“Is it big?” I asked.
“Big enough,” he said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I told him. “Is it hard?”
“Take it out and let me see it,” I said.
We were in a very secluded part of the bar, in the shadows. Even so, it was a public place.
“If you aren’t going to do what you’re told,” I said, “there’s no point in continuing.”
He looked around. Everyone was too occupied with their own business to notice. Probably. He unzipped and pulled it out. I stared at it. “Is this as big as it gets?” I said.
“I think so,” he answered.
“Don’t worry, it’s OK,” I said. “It’s a perfectly respectable size. I’ve seen bigger, but I’ve seen smaller too.”
I stared at it some more. It was so hard it gave a tiny throb at each of his heartbeats.
“Pull back the foreskin,” I said.
He did so. The head was a beautiful dark pink. The skin on it was stretched and I could just see in the murk that it was glossy. I had a powerful urge to touch it. But those who seek to control must first of all control themselves.
“Take your hands away,” I said.
I knew what he wanted. Men are not hard to read. He wanted me to stroke it, to squeeze it, and then to take it in my mouth. And ultimately take it into my cunt.
I continued to look at it, occasionally glancing up to see if we had caught anyone’s eye. “How often do you masturbate?” I asked.
“I want an answer,” I said. “Even if I don’t believe it.”
“Two or three times a week.”
“Let’s say four or five, shall we? And how often do you fuck your wife?”
“About once a month.”
“Do you wish it were more often?”
“She’s lost interest,” he said.
“Perhaps you don’t do the right things.”
“Perhaps,” he echoed.
“So you find other women instead?”
“If I’m lucky.”
“I suppose you think you got lucky this time?”
“I don’t presume,” he said. I liked the fact he was polite, not pushy. It was one of the things that had encouraged me to respond to his message.
“That’s just as well,” I said. “You’ll have to be a very good boy if you want to earn privileges.”
“What does that involve?”
“Doing what you’re told. Exactly what you’re told, and only what you’re told.”
“OK,” he replied.
“I’m not sure you have any idea what you’re committing to. But we’ll see.”
I looked down at his cock again. I thought I could see a little bead of moisture at the tip. I would have liked to taste it.
“Put it away,” I said. “I’ve got to go now.”
He looked disappointed, but he said nothing. Outside the tube station I stopped. “I will see you again next week,” I said. “In a hotel room this time.”
“Good,” he said.
“But don’t make any assumptions. And you certainly won’t get to fuck me. Not yet, anyway.”
I pulled him to me and kissed him on the mouth. I pushed my tongue between his lips, delving deep. I put my hand down to his groin and felt his cock through his trousers. He was still hard. I squeezed. Then I let go. “Just a little something to remember me by,” I said, and turned away.
His name was George. I thought him quite good-looking. He was older than many of my men, but I didn’t mind that. I had found him on Craig’s List. He sounded like what I was looking for. I was going through a particularly mean stretch at the time; I wanted to treat men badly, I wanted to tease them unbearably, to deny them. And sometimes hurt them. I was just developing those sorts of things with Henry, and it had strongly aroused my dominant, even sadistic, instincts. But I didn’t want to go too fast with Henry, so I took it out on other men.
The following week I let George enter the hotel room first. I closed the door behind me and locked it; this time he needed fear no discovery. He stood by the window, wondering what came next.
“Take your clothes off. All of them.”
I sat in one of the armchairs and watched. When he was naked I beckoned him to me. I sat looking at his cock for a while, during which time it slowly rose up until it was pointing straight at me.
“Have you masturbated since we last met?”
“No,” he said.
“How can I believe you?”
“I’ve been saving it up.”
“Have you fucked your wife?”
I believed him. It didn’t sound like there was much left in the marriage. Not that this was my concern.
“Would you like me to undress a little?”
“Very much,” he said.
“What do you suggest I take off?”
“Stockings?” he said hopefully.
“That would be two things, because I’d have to take my shoes off first. Four things if you count them up: two shoes, two stockings.”
He didn’t reply. I said nothing but kicked off my shoes, hitched up my skirt and began to unfasten my stockings. I rolled them down over my legs as he watched closely.
“If you ask nicely, things sometimes happen. Though not always.”
“So I see,” he said.
“Now you do something for me,” I said. “You crawl around the room on hands and knees.”
There was a slight hesitation, but he got down and started to crawl. When he got back to me I told him to turn round so he was presenting his ass to me. Then I told him to pull the cheeks of his ass apart. Again, there was a slight hesitation before he did so. I knew he was embarrassed that I was looking straight down his asshole ; that was the whole point.
“Turn back,” I said. He was kneeling, facing me.
“Have you ever been fucked in the ass by a woman? Or a man, come to that?”
“Thought about it?”
“Now bend down and kiss my feet,” I said.
He bent his head and began to kiss them all over.
“Now lick between the toes,” I said.
He did it, very slowly. It felt good. I was still undecided how far I would go with him, except that I certainly did not intend to let him fuck me. And I had now decided that he wouldn’t get to come either. Not this time. Close, maybe, but no cigar.
“Stand up,” I said.
He got to his feet.
“Would you like me to take something else off?” I asked.
“Yes, I would,” he said.
“This time you don’t get to choose.”
Slowly I began to unbutton my blouse. I slipped it off. My bra was cut very low, straps at the sides, almost showing the nipples. I saw how hungrily he looked. Perhaps he had been telling the truth and he hadn’t come since our first meeting.
“You have beautiful breasts,” he said.
“I thank you for the compliment, but there must be no more. It’s not your place,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. I sat there for a while as he continued to run his eyes over my breasts, what he could see of them. They’re not bad, even though I say so myself. He was not the first to compliment them.
“Now,” I said. “We can get started.”
I picked up my bag and opened it. I drew out a small leather collar and a leash. Carefully I fitted the collar round his cock and balls and pulled it very tight before doing up the little buckle. There was a ring attached to the front and I hooked on the leash.
“Back down on your knees,” I said.
I led him round the room, yanking hard on the leash from time to time. I looked in my bag again and brought out a pair of steel handcuffs.
“Hands behind your back,” I ordered. While he knelt I cuffed him. Then I set off round the room again. This time it was not so easy for him, trying to crawl without his hands. I kept pulling the leash and once or twice he stumbled. Then I made him get to his feet and stand in front of me again as I sat in the chair.
“I’m minded to take something else off,” I said. “But if I do, I’m going to make things harder for you. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” he said.
I unhooked my bra. He looked at my breasts with real desire. I fondled them a little, teasing the nipples to a point. “You’d like to do this for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, god, yes,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but you aren’t going to touch me today. And I’m not going to touch you. Not till next time. If you want there to be a next time.”
“Oh, yes, I do, please,” he answered.
“Very well,” I said. Once more I rummaged in my bag and came up with another pair of cuffs. I told him to lie face down on the floor. I cuffed his ankles together and brought them back up till they were almost touching his wrists. Then I fastened them all together with a metal clip and rolled him over onto his side.
“Ever had a hog-tie before?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He was breathing hard. The position was awkward. It was meant to be.
For the last time I reached into my bag and took out a blindfold. I fitted it round his eyes and checked it was secure.
“Now,” I said, “it’s my turn to take something off again.’
I unzipped my skirt and pulled it down over my hips, tossing it onto the chair. He turned his head to me, desperate to look, but of course he couldn’t see anything.
“I’m wearing a pair of black silk knickers,” I said. “They are rather brief. I expect you’d love to see them.”
“I would, very much,” he said. I think he hadn’t given up hope that he would get to see me naked, even if he wasn’t allowed to touch. I put my shoes back on and walked round the room, admiring myself in the mirror. I came back to him.
“Now I’m going to take my knickers off too,” I said.
I slipped them down and stepped out of them. I walked round the room again, naked this time. I stopped in front of the mirror and stroked my breasts, then put my hand between my legs and stroked my cunt too. It was wet, very wet. Just right for what I had in mind; I’d decided I was going to touch him after all; it’s a woman’s privilege to change her mind. I went back to where he was lying. I unfastened his ankles from his wrists and laid him out full-length on his back. I straddled him, my thighs either side of his head. I grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his head up. I pushed forward my groin, holding myself only an inch or two from his nose, so he could smell me. I don’t use any perfumes on my cunt; I think the natural smell is the best. I’d showered that morning, of course, but the last hour or so had set the juices running. I thought I could even smell them myself.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said.
It was all I could do to stop myself pulling his head between my legs and ramming my cunt against his mouth. “Don’t move, even an inch,” I said. I brought my cunt closer still, only half an inch away. His nose twitched. I picked up my knickers from the floor and rubbed them against my cunt. I could see damp smears on them. I placed them on his face.
“Now I’m going to masturbate,” I said. “It may take a while because I like to prolong the pleasure. But I’ll give you a running commentary.”
I sat in the chair, my legs splayed, and put my hand to my cunt. I rubbed the lips, then squeezed and pinched them, handling them roughly for a while. Then I pushed my fingers in, first one, then two, then more. All the time I was telling him exactly what I was doing. After some finger-fucking, I put the middle finger of my right hand to my clit and began to slowly circle it.
“This is where it hots up,” I said. “The clit is where it’s at.”
I described how fast I was going, exactly which point I was touching. I told him that I was pinching my nipple with the other hand. I told him I was doing it harder and harder. “A little pain is always good,” I said “And sometimes a lot of pain is better. Perhaps you’ll find out.”
I could feel the orgasm building from a long way off. I made my hand go slower, not wanting it to finish just yet. But knowing that he was in the room, so close but denied the pleasure of watching or touching, made me feel very horny. “I’m coming,” I said. “Oh god, oh jeez.”
It was a good one. After I’d got my breath back I got up and took my knickers off his face and slipped them back on. I put the rest of my clothes on, and finally released him from the cuffs and blindfold. He sat up, rubbing his wrists.
“You’ve been a good boy,” I said. “If you like we could meet again. Maybe you’ll get a little more next time. But no promises.”
“OK,” he said. “Yes, please.”
I walked out while he was still dressing.
I wasn’t always so self-denying. Sometimes guys got lucky and fucked me, but always on my terms. I met another guy two weeks later, in a bar. His name was Tom. He eyed my wedding ring, which I had made no attempt to hide.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, looking him in the eye, as if to say, what of it?
“And he doesn’t mind, your husband, or are you…” His voice trailed off.
“Cheating on him? No, he doesn’t mind. Not that it’s any of your business,” I added.
He shrugged. “I always think it’s as well to have these things spelt out.”
“Are they spelt out enough for you now?”
He looked a little concerned, anxious no doubt that I might leave at any moment. He had the worried look men get when they have hopes that sex will happen, but fear that it might be snatched away.
“I note you haven’t told me anything about your marital status, and I haven’t asked,” I said. “So I think this part of the conversation is closed. Though you can tell me how often you do this, I mean meet strange women in bars.”
“Now and again,” he said. “Maybe half a dozen times in all. And you?”
“I’m still feeling my way,” I said, stroking the arm of his suit.
He smiled. It was a nice smile. It was evident he was relieved the atmosphere had lightened. “Would you like another drink, or do you…” His voice trailed off again. He seemed to have a habit of doing that.
“Another drink. Same again. But please don’t think I am delaying things. You’re a nice-looking guy and I’ll be happy to suck your cock in due course. And other things.”
He was a little thrown by that. Men don’t expect women to say that sort of thing, even women who have met them for the express purpose of sex. He went to the bar without a word. When he came back we talked of other things. And then I said, “Let’s go upstairs.”
I’d booked a room, being reasonably sure this guy would be suitable. He followed me into the lift. I could see him looking me over, doubtless thinking that soon he would see me with my clothes off and get a better look. Inside the room I decided I would lead the way. Sometimes I like to let a guy take control, if he’s that sort of guy. But mostly I prefer to take the initiative. That’s how I came to be where I am, after all.
So I told him I’d like him to take all his clothes off and lie down on the bed. He did as I asked; I could see his cock was getting big. As he lay there it rose, at right angles to his body, sticking up in the air. It was a nice cock. He’d sent me a picture of it, even though I hadn’t asked. Usually I don’t care for that, but I was feeling horny and a picture of a cock at that moment had been in keeping with my mood. He was uncut, which I prefer; something extra to play with. But in the picture he had retracted the foreskin, and you could see the delicate curve of the glans, like a little helmet. He had asked me to send him a picture of my cunt in exchange. But I don’t do that; it’s not very classy, I think, distributing close-ups, even if you like your cunt, which mostly I do.
I gave him a little show, trying to undress as elegantly as possible. I was wearing stockings, because I know men like them, and they do show off my legs. So I slid them off slowly. I took off my bra with my back to him and slowly turned round for him to check out my tits. I think they’re OK, at least men seem to think so. I’ve been told I have good nipples, “very suckable”, as one man said. I undressed down to my knickers, which were black silk ones again; I like silk next to my skin. Then I joined him on the bed.
I had a pretty good idea of what I was going to do. I lay on his chest and stroked it for a while, and played with his nipples, testing if they were sensitive. They were. Then I slid down the bed and without more ado took his cock in my mouth. As I’ve said, it was a nice one, perhaps a very little above average size, with a slight curve up towards the tip, which I always like.
I sucked his cock for about ten minutes, doing a good job even though I say so myself. Over the years I’ve made a bit of a study of cock-sucking, finding out what men really like, learning to tell if they like it soft or hard, slow or fast. He liked it sensuous, which suited me fine. I didn’t want him to come in my mouth, I had other plans, so after a while I slid up the bed again. I straddled him and sat with my knees round his hips and, pulling my knickers aside, slowly lowered myself onto him until his cock was lodged deep inside me. Then I started to fuck him, not too fast at first. I enjoy fucking, and I didn’t want it to end too soon.
You may be wondering if I slipped a condom on him before he entered me. The answer is no, for a reason that will become clear. I’d asked him if he was willing to fuck me bareback, and he said “yes, let’s live dangerously.”
He managed to keep himself from coming long enough for me to put my hand between my legs, inside my knickers, and rub my clit just the way I like it done, and get myself off. I had just about finished my orgasm (though thinking I wouldn’t mind another one), when he came in a rush, ejaculating deep inside me.
I got off him and lay beside him on the bed, pulling my knickers up. Though I had rented the room for the night, I had no intention of staying that long. In fact I planned to leave soon after we had done the deed. I wanted a fuck; I didn’t want a romance.
At this point I should explain things a little. One reason I badly wanted to fuck was because I wasn’t getting fucked by my husband any more. Subsequently, I have found ways of getting him to penetrate me while remaining within the regime of chastity which I have prescribed for him, but at that time he was simply in denial and so, unfortunately, was I. Cutting off my nose to spite my face, perhaps.
Yes, dear readers, I am in a female-led relationship and am what is popularly known as a hotwife, though I don’t like the term. I fuck other men as and when I please, and my husband has no say in it. Anyway, I lay there with Tom for a while, not wishing to leave indecently early, but then I said I must be off. He looked genuinely surprised. I think he thought he had done the deed well enough and that it might be repeated.