Be Careful What You Wish For


A while back I had a girlfriend who would try anything. Absolutely anything.

Obviously I don’t mean skydiving and stuff, just sex.

Her appetite for new experiences was like nothing I’d experienced before, and nobody has come close since either. And that’s saying something.

You’re wondering howcome she’s in the past tense, and why did I let her slip away?

Well it wasn’t entirely my choice, and there’s a clue in the pictures above.

Here’s how it happened, in a very brief extract from her story:

Round the corner from my office was one of the first Ann Summers shops, only recently opened. It was a revelation to both of us.

Ask yourself why there are no 4 inch dildos.

They were all huge, so she didn’t have much choice, but based on the number of times she went back to look at something a second time it was obvious she preferred XL and XXL over M and L.

Finally she selected one we later called Big John. Yes, it was huge, a proud 10 inches long, fat and thick – and black.  It was massive but inflexible – not like the realistic bendy things you get today. It was rock solid. She liked that immediately, fucked herself like a mad thing and came like one as well.

Big John was never far from her pussy after that and by the time we went to bed at night she’d fucked herself several times with him, and if we came in from a bar or the movies or whatever he always came to bed with us, and he always made her cum before I did. When I asked what she was thinking about when she climaxed the answer varied but there was one recurring theme, where Big John was actually Daley Thompson. He was a gifted Olympic athlete and, judging by his pictures, blessed in other ways as well.

I didn’t know you had a thing about black guys.’

‘I’ve always liked black cocks,’ she said with her usual honesty.

Ask me what a shock that was. I’d just discovered a secret turn-on she’d absolutely never even hinted at before.

Maybe because it really was a dirty little secret back then. This was an era when black cock was a long way from being mainstream even in porn. Since Green Door almost no other porn movies featuring black guys were made and that went on for years and years. And as for white girls with black boyfriends in real life – forget it. They were so few and far between that they got stared at and even called names in the street.

But when we watched the movie on VHS Sue got all hot and bothered. She happily agreed she’d have enjoyed being tied up and taken as much as Marilyn Chambers did, and would have surrendered herself to the final orgy as eagerly and willingly as she did. We also agreed that non-consensual sex fell into the same category as deodorant bottles, hairbrush handles, fruit and veg, dildos and strange fingers in bars and clubs. If all those could get her wet and make her cum, then it seemed logical that even if a stranger didn’t ask permission before he stuck his fingers and cock in her pussy it would have the same unavoidable effect.

I’d stumbled into a landscape of sexual arousal that was as baffling as it was all-embracing, with a girl who liked big cocks, black cocks and the idea of being taken roughly by strangers, and I was struggling to tell which one of them she liked the most, or if they were inseparable as they had been in the movie.

Perhaps it wasn’t only the forced sex that got her excited. Maybe it was Johnny Reyes and his big black cock that she liked so much. Either way, it was beyond obvious that she had a real thing about black cocks. That was a brand-new idea. For a girl whose appetites were so diverse it was strange to find she had a fixation of any kind.

When we decided to get a flat together I asked the office handymen to help out with the heavy lifting. Mike was 21, very fit and very handsome, according to all the girls at work. Bruno was fit but forty and, I have to say, pig fucking ugly. He was a dark shiny black, skin the colour of Big John, while Mike was a light coffee-coloured brown.

They were both into the new fad of keeping fit, weight-training and karate, all sorts. As a result, they were incredibly fit, and incredibly well-built. Moving our stuff took them no time at all, and afterwards, sitting round with a beer each, I offered a sensible amount for what they’d done, but they refused to take my money. I was just about to give them a highly original line about maybe there’s some other way we can show our gratitude, especially Sue, when she beat me to it, asking them to explain their weight-training routines.

In no time at all they were bending and turning and straining, taking turns to show off to her. She was wriggling around in her seat as they flexed every muscle except the one she was interested in, but she loved it anyway, and so did they.

And they soon twigged that she wasn’t just showing polite interest.  You’d have to be blind and stupid not to notice the way she was becoming more and more agitated, eyes sparkling, breathing quickly through a half-open mouth.

As they took turns to lie on the floor to demonstrate each routine or rep, or whatever you call it, Sue perched above them in an armchair, knees tucked up under her chin, skirt falling away from her thighs, so they could look straight up at the tight sliver of wet cotton between her legs. They knew she was steaming, and the room was crackling with sexual tension.

I was wondering how to offer them what all three so clearly wanted, but Sue was way ahead of me again, and lay on the floor to try some of the moves herself, basically just waving her legs in the air, skirt pulled high to show off her slender hips and thighs, and the growing wet patch darkening her knickers as they were stretched over her tight little pussy.

The boys looked at each other and at me, then at her, and then back between her legs. You couldn’t look away for long. And she couldn’t take her eyes off them. Mike and Bruno were both sporting broomstick erections.

Lying on her back on the floor Sue was transfixed by the huge tent-pole in Bruno’s tracksuit swaying above her face as he guided her legs in the air, some sort of pretend exercise routine which just meant we all got a good look at just how wet she was. But the lads were too gentlemanly to just pounce on her. How times have changed.

With a soft moan of anguish she reached out to grasp Bruno’s cloth-covered shaft in one hand.

‘Show me an exercise with THIS,’ she pleaded. I remember the words exactly, and I can still hear the breathy catch in her voice when she said THIS, and wiggled it slightly so there could be no mistake. And there wasn’t.

Bruno was growling as he pulled her pants off, growling as he shoved his tracksuit down, growling as he lay between her legs and growling as his cock slid into her. I can only guess what it felt like to be inside her right then, but I heard, actually heard his cock squelching into her, so I know how wet she was. Then Sue started howling and that was all you could hear, apart from the wet slap of his cock in her soaking pussy.

