Let’s be honest, there are times when our body lets us down; we’re tired, stressed, or, God forbid, just not really in the mood for sex. Yes, I know it may come as a shock, but even the most insatiable sluts sometimes have their off days.
Of course, just because we aren’t really up for getting down, it doesn’t mean we can’t still give Him a good time.
The good old hand-job often seems like a neglected act in a couple’s sexual repertoire, which is strange given that, if you are like me, it was probably the first overtly sexual act that a lot of us women (or girls as we were back then) ever performed on a guy. Long, long before I lost my virginity, and before I became the cock-sucking addict that I am, I loved stroking guy’s cocks. I loved making the guy I was with hard, making him lose control, and eventually firing off a load. It was such a hot experience just knowing that I could do that to a guy and, even though I moved on to “bigger and better” things, it’s still something I love to do.
I’ve said before how much I enjoy being responsible for getting a guy hard. There are times, either as a result of one or more of the reasons listed above, or simply because I want to do something nice for Master C, when I will fall back on this most wonderfully simple method of pleasing Him. There is something extremely gratifying knowing that what I am doing the cause of that reaction as His cock responds to my touch; getting longer, thicker, stiffer. I love how Master C reacts when I touch Him in different ways; stroking His shaft, teasing the tip, playing with His balls, running my fingertip over His frenulum. Each touch elicits its own response. The sigh, the moan, the involuntary flinch, the sharp intake of breath.
As I lie beside Him, my hand sliding up and down His shaft, I love to feel the tension in His body build as His pleasure increases.
Again, as a submissive woman, I love the reversal of control. I can decide how much to tease, I can decide when to let Master C come. I can speed up, slow down, I can change the pressure of my grip, concentrate on another area. Each action of mine has its corresponding reaction. The laws of physics apply to sex every but as much as they do everywhere else.
Sometimes, as I stroke those lovely, hard, proud inches of flesh, I like to tell Master C naughty stories; encounters from my past, trysts with other men or women, things I want Him to do to me, things that remind Him of what an insatiable filthy little slut I am. I know the effect this has on Master C; I know how much my words turn Him on.
As His climax nears, I love the way His cock swells and pulses in my hand. I love the way His lower abdomen tightens. I love the way His breathing strains as Master C does everything He can to delay the inevitable.
Where should He come? For once, the choice is mine. Do I let Him fire his load into the air, letting it fall where ever it lands? Do I aim His cock so that His eruption lands on my skin, allowing me to more fully savour His moment of release? Do I move, place the tip of His lovely straining cock at my lips so Master C can fill my mouth with His rich, creamy essence?
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; I go with what feels right at the time. The important thing is not the manner of His final explosion, only that I have brought Master C there; pleasured Him, served Him. His release is my reward and when Master C moans my name, when the pent-up tension drains from His body, when He gathers me to Him and holds me in His strong arms and calls me His “good girl”, I know Master C is pleased with me, and that’s what it was all about.