The things He does

When He looks at me, I feel His hunger and desire for me. I know that He wants me.

When He reaches for me, I feel myself responding to His need. I know I want Him as much as He wants me.

When He kisses me, I feel myself melt. My passion rises. My want for Him increases. I feel myself grow increasingly moist.

When He undresses me, the anticipation rises. I want Him, I need Him and I can feel His need for me too.

When He explores my body with His fingers and lips, electricity flows through me. My passion ignites. A warm glow spreads through me.

When He licks me, my clit pulses. The walls of my cunt and my womb contract as the pleasure takes hold.

When He makes me cum, I long to feel Him inside me. I want to feel His lovely cock take me.

When He enters me, I surrender to Him. I savour the sensations as He fills me.

When He fucks me, I know that I am His. He claims my body with His cock, users me for His pleasure.

When He moans my name as He cums, I know He loves me. In that moment we are one.

When He slips out of me, I feel empty but satisfied. His cum trickles out of me, a reminder of our passion.

When He holds me in His arms, I feel safe and secure. He is my protector and provider as well as my lover.

When He is with me, He makes me complete. I am who I am because of Him.


Trials, tribulations and (un)wanted distractions

You would think writing a sex blog would be a fairly easy thing to do, wouldn’t you? After all, what is easier than sex? We all do it after all. Sadly though, it’s the universal nature of sex, combined with the individual likes and dislikes of those participating in it that can make it tricky to write about.

Firstly, my particular kinks and preferences may not appeal to you, endless reiterations of the subject of how much I enjoy having Master C’s cock inside me may, just possibly, get a bit boring.

Then there is the act itself. At the end of the day, sex is simply sex. In purely heterosexual terms, it is the insertion by the male of the species of his penis into an available orifice in the body of the female of the species (Note homosexual options are also available) and rubbing said penis inside said orifice until he ejaculates. For the purposes of reproduction, the required female orifice is the vagina, but for recreational purposes, the mouth and anus can, depending on the female in question, also be acceptable alternatives.

There are only so many ways the above process can be described. If you are reading this, the likelihood is that you are familiar with the mechanics of the sexual act.

The difficulty the sex blogger faces (well, this one certainly does) is to find ways to discuss different aspects of the topic in a way that holds the reader’s interest, bearing in mind that the reader’s knowledge of the subject is likely to be at least as proficient, if not more so, than that of the writer. With that in mind, I sometimes think it’s a miracle that I ever find anything to actually write about.

Then there’s the distractions. Real life has a habit of getting in the way and finding time to blog can sometimes be difficult.

But, assuming you have found the inspiration for an entry, and you have the time available, you’re still not necessarily home and dry…

I’m typing away, trying to get my thoughts out when Master C casually saunters past. Because He’s genuinely interested in what I write, He peers over my shoulder to take a look. Then, because what I’m writing gets Him a bit hot under the collar and because it’s so convenient, He begins to play with my hair and kiss my neck in a way that is absolutely guaranteed to make my clothes disappear. One thing leads to another and, before I know it I’ve gone from sitting at my PC, diligently comparing and contrasting the merits of smooth and spiky ben-wa balls, to being on my back, legs in the air, Master C’s cock in my cunt and his balls slapping against me.

Later, in the post-coital, and hopefully post-orgasmic, aftermath of his interruption, I cast my thoroughly distracted mind back to my blog, I find I’ve lost the thread of what I was trying to say and, with a resigned sigh, I hit delete and yet another post is consigned back to its electronic purgatory.

OK, so you could say that having sex is an occupational hazard for a sex blogger but, perversely, it doesn’t actually blogging about sex any easier.


Friday night sofa snuggles

So it’s Friday night, we’re staying in, snuggled on the sofa, me with my head on Master C‘s lap, watching whatever shite is in the TV.

A couple of glasses of wine consumed and I’m feeling a little bit naughty.

I trace the outline of Master C‘s cock through His jeans. He playfully bats my hand away. I try again. His cock is harder now, the outline more defined. Again Master C moves my hand away; this time it’s even less convincing than last.