After that things became a little heated, and she loved her new big black cock reality so much we soon began hanging out in bars and clubs where black guys hung out, with inevitable results. There wasn’t any segregation, as such, but most dance venues attracted different clientele and many clubs, even in the West End, were predominantly full of black guys. She stood out like a beacon, and was beseiged every time we went.

You’ll have to read the book yourself if you want to know more.


All women have different O-Faces.

Not just different from the next woman, but different from their own last one or their next one.

They vary from orgasm to orgasm, and of course from man to man.

Your wife’s O-Face with you is not the same as it is when there’s another man making her cum, with his fingers, tongue or cock – or even her favourite sex toy.

Other men make your wife wetter than you do, and they make her cum better too,

In large part it’s the novelty value of a different a sex partner to the one she’s used to. This is such an important part of sexual arousal that it works when she’s having sex with herself. My wife once had the hots for a handsome movie star and she often fantasised it was him touching her, and that her fingers sooner or later became his cock inside her. But sometimes when she felt like a change she’d visualise someone she really didn’t like at all – often a colleague or a business acquaintance or a friend’s husband. Fingering herself and imagining it was one of them always made her cum faster and harder than Mr Reliable movie star, and her O-Face was different too, half pleasure and half anger that he’d succeeded so well.

If you’re lucky enough to have watched your wife with another man you’ll understand all this, and if you’ve seen her with many men over the years you’ll know that strangers are the key to arousal, or rather first-time partners. But fucking your friends is never as exciting as fucking some guy in a bar. You friends will never completely let go – they don’t want to ruin the friendship by spanking her so hard it hurts, or making her cum so much that you never let them back in the house no matter how much she wants you to. And they usually do want a repeat performance. Which means that if they do a good job they’ll constantly be angling for another go – at which point the novelty value starts to wear off pretty quickly.

Guys in bars don’t have a history with you as a couple, so they have no need to do anything but take what they want from the meeting. Your wife will love that, she will cum hard and often, and her 0-Face will be different to the last guy and the next.

Especially if he has a big cock.

There’s no escaping the fact that women do like them large. Maybe not massive, but certainly XL. Maybe because it’s only for a few hours one night. Your wife may be telling the absolute truth when she says she wouldn’t want to be married to a ten-incher, but she’s also telling fibs if she says she doesn’t want to fuck one from time to time. If you’ve seen her with a big one you’ll know that the O-Face doesn’t always reflect the dramatic impact its size will have on how much she enjoys being fucked by it. It’s that solid pounding – for a good few hours if she’s lucky – that’s the real difference, and her O-Face may be sooner, and more often, but eventually it’ll be replaced by a dribbly, mumbling, dazed expression that stays in place for as long as the fucking lasts. She’s having her brains fucked out and she likes that as much as she likes cumming, maybe more.

Nothing produces that look as frequently and reliably as ten inches of big black cock.

First off there’s that taboo thing, and even if he’s her first or her hundredth there will be an element of forbidden fruit to the encounter, so she starts off wetter than with white guys. Then there’s the contrast – it all looks so different and that will arouse her even more. Size is important too. Even if she’s had a hundred big white cocks in her life and a hundred black ones she’ll still be more aroused by another big black one. And another, and another and – you get the picture.

And black guys do fuck different as well.

They do stuff with their hips like dancers, and move their cocks inside her like no white man ever does, And they are turned on by white pussy too, so they give it extra attention, extra work and extra effort. Your wife WILL feel the difference.

And her O-Face will be different as usual, but she won’t have a special black cock O-Face.

What she will have is a special black cock fuck face. A mixture of pleasure, passion, satisfaction and completeness you only see on the face of a woman who has just had the best fuck of her entire life, and knows for certain that next time she spreads her legs for a big black cock she can expect to have the best fuck of her entire life once again.

That look is unmistakeable. But you have to see it on your wife to know what hers looks like.

and wouldn’t it be great to talk to them, find out what they did together, what she was like to fuck back in those days, what kind of wicked things she got up to. What did he think of her? Was she a good girl with a wicked side to her nature, or was she the school/office/village slut?

You know there is loads of stuff she never told you about, no matter how much she has shared. Your frank and honest discussions about the rudest things she’s ever done probably only covered half the truth if you’re lucky, and you’ll never really know about the juicy bits.

So asking her many ex’s and even more occasional partners about all that would be revealing as well as horny – what do they remember that makes them nip off to the bathroom for a wank?

How amazingly hot would that be.

I may be biased.

I always found it horny to talk to the guys she fucked when I was there. Although I was watching and saw the things they did and the way she reacted, there’s nothing quite like hearing how it felt to the guy who’s just had his cock in her.

And it has to be afterwards.

Partly because I like to hear what my wife has to say when she’s being fucked. She sometimes tells me how it feels, but usually she’s talking to him, and asking him to do the things she likes. Hearing your wife telling a complete stranger harder, harder or cum now is sa lot hornier than him waffling on about how wet she is. Though I do like to hear it, now is not the time.

A few guys like to call stuff out to a husband when they’re inside his wife, but almost all of that is just for show, trying to impress her and me. The silent ones are too busy enjoying her pussy to feel like chatting (ask me how I know), but when it’s all over, or they’re resting between bouts, is the best time to ask, especially because it’s all so fresh in their mind and they can answer in detail when you ask what her pussy feels like from the inside.

If we met guys from online I often used to chat to them afterwards, discussing the finer points of the evening for weeks, sometimes adding her thoughts and observations to give them something else to get excited about. And me, I guess.

But it doesn’t seem half as horny as being able to ask her ex’s about their memories of things I never saw and wasn’t part of. It’s not the sort of question you can ask on Facebook though.

Time travel would be helpful, I guess. Go back and see for myself. But I’d still want to talk to the guys who fucked her, and in the absence of a DeLorean or a Flux Capacitor that would be more than pleasurable.

In Praise of Slutty Women

If you’d told me as a teenager that there would come a time when a mainstream female pop idol would stand on stage in a crowded London auditorium and let adoring fans reach out and touch her pussy I might have wanted to believe you but it would have seemed impossible.

In fact the idea of any girl or woman behaving like that in public was out of the question. It was pretty damn unbelievable if it happened in private. But I’ve always liked bad behaviour in women. It’s an attractive and highly erotic trait, and the more public it is the more erotic it becomes – and obviously the more I like it.

Over the years I’ve been lucky enough to spend time with some very badly-behaved wives and girlfriends, and though they were all very different and, by definition, highly individualistic, they did have one common trait: they loved showing off their bodies to the wrong people at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

Some just got excited by flashing but others took it further, fingering and fucking in public. They loved being outrageous.

I was lucky enough to marry a leggy brunette in the era of the miniskirt, and because she had that sort of figure she was an afficianado of what we would now call a micro-mini, and spent half her life with her knickers on display. Shame there wern’t even Polaroid cameras in those days or I’d be able to show you. And as the era changed she switched to hot pants with everyone else – and we discovered she was Miss Cameltoe 1969. Sadly no pics of that either.

She had one canary yellow pair made out of soft clingy material that were read-my-lips tight, and every man who saw her tried to decipher what she was saying. She could only wear them for about an hour: after that the wet patch between her legs was embarrassingly visible.

She was also the first of my wives to enjoy photography; the Polaroid finally made an appearance, just as girls were beginning to trim and shave. Looks so much better, don’t you think?

She was also the first of my wives to have a pair of swapping knickers, becoming a hotwife years before the term existed and setting a precedent that lasted for decades. Read more about Wife #1 here: Hotwife.

There was no swapping with Wife #2, and no pictures either. All she cared about was enormous cocks, and I’ve never really had one of those. But the girlfriend who supplanted her was happy to pose, and had such a cute bum that it almost made up for the au naturel look elsewhere, although she still looks better in some shots with her knickers on. What more than made up for it was that she loved being fucked in public. Or touching herself, or jerking me off, or sucking me off. She had my cock out in streets and bars and cinemas more than any of the others, and we fucked in as many places too. She was slutty in public, and I loved it as much as she did. But what she really liked best of all was being forced. Night after night she fought like a wild thing trying to stop me fucking her, but she came like one too when you finally got it in her.


She had a strong desire to try the real thing, and you can read how that worked out in the second half of this book Size Matters.

By the time I’d moved on to #3 everything had changed, especially the technology. Her pictures were much better because of it, but the real difference was that this was a girl who loved being photographed. She also loved being fucked, and we were on a joint mission to see if there was anything in the world she could fit inside herself that didn’t make her cum.

As well as all the obvious fruit and veg this included a great many cocks, and in order to get them she spent a lot of time half-naked in dance clubs, in see-through dresses or short skirts. This was the era of the Ra-Ra skirt, a short flare of material that hardly covered very much when she was standing still, and once she was moving she couldn’t help flashing her pants or her pussy at all and sundry, wriggling up against an assortment of young men and then taking them outside for a shag. This was slutty behaviour of a kind I really appreciated and enjoyed, and it was only the beginning. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, and nobody she wouldn’t do it with. Her knickerless holidays with her friends were a legend, even in the heyday of Club 18-30, where slutty behaviour was a rule.

Then she found what neither of us realised she’d been looking for, and once she’d had a big black cock in her pussy she never looked back, certainly not at me, anyway.

This is the cover pic I couldn’t use on her book. And she truly was Insatiable like the title says.

Wife #4 was slutty in an entitrely new way. She wore the short skirts and flimsy dresses like the others, but this was the era of Lycra gym gear, which caused a sensation in the street – cycle shorts and no knickers. Never mind cametoe, you could tell how recently she’d shaved.

I loved it, and so did she.

She too used flashing as a way of enticing men to come over and chat, and she too was eager to fuck as many of them as she could. She did it in bars and clubs, in the street outside, in parks and on beaches and anywhere else she got propositioned really.

The only drawback was that she carried on the same way when she was on her own, but never mentioned it to me, and when I found out she’d fucked just about everyone I knew behind my back, as well as all her colleagues and so on and so on, I was baffled as well as angry. Why, when she knew she could do what she liked with anyone she liked as long as I knew all about it and was preferably there to watch, did she choose to cheat?

Extra thrill, I suppose.

We didn’t really discuss it much because the barricades were up and it was lawyers at dawn.

My overriding memory of her isn’t so much the times she fucked other guys, but one night in a well-known and very crowded West End club. We were on a small leather couch facing the dancefloor, and she pulled her short black dress right up, waist high, spread her long, slender legs and tugged her tiny knickers to one side. “I want everyone to see what I’ve got” she told me, and they definitely could. But that wasn’t enough. She spread her pussy lips with her fingertips so they could see even more of her, and after a while began fucking herself gently with two fingers of the other hand. Slutty doesn’t begin to cover it, but the book does: I called it Exhibitionist because she was one, but she was lots of other things besides.

By now I was older, and so were the women I was mixing with. And everything they say about older women is true. For a start they’ve shed their inhibitions. They know what they want and they aren’t afraid to go and get it. I mean sex of course. They aren’t that bothered about being shocking or outrageous and they will do almost anything that turns them on.

