.

“You’re a dirty little slut,” he’d bark.

“I’m a dirty little slut, Master,” I sobbed – and I really was.

As the next three stinging blows set my arse aflame, I remembered the taste of salty cum and cocoa butter all mixed up on Darren’s pale, torpedo penis.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Oh, it was glorious. Being punished for my sins!

“You’re a bossy little bitch!” Hubby roared. “You need to be taught obedience.”

Oh, God, I did. I just wanted to melt into a little puddle. I just wanted to disconnect my angry, confused, busy brain and drift in dreamless, delicious obedience.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

And then it stopped.

This was my favourite bit. When Hubby lovingly rubbed and caressesed my stinging bottom. When he breathed hotly into my ear.

“You’ll be a good girl, won’t you,” he murmured. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you too.”

“Yes, Master,” the endorphins were racing around my body. I was drunk with them. “I’ll do anything you say.”

“You’ll suck my cock. You’ll offer up your pussy and your arse.”

“Mmmmmm,” I purred in affirmation, biting my lip.

“You’ll do whatever I tell you. To whoever I tell you.”

My pussy was tingling.

“Please, touch me,” I begged.

“Tell me what I want to hear…”

I had no idea what he wanted to hear, but I made a pretty good guess.

“I want to suck your cock,” I groaned. “I want to lick your arse. I want you to fuck me and frig me and use me.”

His thick fingers reached between my thighs. The wet, fleshy folds of my pussy parted for him.

“Oh GOD,” I groaned, nearing the delicious surrender of orgasm.

“I’m going to have you fucked from here to Friday,” Hubby breathed hotly in my ear. “I’m going to screw you until you can’t stand. And then I’m going to let them have you.”

Who’s them, I wondered. As if reading my mind, Hubby purred:

“I’m going to find out just how submissive you can be, my little kitten,” oh, he was going to make me EXPLODE. “I’m going to put you to work on as many cunts and cocks as I can find.”

“You’ll… get… jealous….” I groaned, flashing back to Darren’s dick throbbing and spitting and spurting in my mouth.

“No,” Hubby hissed. “Whoever. Whatever. Whereever.”

His fingers worked their magic. I exploded in a glorious, technicolour orgasm.

I lay there, shuddering and shivering. Hands still tied behind my back, I couldn’t stop Hubby prising open my thighs and sliding his enormous erection straight into the gooey, moist heart of me. His hips banging against my enflamed bum was intense, but I was too exahausted to do anything. I just lay there and took it.

“I can’t wait to watch another man do this,” Hubby grinned, grinding away at me. “I can’t wait to watch you get fucked and suck a big, fat cock at the same time.” As if to demonstrate, he offered his fingers and I obediently, unthinkingly sucked them into my mouth.

Sweet, sweaty surrender. Just to fuck and suck and cum instead of thinking. Just the thought of lying there and satisfying somebody. Anybody.

“I sucked somebody…” I groaned.

Hubby’s pounding slowed.

“W-what..?”

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly.

“While we were fighting,” I explained. “When I went up to Birmingham.”

I swear to God his cock swelled.

“Who was it?” He started pounding me again now, really roughly. “Who the fuck was it?”

“You don’t know him,” I groaned, feeling his penis slid deeply inside of me, massaging my g-spot from an exquisite angle. “He’s just some kid.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“Y…yes…” I groaned. “In the ass….”

Ow! Hubby had just grabbed a fistful of hair and wrenched by head back.

“He fucked you in the arse?”

“No!” I cried. He was hurting me. “I fucked HIM. In HIS arse. With the rabbit. And I sucked him at the same time and…” oh, that had crept up on me, “and…” I let out a low moan… “And I’m cumming!”

Hubby let go of my hair. I flopped down into the covers.

Slap! Slap! Slap! His hips hammered against my arse.

“Did he come in your mouth?” Hubby demanded.

“Yes,” I groaned woozily. “A lot.”

“You fucking slut,” His hand was on the back of my neck, crushing me to the bed. “You fucking little slut. I can’t believe you sucked another guy’s cock…”

And then the delicious moment came.

“…without me being there to see it.”

He dug himself so deeply into me it hurt. The thick, meat missile buried inside of me throbbed. I felt him unloading himself inside my greedy pussy, deeper and harder and more intensely than I’d ever felt him cum before. Even as I confessed my betrayal, I felt more connected and closer to him than ever before in my life.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Seven

2007-10-12T14:47:00.000-07:00

So life as it was returned to normal.

And pretty depressing that normal was.

Work was going well. I was kicking arse in the regional sales charts and my aggressive focus on work meant I’d hit some sales targets (and got the resultant commissions) which pretty much made up for the income Hubby had flushed down the toilet when he’d lost his job.

But although work was going okay, life at home was pretty shitty.

Hubby was still disappearing off three evenings a week and every Saturday. I had been planning to confront him about it, but after the business with Darren I just wanted to lay low and let things cool down. I even tried to sleep with Hubby one time, but it didn’t work out when I insisted he wear a condom.

“A condom? I’m your husband!”

I tried to explain that I was worried about getting pregnant (I’m still not on any form of birth control) but the truth was, I was terrified of catching some disease he’d picked up from fucking that prostitute of his. In any event, sex didn’t happen and the gap between Hubby and I got even bigger.

It had been about three months since Hubby lost his job and I was just getting my confidence back, ready to confront him, when Hubby called me at work.

“We need to talk.”

My stomach plummeted.

This was it, I figured. Hubby was going to admit his failure and tell me he was leaving me to go and live with his hooker girlfriend. Not only had been cheating on me – now he wasn’t even going to give me the satisfaction of dumping him.

But that evening, when I got home, I found him bent over a bubbling stove and a bottle of my favourite chardonnay open on the dining room table.

“Listen, I know things have been fucking awful,” he told me, holding my hand and pouring me a glass of wine. “But I’m ready for them to change. But first there’s something I need to tell you.”

Oh for fuck’s sake! My eyes were welling up with tears. Here was this arsehole husband of mine, cheating on me with a fucking junkie prostitute and I was CRYING?

“I k-know…” I sniffled, trying to look angry and defiant instead of sniffly and pathetic. “I’ve known for a while.”

He let go of my hand.

“You do?”

I nodded. Big, fat tears rolled down my cheek.

“Oh…” He looked downcast. “What do you think?”

“Think?” Thank God, the anger was coming back. “What the fuck do you think I think?”

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Hubby raised his arms.

“That that bad?” I sobbed. “You’re off every Saturday fucking that… that… diseased SLUT.”

“What.”

Hubby looked at me like I’d just turned into a lemon.

“I know all about your WHORE!” I sobbed. “I know all about the hundred quid you take out every Friday. I know how you…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Hubby balked. “WHAT?”

“The whore…”

“What whore?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday. You go and spend it with HER.”

Hubby’s eyes bulged.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been taking French lessons.”

What?

“I signed up three months ago,” Hubby explained. “I heard there were really good jobs going with some of the Paris firms, so I started learning the language.”

“B-bullshit,” I sniffled.

“No, it’s true,” He reached over the table and handed me an envelope. Inside was a smart looking diploma from the college in Basingstoke.

“W-what?”

“Every Wednesday and Saturday,” Hubby explained. “It’s intensive. I got an A.”

“But the hundred quid?”

“That’s how I paid for it,” Hubby explained.

“B-but why didn’t you,” sniff, sniff, “tell me?”

“Because you were furious with me,” Hubby explained. “I wasn’t earning any money and I knew you’d get pissed off if I went back to college instead of finding a job. So I started teaching those classes to pay for it.”

My mind was reeling. I mean, not only had Hubby NOT been cheating on me… But he’d got up off his arse and done something I’d never imagined him capable off.

Oh! And what a cold hearted slut I felt! I’d CHEATED on him!

“But Darling,” Hubby continued. “There’s more. I got a job.” He handed me another envelope, this time with the logo of a famous French computer company.

“It’s all in French,” I sobbed.

“I know, I know. But look at that.”

There was an amount in the letter written in Euros. Now I know euros are worth less than pounds, but this still seemed like an awfully large amount.

“That’s what you’ll be earning?” I sniffed. “Really?”

Hubby nodded.

“But there’s just one thing,” he said solemnly. “The job’s based in France.”

How I've Spent the last Six Months Part Six

2007-10-11T10:32:00.000-07:00

After that, it took precisely fifteen seconds to eject Darren from my hotel room.

Here’s the conversation we had.

“Out!”

“But…”

“Out!”

“But…”

Bundled clothes were jammed into his hands. Cute little white body was pushed forcibly towards the door.

“Oh, and Darren? If you tell ANYBODY about this…”

I didn’t need to finish that sentence. I hit ‘play’ on my mobile phone and we both listened to Darren’s girlish cries of: “YES! Yes! I want Matt to fuck me! I want to suck him! I want to swallow his spunk!”

