Playing your best hand


If I’m being honest, nothing beats a good, hard, satisfying shag, except a good, hard, satisfying shag that results in a toe-curling orgasm or two. Of course, sometimes a fuck doesn’t result in an orgasm, toe-curling or otherwise, and sometimes we get urges when our partner isn’t there to give us the seeing-to we crave. Sometimes we just have to take ourselves in hand.

When we first discover the joys of wanking, in my case I was 12, there was a furtive, guilty feeling about it that, for me anyway, heightened the pleasure. There was something intensely arousing about furiously fingering my cunt and rubbing my clit, trying desperately to keep quiet so that my parents or siblings didn’t hear me through the seemingly paper thin walls that served only to intensify the power of my orgasm when it took me. I can’t remember how many times I had to feign a bout of coughing to disguise an orgasmic moan that escaped from between my teenage lips.

Whereas, back then, wanking was a guilty secret, shared only with my very best friends, today I’m much more relaxed and open about these things. Let’s make no mistake, I am out and proud: I AM A HIGHLY-SEXED WOMAN AND I AM UNASHAMEDLY PROUD TO BE A WANKER.

Whether you use your fingers or toys or both, whether wanking is a solo activity or something you share with your partner, wanking yourself to an orgasm is one of life’s great pleasures.

I’ve wanked when I’ve been single, I’ve wanked when I’ve been in a relationship. Now that I’m Master C’s slut and can feel His cock in my cunt, mouth or arse pretty much any time I want, and certainly whenever He wants, wanking is still a hugely important part of my life. Usually I’ll wank when Master C isn’t around, often we will wank together, watching each other as we each pleasure ourselves, which is something I find highly arousing. Sometimes I’ll wank Him as He wanks me; me stroking His cock as He fingers my cunt; wanking each other off, playing with each other until first one, then both of us cum.

Orgasms are the most wonderful sensation we experience, whether they are caused by a partner, or they are brought about by ourselves. Sometimes, for us girls at least, wanking is a more reliable source of orgasm than fucking, so when the need arises, relax, settle back comfortably, stick your hand down you knickers and rub one out. You know it makes sense.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday
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Punishment fucks


One of the reasons I enjoy being such a bad girl is that I love being punished. There’s something about the prospect of getting my arse well and truly paddled until the tears flow from my eyes, followed by a brutal, merciless fuck.

Fortunately for me, Master C is always ready to chastise me for my misdeeds. If I’m being brutally honest, I regularly give Him reasons for disciplining me.

Of course, the most severe, and of course deserving, punishment comes from those times that I am “unfaithful” to Him with “The Girl ” or one of my other girlfriends.

Being unable to lie to Master C, I automatically have to admit to these indiscretions, knowing full well that I will be deservedly punished for them.

Usually, I am ordered to strip, to stand there naked and vulnerable as Master C interrogates me thoroughly; gleaning ever last sordid detail of my illicit encounter. As I recount my guilt, He gives no indication of what my punishment will be. Will He let me off with nothing more than sound spanking? Will He use the the paddle with its grooves that bite into my flesh? Or will He decide that my guilt deserves nothing less than the biting kiss of His belt? There is no way of knowing until I have fully admitted my guilt. Because I’m such a depraved little slut, the very uncertainty around my punishment makes my cunt tingle.

When I have fully unburdoned, I take my position, bent over the arm of the sofa and I bite my trembling lower lip in anticipation of what is to come next.

A spanking, a paddling or a thrashing, it ultimately makes no difference. Sometimes Master C will make me count out the strokes as my arse cheeks redden and sting and tears begin to well in my eyes.

Each slap, each stroke hurts more than the last, my sobs become increasingly pain filled, my cunt grows increasingly wet.

Eventually He stops, but the punishment has not finished. Master C begins to fuck me. There is no foreplay. There is no need, my cunt is already soaked. The is no tenderness; Master C simply grabs my hips and fucks me at full force.

As He fucks me, rough and hard, Master C pulls my hair and reminds me that “The Girl” couldn’t give me what He’s giving me now; how she can’t give me a cock, she can’t fuck me, she can’t abuse my cunt or arse the way He is doing.

Of course, Master C is right; my girlfriends can’t fuck me the way He does, they can’t use my body like He does, they have no cock to fill me, stretch me, abuse me with. And, as Master C punishes me, I become grateful for His reminders, I am grateful for His cock, I am grateful that His punishment has made me realise I need a man, I need Him, to fuck me.

Suddenly His cock is withdrawn. Feeling painfully abused and empty, I kneel on the floor before him to await my final humiliation.

“Have you learned your lesson, slut?” Master C demands, slapping my face firmly, yet tenderly with His hand.

“Yes,” I sob, my eyes filled with tears once more.

Master C doesn’t ask me if this is the last time I will stray with a woman, we both know I will; to suggest otherwise would be a lie and we both know it. Instead He strokes His cock, His breathing becomes laboured until finally He erupts, covering my face in a thick load of cum.

Sitting down, Master C watches me as I gather as much of His cum as I can with my fingers before licking them clean.

As I kneel there before Him, punished, abused and humiliated, Master C smiles and gently pats the cushion beside Him, inviting me next to Him.

As I snuggle, still naked, against Him, Master C puts His arm around me and holds me tight and I know I am forgiven, until the next time.

All relationships have their “traditions”; the unburdening of my various transgressions and accepting the appropriate punishment for them is very much one of the central traditions of ours.

#WickedWednesday

Shocks and surprises


The first time I encountered a blow-job face to face, as it were, was an eye-opener to say the least. I’d heard of such things of course but, frankly, to my then 14 year old mind, it seemed positively disgusting and I was certain that nobody I knew would ever do anything like that. I was, of course, wrong; totally wrong; and the manner in which I discovered how wrong I was made it even more shocking.

I hadn’t meant to pry. In fact, I hadn’t even been aware that my sister was in the house, let alone that she had company. My honest and simple intention had been to retrieve a CD that she had ‘borrowed’ from me a couple of weeks earlier and which I now wanted back.

In their defence, they were being very quiet. Apparently they had thought that so long as they didn’t make any noise, then I’d never notice them over the noise of the music I was playing. Well, they were almost right, I guess…

I didn’t actually go into her room. They had kept the door open just a little in the hope that they might hear any approaching interruption (i.e. me, or perhaps mum coming home). However, it seems that their precautions were totally inadequate.

My sister, you see, had a big, full length mirror on her bedroom wall quite close to the door. All I did was push the door open just the tiniest bit more than it already was and I was confronted with the image of my sister, sans top, sliding her lips up and down her then boyfriend’s cock.

Now, if this were some porn story, I’d now regale you with how I stood there transfixed, touching myself and getting all turned on until I betrayed my presence with an orgasmic moan. The truth is, however, that as soon as I recovered from the shock, I beat a hasty, albeit quiet, exit; my CD totally forgotten.

Thinking about it afterwards, I still couldn’t believe that I’d seen my goody-goody older (by just under 3 years) sister do something that to me, still, seemed disgusting.

At the first opportunity, I discussed it with one of my closest girlfriends. I had expected her reaction to by somewhat akin to mine (although with hindsight, I don’t know why I thought that); so I was completely shocked, again, when she just laughed and informed me that “in her experience” it drove guys wild and that she loved it when they couldn’t control themselves any more. The only downside, apparently, was that cum made a mess of your clothes if you weren’t ‘careful’. That was her euphemism for ‘taking it all in your mouth’. She even went so far as to suggest I should try it to give my then boyfriend a treat.

I had been seeing my boyfriend for about 6 months. I’d had other ‘boyfriends’ before him but he was the first one with whom I had ever got past the kissing stage. Not that we’d gone much further. I had got to the stage where I was comfortable with him putting his hand up my top to play with my boobs (and I’ll admit that got me pretty wet) and I’d very recently moved from rubbing his cock through his jeans to actually slipping my hand down inside and actually feeling it in the flesh (although I hadn’t actually seen it at this point…). I had, however, never considered putting his cock in my mouth. Now though, having seen my sister do just that to her boyfriend, and had my best friend just tell me how much she enjoyed sucking cocks (note the plural – and I know for a fact she wasn’t exaggerating), I somewhat unexpectedly found myself warming to the idea.