Wife #5 was one of those. before we met she’d lived a lot, loved a bit and fucked a lot. Now she wanted more of the same, and didn’t much care who she got it from. So we shared, happily, and she enjoyed trying to shock me the rest of the time

She’s the one who came to meet me for lunch wearing a long coat, fuck-me heels, stockings and suspenders – and nothing else. Though she couldn’t shock me, she had a good try at outraging everyone else.

We had sex on the grass in front of the Imperial War Museum, under the table at a very posh ball in a posh West End hotel, with people sitting and dancing all around us, and on a Piccadilly Line tube train which was so jam-packed nobody even noticed. At first. By the time we got to Ealing most people had got off, and a dozen or so travellers with big cases had nothing better to do than watch her pert little bottom bouncing as she rode me in a kind of standing missionary all the way to T4. If her skirt had been a reasonable length they might not have seen very much, but was no more than a pelmet when I started feeling her up, and by the time I pulled her tiny little knickers aside to slip my cock in her it was up round her waist and she was more or less naked from the waist down.

There’s a lot of stuff like that in her book. It’s called Hooker for a reason, but you’ll have to read it to find out why.

Last but not least. Isn’t that what everyone says?

It certainly applies to Wife #6, who was definitely last but by no means the least. In fact she was the epitome of a slutty wife. She’d been doing everything all my various wives and girlfriends had graduated to as they matured since her first boyfriend started sharing their bedroom Polaroids with his mates. They were both 14 at the time, and by the time it was legal for her to have sex she was an experienced and accomplished swinger, swapper and sharer, with a list of partners most women never reach in a lifetime.

Then she started serious shagging, and she was still doing it 20 years later when we met, and she carried on doing it ever since. She too is a flasher, a flirter, a groper and a fan of the younger gentleman. There’s never been any shortage of volunteers, because she’s much prettier than I deserve, and 90 per cent of them can’t believe their luck. They can’t believe the way she dresses either, or the way she behaves in public, and they can’t believe how much she likes cocks. “Is she always this wet?” is the question I get asked most frequently.

Only with other people. That’s my usual answer.

There are some guys who will never know how wet their wife gets when she fucks other men , never know that other guys – young, old, black, white, hadsome or ugly – will always make their wife wetter and fuck her better, simply because they aren’t supposed to. It’s the novelty as much as the taboo. Some men don’t want to know, of course, but those of us who admire a slutty wife will always be glad that we have.

So yes, lucky me to have seen it first-hand. And lucky that she was the sluttiest of them all because she was the only one who was a genuine nympho. She didn’t know how to say no – and she never wanted to. She just couldn’t resist a fuck, even when she knew for certain that it would end in trouble, even disaster. So her book could only ever have one title: Nymphomaniac


Here’s a thought-provoking tweet I saw just now:

This is such a big topic I couldn’t possibly answer it in a tweet, so let’s do it here instead.

In fact it’s a series of topics – age, consent,and of course extremes.

Like most writers I have limits, but not the conventional ones. I’ve never seen the connection between sex and shit and nor have any of my female partners throughout my life. Anal sex was an invention of the porn industry when it was looking for the next step along its road to profit through titillation. Now all young people think it’s normal, everyday and obligatory, though in reality it’s none of those things.

Same with squirting, also invented by an industry looking at falling sales and searching for something new. These days women feel inadequate if they can’t spray their partner with wee every time he fucks them, but it’s an invention. Hardly any women do anything of the sort naturally, and in nothing like the quantities you see on screen. It’s fake and artificial.

But it’s a free world, especially in the creative arts, and good porn ought to be creative at least, if not artistic.

And what about the issue of consent, which the porn industry has mostly kept at arm’s length, even if one of the industry classics, Behind the Green Door, begins with Marilyn Chambers being abducted and spending a day having sex with dozens of strangers. Of course this is fiction, so she doesn’t put up much of a struggle, and she’s loving it long before the first hard cock hoves into view. The fact that it was a black one has become the over-riding message from the movie. Never before in mainstream porn had audiences seen a black man fucking a white woman, and the subject was so taboo it was years before it happened again.

It was so shocking that hardly anybody noticed that Marilyn’s character in the story was effectively being raped, first by several pretty young women, then by black boxer Johnny Keyes, and finally by the countless white men who took his place before the movie ended in a slow-motion frenzy of ejaculation.

Thanks to the arrival of the home VHS machine (another gift from the porn industry, so powerful that it booted Sony and its Betamax format straight into touch) I’ve shared that movie with several partners and thereby discovered that many of them had a rape fantasy as their number one turn-on, and proper research studies indicate that around 60 per ccent of women share that kink, if that’s what it is. But you can’t really write about it in erotic fiction unless you’re a woman. Even when I have dealt with it in a real-life context I had to be very careful about acceptable boundaries. A couple of wives featured in the Henry series were that way inclined, and though the stories came as close to reality as possible, I still had to omit the kind of details that would have made the authenticity complete.

There are some parts of Wife #1 which are almost true, then, and if you do feel like reading it I’m sure you’ll spot the moments where the story glosses over the reality.

Looking at it from an informed perspective, the moments in Wife #2’s story where I backed away from the truth are even more obvious.

Also in that book was the interlude with the gorilla: a certain young lady almost freaked out having sex with a man (yes, me again) dressed in a gorilla costume on hire from a theatrical agency, and that was undoubtedly the most intense experience we had together in a very busy and adventurous year. Don’t want to say any more in case it spoils it for anyone who might feel like reading the whole thing.

But it introduces the topic of bestiality, albeit somewhat obliquely, and not in a way that would conflict with its taboo and illegal nature in our modern world.

But here’s how times have changed. In the days of Caesar and Cleopatra bestiality was entirely normal; In Egypt many priestess religions involved sex with dogs and goats as the height of spiritual awareness, and Cleopatra herself dropped one of the major religions practised for thousands of years because it would have meant having sex with a bull, and she was afraid the experience, however uplifting, would probably kill her.

