How this blog began...

I want to share with you the piece of work that really inspired this blog. Already published at Celeb Masturbation Nation, this collaboration between Scimione and myself ("Ecnar") really stoked the flames of one of my most recently developing erotic Anne fantasy; cuckolding.

Enjoy the read...



Anne's pussy was soaking in her steamy, creamy juice, and her silk thong was so wet she had to pull it off and let the air try to dry her cunt.
She pressed the fragrant fabric to her lips. “I taste so sweet,” she thought. “So why can't I find someone to fuck me, good and proper?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man standing in a corner of the hotel lobby. He was masturbating as he watched Anne.
Anne watched him, as he stroked his purple, throbbing spear. A jet of pearl liquid leaped from the tip of his prick's bulbous head.

The Cuckold watched. Monsieur Ecnar had been obsessed with Anne for years, and he had become her slave. His devotion was now being rewarded.
His Mistress, his Queen, his idol of masturbation, Anne, his precious Anne, had answered his pleas and allowed him to approach her.

Ecnar shifted in his seat, his erection trying to tear a hole in his trousers.
He had been observing his goddess from the comfort of his leather wing chair, in the hotel where Anne resided during her visits to London. It was a very prestigious establishment in Mayfair where persons of note came to get away from the madding crowd.

Ecnar had long been an admirer of Anne's, but in anonymity. He had penned letters to her, respectful in their tone, yet written while he masturbated furiously. Sometimes he spilled his semen onto the letter paper. He would let it dry completely and satisfied only he would know that his vesical fluid had soiled the vellum, he would post them to the office in Hollywood that managed her affairs. But he had never received a reply.

He knew that Anne loved London; he hoped that Fate would bring her closer. Perhaps she would make a film in his city; perhaps she would star in a play; or perhaps make an appearance in a fragrance shop. He checked the news daily, readying himself for the possibility. The excitement at the mere thought of her being in the same place drove him into a frenzy of wanking.

Ecnar went to a shop in the High Street that sold fine underthings, and bought several pairs of silk knickers. He would lay on his bed naked, with the lingerie draped across his body and shoot columns of sperm; or wrap the knickers around his erection, exploding into the silk.

His orgasms increased in intensity when it was announced that Miss Hathaway would in fact be visiting England in preparation for a new motion picture. His boner throbbed non-stop. He found he was compelled to pleasure himself over and over again, sometimes bolting from his office to a mens toilet where he would release his boiling fluid.

Anne in London. It was too good.

Still, he fretted, wondering what would happen if his obsession became reality.

Then, it seemed miraculously, he had met her by chance. It had been in the middle of the afternoon, having a taken a day of leave from his work, strolling on a path in Hyde Park. The heel of one of her leather boots had broken. Ecnar, gallant, hiding his nervousness, had suggested a cobbler near by.

As a reward, Anne had invited him to her suite in the hotel in Mayfair. Sensing he was a suitable subject, she had seduced him by teasing, without ever allowing him to consummate his desire.
“Masturbate for me,” she had ordered.

He had stroked his member, trembling with delight and fear as she had made him lick her boots from toe to heel and back again.
His scrotum became swollen and blue, his temples bursting like his nutsack.
When he had been about to release his fluid, she had made him pinch his cock and then had him shoot the thick clumps of jism into a champagne glass she had taken from the buffet.

He had jacked himself dry into the goblet.

Then Anne had held the glass out to him. “Drink it.”

He had. Anne had rubbed her clitoris to orgasm as he had swallowed his own semen.
Then she had made him vow to keep their liaison a secret, and do her bidding no matter what.
Thus had begun his torment.

And now, she was tormenting him in the lobby of the hotel.

Ecnar took a folded sheet of vellum from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket. The ivory page had been creased with care. It was stained with his sperm and inscribed with a letter he had written to her in fountain pen. He read it silently, but his lips moved as he mouthed the words, hoping against all hope that those lips could ever graze hers:

“Annie (I hope it's OK for me to call you by that - I know it's a name that people close to you use, but it makes it more a lot intimate if I think of you as Annie, and not Anne.) You will not find a man with as much lust, passion, love, however you wrap it up - than me for you. Since I have become infatuated with you - and that word is putting it mildly - I can assure you no cock has been beaten and pounded with as much ferocity as mine has for you. No cock has spilt so much cum for - you guessed it - you.”

The night before, he had writhed with that passion-- and pain – as his Annie had amused herself in the adjacent room of the suite with a sextet of young suitors. He could hear their moans as they had taken her in all her orifices.

He had tried to sleep, but could only stare at the note she had given to him. Her words, as hard as the edges of the typewritten script on the bristol card with gold trim:

“My new slave is lazy. No sooner do I agree to entertain an adventure with him, he disappears, probably masturbating furiously and letting his seed go to waste. Wicked boy! You will taste the tip of my lash upon your upturned rump. Now, read carefully.

You are to pleasure yourself daily, but only to the photo I will send you. One is attached. You are to collect your semen in a silk handkerchief, and you will use it again and again as I command you. Is that perfectly clear? Yours (but not quite)

Ecnar had read the note again and again. He had imagined himself confronting her: "Hmmmm, you really mean that for real? Actually want me to only cum for that one picture?"

At that moment, Anne's personal assistant had entered the room. She was a tall, buxom blonde clad head-to-toe in black leather. Ecnar sensed this dominatrix could read his thoughts.

She could, and she had.

The blonde had a short riding whip in her hand. She had gestured to Ecnar to unzip and pull out his purple penis. Rubbing the whip along the length of his shaft, she had spoken in a voice that made Ecnar tremble, and the same time want to spurt.
"Queen Anne is very firm and precise in her instructions, " the blonde had snarled. "You will document your cumming on this photo for her review, either in written or pictorial form, or both. Your Mistress has spoken!"

With that, she had flicked the whip, snapping it against the head of Ecnar's prick, and making precum fly.
The precum had been followed by a river of thick jism that had spilled all over the carpet.

Gasping, Ecnar had tried to answer the challenge.
"Thanks. What Anne wants, she will get. My cum spilt for her. Sadly I won't be able to provide a pictual summary of what she does to me, but I will let you know in writing. By the way, have you ever seen my portfolio of Anne cum pics?"

The blonde had smiled. "Anne awaits you, and your cum." She had turned on her heels and left the room.

The next day, Ecnar had written a letter to His Queen. "Last night I cummed for the picture she sent me. That one gets me going like she can't imagine. Accentuates her amazing body to the fullest. Some examples of my tributes to Anne are attached." He had placed the photos of his cum sessions, along with the originals encrusted with his globs of sperm into a plastic portfolio case, which he had delivered to the hotel.

He had waited in the lobby. The blonde had appeared within thirty minutes.

The blonde, noticing Ecnar's erection, had been curt: "Queen Anne advises that she has received your works in good order. She has asked that we allow her to review the work in private. At first blush, your cum-tributions appear to be of excellent quality. The fact that they have elicited this level of attention speaks to the quality of your efforts. This will no doubt earn you special treatment from The Mistress. She notes that you enjoy the outfit she chose, and will endeavour to select apparel that will further drain your nutsack."

Ecnar had been ecstatic but had tried to mask the force that was bursting his balls. "Thanks. Tell her my cock was in that state just for her. All of what you see there was inpsired by her. I would not do that to any other woman on the planet."

"Remain in the lobby, and sit in that chair." The blonde had pointed to the wing chair.

That was were Ecnar was in this moment, watching Anne watch another man jerk off for her.

It was painful, and yet the most exciting thing he had ever witnessed. His balls filled with cum so hot he thought he would combust on the spot.

He saw Anne smiling at the masturbator and kiss him while she fondled his dripping dick. The pain became a hallucinogen, and he was lost in a fog as if he had smoked opium.

Anne was his opium, and he was a hopeless addict. Of that, he was certain.

His Queen and the masturbator had left, and he was alone in the lobby.

Exhausted, Ecnar slumped in the chair. He did know if he had fallen asleep, but he was roused by the feel of the blonde's leather gauntlet lifting his chin. "Mistress Hathaway is completing her review process. You shall receive further news regarding your submission, within the next 24 hours. Please be ready."

Ecnar returned to his flat, elated and depressed at the same time. He considered drinking some strong cognac, or absinthe. He needed to quiet the demons that were ravaging him. Suddenly, the telephone rang.

It was the blonde.
"Mistress Anne has advised us that she wishes to assure you, your efforts have been highly appreciated. Therefore, she wants to invite you for a private session in her chamber. 'You've been a very naughty boy and you're going to get a spanking,' she says, and has asked that you be informed of her exact words. Please let us know when you are ready to return to the hotel."

Ecnar was overwhelmed by his good fortune. "I am ready when she is," he blurted.

"Good," said the blonde. "Mistress Hathaway is currently swimming in a hot pool of her own juices, as she imagines herself being jerked off on by you and twenty other men."

Another wave of arousal shook Ecnar's body and his boner, stiff again as a flagpole. "Thanks."

He bathed and perfumed himself, dressing in a charcoal pinstripe suit he had bought in Savile Row. Tonight he would be at his best for his goddess. He made a Windsor knot carefully and straightened his red silk tie. He tucked a pair of the underpants he had soiled in her honour, inside the front of his trousers.

Suddenly there was a knock at his door. He opened it. It was the blonde.

She stepped into his flat. "Hello again." The blonde strutted around the living room as if she lived there. "Mistress Anne has instructed us to inform you that she is thoroughly pleased with your ejaculations. She is now considering how to best present your efforts and promises to provide news shortly. Your Queen also sends her Thanks to you as her Loyal Subject."

The blonde pulled out a manila envelope containing a photo of Anne's face. "Mistress Anne has something to show you."
The photo was splashed with the cum of the man who had masturbated for Anne in the hotel lobby that afternoon.

Ecnar's boner was almost erupting. "Oh wow, wow, wow. That is very hot. I want Anne's face to be covered in cum so badly. I hope he enjoyed working up that load for her and unleashing it on her pretty face."

He looked up, and he saw Anne Hathaway on the threshold of his living room.

His Queen spoke. "Don't cum. Not yet."

Story based on a role-play by ECNAR and SCIMIONE