Tag Archives: cuckolding

Caught Wet-Handed

I knew it was risky.  Stephen and I had been chatting for weeks.  Beyond the intense and erotic, we’d shared stories of dissatisfaction with our other halves.  How they don’t listen.  How we sat in silence.  But mostly, tales of dying sex lives.  Our feelings were mutual.  Every single one.  Now my pussy was positively burning for him and I’d risk everything for it….

Readers of this blog will have noticed I haven’t been posting for many months.  What happened that day with Stephen is basically the reason why, though I have continued my journey under the radar since then and still have a story or two to tell.

Stephen and I had been chatting on a sex site.  He’d been upfront about his desire to meet for sex.  Again, it was mutual.  He’s from a different part of the country but one day in March, he’d got word that he was going to work away.  Stay in a hotel.  10 miles from my house.  We had it all down.  Details.  I’d knock on his hotel room door.  We’d not speak.  He’d just bend me over.  I’d cum so hard his groin would be soaked.  Infidelity with military precision.

He was due to drive up tomorrow.  I’d been giddy for days, during which my knickers were rarely dry.  Every mundane action I did became aggressively hijacked, pirate transmissions in my brain, warped red-lit images of what we’d get up to.  Seeing my tits swing in the bathroom mirror.  Beads of sweat on his shoulders.  My mouth round his engorged cock.  While I was at the kids’ football practice or at the charity cake sale.  Inappropriate, but so damn horny and made all the more hot by the fact no-one knew this quiet community helper was about to get her brains fucked out by a stranger.

So because I’m me and because I’m impatient, I ended up texting him and getting myself beyond worked up.

– I can’t wait, call me

– Where’s your husband?

– He’s not in. He hasn’t called yet so he hasn’t left work 😉

– Ok

My hand was clasped to my clit when Stephen’s number came up on the screen.  I was already moaning by the time I answered.  The phonesex was steamy.  We’d done enough small talk and it was down to serious masturbating.  Two fingers deep in me, then drawing them slowly out and smearing my juice over my twitching clit.

I was on the couch, legs spread so wide, lifting my leg over the back of the sofa for extra leverage.  Then the door opened.  My husband HAD left work after all.  The only saving grace was that I didn’t still have my hand inside me.  Other than that it was as bad as it gets.  Me naked, with my phone in my hand, clearly playing with myself.  The fury I saw in his eyes will stay with me forever.

– What the fuck are you up to?

I heard a ‘hello?  hello?’ on the phone.  Stephen was fading away audibly and fading away back into the fantasy he started out as.  In an instant our plans to meet had gone.  More importantly, I thought my marriage had too.

So my husband and I had a lot of clear the air talks.  I told him I was ringing sex lines.  I cleaned my phone like a criminal covering tracks.  Things were bad and this blog, among other things in my life, took a back seat.  But this is a journey I don’t intend to stop right now.  It’s taken me to new and exciting places and it’s only going to get better.

That incident back in March was a risk, but I honestly believe risks feed the soul.  It’s vital we take risks to learn about who we truly.  Although Stephen is one ship that sailed, there’ll be others that steer their way into my waters sometime soon I’m sure.  I’m back in the game….

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Quality or Quantity?

This morning was the start of something big It was a beautiful morning. Hubby had gone to work and as the sun burst through the curtains my clit burst into life. I was invigorated. Stroking furiously, at the ideas of what the day might bring. Today, the last day of February, felt like the first day of Spring. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter in my journey. Today, finally I was ready to take the plunge.

After ahem, cleaning up, I decided to join a well-known swinging website. I didn’t really know what to expect, or what it all entailed. My perception of swingers has always been a somewhat garish 1970’s sepia-toned view. Rather overweight couples cavorting on orange sofas. Moustaches- yes, lots and lots of moustaches. And to be frank, offensively hairy ball-sacks. So I was pleasantly surprised when I perused the fare openly on offer on this site. So many cocks to choose from of so many different varieties. Some rather shrivelled, sorry looking prunes (why advertise this, lads?) and some thick, bulging specimens which made my pussy tighten to imagine them filling me. I wrote my profile, pretty much explaining the purpose of my adventure and then sadly had to go out.

On my return I had 132 unread messages. 132! How on earth to tackle this? I will preserve dignity and anonymity of others but here are some examples…


No need to shout, lover 😉 He left his number. Honestly, I wondered whether to pass it onto the good folk of the local constabulary….

Then I had loads of people offering to ‘help’ with the blog – down, boys….all in good time!

So day 1 in the world of swinging and have my perceptions changed? Yes. It appears ‘swingers’ means mainly men who want to cheat on their wives. Now, I’ll not pass judgement on that, because essentially I’m no more scrupulous on that front. It’s just I expected variety, excitement. A range of fantasies to be fulfilled, passions to be unlocked. Instead it feels like a bus-queue of cocks waiting in line. Imagine a low-grade talent contest where one by one they trudge into a room, wearily pull their pants down and show Amanda Holden a shrunken penis. ‘Next!’ she cries. And from 132 hopefuls not one, not a single girl (although a handful of friendly couples)

But there’s another part of me that still feels like a kid in a sweetie shop. All this cock, for moi?! Do I choose this one, or that one? All of it, or none at all? I have a decision to make. Is it quality I’m after, or quantity? The only thing I know is that my pussy hasn’t stopped quivering all day at the thought of sex with a stranger.

That’s normally a good way to end things until next time, but I wanted to finish this post with a genuinely lovely message from one of the fabulous 132….

Holy shit, I’m sat at my desk in work and reading your blog. I’m only half way through and thoroughly enjoying myself.
You sound incredible! I can’t leave my desk since I’m having trouser issues.
Anyway, just wanted to say thanks for brightening a Friday!

Forget the sex bit for a minute. If I can do that for one person, then it makes it all totally worthwhile. Thankyou x

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Pornography and Me

It was all so sneaky. 1990 something. My friend James and I. Both 17, both full of raging hormones. We’d wait until his parents went out to the social club, we’d chat, listen to music and then onto the main event – we’d watch porn. On a clunky old computer. Mainly, from what I remember, off DVDs ripped and distributed by some guy who worked in the local Yoghurt factory. He’d scruffily scrawled vague descriptions on the front in marker pen. ‘Asian babes,’ ‘Fresh Meat.’ Often they didn’t actually correspond with the content we’d be about to watch, James and I. But it would be an awakening. For the first time in my life, it got me to thinking that pornography was no longer dusty old magazines on the top shelf of the corners shop, spanked over by fat, sweaty and lonely old men. For the first time in my life, porn was acceptable. It was fun. We watched til we ached, we masturbated together, then we fucked. With all the vigour you’d expect from late teenagers discovering, exploring.

This week I remembered those beginnings, because porn has almost become as regular a part of my daily routine as the morning coffee. For many men and increasingly women, pornography is ubiquitous. When exactly did it become so acceptable for women to enjoy porn, in fact so normal? I see it as a double-edged issue.

I strongly believe in feminist ideals. I consider myself a strong, independent woman. There was a time that many feminists used to mount compelling campaigns against the sex industry. It was exploitative and it was demeaning. For God’s sake, if Page 3 was an assault on gender equality (overseas friends can Google that reference!) then online porn was tantamount to prostitution. Made by pimps, drug dealers and possibly the Mafia. Pornography was an offshoot, a tentacle of organised crime. I used to go along with that, so the excitement of being turned on by it as a student was always tainted by the feeling that I was supporting an industry that was fundamentally wrong.

Is it just me or have we somehow forgotten these moral arguments about the sex industry? It is an equally valid argument as the one above, to say that it is liberating that we as women can objectify men, crave sex for sex’s sake and give ourselves functional orgasms because we just need to fuck. Almost every woman I know either has watched porn in the last year, or does it on a weekly basis. I personally love the amazing choice online. No scruffy old ‘Asian babes’ DVDs or contrived storylines these days. I dip into threesomes, lesbians encounters, amateurs fucking like they really mean it. Yet for all it gets me off, there is one concern, that still nags me. Despite a huge female audience for it, all porn seems ultimately aimed at male gratification.

Example: this weekend I settled down to a lesbian scene. Two gorgeous girls, with bodies I’d kill for (either to have a body like theirs or to make love to one like theirs) They kissed tenderly on the sofa, they caressed, they licked, ravished each other’s pussies. They writhed around while 69ing, they tribbed, they rubbed, they fucked each other with strapons. Yet after 35 minutes of this intense, hot lovemaking, what happened? The camera wobbles, a cock suddenly springs up into shot, obviously belonging to the guy doing the filming. Then he proceeds to wank into their faces before cumming in their hair. All well and good, but where was Mr Johnny-Cum-Lately during the previous half an hour?! The girls had done all the hard work, only for him to walk in and spunk all over it, as it were.

I never saw either of the girls cum, though I could tell they were close. Maybe that bit was even edited out? I’m going into the realms of conspiracy here, but perhaps? How often do you actually see girls REALLY cum in porn films? I don’t mean that irritating fake screaming ‘oh yah, oh yah!’ that you get so much. I mean an actual, earth-shaking orgasm. In the endless ocean of choice that is internet pornography, to me the one glaring omission is the recognition that women need to cum too. Maybe that is a future vocation for me, to fill a gap in the market. One can dream 😉 ….. But perhaps the original argument, that porn negatively impacts on the perception of women still holds? The trouble is, even independent women like myself like it too much, so we turn a blind eye and swerve round the moral pitfalls, lost in lust and the moment.

The lines have become blurred.

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A Plea for Valentine’s

Dear Husband. You won’t read this, since you will hopefully never find out my blog exists. But even so, this is a message to tell you what every woman would really like for Valentine’s Day. Your wife is no exception.

I want you to come home from work early and catch me in my knickers. I want you to pin my wrists against the wall and run your tongue up my neck so it leaves a trail up to my open mouth, where your tongue will meet mine. I want you to hold my mouth open while you run your tongue along my lips, going straight for what you really crave, by grabbing my cunt. I want you to turn me round, then kick my legs wide apart to force me open, with such force I gasp, then leak some juice down the inside of my thigh.

I want to feel your cock spring out of your underwear to hit my naked ass, before you literally shove it inside my without any foreplay. I want you to feel me get wetter with every thrust as you start to drive in me. I want to feel your balls slapping against my clit as you gather pace. I want you to pull my hair back so it hurts and spank my ass red raw with your other hand.

I want to feel you so hard, so thick inside me that it fills me up. So that I can feel how tightly I’m clamped around you. I want your cock so swollen that you feel like someone else. In fact, I want to feel someone else. Yes, I want you to invite another man into our house. I want you to tell him to fuck me better than I have ever been fucked. And I want you to watch, and get hard as you see your wife, on all fours wriggling her hips and pushing back on another man’s dick. I want you to get off on my moans, so much so that you want to kiss me so I moan into your mouth. I want you to know that while my pussy is loving him, my heart is loving you.

I want you to fuck my mouth, then I want him to fuck my mouth. I want both of you to fuck all of me – at the same time. I want to cum over you and him, squirt until I’m dry and all fucked out,

What I DON’T want this Valentines, are chocolates. Or flowers.

Thank you. Love, your Wife xxx

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