Darren was blushing. And I mean EVERY INCH of him was blushing. He went from ‘pale and interesting’ to beetroot red in about half a second.

The door slammed shut.

The drive home the following day was conducted in absolute silence.

Darren didn’t say a word. He sat there like a prim little schoolgirl all the way home from Birmingham. I imagine part of it was embarrassment. The rest was probably an extremely sore arse.

And me?

I was feeling rotten.

I mean, not only had I just cheated on my husband (although I was under the impression he was cheating on me at the same time) I’d also just ‘outed’ and defiled the youngest member of my sales team. There I was, meant to be ‘Little Kitty Slave’ the submissive lady-slut and in the end I wind up being the complete opposite.

So I drove home with conflicting feelings of shame, arousal, guilt and disgust. And I’d thrown away my beloved little rabbit. Even though I’d scrubbed it and cleaned it and washed it a dozen times, it would never quite feel the same now that it had done it’s business up a boy’s bum.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Five

2007-10-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

Except after a few minutes of blissful relaxation, I heard hard, ragged breathing and remembered that Darren was still in the room.

I opened my eyes and saw him standing there, erection bobbing hopefully in front of him as he stood there, all naked and desperate. And you could see he was desperate. With my pussy juices still glistening on his chin, his puppy dog eyes were pleading at me for ‘his turn.’

And that’s what I hate about ‘being in charge,’ really.

Whether it was Hubby I was ordering about or this little weasel, being the dominant one in a sexual relationship is always a drag. I’ve had mine, so now the submissive one expects ‘theirs.’ At least as a delicious submissive, you can just lie there and take it, or give it, or lick it or suck it or fuck it and know that the dominant one is going to take care of his needs all by his bloody self – even if that does mean you get the business end of it in one hole or the other.

But no. not when you’re in charge. Darren’s cock was literally throbbing with need and he was looking at me pleadingly. “Please make me cum.”

I was sorely tempted to send him off to bed with an excruciating case of blue balls.

But that wasn’t exactly fair – or sensible.

As the endorphins filtered through my bloodstream, I was beginning to realize that grinding my greedy gash in Darren’s face was probably not a very smart decision. How many milliseconds would it be before that little tidbit of gossip was going around the office? And worse, how long before it got exaggerated?

I knew what immature boys were like. It was the same at school, when I’d let Tom Browers finger me in the back of his Ford Escort. He’d got nothing more than a pair of fishy fingers, but when it came to recounting the story to his friends, I’d apparently tongued his balls and taken it up the arse like a dirty little slut. My reputation was ruined (or possibly made) overnight by one boy’s wagging tongue.

So when it came to Darren’s wagging tongue (and boy, could that kid wag his tongue) I was going to make sure he kept his mouth shut.

“On the bed,” I ordered, standing up on very unsteady legs.

Oh, Darren thought he was going to get his alright. Up he popped, onto the bed, sprawling like a porn star. His throbbing dick pointed clear up to the ceiling and was glistening with pre-cum. He was smiling, the cocky little fuck.

“Hand and knees,” I ordered.

This confused him.

As Darren clambered onto his hands and knees, I shrugged out of my jacket and unzipped my crumpled skirt. A moment later I was standing there in my blouse and bra, which was hanging open after I’d groped and squeezed my breasts mid cunnilingus.

Darren was on his hands and knees, facing me. Idiot.

“Turn around.”

Looking even more confused, Darren turned around until he was facing the head of the bed. His pale, white bum was sticking up in the air at me.

And a very nice little bum it was. He was obviously a stickler for hygine, that Darren. His bottom looked as clean and white as two boiled eggs. Between his legs his tight balls hung. His asshole was a little pink starfish. If I’d have had that strap-on hubby had bought me, I’d have been buckling it on right that second.

But I didn’t.

So I knelt down on the carpet and shuffled between Darren’s legs, until I was staring eye-level with his taut, tight buttocks.

Darren shivered. He must have felt my hot breath on his arse.

With one hand, I reached between his thighs and cupped his balls. They were deliciously warm and heavy, like two eggs in a handkerchief. Then I reached a little further until my fingers curled around the shaft of his erection.

Darren groaned. I started to gently stroke his cock, pulling the tight foreskin back and forth over the swollen purple head of his dick.

Now I’m a multi-tasker. Should have told you that earlier. Because while I was wanking Darren off with my left hand, I was scrabbling blindly in my suitcase with the other.

“Uuuurrh,” Darren groaned luxuriously. “What are you doing?”

Oh, you’ll find out, you little fuck, I thought.

Still slowly, teasingly wanking him, I leant forward and slowly licked his balls. Darren shuddered in delight – I honestly thought he’d shoot off right in my hand and it was far too early for that. If the entire team finding out about him eating me out wasn’t bad enough, I’d dread for them to think he’d shot his muck with me licking his balls.

So I slowed my wanking motion. I licked upwards, up the folds of his ball-sack and between the tight, white globes of his bum.

“Oh God,” Darren groaned. “Your licking my arse. You’re such a fucking dirty slut.”

I squeezed my left hand. Hard.

Darren squealed like a castrated pig – which is what he was seconds from becoming.

“Don’t you ever fucking speak to me like that,” I ordered – suddenly the angry, scary boss again. Darren’s erection rapidly wilted in my hand.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Satisfied that the little fuck would give me some respect now, I continued slowly wanking him off. My tongue encircled his arsehole, slurping and licking. He tasted of soap and talcum powder.

Now if anything, my little ‘love squeeze’ had taken the edge off Darren’s orgasm, so at least I felt that he wasn’t going to go spurting off into my hand any second. As I coaxed his cock back to a magnificent erection, I continued fumbling in my suitcase until I found what I wanted.

My fingers encircled another thick, long shaft. This one was cold and rubbery.

I pulled out my rabbit vibrator.

Darren, of course, was oblivious to all this. He was just gargling with pleasure while his bum got tongued and he got a delicious handjob (and my handjobs are famously delicious.)

Squish, squish, squish, went my tongue around his bumhole. Slurp, slurp, slurp went the drooling ropes of saliva I was slathering his arse with.

The rabbit vibrator went on the floor in front of me. My hand disappeared into the suitcase again and came out clutching a tube of… what was it? I glanced down and saw that it was toothpaste. I threw that back in the bag and recovered the cocoa butter I’d been looking for.

I let go of Darren’s throbbing member for just a second while I squirted a big gloop of chocolate smelling butter into my hand. He groaned as I released him, but groaned twice as hard (and again, nearly shot off in my hand) as I wrapped my fingers back around his cock and started wanking him off anew. The cocoa butter made everything slick and slimy and Darren literally shuddered in pleasure.

I’d also squirted another dollop of cocoa butter into my right hand and used it to slather up my trusty little rabbit. The long, rubbery shaft was soon glistening with moisturizer.

“Oh, God,” Darren was groaning a little harder now. I noticed he was bucking his hips, too. Fucking my hand instead of letting me wank him.

I pulled my mouth away from his arse and gave him a wet, buttery slap across the buttocks.

“Stop that!” His hips ceased.

“Oh God, please,” Darren begged. “I’m SO close to cumming.”

“Oh really?” I extended my middle finger and poked his tight little arsehole. “Are you now?”

With all the saliva and cocoa butter smeared around, Darren’s tight little bunghole couldn’t resist my middle finger. He squeaked as I pushed my finger forward, clenching his buttocks uselessly. But ‘pop’ went one knuckle through his sphincter and then ‘pop’ went the second.

I was still wanking him off, of course. But now he had my finger lodged deep in his bum.

“You know what I figured?” I warned Darren, slowly sliding my finger in and out of his tight little arse. “As soon as you hopped up onto that bed and stuck your bum in the air, I figured you wanted to get fucked.”

“Owww!” Darren cried unconvincingly. “Ow! Get it out! Please! It’s too intense.”

Well, he SAID he wanted my finger out of his bum. But his hips were really bucking now. He’d thrust forward to ‘fuck’ the warm, slick embrace of my fist around his dick and then he’d thrust back to get ‘fucked’ by my finger. I extended a second finger mid-thrust and whoops! Up his bum it effortlessly slid.

“Nnnnngh!” Darren was biting his bottom lip now.

“Yes,” I continued, realizing I’d forgotton to keep speaking amidst all the distraction. “I know I’m always joking about you being a little gay boy, but there’s much truth spoken in yest,” or however the fuck that expression goes.

“Nnnngh,” said Darren. His cock throbbed. He was right on the brink.

I let go of his cock before I made him cum, still pumping two fingers relentlessly in and out of his arse. With my free hand, I grabbed Darren’s elbow and yanked. He flumped forward like a toppled tree, going from ‘on all fours’ to his face in the duvet and his bum stuck up high in the air.

“So tell me, Darren,” I grinned, squirting another great dollop of cocoa butter onto his bum and using the slickness to cram another finger into his tight little arse. “You’re a closet pillowbiter really, aren’t you?”