It didn’t happen immediately. It was another two weeks before I actually plucked up the courage. It was his 15th birthday and I had my fingers around his cock while giving him a very intense birthday snog when I asked him if he’d like an ‘extra special present’.

I’d never seen an erect cock before. Well, not up close and personal (the reflection of the bit of my sister’s boyfriend’s cock that wasn’t in her mouth doesn’t count). To my untrained eye it seemed huge (actually, as it turned out, he was a little bigger than average) and I was a little intimidated by it and, to be completely honest, I didn’t have a clue what exactly I was supposed to do but, after giving it a few mote strokes, I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and took the head between my lips.

That was pretty much all it took. I just about had time to get used to the idea of his cock being in my mouth when I was choking and spluttering, trying to deal with my first mouthful of cum. And, my friend had been right, it did make a mess of my blouse (she had neglected to make any mention of the actual taste!). I was, however deeply turned-on at the thought that I had caused this reaction, that my mouth had caused him to lose control and shoot his load into it. I just wish I’d had a little longer to savour the experience and that he’d given me at least some warning of his impending eruption.

Needless to say, the blow-job became a regular part of our activities after that and, as well as me getting better at it, and him learning to enjoy it for longer, we quickly moved on to him going down on me too (although it would be another 3 or 4 months before I let him shag me for the first time) All in all, I actually had a lot to be grateful to my big sister for, not that she knew it.

Incidentally, I mentioned my ‘interruption’ to her not that long ago, hence why I know the details of their attempt to avoid discovery, and she confirmed that they had been completely oblivious to the fact. Not only that, but if I’d been a few minutes later, she’d have been riding his cock and not sucking it. I don’t know if that would have shocked the 14 year old me even more…

Virtuoso performance


I love the feeling as Master C runs His fingers up the insides of my thighs. Teasing me; never quite touching the lips of my cunt, always pulling away at the very last instant.  The teasing is a delicious form of torture; I want Master C to touch me there; to feel my warmth, my wetness. I want to feel His fingers inside me, pumping in and out and twisting around.

The approach…

The retreat…

His fingers caress my skin like those of concert pianist stroking the ivory keys in front of Him.

Each time it drives me crazy. Each time it makes me that little bit more hungry, more desperate for that most intimate of touches. Each time I think He can’t possibly tease me any more, but He does.

And then I gasp, and quiver, as a finger brushes lightly against my folds. My legs part a little more, allowing Him more access should He require it.

A little more pressure, a slightly firmer touch; my lower lips part and my juices flow. My clit pulses as Master C presses his thumb to it and then, oh… oh! That moment when He slowly inserts the tip of his finger.

My body is a finely tuned instrument that Master C plays with an easy virtuosity that comes from knowing just which keys to press.

In He pushes, deeper and deeper. He pulls right back and I feel a second join it, stretching me as they work their way in. My cunt grips them tight as they begin to pump in and out. I squeeze my nipples as His fingers work their magic on my cunt. My moans, a counterpoint harmony to the soft sounds of His fingers playing my cunt.

What’s this? A third? I try to relax as Master C works another digit inside me. His thick, strong fingers open me up wide as He pushes them deep inside me.

He pushes in harder, He pushes in deeper; I tug hard on my nipples as He fucks me with his fingers. My moans become cries; a chorus that He is conducting.

And now a fourth squeezes inside me. Only his thumb remains outside to tease my clit.

Harder… Deeper… Rougher… It feels so good.

My orgasm builds with in me. My cunt spasms around His fingers. My cunt throbs under His thumb.

My back arches. I throw my head back and moan as the sensations consume me, claim me, hold me. My climax, a crescendo that demonstrates the skill with which He performs His art.

Again… Again… How much more can my poor cunt take?

And then he is gone. He touches his fingers to my lips, and I taste myself on his fingers.

A pause… Silence… The first movement is over, the second is yet to begin…

 

#WickedWednesday

Inappropriate sex


When you’re an insatiable little slut like me, sometimes you get craving for cock in the most inappropriate situations. For example, when you’re surrounded by family and friends, at your parent’s place, celebrating their wedding anniversary.

In my defence, I’d had a few drinks and Master C was, well He was as deliciously fuckable as Master C always is. It was the combination of the drink and the utter inappropriate circumstances that made it so exciting.

It had started off with me being the dutiful Auntie Morag, going upstairs to read my nephews and niece a bedtime story.

Having done my duty, I stopped in in my old room. I felt a wave of nostalgia for all the times I and whatever partner I had been with at the time had fooled around in that very room before I’d moved out and got my own flat.

I sent Master C a text: “My old room. I need fucked.”

Under the pretext that His services were also required, Master C quickly joined me. I kissed Him hard, urgently. I led Him over to my old bed, bent over, hitched up my skirt and braced myself. “Fuck me!” I demanded in an urgent whisper.

Seconds later, Master C was inside me, gripping my hips as He fucked me, hard, rough and fast.

It felt so good, so naughty; having Him fucking me while downstairs my parents and siblings, other members my family and their friends were drinking and chatting and generally being totally unaware of what was happening just a few feet above them.

It didn’t last long, in truth I didn’t need it to; just having Master C‘s wonderful thick cock inside me, fucking me, filling me, pounding me hard, was all I needed. It felt good. It felt deliciously wrong. I came hard with His cock deep inside me.

I dropped to my knees, turned around and took His cock in my mouth. A few seconds of sucking as my fingers stroked His cock and it was all over. Master C shot His load into my mouth and gulped it down hungrily.

The whole episode couldn’t have lasted more than 10 minutes but it was deeply satisfying. Master C went downstairs and re-joined the others while I made a sidetrip to the bathroom to make sure there was no obvious evidence of what I’d just been up to.

My cheeks were a little flushed as I rejoined the festivities but only Master C and I knew it wasn’t just because of the wine.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

I flirt, therefore I am…


I am a flirt, I make no apologies for it; I always have been and (hopefully) I always will be. One of the reasons I have this blog is to allow my flirtiness free reign.

I do occasionally get asked why, if I’m so ridiculously in love with Master C, do I feel the need to behave in such a brazen fashion and how does He feel about it? The truth is, I just just enjoy the (usually) harmless attention that it gets me. Yes, I’m totally and hopelessly devoted to my wonderful Master, but I get a buzz from the fact that, despite being well and truly taken, men (and women) find me attractive in a sexual way. As for Master C, not only does He not mind, He openly encourages me. For Him, it’s almost an ego thing; others may fancy me, but He is the one that has me. It also means that on those occasions where I succumb to another man’s flirtation, I will pay the consequences of my actions and feel the kiss of Master C‘s belt.

I know not everyone will agree with me, and some people will probably see some dark secret desires or denied relationship dissatisfaction in my actions, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s part of our bond, it all comes down to mutual respect and trust; we are together but neither of us dictates what the other can and can’t do. I am free to do what I please and with whomever I please so long as I am willing to take responsibility for and bear the consequences for my actions.

I get a buzz out of it. What woman (or man) doesn’t want to feel desired and wanted? I enjoy the attention, and I enjoy it for the harmless fun that it is. I enjoy the thrill of being “seduced” by someone who takes my fancy and letting the attraction run its natural course. It’s a part of who I am, a part of the person that Master C nurtures, cherishes and loves, and I’m not going to change; if I did, I wouldn’t be the same person any more.

Judge me if you will, agree or disagree as you see fit, play along or walk on past. What matters is that I am Master C‘s slut and He loves and respects me for who I am, and the same is true in reverse.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Thoughts of summer sun


As the winter has dragged on interminably and the daily temperatures have struggled recently to make it above 0℃, my thoughts have been turning to warmer, sunnier climes.

I love feeling the heat of the summer’s sun on my body. As a child, and until she passed away a little over ten years ago, a large part of my summer’s were spent with my cousins at my Nonna Serena’s villa in the outskirts of San Cataldo in the heel of Italy. When the cold Scottish winters bite, I often dream that I’m back there, lying about in the sun, walking in the shade of the market stalls or swimming naked in the clear blue Adriatic sea.

