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Valentine’s hat-Trick Part 2

 

….and so I stood in the kitchen feeling wonderfully vulnerable. I know I am in trouble.

I look over my shoulder and see him standing there. Shoeless, his dark hair sexily unkempt, he is wearing a white tee-shirt and black business trousers, the belt unbuckled, and I stare at it, breathing heavily, my thighs bare below my little skirt tingling, my slit a gloop of need, my whole vagina a wonderful, throbbing zone of anxious, expectant desire. A desire to be opened and taken and…yes…hurt. Even my anus was alive with a delicious pulse of dread and excitement and I allowed myself a thought: which orifice was he going to fill with his come first? The answer I knew, now, would come soon enough.

His scowl makes me shiver as I stand back against the kitchen counter. He is taking in my legs, then my tits, then his eyes lock on mine.

I was watching you,’ he spits moving into the kitchen. ‘You dirty little bitch. I saw you you flirting with that delivery boy. ‘

He now stands right in front of me and reaches forward and roughly grabs my thick, permed hair at sharply pulls back my head. I yelp at the stab of pain. He just puts his face closer to mine and scowls all the more; my cherry red lipsticked lips quiver and my long neck is taunt with a fraught but eager tension.

‘Flouncing around in front of him like that,’ she snaps into my face. Flashing those legs and wearing that little skirt leaving hardly anything to the imagination. I bet you managed to bend over as well to flash him your knickers, didn’t you, you fucking slut.’

‘N-n-n-no My Lord,’ I stutter back, ‘I wouldn’t dare do such a course thing.’

‘Yes you would because you are a horny cock teasing little cow, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m…’

‘Yes you are….DON’T ARGUE WITH ME!!’

He scrunches up my hair ever tighter and yanks my head back further pressing me against the kitchen cabinet, my hands splayed behind me on the worktop.

‘If I hadn’t of been around,’ he spits, ‘that boy would have been in here at a moment’s notice, wouldn’t he. I’d have been out at work, and you with your juices flowing in that needy tight little crack of yours would have had him in here, in my kitchen, and your tits would be out and your knickers down in no time and he would be sucking those tits wouldn’t he, and licking those long legs before bending you over and fucking you on the kitchen table- my kitchen table, wouldn’t he? Admit it, WOULDN’T HE!!’

I whimper from the sharp pain in my scalp from the crushed up handful of hair.

‘Because you don’t care, do you, you bitch. You’d let him fuck you, you’d let his spunk drip out of you onto the kitchen table where it would dry, and you would then be happy for me to come home from work, and sit at that table- even eat at table- where a young man’s spunk stain had seeped into the wood, a spunk stain created by him after lifting up the short skirt and pulling down the knickers of my wife. And you’d secretly fucking laugh at the sight wouldn’t you.’

‘No My lord, I would never, never….’

I try to look away from him. His anger is intense now, his eyes are boring through my skull. He had caught me flirting with the delivery boy- a delivery boy with flowers sent to me by My Lord no less- and he had read my mind, tracking my thoughts about the young man’s cock, how hard and virile it would be, how his strokes in my cunt would have been firm and deep, how my cunt would have tightened around that young shaft of flesh in depraved, unfaithful pleasure, if only My Lord had been out at work this morning…

Valentine Hat-Trick Part 1

January is a very quiet time. The month just seems to slip by in a blur; the New Year invariably is a busy period at work for Alistair and I go almost into automatic mood, being the good efficient housewife, happy to keep the household in order with the expectation of any particularly nefarious thrills in the near future.

Having a ‘quiet’ period is quite nice actually. A bit of uneventful ennui for a few weeks can be soothing in a funny sort of way. After the hectic and full-on events of Christmas and New Year, it’s good to have a time when you can re-charge the batteries.

But by the time January is over and February is upon us, that period of relative uneventful quietness does start to get a bit boring; the humdrum- and largely sex-free it must be admitted, which is perhaps the most difficult part- starts to become a bit wearing. The chance to rest and hunker down with a book in the evening is a regular, enjoyable experience that starts to wear quite thin. So Valentine’s Day in mid-February comes as a welcome relief. We have our Lenten period of reflective denial over and done with early; by V-Day, it’s time to get back into the swing of some good old fashioned lust, general debauchery and energetic spanking again.

And so it usual for this time of year for Alistair to enjoy his ‘hat-trick’ routine. This quite simply involves a sustained day of me being a totally submissive housewife, and him depositing his spunk in my main three orifices, namely cunt, arse and mouth in the space of a few hours. 

It starts a couple of days before when Alastair becomes My Lord. It’s a pretty straightforward routine whereby I become a traditional housewife in 1950s mode. I wear flouncy patterned dresses, sturdy Play-Tex bras that make my tits look like torpedoes, stockings and even a girdle which I know drives My Lord mad with passion but it is a passion he suppresses and doesn’t satisfy which of course builds up a –usually impressive- head of lustful steam.

And so I potter about the house at My Lord’s beg and call. It’s all simple routine, but nonetheless also builds up healthy levels of need within myself and I often feel myself becoming wet as I gaze down at my marigolds, washing up the dinner plates in the sink [the dishwasher is strictly out of bounds during these times]. The need to be quite roughly fucked in a number of holes grows ever stronger and the sense of denial over those few preceding days, only intensifies that need.

Finally, it is Valentine’s Day. The routine for me starts early. I dress in a short, flowery pink skirt, shocking pink high heels, sheer gloss hold up stockings, a tight white blouse and the obligatory little white lace pinnie. My hair is pulled back with an Alice band. My nipples are hard with anticipation. I provide My Lord with breakfast in bed at 8.00.a.m. He grumbles but I can tell he approves of my dress and drinks in my legs. I leave the bedroom happy, but of course not yet fully satisfied.
 
I then get down to some cleaning, dusting the living room with a little flounce in my step.
At 8.20 a.m. there is a knock on the door and I open it. It is a bouquet of flowers for me from My Lord and I flounce and flutter my eyes at the young man delivering them. I feel a pleasant little thrill as he looks wantonly at my tits in the tight, almost bursting white cotton blouse and appreciatively at my legs as I coo over the flowers.

Then I am back in the kitchen arranging them in a large vase. I can hear My Lord coming down the stairs. I busy myself with the flowers, humming quietly to myself. Then I can sense him stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He was more than merely watching me; I can feel his eyes appraising me and I can also feel the increasingly torrid waves of anger coming from him. He is very displeased with me and I dampen at the thought that it is about to start…

Find out what was in store for me in Part 2....

New Year Chores

It’s that time of year to get down on your knees and just scrub scrub scrub….

Had a treat in store for Valentine’s though…a full report coming very soon :)

An Explanation of ‘The Lifestyle’

 

You might be wondering, with good, reason, if I am such a submissive housewife, how am I able to write all this down? Do I do it with the express approval of My Lord and Master, does he vet everything before it is allowed to be published?

Well I’ll let you into a little secret…this log is my very own, secret place. This is my very own diary, my very own record of the relationship I maintain with my husband, and the lifestyle we have chosen to adopt and. as you will see, although much of it is directly controlled by My Lord, not everything within it is, and I have my own- sometimes illicit- freedoms within it.

I probably need to describe the mechanics of our relationship a little more. We operate as a partnership; I am the submissive part of the relationship and My Lord is the dominant one, but we work in an inter-related way- a ‘symbiotic’ one he’s told me, and that’s pretty much true.

My Lord for example may have the final say in all of the decisions that affect our household, but that doesn’t mean he makes those decisions alone. Sure he has that final decision, but he makes it after fully consulting with me and considering my opinion.

I am also allowed some leeway in my own life. I can keep a diary like this for example, without having to ask his permission although to be honest, as I have deliberated neglected to tell him about it, and were he found out about it somehow, I might well be in line for some serious punishment. You see we are supposed to have a completely open relationship in all senses. But a girl has to have her secrets, doesn’t she? Isn’t it what makes her alluring, a little mysterious, and mystery can’t be achieved through being a goody two-shoes all of the time, can it now?

Our relationship within ‘The Lifestyle’ isn’t consistently of one nature, either. It operates in degrees of domination/submission. We may go through periods where I am an abject slave, as the recent episode at the garden centre. It may last for a few hours, more as a ‘play’ device, or it can go on for a week or two, during which I live totally at the whims and command of My Lord. I cannot speak unless spoken too, cannot go to the toilet without his permission, I attend to all his needs no matter how menial or- sometimes- disgusting- and I am completely his sex toy. I am nothing but a play-thing for him to do anything he wishes to short of I must add, drawing blood, injuring me in any way or putting myself or anyone else in serious danger, as we do have a strict charter drawn up between us that is kept to stringently with regard to that sort of thing.

At other times, I am allowed to operate on a gentler, but no less strenuous level of dutiful, attentive housewife, which to be honest is the majority of the time. I still attend to his every need and am to a large extent his sexual plaything, but I have more freedom than when in slave mode. I can speak without being spoken to first, I am allowed to express opinions [within reason and respectfully] and enjoy a relatively flexible life where I can go and do as I please- again within reason of course, and under the strict understanding that My Lord is told at all times just what those movements are, and who I am seeing [if anyone].

I suppose the closest correlation I can think of is that of your archetypal fifties housewife. I even dress that way much of the time, although my form of dress does vary as demanded by My Lord. Sometimes it is dresses in pastels or gingham, but always of course with pointy high heels [usually slingbacks], stockings, traditional suspenders, and appropriate, matching lingerie.

Other times, I wear shorter skirts, often flouncy, flirty little skirts with hems that barely cover my stocking tops, the obligatory high heels and revealing, tight plunging neckline tops that barely hold my tits in place. I also, always wear a small lace pinny over my skirt. I vacuum, dust and polished dressed like this, although I am always, always if My Lord is around, very quickly bent over the kitchen table or back of a living room settee and given a good hard fuck, which of course always puts me in a better mood for finished the chores afterwards, although the countdown in my head has inevitably started towards my next servicing.

Ah, the sex. This is of course central the whole Lifestyle. Sex has always been very important to me, and in Alistair I have found the perfect foil for my often ferocious sexual appetite, that has of course its own twist of a thirst for domination- and, of course- the delicious swish, thwack and ache of pain. The intense pleasure of a complex, many-faceted orgasm is central to my life. It means everything, and finding ways of channelling pain and pleasure towards achieving that orgasm, is to me the very essence of my existence.

Does this sound over the top? perhaps,but this is a personal diary, my very own testament, and as I promised I am determined to tell it as it is, so there are no apologies from me on that count.

However…2012…a new year. Can’t wait to see what lies ahead!!! And for the first time, it is going to be recorded here…:))