Unfortunately it seems the administrator of this site didn't like my 'Part 4'. sometimes real life can be stranger than fiction. Anyway, I've decided to persevere and have leapt twenty five years to the next phase of my story. I hope this is more to their taste. For twenty five years I remained a steadfast and loyal wife and conscientious mother. Sex continued to be a solid feature of our lives, often bolstered by shared recollections of that giddy year and a half. Some of our most enjoyable fucking involved me taunting Steve with lurid and detailed accounts of my dirty deeds. As the children became more independent and we were once again allowed time on our own we became increasingly adventurous outside of the bedroom, finding outdoor settings where we (or at least I) could strip for action. Steve would drive me naked around country lanes, and we knew of a number of lay-bys, well frequented by lorry drivers and sales reps where I would masturbate in the shadows with a dildo and vibrator.I lost a little weight, and at the grand old age of fifty, children having flown the nest, I was both looking and feeling good. I took to wearing mini-skirts, fishnets and formidable heels for trips out of town and delighted Steve by “accidentally” showing lots of leg in pubs and restaurants. Increasingly we talked of involving other men. Once or twice we checked out known dogging locations. We hadn’t the nerve to stay around, but we did start to monitor the advertisements placed on a number of swingers sites with more than a little curiosity. The prospect of seeing me with another man again became a daily conversation, especially when we were in bed, and with Steve it bordered on obsession, almost an essential prerequisite to his erection. In anticipation that something would happen sooner or later I decided to take the bull by the horns and lay down some rules of my own. It was crucial to me that Steve understood we weren’t excitable young twenty-somethings any more. We were both well known with well-paid high-profile occupations and family and friends who had expectations of us which I wasn’t prepared to compromise through scandal. Similarly, as a lady passed fifty summers, I wasn’t prepared to make myself available again for “anything-goes” at the hands of other men. There would be no photographs circulated, no long-term “relationships”, we wouldn’t use our house for meetings, and I wasn’t prepared to be passed around. There were to be no overnight stays, and Steven was to be present at all times. He was not to be humiliated by other men. I wouldn’t accept rough physical treatment, and (my tolerance of both having waned somewhat over the years) didn’t want to promise oral, much less anal, sex. In addition I put my foot down at beards, beer guts and anyone shorter than 5’10. Otherwise I was serious about going ahead to satisfy Steve, but secretly for myself too. The internet as we all know is a marvelous thing, and not just for research and shopping. Courtesy of the Swinging Heaven I met and fucked no fewer than forty-six new men between 2006 and 2008. They were all one-offs, all totally anonymous and (bar three or four exceptions) all more or less worthwhile. Being able to call the shots gave me a different kind of interest, allowing me a degree of control I’d lacked years before, and at my age a last chance to fully indulge my sexuality. Making contact was entirely Steven’s role. He would place or reply to adverts, make early contact by email exchange and follow up with either phone calls or a face-to-face meeting before I became involved at all. He was shrewd and meticulous in screening out time-wasters or unsuitable candidates, and highly circumspect about what he would commit me to doing or even wearing. It’s surprising what stringent terms men will accept to secure a meeting with a woman, some insisting that they would be delighted with just a look or a touch of tit. In the end they were invariably rewarded with more than they’d anticipated and rarely went home disappointed. Our first meeting of this second phase stands as a good example. “Horny Pete” had replied to our cautious and non-committal posting on a “dogging” page. He was a married man of around thirty eight who admitted to having tried his luck with little success on the swinging sites for several years. He had met up with one couple who had been reluctant to go very far (whatever that means) and was agreeably enthusiastic about Steve’s offer to meet in a discreet parking location where he could watch me partially undress and use my vibrator, possibly more depending on how things went. On the night I was (to my surprise) really “up for it”, even more so when we met in a car park in Melton Mowbray and I found him polite and agreeable. Steve and I had earlier identified a suitable spot outside a factory unit on an old airfield, and as we drove towards it in tandem we agreed that I would take a lead, stopping short at whatever point suited me. Well prepared, I was wearing slip-on sandals and loose combat trousers with the skimpiest of g-string knickers underneath, topped off by a zipped up leather faux-biker jacket with a half-cup black bra underneath. I surprised both Pete and myself from the outset by settling down in the fully reclined front passenger seat and undressing completely. As I ran my vibrator over my clit I invited Steve to tweak my nipples and Pete to insert a couple of fingers. After a good all-over feel during which I orgasmed (on Pete’s fingers) I made no bones about wanting both men to fuck me. Pete, who had been in the back seat leaning over until this point came round to lie on top of me while Steve climbed in the back. After fucking me from above while Steve felt my tits Pete then insisted that I turn over to suck Steve’s cock while he had me from behind. After he had cum he and Steve changed round, although I flipped onto my back while Steve finished himself off into me and Pete stroked his cock and watched. We were in general agreement that we’d all had a great time, and Pete drove away looking as though he’d really struck oil. Not wanting to overdo it we rationed ourselves more or less to one meeting every three or four weeks, although if Steven had had his way it could have been much more frequent. My mode of dress would vary considerably depending on the circumstances and how I wanted to play things, but since many of the men we met were considerably younger (usually between their early thirties and early forties) I generally felt I should make the effort to dress for the occasion. We preferred married men partly because they were less likely to be indiscreet and partly (and perhaps perversely) I felt that for a wife’s husband to be shagging an older married woman rather than going out on the pull for younger girls was far less likely to jeopardize a marriage. We were also realistic and relaxed about the fact that having a woman ten or fifteen years older in the presence of her husband was something of a kinky fantasy for them. Although (to Steve’s disappointment) I couldn’t relate to the title of “slut” or “hot wife” I was fully aware that most men were looking to meet a slut, and often dressed accordingly. I invested in a number of micro-skirts which would shock anyone who knew me, but which made me feel fantastic. My favourite combination involved a very well cut leather number, with a plunging tee-shirt or half-buttoned white blouse, over a matching black push-up bra and skimpy thong, black or fishnet hold-up stockings almost level with my hem, and a killer pair of five inch stilettos. Dressed like that on my way to meet a new man I usually felt a delicious combination of glamorous, dirty and scared, but there was no doubt of its impact on first sight. An hour or so later I was parading myself in front of an impressively-endowed thirty year old marketing executive in his own front room, but even the exhilaration of stripping naked for him and Steve to take turns with me on his dining room table couldn’t trump my naughty little flash of earlier. I didn’t always dress up. For meetings in the car I would usually be more casual, sometimes just trousers, t-shirt and slip-on shoes, with no underwear at all, so that I could be naked as quickly as possible. I always stripped completely, although the men I met outdoors usually just dropped their trousers. This was the case one windy rain swept night in January 2007, when only one month after celebrating the birth of my first grandchild I found myself completely starkers and struggling dutifully to glide up and down the enormous cock of a twenty-two year old rugby-playing graphic designer. He was a young man with an expressed preference for mature married ladies, largely I suspect because they would have the composure and physical development to take his outrageous length and girth. In my experience most men fall within certain acceptable size limits. I’ve had one or two that have been very disappointing and which were difficult to really sense inside, but this was the exact opposite. I didn’t measure it, but I was enormously grateful that he’d brought me to orgasm twice with his tongue and fingers before entering me, as without this preparation relaxing my cunt muscles I have serious doubts as to whether I could have handled it. I managed, and even though I was too sore to take Steven afterwards he still rates the three quarters of an hour during which he watched from the front seat while I bucked up and down on my young partner’s lap as one of my finest performances. There's more to come if this is well received. If not I'll take the hint and stop submitting.