I love feeling the warmth of the sun all over my body as its heat sinks into my skin. I love the comfort of being naked in the heat of the sun, with the gentle breeze from the sea keeping me cool.  I love to have the water lap against me, the ripples stimulating my nipples and labia as I swim.

Even when circumstances dictate that need to be more modestly attired, there is, however, one item of clothing whose services I am willing to dispense with when the temperature soars, and that is my knickers.

Now, some would say I’m willing to dispense with them pretty much any time, and that is, of course, very true. When the sun beats down, however, going “commando” beneath a light summer skirt or dress is a simple pleasure that I will avail myself of at every opportunity. There’s something about the feeling that I find delightfully refreshing, and it’s so much more comfortable too.

And while I’m sitting there in a café or bar, demurely sipping an espresso, it gives me so many opportunities to surreptitiously flash my cunt at any good looking guy who takes my fancy, and of coarse, earn myself a thrashing from Master C‘s belt for being such a shameless, cock-teasing slut.

 Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

First fuck politics


First times can be tricky things sometimes.

Sometimes they can be pretty straightforward; the drunken, random, don’t ask their name, don’t tell them yours one-nighter. Yes, I’ll admit that I’ve had my share of these. In this situation, it’s basically just a fuck, it’s what both parties want. There’s no “getting to know you”, there’s not even the slightest consideration that this might become a “thing”; it’s simply just fucking as an elaborate form of masturbation, with little or no consideration for the other party. To be honest, in the grand scheme of things, they don’t really even qualify as “first times” as there’s very little chance of them ever being repeated.

No, the first times I mean are the “date” types.

There’s the whole fuck on the first date, or wait dilemma. If I fuck him on the first date, will he think I’m cheap/easy/a slut? If I wait until the second or third date before fucking him, only for the sex to be crap, have I wasted my time when I could have fucked him on the first date and moved on?

There are no right or wrong answers to this.

Yes, I have fucked on the first date and yes, sometimes I have waited. There have been good and bad experiences in both situations.

In the case of Master C and me, it’s fair to say that we didn’t date until after the fourth or fifth fuck.

The sexual politics and double-standards can be a bit of a minefield though.

Sometimes, you just know, even on the first date, sometimes right at the point of meeting them, that the night is going to end up in bed. The chemistry is there, the spark, the lust, it just all clicks into place and by the time the meal/drink/film/welcoming kiss is over, all both of you want to do is tear each other’s clothes off and get down to it. If that happens, great. If the sex is even half way good and the guy isn’t a total out-for-himself bastard, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll do it again. If it later transpires that despite the quality of the fucking, the rest of the relationship is non-existent, you can move on and at least you’ve had some fun along the way.

Similarly, sometimes it pays to go a bit more slowly. You may like him but he doesn’t quite excite you. You try a few more times and you either decide to fuck him or fuck off. I will admit to the fact that there have been occasions when I’ve fucked him and that has been what has finally decided me to fuck off, but that’s a different issue.

The truth is though, there is no “right” time to fuck somebody for the first time other than, possibly, if it feels right, then do it.

The other dilemma, having had that first fuck, is do you want to have a second? That is one that only you can decide. First fucks are rarely mind-blowingly great, but there is usually enough indication as to whether or not repeated practice would make it worthwhile. If you’ve unleashed your world class blow-job skills on him, and he’s reciprocated by giving your clit a perfunctory and obligatory flick of his tongue before climbing aboard and giving your cunt a two minute pounding before rolling off and starting to snore, then the chances are, you’re probably not going to give him another chance; but what if the reason he came so quickly was that you were just a little too enthusiastic with your sucking, leaving him no hope of lasting? Maybe a second try once he’s got his breath back?

Your instinct is probably your only real guide; only you can decide how much pleasure giving potential he has. Ultimately though, sometimes a girl just has to move on and prepare herself for her next first time.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Body image and nudity


I like my bum. Sadly for it, in terms of the attention it gets from oglers, it is most definitely overshadowed (not literally, obviously; that would be freaky) by my boobs. Now, as it happens, I like my boobs too most of the time, but I happen to think my bum is my best feature and it gets somewhat neglected in the getting checked out stakes.

For everyone, especially us women, body image is a very complicated and very personal thing. I am quite fortunate that I happen to like (most of) my body. My face is nothing special (yet another reason for not showing it) and I hate my feet. As for the rest, it’s pretty much how I like it. OK, so it’s size and shape changes from time to time, but it’s been pretty much constant since I was about 16/17.

That’s not to say I’ve always been as self-confident. My boobs in particular caused me a lot of grief in my early teens.

As I’ve mentioned to the point of nausea, I went to an all girls school. I was also quite an early developer on the boob front. As such I got quite a lot of teasing from my still flat-chested classmates. You might have thought that this would have lessened as their own boobs sprouted but alas no. Mine, having had a head start, stayed pretty much out in front on account of their size. Being a 32D at the age of 13 is not the blessing you may think it is, although my boobs did get me noticed by boys, which of course just added to the torment I received from my peer group. I was still in my first year of secondary school when someone first came up with the nickname, Morag McNipples (it being a supposedly clever play on my actual surname), and it was to follow me throughout my school days.

Of course, the only people who ever saw me naked in those days were the same sneering classmates in the showers and changing rooms after PE at school, and , of course, “The Girl”.

The change in my attitude to myself came, quite naturally I guess, as I began to become sexually active. The first time I got naked in front of a guy was nervewracking, but in actual fact, I guess I needn’t have worried; I don’t think he actually took his eyes off my boobs the whole time after my bra came off. We didn’t have sex that time, but we did spend ages lying naked together, exploring each other with out fingers and, I think, during the course of the afternoon, he had complimented every inch of me (but my boobs were definitely his favourite bits).

Allowing men, and women to see me naked taught me to look at my body in a different light. I was (and still am) to a certain extent slightly self-concious about my ladybumps, but I have come to love them almost as much as any other part of me.

Going abroad on holiday in my early teens was always a bit traumatic. My mum has (and possibly still does for all I know) never had any issue with sunbathing topless. She even refused to cover up when her offspring were going through that awkward stage. I was 15 when I first decided to brave discarding my bikini top. I was quite envious of all these other women (my mum excepted) being brave enough to bare their boobs and enjoy the freedom of the sun and the sea on their skin.

My sister (who is almost two years older than me) and I decided to leave the family group and set off further along the beach. Once we were certain we were far enough to be out of view, and with a lot of nervous giggling and a few false starts, we eventually plucked up the courage to discard our tops. I think I was slightly disappointed at the lack of any reaction when there I was, my boobs out in public for the first time, and no one paid a damned bit of notice. Of course, what were two (or four if you count my sister’s) more boobs on a beach where you could see countless pairs of them in any direction?

Going swimming topless for the first time was exhilarating. The contrast of the heat of the sun and the coolness of the water made my nipples stand out, and feeling the waves splash against them sent almost orgasmic like shivers through them.

Except for those parts of the world where it’s required, I’ve never worn a bikini top abroad since, although it took a couple of further holidays before I was comfortable getting them out with my mum and dad present.

Nude sunbathing was something I tried for the first time when I went on an all girls holiday just after finishing school. If you’ve ever been to the Greek Island of Corfu, you may know that on the northwest corner there is a lovely beach just to the north of the village of Arillas. The beach, set against the backdrop of imposing clay cliffs has some of the clearest blue waters off any of the Greek islands. It is also a beach where not only is nudism tolerated, it is, as we discovered, almost expected. Being already completely comfortable with being topless, and seeing all the carefree nudity around me, it didn’t require much persuasion for me to go the whole way and discard the bottoms too.

The thing I discovered very quickly is that nudity, when it is all around, is not sexy nor is it arousing, it is simply nudity. I saw bodies of all shapes, colours, ages and sizes and no one seemed to be either attracted or repulsed by it; it was simply perfectly acceptable. It was also, I discovered, a hell of a lot more comfortable than having soggy, hot, uncomfortable bikini bottoms clinging to you after you’d been for a swim too.

For me, I think, despite never really having any serious body images, that week of just lying in the sun with other naked people lying all around me, just going about and minding their own business, transformed the way I thought about my body and myself. It certainly taught me that I needn’t have hang-ups displaying it and, if a guy was willing to get naked for me, there wasn’t any reason why I should worry about getting naked for him.

I am not a naturist or nudist by any means, but I do admit to enjoying being naked outdoors and, when I go abroad, I do try to ensure that there is the opportunity to sunbathe nude. Not because I want to show off my body, because in all honesty, the only person that will probably even be looking at it is Master C and he sees it every day, but because I enjoy the freedom and the comfort.

As for hang-ups about my boobs, they are mostly relegated to the past, although I still think my bum is cuter.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Aural sex


For me, sex is as much an auditory experience as it is a visual and physical one. The sounds of sex are myriad; from the barely audible, half murmured sweet nothings, to the triumphant orgasmic exclamations that irritate the fuck out of your neighbours. The best sex, in my opinion, engages all the senses, and that includes sound; a well timed moan from Master C or another partner can be as much of a turn-on as a passionate kiss. Sound has an important part to play at every stage of the process; from seduction to foreplay, through fucking and all the way up to climax and its aftermath.

Seduction:
Sometimes the way something is said is more important than the actual words themselves. The words, “I love you” when whispered huskily in my ear, the desire and hunger for me evident in His voice, can make my clothes vanish every bit as rapidly as a barked command to “Get naked! Bend over! And brace yourself!” Sometimes even a simple enquiry like, “I’m going upstairs to lie down, care to join me?” is enough to have me following Master C upstairs like a puppy, shedding garments expectantly as I go. Ultimately, the mood and desire of the seductee is as important as the words of the seductor. If I’m in a receptive mood, Master C can seduce me with nothing more than a glance.

Foreplay:
This is where sound, be it the spoken word or incoherent exclamations, can make so much difference. Being told how wet I am, how hard I’m making Him,  long with a vivid description of just what Master C intends to do to me, and how hard He’s going to do it, is guaranteed to turn my arousal levels up to 11 and have me begging to be used as His personal fuck toy.

It’s not just about the dirty talk, the commands, and the lurid descriptions, however. As often as not it’s those little involuntary noises Master C makes. The sharp intakes of breath as I drag my fingernails lightly over His skin, the moans as I wrap my lips around His lovely cock, the sounds of my sucking Him, all keep my juices flowing, and let me know how much Master C is enjoying my attentions.

Fucking:
Fucking produces its own delicious cacophony. From the squelching of my cunt, as Master C pounds it with His deliciously thick cock, and the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh, to the creaking of the bed beneath us, and the headboard banging against the wall; they all contribute to the overall experience. Then there’s the moans of pleasure, the increasingly laboured breathing, my increasingly strident demands to be fucked harder and Master C’s equally vocal reminders of what a dirty slut I am. All of these produce a positive feedback loop that intensifies the sensations with every cunt squelching thrust of His cock and slap of His balls.

Orgasm:
I can be fairly loud when I come. I’m not talking porn star banshee wailing, but I do like to give voice to my climax. Almost perversely, sometimes, when I’m being drunkenly fucked in a dark alleyway, and there’s a risk of being discovered, the need to keep quiet so as not to betray my pressence can actually intensify the sensations and make me come even harder; but I digress…

The sounds of Master C’s strained breathing as His climax approaches is extremely gratifying, but the one sound that always makes me melt is when Master C moans my name just at the point He explodes inside me, then calls me His “good girl”. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me feel more appreciated as a woman than that simple acknowledgement of me as a sexually being.

The aftermath:
When we’re snuggled together in post-coital exhaustion, sounds still abound. There’s the sound of our hearts pounding in our chests, our breathing slowly returning to normal and the occasional whispered endearments.

From start to finish, sound has contributed to and intensified the sensations, heightening the pleasure for both participants, and yet it is an often overlooked aspect of the sexual sensory experience. For me however, it is an amazingly important element that is essential to my overall arousal and ultimate enjoyment.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday