Waiting


I am on my knees; head downcast, naked, blindfolded, my hands tied securely behind my back. Helpless. Bound. At His mercy.

He has me exactly where, and how, He wants me. I can do nothing but wait for Him to use me as He desires.

The anticipation burns as I wait for Him. I endure His scrutiny; feeling His eyes on me as He slowly walks around me; occasionally filling my ears with the loud snapping crack of His belt.

He examines me. Although I cannot see Him, I can sense how He views me. I yearn for His touch. I hunger for His command; eager to obey His slightest whim.

His silence is agonising. My cunt is hot and wet. I long for Him to acknowledge me, to give me some indication of His desire, His need.

I wait in silence; enduring each second as it ticks by. My legs begin to cramp in the uncomfortable position of my submission to Him.

I wait in silence, as the sound of leather cracking against leather fills my senses.

Discomfort wars with anticipation, pain with arousal. What is His will? What does He require of me?

A shiver runs through me as the belt coils around my neck. It presses my skin as He pulls it tight.

A sharp tug forces me to raise my head.

I become aware of His breathing; rapid, laboured. I can almost feel His pre-climactic tension. Apart from His breathing and the rhythmic beat of His hand stroking His cock, there is silence.

He groans.

His cum strikes my face like a blow from His hand. Hot, rich, sticky; I feel it trickle down my face, warming my skin as moves.

At last, He speaks. “Open your mouth, little one. Taste your reward.”

I comply. His cock fills my mouth. I tighten my lips around Him and savour the taste of His essence.

#WickedWednesday
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Keeping it casual


I have it on the very best authority that we redheaded girls are insatiable, immoral, wanton sluts. Certainly, I will admit that I’ve never had difficulty keeping emotional attachments out of sex. Yes I love the additional element of having sex with someone I love, but I also love the purely physical sensations of a good fuck.

Whilst I can’t say that I’ve never had a “Fuck Buddy”, I definitely have “Friends With Benefits”, friends with whom I have sex with on a fairly regular basis; the most notable being “The Girl” and “The Other Guy“.

These friendships have, so far, lasted several years, so in that respect, they count as long term; and while I have strong bonds with them (some more than others), the only place I seek the emotional, companionable support of a partnership is with Master C.

I enjoy fucking. I enjoying fucking and being fucked by other people. I make no bones about it, I am an insatiable slut. But while I love being with my FwBs for what they do to me and how they make me feel sexually as both a lover/partner and as a woman, the only one I love is Master C; he is the one I simply could not be with out.

Quite simply, as well as being my Master, He is my rock, my soul mate, my world. I maybe an insatiable slut, but I am also an incurably romantic slut. Yes, I “love” my FwBs as friends, but if you took away the sex, they would still, in most cases, be friends. With Master C, there is the full package of intimacy; physical, spiritual, emotional, intellectual and sexual. It is, perhaps, because of this, knowing that I have all this, that I am able to enjoy sex with others without fee of any other entanglement, and just concentrate on enjoying the sex.

As for one-night stands, well, I’ve recounted my experiences of these often enough for it to probably go without saying that these are something else that I enjoy and that, luckily for me, Master C allows me the freedom to enjoy so long as I am prepared to accept the consequences of letting my cunt do my thinking for me.

I am particularly fortunate that I am able to enjoy these side relationships, both with my long-term FwBs and my random one-nighters. I am, however fully aware that I can only have these as added benefits within the context of a strong, fully bound together primary relationship with Master C.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Wet


It’s that moment. He has turned me on. His lips, his tongue, His fingers have all worked their magic. My body is a quivering mass of anticipation. My cunt aches with the need to filled. And then, just then, He touches me; tracing a finger between my labia, feeling my wetness for the first time.

It is a moment that I particularly love; that moment when Master C feels just how wet He has made me; just how ready I am for His cock to fill me.

That first touch can be all that is needed sometimes to set me off, to ignite my orgasm while at the same time wanting so much more.

Spreading me open with His fingers; coating them with my juices. Will He anoint my nipples with my essence? Will He make me taste myself on Him? His fingers in my mouth so close to my nose that I can inhale the scent of my arousal as I lick His fingers clean. Will He drive a finger deep inside me? In that moment, I am helpless, undone, His to do with however He so desires. Will He lick me? Will He fuck me? Will He tease me some more?

It is such a delicious moment; that moment where He discovers just how much He has turned me on, just how much I want and need Him, just how much I hunger to feel his wonderfully hard cock inside me.

And then, that almost agonising moment when His fingers are gone, and the anticipation builds for what He is about to do next.

#WickedWednesday

The photogenic penis and adult contact sites


OK, so I realise this really doesn’t have very much, or possibly even anything to do with the prompt that No Pants Endurance has set, but it’s one of those perennial questions that comes around, so to speak, every now and then. The question that frequently gets asked us girly sex bloggers is if we get sent unsolicited photos of men’s genitalia, and if so, how many. Thankfully, these days, I receive very few; but in my Adult Friend Finder days, I used to receive anything between 5 – 10 a day. Now I’m fine with a bit of penile bombardment, especially when the penis doing the bombarding belongs to Master C or the “Other Guy”, but there are limits.

The pictures I received were all of fine specimens, but having spent a few months on that, and other sites of that ilk, I can see why so many women get turned off by them. I mean, we ladies do like to shop around, and the adult contact site is kind of a guy’s shop window, I get that, but, the truth is, they all look like cocks. It’s a bit like going into Currys or John Lewis and being presented with a wall of washing machines; we know we want one, but can’t tell very much about them based just on what they look like.

Penises come (no pun intended), in a variety of shapes and sizes. Well, that’s not strictly true. They do present themselves in an infinite variety of sizes; from long and thin, to short and thick, from straight to bendy, and everything in between, but by an large, in terms of shape, they are all pretty much, well, you know,cock shaped. They are, it must be said, designed for function rather than aesthetics in my opinion. I’m not knocking cocks, they are often very good at what they do (some better than others, but that’s down to the owner, not the actual cock), but there are, I believe, much nicer bits of a man’s body to look at.

Now, OK, it doesn’t bother me that much. After all, I:

a) Like cocks, well, the way they feel inside me, not so much for their aesthetic value; and

b) Like one cock very much in particular. It’s the one I come home to every night and regularly makes me cum.

But, put yourselves in the women’s shoes for a second (might be a tight squeeze, but the results might be worth it). As I mentioned in a previous post about cock size, there’s only so much you can glean from a photo. You can’t really tell much about its size, you certainly can’t tell anything about the way its owner works it; so what do those pictures tell us?

Well, other than the fact that you have a cock and so, therefore, are definitely a bloke, absolutely nothing. And, given that you are blokes, I can already fairly safely assume that you have a cock, so you’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.

Now, that being the case, how am I, or indeed any woman going to be able to determine anything useful when all we’re being presented with is a picture of a bit that:

a) We already know you have; and

b) If a woman meets you and decides that nothing’s going to happen, she’s never going to see, let alone feel.

I’ll be honest, as I said, I like cocks, but I’ve never yet seen a photo of one (especially a photo that shows nothing but a cock) that’s made me go “WOW!!! I must have that inside me!”. Again, actually, that’s not strictly true, but when Master C or the “Other Guy” sext me with a photo of their cocks, I already know everything about it, and I know I want it in me, but I digress…

In the world of adult contact sites, it’s a buyer’s market as far as we women are concerned given by how much you guys outnumber us, so why not give us something more to look at? It doesn’t have to be a face, but showing us a nice toned body (yes, I am that shallow) might help us. And even if, as I said in my previous post, physical attraction doesn’t guarantee sexual satisfaction, if the attraction isn’t there to start with, then your cock, no matter how nice, probably will never get near us.

Any way, just my thoughts on the subject.

#MasturbationMonday

We don’t have to take our clothes off


Quickies are great; not just because the can be done just about anywhere, whenever the urge takes you, but because they represent an urgency, a desire, a hunger for the other person that can no longer be denied.

I’ll be honest, it doesn’t really take much to get me in the mood for sex. Sure, long, protracted foreplay with lots of kissing, stroking, slowly undressing, licking and sucking before Master C decides which hole He is going to fuck me in (and if I’m specially lucky it’ll be both) is great. Who doesn’t love a seriously intense session like that. But having said that, when the urge takes Him and He orders me to turn around and lift my skirt because He is going to fuck me there and then, will get me wetter than an Autumn day in Scotland faster than I can comply with His demand.

It might be behind the pub after a night out, in the bathroom at a party, even just when Master C gets home from work and I’m in the kitchen; when Master C wants me, He wants me and He is going to have me.

There is no subtlety, not a hint of romance, it is simply a quick, rough, hard, filthy fuck that leaves me feeling used, but oh so happy. This particularly applies to the random guys that I pick up on nights out. It’s not about romance or protracted foreplay; it’s simply about the urge, the need to fuck that both me and they guy I’m fucking are experience. When I’m bracing myself in a doorway as some guy pounds my cunt urgently from behind, there isn’t any time for niceties (sometimes we haven’t even exchanged names), it’s all about the fuck; his cock, my cunt and the urgent rush to climax.

I love the fact that Master C just can’t keep His hands off me and His cock out of me. I love that He and other men just want to take me and use me. I love being a slut. I love that other men treat me as some sort of easy, common slut  and that Master C makes me feel like His special, filthy little slut, to fuck whenever, wherever He desires. It makes me cheap sometimes, it makes me fell dirty, but it always, always makes me feel desired and wanted. Quickies definitely play to this side of my personality.

You really don’t always have to take your clothes off to have a fucking good time.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Misbehaving


When I’m bad, I know there is a very good chance I will feel Master C’s belt. Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I will deliberately misbehave, just so I can feel its kiss on my skin, and the deliciously uncomfortable glow that is its aftermath.

Master C never resorts to the belt without good reason, it is the ultimate punishment. As I’ve mentioned previously, I both fear and love its application.

When His belt lands against my skin, it is a reminder of how naughty I have been. It is a statement of His displeasure and a notice that I must earn forgiveness. Sometimes, earning that forgiveness is even more fun the misbehaviour that earned me the thrashing in the first place.

As with so many things, it is a reminder of my submission to Him; its marks, the badge of His ownership; its pain, a lesson to be learned, an example of His care and guidance.

Long after the belt has done its work, and I have performed whatever acts of contrition were required to atone for my transgression, the warm rosy glow remains. As the marks turn to a deep, angry purple before slowly fading, they become a reminder of both my misdeeds and Master C‘s loving guidance. It is both a symbol of my shame and of my redemption.

I love what Master C‘s belt and its resultant markings mean.

You could say I am a glutton for punishment.

#WickedWednesday

Vicarious Sex


I can’t actually remember the circumstances that led to me discovering my brother’s stash of well thumbed porno mags, but I remember my reaction when I found them. By the standard of what you can find with absolutely no effort online today, they were extremely tame. The few hard-core examples mostly had any actual penetration obscured with coloured ovals. The rest were simply your run of the mill skin mags like Mayfair, Escort, Penthouse and the like. The images in them were almost exactly the same as you would find in issues of the same publications today; only this being the mid 1990s, the girls in them had considerably more pubic hair than their contemporary counterparts. There was never any doubt as to whether the girl in question was a natural blonde or not.

I sat transfixed, slowly turning the pages, marvelling at how sexy and how confident these women were. The comments next to the pictures seemed to emphasise how much they were in control of their sexual desires and appetites. It would be another decade before I would have sex with a woman; I didn’t consider myself to be bisexual then, hell, I wasn’t even sexual back then, but those sexy photos turned me on.

If the images were arousing, I wasn’t at all prepared for the letters. There were descriptions of people fucking, descriptions of guys getting their cocks sucked and eating girls’ cunts out, descriptions of girls getting eaten out and sucking guys cocks, descriptions of orgasms, descriptions of threesomes, orgies, outdoor sex, anal sex, sex, sex and more fucking, hot, wonderfully glorious sex. The words turned me on more than anything I had ever experienced before.

Needless to say, a couple of the magazines were secreted away before I returned the box to its hiding place. Once I’d exhausted a particular batch of “contraband” I’d return them and borrow another couple, slowly working my way through his entire collection which, I discovered, much to my delight, was frequently being added to.

As I’ve mentioned before, when I first discovered my brother’s illicit treasure trove, I had yet to discover the joys of wanking. Reading all those marvellously filthy words turned me on immensely, yet frustrated me almost in equal measure. Wanking, and in particular, girls wanking seemed to be the one thing those letters omitted. I wasn’t even aware that girls could wank, let alone have any inkling as to the mechanics of how it could be done.

When, at last, I’d made that particular discovery, the magazines took on a whole new resonance; they became the fuel for my fantasies. I would lie in bed, fingering myself into a frenzy, imagining I was one of those wantonly liberated women who fucked, and licked and sucked any cock that took my fancy. In the safety of my bedroom, with the door firmly locked, I practiced the erotic poses of the girls in the pictures in front of the mirror. As I grew bolder, I would wank myself, watching my reflection, learning how my body responded to arousal, slightly amused and slightly horrified by my facial expressions as I came.

Those magazines taught me that there was no shame to be derived from being a woman that enjoyed sex and being confident in her sexual identity. In the three years it took me between sucking my first cock and finally losing my virginity, I fucked vicariously through those beautifully vivid and deliciously filthy descriptions of sex.

To this day, I still don’t know if my brother was aware he wasn’t the only one in our house getting off to those magazines.

#MasturbationMonday

A darker shade of subspace


It’s a wee bit bizarre, but I go through spells where my tastes and desires become increasingly dark. I have always had a penchant for roughness. I have always desired to feel used. Such things are not new to me. Sometimes, however, I want it rougher, darker. So much so that the intensity and level to which I want, no, need to be treated in this way becomes almost frightening.

I love when Master C pulls my hair. I love when Master C starves me of air, either forcing His cock down my throat or squeezing my neck with His strong hands; or, better still, both together. Usually this is something that I do because I enjoy it. Sometimes, however, it is something that I actively crave.

I have pretty much always identified as submissive. Subjecting myself to Master C’s will is central to who I am. I accept His support, His tutelage, as much as I recognise His right discipline me when I transgress. I place myself fully in His hands. He is my rock and my teacher as much as He is My Master.

It goes without saying that I trust Him; not just with my life,  but my needs and desires, especially in those times when they turn so much darker. I need Master C to take me to that edge of reality. I yearn to feel His hands tighten around my neck as He fucks my throat. I desire to have Him gather a handful of my hair and tug my head sharply back, bending my neck to its limits as he takes me from behind. I need Him to slap me harder, to thrash me with more and harder lashes of his belt. I want tears. I want Him to command me and use me. I want Him to own me, to take me, to have me anywhere, anyhow He wants me.

Basically, I want to be His filthy, devoted slut and for Master C to call me His “good girl”.

It’s possibly hormone related, but subspace definitely reaches totally different planes of intensity sometimes.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Quality, not quantity…


I am a big fan of cocks. I have been intimately acquainted with a fair number of them over the years. Long ones, short ones, thick ones, thin ones, straight ones, bendy ones; all shapes and sizes. The one thing I have discovered is that the size of the package has no bearing at all on the proficiency with which it is used. If anything, the reverse seems more likely to be true; in that guys with larger cocks have a tendency to rely on the size of what they have, thinking that that alone will satisfy us.

Now, I realise that is a gross generalisation, and I have known a few guys with bigger than average penises to be very proficient in the way they have used them but, experience has shown that I’m more likely to be disappointed with an above average partner than with one who is less “heroically” endowed.

The thing is though, much as I love cock (which is lots), and much as I love feeling myself being filled by one, unless all I really want is a thorough fucking, what a guy does to me with his cock is only part of the story. I want a guy to turn me on with his hands, I want him to tease me with his fingers, I want his lips to explore me, I want his tongue to drive me wild, and I want his cock to take me over the edge.

Call me greedy, but I want a guy to do all those things to me and more. Yes, I love his cock, but it’s not all about the cock (except sometimes when it is).

I used to laugh at some of the profiles on sites like fabswingers, where the woman stated she only wanted to meet Very Well Endowed men with at least 8″. I mean, do these women actually take tape measures to bed with them? Do they actually require evidence before they will meet someone. Will they actually pass someone up just because they only measure 7.9″, like that 0.1″ is actually going to make any difference? Don’t get me wrong, I like to feel as full as the next woman but, unless someone is at the extreme of either end of the penile length/girth spectrum, once it’s inside me, I couldn’t honestly tell you how long/thick it is.

Like a lot of women, it seems that if I have a size related preference, it’s for thicker rather than longer, but since I’ve never had a penis that didn’t stretch me in some way as it entered me, I’ve never had an experience where the guy wasn’t “thick enough”.

Essentially, I want to feel nicely full whichever hole his cock is in. Ideally, it should be long enough to fill the back of my throat, but not so long that it bruises my cervix. In terms of thickness, I want to feel stretched, but not as if I’m being split in two or having my jaw dislocated (I am not a python after all).

Mostly though, I want a guy who knows how to turn me on, how to use my body for his pleasure and to give me pleasure. He has to be able to use his cock, whatever size it is, and he needs to be able to use it in conjunction with his fingers, hands, lips and tongue. If, like Master C does, he can turn me into a gibbering, trembling, orgasmic wreck before his cock gets anywhere near being inside me, then frankly I won’t have a care in the world.

#WickedWednesday

Hunger


Sometimes I have a certain hunger, a hunger for Master C’s cock in my mouth.

I want to use my lips to make Him hard.

I want to feel my lips slide along His length.

I want to feel the head of His cock lodge in the back of my throat.

I want to hears His moans and sighs as I drive Him closer.

I want to feel his cock twitch as His climax approaches.

I want to feel His cock erupt, filling my mouth with His cum.

I want to savour the rich flavour of His cum on my tongue before swallowing it down.

I want to sit back, lick my lips and await His approval.

I want to hear him say “Good little slut” as his breathing slowly returns to normal.

#MasturbationMonday The Oral Sex Project