MILF, Ms O’Hara, has a thing going on with a number of young and young-at-heart men

My non-Amber, slightly frumpy, mother-next-door self lives a double life as an insatiable MILF and this little secret injects a huge amount of spice into my life.

As Amber, I am ready in my boudoir wearing tiny corsets, stockings and sometimes long leopard-patterned fuck me boots with dangerously high heels.  Sometimes I wear a faux fur coat, which I am happy to urgently remove, revealing my delicate smalls.  I love to look through my wardrobe and choose from my lingerie, stockings and little dresses.  I have my favourites: fishnet thigh-highs are pleasing to run my hands over, as well as symbolic of bad girls, and anything black and lacy is elegant yet racy, perfect for my mood.

I love my shoes to be blingy and slutty, and I adore boots, especially over-the-knee ones which, showing just a small slice of a slender thigh, can’t be anything but tantalising while even slightly practical with winter approaching.  I was just saying to a friend, as we were driving past street-based sex workers, that they could wear leg-warmers under their long boots and be perfectly warm.  Who knows, maybe they do?  However, in my closet, my collection of garments are chosen to be shed after only the briefest of moments, and practical knitted items do not feature.

Once alone together, due the exigent tasks ahead, including but not limited to fucking, I am soon parting my pale thighs to welcome the man-of-the-hour into my private world, where anything could happen, but whatever it is, it will most certainly be pleasurable with my tender guidance.

The thing about horny men which I love is their pressing desire for a woman.  Yes, I do love to take my time, encouraging a man to indulge and be indulged, but sometime that needs to be put aside for round two due to the insistence by ones loins for an immediate result.

And at the end of that never-long-enough time, we bid goodbye with flushed faces and a modest kiss … until next time or maybe never again, just a fond memory.

It’s so much fun to have a dirty secret, or to be someone’s dirty secret.  I could pass my clients in the street and I probably wouldn’t be noticed, or maybe a whiff of my perfume or an unintentional glimpse of my pearlescent décolletage would trigger a flashback of our encounter.  For while in my other life, my gentle self is more ordinary and practical, the same goes for my bedroom heroes – the men whose day-to-day existence includes achieving goals and meeting obligations.

A little escapism (mostly) never does anyone any harm.