top of page


I sat on the bed. I lay on the bed. I watched the developments unfold­ing on the news. I stood up and went to look out of the sash window. Then I went into the bathroom and pencilled in my eyebrows. Again. I’d already spent hours that afternoon applying and reapplying my make-up to ensure I looked absolutely amazing. And he was late.

We’d been plotting this – our own General Erection (sorry) – for months, ever since we’d formed our own coalition in his car. Well, it felt like months, but was really just one, and I’d had to push this particular campaign issue a few times, even though I was secretly petrified. But it was strange – we used to message each other, leave voicemails for each other, hell, I’d even mastur­bated and thrown my knickers out of my car window while doing ninety down the M3, but I just wondered….

“Are we ever going to, you know…do it???” I’d finally been brave enough to email him in April.

“You mean FUCK?” he’d replied. “Go on, Jacky. Say. The. Word.”

Aagh! The “F” word. Not only the act, but the word itself. I didn’t mind my own “fucky fucky” terminology, but to be presented with a straight­forward “fuck” made me blush. I must admit it did turn me on a little bit though too. This was all still so new to me. Max’s compliments, my nails, my car, this new-found pride in my appearance. I still wasn’t happy with my fig­ure or my hair, but Max clearly was. What was it he saw in me? Something I just couldn’t. Something I just didn’t feel either. How could I go from frumpy housewife to masturbating down the motorway or performing in a park? What was happening to me?

With trembling fingers, I typed: “I’m not going to say the word. But… YES?”

He didn’t reply, for some reason.

A few days afterwards and, over a very rushed and hushed conversation in the cafeteria at work, I asked him if it was because of his wife.

“No, it’s not that. Well, maybe a little. It’s just that, I don’t… know if I have the time. And I told you never to bring her up.”

“Sorry.” I looked down into my coffee, as if I were a child being admon­ished by its parent.

“Look,” he continued. “Let’s compare our diaries and see when we both have a spare moment.”

How romantic.

And so, as the rest of the country outside this beige hotel room was being promised that things could only get better, I was pacing up and down, checking and rechecking the time, already presuming the worst.

We’d exchanged several texts leading up to this afternoon.

“Do u hv a hairy chest ?x?x”


“Wot about vsctmy?”

“What’s that??”

“Vasectomy. U have ?????”

“Oh right, ha ha, no.”

My heart sank a little when I read that, because it meant we’d have to use condoms, which also meant it’d be me having to buy them. I’m sure his wife would’ve had a few questions to ask if she’d found a packet of those in his blue suit, not that I was supposed to acknowledge her existence.

He’d also emailed me at length describing what he wanted me to be wearing at our thrusting husting. “I want you to wear that dress you wore at that meeting in February, you know the one and, underneath your clothes I want you to be wearing all red. Stockings, suspenders, killer heels…”

I’d gasped when I’d read that. Who did he think I was? I hadn’t worn stuff like that in years. The only time I’d done so was for an ex-boyfriend, who’d actually laughed at me when he entered my bedroom as I was lying on the bed. Can you imagine what that did for my self-esteem? But in Max’s email he’d commented on how sexy and tarty he found them. Could I do this? Was I really going to do this? It made me feel faint just thinking about it. After much deliberation through a sleepless night next to my snoring soon-to-be ex-husband – I decided to take the plunge. If Max found them seductive, I would wear them – and seduce him.

So, one Sunday afternoon, with my husband out of the house for a few hours, I was free to experiment alone. I found the red basque – the one that had been such a source of great amusement years ago – stuffed right at the back of a drawer. I tried it on. A bit tight, but this just served to accentuate my breasts. Luckily I wasn’t in one of my fat phases. I delicately tore the seal off a pair of red stockings and slid them up my legs apprehensively. I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror. I ran my hands down my body, smoothing my curves then cupping my breasts in my hands. I carefully positioned them to maximize my cleavage which, admittedly, looked good, before fastening the suspenders to the stockings. I painted my fingernails scarlet and squeezed my feet into a pair of ruby shoes with four-inch heels.

How did I look? Like a vision in red. A virginal slut. How did I feel? Tarty? Definitely. Sexy? Pass. Seductive?

As I stared at my reflection in my bedroom, in a state of both admiration and fear, one of Max’s comments in an email came into my head:

“Fuck-me shoes, darling, that’s what you need. They would make your legs look great.”

Do my legs look great? I had half a mind to wait for my husband to get back just so I could ask him: “Well, what do you think?”

A “dff dff dff” on the hotel bedroom door jolted me back to the present. This is it. I clumsily teetered over, opened it and poked my head round.

“Hi,” I said, meekly.

“Hello,” Max replied. “Well? Aren’t you going to let me in?”

I opened the door, and he proceeded to tell me about the nightmare traf­fic on the way here before he finally took me in.

“Come here,” he gasped. “I want to hold you.”

Our aftershave and perfume mingled. He let go of me and stood back.


Max started to remove his jacket, his tie and shirt, his eyes never leaving me.

“Take your dress off,” he whispered. “Let me see you.”

“Do it for me.” I implored.

“No. I want to see you take your clothes off. It’s sexier that way.”

I didn’t know how to be sexy. I slowly unbuttoned my dress with shak­ing fingers, wishing I hadn’t sewn that black button back on after all. Please don’t laugh. Please don’t laugh. As I opened it, slowly parting the folds of the material, I revealed the vivid red basque underneath. My breasts were soft and white and smooth against the lace. Max looked like he wanted to eat me. I was feeling sexy for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever.

“Now take it off,” he instructed, his husky voice filled with urgent long­ing. I shrugged it to the floor, kicking it to one side with a red, shining, stiletto heel.

“No knickers. And your shoes are fucking magic,” he breathed. “Real fuck-me shoes. You look amazing. Turn around. Give me a twirl.”

“No,” I blushed as red as the basque. “I can’t.”

“Please, darling. For me.”

I couldn’t resist the hypnotic lure of his voice. Slowly I turned, my eyes firmly fixed on the floor in embarrassment.

“Look at me.” His finger gently stroked the side of my neck, caressed me as he’d done in the Festival Hall. I wanted him so much. He pressed his face into my neck. I could feel his breath. His eyelashes. Butterfly kisses.

“You’re gorgeous, Jacky. You just don’t know it,” his lips caressed mine. “You need to love yourself. I don’t think you even like yourself.”

Ow. That touched a nerve. But the way he was holding me and gazing at me filled me with warmth and longing. And desire. I started to stroke my body as his brown eyes continued to gaze deep into mine. I held his eye this time and put a finger in my mouth, sucking it. I placed a finger into his before withdrawing and running my hands over my breasts, caressing each hardening nipple. Max stroked a hand up and down my leg, making me yearn for him to place it between them.

He placed his mouth and lips around my breasts and kissed them. I felt his strong fingers stroke my back and around to the front. His hand now caressing me gently between my thighs.

“You’re oozing,” he whispered and started to circle and touch my clit. The fuse inside me fizzed and exploded.

I ran my hand over his crotch, wanting to unzip him.

“Don’t,” his voice was tight, throaty, as he gently brushed my hand away. My face fell and he noticed it instantly.

“I’ll come in my trousers before you’ve even had a chance to take it out.”

The thought of him doing this made me even wetter. Igniting my secret flame, a deeply buried fantasy.

Max kissed me again. Harder. Our tongues entwined, fighting a glorious war of dominance. I felt his fingers on me and inside me again. I was shaking and struggling to remain standing – and not from my fuck-me shoes. We led each other onto the bed.

I lay down with Max next to me. He stroked my leg softly up and up before I felt his firm index finger circle my swollen clit again, blood gush­ing to every nerve ending, pulsating with my pounding heartbeat. I pushed myself against his finger as he moved it faster and harder. I put my hand on his trousers and felt him throbbing. His fingers continued to tease my aching clit; one, two fingers inserted.

I was so wet. I wanted to feel another of his fingers deep inside me so I took his hand to guide him. Blood was thumping in my head now and in my stomach. I was quivering all over, trembling with lust and desire.

“Come for me, Jacky,” he breathed in my ear. “I want you to come for me.”

Every fibre in my body sizzled and fizzed as, gradually, he brought me to a rushing, explosive orgasm.

Heat from the centre of my soul radiated out to every fingertip and the ends of my toes. I wrapped my arms around his back, gripping as hard as I could as something welled from deep, deep within me. Shooting stars, shooting stabs of pleasure pain. I could feel myself erupting, exploding, coming, coming. I arched my body upwards and let out a barely audible cry of relief before sinking limply back onto the bed. Finally, eventu­ally, I exhaled and clutched onto him.

I think I’d just been given the best orgasm of my life. Max looked at me as if he sensed it. And, knowing that, it had given him pleasure too. Turning me on turned him on, which made me want to give in return. The beginnings of our circles of pleasure, a helix of desire. As I lay on the bed, my heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

Max moved up and kissed me softly and deeply.

“Did you like that?” he whispered.

I simply nodded, unable to speak.

He caressed my neck before kissing it lightly. I started to tingle again. Slowly, slowly he moved down, exploring my flushed chest, my engorged nipples, nibbling and stroking first one, then the other. He licked me all the way down from my breasts to my navel and gently placed a hand between my legs, coaxing them further apart. My sides, my hips, he planted soft, sweet kisses, the top of my leg above my stockings. My head was whizzing, I was caught up in my own aroma, my breath quickening again, melting in my centre.

And then his tongue was circling my labia, playing with my clit. Teasing it. I groaned, arched my back and opened my legs a little wider. Kissing, licking, stroking, I was dissolving with every touch of his tongue. He moved his hands around the back of my legs, gave my bum a loving little squeeze and drew me into his mouth and lips. His tongue went deeper inside me, licking and tormenting up and around. He moved a hand up and stroked the inside of my leg. His tongue on my clit, three fingers in me. I gripped my legs around him, drawing him further in. I was lost. My body was away, up in the stars again. I could smell him, feel him, knew he was slowly, slowly taking his time, wanting to please me, to take me further.

He pressed his tongue on my clit, caressing it with a finger. I could feel myself throbbing again, quick, shallow breaths rising and falling. Then he slowed down, tormenting me even more, agonising ecstasy, before his fin­gers were inside me again. More pressure, more urgency, more need. As he gently nibbled my clit and moved his fingers in and out, I could feel myself building again. A shudder, and then a silky wave rippled outwards. I almost screamed when I came this time. My body trembled, my heart felt as if it had stopped, and if it had I wouldn’t have cared. Slowing down now – my breath, his fingers – as if we were coming into land. I placed a hand on my chest to feel my pumping heart, my chest rising up and down. Breathe in, hold the breath and slowly exhale…

I was both exhilarated and exhausted, but wanted to undress him, to please him too. My fingers explored his smooth back, his firm bum, his strong thighs. He was still partially dressed, yet instead of removing his clothes, he stroked my legs again, before once more sliding his fingers into my warmth and wetness. Another orgasm. And then another. Painful. Pleasurable. God, I was in ecstasy, yet utterly drained.

Finally he let my hand slip inside his trousers and feel his hard cock. Now it was Max’s turn to stop breathing for a second before exhaling. I could feel his heart racing too. He sighed and groaned as my fingers gently stroked his cock. I loved the feel of his soft skin against his hardness. Its silkiness. My hand moved up and down, more confident with each stroke, with every groan of pleasure he emitted.

Harder, faster, pulling him closer to me. I shifted down and placed my lips around his cock. I licked his hard, hard length, from his balls to his tip. I tightened my lips and kissed and sucked his lovely, firm, delicious cock. He unclenched and clenched his fists as I increased the rhythm, my anxieties disappearing as we blended, merged. I felt him stiffen and quiver as he came in my mouth, pulsing with each spurt. The taste of Max on my tongue once more. This sensual, generous, attentive soul. Mmm… Max’s come. I lay back and he snuggled up against me.

We lay there for some time and held each other close, letting our breath return to normal. Max gazed at me with a look of… love? Lust? Both?

“I love it when your eyes glaze as you come,” he softly murmured against my neck. “They even do it when you think about coming.”

“We didn’t even use the condoms I brought,” I muttered, kissing him.

“Um, I’m not a fan of fucking anyway,” he said sheepishly.

My heart leapt at this confession.

“I mean penetrative sex,” he continued. “Everything else I love. A hand – your hand – on my cock. Your mouth.”

I was stunned. He didn’t like “fucky fucky” sex either. Boring, invasive, dispassionate sex. This day was turning out to be even more fantastic than I’d hoped, and not just for Blair.

“Me too,” I confessed hesitantly but jubilantly. “I’ve sometimes thought that maybe I should just be a lesbian. Only get off with girls,” I joked.

His eyes flickered.

“But I think I like a hard cock in my hand too much.” I continued, reas­suring him. “Especially yours.”

Recent Posts

See All


Skype sex is better than being alone. I spend hours in isolation doing my hair and makeup. There’s nothing better to do. Dig out strappy lingerie with the thigh-highs, committing to heels while I’m at


“I found a great way to use our leftover wrapping paper.” Lucy’s voice filters in from the living room as Theresa finishes removing her boots, hat, scarf, gloves, and coat. “Oh, yeah?” Theresa says, s


The sound of the girl’s voice through the monitor may as well have been in the room with you. You pull the laptop a little closer, as if wanting to be even closer to the girl on screen, wanting to hea


bottom of page