She had good cause for concern. In Rome, where she went to live with Caesar after they married, many women were publicly raped and killed by specially trained animals as part of the entertainment spectacle we know as the Circus. Those are the bits they don’t teach you in history lessons, of course, same as they don’t mention that many Roman households kept dogs which had been trained to pleasure their owners in the most meaningful of ways. More than one empoeror let his dogs roam around at dinner parties, having their way with whichever of the guests took their fancy. The alternative to submission was death, of course and since the women involved may well have had “special” dogs of their own, it was hardly a fate worse than death, just an embarrassing humilation for the woman and, probably a husband who had dared to oppose the Emperor in some minor way.

Amd yet polite Roman society thought oral sex between humans was a perversion. No husband and wife wouold dream of engaging in oral intercourse, and for those men (or women) depraved enough to sample the experience there was a special class of prostitute who were the cheapest – and the lowest of the low.

You can’t write authentically about Caesar and Cleopatra without including facts such as these, so they’re all in the Goddess series. This is book #2, and #3 is on the way.

There are othe extreme genres which I usually stay away from, but which I have dealt with once in the sci-fi series.

Mind Out of Control covers a lot of what we’ve just been talking about and is a bit dark, borderline horror really.

But then The Alien Inside Me is a pretty horrifying tale as well, though I found the idea of sex tourists from outer space irresistible. Rather like the girls in the story, in fact.

But this is my favourite, which is a bit unusual for me. It’s an entertaining romp about a time-travelling policeman from the future and an insatiable nymphomaniac policewoman from the sixties. What could possibly go wrong? You’ll have to read it to find out which taboo it breaks – and how.

The final taboo mentioned in the tweet that began this thread is age, and it is rightly something that we should all approach with caution, especially now the internet makes it possible to exploit and harm young people in ways and on a scale which was never previously possible.

But none of us arrive at the age of consent untouched by sex and sexual experience, even if it’s only by ourselves. Though it hardly ever is. And those early encounters are the ones that define our sexuality in later life. How can a writer fill out a character without referring to the things that shaped them?

I am well aware that I have a bit of a thing about white knickers, and equally aware that it’s almost certainly due to the day I lost my virginity with a gorgeous redhead who was wearing the smallest, tightest and wettest white knickers I’d ever seen under her black pleated school skirt. She also had black stockings and suspenders, and I still like them too. Not so keen on ginger pubes though. Thank god for razors, eh?

I was 14 at the time, and so was she, although she was no virgin. I was at least number six in the list of my friends who’d shagged her while helping with homework, and by all acounts she didn’t confine herself to one school. She was unusual in that respect, but not in any other. Everyone was having sex by then, usually in a steady relationship, but not always. We were exploring sexuality with people of the same age, experience and background, and I don’t believe any of us came to any harm. But we could all have been sent to prison if any parents had found out and objected. It didn’t feel like a criminal activity at the time though, and it still doesn’t. But I can’t write about it anywhere except here.

Nor can I write about that part of Wife #6 with the truth it deserves. There’s a lot in the book about her first boyfriend, someone with whom I have a love/hate relationship even though I never met him.

Love, because he was a one-man internet pioneer twenty years before the internet. He used Polaroids and early VHS cameras to take pictures of her, and later make movies, both of which he shared with his mates, his brother’s mates and many of her own friends – the lads anyway. Instead of being angry she was unbelievably excited and embarked on a career as an amateur porn model, first posing for ever ruder pics toibe ahared among her growing audience, then by letting his friends take the pics themselves and inevitably by fucking the friends while the pervert bf took pics or made the movies.

I love him for this.

I hate him because he had a massive cock, ten full inches, and she apparently checked it with a ruler almost daily in case it got any bigger. Understandably he liked boasting about his measurements.

All of this is in the book too. What isn’t included is their ages; they were both 14 when the embarked on their full and varied sex like, and though it’s not possible to spell that out in a work of fiction, once again it’s hard to see any harm in their activities. Voluntary, consensual and fun is what they were and both participants were full of hormones and expressing themselves in a natural healthy way. You couldn’t write about her properly without knowing what made her the way she is, although I suspect that even if she hadn’t met him and done all those things together she would have developed the same behaviours later in life. She was a very sexual and physical young woman and sooner or later would have found a way to express that.

Lucky for me she went on expressing it all through her life, and that’s why her book could only ever have one title. I’ve met greedy girls, insatiable girls and badly-behaved girls, but only one who was a genuine, actual nymphomaniac

The Most Intimate Thoughts

I saw this pic online the other day and it made me smile, because it made me remember a lot of good times. And then it made me think a bit deeper.

I’ve been lucky enough to have several partners who enjoyed letting me watch them play, which is only natural considering what else we were doing as well. But the rule is simple – give a girl a dildo or a vibrator and sooner or later she’s going to spread her legs and let you watch her use it it.

My advice – take notes. What she does to herself is the best possible guide to what she wants you to do when it’s your turn to drive. Unless this is just a performance, designed to show off her best assets in the best way, and what she’s doing is what she wants you to see. The same is true when she’s only got her fingers to play with – to begin with at least, she’s showing you her pussy at its best.

After a while all that touching and stroking starts to work, and what she does then is aimed at giving herself pleasure – that’s when you get to see the things she really likes you to do to her pussy. Fingers in, or fingers out, this is how she makes herself cum when you’re not there to watch or help.

But the thing is, no matter what your partner lets you see, she very seldom tells you what she’s thinking – and after a while that’s the most important part of sex – any sex, all sex. The more you think about it the better it gets.