I try again. I feel His cock stiffen further. Master C wriggles a bit and He rests His hand on my head, his fingers playing with my hair.

I unzip His jeans and slide my fingers inside. His cock, still encased in his boxers, twitches in response to my touches. Master C moans slightly as I slip my fingers inside His shorts. His fingers twist in my hair as I idly stroke His shaft, feeling it stiffen and twitch.

Master C murmurs softly as I tease the head with my fingers, feeling it swell.

I remove my hand and unbuckle His belt, unbuttoned His jeans and release His cock from its confinement. A bead of pre-cum oozes from the slit. Master C shudders as lick it away with my tongue.

I kiss the tip and swirl my tongue head. On the TV a klaxon sounds; someone has got something obviously wrong on QI again. I take this as a sign and wrap my lips around the head. Master C moans more loudly and His fingers tighten even more firmly in my hair.

I slide my lips leisurely up and down His shaft, pausing at the top to tease the head. Occasionally I let my teeth drag lightly along His skin, making Him flinch.

As I suck and lick, His hips begin to move, driving His cock deeper into my mouth. His hand exerts a pressure on my head, pushing me harder on to Him.

I cup Master C‘s balls, squeezing them as the head of His cock lodges in the back of my throat. His breathing deepens as the jerking of His hips becomes more pronounced.

His cock twitches with increasing frequency. The flavour of His pre-cum grows stronger. His balls swell in my hand.

I can feel the tension in Him build. His moans become deeper, more prolonged. Master C‘s cock stabs my mouth with short, stabbing thrusts.

His fingers tighten in my hair. Once… Twice… Three times… His sign, telling me that He is on the brink.

I slide my mouth back, wrapping my lips tightly around Him, only the head of His wonderful, throbbing cock in my mouth. I encircle Master C‘s shaft with my fingers, stroking Him as I suck.

A moan, a spasmodic jerk and Master C‘s cock erupts. My mouth fills with cum; rich, warm and salty. I savour the taste before swallowing it down. His torrent slows to a trickle; the last drops pool on my tongue.

His cock subsides, His breathing returns to normal, His hand releases my hair and rests lightly on my head as He tells me I am His “Good Girl”.

As I tuck Master C away, the weather forecast says it’s going to be miserable. All the more reason for us to stay in bed…

The Oral Sex Project

The joys of sext

Now, I accept that sexting has come in for a lot of bad press. Mostly due to people (generally young girls, but not always) taking nude or sexually explicit photographs of themselves for the benefit of a partner, only to have these photos wind up on the internet through a breach of trust on the part of the recipient. Fortunately, I have never been on the receiving end of so-called “revenge porn” but I know people who have and, to say that it is not nice, is a gross understatement.

But sexting isn’t all bad; far from it. Used in a responsible way, it can be a deeply erotic and highly extended form of foreplay.

Take the following scenario for example. Master C was recently in London. Because I had been in meetings with clients most of the day, my phone has been turned off for the majority of it. Every time I switched my phone back on, there has been a flood of highly salacious and very distracting texts from Him.

Some were simply one word, eg:


Others were much, much more explicit, eg:

I’m going to thrash your slutty little arse and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down or walk straight.

I must confess that that one was a particular favourite; it definitely got me more than just a wee bit moist.

To be fair, the texts started not long after Master C left the house at half past four that particular morning; and they continued at irregular intervals through the day. Some mildly suggestive, some highly explicit, some telling me that I should be doing certain particular things like fingering my cunt before my next my next client meeting, or removing my knickers and making sure that someone, be it a client, a colleague, or a random passer-by gets to have a flash of my cunt. Some have simply been general enquiries about how my day has been going.

The whole point of it though, was to turn me on; to get me so frustrated and worked up that when by the time Master C got home, my cunt was soaked and I was absolutely desperate for Him to fuck me, or indeed, do whatever the fuck He wanted to me. Whether or not Master C actually did some, any, or all of the things He told me He would do to me is irrelevant; it was simply all about heightening my arousal, building my anticipation, putting me in the mood.

Master C knows exactly the effect that a message like:

I’m going to bend you over the arm of the sofa, thrash you with my belt then pound the fuck out of your cunt and arse!

will have on me, or that:

I’m going to choke you with my cock!

will have me instantly wanting to find the quiet seclusion of a toilet cubicle somewhere so I can frig myself into orgasmic oblivion.

But that, you see, is the only real rule to our little game; namely that no matter how aroused, how frustrated, how desperate for the release of orgasm I may be, unless I am explicitly commanded to do so by Master C, I am not allowed to do anything about it; I must endure and suffer until I am in His presence again, and He can then use me, or not, as He so desires.

Normally what happens at this point is a short, sharp, frustration driven fuck that has us both cumming before we’ve even got each other’s clothes off. The intensity is overpowering. There is no need for any further foreplay. It is simply a fuck of animal like passion, each of us finally being allowed to give in to the frustrated arousal and use the other for almost instant relief and gratification.

After that, things will settle down. There will be kissing and hugging, teasing, licking and sucking, and almost definitely a whole lot more fucking before the evening is over.

Of course, sometimes, having been up so early, and getting home so late, Master C is too tired. If I have been an obedient slut during the course of the day, and done everything that He has demanded of me, Master C may allow me to cum for Him and, if I’m particularly lucky and have been an exceptionally good and obedient little slut, He may also let me suck His cock.

If I haven’t behaved to His satisfaction. I may end up going to bed even more frustrated with nothing more to show for my efforts than a very hot, red, stinging arse.

However, assuming Mater C decides to relent and give me what I hoped He’d give me; when the dust settles and we collapse in a sweaty, post orgasmic heap, all of that will have stemmed from me sending him a simple:

Hope you have a good trip xx

Yes, when done safely and responsibly, sexting can definitely be a lot of fun.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Hooked up

So, this week the questions related to “hook-ups” and I suspect that it will  come as no surprise to you that this is a subject that I have a certain amount of familiarity with. Actually, it would be more accurate to say it’s a subject I have had experience with, as it tends not to be something I actually do any more.

It’s not that I’ve given up on casual sex. If you’ve read any of this blog you will know that I am very much a cock-hungry slut and I still enjoy random casual encounters. By and large though, these encounters are not planned; they are, as I said, random. And by random I mean that I haven’t previously arranged to meet up and fuck them, they are simply someone who has caught my eye and I’ve decided I want to have some fun with them.  Probably the only things that come close to being “hook-ups” for me nowadays are when I make plans to get together with either “The Girl” or “The Other Guy”. Given that these are “established relationships” that I have, I suspect they aren’t really “hook-ups” in the sense meant by the question, but that doesn’t make them any less enjoyable when they happen, or in any way dampen the anticipation I feel when waiting for one that has been arranged to happen.

For me, “hook-ups” in the “traditional” sense happened in the period between breaking up with my ex and meeting Master C.

Almost invariably,  they were arranged via sites like Plenty Of FishAdult Friendfinder or Fabswingers (don’t bother looking for me on any of those, my profiles are long gone). Contact was made, messages were exchanged and, if all went well, plans to meet were agreed. The “usual” protocol was that first meeting would be “social” to see if we clicked. Generally though, if we did “click” we’d be out the back of the venue for a blow-job/quickie and before heading back to whichever of our respective places was nearer for one or more encores.

Not only did I meet guys locally, I also used to meet them when I was away for work in places like London, Bristol, Birmingham, Cardiff, Belfast or Newcastle. After all, if you’re going to spend a night or two in a hotel, you might as well have some fun while you’re at it.

The sex, as sex does, varied in quality from pretty rubbish to pretty damned amazing. On the whole, I never had what you might call a bad experience (I was always quite lucky that way), although I did have more than a few that, in sex terms, might be described as disappointing.

For me, it was a convenient way for a cock-hungry slut to get herself fucked on a (fairly) regular basis. Today, of course, I have Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” to attend to most of my needs and, so long as I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions, as much random casual sex as I can find for those times when I fancy something a little bit off menu. I can, it seems, have my cake and eat it (as well as being frequently and expertly eaten) and, on the whole, I for one am not complaining.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Suck whenever you want…

So, apparently, once again, it is “Steak & Blow-Job Day”. It’s not really a concept I understand. Master C and I are both foodies, and steak is a fairly regular meal in our house. Not always beef; sometimes venison, but not uncommon.

Also, it probably comes as a surprise to no one, but blow-jobs are not exactly a rarity in our house either. In an average week, I will generally find myself with Master C’s cock in my mouth three or four times, at least. I think I may have mentioned it before, but I love sucking cock; Master C’s cock especially, but pretty much any cock attached to a guy that I find attractive will do.

Assuming however, that for the purposes of this post, I restrict myself purely to the sucking of Master C’s cock (and if I ever had to restrict myself to just one cock, His would definitely be the one I would restrict myself to), then quite clearly, Steak & Blow-Job Day, far from being an annual special occasion, is actually a fairly regular occurrence; essentially any day that I give Master C a blow-job (which could be any day at all) that coincides with one or other of us cooking steak.

Leaving aside the frankly ludicrous notion of only eating a particular cut of meat once a year (seriously?!), the ideal that I would deny myself the pleasure of something that I absolutely love doing, that being sucking Master C’s cock, so that it could become some sort of “special treat” for Him is simply ridiculous. Why would I do that? Why would I deprive Him and, more to the point, me of something that we both enjoy?

Now, I know the whole thing is really a joke but, either you like sucking cock or you don’t.  If you don’t, why should you have to make yourself do it just to please a guy? Similarly, if you do, just get on with it and suck His cock, regardless of what day it is. If steak just happens to also be on the menu, then so be it.

Sometimes, I just need a cuddle

I love the affirmation of feeling Master C’s lovely, thick, hard cock thrusting inside me, filling me until He releases deep inside me. I love the closeness, I love the intimacy, I love the feeling of Master C claiming me and taking me. I love to fuck and I love being fucked, but sometimes all I really need is a cuddle.

This is especially true at the moment. On account of having a filthy cold, I’ve not been feeling particularly carnal, but I have been in need of a lot of cuddles. Fortunately, Master C is an exceptionally good cuddler.

Whether a cuddle leads to a fuck, is the result of a fuck, or is simply just a cuddle, it has the most amazingly restorative effect.

It’s the feeling of security, it’s the feeling of closeness, it’s a connection with the person doing the cuddling. There is an intimacy and a trust inherent in a cuddle; a sense of belonging and a feeling of being wanted.

The intimacy and, for me, the sense of feeling protected is intensified when the cuddling is done without clothes. The feel of Master C’s warm, firm, strong body next to mine gives me a sense of wellbeing. In a way I draw strength from the additional closeness. Feeling the strength but tenderness of His arms holding me, surrounding me, reassures me and makes me feel cherished and wanted.

In its own way, a good cuddle is even more intimate, even closer than sex; and even on those rare occasions when I’m not in the mood for fucking, I’ll never turn down a cuddle.

#Masturbation Monday

x-Box Challenge

So, with the game installed and running on the x-Box, Master C settled back on the sofa, and I took my position kneeling between His legs. The challenge was set. My task, should I choose to accept it, was to suck Master C off as He played. The stakes, a spanking of 6 slaps for each goal He scored before He came.

To be fair, I wasn’t quite sure how to play this one; as much as I love sucking Master C’s cock, I do enjoy a good spanking.

I needed have worried; 30 seconds later, I was already a goal down. The game briefly paused, the slaps duly delivered, 3 to each cheek, and we were off again.

I returned to my task, my determination renewed. As Master C squirmed on the sofa, as much in response to the action on the screen , as to the action going on between His legs, I purposefully set about my task.

Despite a prolonged period of possession on my part, Master C scored again. Once again, my stride was broken as my punishment was duly delivered and sportingly accepted.

From then, I was content to try a holding action, but on the stroke of half-time, Master C netted His third. This time, on account of my sloppy defending,  the slaps were delivered with the paddle rather than His hand and my eyes were beginning to sting as much as my arse cheeks.

The second half got underway with a sustained period of possession and pressure from me. I could tell Master C was finding it harder to concentrate, and that wasn’t the only thing getting harder.

I pressed home my advantage. I could almost taste a breakthrough, but then, from nowhere, Master C slipped past my defence and found the net for a fourth time.


Beaten but not defeated, I started again. Master C was clearly showing the strain as I threw everything at Him, but still He held on. His movement was becoming less controlled. He was clearly struggling to maintain possession and then, finally, I broke through his defences.

His cum flooded my mouth. Thick, hot strings pooled on my tongue as His cock twitched and jerked in my mouth.

Somehow, miraculously, even as Master C scored in my mouth, He managed another goal. The final act of the match would result in me getting my arse tanned for a fifth time; but as I swallowed his load down and braced myself for His lap of honour on my arse, I decided that, on balance, it had been a fair result.

The Oral Sex Project

Coffee and cream

I bring a coffee through from the kitchen and set it down on the small table beside the sofa. “Does Sir’s cock require sucking?” I ask.

It’s a silly question really, I already know the answer. Just because I’m a cock-hungry little slut however, doesn’t mean I don’t observe the little niceties.

Master C nods and smiles. His hands move to undo his jeans.

I push them away. “No, let me,” I say as I kneel between his legs, “just sit back and enjoy.”

I unzip his jeans and reach inside. His cock is delightfully hard and it twitches in response to my touch.

I ease it from its confinement and pause to appreciate it. Long, thick, hard, with an oh so familiar pattern of veins. I stroke it gently. “I love your cock,” I say, and it’s true; those lovely inches of hardness have given me so much pleasure in our time together.

I kiss the tip. I work my lips around the head. I kiss my way down His shaft before licking it all over. I look up, catch His eye and smile before slowly taking Him into my mouth.

Master C moans; a long, deep moan that tells me more than words how much He enjoys the attention of my mouth.

Slowly, I slide my lips down, taking Him deep into my mouth, inch by marvellous inch until I bury my nose in His short clipped pubic hair. I swallow with the head lodged in the back of my throat and I am rewarded with another groan.

I start to move my head up and down, keeping a steady suction as my lips travel up and down the length of Master C‘s cock. I reach the top, I swirl my tongue around the head before working my way down to the base again.

I love the way the head of His cock moves against the roof of my mouth and presses into my throat. I love the way the thick vein on the underside feels against my tongue. I love the way His cock twitches and throbs inside my mouth. Above all, I love the noises and the involuntary movements Master C makes as my mouth works its magic and the sensations take over.

I build up the speed of my movement. I feel a hand rest on the back of my head; passive for know, but I know that will change.

His fingers begin to twine in my hair, His hips begin to rock; imperceptibly at first but becoming increasingly pronounced.

I suck harder. Master C begins to push my head down as the thrusting of His hips drives His cock into my mouth. I choke a little as I adjust to His increasingly urgent participation.

Both hands now hold my head. He begins to fuck my mouth; stabbing his cock between my lips.

His moans become louder, but more irregular. The first beads of pre-cum leak on to my tongue.

“Suck… It…Morag… Suck… It… You… Slut!” Master C gasps; each word punctuated by a jubbing thrust, “Suck… My… Fucking… Cock!”

His fingers tighten their grip on my hair. He pulls my head down, forcing me to take every inch of Him. I gasp and splutter, choking around the swollen head as Master C drives it forcefully  into the depths my throat.

He is beyond control. He fucks my mouth as roughly as He would fuck my cunt or arse. My jaw aches as Master C pounds me.

“Get… Ready… Morag… Get… Ready… To… Drink… My… Cum… You… Slut!”

I can feel the tension in His thighs. Master C pulls His cock back until only the head, swollen and angry remains in my mouth.

“Suck it Morag! Oh suck it, my sweet little, cum-hungry slut!”

I suck hard, tonguing the slit at the tip.

“Yes! Oh fuck, Yes! Yes! Oh Morag, YES!” Master C roars as He erupts.

I swallow hard. His hot cum stings the back of my throat. Again and again, jet after lovely, rich, thick jet, His cum fills my mouth. After the initial deluge I let it pool on my toungue, savouring its flavour and texture before sending it on its way.

Finally, I let His cock slip from between my lips. I sit back, look up at Him and smile. In a voice made hoarse from the punishment my throat has received, and at the risk of a spanking I cheekily say, “Don’t forget your coffee, dear.”

  The Oral Sex Project

Meaningless sex?

A very good friend of mine once said:

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she realises that meaningless sex just is no longer enough.

She then went on to follow this up with:

This is quickly followed, however, with the realisation that even meaningless sex is better than none at all.

Now, my friend’s situation was that she was single following an extremely painful break-up and that since the split, the only sex she had had, had been casual encounters, the majority of them one-night stands, where there was no commitment and little or no feelings involved. The sex she was having was, by her own admission, being had pretty much only for the sake of having sex, to scratch an itch, or just simply “keeping her hand in” (although, I suspect, it was actually more to do with giving her hand a rest, but that’s another story…) To her, the sex was meaningless, not because she didn’t enjoy it, because she would be the first to admit that, generally, she did, but because there was a lack of connection with the guys she was having sex with. The truth was, she missed the closeness and connection that she had had with her long-term partner and that the sex she was now having was driven more by hormonal/emotional needs rather than any feeling or desire on her part.

Remembering this discussion when I recently caught up with her again, got me thinking.

In some ways, our situations had a lot in common. Before meeting Master C, I too had experienced a bad break-up and betrayal of trust that, for one reason or another, sent me down a path that involved a lot of casual sex that, by my friend’s definition could be considered “meaningless”. Certainly I attached very little emotional investment in the guys I fucked, even the ones I quite liked and, so, fucked more than once. The quality of the sex varied; from the absolutely awful to the multiple-orgasmicly fantastic; but was it meaningless?

I guess this is where my perspective and that of my friend differ; and the main reason for that is, I suspect, age. My friend was, more or less the same age I am now when she went through this. When My betrayal happened I much younger, having not long graduated. She was already secure in her sexuality and sexual identity; whereas for me, I was still very much at the novelty stage (given most of my early sexual adventures happened while I was at university). As a result, where my friend found the whole experience unsatisfactory, I was, in a way, very much still learning what I liked. Each guy (and girl) that I fucked taught me something new, both about sex, and about myself. For me there was an excitement about each encounter, whereas for my friend, it was just another repetition of the same situation that served only to remind her that she was single and what she wanted most was the companionship of a loving relationship.

In that way, she was, I confess, much more mature than me, but that is understandable. She had had her experimental phase in her teens, met her “ideal” guy at Uni in her early 20s, settled down and was planning a future with him when his betrayal turned her world upside down. In my case, I was still a naïve young woman who was happy to fuck any guy that paid her any sort of attention (“what has changed?”, I hear you ask). That’s not to say I regret my promiscuity, I don’t, it taught me an awful lot about myself and allowed me to hone the skills that Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” now enjoys on a regular basis, but I will admit that I could have been a bit more selective in some of the guys I fucked.

So, for me, casual sex may not have had much meaning to it, but it certainly wasn’t meaningless. Perhaps, in the words of my friend, I hadn’t come to that “time” in my life.

Oh, and before I forget, one other similarity that we share is that, just as I met Master C, she did eventually meet someone with whom the sex clearly did mean something. I say that because she is now happily married and the reason we caught up was that I was a guest at the christening of their second child (whom I managed to give back without dropping). I must, however, point out that as much as I am delighted for her, this did not ignite any feelings of broodiness on my own part.

So can sex ever be meaningless? I guess that really depenmds on the experience and perspective of the person that is having the sex in question.

As for sex and love, well, for me at least, while I enjoy all the sex I have with whomever I have it with, the best sex of all is definitely the sex that I have with Master C, followed closely by the sex I have with both “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”. I will be honest and admit that I do love all three (albeit in very different ways); so I would have to say that, as far as this little slut is concerned, love does make sex better.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday