Excerpt:

Christmas preparations are underway in the Phoenix household; you may think that I have control over all things domestic, but you'd be wrong. The Pervert wears the trousers in our house; I don't just pay homage to his cock and his perverted requests but give his choices priority most of the time. I promise to cut the crap and tell you all about my latest antics, but I must mention a few mundane things first. I'd like to get them off my chest. It's fun to share with you and I know from your emails and messages that you want to hear about everyday happenings from time to time.

Every year, up until this year, we have chosen a real Christmas tree. Never huge. Don't misunderstand me, if you've read me before, you know that I quite like big, but the tree, I like understated and bijou. Large enough to fit snugly into a corner, tastefully decorated and filling the room with a lovely Christmas tree aroma. Last year, we chose a Norwegian Spruce. It cost a bloody fortune and looked and smelled divine.

"Guaranteed not to shed its needles," said the man in the woolly hat.

"That's okay, I can manage," said Steven handing over the cash.

We watched while the tree was machine wrapped in that web-like stuff that keeps it all together and stowed it into the boot of the car.

I'll cut to after Christmas. Not a single needle was left on that fucking tree. All dropped onto the floors and found their way into places where they should never have gone.

This year, for the first time in our married life, we bought a fake tree. It resembles an ordinary tree in winter; bare branches lit with tiny, white lights. It is so pretty; I'm tempted to leave it up all year round. I find it restful. We've erected it in the room with the couch where I often get cum in my crack; it's the place where we spend the most time.

Waking in the small hours before dawn, I went to make a cup of tea and went in to gaze at the tree. I don't know why I couldn't sleep, but it happens a lot. I let my mind wander to the past and all the things that Steven and I have indulged recently too.

We have an advent calendar. It's a little wooden house with twenty-four windows; they're hinged with tiny knobs for opening, revealing a small space where gifts or messages can be left. As I write, we are up to day sixteen, and I've just found Steven's message to me. I take the even numbers, and he has the odd. He wants me to agree to Dominic's recent request to spend a few days with him at a hotel. I try to keep my distance from Dominic for all sorts of reasons and generally manage it. It's not always easy, and occasionally Dominic's emails tempt me. I sit in front of the monitor; hands poised and itchy over the keys just dying to say yes.

One of the reasons I've avoided contact is that he makes me melt. Very few people have that effect on me, but Dominic is an exception with the only other who came close being a firefighter I had a fling with before I met Steven. Since marrying The Pervert, I only have sex with others for our mutual pleasure. Sex with Dom is rather too nice, and could become addictive, I'm sure.

My reminiscences that morning took me back to last November and one of the most memorable experiences of that year, and one that I didn't include in Acts of Pleasure. It's time I told you all about it.

Steven and I were staying in our usual London hotel while he conducted business. I often accompany him, and sometimes have to join his party, but mostly I'm left to my own devices, which is wonderful. I adore London, shopping, just looking around, sitting in the hotel and people watching, wandering around galleries. I always have a lovely time and am never bored.

The hotel has a spa, gym and health club. Sometimes I use it but often don't, preferring my usual place for massage and beauty therapies. I sometimes use the hotel pool. If it's quiet.

One morning, Steven and I were in the lift heading down for breakfast. I rarely join him in the hotel restaurant, preferring to take my breakfast in bed, but that day was bright and beautiful, so I decided to go out early into the city with my camera. The lift came to a halt at the fourth floor, and a young man boarded. Oh my god, he was Adonis-like and all he wore only a towel wrapped around his waist and flip-flops.

"Do you know which floor the gym is on?" he said in halting, sexy, English.

"Two," said Steven, pressing that number on the panel, completely aware of the effect the tall blonde had on me.

"Thank you," replied Adonis, smiling directly at me and virtually ignoring Steven.

In no time, the lift had swished us to the second floor, and the glorious man alighted.

"Goodbye." We chorused as the doors whispered shut, and Steven grabbed my hand and placed it on his crotch to prove cause and effect.

"Christ, Poppy, I thought you were going to melt."

"Hmmm... was it that obvious?"

"Yes, you dirty girl, it was. You couldn't keep your eyes off him."

"He was glorious, lovely, creamy skin and that hair."

I've always had a soft-spot for cherubic curls, and our fleeting visitor's hair tumbled to his shoulders in thick, blond curls. My other weakness is toes. I either hate them or love them. There is no in-between. If toes aren't cute enough to eat, I don't want to look at them at all.

"And did you see his toes? Oh, to die for."

"I'm surprised you noticed his toes, the bulge tenting that towel was distracting, to say the least," said Steven as we left the elevator and headed to the dining room.

Seated next to the window at a table for two, we ordered breakfast.

"We'd best not talk about it in here," I said. "I feel so horny; I may do a Meg Ryan and have an orgasm right now."

"I wonder how long he's staying," said Steven.