The resason we don’t usually talk about what’s really on our minds at critical moments is partly because we’re afraid that our partner will be shocked and horrified. But we all have sexual fantasies and they can be – and usually are – wild and extreme. They’re just differently wild and extreme to the fantasies other people enjoy, and though your ideal scenario of being covered in whipped cream and having it licked off by a groupd of sex-mad nuns isn’t actually extreme, it reveals a lot about you and owning up might make you feel silly and embarrassed.

Worse, it might make your partner clam up entitrely aboiut what gets her wet and fingering in the night. Whipped cream and nuns is positively vanilla (sorry) compared to her mental images of being held down and ravaged by a group of tribesmen deep in the African bush, where help and rescue are tantalisingly close by but just too far away to save her until they have all taken their turn to ravish her and fill her with hot spunk.

That’s what she’s thinking about when she lets you watch her finger herself like this, but you aren’t ever going to know.

It’s a shame, because it means you miss the opportunity to have bigger and better fantasies together, and of course bigger and better orgasms.

But on the other hand, you also get to watch her having great sex with herself (and whoeever it is who makes her this wet and horny). You just never know who it is. Or they are. The only thing you can be sure of is that you aren’t him, or them. The only way you might be inbvolved is as a helpless spectator, forced to watch your wife as she’s forced to enjoy being taken by whoever it is.

Lots of these situations have occurred over the years, and lots of them are in the series of books I wrote last yuear. Lucky for me several of my partners did talk about what was on their minds, and lucky for me I managed to remember most of the good bits. There’s an awful lot of bad behaviour of various kinds, and if I had the chance to do it all again – I would. Only more often.

Wither Twitter?

So then, Elon Musk.

Big talk, big plans for the world’s town squarre, but does the quest for dollars mean the freedoms so many of us enjoy on the forum will wither and die away?

Twitter’s about the only public forum left where people can share adult material with a broad and sizeable audience, unless you join a porn site (and if you know of a good one, please leave a link in the comments – I’ll be right over…). At the moment most alternatives seem to be very specialised and narrow in focus. The best thing about Twitter is that it still has the broad spectrum of interests that used to be found on tumblr, before the money men placed an interdict on nudity and all points north.

Now Elon Musk is in charge, anything could happen. He may say he believes in freedom of speech, but since his first act was to charge for verified status it seems likely that free is not something speech is likely to be for long on the rest of the platform.

And once the principle is established there’s a fair chance he’ll be charging for mere access. He may well charge extra for adult access.

Would you pay 10 bucks a month to go on posting or looking at adult pics and vids on Twitter?

Not many of us would, unless they’re already performers on sites like Only Fans and have no choice if they want to stay in business. For the rest of us it looks like the end of the road may well be in sight.

Simply the Best?

I always try to write erotica as well as I can write it.

Obviously most people do, but I always try to do it as well as any other mainstream fiction.

Not always successful, obviously, but usually not bad.

Someone asked me which are my best books, and that’s a hard question to answer, because they’re so different and I know that not all readers like the same thing as I do. So what appeals to me may turn you off, and what I like in the way a book is constructed or written may seem dull and awful if you prefer something more basic and direct.

It might be easier to pick the most recent, but though I’m pleased with Giving it All Away, being new isn’t always the same as being better. And though I wrote The Six Wives of Henry the Cuckold series last year, picking a favourite book would be like choosing a favourite wife, and then I’d be in trouble.

So choosing the best ones, or my favourites, is like trying to choose my top five singles. It’s impossible to put them in any order and at least two of them will be different if you ask me again tomorrow.

So, in no particular order – here goes.

I really enjoyed writing this. It’s as historically accurate as any mainstream novel, and thanks to the fact that the Romans enjoyed a very licentious and sexualised society, none of what I wrote is excessive or unusual for the time. So the whole range of human sexuality is here. All of it. I also liked writing the scenes between Caesar and Cleopatra; she was 18 when she met him, he was 58, and you won’t find detailed descriptions of how she used her body to manipulate him in any other books, and certainly not in any films. Elizabeth Taylor hinted at it when she was smouldering at Richard Burton, but this is the full story.

I like this for two reasons.

First because I enjoyed changing the way I write and this one is a little bit different for me, in the present tense.

And second because the potion ploy is real. It’s the basis of the plot (no spoiler) and it was used by actual criminals back in the day, usually with Krugerrands or Sovereigns. But it was a good con trick and it usually worked. But it didn’t involve much sex, so I had to add a lot of that. Our heroine has to fuck a lot of people, and she doesn’t always like them.

Scifi is well out of my comfort zone as a writer. but it does give you enormous freedoms, and that’s what attracted me to write this trio. If I was a time-travelling policeman I’d definitely do what the hero of Timewarped does, and take advantage of what amounts to a super-power. And I’d really be pleased if I encountered a voracious young woman who positively begged me to take advantage of her as often as possible. The twist is at the end though, so keep reading…

And the twist is definitely at the end of my favourite of the trilogy. Sex Tourists from Outer Space is a theme that touches on all our fears, with lots of conspiracy theories and a tiny bit of history. Best of all – it may actually be true, so be afraid. Be very afraid.

I love the idea behind the Confessions series. Finding the secret diaries of a country vicar in an auction-room job lot opens a door to lots of salacious stories. But discovering that the rules of the confesssional oblige young women to tell their priest absolutely everything, right down to the very last detail – it’s almost enough to make me take up holy orders just so I can hear it all for myself.

Instead, I wrote the books. The randy priest wanking in the shadows as his female parishioners tell him their deadliest sins is a familiar fantasy for women all over the world. And it provided enough material for six books, rather than three. I liked them all, but Celeb is possibly my favourite because it’s so relevant to our internet world. And because there’s a twist at the end, like a proper story.

Last but not least, this one. It’s often what I think of first when people ask that question. It may not be my best work, but it’s closest to my heart.

The plot is simple: Five absolute classic movies from an era when the porn industry was at its height, faithfully re-made in minute detail by an amateur home movie buff, with his wife as the leading lady in all of them.

Hard to say which of them enjoyed it the most, but speaking from experience, when you’ve got an amateur actress who’s only doing it because she loves being fucked, every one of them will be TV gold. Because anyone who sees them will know she’s not faking anything. And there’s nothing hornier than a sexy woman getting all the cock she can handle.

The Final Taboo

Taboo subjects are, almost by definition, the ones that have the power to arouse us the most.

Our idea of what is taboo or not changes over time. In ancient Rome oral sex was something only the cheapest prostitutes would contemplate, but bestiality was widespread. But at the same time, women with strong desires and appetites were acceptable and commonplace.

Religion changed all that, but that’s another debate entirely. But ever since organised religion arrived on the scene, female sexuality has been a tricky subject. Until very recently women with needs were considered hysterical, and either locked up as insane or imprisoned as harlots.

These days socierty regards women who like and enjoy sex to be normal, and those who want a lot of it – often with multiple partners – to be, let’s say progressive, but just about within the norms.

Not so long ago the very idea of a white woman having sex with a black man was enough to send half the nation into hysterics. These days it’s so common that posting pictures of your wife with 10 inches of big black cock in her pussy will hardly get you a dozen likes.

Thanks to the internet many things that used to be taboo are acceptable – swinging, swapping, and sharing, for example – pastimes which open the door to hotwives, gangbangs and nymphomaniacs. And at the heart of all these activities there’s always a woman with unusually voracious desires.

These days we find it easy to believe that all women are capable of sexual greed, though some choose to suppress it. But there’s no doubt that all women are built for sex with multiple partners over multiple hours, and men aren’t. Can you imagine male prostitutes servicing six, eight or ten women every night like working girls routinely do?

Most men are afraid of that power and strength and a few of them express their fears through aggression, usually verbal and increasingly online, but occasionally in a more physical way. At least 99 percent of us agree that’s not a good thing.

Yet there is an undeniable link between sex and violence, and between violence and sex.

Female spectators at the Circus in Rome were frequently overcome with hysterical lust, and young men made a point of sitting next to pretty, rich women so they could take advantage of their highly aroused condition. Sex in the bleachers was so common that Julius Caesar had to pass a law segregating men and women. You can read some of the details here.

The final vestiges of this effect are still visible today at boxing and wrestling matches: the front few rows are often filled with women, and their excitement is obvious.

You may have experienced some of this type of arousal in your partners: roller coasters, horror films, being driven fast in cars or on motorbikes are common ways of wetting a pair of knickers. One wife of mine got all het up just having an argument, and making up with her was ten times more fun than with any of the others.

Like the violence at fighting sports, fear of all kinds has a pronounced effect in women’s knickers, and it seems to be the main driver behind one of their most powerful fantasies.

All of us, including women, use fantasy as a means to enable arousal and orgasm, and it’s often based around some sports or music star who’s unattainable in every meaningful way but might just be shopping in Waitrose next time she pops in for a loaf of bread. And that’s all she needs to make it work. She’s not likely to spend the night with Tom Hiddlestone, but the faint possibiity exists, and so he can take her to heaven night after night.

By the same token she’s unlikely to return home and find a stranger waiting in her bedroom one dark and stormy night. But the idea of him can give women frantically arousing orgasms as reliably as any movie star.

Nobody is 100 per cent certain why. Most agree it’s some kind of genetic memory, harking back to the times when every man was a potential rapist and every woman a prospective victim. Arousal and lubrication were defences against injury, and modern women still react the same way.

There is more and more research being done in this area, and though the results of the studies vary, the underlying theme is clear: around 60 per cent of women use a rape-based fantasy as a means of attaining orgasm, usually while they’re masturbating alone but sometimes in role-play scenarios with a partner.

Four of my six wives had this powerful stimulant in their makeup, but all of them had a tendency towards fear-based arousal as well, or submission to a dominant male.

One of them wasn’t really a wife at all, but she’s got a big chunk of one book to herself; Tessa was hugely aroused by fighting, either on TV or in the bedroom. She made me fight for it almost every night, and she came as close as any of the six to having her wildest dreams come true.

It wasn’t easy to write that part for the book because it’s such a contentious topic, but just lately I’ve noticed there’s more and more N/C stories appearing online and in print. Non Consensual is just a shorthand way of saying what we really mean. Which is a shame when it’s so widely shared as a fantasy amog men and women. I do have hands-on experience of this, and looking back I see it was a theme running through the Henry books that I wasn’t aware of at the time. This was a series about cuckoldry, another dying lifestyle, but it ended up being about many other things as well.

Wife #1 had a soft spot (you know where) for assertive men who took her acquiescence for granted. So she acquiesced.

Wife #2 had a thing about big cocks, and once she knew a guy was packing her knickers dropped to the floor of their own accord and she was powerless to resist. At least, that’s what she told me.

Wife #4 had the whole ‘fear makes my knickers wet’ thing going on, and she eventually used that as an excuse for giving in to what was clearly actual coercion. But only the first time. She enjoyed the experience so much she went back to his house numerous time for more of the same.

Wife #5 had direct experience of the darker side of N/C sex, but she neglected to tell me until it had destroyed our relationship.

Wife #6, was one of the non-conformists: fear made no difference to her, but it was hard to tell because she was permanently wet, and always ready to fuck. As it says in her book, “nobody ever had to rape Lucy”

You may have spotted there’s one wife missing.

