Read Online The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies by Mitzi Szereto - Free Book Online
Authors: Mitzi Szereto
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down my libido to
non-existent, which saddens me a lot. My imagination has
had to take a back seat; even sex toys scare men, so you can't
share the experience. Having some time to play around,
getting my other half to lighten up, would improve my sex
life. We've not had sex for two years, and I gave up long ago,
it's all solo these days. I would like to fulfil at least one of my
fantasies. A lot of these fantasies my husband could easily do,
but he will not.
In my fantasies I always go in for historical or period
costumes. Usually I'm mistress of a large seventeenth-century
house, and I go out one hot night and come across the groom
in the stables, where he's half-naked either washing or lying
back on the hay. These can take place in various centuries and
take all forms: maid, farmer, lord and variations, rather like Poldark and Pride and Prejudice but much hotter. I go through
Tudor, Victorian – all the eras! The groom fantasy is my top
one and has been for a long time. I can start it very quickly,
and continue it in chapters, adding more detail each time. It's
often set in early Victorian days.
The house I live in is very large and remote, and the whole
place feels repressed. I came here to be governess to an older
couple's child and the mother has since gone, leaving me as a
companion to a withered-up old lady who sleeps a lot. The
husband is old and reads or sleeps, so life is not very exciting.
All the household sta- have aged with their owners except
me. I'm dark-haired, with my dress buttoned up to the neck,
but have a full figure and very large breasts. I have to contain
all this in a prim dark dress. At night I take off the outer layers
and wander the house with a candle looking for something:
life, passion, feeling. My nightdress is thin and white and my
hair long and loose as I go from room to room longing for
something: to be touched, to feel the heat of a man. I know
that this is what I need, but there's no outlet for it. I go to the
library and get down a book I found by accident many months
ago. It's old and worn and the writing is in French. I know what
it contains as I have found it many times before. The book is
full of old etchings showing men and women in various
pos itions. The women are from another century; their gowns
are lifted up and men are between their legs, licking the
orgasmic-looking women. Other pictures have a woman with
big breasts hanging out from an unbuttoned dress while two
men suck her nipples as a third man plays with her. The
pictures I love most are the ones of men lying, alone in the
countryside or in their study, lazily stroking their cocks or
alternatively rubbing them hard. I look and look, I can't take
my eyes off them. I want to see and feel one. I want it inside
me with the weight of a man holding me down and doing the
things that the women are doing in my book. To look at this
drives me mad and makes the pain of my frustration worse.
My only outlet is objects. The library has a small staircase with
a low wooden finial shaped like an acorn, and by climbing over
it horse style I can get the wooden acorn to enter me. I ride
this up and down to ease the urgency. Afterwards, I take various
items with me and, when I'm back in my bed, I lie down and
let the wind from the open window play over me, using the
objects one by one while rubbing and squeezing my breasts
and imagining if only . . . This has become a nightly occurrence,
and the longing gets worse.
The big house has a large separate stable block with a small
living area inside. I often include this in my walk, stopping to
feed and stroke the horses, then go on my way. The current
groom is a really ugly man who, by great luck, has found
himself an equally ugly woman to marry and they are planning
to move away. This character is called Hilton, and he takes
great delight in shocking me and making lewd comments
whenever I go near the stables. He's so repulsive it means
nothing to me, but this day he tells me that he has a
non-existent, which saddens me a lot. My imagination has
had to take a back seat; even sex toys scare men, so you can't
share the experience. Having some time to play around,
getting my other half to lighten up, would improve my sex
life. We've not had sex for two years, and I gave up long ago,
it's all solo these days. I would like to fulfil at least one of my
fantasies. A lot of these fantasies my husband could easily do,
but he will not.
In my fantasies I always go in for historical or period
costumes. Usually I'm mistress of a large seventeenth-century
house, and I go out one hot night and come across the groom
in the stables, where he's half-naked either washing or lying
back on the hay. These can take place in various centuries and
take all forms: maid, farmer, lord and variations, rather like Poldark and Pride and Prejudice but much hotter. I go through
Tudor, Victorian – all the eras! The groom fantasy is my top
one and has been for a long time. I can start it very quickly,
and continue it in chapters, adding more detail each time. It's
often set in early Victorian days.
The house I live in is very large and remote, and the whole
place feels repressed. I came here to be governess to an older
couple's child and the mother has since gone, leaving me as a
companion to a withered-up old lady who sleeps a lot. The
husband is old and reads or sleeps, so life is not very exciting.
All the household sta- have aged with their owners except
me. I'm dark-haired, with my dress buttoned up to the neck,
but have a full figure and very large breasts. I have to contain
all this in a prim dark dress. At night I take off the outer layers
and wander the house with a candle looking for something:
life, passion, feeling. My nightdress is thin and white and my
hair long and loose as I go from room to room longing for
something: to be touched, to feel the heat of a man. I know
that this is what I need, but there's no outlet for it. I go to the
library and get down a book I found by accident many months
ago. It's old and worn and the writing is in French. I know what
it contains as I have found it many times before. The book is
full of old etchings showing men and women in various
pos itions. The women are from another century; their gowns
are lifted up and men are between their legs, licking the
orgasmic-looking women. Other pictures have a woman with
big breasts hanging out from an unbuttoned dress while two
men suck her nipples as a third man plays with her. The
pictures I love most are the ones of men lying, alone in the
countryside or in their study, lazily stroking their cocks or
alternatively rubbing them hard. I look and look, I can't take
my eyes off them. I want to see and feel one. I want it inside
me with the weight of a man holding me down and doing the
things that the women are doing in my book. To look at this
drives me mad and makes the pain of my frustration worse.
My only outlet is objects. The library has a small staircase with
a low wooden finial shaped like an acorn, and by climbing over
it horse style I can get the wooden acorn to enter me. I ride
this up and down to ease the urgency. Afterwards, I take various
items with me and, when I'm back in my bed, I lie down and
let the wind from the open window play over me, using the
objects one by one while rubbing and squeezing my breasts
and imagining if only . . . This has become a nightly occurrence,
and the longing gets worse.
The big house has a large separate stable block with a small
living area inside. I often include this in my walk, stopping to
feed and stroke the horses, then go on my way. The current
groom is a really ugly man who, by great luck, has found
himself an equally ugly woman to marry and they are planning
to move away. This character is called Hilton, and he takes
great delight in shocking me and making lewd comments
whenever I go near the stables. He's so repulsive it means
nothing to me, but this day he tells me that he has a
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