The Awakening of Mary – Chapter 5

A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end

Normal staid everyday life stuck its boring head back up on Monday morning after this journey into debauchery. I needed to go into work while Mary had to attend a charity trustee board meeting, so we were going, somehow, to have to put our sexual adventures on the back burner.

I contacted Sam to organise a day to go over there so Mary could get fucked by him, but as the fates would have it, when I phoned him he told me he had heard over the weekend he’d received an urgent commission abroad. There was no way he couldn’t do it, and he’d be away for at least a month. Shit. I can’t say how disappointed I was. The number of times I’d fantasised over the weekend about his cock sinking deep into my wife. Mary would be gutted. We would need to think of something else instead.

We talked it over that evening. I was desperate to make that fateful step, to be screwed by someone other than my husband. Sam had perfectly fitted the bill as he was almost a stranger but it wasn’t like walking up to someone in the street. Could I do that? Be fucked by a total stranger? Easily, thinking about it in the comfort of my home, but in reality? Who knew? I was desperate to find out. Soon.

I needed to do something, and quickly. I was afraid I might change my mind.

We settled on me trying flashing and having sex with Dan somewhere public. It seemed a good way to start. After all, just letting people see my undies wasn’t a big deal. Was it? To Old Mary, it would have been the end of the world. The embarrassment. How much of Old Mary was still in me though? Tucked up in bed with Dan, completely enjoying his touch and cock for the first time in my life there was none, but I was realistic enough to appreciate that out on the street, in the car or a pub things could be very different. Not knowing if I had the guts to do this was eating me up.

The public sex was a huge step for me, but I anticipated finding a quiet multi-storey car park for Dan to fuck me in the back seat. That shouldn’t be too nerve-racking. Should it?

We decided to go on Saturday; take a lengthy drive up the motorway, so I had an opportunity to flash the lorry drivers, then have lunch in a pub somewhere, where hopefully I’d get to show off my tits and pussy, if my courage didn’t desert me, and then find a car park where Dan could give me a hard fucking.

That was the plan.

We discussed the clothes I’d wear. We decided on a wrap-around skirt which would be easy for me to open in the car, and claim accidental exposure in the pub if anyone complained. We went through my wardrobe for a top, but nothing seemed right, so Dan tasked me to buy something suitable. A real bonus. Shopping. For something sexy. How my attitude had changed since I refused to shop for sexy undies. Dan suggested finding a sheer white or black blouse that would either let everyone see my bra or more likely if my courage held, how hard my nipples were. A jacket would provide the necessary modesty if needed. Lingerie was ok. I now had the selection we had bought for the shoot. We’d wait to see what colour the blouse was before finalising the choice. Dan said I had to wear dark stockings so it would be easy for anyone looking into the car to see what I was wearing. A nice neat pair of black shoes with four-inch heels completed the outfit. I couldn’t wait. I felt so hot just thinking about letting as many men as possible see me revealing everything.

Saturday took forever to arrive. Mary had bought a beautifully sheer, black blouse, which showed to perfection the lacy black bra she wore that morning. I was hoping I’d be able to talk her into taking the bra off. Without it, her nipples were visible through the blouse. We were both hot at the thought of her sitting in a pub with her nipples on display.

Even just seeing Mary dressed like that was making me hard. Fingers crossed she wouldn’t get cold feet.

To say I was nervous that morning was like saying Buckingham Palace was a bijou residence. I felt as I did when I went to undress for the photoshoot although with a subtle difference. This time there was real excitement combined with the moistening below.

I still had lingering doubts. The time had arrived to see if I was capable of this.

We had a route planned. We would spend about an hour on the motorway before turning off for a pub we had found on Trip Advisor, which looked perfect for my revelations. Other than that, what we did would depend on what opportunities presented themselves.

Could – would – I take those opportunities? Put up or shut time was here.

Our drive started through town, a slow drive with pedestrians everywhere. I didn’t have the coat on but my skirt was firmly over my legs.

Dan looked across.

“You look petrified.”

“Thank you so much, Darling, that’s really bolstered my confidence.”

“Rubbish, once you are underway you will love it.”

Before I could reply he’d reached across and opened the skirt to reveal my legs, my stocking tops and suspenders. My reaction was to cover up but he grasped my hand.

“Huh, No, darling, leave it be. Watch for reactions.”

He was right. This is stupid, I had to start sometime. I took a deep breath and pushed the skirt wider so now my knickers were on view too. That simple act triggered something deep inside me. The same feeling as when I’d dropped my bra in the studio. The apprehension disappeared. A new feeling took its place. A wanton, devil may care feeling.

 For a while, nothing happened. The speed we were travelling meant nobody had a chance to react, but then we got stuck in traffic. The number of people walking by on the pavement was increasing. I had a huge urge to tug the skirt closed but resisted it. Then I saw him. In the passenger rear-view mirror. A cyclist had come up on the inside. He had stopped slightly behind me, having a great look at my stocking-clad legs and suspenders.

A man; a total stranger. Looking at what Old Mary would have described as her most intimate garments.

That was it. If there were any remaining doubts they disappeared. My heart pumped harder as I raised my right leg, put my foot on the dashboard and rubbed myself through my knickers. The cyclist edged forward to get a better view. Could I bring myself to acknowledge him? I looked up and smiled. This simple act produced a torrent of juices. Involuntarily my hand went into my knickers. I was soaking. I still looked at the stranger. I pulled my knickers aside. He nearly fell off! I wanted to finger myself in front of this man. Damn. The traffic moved, and we sped away from him.

Now I had no desire to cover myself. I rather wished I didn’t have the bra on as my nipples were as hard as cherry stones. They would have stood out beautifully against the sheer blouse but it was difficult with the seat belt on to remove it so I decided to take my knickers off.

The traffic had slowed, with pedestrians scurrying back and forth. Having had the cyclist watch me though, I desperately needed more; I lifted my bottom off the seat, put my thumbs in the waist of my knickers, and pulled them off. I bent down to get them over my shoes.

The traffic was now stationary. We were in an old part of town and the pavement was raised almost to car roof height.

When I sat back up, I had two teenage lads, aged about eighteen or nineteen, leaning over the railings looking into the car. Their faces were a study. The car wasn’t moving, nor were they, so I cupped my breasts in my hands and squeezed them together wondering what it would be like to have both in bed with me. I wondered about suggesting to Dan we gave them a lift, but the traffic intervened again, and we moved off. I was now so, so wet. I wanted the car to stop again so I could have an audience, but unluckily the traffic kept flowing. A bit like my pussy. I was gently massaging my clit whilst looking at the people flashing by, now with so much more confidence of where I was going with this I even began imagining who would be the first guy I got to fuck.

The two incidents in town had supercharged the atmosphere in the car. I desperately wanted to find a man for Mary or I feared we’d burst with frustration.

It was abundantly clear she was loving every minute of this. Now she had exposed herself in public I began to think she would let herself be screwed by a stranger. That had not been our original plan, but if things went the way I hoped I’d get a stranger ramming into my darling.

We were now on the motorway both looking forward to her giving lorry drivers an eyeful. She’d put the bra on this morning, still not being sure she dared to flash her tits, but there was no doubt now, so we decided that as soon as we found a suitable lorry she would take her blouse and bra off while we were travelling alongside.

It didn’t take long to find one. I moved over to the middle lane and slowly moved up beside the cab. Mary glanced up to see if the driver had noticed her as she still had her skirt up around her waist, but she didn’t think he could see much, he was so high up she reckoned the angle would be too sharp to see anything apart from her left leg.

“Shit,” I said, “So, what we need is a transit van sort of thing.”

“Yes, that should do it.” So I hit the accelerator and went hunting again.

That was frustrating. I’d got myself geared up to display my tits when I realised he probably couldn’t see. Still, hopefully, it wouldn’t take long to find a van. It didn’t.

A white transit appeared ahead, so Dan repeated drawing up alongside. As we had been overtaking, then matched the van’s speed, we must have attracted the driver’s attention, as he glanced across at us as I looked up. He had an uninterrupted view of my legs, stockings, suspenders and hairy triangle. I think Dan’s idea of black stockings was right as they were so obvious against my skin. I beamed at the driver, gave him a little wave to let him know I didn’t mind him looking, and took off my blouse.

Now you guys won’t have done it, but it was a nightmare getting the blouse over my head whilst still belted in. After all, I didn’t want to break the law by undoing it! At last, it was off. I looked to check I still had white van man’s attention. I did. His glances between me and the road were almost like him watching a tennis match except he seemed to spend more time looking in my direction.

God, I hoped we wouldn’t cause an accident. I reached up behind me, undid the clasps of my bra, pulled it off and let it fall to the floor, then I massaged my tits to encourage my nipples to hardness. Not that they needed much help. I could now see that White Van Man was steering one-handed.

“Wonder what he’s doing with the other one?” I asked Dan. That’s when I realised he was doing the same thing. I kept one hand fingering a nipple, the other went between my legs to work on my clit. Why should I be the only one not playing with myself? I was in heaven and said so to Dan.

“Careful what you wish for,” he said, “he’s weaving about a bit. We need to stop this before there’s an accident, but I’ve got an idea.”

I asked Mary if she had a pen and paper. I explained what I had in mind.

“Brilliant, yes!” came back the reply. She rummaged around in her bag and found an old flyer but no pen so I told her to use her lipstick. She wrote ‘follow me’ on the paper then held it against the window. The driver saw it, gave a thumbs up – now there’s a surprise- so I moved ahead of him.

I’d remembered that there was a service area a couple of miles ahead. I had hopes I might get Mary fucked by White Van Man there. Concentrating on the driving was hell for me. I had an enormous hard-on, thinking about what might be coming. Mary was still quietly fingering herself. I can’t imagine what it was like for the van driver.

I wondered what he thought might be at the end of it. I realised I had no idea what he looked like. Young? Old? Ugly? Fat? Presumably, acceptable to Mary but then probably, like me, she was thinking as long as he had a functioning cock we didn’t mind. I asked her for a description. “Er, I couldn’t see that well but he’s no Brad Pitt.”

So, Dan was planning on getting me fucked by this stranger. No more dreaming about it. No more fantasising. This was it. For real. Did I want to do it? Could I do it? The answer to the first was an unequivocal yes. The answer to the second was, I didn’t know.

But I’d soon find out.

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The Awakening of Mary – Chapter 4

A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end

Our discussion took some time. What had been unleashed in my gorgeous Mary? This seemingly unquenchable thirst for sex. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining. I couldn’t have been happier, but I was just having difficulty in understanding the intensity, the speed of the sea change. We kept getting sidetracked. If I told you I came half a dozen times that night, you wouldn’t believe me, and you would be right not to. What isn’t a lie though, is that Mary experienced three shattering orgasms, from just my tongue and fingers.

What a 24 hours. No going back. I was aching to get another man’s cock in me. At least I thought I was. But was I sure? Had I deliberately made Sam come so I didn’t have to decide if I wanted him in me? My libido said no but my head? So many doubts.

It was ridiculous. What had caused my attitude to change so fast? I’ve never experienced any man’s cock apart from Dan’s. Twenty-three years of him patiently making love to his almost frigid wife. Now, suddenly, I was talking about getting fucked by strangers! I was dreaming. Yes. That must be the answer. I was certain I’d wake up to find I’m still the Old Mary. If that’s the case I decided I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to go back to being Old Mary. The feelings since Sam convinced me to take my bra off in front of him were like none I’d ever experienced before. What opened the floodgates I didn’t know and I did’t care.

How could I have done what I did with Sam? Old Mary didn’t even enjoy sucking Dan, no way would she have swallowed his cum. But there, with a man I’d only just met, I did and would have let him screw me if he hadn’t come early.

The world of sex needed exploring. I didn’t know what was out there. I was too naive. God, I was forty-three, and my knowledge of sex was zero, zilch, nil. I vowed that the next hundred days would see that resolved.

 How I did it didn’t concern me. When I went into the house and stripped off, waiting for Dan, I was praying he would go along with my thoughts. Thankfully, he was more than up for it (Yes, the pun was intended). The fuck was animalistic. No love, no passion, just hard rutting sex. It took me to new heights, or perhaps depths. Our inhibitions had disappeared. Seems strange to say that, considering we’d been married for over two decades, but total openness regarding sex had never been something easy. To me. Definitely my fault. As the Old Mary, the Mary of a few days ago, she would have been aghast at what the new, slutty Mary was doing, considering, and talking about.

We took it in turns telling each other where we hoped we might go from here. Anywhere, seemed to be the answer. The major stipulation we made was that any sexual activity would always be in the presence of the other partner. That was partly so there was no chance of jealousy, although we considered that a remote possibility, but mainly to give me the confidence to do what I felt, deep down, I desperately wanted to do. But I needed Dan’s unconditional support. If he was there, watching, I would know I had it.

All the talk initially was about what I craved. With help from Google, to show me some ideas (remember until only a week ago I didn’t look at porn), we decided to join ‘readers’ wives’ type forums, to try to find local dogging locations, (that one needed explaining), and for me to try flashing and public sex. Boy, these ideas turned us on.

I asked Dan what he required out of it. He tried to convince me that watching me was a huge turn on and enough for him, but I felt he ought to get more, so I pressed him if he wanted to fuck other women.

 “Do you think watching me screw another woman would turn you on as much as the reverse does me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I honestly replied, “but there’s only one way to find out,” so it went on our ‘to do’ list.

Then back to me. We were now moving into sexual deviations. Oh my god. That’s the Old Mary raising her moral judgement. Back in your box Old Mary, no time for you now.

Amongst the things we looked at were bondage, spanking, humiliation, and water sports.

We agreed that although the thought of being tied up and fucked was a turn on, the ornate rope tying shown on a lot of the sites did nothing for us at all. Spanking though. Mm, I was up for that. To what level I’m not sure, but we decided we would experiment.

Dan got aroused over the humiliation scene. Watching me get fucked is a form of it I suppose. He also admitted he was more than up for having his cock slapped and his face sat on. Who would have guessed? My prudishness meant he’d kept these desires buttoned up, so I resolved then to make sure he got to experience all this.

Then water-sports. Again, until we looked at the sites, I had no idea what that meant. The jury was out on that one. Something made me think we might end up trying it, but at the moment, there were more enticing ideas beckoning.

Twenty-three years wasted, twenty-five if you count the time we were going out before we were married. I needed to make it up to him. That evening had been a voyage of discovery showing me an unknown world of sex and sexual activity.

Of course I knew it existed. Old Mary would tut, tut, over reports in the paper, or discussions with her friends, whenever something slightly risqué was reported. But the detail. That there were so many ‘ordinary’ people who were enjoying sex, and who were prepared to let the world see they were enjoying it, was a revelation.

The range of activities astounded me. I won’t call them kinks. I’ll leave that term to Old Mary. I admit we had seen some I wouldn’t want to try, but as long as they were legal, then I now saw no reason to consider them wrong. It was a case of one man’s meat is another man’s poison. Er, perhaps the term meat here is not appropriate, but you understand what I mean.

What were my fetishes? What would turn me on the most? I said earlier, looking at certain of these sites on the web caused my juices to flow, but in the flesh, I wondered which I would embrace.

I asked Dan what his triggers were and his answer surprised me. I should have known; of course I should have known. For god’s sake, I’d been his wife for a quarter of a century, but with my upbringing not only would I not countenance such a conversation, but the Old Mary would have accused him of being a pervert. In spades. His kink? Underwear. Yeah, way out on the edge of human depravity! Apparently, he gets more turned on by seeing women in sexy lingerie than seeing them naked. It excites him to see an errant bra strap, or a quick glimpse down a blouse, or a view up a skirt. Well, well. Old Mary living with a dirty old man. Lucky her!

That was the one he was aware of. Others, like me, he would have to discover, although the humiliation, cock slapping photos we’d viewed certainly excited him! I realised I might quite enjoy administering that!

To say browsing these sites was an eye-opener would be a massive understatement. From men dressed in nappies to women wearing gas masks. I had real trouble keeping Old Mary at bay with some of the things we viewed. I was so close to commenting ‘yuk,’ or ‘that’s disgusting,’ frequently, but then the New Mary asserted herself, making it plain that she understood that there was no harm in any of it. It was consenting adults doing what they enjoy. After all, not everyone enjoys football or Brussel sprouts. What a less colourful world it would be if they did.

Who knew, when you looked at where I was that evening compared to where I was only a few weeks earlier, it was impossible to say what my eventual destination might be.

So everything was on the table; a better metaphor might be in the bed, but for now, our – my – focus needed to be on finding a man to fuck me. My heart, my libido, was telling me I wanted it, desperately craved it, and would embrace sleeping around. My head was not so sure. What if I found I couldn’t? All this glib talk of bondage and dogging would be just that, glib talk. I needed to resolve this as soon as possible.

We discussed the quickest way to achieve it. Given our lack of experience on how to find men to fuck, the obvious thing was to see if Sam would screw me. After all, that was the way we’d left it. So we decided, first thing Monday morning, Dan would contact him to arrange a date. The sooner the better from my point of view. I was convinced once I was over that hurdle, no others would be a problem, but I needed to get rid of the niggling doubt that I might back out when faced with it for real.

Chapter 5 is here

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The Awakening of Mary – Chapter 3

A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end

We drove home in silence. My euphoria was evidenced by the bulge in my trousers, but I couldn’t help fearing Mary might regret what she had done. Watching my wife with another man, even though he hadn’t fucked her, was the biggest turn-on of my life. I was unsure of how I would feel if she didn’t want to continue.

We arrived home. “We need to talk,” she said as she exited the car and strode towards the house.

She disappeared through the front door, leaving me to put the car away. I went cold. I assumed she was embarrassed by what she’d done and wanted to stop. Damn. I had to talk her into changing her mind. But how? I pondered this as I strode into the kitchen.

I’d misread her comment. There was my once sweet, inhibited wife on the floor, doggy style, her skirt pulled up over her waist, her legs spread as far as she could, giving an uninterrupted view of her oh, so wet, cunt.

“Fuck me right now, if you don’t I’m going out and offering myself to the first man I meet.”

Before she had finished the sentence, I had my trousers and boxers off and entered her. The ensuing sex was rough, wanton and satisfying. As we lay thereafter, I said,

“If you had found a stranger to shag, I wouldn’t have minded. As long as I could watch.”

“That’s what we need to discuss,” she said. “I can’t stop what I’ve started. I feel so alive. I need more. Please, please can we carry on? I need it. I love you so, so, much, but this is not about love, is it? It’s about sex, sheer, unadulterated sex. I feel so whorish. Yes, if you hadn’t fucked me, I would have let anyone I could find fuck me. I need more of this. You want to, don’t you?”

“Darling, do you need to ask? You know how much I love you. These two sessions with Sam have opened up a new world for us. I’ll support you in anything you want to do. I need this and want it as much as you do.”

My husband, Daniel Alan Cartwright. My knight in shining armour. My rock in times of trouble. My clown when I’m miserable. My mechanic when the car breaks down. My…

Enough! You get the idea. I like him! Bit of an understatement that. I adore him. I have for the last quarter of a century.

I’m not a football fan, but one saying I’ve heard used about soccer is that it’s a game of two halves. That sums up our marriage. Slight inequality, regarding the relative lengths of the halves, mind you. The first having lasted twenty-three years (plus two for extra time if you count our engagement). The second so far having lasted, what? Seven days? But the pep talk at half time must have been world-class, because the standard of play, since the resumption, has been mind boggling.

I’m stopping the analogy now and coming to the point.

Which I’ve now forgotten. Oh, yes. I remember. I was waxing lyrical about my husband.

When I first met him at the badminton club, I can’t say it was love at first sight because given my puritanical upbringing I’m not sure I understood the meaning of the word.

I knew what lust was. My Mother made sure of that. The beast that consumes those with impure thoughts. Perish the idea her daughter should succumb to impure thoughts. (Hey, Mum, look here, now. Hardly a thought going through my head at the moment that isn’t impure. Progress indeed!). What I experienced when I first saw Dan wasn’t lust because it wasn’t impure. It’s unfortunate I didn’t listen more to my body back then than to my Mum. Life could have been so much more fun.

I was nineteen when I met Dan; he was twenty-six. I suppose none of us knows what attracts us to certain people, and repels us from others, but he was the first to come up to welcome this shrinking violet when I entered the hall where they played, and I was grateful for that.

He didn’t ‘sweep me off my feet,’ he made me welcome. He helped me sort out the gear I needed, and played a few practice games with me, (which I lost conclusively, but he didn’t make it feel like that). In the following couple of weeks we met in passing rather than spending lots of time in each other’s company, but I realised I was looking forward to seeing him as much as playing badminton, for which I seemed to have an aptitude.

On the third or fourth month, the club had a friendly mixed doubles competition where they drew the pairs out of a hat for fairness. Fate had a hand in that night’s draw, as we ended up partnering each other.

We got through to the semi-finals, but lost to the pair that won the competition. We, or more especially me, were thrilled at getting as far as we did, and Dan asked me for a celebratory drink afterwards.

Alarm bells! Man. Asking a younger girl out. For a drink. Mother’s warnings flashed their neon lights in my eyes. I hesitated, but Dan persisted, and as other players were going to the pub as well I thought I should be safe so agreed.

Alcohol was another of Mother’s DO NOT GO THERE FOR FEAR OF YOUR LIFE – or more accurately – CHASTITY. I wasn’t yet able to kick over that hurdle, so I only drank cola and was astonished that Dan wasn’t force-feeding me double vodkas and orange as Mother had assured me any man would, so they could get in my knickers.

To cut a long story short, to save you, dear reader, from total boredom, that began our ‘courtship,’ (God, how I hate that expression, that’s what Mother insisted on calling it, so out of date) with poor Dan having to go through the Spanish Inquisition as to his ‘intentions’ while I suffered metaphorical thumb screws and ducking stool whenever I got home, to make sure he hadn’t ‘taken advantage’ of me.

Eventually our wedding day arrived and with Mother’s advice ringing in my ears, ‘close your eyes dear, try to think of pleasant things, it won’t take long,’ we set off on our honeymoon.

I was naïve. I did not understand what to expect, other than what the dire predictions of my Mother had led me to imagine.

Dan was brilliant, he was so kind and gentle, but to say I enjoyed that first night’s sex is a terrible overstatement; it just wasn’t as traumatic as Mother had sworn it would be. But the ingrained hostility to sex continued.

Now, looking back, I’m astounded Dan put up with it.

He’s a good-looking man, five feet ten tall with dark wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Distinguished. Doesn’t look his age. He has a high-powered job, being a technical director of a medium-sized engineering company. But he had a wife that didn’t wholeheartedly enjoy sex. Humph. You can tell I’m writing this. ‘Didn’t wholeheartedly?’ Who am I kidding? Forget the wholeheartedly, just say ‘didn’t enjoy sex.’

I couldn’t get my Mother’s indoctrination out of my head. Time, I suppose, lessened my animosity to it, while changing attitudes, such as the radio programme I so clearly remembered, helped. When cock approached vagina, though, I was still ingrained with an ‘it’s not for fun’ mentality.

Whenever we ‘made love’ – no fucking in those bygone days – he tried to tempt me to go further. To try a different position or dress up; you know, way out, kinky stuff! No way. Fun? In the bedroom? Not for this woman.

But there he was, still faithful, still supportive, still loving. For twenty-three years. My god. What a saint. Lesser men would have sought sustenance elsewhere. But, hey, look at what they would have missed.

Chapter 4 is here

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The Awakening of Mary – Chapter 2

A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end

A week after our life-changing afternoon we arrived back at Sam’s to view the photographs and hopefully get Mary to experience a new cock. When I contacted him after the weekend to arrange an appointment he inquired if we were happy with the shoot. Happy? Ecstatic was the word that came to mind, but I merely said we had enjoyed it and how Mary couldn’t wait to see the results and possibly give it another go. I didn’t mention my desire to see his cock in my wife.

In preparation Mary spent another fortune on her hair and dressed in a plain skirt and white blouse. She didn’t need convincing to wear sexy underwear this time. She wore a pale pink set. A lacy, sheer bra, which provided no hiding place for her nipples, and matching knickers, which did a grand job of revealing her gorgeous triangle of auburn pubic hair. She asked me whether she should shave but I told her no, I preferred her natural and that’s how I wanted her to stay.

The week leading up to our second visit to Sam’s seemed like an eternity. I was alternately as hot as hell with the thought a man other than Dan might fuck me, and so nervous I felt I might be sick. The evening and nights with Dan were as sexually full as our honeymoon. With one major difference. I was proactive, not just lying there impersonating a stuffed doll as I did on honeymoon. Poor Dan. What must he have thought? A lifetime of shagging a non responsive lump of flesh. I had a lot to make up for.

We’d discussed the coming meeting and Dan said, with no prompting, I was free to do anything I wanted with Sam, be it a hand job, blow job or full fuck. I could tell that was true, as whenever we talked it over, his penis gave the game away by stealing every drop of blood from the rest of his body and hogging it for itself.

So this was it. Sat next to Sam, my knickers getting damp with a mind full of doubt whether I could go through with it.

Sam arranged chairs at his desk, with us on either side of him, and began displaying the images. He asked which we particularly liked, and if we wanted any more editing done on them. All very professional, but neither of us could concentrate, both anticipating what we had talked about incessantly. The photos were great and heightened the sexual tension in Mary and I. When we looked at the images of Mary taking her knickers off life became interesting. She leant towards the screen a little, placed her hand on Sam’s knee and as she did so pointed to the screen, and asked him to enlarge it.

I wasn’t certain she was referring to the image.

“Wow, that is making me so horny, how about you Dan?”

“Stiffening up nicely,” I replied which got a laugh. Mary’s hand massaged Sam’s thigh. He ignored it and continued to scroll through the pictures professionally until we got to where Mary had her legs wide apart fingering herself. I peeked at her face and realised she was getting to a point where her libido would control her actions. “God, that’s so horny. I remember thinking I wish there was a cock handy.”

Although we had talked of virtually nothing else in the last week, it still came as a huge thrill to hear my once staid wife saying it, and even more so when she continued in a hoarse whisper “Any chance Sam?” With that her hand moved to his crotch, and gently squeezed.

Sam turned to me, a questioning look on his face. I nodded.

“Go ahead.” Was that my voice? Sounded distinctly odd.

Mary’s hand squeezed and rubbed his prick through his trousers.

My dream continued. No, I kept reminding myself, this was real.

Mary took the lead, guiding Sam’s hand to her tits and encouraging him to kneed them.

How do I describe my thoughts? I’d fantasised seeing my wife with another man for years. Never in my wildest dreams had I ever expected it to become a reality, but here I was, watching her enjoy his hand going into her blouse and bra, while she unzipped him and extracted his cock.

Would Sam be well endowed, I wondered?. Somehow it’s one of those stereotype attributes of porn photographers isn’t it? He wasn’t. His cock was approximately the same size as mine, which, I guess, is sort of average.

Mary’s hand closed around it and wanked him as he pushed a hand up her skirt. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the small groan from Mary was a hint. He must have got inside her knickers and have a finger or two well in her.

I was beside myself. I couldn’t just sit there. I pulled out my cock, which began imitating a police truncheon (I’m referring to hardness rather than length. I wish!) and slowly masturbated. No way did I want to bring myself off, but there was too much sexual energy going through me to do nothing.

Mary continued to wank Sam. He eagerly appeared to want to move it up a gear although Mary showed no such sign. I thought her concern was for me, so I said to her, in what turned out to be a cracked voice,

“Why don’t you taste Sam?”

Jeez. I had just encouraged my wife to suck off another bloke!

“Not yet,” she replied. Did I detect nervousness in her voice? Oh. Not regrets? Second thoughts? I desperately hoped not, but she showed no hint of dropping her head to take Sam’s penis in her mouth. His hand remained firmly up her skirt and, firmly in her cunt. Her legs drifted apart to give him more access, and at last I could see two of his fingers inside her, while his thumb massaged her clit. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps this was turning her on so much she didn’t want it to stop. She cupped Sam’s balls in her other hand, wanking him vigorously. Hard barely described it. Her hand was a blur up and down his shaft as she pushed his prick against his belly, then pushed it between his legs. Totally alien for Mary, or at least the Old Mary, her wanking of me had always been perfunctory, a duty not a pleasure. His hands came away from Mary’s pussy and he gripped the arms of the chair. He was trying to hold on, but Mary’s hand continued, and with a deep grunt his semen sprayed everywhere.

My wife’s head dropped, and she opened her mouth to take the final spurts, then hunting around for the spunk that had flown everywhere, she gathered it on her fingers and, looking me directly in the eye sucked them clean.

Dear reader, you have no idea of the effect on me. Until that fateful shoot Mary always dismissed as perverted my efforts to get her to suck me. Now I was watching her hungrily devouring another man’s cum. What a journey in seven days. Where I wondered would the next month, the next year, lead.

“What have I been missing?” she asked. Then, looking over at me, my cock still at full attention as I tried to process the most erotic few minutes of my life, she said: “I need more.”

She walked over, and ignoring Sam sitting only feet away, hiked her skirt up, removed her knickers and straddled me. I had no problem penetrating her. She was soaking. In fact dripping. I slid into her. She was so moist I felt no friction, so I pushed a finger into her as well which extracted an intake of breath, and she moved rhythmically, first forward and back, sliding back and forth across my thighs, then up and down, almost withdrawing my penis totally and then slapping down hard on me. No doubting who was in charge of this fuck. If you will excuse the pun, I was only along for the ride! The first time, in twenty-three years, Mary had taken the initiative.

Her hips were thrusting. She tilted her head back, her mouth wide open, with low moans escaping, and then becoming louder and more urgent as her bucking reached a crescendo. She went rigid. Her orgasm brought me to the brink, not that it needed much, I had been struggling the whole time not to shoot into her, as I desperately wanted this fuck to last. But now it was time. I came. And came. And came. My cock continuing to twitch inside her as I grabbed her hips, pulled her deep onto me, then pulled her head to mine and we sank our tongues into each other’s mouths. Heaven.

I could taste Sam’s cum. A taste I will never forget and an action I’d be repeating regularly. I remembered Sam. I looked over to see him gently massaging himself.

“Dan, you have a hell of a randy wife.”

“So it seems.”

“Too fucking hot by half. Making me cum early. God, what a missed opportunity.”

“Oh Sam, I’m so sorry, my lack of experience” she giggled. “Can I make it up to you? Ok, Dan?”

I nodded, as my adorable wife climbed off my lap and crossed over to Sam, and kneeling, gently massaged his still limp cock.

“Not sure that will be successful,” he said “no matter how much I want it. Any chance of another day?” He sighed as Mary dropped her head and took his cock in her mouth. She hadn’t answered his question (ladies don’t speak with their mouth full!), but I had no problems in wanting a repeat of this scenario. Mary continued sucking him, his head was back, and he was obviously not disliking it, but no sign of him getting back to hardness. Eventually, Mary removed his penis, kissed it gently, and said: “Yes, another day might be more interesting!”

“Is that all right darling,” she asked, “if we came back another day and I gave Sam a proper fuck?” The final word dripping with lust.

“Bloody hell, yes,” I responded, way out on a high from what had transpired today.

Not sure I can add much to this. Dan has summed it up much as I remember it. To say I was randy is an understatement. I still don’t understand how I transformed so quickly from an everyday, middle-aged, sexually repressed, housewife to a wanton slut who couldn’t get enough cock. A week earlier I hadn’t been willing to appear in my undies in front of Sam now I’d wanked him off in front of my husband and then had sex with my darling husband in front of him. I knew in my heart I needed much, much, more. Now there was no turning back.

How far will Mary go? Next week’s chapter is here!

And in case you require some visual stimulus! Here’s Erin from

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The Awakening of Mary – Chapter 1

A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end

Life is full of surprises. One settles into a comfortable, if tedious, routine then there’s a seismic shift and one discovers a piranha in one’s bath, or, as in this instance, a nymphomaniac in one’s bed.

Not the outcome you might predict from a casual, “What would you like for your birthday?” request, from a spouse of twenty-three years.

My reply to the question was not outrageous. Certainly not a demand for the above mentioned nymphomaniac. What I requested had risks, although I considered the worst case scenario to be a flat no, and a few days of a sulky mood.

I didn’t expect her reaction to be so hostile that I’d end up with the piranha, metaphorical or real. Less probable was the chance of it ending with a real nymphomaniac; in my bed or anywhere else.

Mind you, I often fantasised about that outcome (the nymphomaniac, not the piranha), but in real life how many of our fantasies morph into reality?

I will explain.

I’m married to Mary. Our marriage has had its mountains and valleys, but what union hasn’t? My wife is gorgeous and witty. She is a great Mother to our two grown-up children who have left home. She’s an excellent cook, keeps the house tidy, and my shirts ironed.

What else could a married man desire?

Well, sex would be nice. No, that’s not fair on Mary. I’ll rephrase it. Imaginative sex would be nice. Sex with variations. Sex with laughter. Sex with passion.

She has never denied me sex, but neither has she dipped so much as a nipple into ‘sexy fun’ let alone thrown her more sexy bits into the concept.

I don’t blame her. It’s not her fault.

Mary’s Mother regards sex as having one purpose, and one purpose alone; the begetting of babies. Mary, being the good daughter she was, listened to her Mother.

She was a virgin when I married her; Mary, not her Mother. I was sure of that as she would not permit me to explore inside her knickers until she had on a wedding ring. It wasn’t a problem. I loved her for a multitude of diverse reasons. I was content to wait for the matrimonial bed.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was her total aversion to enjoying sex, or experimenting with anything new. The missionary position was it. That, or play Scrabble. I don’t like board games, so I accepted what was on offer. For the best part of a quarter of a century.

Over the years she had softened marginally. She occasionally allowed me to experiment in the bedroom. For instance, a while back I tried taking sexy photos, but even in the privacy of our home, I couldn’t coax her out of her underwear. And anyway, I’m a lousy photographer.

There were other indications she wasn’t so anti-sex as she had been, such as being able to watch love scenes on the TV without tut-tutting continuously, but she was no Mata Hari. 

Not sounding much like that nymphomaniac I mentioned earlier is she? Bear with me.

It was nineteen days before my fiftieth birthday. My mind has the date etched on it for reasons that will become obvious, and Mary had asked that question. What would I like as a present?

I love my darling wife and she is still beautiful, but with Father Time adding years faster than he used to add months I realised her looks wouldn’t last forever. I wanted to preserve them, not with Botox, but by having professional photographs taken.

I craved a memory of her beauty. Glamour shots ideally, but any style would serve.

The chance of boudoir shots was less than Tom Thumb being a successful basketball player, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. So I ventured.

“I’d love proper, professional photographs of you.”

“Why do you need professional photos? You have a camera.”

“Yes, but you know I’m useless. I want images taken by someone who can capture your beauty, your…”

Here we go, I’ll lob the word out there. See what happens.

“… sexiness.”

The stony stare suggested an Everest climb without oxygen was ahead of me.

“My what? I’m forty-three for god’s sake. My beauty disappeared ages ago if I ever had any. I’ll ignore the other word.”

“Oh Mary, stop putting yourself down. I love you and you are ten times more attractive than most women half your age. And you are sexy.”

“Stop using that word. What is it? You want me to pose as a tart?”

“Not as a tart, no. Elegant, sophisticated images. You have a superb figure. Let’s get it recorded before it’s too late. It is my fiftieth after all. Something memorable would be fantastic.”

Amazingly she didn’t stomp out of the room in a sulk. Did I have a chance?

“What had you in mind then?”

I pushed my luck.

“Boudoir style shots, in sexy lingerie. Not nude or anything. You wouldn’t be showing any more than in a swimsuit.”

“I don’t have any sexy lingerie,” she countered.

That was true. She never wore anything lacy or sexy. Her ‘going away’ lingerie was the only set one could have remotely called sexy and indeed then you would need Terry Pratchett’s imagination designing Disc World to describe it thus.

“That’s not a problem, we can go online and buy you some, or pop into town and browse in the lingerie shops.”

“I am not parading around a store buying that sort of underwear, and most definitely not with you in tow. Too embarrassing. People would take me for a tart.” That word again.

“In that case,” I said, “let’s search online together and choose some I like, and that you would wear.”

“I’ll consider it and tell you in the morning.” she retorted and stomped out.

That was better than I had expected, but I had little hope we would revisit the topic.

Mary says:-

I didn’t consider myself a prude although I regarded sex with Dan a duty rather than a pleasure. Mother had brought me up to consider sex was the necessary act to have children, and to regard ‘sexy fun’ as ‘dirty.’

That night in bed though I considered Dan’s request. I thought back to a Radio Four programme I’d listened to a while back. About the changing behaviour and attitude of middle-aged women to sex, and how something fresh brightened their lives.

Our lives could do with that.

Had Mother been wrong? Can sex be fun? Should sex be fun? A tiny doubt crept into my mind.

But doing ‘naughty’ sexy things? No, no, not Mary. Not at all appropriate for a woman in her forties. Pose in my undies with a man with a camera looking at me? As far as I was concerned that was in the ‘disgusting sexual behaviour’ category which Sunday papers seemed to revel in. Could I do it? Would I? For the husband I adored?

I mulled it over. It was a special birthday after all, and as Dan had said, I wouldn’t be showing any more than I did on a beach. If we bought lingerie that wasn’t too risqué, that I’d never worn as underwear, perhaps I’d manage to bring myself to do it.

I reluctantly, and with extreme trepidation, agreed.

Amazing. Mary had said yes. So, before she had a chance to change her mind I sat down with her to buy the lingerie online. I wouldn’t give her time to think about it.

I knew what I would have liked to buy for her, but tempered the more racy of my ideas. I mustn’t make her ‘look like a tart.’

She vetoed most, but finally I got four sets passed the censor. Bras, knickers, suspenders and stockings. Those last two were a real struggle. She reminded me of her Mother’s description of stockings – Harlots’ Hosiery – but I pleaded and wheedled and got her reluctant consent to buy them.

I quickly hit Google to find a photographer. It seemed not all would do boudoir shoots and others sounded downright seedy, but I booked one who seemed pleasant and should put Mary at ease.

When Dan told me he had booked the photographer, reality hit home. Oh hell! What have I done? What was I thinking when I said yes? I can’t do this. Take my clothes off, in public? I won’t even go topless on the beach. No, it wasn’t fun doing them ourselves if I’m honest. And wearing all that so-called sexy lingerie he’d bought me online? No, no, no.


Unexpectedly I found myself, stirred by the prospect of posing, but really? Without clothes on? Definitely not! Stupid idea.

I returned to mulling mode then made my decision. No.

It came as no great surprise when Mary decided she wouldn’t do it, but that didn’t decrease my disappointment. I phoned the photographer, Sam, to tell him. He was sympathetic but suggested we still keep the appointment for Mary to have a few portrait shots done as my birthday gift. If she felt comfortable and wanted to, we could progress to glamour shots.

Another lengthy chat with Mary and she agreed while making it clear she had no intention of posing for anything sexy. Ever.

Too right. I wasn’t posing wearing scanty underwear in front of a photographer. Why did I say yes in the first place? Embarrassing enough when Dan tried to photograph me. Why had he insisted on wasting all that money on the lingerie? I’ll never wear it. Makes me feel like a slut. I was stupid to say yes. I had now convinced myself there was no way on god’s earth I would have the desire, to strip off. I’d go to the studio and allow this photographer to take portrait shots. But that’s it. Nothing else.

Our trip to Sam’s studio was a silent one. During the whole journey Mary had been twisting her handbag strap round her fingers and biting her lip. My attempts at conversation failed to elicit any response.

Sam ushered us in and it was reassuring, for Mary, that he had a pleasant, easygoing demeanour. He sat us down, poured us a coffee, and we chatted for a while. Mary relaxed slightly, and I harboured a faint hope, an almost non-existent hope, she might pose in her lingerie. I would have loved her to pose naked, ideally in porn style shots, but that was just a dream.

We finished our coffee and Sam suggested they start.

He said, as it would simply be head and shoulders, there was little point in Mary changing and he found if models dressed down, they felt less self-conscious.

We had brought loads of clothes, as well as the underwear with us. Mary was adamant she was not posing wearing lingerie but with my persistence that ‘well we’ve bought them, no harm in taking them,’ she allowed me to pack all four sets along with her favourite dresses. She had spent ages doing her makeup, and what I considered a fortune the previous day on her hair. So it was an anti-climax to find she would not be changing, but he was the expert so we went along with him. He did various poses with her standing and sitting, taking time to get the lighting and the expression right, At one point he sat her on a chair, elbows on knees, and hands under her chin.

Sam called me over to see the image on his camera.

Sam had captured the most beautiful expression in her eyes, an expression that was at the same time sexy and tender. It was a gorgeous photograph that captured my darling wife as I saw her. Given how Mary was leaning forward, the vee neck of her loosely fitting sweater was gaping open revealing a great deal of cleavage (she is a C cup) which added to the sexuality of the image no end. 

“Wow, that’s beautiful and sexy. Mary come and see.”

Sexy? What’s he talking about? I’m wearing a jumper and jeans. I marched over to look. Christ, bloody man has posed me so he’s looking down my top. I looked in more detail. I grudgingly had to agree with Dan that he had caught a pleasant expression. (I almost thought sensuous but couldn’t bring myself to admit it) I hate photographs of myself but this one had a hypnotic effect on me.

I was torn. On the one hand, it was ‘Bloody pervert. I’m not having this.’ On the other, I couldn’t help but be excited by the picture he had captured. As that thought seeped through my brain, I also noticed a strange tingle where there definitely shouldn’t be a tingle of any description.

She stared at the photograph and blushed, but there was a look in her eye that indicated a liking for it. We carried on for a while and I detected a slight change in Mary’s demeanour. No longer was Sam struggling to get a certain pose, she was much more pliable to his direction.

“How about trying something different?” Sam eventually asked.

“Different? How?” she retorted.

“Something a little sexier, didn’t you bring lingerie with you?”

“Yes. But I’m not a whore. You consider that photo you showed me sexy? It’s perverted. Peering down my top.”

“Oh come on Mary,” I pleaded. “It’s solely for me. No one else will ever see them, and we aren’t getting younger. It would be incredible to have a set of glamorous images of you.”

“Glamorous OK, Porn no. All right?” After some hesitation, and further prompting, with Sam suggesting she wear a kimono over her lingerie she relented, “All right, I’ll do it.” That hesitant yes from Mary, was the key to unlocking a wife I never realised I had.

I was flattered by the photograph, but my ingrained upbringing still had control and I made it clear I would not be posing salaciously.

Somehow though I heard myself agreeing to do the lingerie shots. How did that happen?

I walked to the changing room as if walking to the gallows. Such mixed emotions. I was doing this for Dan’s fiftieth I kept telling myself, so it’s a one-off. He’s been a loving husband, I should do it for him, but can I? With every fibre tingling…

Hang on. Every fibre? Why on earth is every fibre tingling? I don’t wish to do this. Do I? Something deep inside was suggesting I did.

I changed into the least revealing set of lingerie Dan and I (Dan really, I just vetoed the more revealing sets) had chosen online, put on a robe and returned to the studio, shaking so much James Bond would have loved the resulting martini.

Mary was visibly trembling when she returned, swathed in a kimono. I wondered which lingerie set she had chosen, some being more revealing than others. I was certain it would be the set that concealed most.

To settle her down, Sam did many shots of her with the robe on, gradually getting her to let it open a little more. He was good at this; he knew how to encourage Mary to relax.

He suggested removing the kimono which proved me right about the underwear. The bra was lacy but a full cup, and not see-through, whilst the knickers were a French style, with snug legs and plenty of coverage. There were a matching suspender belt and stockings to complete the outfit.

Mary’s face was a mix of nervous anxiety and anticipation. Sam started with simple poses, as she was so stiff and self-conscious. I realized the photos wouldn’t be sexy, but Sam persevered, and my beloved eased into the mood, following direction from him. After twenty minutes of shooting he asked how she felt; she nodded, saying she was OK, and it was fun! Amazing response.

“Right,” said Sam, “in that case how about taking your bra off?”

You may not see that as a big deal, but Mary had never gone topless on a Mediterranean beach when every other woman was, so I wondered how she would react.

Take my bra off? With a man I’ve just met ogling me? Not in a million years! It was nerve-racking enough standing there in my undies. 

That was my immediate reaction, but as I was thinking it, I became aware I was moistening up between my legs. What? No, not possible. Seriously? Am I finding this sexy? I had to admit to myself I was. My thoughts returned to that radio programme. So, instead of saying no, as my head was screaming at me to do, I nodded and awaited Sam’s directions.

“Ok,” he said, seeing the fear on my face, “let’s go slowly. Turn your back on me, unclip your bra, take it off, then when you are ready, turn round.”

Ready? Ready? I thought. I’ll be frozen to the spot for eternity. The feelings pulsing through me were so contradictory. My brain was screaming at me; stop, get dressed, go home. What would your Mother say? My heart, or to be accurate, my libido (I was amazed to realise I had one) was yelling YES show everything. Yes, everything. A new inner self was taking control saying grow up dear, be a REAL woman. I turned away from them and reached up my back, unclipping the two fasteners. It proved difficult; I was trembling so much.

I hunched my shoulders and shrugged the bra straps off, holding the cups in place over my breasts. I wasn’t sure what I would do next, when out of nowhere I thought, for god’s sake, I’m in my forties, I’m not getting younger. If other Radio Four listeners can do it, so can I. What the hell. Dan was more than supportive, he wanted me to do it. Go for it. So I did. I took my hands off my breasts, let the bra fall to the ground, swivelled around on my heels, put my hands on my hips, adopted what I hoped was a sexy pose and pouted. Oh-My-God.

At that point, I realised my knickers were sodden.

I waited unable to breathe. Her hands came behind her to unhook the clasps, she hunched her shoulders and the bra fell to the ground. My wife stood still for a few seconds that seemed to last minutes, and I speculated if she would have the courage to turn.

She did. Mary swivelled and posed in what she obviously felt was a sexy manner. What it lacked in finesse it made up for in the blaze of sensuality in her eyes. A look I’d never seen before. She took her hands off her hips and squeezed her breasts, staring into my eyes. The most amazing thing was she appeared to be enjoying it. I was too. (Understatement on a magnitude of ten to the power of ten).

Sam continued shooting, giving instructions, and making the poses ever more provocative. Either Mary failed to register the fact, or did, and happily went with it. I found either option difficult to believe.

“How about losing the knickers?” Sam asked after a while. That’s it, I thought. I expected a flat refusal with Mary stomping off to get dressed muttering about perverts and dirty old men. Instead, I heard her say;

“Why not? In for a boob show, in for a pussy show.”

That can’t be my wife. Impossible. I couldn’t remember her using the word pussy before. Exposing it to another man was unbelievable.

In one smooth movement she pushed the knickers down, stepped out of them, screwed the material in a ball and threw the sexy parcel at me.

I was stunned. As horny as hell, but stunned. This had to be a dream. My wife, standing stark naked and enjoying it.

Watching this exhibitionism by my erstwhile demure wife riveted me to the spot. After several other poses Sam had her sitting in a big armchair and asked her to throw her legs over the arms.

No. She won’t do that.

Will she?

Oh shit.

No way did I imagine she’d do it, not my puritanical wife, but with no hesitation, she followed his instructions without any attempt to cover herself.

My wife, exposing herself to another man. No, can’t be happening.

My wife, who only an hour ago was saying she wouldn’t pose in her undies, opening her legs, giving a closeup of her most private parts to this virtual stranger. Mind-blowing.

The next 15 minutes were a blur. My memory a blank, it was as if I were drunk. Intoxicated with the sexuality of the moment. Unknown feelings coursing through me. New sensations, but boy, was I enjoying them! 

I remember hoping Sam would continue to make me pose more provocatively. I kept glancing at Dan and there was no doubt he was relishing every second. I was in a world I hadn’t known existed. A world where the feelings coursing through my body took life and living to a higher plain.

I came back to reality. I became conscious I was stark naked, apart from my stockings and suspenders, and had my legs as wide apart as possible, with Sam, and his camera, inches away, shooting for all he was worth. Way to go Mary! If that’s not provocative tell me what is.

I should have come to my senses and rushed to cover up, but that was the Old Mary. The Mary of two hours ago. Now my thought was will he touch me? With a thunderous realisation, I knew that’s what I wanted. Me. Mary. I wanted another man touching me. I needed this intense experience to continue forever.

I was rock hard, and wanted to extract my cock and stroke it, or do more with it, but thought I shouldn’t. It was painful to sit there and not release my urges.

Sam was now down on his knees with his camera so close to Mary’s nest.

“Touch yourself,” he directed, and my wife obeyed him. She eased her fingers into her cunt and then concentrated on rubbing her clit. Her head shot back; she was in a world of her own. With the camera still clicking her hips bucked as she brought herself higher and higher, and then a long, loud, moan signalled she had brought herself off. God, I was so horny and frustrated. I wanted to fuck her there and then.

I vividly remember my thoughts. Had I just done that? Had I fingered myself and orgasmed watched by two men? The first time I had come in years. Must be a dream. A nightmare. No, not a nightmare, I was enjoying myself too much.

Mary sank into a heap on the chair, looking as I had never seen her before. Alive. An intensity in her eyes that spoke volumes. She did not cover up, but sat there, naked, and still rubbing her clit.

“Oh. Wow. What was that? I feel so good.”

Was my Old Mary of the last twenty-three years gone? I hoped so.

I recognised something earth-shattering had happened. Similar to the medieval idea of the devil being driven out, but in my case, the devil was modesty, and hang-ups, about sexual matters. Yes, I’d only posed naked and had an orgasm. Only? Listen to me. I could count on one hand, well perhaps two, the number of times I’d orgasmed since my wedding night. Now? Oh, it was only an orgasm in front of a stranger! Deep down I knew this was the start of a cataclysmic change, I prayed Dan would come with me on this journey. A journey of sexual discovery that should have happened long ago.

We both sat there for a while with our thoughts while Sam talked about post-production, and editing, and presentations. I wasn’t listening; I was just hoping Mary would continue down this path.

We regained our composure, and while Mary dressed, I asked Sam to repeat everything he had just been telling us. Yes, we would return to see the results. I’d call him and fix a date.

Mary and I wandered back to the car holding hands and sat and looked at each other. Mary leant over and kissed me. Our tongues darting at each other going as deep as possible.

“Dan,” Mary whispered “I can’t believe what I’ve just done. I feel so alive.”

“But you did do it, and it turned me on enormously, What a revelation. Why the sudden change? You were so shy and reserved to begin with.”

“I know. I was shaking more inside than out, then, I don’t know, first that photo I suppose. I realised I can look good, and when Sam asked me to take my bra off, my first thought was unprintable, then as I turned my back I remembered a programme I’d heard on the radio, about middle-aged sexuality, and it somehow just hit me, I felt a rush at the thought of flashing my breasts and by the time I’d reached up and unclasped my bra it’s as though I’d been reborn. I had this huge surge of wantonness going through me. You didn’t mind did you?”

“Mind? Hardly, isn’t that obvious?”

“Mm, probably,” she said, looking at my bulging crotch, “let’s get home and celebrate.”

I won’t bore you with the details of our celebration, suffice to say we were both exhausted by the end of the evening.

I was awake first in the morning and stumbled down to make the coffee. I needed to convince myself the previous day had happened. I spent the time thinking about all that had transpired, and alternated between euphoria and concern that, in the cold light of day, Mary might regret what she had done. I was bloody certain that wasn’t my reaction. Even after last night my dick was still interested in action.

Carrying the mugs into the bedroom and being greeted by Mary’s smiling face I knew she had no regrets. Oh, and perhaps the fact she had thrown the duvet back, had her legs wide apart, and had two fingers working hard in her pussy was a clue too!

The coffee went cold.

Lying there after, I asked “Where do we go from here? Would you do it again or was it a one-off?”

“Oh no,” she replied, “as long as you want to, I’m desperate to do it again but… are you happy I do?”

“Mm. More than happy. Do you just want to pose, or would you take it further?”

I was holding my breath, hoping she would choose to take this further, much further.

“Well …what made me so horny was Sam being up so close, and I wondered how I would have felt if he’d touched me.”

“Touched you? How? Your tits or pussy do you mean, or more?”

“I’m not sure. God, I can’t even believe I’m thinking this let alone saying it. If he’d used his fingers or massaged my breasts, it would have been magic, but there, with him so close and me naked, I would have so loved to have had him…” Mary hesitated looking at me, searching my face to watch my reaction.

“…fuck me. There. I’ve said it. Do you hate me for it?”

It was the most amazing statement from my wife since she had said ‘I do’ at our wedding. Amazing on two levels. The prosaic level of her never having uttered the word fuck before, and the erotic level of fulfilling a fantasy of mine.

“Oh, darling, no,” I said “that would turn me on more than you can ever imagine. Look.” I pointed to my cock which was swelling again.

“Naughty boy.” Mary responded by slapping my penis hard.

“Ouch. That hurt. Do it again!” So she did. We were entering virgin (an inappropriate choice of word!) territory for sure. Mary had never been playful with my cock. Not once in twenty-three years. You can understand why I was so excited.

So we talked further, with long interruptions for our hands and mouths and other bits to work hard on, and in, each other.

During a respite from the sex we discussed Mary going further with Sam.

“Do you think he’d want to fuck me? I’m older than him. Perhaps he wouldn’t find me attractive enough. Or perhaps it’s against his professional ethics.”

I laughed.

“I don’t think photographers are quite in the same league as doctors, but I suppose he might have some personal reservations if he’s married or has a partner. Not your attractiveness though. I keep telling you, you are still sexy, any man with a cock would be more than happy to fuck you.”

“God Dan. You saying ‘Any man’, I wonder. Could I do it with any man?”

“Are you asking me if I’d be OK with it or whether you could physically do it?”

“Both I suppose.”

“Well, to the first yes you have my blessing, as long as I can watch, and two, I’m sure you could. You seem to have freed yourself from your Mother’s piousness.”

“Thank you. Let’s see how it goes with Sam, then make plans.”

The upshot was I phoned Sam on the following Monday to arrange an appointment to collect the results of the shoot. We discussed how I should approach him and Mary decided she would rather just let things develop, in case she changed her mind.

I couldn’t wait, the thought of seeing another man enter my wife was ensuring I had no need for Viagra.

Where will this lead? Chapter Two here

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A Bit of Erotica!

Hi All,

I’m not sure whether any of you are as keen on erotica as the visual side of things but I thought you might like a short story I have recently penned.

Please let me know what you think. I have more finished and in progress if you would like to read them. Do leave a comment. Cheers

PS in case the written word is not your thing here’s a photo to be going on with. Lots more of Sammie at

A Birthday Surprise

Hi. I’m Susie. I have a husband; James. I adore him. Even more so after his recent birthday present to me. Want to hear about it?

It wasn’t a special birthday, just one on the run up to the supposed life changing fortieth.

We’ve been married fifteen years. Our sex life is great. Nothing outrageous. We haven’t been wife swapping, or dogging, or anything like that, but we have always had great fun in bed. We’ve experimented with all sorts of things to keep the spark alive, bondage, role play, spanking, the works, but always only the two of us. ‘Playing away’ has never tempted me. No need. James has a happy knack of satisfying my sexual desires. But…

A week or so before my birthday, we were having a loving night in, plenty of wine leading to a cosy petting session on the sofa. We were both very relaxed when James asked if I had anything special I’d like as a birthday present. Being tipsy I naughtily replied; 

“Well, a different cock would be good.” It was a flippant, throwaway remark but as soon as I said it I panicked. Oh, god, what’s he going to think?

“Really? Roger not doing his job?”

Roger is our pet name for his cock. Yes, I know, but there we are. 

“No darling, of course he is, but you know what they say, a change is as good as a rest.” 

Digging myself deeper and deeper. 

“Well, yes, but another bloke, fucking you? Jeez. I’m not sure.”

I back peddled like mad.

“Oh please, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean it. It was a silly comment, a joke.”

“Was it? It’s obviously something you’ve thought about. Got anyone special in mind?”

I was now getting frantic. God, he’s imagining I’ve got a bloke somewhere. Fucking behind his back. 

“No, darling. Honestly, it was just a stupid, off-the-cuff remark. I’ve never wanted anyone else. You know I don’t. I’ve had too much wine.”

“Mm. Perhaps, but if you had another cock, would you want him on your own or could I watch?”

Wow. Where did that come from? Does my husband want someone else to screw me? The thought generated damp knickers. 

“Er, oh, I er, I’m not sure, I only said it in fun.”

“Yes, I realise that, but if I did organise it, would you let me be a voyeur?”

The conversation had taken on a serious tone. A highly charged, serious, sexual tone.

I’m not sure what I had expected my husband’s reply to be to my comment. Just a laugh and some quip back probably, but not this. It should have been a joke and move on. Now James had me considering it properly, and the thought was soaking my knickers. 

“Eh, well I guess so. Would that excite you? Watching another man fuck me?”

“Oh yes, providing you were enjoying it. A real turn on. So, what sort of cock? Bigger than mine; same size?”

“Oh Jeez, I don’t know. I’m not sure it would matter.”

“Oh, come on darling, surely it would?”

 “Er, OK then, no, not smaller, same size or bigger. But it would be such a new experience, I’m certain it would be a case of size doesn’t matter.”

A small laugh. 

“Ok. What sort of bloke? White, black, oriental, Indian.”

I was getting into this now. I was sure it wouldn’t happen, so it was fun fantasising. 

“Er, let’s ring the changes. Anything but white. Sort of Henry Ford in reverse.”

“Now you’ve lost me. What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know that story? Apparently when Ford started mass production, he was asked what colours he was offering and said ‘any as long as it’s black’.”

“Ah. Right. Ok so. Age? young, old, middle-aged?”

My pussy was now sopping wet with this idea. I wished that perhaps it wouldn’t be a fantasy. 

“Not old. Not really young either. I’d want someone who knew what they were doing but with plenty of stamina too.” 

By now I’d undone the zip on my jeans with my hand down the inside of my knickers, rubbing my clit. My breathing was changing too. 

“Ok. Leave it with me.”

Was I actually hearing this? Did he mean it? I asked the question.

“Perhaps.” Was he serious? Was I?

He lent over, kissed me passionately and guided my hand to ‘Roger’.

The fuck was good. That was a huge relief. My asking for a new cock hadn’t upset him, but I still had niggling doubts whether I should have said it. Why had I said it? Did I want another guy fucking me? The jury was out. In many ways I did. In many ways I didn’t. After our lovemaking I told James as much.

“OK, not to worry. I’ll think of a surprise for your birthday I’m sure you’ll love.”

“Thank you, darling.”

In the week leading up to my birthday, I kept worrying about my throw away remark and was still undecided whether I would want to do it if James had taken me seriously. Would he really find a man to fuck me? If so, where? How?

Did I want another man? In a fantasy, oh yes, no doubt. I’d love to experience someone else’s cock inside me, and I admit sometimes, when making love to James, there was another face in my mind. No one special, simply someone else. But in reality, I wasn’t sure. 

The other aspect making me damp was James’s comment about watching. In my mind’s eye I could visualise the scene. A huge black cock pounding me while my darling husband watched, wanking himself silly. We’d watched that sort of porn on line but never for one minute had I considered I might be in that situation. I still couldn’t really acccept I would be.

I decided the fantasy was exactly that. I needed to come back to reality and expect a watch or something as my surprise present.

 I kept asking James what he thought about our conversation but he wouldn’t give me a clue whether he had taken it seriously.

My birthday arrived. Rather than going out James arranged for a takeaway with a few chilled bottles of Pinot. This knotted my stomach. He’d never done that before. He’d always taken me to a restaurant to celebrate. Did it mean the fantasy was about to become a reality? Anxiety and anticipation in equal measure. 

After the meal James told me to relax on the sofa, while he popped upstairs. He was gone a while. I heard him on his phone, but didn’t think much about it.

When he came back into the living room, he was wearing a bathrobe which he hadn’t bothered to secure. He was partly erect. I beckoned him over to give him a quick suck. He came and stood in front of me and I was enjoying getting ‘Roger’ to peak size when he stopped me. 

“Whoa. Enough for now. You have a long night in front of you. Pop upstairs, part of your birthday present is there. Put it all on then wait for me on the bed.”


On entering the bedroom I saw a wonderful selection of lingerie and a large box laid out along with handcuffs and ankle cuffs attached to the four corners of the bed. I’m the sub tonight then, I thought.

 As for my presents. Wow. He had bought a racy black bra and knicker set with a wide suspender belt and fully fashioned nylons. I opened the box. Boots! Patent leather, thigh high, with five-inch heels. Oh wow. James always liked me in boots. I could see these would send him wild. I’m tall. Five feet ten. With these on, I’d be over six feet. More suitable for when I’m the Dom, but hey, if they add to my husband’s libido who am I to argue? 

 I quickly undressed then put on all the goodies he had bought. In doing so, I made a discovery; the knickers were crotchless. I lay down expectantly. I had to lie there for ages. Part of the tease, I thought. He eventually came up and cuffed me to the bed, wrists and ankles to each corner. Then he blindfolded me. That was a surprise; he never blindfolded me. He knew I loved to watch his erection and look into his eyes as he fucked me but the deprivation of a sense excited me. I wondered what else he had in mind. I found out soon enough. A further surprise. He put iPhone pods in my ears and switched on my favourite music. Not too loud but adding to the sensory pleasure and deprivation. Why had he done that? I asked.

 He told me I’d have to wait to find out. He left the room and went downstairs, although with the music in my ears I had difficulty being sure what was happening. Is that why he had done it? It sounded as though the front door opened and closed. He can’t have gone out, he’s only wearing an undone bathrobe! What is he doing? Does that mean he’s let someone in? Being cuffed I couldn’t touch myself but desperately wanted to. Was this the prelude to my first fuck with another man since my marriage?

Would James really want me screwed by someone else? Or was he teasing me? Pretending? The anticipation and uncertainty were driving my yearning through the roof. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Was he whispering to someone? No, he can’t be, can he? God, even with my earlier assumption of him letting someone in I still wasn’t convinced this would happen. Has he really found someone? A huge tremor swept through me. Was it fear or excitement? I was experiencing both in equal measure. Was a stranger going to fuck me? Was James going to fuck me with someone watching? The thoughts caused me to get wetter. Proving, perhaps, I wanted another cock. I did, but could I? My body was definitely saying yes. 

The bedroom door opened. I asked him what was happening. 

“You’ll find out.” 

There was a movement; was that one or two sets of footsteps across the bedroom floor? Damn this music. The chair in the corner of the room creaked, as though someone had sat in it. Was someone other than James about to fuck me?. The flow of my juices became a torrent.

Someone climbed next to me. Hands roughly grabbed my breasts, groping them. The suddenness of it made me gasp. They ran all over my bra, tracing the straps up to my shoulders, running lightly round the top of the cups, slipping into the cups, tweaking my nipples. The hands pulled my bra down, exposing my breasts. Lips closed over each nipple in turn; a tongue flicked against them. They became rock hard. Is this James? I smelt whiskey on the person’s breath. James rarely drank whiskey and had had none while I was downstairs although I vaguely remembered being surprised to see a bottle on the side table. More confusion in my mind. Concentrate Susie. Does this feel like James? The hands now rubbed oil into my tits. I loved the sensation. James often did it. So it was him? Or had he told someone how I loved that? More uncertainty. A voice whispered in my ear.

“You are such a gorgeous slut.” Was it my husband? With the music in my ears and, because of him whispering, doubt still filled my head. The erotic massage sent me over the edge. If it wasn’t James then who? The hardness was next to me, his fingers disappearing inside my soaking wet cunt. That almost convinced me it was James, the fingers felt familiar. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or disappointed.

The fingers withdrew. The body get off the bed. There was movement around the room but with these damn ear buds I couldn’t pinpoint anything. 

Someone was next to me again. Was it the same person? A cock brushed against my legs as the person lifted themselves over, lying between my open legs. I was so wet they had no trouble sinking their cock into me. Through the open crotch of my new knickers. A cock encased in a condom. Soon I was bucking hard, and I came. Did they? This whole thing was so frustrating. They may have come, but with my orgasm and with them wearing a rubber, yet again I wasn’t sure. Surely it had to be James. Would he have let someone fuck me and come inside me even if they had a condom on? 

The blindfold and earphones totally disorientated me making me unsure about anything. God, James’s cock must have been in me thousands of times. Surely I’d know the feeling? But I couldn’t be sure. The bloody condom. We hadn’t used one in years. It was ribbed, so the sensation was different. I was willing it to be someone else when it may only be my husband. 

Silence until the person had left my side.

“Don’t worry.” Definitely James’s voice, “that’s not the last fuck you will get tonight.” 

The indecision continued. The voice came from the opposite side of the bed to where whoever had fucked me had got off, but had he walked round? Surely it was James that had screwed me? It felt like him. Didn’t it? Was that wishful thinking? Wishful which way? Husband or stranger? God, someone else must be here or was he saying he wanted to do me again himself? Has someone watched James fuck me? I hoped someone else was there. The thought of a stranger witnessing our intimate moments blew my mind. The thought of a stranger’s cock entering me even more so. 

With much rustling around and movement I had difficulty working out exactly what was happening. Then another hand was on me, but the feeling was strange, It took a while to work it out. Whoever it was wore leather gloves. Why? Those hands roamed over me, exploring every part of me. 

The hands roughly pulled my bra straps off my shoulders then forced themselves under me undoing the clasps. With my wrists tied they can’t be taking it off so what was the plan? They pushed the bra over my head out of the way. They then slapped my tits. 

God, was it James messing around or someone else? “Who is it? James, who’s slapping me? For Christ’s sake, tell me.” No answer. The hand left me. 

The gloved fingers entered my cunt and frigged me. I was moaning and screaming. God if the whole local football team was in here right now I would have screwed every last one of them. 

The person climbed off. “James who is he?” 

“Who says it’s a he?” 

God, a woman? Didn’t smell feminine but given the state of excitement I was in I couldn’t be sure about anything. Someone was again pushing their gloved hand into my pussy and frigging me hard. My hips came up as I started to orgasm while their other hand slid under me, another gloved finger explored my anus, not so gently pushing in. That was it, with a huge scream I came and came and came. More movement. A body getting off the bed, another getting on. Could it be the same person again? Shit. Am I being gang banged? Did I mind? The answer to the first question; I had no idea. The answer to the second; no, I most definitely didn’t mind. 

Something brushed my face. Another cock in a condom. Another or the same one? I opened my mouth to take it in. I sucked hard. It was flavoured. A chocolate taste. James knows I have a weakness for chocolate. A new experience. It withdrew. A new sensation. Something different being pushed into my pussy. Firm but with a weird softness. Whatever it was, it was doing a wonderful job of keeping me on the edge of erupting again. How many times had I already come? Don’t know. Don’t care. Someone removed the object from my pussy and I felt something against my mouth. I opened it. Chocolate again. The flavour mixed with the scent of sex. Realisation dawned. I just been fucked by a chocolate bar! I couldn’t eat it. I was too high on my sexual rocket. 

A cock touched my pussy lips, and I hoped I’d be able to tell if it belonged to James but it was in a ribbed condom again making the sensation so different. I didn’t know. Could James have got erect again so quickly with the stimulus of the boots and everything? Or hadn’t he been the first one?

The cock continued thrusting into me, banging me hard and fast. In no time I was bucking and coming to yet another orgasm.

I slowly recovered my senses realising the owner of the cock had risen from the bed; another body replaced them. Or the same one. A hand, this time not in a glove, gently caressed me and a voice whispered in my ear. 

“Happy birthday Darling. Did you enjoy that?”

Definitely James. 

“Oh, yes, yes, yes.”

I asked him to take the blindfold off to let me see who had fucked me. 

“Not yet,” he said. He climbed off the bed, leaving the room. Again the front door opened and closed. James returned taking off the blindfold, freeing the cuffs and presenting me with a glass of bubbly. 

“Who was it?” I asked. 

“Who?” he replied, all innocently. 

“The person here,” I said. “There was someone else here wasn’t there?” 

“Mm, possibly, possibly not, but if you are right perhaps it’s best you don’t know who! Might have been a neighbour. Or a friend of mine. Or yours. Or even perhaps a stranger I’d met in the pub and asked if he wanted to screw you for a hundred quid!” 

Hell, that last thought was so erotic, me being screwed for cash! He refused to tell me – the bastard! I can’t be sure there was anyone. Playing it back in my mind it could have all been James, but the thought it was possibly (or is that probably?) someone else is keeping me in damp knickers even now.


 He still hasn’t told me. It may be a man I know, or a stranger or him! Or even a woman with the gloved hands. Or a man and a woman. James could have screwed me twice. Someone could have watched us fuck. Grrr! What a turn on though. I hope (at least I think I do) it was someone else. I will be carefully looking at everyone I meet now, to judge whether they are looking at me differently!

James has promised to tell me this coming weekend the truth, so I’ve got a whole week of not knowing. It’s driving me mad! I might withhold my favours till he tells me. Should I? 

Hugs, Susie xxxxxxxxx

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Takes from the Studio – The Ups and downs of a porn photographer

Behind the scenes. The perhaps not so glamorous life of a porn photographer. (Not sure that in the main I regard what I shoot as porn but can’t think of a suitable description. If you can then answers on a postcard to …….

Ok. So there we are all set to go with a new model. I’ve had various email discussions with her. She seemed professional and asked the right questions and responded to my queries.

We discussed the arrangements. She will be travelling by train. Is that ok? Yep. I can pick her up from station. Which station?  I tell her. Ok she says, I’ll check on train times and cost and get back to you. An email a day later and she asks for the national debt to cover her travelling expenses. Now I know rail tickets are not cheap but this seems a bit OTT. I ask her to confirm details. She is trying to book to a station some 165 miles away from me. Not even a similar sounding name. Not boding well, but hey I press on, she is very sexy. She sorts out right train (I hope)…

 Time of arrival scheduled for 10.20am train. (It’s amazing how many models don’t drive. A much higher proportion I think than the population generally. Dizzy blonde syndrome?) 

I drive to the station and await train. Train arrives. People disembark. I wait whilst they file out of station. Now, not withstanding that makeup and hairstyling and clothes can make a huge difference to how a model looks in real life I find it difficult to believe she is either the 40ish year old bald bloke or the old lady hobbling through with the help of a walking frame.  

I wait a few more minutes in case she has popped into the loo or something, but there’s no sign. I phone her mobile. It goes into voice mail. Joy. Another wasted journey and another non show. 

I start the 10 mile drive back to the studio. About half way back the phone rings. It’s MIA model. (That’s missing in action not Mia as in… oh, you get the point. )

“So sorry,” she says, “I went to sleep and missed the stop. I’ll get off at the next and get a train back”

Now, some models seem to have led sheltered lives,  being brought up in a town or city where the infrastructure caters for their every need and train stations are every couple of miles and trains every few minutes. Out here in the sticks it’s a bit different. The next station up the line is about 15 miles away and trains only run once an hour so if she arrives just after one’s left god knows when I’ll see her. 

I ask her to let me know when she finds out on her arrival at the next stop. I drive back to the studio to await developments. The phone rings. First good news of the morning, train back is leaving as she speaks. I get back in car and return to station. She arrives. Wonderful. Our 4 hour shoot is reduced to two but at least I get something out of the day. 

Postscript. I am not going to reveal who it was, but I have to admit that I rebooked her and she was a brilliant model to work with. The path of true porn does not always run smooth!

None of the following images are of the model above. I just thought I’d post them to relieve the monotony of reading my drivel. Do please leave a message if you have enjoyed reading this or any other entry. I might even get round to writing one regularly!

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Technical problems

Hi All

Just a quick note. We seem to be experiencing difficulties with retro-glamour site at the moment. It comes up with a holding page. We are looking into it and will resolve it as soon as possible. Please bear with us.

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Bored Ladies revamp complete

I’m pleased, and relieved, to say that the revamp of is now complete.

There are now 6 ladies on there. My favourite six that I have shot regularly in the past. Hopefully there’s something for everyone. They cover the whole spectrum of ages from young Katie in her 20’s to Pauline in her 60’s. Styles vary too, we go from lovely Alis who I could not convince to take off her bra but who was not adverse to showing her underwear out and about, up to Pauline who loved doing hardcore with any cock around but particularly’ younger ones, via Katie who loves role play and really gets turned on with bondage and spanking to that super sexy MILF Erin who so enjoys opening her legs and getting large toys deep inside her. Then there’s glamorous granny Ali, who will when in the mood go topless but she has the most appealing range of lingerie to show you and finally tall and leggy and a lovely hairy pussy which she is not shy to display.

There is a totally FREE full set of each of the Super Six for you to enjoy so do go and check out the site at

Meanwhile here’s a sample of each to keep you company.

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A New Face

I had a great shoot with a new face yesterday and just thought you might like some details and a picture or two.

She is Ann, aged 49 and married. Her bra size is, well as she says in the video her bras are C cup but to my mind I would definitely think they were a lot larger. They certainly felt it!

She really enjoys wearing stockings and tells me she will wear them even if she goes shopping, a real rarity these days but it gives me hope!

She was great to photograph and really seemed to enjoy me lying on the floor between her legs photographing up her skirt for close ups of her knickers, when she was wearing any!

That cleavage is to die for!

Lovely cuddly Mum isn’t she? This skirt is interesting. Ann tells me that her husband loves her wearing it out. Looking at it like this it may not be anything special but if I change the lighting you will see why wearing out in public turns her husband on. If you would like to see that, leave a message.

She has some super sexy undies and I’ve got some stunning close ups of her bras and knickers

She’s really just a kid at heart because she loves playing with toys. The adult variety! Oh and did I mention what she can do with her tongue?

I also did some videos and you can take the tour of her underwear with me, watching her play with her toy and listening to the juicy sounds of her pussy.

Her first set will be next weeks update on Make sure you don’t miss it.

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