Wife #3 didn’t have any of the triggers that made her fantasize about tall dark strangers. She was one of those lucky girls who could cum just from penetration, but clitoral stimulation did little for her. So on her list of preferred sexual activities a good licking scored the lowest, less than her own fingers. My fingers were next highest. then her vibrator, then anything that shouldn’t really be in a girl’s pussy but fits, so let’s try it anyway, then my cock.

She put anything and everything in there, just to see if it worked, and it always did. Hard to believe that this cute little pussy had devoured so many men and so many inanimate objects and still looks exactly the same as it did before. Women really are miracles, no?

It seemed obvious that if all these random things produced the desired effect then the cocks of other men would automatically do the job too. We put it to the test, and she was right. All other cocks worked – and worked better than mine – because they shouldn’t have been there. It was like a mini taboo all of its own. Interestingly she discovered that it made no difference who the man was. She didn’t have to like him or fancy him or find him attractive in any way. If his cock was hard enough to go in, it made her cum just like all the others. Handsome men did not produce better orgasms than ugly ones. In fact the reverse was probably true. Either way, other men went straight to the top of her chart and stayed there.

In the light of all this it seemed logical that uninvited cocks would inevitably make her cum whether she wanted to or not, and she was anxious to prove it either way, but it’s impossible to pre-arrange something that can only succeed if it’s a spontaneous event.

Or is it?

In her book there’s a chapter called Surprise Sex. It started out as a description of how I arranged her special surprise, but in the end I was concerned that it might not be accepted for publication, so I made it a lot softer and substituted another of her favourite nights. Not long after the books were released it was clear that the publishing landscape has changed, and I could probably have included it without any issues. Maybe I should just write it as a blog page?

But the point is, it was for her benefit, not mine, and not only did it satisfy her curiosity, it satisfied her deepest and most primeval instincts too. She loved being forced far more than she expected, and that was something she found out long after the initial penetration had made her cum as expected.

I’m not advocating this or suggesting it, although many couples do enjoy this kind of sex-play.

She was unusual among the Six Wives, but were they unusual among the female population? Four out of six definitely had this fantasy before I met them, and probably still have it now. That’s roughly sixty per cent and that’s roughly the average that scientific research has discovered. Which makes them, me – and you – pretty much normal. But it is still a major taboo.

For most of us it can only ever be a fantasy, and that’s the best way to keep it. Still enjoyable, and safe too.

The Biggest Gang-Bang Ever

That’s a lot of men. Although “slept with” is slight;ly misleading. And even “had sex with” doesn’t really cover it.

None of them were in her for longer than a minute, which is long enough to qualify as sexual intercourse if you were watching your wife being unfaithful, butthat’s about all. Some wore condoms, some not, but orgasm and ejaculation aren’t required to make it count. All the men were prepared by fluffers, but that was to make sure they were ready when their moment arrived rather than to make them cum quickly.

But nevertheless 919 cocks in 15 hours is some achievement.

People have called previous Mrs Q’s all manner of degrading names on the basis of having had that many men in a lifetime, but it’s so easily achieved that their insults are misplaced.

Think about it for a second. We’ve been swinging, swapping and sharing for 15 years. That’s 780 weekends. Say you misbehave on half of them – and it was more than that, plus midweek encounters – but that’s 500 guys minimum, plus all the ones she had in the dozen years she was active before she met me. It’s easy to see that she’s had 1000-plus men.

Most people have sex far more often than 1000 times in their life, they just confine themselves to a handful of guys. So once you accept that sharing is the new normal, it’s not as shocking as it appears at first impression.

Especially when one of her biggest turn-ons is group: gangbangs, to you and me. That puts the numbers up dramatically, I can promise. And though she’s no Lisa Sparks, she’s had more men in an evening than most women have in a lifetime: though footy teams and swinger clubs and so on helped reach a dozen or so in an evening, the highest number was at a party, Not that sort of party either. Totally unplanned and impromptu, but there she was in the bedroom with a guy and all of a sudden all his mates are at the door, and all their mates are in a line behind. Which is how she accidentally came to have 21-ish guys in one evening.

I say ish, because I lost count. I know. I only had one job… Anyway, it was a spontaneous event and we hadn’t agreed any rules, so I wasn’t sure if guys joining the back of the line for a second go should be counted or not. I made my own decision and excluded them, at least to begin with. But I didn’t always recognise them the second time around. All bums look the same from that angle, and most cocks do too, if you want my opinion.

So out of the 11 guys I excluded, some of them may well have been first-timers and should have been included in the total. But how many? I had a guess at five, but who knows? All I’m sure of is that 27 guys fucked her, and probably no more than half a dozen were on their second attempt.

Only three lasted significantly longer than the rest, which made both of us think it was their second visit, but it’s all a bit vague.

Thing is, a lot of people thought that was some kind of achievement, having that many guys fuck you in succession, but it’s actually not as difficult as it sounds. Most guys don’t last long when they’re watching and waiting their turn; they don’t need a fluffer and by the time it’s their moment they’re pretty close to bursting point anyway. On average a couple of minutes, maybe three, is all they need. Wham bam and thankyou ma’am.

This started at around 10pm and was all over by midnight. So it wasn’t an ordeal for her, or even an extreme experience. I’ve seen her on many occasions with vigorous young men who fucked her non-stop for three hours and more, or with a couple of mates who took turns and lasted pretty much all night.

So no; she’s no Lisa Sparks, but women are built for the job and easily capable of things no man could dream of doing.

I had to leave it out of the books I wrote in the pandemic because there wasn’t space to include verything and, believe it or not, it wasn’t an especially erotic experience for me; once you get over the initial excitement you’re pretty much a doorman/security guard. Maybe that’s why I lost count.

Anyway, lots of wives and lots of gangbangs were included, so help yourself. You don’t have to start at the beginning but it makes more sense if you do: