I love my toys. I have quite a collection.
I have my Doxy massager for when I want to go from 0 – Screaming Orgasm in under 10 seconds. I have my wonderful ben-wa balls that give me such delicious sensations (particularly when I’m in the gym). I have my discreet little “lipstick” vibrator that goes with me wherever I go, just in case. Master C has all sorts of bindings and restraints that he uses on me, and all sorts of implements that can be used for my chastisement depending on the seriousness of any given transgression.
My absolute favourite, number one sex toy if you can call it that) is, however, Master C’s cock.
I absolutely love the things it does to me. I love the way it feels in my hand, mouth, arse or cunt. I love the sensations of being stretched and filled by it. I love how it throbs and pulses and jerks when I touch it. Most of all, I love it because it’s attached to a big, strong, hairy man who knows exactly which buttons to push to give me (and in some cases, deny me) the most thunderous, toe-curling orgasms imaginable. I also have a very big thing for the lovely, hot, sticky substance it produces.
Now, please don’t think I am knocking sex toys. Dear only knows how many I’ve owned since I bought my first vibrator, twenty odd years ago. I have spent many, many pleasurable hours in the company of my toys and they have given me many, many wonderful orgasms. If I’m being honest, my toys have accounted for more orgasms than my human lovers. Nothing, however beats the attentions of a partner who is so fully attuned to your body, its desires and needs.
My Doxy may be able to turn me into a screaming, shuddering mess in less time than it has taken me to write this post, but it won’t cuddle me and hold me close after it has made me cum. Nor will it bring me a cup of coffee afterwards.
So toys, yeah, I love them, they bring me unmentionable amounts of pleasure; but for the full, all senses engaged, every nerve ending tingling experience, it has to be Master C and his wonderful cock.