It's probably clear now that our lifestyle has a number of different 'levels' that I, in particular, live within for certain periods of time. So it's probably worth a quick note on names and things just to clarify matters so you don’t get too confused!
When I’m in slave mode- that lowliest, but often most satisfying and, to be honest, most securest mode as I pretty much relinquish all responsibility for myself- which is paradoxically, fabulously liberating- I call my husband My Lord, and will refer to him as such in this diary. Out of slave mode and into a standard submissive [but still flirty] housewife one, I refer to him usually as Alistair or, if I am feeling or of course being made to be particularly submissive, I call him ‘Sir.’ ‘Master’ was used from the outset by me, and for old times I sometimes slip back into using that title for him.to him, and it now adds an extra bit of nostalgic ‘frisson’ to our relationship at any particular time and I use it to my own ends I must admit, usually when I am being caned or spanked, and I need that extra bit of enthusiasm put into his swipes at my bottom.
I was out shopping this morning and went down to the High Street for some bits and bobs. It’s still not that cold despite being the end of December and I put on a yellow and white small checked cotton dress, a little denim jacket topped off with a Hermes scarf Alistair had got me for by birthday a couple of years ago and of course the obligatory, yellow high heels. I love those shoes- shiny canary yellow, you can spot me a mile off in them, just how I like it.
It may be warmi[ish] for the time year but it is also very windy, and I never learn; as I walked away from the car in the supermarket car park a gust of wind blew up my skirt- it’s length was lower thigh just above the knee, not too short but still showing a good bit of leg, and before I knew it the up draft had put my skirt up above my stocking tops. It was in many ways a welcome gust; it was a lovely cold blow of air on my pussy, which I’d just shaved early to maintain its smooth, hairless sheen and so was still a little bit tingly, I made a show of struggling a little to push it down, thinking inevitably about this being my Marilyn Munroe moment and how I wished it was happening somewhere a bit more glamorous than Tesco’s car park, when suddenly Adam Reeve is stood in front of me and I think: well this is a turn up for the books.
So I go all girly and coy and pretend to be embarrassed by the unfortunate display whilst secretly thinking what perfect timing. Adam is gorgeous; late twenties and he’s already a junior executive in Alistair’s firm and, according to Alistair, should make Partner in a couple of years, so he is definitely going places.
However his executive talents were not high on the list of things I fantasied about him being good at, and I instinctively- as I do with all attractive men- glanced at the bulge in his trousers. He had to have a big cock, a good looking young man like him couldn’t have a small one, that would really just be way too unfair.
‘Ah, Mrs. Easton, are you okay there?’ he said, grinning at me and I smiled back. I wondered if he was mentally undressing me in the same way I was he; I definitely hoped so,
‘Just this bloody wind,’ I purred. ‘Catches you when you least expect it!’
And we laughed together and a minute or so of inane conversation followed. Adam has a touch of the Romany about him, I’m sure it’s in his blood, his his thick black hair, the warm glow to his skin and the trace of an accent that would at first strike you as Irish but which I think hints of some place else, some naughty, deliciously dangerous some place else.
Needless to say I was soon fantasising about lying before him with my legs spread, and him stood before me with his big cock erect and twitching against his belly, before he descended on me, pushing my thighs ever wider with welcome pain in my groin, as wide as they can go, my wet cunt spread wide, it’s lips opening, yearning, before he rams it into me and I scream as he fucks me senseless.
And so i stood in the gusty car park, my hair blowing around my face, having very arousing thoughts of his come dribbling from my mouth; I found myself breathing heavily, desperate to feel his young, thick prick tight in my snatch his body heavy on mine, my tits pressed into his chest, my thighs wrapped around his hips.
Well such thoughts liven up a morning’s shopping, do they not. And like I told you, I can be a very naughty girl as well, you know, and I may be a submissive wife, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun of my own, and I always promise myself to do just that, as and when I can… and I am thinking that with Adam, I may well just have to work at making the daydream a reality, one day...
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