“No!” Darren was fighting feebly – but it’s a pretty feeble fight you can put up when you have the best part of somebody’s fist crammed up your bottom. “I’m not!”

I wrapped my fingers around his cock again. The shock of the extra fingers and the manhandling had eased him back from the trigger by a few minutes, at least. So as I slowly yanked his plank, I pulled by fingers from his bum with a gooey slurp.

That’s the trick to anal sex, I’d learnt. Get ‘em good and loose first. My three fingers had opened up Darren’s bum more than enough to welcome the big, rubbery head of my rabbit vibrator.

“OH MY GOD!” Darren literally jumped across the bed when he felt the cold, unyielding rubber pressed against his bum. But he couldn’t jump very far, not with my hands around his cock.

A little roughly, I forced the slick, rubber rabbit into Darren’s backside – all the way until the rabbit’s little gel ears were pressed up against his ballsack. And then I switched it on.

Now if you’re not familiar with a rabbit vibrator, let me very briefly explain how they work. The thick rubber shaft rotates like a crank shaft while the little rubber ‘rabbit’ vibrates wildly, with two little rubber ‘feelers’ shimmying across a girl’s clitoris (or in this case, Darren’s balls.)

It’s a pretty intense experience. I can orgasm with my rabbit in about a minute and a half if I’m a good frame of mood. Although I get it in the pussy, not the arse.

So poor Darren? Well, I was still wanking him off, but now he had five inches of thick rubber stirring around inside his bum like a concrete mixer – and the little rabbit ears were making his balls jiggle wildly. He was tossing his head back and forth, groaning and moaning and crying.

I stopped wanking him for a second to grab my camera phone. With one hand I had to grasp the end of the rabbit – his clenching anus kept threatening to squeeze it out of his butt and send the toy shooting across the room. With the other, I aimed the phone and started recording a delightful little movie.

“Tell me you like it up the arse, Darren.”

“Nnnnngh.”

“Tell me!”

“NNnnnngh!”

I put the phone down on the bed. You couldn’t see the impressive sight of the rabbit lodged in his arse, but you got a wonderful skewed view of Darren’s straining face, sweaty torso and throbbing erection. And I was recording all that lovely sound.

“Tell me, Darren,” I tickled his balls with my free hand. “Tell me you love it up the bum!”

“Ooooh.”

“I’ll let you cum.” My fingers teasingly encircled his cock shaft.

“Ooooh… Please….”

“Tell me you love it up the bum. Tell me you’d like to get fucked.” I started stroking him gently.

“Oh yes,” Darren begged. “I do! I want to get fucked! I want it up the bum!”

I was stroking him faster now, leading him to the relentless path of orgasm.

“Tell me you want to have your bum-chum Matt fuck you,” I demanded. “Tell me. SAY IT!”

“Oh please make me cum. PLEASE!”

“Say it!” I barked.

“YES!” Darren pleaded. “I want Matt to fuck me! I want to suck him! I want to swallow his spunk!”

I blinked. He’d been adlibbing there! Perhaps this repressed gay theory wasn’t so outlandish after all!

“Please!” He begged.

Well, a deal was a deal. I let go of his straining cock (“oh no,” he groaned) and grabbed my phone, switching off the recording. Then, leaning forward, I opened open my mouth and wrapped my lips around that beautiful, pale torpedo of a cock.

“Uuuugggh!” Oh, I know I’m good, but even I can’t take credit for this one. I didn’t even flick my tongue or bob my head. “Oh my GOD!”

At the mere touch of my wet lips, Darren exploded. Like a firehouse, my mouth was flooded with salty cum. It came spurting out so powerfully one jet shot right down the back of my throat and nearly made me gag. I yanked my head away, coughing and gagging - and got an eyeful of cum for my trouble.

Darren was groaning. I was hacking and spluttering and ‘pop’ went the rabbit, shooting out of his clenching bum and landing on the carpet in a sticky mess. The shaft continued to swirl and swivel, making the rabbit look like a freshly caught fish flailing on the dockside.

How I've Spent the Last six Months Part Four

2007-10-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

As I drove up to that sales conference, Darren sitting silently in my passenger seat, I’d never been more furious in my life.

My husband! The fucking rat! Screwing some WHORE, no less. Was he using a condom? I guess it didn’t matter. He and I hadn’t so much as kissed in weeks so I didn't need to worry about his skanky slut giving ME an infection through him. But I was determined that as soon as I returned I was going to kick that fucker out of my life for good.

Now the sales conference was a nightmare.

It was long and it was hot and the conference hall didn’t even have air conditioning. Darren was like a little kid, far too scared to talk to me about anything. Not that I could concentrate! While some stupid ‘sales guru’ they’d flown in from America was up on stage talking about ‘closing’ and fear of loss,’ I was imagining what my Hubby’s prostitute looked like.

Was she younger than me? Was she prettier than me? I mean, I’m a good looking woman and I couldn’t imagine anybody really pretty would become a prostitute. But maybe she was desperate. Maybe she was on drugs or something. Shit! Maybe my husband was having sex with a junkie every weekend!

My day got even worse when it came to my presentation. Fucking stupid little Darren had one thing to remember – one fucking thing – and he forgot to bring it. I didn’t have the CD with my sales presentation on. So I had to stand in front of a room of a hundred of my peers and rattle off some crappy presentation from memory, with no charts or figures or graphs to guide me. I must have looked like a total idiot. The tepid applause when I’d finished pretty much confirmed that my speech had failed to impress.

By the time the conference wound up for the evening, I went to the hotel bar and ordered a bottle of chardonnay and started working hard to finish it.

I’d done quite well – probably about three quarters of the way down – when Darren slunk up to me like a naughty puppy. Fucking expense account bullshit meant we had to have dinner together, so there I was, pissed off and half drunk and sitting in a cheap hotel’s restaurant struggling with overpriced and undercooked chicken.

Now I have two small problems when I’m angry. I get bossy and bitchy and I get extremely horny. The alcohol wasn’t exactly helping, either. So I ate my dinner and glowered at Darren and I started thinking really dodgy things.

You see, my opinion of Darren had somewhat changed that day. When I’d first met him, I’d thought he was a cocky, arrogant little prick and cut him down to size. But now, since I’d already terrified him into submission, he’d basically become as docile and pathetic as a puppy. Add to that the fact he’d fucked up my presentation and the little dick was so eager to please it was embarrassing me. He sat down opposite me, nursing a pint of lager and trying to use a knife and fork to eat his hamburger.

I finished off my bottle of wine and moved onto my second and started giving Darren an entirely new appraisal.

He was a kid. A little, nervous, uncertain kid. All that macho blustering bullshit he and Matt had tried when they first arrived was just textbook overcompensation. Darren knew that he was a pretty worthless junior sales exec and not very high on the totem pole. He was looking across the table at me with a mixture of awe and terror.

And I didn’t mind that one little bit. I mean, Darren was actually a good looking kid. He was still slim and fairly muscular. Give him a few years and a few more pints of lager and he’d be chubby and sloppy like most of the sales dickheads at my company, but at the moment he was nice looking. And the smooth chin (I hate stubble) and baby soft skin was attractive. Darren looked clean and neat and malleable and I suddenly started thinking that he might be able to make up for his earlier fuck-up with some other service.

I decided it when he started apologizing for the six millionth time about forgetting the presentation CD.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” I hissed, buoyed by alcohol and horniness, “go upstairs.”

I handed him the key to my room.

“W-what?”

“Go upstairs,” I swigged down half a mouthful of chardonnay. “And I want you naked by the time I get there.”

Now I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I was drunk, of course. I was also horny and pissed off. My fucking husband was probably in Basingstoke right as we spoke, balls deep in some junkie prostitute. So what I was about to do wasn’t any worse, was it? I mean, at least I wasn’t wasting our money. And at least Darren was clean. I mean, he looked clean. Now I’d got the better of him, I had even started to suspect he was a virgin – or at least pretty inexperienced. And it’s not like I was going to fuck him.

“W-what?” Darren stammered.

“Upstairs,” I ordered. “Now.”

He scurried off like a good little boy.

Which gave me a few leisurely minutes to drain the last of my wine and pay the bill.

As I strode to the lift on my high heels, I was feeling pretty damn good. Warm and buzzying from the wine. My pussy was tingling. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this, but I also couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of doing something like this earlier.

As the lift headed upstairs, I checked out my reflection in the mirror. My hair was in a tight bun, but drunkenness had let a couple of wifts of hair fall down around my face. My suit and skirt were sharp and official looking, but my big boobs and round bottom filled them out nicely. I looked hot, actually.

And that’s what all this was about, I guess. I wanted to feel hot. I wanted to feel like a gorgeous, sexy, desirable woman. My limp little Hubby, wanking away to his internet porn or possibly fucking some diseased prositite, hadn’t made me feel like that for weeks.

I was swaying a bit as I made my way down the corridor, but stood up straight as I pushed open the door to my bedroom.

It was dark. Darren had switched off the overhead light and just kept the bedside ones on. His clothes were in a messy pile on the floor. Darren himself was under the covers in the bed, duvet pulled up to his chin. He looked so meek and helpless, I felt almost motherly.

Although I didn’t sound it.

“Get the fuck out of my bed!” I yelled. “That’s not for you!”

Like a SHOT he was out from under the covers.

And that’s when I saw him naked for the first time. And it wasn’t an unpleasant sight.

Darren was very slim, with pale skin and that slightly lanky build of men in their early twenties who haven’t quite grown out of being teenagers yet. He had a tight little white bottom and a hairless chest. There was some gay looking tribal tattoo on his arm. That, along with his hairless chest and earring and highlighted hair, made him look very gay indeed.

Hanging between Darren’s legs was a fairly nice looking dick. It wasn’t hard – I’d probably got him too scared for that. But it was nice. He looked clean. There’s nothing worse than a young man who’s all stinky and sweaty and greasy when you get him out of his clothes.

I felt delicious. Here I was, with a pretty naked boy in my hotel room. Oh, Hubby, I thought to myself. If only you could see me know. There you go, boasting about wanting other men to fuck me. You fantasy was a hair’s breadth from coming true and you were too blind to see it.

Except, of course, I wasn’t going to fuck Darren. At least, not tonight.

Now if Darren had been nervous before, he was terrified now. There he was, naked as a jay, and I was just staring at him. The poor boy shivered and cupped his privates in his hands.

“You!” I eventually demanded, wondering exactly what it was I was going to do with this pretty plaything now I’d actually got it. “Still want to make it up to me?”

“Y-yes.”

Swaying slightly (either horniness or the wine) I grasped the hem of my skirt and started to wiggle it up over my hips.

Once the pinstripe was bundled up over my waist, I hooked by thumbs into my tights and started to pull them down. I had to kick off my high heels to do it, which spoilt the fantasy a bit, but a moment later I was standing there bare-legged with my pretty little French knickers stretched over my big, round bottom.

“On all fours,” I ordered. And Darren, bless him, hopped down onto his knees and shuffled forward.

I half sat, half fell into the chair in the corner and shuffled my bottom to the edge of the seat. Skirt up around my waist, thighs spread wide, Darren was crawling towards a perfectly unhindered view of my pantie-clad crotch.

Now if I’d known I was going to have some twenty-two year old boy snuffling around my pussy, I’d probably have got her waxed or shaved. As it was, Darren just had to put up with a couple of thick, brown hairs peeking around the corners of my knickers. Not that he seemed to mind.

In fact, as he crawled closer, I could see his cock swelling up quite impressively. Like a long, pale torpedo, it swung back and forth between his legs. I licked my lips.

Darren was on his knees in front of me now, breathing in the musky scent of my cunt. My clit was throbbing, even without being touched. The feel of his hot breath on my thighs was delicious.

“You know what to do,” I ordered, even though I wasn’t entirely sure he did.

His lips started kissing my thighs. His nose was snuffling against my pussy through the soft cotton of my panties. I half closed my eyes and drunkenly surrendered to the sensations.

Darren was clearly inexperienced, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. After slathering my thighs with spit and kisses, he started tugging down my knickers and I lifted my bum off the chair to help him remove them. Then his nose, lips and tongue went right to the ‘hot spot’ and he was literally devouring my pussy.

To be honest, I prefer to be teased a bit first. I almost jumped off my chair when Darren rammed an inch of tongue down my cunt without so much as a by-your-leave. But his enthusiasm was sexy. And the wetness, too! I get pretty wet normally, but Darren was slathering and slobbering down there and it sounded deliciously wet.

To further support my inexperience theory, Darren seemed to be licking, sucking or kissing every single inch of my pussy except my clit. For the briefest of moments, I felt a little disappointed. But then I realized that I was in charge of this situation and, besides, Darren would thank me if I taught him this. So I grabbed his ears and manhandled his head until his tongue was hitting the right spot.

And then?

I just threw my head back, spread my legs wider and enjoyed it.

It was the enthusiasm and energy that was so delicious. It was been over a month since I’d last been eaten out and by that stage in our relationship, Hubby was more or less just going through the motions. Lick, lick, lick. Suck here. Kiss there. Concentrate on the clit for one, two, three minutes until POW! I came in his mouth like an obedient little cunt.

But Darren didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and it made it deliciously unpredictable. My arousal would build and build and then plateau as Darren’s tongue found some other, less satisfying avenue to explore. Then he’d return to the sweet spot and up, up, up my arousal would go.

I was SO wet down there, I must have been making a wet spot on the upholstery. I didn’t mind, though. That’s what hotels are for. Besides, all those secretions and saliva made it deliciously easy for Darren to slid two fingers into my pussy and start pumping.

It was unsatisfactory – I prefer the fingers to stay fucking still, to make me feel full and tickle my g-spot. But the sensation was different.

I gasped and groaned. I popped the buttons of my blouse, squeezing my big breasts. And then, after painful seconds teetering on the brink of it, I came.

My orgasm was shattering. I squeezed Darren’s head between my thighs and didn’t let him breath again until my whole body had stopped bucking and shaking. Then, panting for breath, I kicked him away and felt the cold air conditioning on my wet thighs.

It felt blissful. I had two or three après-orgasm shudders and then just tingled in pleasure. Warm and relaxed and sleepy I wanted nothing more right then than to crawl into bed and go blissfully to sleep.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Three

2007-10-07T17:11:00.000-07:00

The main point is that I was going into work earlier and earlier and staying later and later. I’d come back home and say maybe five things to hubby before heading off upstairs for a bath and bed. The one thing I was always grateful to Hubby for was that cherry red Rabbit vibrator. While he was wanking off to computer porn, I lay in bed and used to give myself a pretty awesome orgasm every evening. Man, those Japanese really know something about vibrators.

Life went on like this for week after week and soon I just got plain pissed off with Hubby being around. I mean, it was like having a houseguest who just never fucking left. We hardly talked, no longer fucked and aside from hoovering the carpet and microwaving dinner, he brought nothing to the relationship apart from hair in the plughole.

I swear to God, I came this close to kicking him out of the house. Then things changed.

Hubby started teaching a computer course two nights a week. So Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’d come home and spend a blissful evening on my own. Bottle of chardonnay and CSI and I was a happy little camper. By the time Hubby came back, I’d had a bath and gone to bed and it no longer felt like two strangers living in each other’s pockets.

Then he started leaving on Wednesday evenings and most of Saturday as well. So we hardly saw each other, which was fine as far as I was concerned. In fact, I was thinking more and more seriously about getting rid of him. With Hubby’s income gone we weren’t exactly living like Lords and he’d still failed to get another job. He told me he wasn’t even getting paid for these computer classes and just taught them to get out of the house. (sometimes I just wished he’d fucking stay out of the house.)

That eased the tension – at least for a bit.

Then three things happened.

First off, I got sent up to Birmingham for a sales conference and I had to take fucking Darren with me. Now he and Matt had kind of settled into things at work, but my bitchy behavior had ensured that we were never destined to be friends. Two hours stuck in my Vauxhall Vectra with him – PLUS a night in some Marriott hotel – was a guaranteed downer.

Then, the day I left, I picked up the post and found a couple of curious letters.

The first was from the local college, where Hubby had been teaching those computer classes. It showed that they were only running on Tuesday and Thursday night, like he’d originally told me. So where the fuck was he going every Wednesday night and for most of Saturday? What was worse was that the letter contained a receipt. He WAS getting fucking paid for teaching these classes! Over a hundred quid a week!

The second letter, our bank statement, answered what was happening to the money.

Every Friday, he’d get a hundred quid deposited in the bank. The following Saturday, he’d take it all out from some cash point in Basingstoke .

Basingstoke? What the bloody hell was he doing there?

I’d pretty much guessed by this point. Dear old darling Hubby hadn’t had his rocks off with me for over a month by this point, so I should have guessed it was only a matter of time before he started looking elsewhere. By this point, my handsome, muscular Hubby was pretty much neutered in my eyes and I couldn’t imagine any woman voluntarily fucking him. Seemed logical, in that case, that the hundred quid he got paid every week would go to some prostitute up in Basingstoke .

Now I’m not sure if this theory sounds crazy to you or not, but this is what I honestly imagined was going on. It leapt into my brain and stayed there. I had no other evidence beyond a bank statement, but I was utterly convinced that Hubby was off fucking some cheap (I don’t know. Is a hundred quid cheap?) prostitute twice a week when he’d barely come near me now.

How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Two

2007-10-07T04:47:00.000-07:00

It got even better when the new season’s team arrived and I really went to town on them.

There were two young lads I especially liked playing with. Darren and Matt, they were called. Cocky little salesman types with highlighted hair and cheap suits from Burtons . As soon as they began, I knew that I was going to have fun with them.

Now if you’ve ever worked in a sales environment, you’ve met boys like these. They’re in their early twenties and they think they’re the hottest shit on the scene. Tons of aftershave. Fancy cufflinks. Souped up little hatchbacks (Darren had a Renault Clio Sport and Matt drove a Hyundai Coupe.) They swaggered into my office like they were rockstars or something.

It took me precisely one week to break them.

I’ve already told you how I’m a bitch, so I don’t need to keep repeating myself. But to these boys? I was a super bitch.

In all honesty, though, they had it coming. Within half a day of having me as their new boss, Darren responded to one of my questions with a nonchalant: “Yes, Love.” Now I’m a lot of things, son, but I’m not your fucking ‘love.’ I didn’t work my arse off for six years to get this management position for the cocky little new kid to call me ‘Love’ on his first day. And Matt was his little bum-chum as far as I was concerned. Flirting with my other sales girls (who are young and giggly, the little cows) and whispering and sniggering with Darren whenever those two were together.

As the Americans would say: It’s on.

First thing was first. Darren and Matt stopped being referred to independently. In my Monday morning sales meetings, they were the ‘Petshop Boys.’ With their fucking gormless expressions and highlighted hair, they even looked a bit like Chris Lowe and Neil Tennant. That took the hot air out of their sails, I can tell you.

From then on, it was easy. I needed them to head into town for a presentation? “Oi! Petshop boys!” I’d tell across the office. “Quit sixty-nineing and get over here.” If they were late for a meeting (as they invariably were, taking a million and one fag breaks) I’d kick open the fire exit and bark: “Hey! Rent boys! Quit trawling for business and get in here!”

All COMPLETELY politically incorrect, as you can imagine. I didn’t really mind, though. Stuart’s this gay bloke I’ve got on my team and he didn’t take any offence to any of it. In fact, he once admitted to me: “Those lads are everything that’s worst about gay culture, except neither of them take it up the arse!”

God, we laughed.

Anyway. In less than a week, I’d put those boys firmly in their place. By teaming them up exclusively together, I made sure they never made allies of the rest of my team and with the constant gay remarks, I soon had the rest of my flirty sales girls howling in laughter at them rather than canoodling. They settled in alright in the end, but I cut them down to size before I let them get their feet under the desk.

Now you might wonder what the hell that has to do with anything, but I’ll explain in a bit.

How I've spent the last six months.... Part One

2007-10-04T16:56:00.000-07:00

It was the middle of March this year when the whole slave thing went for a burton. Hubby and I were really getting into it – having sex about every single night, which we haven’t done since before we were married. Then the next day he comes back home from work and tells me that his company’s gone bankrupt.

I don’t know if I mentioned it, but Hubby works as a computer geek. That’s the only way I can describe his job! I have no idea what it is he does exactly, but it’s with computers and it’s very technical and for some reason, he and all his colleagues can’t do it unless they have Lego Star Wars toys blue-tacked to their computer monitors. Except that particular morning, even Lego Darth Vader couldn’t help his company from going tits up.

So Hubby went from the geeky computer nerd who was earning less than me to being a stay-at-home hubby who was earning nothing.

Now I’ve already mentioned that I’m a self-confessed bitch. I manage a team with a rod of iron and expect great things from them. Part of our marriage problems were that I expected the same level of performance from my Hubby. So when he spent the days at home watching Trisha and failing repeatedly to get a new job, my respect for him just plummeted.

And I’ll tell you what. There’s no way you can get off being spanked by a man you have no respect for. I know it’s all meant to be fantasy, but getting tied up and spanked by a man who can’t even get a job?

I wasn’t going to submit myself to somebody who earned less than the kid who delivered the evening paper. I mean, I TRIED. It just didn’t work. My mouth dried up when I tried to give him one of my trademark sloppy blowjobs. My pussy dried up when he called himself ‘master.’

So after a few pretty pathetic attempts, we stopped the whole slave/master thing altogether. Then, we pretty much stopped having sex. I went back into being a bossy little bitch and that meant Hubby was as much my slave in the bedroom as I’d been in our earlier fantasies.

On the one or two nights a week I needed to get my jollies, I’d tell him to get his tongue between my legs and then I’d ride him like a rodeo pony. Sounds exciting? Well, I consider myself a pretty sexy lady, so I’d imagine it would be. Except being treated like a remote-control erection apparently didn’t do anything for Hubby.

While he’d obediently chow down on my punani until I came, when it came to the rodeo part, his normally impressive erection was flagging.

That’s what killed out sex life. There’s nothing more guaranteed to make you feel like shit than having a husband who can’t even get it up for you any more.

That made me even more angry, so I used to yell at him for being useless and that would just make his pathetic penis shrivel up even more.

So the sex stopped. Then the talking stopped. Then hubby pretty much moved to the spare room. I’d head off to bed and he’d stay up into the early hours, surfing on the computer.

A couple of times, I peeked through the crack into the door and saw him stroking a beautiful, big erection in time to some grainy sex-videos he’d downloaded. That made me feel wonderful, as you can expect. Hubby can’t even get it up for me, but at the sight of some bleached-blonde slag disinterestedly sucking her fifth cock of the morning, he’s spurting into his hand like a soap dispenser.

I threw myself into my work. I took out my frustrations on the poor sods I had working me. Instead of being trained into becoming a loyal little love slave, I turned into an all-encompassing super-bitch...

...and I’m ashamed to say, I loved it.

Back from Hiatus...

2007-10-04T11:07:00.000-07:00

I'm back!

Well, it’s been six months.

I haven’t written in this blog for six whole months. I can hardly believe it. You stop writing for a weekend or something and the next thing you know, half a year’s gone by.

Although an AWFUL lot has happened and over the course of the last six months, I haven’t exactly felt like being the submissive little lady-slut and instead have just been struggling through life and all the bollocks it throws up at you. The whole sexy slave thing was completely adorable while it was going on, but like the best of things, it can’t last forever.

But anyway. I would LOVE to get back into writing this blog, so I guess I’d better explain everything that’s been going on for the last six months. But be prepared. It’ll take a while.

I’ve been trying to write it all down and so far, it’s over 5,000 words in length! So I’ll split it into neat little chapters for ease of consumption.

Sex Toys: They look delicious, but don't lick them...

2007-03-04T13:22:00.000-08:00

God knows how the sex toy industry kept in business before the invention of the internet!

I mean, imagine having to go into one of those seedy sex shops to buy your jelly naughties? Or order them out of the back of some grotty wank mag?

Before the internet, buying sex toys was dirty, seedy and gross...

Now, in the world of Ann Summers, it's chic, hip and all women who appreciate pleasure are doing it. And if they're not? They should be!

It was the world of sex toys that Hubby and I recently explored when he ordered a box of them from Sexshop365. It's a VERY cool online sex toy shop with some great goodies and brilliant, quick delivery. I strongly recommend checking them out.

Now Hubby is as keen as hell on this whole slave/master relationship and he needs the toys to play the role properly. Hence his purchases online.

This is what he came up with...

It started off with Flirt, a PVC outfit that leaves the crotch open and my boobies exposed.

Considering I have both my nips peirced, I can understand the latter incentive... The fact that my pussy and arse are both open for business when I'm wearing this industrial getup leads me to believe that Hubby's on the brink of going through with his whole 'fucking another guy' fantasy. Why else would he want my two hotspots exposed? At the same time?

Next on the list was something I loved the look of. A Rabbit Vibrator. Since I'm a girl who's only got a small, plastic friend, the thought of something like this to keep me entertained into the wee hours was as horny as hell.

I mean, I'm a fan of Sex in the City, so I knew about the Rabbit. I'd just never seen one before. And damn they're cute. Like a little rubber lollipop! Apparently when they were first made in Japan, it was illegal to make sex toys that looked like... well, sex toys. So instead you got whirring rubber mushrooms and vibrating rabbits and it was all made out of strawberry flavour rubber.

It's like a sex toy aimed for little girls - but aren't we all little girls deep inside?

Last, but not least, was the dangerous looking toy.

Hubby had bought me an enormous rubber strap on.

It's pretty fucking big - as big as he is when he's at his hardest. What Hubby intends me to do with seven inches of rubber dick I dread to think. I'm his slave, so I imagine he's not planning for me to use it on him. I guess he has more nerfarious schemes in mind and I imagine they involve some poor orafice I can plunder with this thing.

I'll tell you what, though. A snug little harness holding a big, hard cock is a pretty empowering thing for a girl. It's so big and hard! The cock has an enormous head and a veiny shaft and even a big pair of balls. It's all made out of latex or rubber that is soft and firm all at the same time, like overripe fruit. I can't stop squeezing it!

I have finally figured out Freud's penis envy. I just want to FUCK something with it.

And trust me, I'll post pictures when I do. But until then, check out the brilliant Sexshop365 and buy some sexy goodies of your own - and let me know about them!

In the Gary.

2007-03-01T12:42:00.000-08:00

Rump.

Ass.

Derriere.

Whatever you want to call it, Hubby is obsessed with it.

Since I started this master/slave relationship, Hubby has been totally obsessed with my backside. He spanks it. He licks it. He bites it.

And, yes, he fucks it.

Now just like blowjobs were Christmas and Birthday presents before I started my slave routine, anal sex was purely the result of too much liquor and not enough resistance. I've been fucked in the arse three times in my life. The first time was at university, with an old boyfriend... The last two times are when I've been drunk as a skunk, face buried in the pillow and Hubby's taken my command of "do me" to a whole different level.

As far as I'm concerned, doing it sober would be painful, smelly and possibly ruin our sheets.

But I am a Slave and Hubby is a Master and since he was totally obsessed with it, I knew it wouldn't be long before his dick in my arse became a reality.

Tonight was the big night.

I'd been warned in advance, I have to admit. I glugged down a bottle of chardonnay in preparation and thought it would be a simple case of Hubby tying me up (he does that a lot these days) and me relaxing into a drunken stupor while eight inches of throbbing dick are shoved up my Gary Glitter.

Instead, he wanted me to work it.

The dirty fucker had me dance for him. Grind my arse against his throbbing cock while we were still dressed. He had me open up a bottle of lube (that Durex warming stuff.. ow!) and then lie back and think of England as he shoved his big, hard cock up my bum.

What I found tricky was that he wanted me on my back. On my hands and knees, arse thrust up into the air, I think I could handle it. But on my back, it seemed... awkward.

But even as I gripped the headboard for support, I got to see Hubby's face. That was worth it.

As his big dick 'popped' past my sphincter, the look on his face was priceless. Sure, it felt like I had a red hot crowbar shoved up my jacksie, but I could have come just from the look on his face.

And it was mercifully short. Just three or four thrusts and Hubby was pumping a big load of cum right up into my bowels. Normally, I complain he lasts barely minutes. This time, he was inside me for mere seconds.

But it didn't matter. The amount of pleasure I gave him almost made up for the discomfort I felt. In fact, as soon as he'd left to clean up, I flicked my bean to a quick orgasm all on my own.

Who knew I could control men with only the power of my arse?

And wasn't I meant to be the slave? I didn't realise one tight, forbidden orifice would grant me so much power over horny men.

Hubby keeps threatening to get some other guys to screw me in the arse. If I can expect the same puppy-dog devotion afterwards, perhaps I should let them!

Brown Eye Blues

2007-02-24T08:34:00.000-08:00

Tonight, Hubby made me do either the sexiest, or the grossest thing ever.

He had a long hot soak in a bath and then came into the bedroom all fragrant and clean. He got onto his hands and knees, his arse stuck into the air, and told me to rim him.

He wanted me to kiss and lick his arsehole.

I would have been totally grossed out by that, but he had just bathed. Plus, Hubby had fed me half a bottle of wine earlier.

Anyway. While he was on his hands and knees, I cupped his balls and stroked his hard on with my hands while my tongue slurped, licked and teased his crinkled pink arsehole.

It tasted fine. Like soap, to be honest.

And he must have liked it, because within a couple of minutes his dick was spurting onto the sheets. The combination of my tongue on his butt and my fingers on his dick brought Hubby to orgasm in double quick time.

Afterwards, I felt thoroughly disgusted with myself. I’d just spent five minutes French kissing my husband’s wrinkly arsehole. But I felt so deliciously submissive and slutty, it made me want to do it all over again,

Gang Bang I think not...

2007-02-23T12:36:00.000-08:00

Well, my first week as a slave comes to a close.

It’s had highlights… and it’s had the opposite of highlights. I’m not sure what they’re supposed to be. Lowlights? Doesn’t exactly sound right.

Anyway. The highlights have to be when everything worked out right. I was a slave, Hubby was my master and the relationship was clearly established.

The other night was the best. I’d said something bitchy to him and before I knew it, Hubby had tied my up with belts and dressing-gown cords and laid me out on the bed. For the next fifteen minutes he pounded hell out of my arse with a leather strap, sodomized me roughly with a vibrator and then coaxed me to orgasm with his thumb on my g-spot and his fingers tickling my clit.

As I lay there, kicking and struggling, I was in heaven. Seriously, I thought I’d melt like honey into the sheets.

Then there were the lowlights. Like when Hubby fed me one too many glasses of wine and I spent the evening berating him. Targeting the fact that Hubby doesn’t earn as much as me is the quickest route to deflating his erection you’ve ever seen.

But on the whole, it went well.

It’s been a learning curve. And I’ve learned.

I’ve learned that the most important thing is to give in. You see, I’m a fucking stubborn bitch. I love to fight and argue. But that’s entirely incompatible with being a slave. It was only when Master took it into his own hands and slapped the crap out of my arse that I shut up for once.

I need to do that more often. I need to just BE submissive. Instead, if I’m not quite in the right train of mind, I treat this like a game. I’m a total fucking bitch even though he’s got his thumb up my bum and is slapping my arse like it’s a bongo drum.

I’ve got to learn to be a slave and rule number one is SURRENDER.

Anyway. As the week comes to a close, I have to admit one thing turns me on. Hubby got me SO hot when he was talking about sharing me. I’ve decided now the hottest thing in the world would be if he got six of his well hung friends around to fuck the shit out of me. THEN I’d be submissive.

Submissive and probably fucked half to death… Oh, but a gang-bang. A great big gooey gangbang, with a bunch of men screwing me and cumming in me and covering me in sperm. Wow. I’ve flicked my bean thinking of that a couple of times since Hubby came up with the fantasy.

The problem is, Hubby doesn’t exactly have six well hung friends. He’s a bit of a geek and if you think he’s bad, you should see his friends. I don’t think being fucked silly by six skinny nerds high-fiving over Star Trek reruns has the same appeal.

But Hubby’s different. I wouldn’t have married him if he was a geek.

He’s pleasantly surprised me so far. The bondage and the whip was pretty hot stuff. Maybe, if getting me fucked by another guy is SO important to him, he’ll actually arrange it and do it RIGHT.

I can dream, can’t I?

Anyway. It’s Friday night and I have to get back to my slave duties.

Bondage

2007-02-22T13:08:00.000-08:00

Now I like a little bondage.

Bondage is probably the most important part of my slave/master relationship.

Master ties me up. Not just because he's a kinky fucker who likes to do that sort of thing, but because if he ties me up I can't do anything about the stuff he does to me.

I am supposed to be a submissive little sex slut, but I have had problems adjusting to that rule. And tying me up seems to be an effective way of making me do the things I choose not to.

Hubby wants me to suck his cock, and I don't want to.

If he ties me up, I can't help it.

Hubby wants me to lick his balls...

If he ties me up, he forces me to.

Hubby wants to shove his cock up my ass.

And I buck, and kick, and scream, and curse... But if I've got my wrists ties behind my back, there's nothing I can do about it.

So bondage is not just a kinky little extra. It's kind of the important 'thing' that makes the rest of my slave training come together. If Hubby... I mean Master... can tie me up, he can do whatever the hell he wants to me. And, at the end of the day, that's what I promised I'd let him do.

So I have been sold on bondage. I am a stroppy, difficult, struggling cow, but I am sold that tying me up is the only way I'll learn and it's the only way I'll do what he wants.

But how he ties me up is a big issue.

Handcuffs hurt.

Handcuffs are nasty things and cause bruises on wrists and ankles. For a short period, it's fine. But on the long term, bondage with handcuffs is not compatible with being the beautiful, bruise free sex goddess I know I am.

Rope?

Now rope is sexy.

Silk rope is sexy and malleable. Next to soft, white, virginal skin, there's nothing sexier than rope. And rope, when you tie somebody up, is a teasing, taunting bond that gives just enough to promise escape... But is tough enough to keep you bound.

So when you're planning bondage, I'd recommend rope. It's certainly kept me where Hubby wants me... :-)

Giving Me Away

2007-02-20T13:14:00.000-08:00

Master’s been pretty explicit in his fantasies the last few days.

Slavery wise, things are going great. Obedient as always, I pause outside the front door when I come home and slip on my collar (which I always keep in my handbag – caused a few raised eyebrows when it fell out while I was fumbling for some gum.)

At home, I leave my clothes neatly folded by the front door and spend the entire time naked.

Hubby… I mean Master… gets his dinner micro-waved for him every night and I obediently supply him with a blowjob or fuck before bed.

But this happy honeymoon period can’t last.

Because I’ve discovered what really turns Hubby on, and it’s got me all jittery. But in a good way. Like when you’re anticipating that first slap on your backside. There are butterflies in my stomach and my mouth goes all dry, but my pussy starts throbbing like it’s got a pulse.

It all started Sunday night, when I was on my knees obediently giving Hubby his early evening blowjob.

Now, before I got into slave mode, blowjobs were purely a Christmas and birthday thing. I guess that’s why Master’s been demanding them at least once a day since we started out little Master/Slave relationship.

And I’m getting pretty good at them. The secret is loads of spit. Seriously, so much saliva it dribbles down his balls.

Anyway. There I was, seven inches of throbbing man-meat obediently lodged in my mouth, one hand between my legs, rubbing my moist cunt to a second orgasm, the second hand cupping his balls and sliding my little finger up to the knuckle in Hubby’s arsehole.

That’s when he starts to get verbal.

“God, you look so sexy doing that…”

Cue an extra little slurp and another gush of moisture between my legs.

“God,” Hubby moaned, “I would love to see you sucking some other guy’s cock.”

And that was what caused problems.

There was a gush of moisture in my pussy – in fact I came, totally without warning… But did I just hear him right? He wants me to blow somebody else.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” Hubby’s eyes were closed. “I’d love to watch you give a hot, sloppy blowjob to some other guy. I’d like to pimp out your slutty mouth,” He thought I had a slutty mouth? Damn, my blowjob technique must have improved. “I’d like to watch you slurping on another massive dick.”

The submissive streak in me started to get really turned on. I did promise to be his sexual slave – a total slave. Did this mean I had to do whatever he asked? Even if it involved doing it to other people?

“You know what would really turn me on, though?” Hubby’s voice was ragged. “I’d like to watch you sucking me dick just as you are now, with your naked arse stuck out like that.”

Obediantly, I stuck my big rump up in the air like he’d demanded.

“I’d like to watch some other guy,” Hubby continued, “grab those cheeks of yours and spread your pussy wide.”

I strummed my clit even as I deep throated his cock. I think orgasm number three was on the cards.

“He’d have a massive dick,” my master rasped, “and he’d slid it inch by inch into your sopping pussy.”

Right now, with my arse stuck up in the air, I think I could have loved to have been fucked. Rubbing my clit was good… But I wanted to feeling of something big and hard and hot inside of me.

“I’d like to see you getting fucked from both ends,” Hubby continued. “I’d like to see him pound you so hard your butt jiggled.”

I wiggled my butt, just for his pleasure.

“Oh, yeah!” Hubby’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that! You’d grind that arse of yours on his big dick and make him cum.”

Hubby’s got throbbed.

“I’d like to see him spurt a huge load right inside of you,” he gasped. “I’d like to see you dripping with cum from both… both…”

Suddenly, he was grabbing my head in his hands.

“Oh fuck! You little slut!”

My mouth was flooded with cum.

I struggled to swallow it all as my own orgasm washed over me. I didn’t do a very good job. As it happened, most of his sperm poured out of my mouth and down my chin. It was a creamy flood!
*******

Some time later, I lay beside Master listening to his soft breathing.

I stared up at the ceiling and considered his little fantasy.

It’s not the first time he’d mentioned watching somebody else fuck me… But I suddenly realised that this little Master/Slave game could make those fantasies come true.

How did I feel about that? About the thought of getting fucked by a strange man. Maybe more than one… At the same time.

Yep, even as Hubby snored beside me, I rubbed out a forth orgasm.

The thing that did it for me was Hubby telling me about the guy cumming inside of me. That turned me on like you wouldn’t believe.

I’m not on the pill and Hubby gets to blow his load inside me maybe once a month, when I’m convinced I’m safe.

But being a slave wasn’t anything to do with being safe.

I was entrusting every decision to Hubby. Including who I fuck… And how they fuck me…

The thought of some stranger spurting cum inside me was almost enough to make me cum. The thought of getting more than one load inside my thirsty cunt.

Oh, God.

Still gasping, I fell right to sleep.

*******

And now I’m left with the post-coital reality of it.

Am I willing to actually go through with something like that, if Hubby ever gets his act together to arrange it?

Would I really let him give me to another man?

Did my submissiveness really mean I’d let some stranger blow his wad inside me?

On the face of it, there wasn’t a chance. At best, I’d wind up pregnant with a stranger’s baby. At worst, I could catch some disease.

But I figured I didn’t need to worry about it until it happened – and with my Hubby’s record – he couldn’t arrange a piss up in a brewery – I doubted it would ever happen.

But damn, could I get off imagining it!

Pictures speak louder than words...

2007-02-19T13:50:00.000-08:00

So Hubby... I mean Master... was pissed off with me tonight.

Apparently I wasn't submissive enough for him. Which might have something to do with the fact that he's a total fucking pussy.

Yes, I blew my submissive slave routine long enough to tell him what I thought. And, God bless him, he did what any dominant master should do.

He tied me up and beat seven shades of shit out of my ass.

I have pictures.

An awful lot of pictures.

Disciplinary Proceedings

2007-02-18T08:17:00.000-08:00

The Master slave relationship has been going on less that 48 hours, but we already hit a small obstacle.

For the second night, I slept wearing the collar and woke up this morning warm, snug and happy. And immediately Hubby… sorry, Master… shook me awake.

“Today,” he told me, “you will spend the entire day naked.”

“Well, switch the fucking central heating on,” I told him. I was wearing a camisole and thong and I was freezing as it was.

But apparently, dear readers, a snappy comeback is conduct unbecoming of a slave.

“What did you just say?”

I think this was the first test of our Master/Slave relationship and Hubby… sorry, Master… would have blown the whole thing if he’d let me get away with it.

Maybe that’s why I was doing it. I’m a manipulative little bitch sometimes.

Anyway. He didn’t.

I’m proud of him. Master yanked back the covers and I felt the cold chill hit me. We really ought to stop being cheapskates and put the central heating on.

“Okay,” Master said, very firmly. “We better set some ground rules, Slave. From now on, you can keep your smart little asides to yourself, understood?”

I nodded.

“Get your arse out of bed and go and stand by the wall.”

Pouting I did as I was told.

“No,” he snapped. “Over there, by the window.”

I shuffled over to the window.

Master climbed out of bed himself and yanked back the curtains.

Now this I didn’t exactly like, because suddenly I was standing against the window with the entire town able to look in at me.

“Stick your bum out,” Hubby breathed in my ear.

I wiggled my arse, which looked pretty damn sexy in a thong. I jauntily stuck it out at him. And Slap!

His palm made contact against my right arse cheek and the fat jiggled painfully.

I must have leapt forward three inches, my big breasts pressing themselves against the icy glass.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Three times his hand stung my butt cheeks, landing two firm slaps on each buttock. I gripped the window sill, by boobs and cheek pressed against the glass.

“Right then,” Hubby… I mean Master… warned me. “Are you done with the witty jokes?”

I nodded.

“Get out of your clothes.”

“But the window…” I was painfully aware that Mrs Monroe, down in 23, was pottering about in her garden. Nosy old bitch.

Slap!

“Out of them! Now!”

My butt must have been glowing red by this point. Obedinatly I wiggled out of my thong and kicked it aside. I lifted my camisole and by big boobs swung free.

I stood naked by the window, shivering.

“Good,” the was a curiously detached hunger to Master’s voice. “Excellent.”

He kicked aside my ankles, spreading my legs. I moment later, I gasped as I felt his cold fingers reach between my thighs and touch my cunt.

So the rest of the me was fucking freezing, but the spanks and his authoritative voice had made me moist.

His fingers sunk inside me and I moaned, leaning forward until my tits were pressed against the glass again.

I heard the rustling of material as Master yanked down his boxer shorts. Then I felt something hard nose around the entrance to my pussy.

The horny little bastard must have got a hard on spanking me.

Without any foreplay, Hubby guided his knobhead to my moist pussy and pushed. There was a moment’s resistance, but then I opened up and he sunk deep inside of me.

It was rougher and quicker than I liked it, but the urgency was very sexy. I groaned, closing my eyes.

Pressed against the glass, my bum stuck out obscenely, Hubby then proceeded to fuck me, hard and fast.

Although my face was pressed against the glass, I could see Mrs Monroe peeking up at me from her back garden, watching the girl with the big boobs pressed against the glass, he Hubby grunting and thrusting from behind her.

Shocked, she scurried on inside.

Hubby was groaning deeply. His breath was ragged. I knew he was close to cumming, which disappointed me since I think I’d have only been a few minutes behind him.

“Don’t cum in me,” I warned. I’m not on the pill anymore and it’s about the right time of the month to get a neatly knocked up slave instead of just an obedient one.

Slap!

His hand impacted with my thigh. Hot tears spurted out of my eyes and rolled down my cheek.

His breath was hot in my ear: “What have I told you about giving me orders, Slave?”

His cock swelled up inside of me. If he could just hold out a moment or two longer, I was sure I’d be able to ride the coattails and get to cum too.

But, oh shit! I think he was going to cum in me!

I felt my orgasm flowing the wrong way, as the implication of getting knocked up by my Hubby hit me. Oh, sure, it was all fucking sexy while he was pounding the shit out of me with our neighbours watching. But I had a job. I was the breadwinner. I seriously wasn’t ready to get pregnant.

“Don’t,” I warned him. “Don’t cum in me!”

Slap! Slap! Two more stinging handprints on my bum.

He grabbed a big fistful of my hair and yanked my hair back. Then Hubby’s voice was loud in my ear, his rasping breath making my neck wet.

“If I want to cum in you, Slave,” he groaned, just seconds away from cumming, “I will do. And you’ll like it, okay?”

Oh God. My orgasm was back. Just one yank on my hair and my pussy gushed and my clit throbbed. And like that, his swollen dick was rubbing deliciously against my g-spot.

“Okay,” I groaned, just sinking into the moment. “Okay, just cum in me. Cum on me.” I closed my eyes. “Do whatever you want, Master.”

He groaned. He was cumming, I swear.

Just as my orgasm was about it hit, I felt Hubby slide his dick out of my dripping cunt and then scalding hot spurts of cum burnt my ass.

“Oh fuck,” he was groaning, wanking himself off over my bum. “Oh, Christ.”

I stood there, pressed against the glass. My cheek and boobs were icy cold. Hot globs of cum were like lava on my arse. My clit throbbed.

I lowered one hand and touched my clit and mercifully, I came.

My orgasm hit me and I shuddered and groaned just as Hubby was squeezing the last of his impressive load off over my buttocks.

We stood there gasping for a second.

God. I felt great. I hadn’t had an orgasm for weeks and that felt blissful. I was tingling. But already the hot cum was cooling, feeling sticky and uncomfortable on my bum.

“I’m going to get a towel,” I told Master.

“No,” he pressed me against the glass. “I told you I’d keep you naked all day,” he hissed, “and you’ll wear my cum all day too, understood?”

The whole thought grossed me out. But it made my tingling pussy throb.

“Now go downstairs,” Hubby hissed hotly into my ear, “and make me some breakfast.”

A Pimp by any other Name...

2007-02-17T09:55:00.000-08:00

Well, this weekend started what Hubby has been calling ‘training.’
I slept in my collar for the first time last night and from the moment I woke up today, I was under strict orders to be in slave mode.

That in itself was fun – but Hubby and I did come across our first problem. What on earth did I call him?

‘Hubby’ is hardly a very authoritative term. His real name is even worse. For anonymity’s sake, I can’t tell you what Hubby’s Christian name is, but it’s firmly in the ‘Tim,’ ‘Toby’ and ‘Ronald’ mode.

Can you imagine? “Do me harder, Toby! I want to swallow your cum, Toby!”

We needed a name.

Hubby, nerd that he is (I’m taking a short break from wearing the collar, so I can be honest about hubby’s nerdity,) wanted to be called “The Man.”

Like, you know. “Who’s the man?”

And we’d just seen that film with Samuel L. Jackson and as much as I love my Hubby and am willing to submit myself sexually to him – he’s nowhere near cool enough to pull off “The Man.”

This whole collar thing wouldn’t last five minutes. I’d be sniggering so much I’d accidentally snort his cum out of my nose.

The second suggestion was “Pimp.”

And I know my Hubby loved that one. He just loved the idea of the pimp coat and hat and I’ve got a feeling the idea of “pimping me out” rates pretty highly on his list of fantasies. But it was all a bit too much like an episode of Scrubs for me.

Finally, along the lines of "Who's the Man," he came up with "Daddy."

Like, "Who's your Daddy?"

And this one went down like a lead balloon. I mean, if he's not "The Man," he's hardly qualified to be "The Daddy."

So when he demanded: "Who's your Daddy?" I yelled: "A little guy from Napoli."

Because my Dad's from Napoli. Just to clarify.

Anyway. Having ruled those three out, we eventually decided to just go with 'Master.'

He’s my master. I’m his little Kitty slave.

That seemed fair enough. It’s not exactly original, but until Hubby and I have tried this lifestyle for a bit, it’ll have to do.

Hubby has told me that he will be* changing his name down the line (most probably to Pimp, the geek,) but for the moment, I convinced him to stick with the more mundane.

* You can see he's got his 'Master' assertiveness going already!

Collared!

2007-02-16T14:31:00.000-08:00

My husband bought me a collar for Valentine’s day.

I know, it’s not exactly a gold ring or a diamond necklace. But it’s something we’d been discussing for a long time now and actually it was the sweetest present. Not the collar itself – although that’s damn cute, to be honest. It’s a little pink doggy one with little silver bones on it.

No, it’s what the collar meant.

A few weeks ago, our marriage almost hit the rocks. It had been rocky for a long time. This is because Hubby is a complete pussy and I’m a total bitch. He’s a lovely guy. He’s kind and loving and considerate. But people walk all over him. On the other hand, I’m a bossy bitch. People demand results from me. I have to get my team at work to hustle their arses and I do that by being tough on them.

The problem is, this behaviour follows me back from the office and it’s how I act at home. And it’s miserable for both Hubby and me.

I was yelling at him for everything. Not having dinner ready for me. Paying too much for the weekly shop. Getting bills wrong. It was that especially which pissed me off. If he left me to sort out bills or paperwork, I would fly off the handle at him. I was responsible for all this shit all day! Why did I have to be responsible for it at home as well?

I wanted to come home from work and just not have to be responsible for anything. I wanted him to be in charge. I just wanted to be told what to do. I just wanted to surrender all those responsibilities.

Our marriage was in trouble, but one aspect that had always been good was our sex life. Hubby was always eager and horny and while he was a complete pushover at home, in bed he tended to be aggressive and dominant and that was the Hubby I loved.

I just loved him to heft me about with his muscular body and bend me into any way he wanted. About the only time I felt truly safe and comfortable in our marriage was when he had my face buried in the pillow and was fucking me hard and fast.

I wanted that feeling all the time.

A few weeks back, we had the most enormous argument. He’d spent the last year and a half being the loving, obedient husband and when I raised my voice one time too often, he blew up at me.

He yelled at me. He told me to stop being such a spoilt, stuck up little bitch. And when I tried to slap him, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around.

Now I swear, I ought to nail the bastard for wife beating, but Hubby put me over his knee, ripped my trousers down and gave me the kind of spanking I haven’t got since I was a little girl.

I swear. Slap! Slap! Slap! My arse was bright red by the time I finished.

And the weirdest thing? I totally melted.

From the moment he had me over his knee, I stopped struggling. I normally treated Hubby like shit. He was always so eager to please and did everything I asked (or demanded.)

To suddenly have him dominate me like that – to just throw me over his knee and spank seven shades of shit of out me – made me moist like you wouldn’t believe.

Now I’m not condoning what he did. I think guys who hit women are scum. But the fact is, hubby didn’t hit me. He just spanked me, like a naughty little girl.

I got so turned on by the fact that he was strong enough to subjugate me to his will. For the first time in the last five years, I actually felt powerless. And it felt wonderful.

I literally melted in his lap.

When Hubby was done spanking me, I slid off his lap onto the carpet and I swear, my arse was so hot you could have fried eggs on it. I had tears rolling down my face and the bastard had ruined my makeup. But I shut up.

For the first time in the last three years, I shut up.

I just sat there and sniffled. And Hubby was like a changed man. Instead of being so eager to please, like a little puppy, he looked tough and powerful.

I realised then and there that I wanted him to be in charge. I wanted him to dominate me, just like I dominated the girls in the office all day long.

I wanted to come home and switch off. Basically be his slave. God, that was such a turn on for me, the thought of being him submissive little slave.

And of course, Hubby wasn’t arguing with this suggestion. When I told him what I wanted (it was a couple of days later, when I’d worked up the courage) he was so turned on by it he yanked my skirt up and practically raped me on the carpet (and although I struggled, I loved it.)

But the problem was, I couldn’t do it. I found a real problem switching into submissive mode when I came home from the office each day.

When I went to work that morning, I’d be full of good intentions. But by the time I’d come home, I’d be tired and pissed off and just wanted dinner and a glass of wine. Or I’d find out he’d forgotten to do the car tax and get pissed off that there was more responsibility I was left in charge of.

It was better. I was submissive some of the time. But as soon as something went wrong, or I broke the mood, I was back in bitch mode.

It didn’t look like it was ever going to work, until Hubby, being the academic sort he is, told me about Pavlov’s dog.

Pavlov’s dog was trained to water at the mouth when a bell rang. It’s a conditioned response or something. And Hubby suggested we could do the same thing with me.

It was based around the collar.

He was going to buy me a collar. I’d take it to work with me in my handbag.

I could be my normal self at work – the super bitch. But before I opened the front door to step back home, I had to open my handbag, take out the collar and put it one.

And as long as I wore the collar, I was his slave.

It seemed like a really great idea, because before I couldn’t establish the different roles and kept turning into super-bitch when I was meant to be a slave. So with a collar, it was like a constant reminder that I was in slave mode.

It was a sexy idea and I was excited when I opened my Valentine’s Day present to find that cute little collar in there.

The question is, will it work?