Dark alleys


Sex in dark alleyways has always been a particular forte of mine. It began in my casual days and it’s something that I still do quite regularly, be that with Master C, or some random guy who has caught my eye on a night out.

I’m no stranger to outdoor sex, but outdoor sex of the back alley variety usually involves alcohol. Not that I’m particularly inhibited in my sexual wantoness by any means, but there’s nothing like a few drinks to make you feel a wee bit more daring. It also helps that the town I live in has lots of dark lanes, alleyways, closes, nooks and crannies that are just idea for a bit of late night, can’t wait to get home fuckery.

Why do I do it? Well, there’s the thrill factor; there is always a risk of being caught in the act. This has happened on occasion, and on at least two of those, it has been by other couples presumably looking for somewhere to do exactly the same thing. There’s also the thought that even if no one walks by, you could still be being watched. Often these dark closes are down behind tenement blocks and anyone could, potentially, look out their window and watch you giving a drunken blow-job or having an alcohol fuelled quickie.

Mostly though, it’s simply because, when I’m at a certain level of drunkenness, I get uncontrollably randy. I don’t want to wait until I get home to have sex, I want fucked and I want fucked pretty much there and then. Generally, I’ve found guys are quite willing to oblige, despite the obvious risks, and Master C is no exception. If you’ve read my cumslut post, then you will know that, not only does He enjoy it as much as me, but sometimes He likes to crank the stakes up to an entirely higher level.

Really, for me, it’s a combination of things: the excitement, the riskiness, the sop to my exhibitionist streak, the arousal, the need for urgent sexual fulfilment, and the enjoyment of a bloody good fuck. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a filthy little slut who is always ready for cock, especially if it’s Master C’s cock, wherever I am.

Kink of the Week

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Call me


I’ve been a way for a while, for a number of reasons; some of them nice, some of them not so much. I’ll leave it there and won’t burden you with the details.

My experience with phone sex is somewhat one sided. It invariably involves Master C phoning me when He is away from home on business and giving me some very explicit instructions.

He will tell me which bits of me to play with; my nipples, my cunt, and what to use; my fingers, a particular toy.

He will tell me how much pressure to apply to my clit, how tight and how hard to squeeze and pull my nipples, how hard and how deep to finger-fuck my cunt and how many fingers to use.

As Master C instructs me, He calls me His “filthy slut”, His “Dirty whore”. I confess that I am. I tell Him how bad I have been, letting Him know how much I need His correction.

He tells me how He will punish me when He returns home; how He will bind and restrain me, how many deliciously painful strokes of His belt I will feel on my arse.

The words that Master C speaks are every bit as arousing as the things He makes me do to myself.

At His command, the silky cold glass plug is pushed up my arse.

Another instruction and I fasten the clamps around my nipples.

My fingers fill my cunt as Master C tells me to fuck myself more firmly; stopping occasionally to be allowed to lick my juices from their surface.

The tension builds inside me as I dutifully follow His every instruction.

Will He give me permission to come, or will He hang-up and leave me waiting for further direction?

My passion flares.

My need for release grows stronger with every second.

Have I pleased Him? Will He let my have my orgasm?

The tension mounts unbearably as I wait for Master C to announce my fate.

Two words


“Bend over!”

I’ll admit, as foreplay goes, it’s not exactly extensive, but sometimes it’s all I need.

I don’t think there is any other combination of two words that can have more of an effect on me. Said in the right tone, and with the right degree of forcefulness, they can reduce me to a quivering mess of anticipation. No other two words will make my cunt instantly wet.

And as I comply with His demand I bite my lip as I wait for Master C to flip my skirt up over my arse, or pull my jeans down around my ankles, and yank my knickers out of His way.

With my arse exposed, I wonder what Master C has planned for me; is He just going to fuck me, does He plan to spank me, or will wield His belt?

In fairness, it doesn’t matter what His intentions are, I am ready; I want whatever Master C decides. As every second passes, the anticipation mounts, and my cunt grows hotter and wetter.

A hand slips between my legs, feeling how wet I am, how ready I am for Him. A shiver of excitement runs through me, my clit throbs slightly in response to His touch.

I want His cock inside me, filling me, pounding me, fucking me hard. I want Master C to take me, to use me, to cum deep inside of me. I don’t just want it, I need it. My whole body aches for Him.

Master C grabs a handful of my hair. He pulls my head back. Will it be His belt, or His cock? I still don’t know.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Yes!” I sob.

I brace myself for whatever is about to come next.

Sometimes “Bend over!” is all the foreplay I need.

#KinkOfTheWeek

Finally


It’s such a wonderful feeling. The relief is as overwhelming as it is instantaneous.

Pushed to the brink of my endurance, taken to the very edge and the held there for what seems an eternity. I am way beyond tears. I no longer have the energy to sob and moan in my frustration. Every nerve inside me burns. The tension inside me is so great, I feel as if I would snap in two at the slightest pressure.

For minutes that seem like hours, days, an eternity, He has held me in that place, that deliciously agonising limbo

A slow boil.

A vigorous simmering.

The pressure mounting interminably, but the release valve locked tightly shut.

I want to explode. My need for release is a physical pain, burning through me. I both love and hate what He is forcing me to endure; craving release from my torment while knowing the longer He denies me, the sweeter, more exquisite will be my final surrender.

He is a maestro, a virtuoso; he plays my body skilfully and effortlessly. He has played and conducted his latest symphony upon me; and as the crescendo builds inside me, growing ever more intense, I await that flick of the conductor’s batton that will signal the grand finalé.

My breathing is pained. Lights flash with brilliant luminescence behind my tightly shut eyes. And then I hear His instruction, I hear the words I have been waiting an eternity for Him to utter.

Two words; that is all He says. Two words that, when obeyed, ignite my climax. Two words that will give me instant relief and such intense pleasure.

Two words said softly.

Two words.

“Touch yourself.”

Changing room fantasy


This year’s 6 Nations tournament is just around the corner. I have a bit of a thing for rugby players; those big, tall, strapping, muscle-bound guys who play hard and tough and get themselves dirty. Given that, I guess it was almost inevitable that at least one of my men, namely “The Other Guy” would be one.

Now, I have a bit of a recurring fantasy that has me servicing “The Other Guy” and his team-mates after a game; either in celebration or as a consolation,  I’m never entirely sure, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

It starts with me being smuggled into the team’s changing room during the closing stages of the game. “The Other Guy” orders me to strip, then blindfolds me before tying my hands to the bench so that I can’t escape (not that I would want to).  He leaves to rejoin those players on the bench, and I am left alone, naked, blindfolded and in the dark, just waiting for what is to come.

I can hear a clock tick. As each second passes, my anticipation builds.  My cunt grows wet. I squirm on the uncomfortable slatted wooden bench below me.  Each tick of the clock is an increasing agony of arousal.

Finally I can hear voices approaching. I freeze as the door squeaks open.

“Fucking hell guys! What’ve we got here? Come and take a look at this!” I hear someone call out.

I sense the room fill with strong male bodies.  The air is filled with appreciative whistles and suggestive comments. A coarse hand cups my cunt, a thick finger parts my lower lips, feeling how wet I am.  “This little slut’s gagging for it guys!”

My restraints are untied and I’m led to treatment table in the middle of the room. Hands grope me, squeezing and mauling my boobs, my arse; fingers invade my cunt.

What follows is almost indescribable. Cocks are thrust in my mouth, plunged deep into my cunt, rammed in my arse. I’m spit-roasted, DPed, made airtight as the guys all take it in turns to make use of my holes.

The fact that I can’t see who is doing what to me, I have no way of knowing what is going to happen next adds to the naughtiness of the situation. I am completely at the mercy of “The Other Guy” and his team-mates. They could (and do) do whatever they like to me. I am nothing but a slut to be used and demeaned by them, and I love every second, every grope, every flick of a tongue, every thrust of a cock. It is just be being used by an unseen, unknown number of men and I am in my element as they use me.

By common consent they agree not to cum inside me. Instead load after load of hot sticky cum is shot over me; coating my buttocks, my back, my boobs, my face.  Occasionally someone shoots a load in my mouth and I swallow it down hungrily.

At some point I hear a couple of the guys encouraging a team-mate. “C’mon Davy,” they urge, “We know you’re gay but just pretend she’s a guy with boobs and fuck her up the arse.” Whether he does or not, I’ll never know but the next cock to fill my battered and sore arsehole feels thicker and longer than some of those that had proceeded it and in my mind it’s Davy fucking me, pretending I’m a guy, fucking my arse the same way he would his boyfriend’s.

The abuse goes on for what seems like an eternity. Cock after lovely thick, hard cock fills me. Load upon rich, sticky load is dumped over me. My jaw aches, my cunt is tender, my arse is raw, my boobs feel bruised from the groping and squeezing.

Slowly, one by one, they shower and dress and leave, leaving me cum-drenched, sore but intensely satisfied.

I feel a hand undo my blindfold. It pulls the cum drenched material that has become stuck to my face away.  I look around.  There’s no one left but “The Other Guy” and me.  He smiles at me as he pumps his cock in front of my face. “I hope you’ve had fun, you filthy little slut!” he says as his cock erupts, spewing a final load other my face before making his way to the shower.

As he returns, I find the energy to stand.  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he demands as I head towards the showers.

“Can’t I…?”

“No!”

He throws my coat at me. “Cover yourself up slut!” he demands.

I do as I’m bid.  My coat barely reaches below my cunt. I feel exposed, demeaned, degraded.  I love it.

I clean my face up and straighten my hair as much as is possible with my fingers, before he grips my elbow and leads me from the changing room to the club bar.

As I stand at the bar, sipping my drink, my arse barely covered by my coat, the eyes of all the guys who fucked me, and those of the opposing team are upon me.

I flush when I hear myself being discussed.

“She’s a total slut!”

“She took three cocks at once.”

“I had her in every hole.”

“The little slut loved every second.”

And the truth is, I did. Every filthy fucking second on it.

One up the bum, no harm done


Sometimes porn annoys me. Actually, a lot of things about porn annoy me; especially the near asthmatic moanings of the female participants. I like to be pretty vocal when I’m on the end of a good seeing-to as much as the next person, but I’m pretty sure I never sound like I’m having a seizure.

One thing that really gets my goat, however, is porn’s depiction of anal sex. Porn, it seems, has decided that:

anal = brutal/violent.

Now, it can be and, if that’s how you want it, great, go for it, but it doesn’t have to be.

My own introduction to anal sex was at the tender age of 18.  Believe me, if I wasn’t tender before, I was most certainly decidedly tender afterwards. I was a student, I was at a party and I was drunk. I was also amazingly randy and the guy to whom I was to give my anal virginity to had spent what seemed like an eternity going down on me and had already reduced me to a quivering orgasmic wreck.

I remember quite vividly the way he had slid a finger up my arse as he ate me out.  The sensations were like nothing I had ever experienced before (simply because no one had ever done it to me before). It felt so deliciously wrong, so incredibly dirty. I came before he’d got much more than one knuckle deep inside me. When he suggested fucking my arsehole I was like, “fuck yeah, let’s do this!”

It was an odd sensation at first, having something as large as his cock pushed up my back passage but once I’d grown used to the unfamiliar sensations, I really got into it.  It’s fair to say that he triggered an addiction in me that is still as strong today as it was back then.

I enjoy getting my arse fucked. It feels wonderfully filthy. It makes me feel like a dirty little slut. It makes me feel like the man fucking my arse is using me. It… Oh look, it doesn’t really matter, I love getting my arse fucked, let’s just leave it at that.

Yes, sometimes I do like my arse to be subjected to a good pounding, in much the same way that I love having my cunt pounded.  By the same token though, sometimes I like a long, slow (but firm) arse fuck. I want the man that is fucking me to take his time. I want him to enjoy the tightness of my arse. I know as his climax grows closer, he will probably fuck it harder and faster, but the same thing applies to when he’s fucking my cunt or my throat.

I’m not saying that anal has to be a romantic experience, I’m not even sure having a man stick his cock where the sun doesn’t shine can be romantic, but it can be sensual, it can actually be quite gentle, and it can, when done properly, be an amazingly intense and pleasurable thing to be on the receiving end of.

Porn, however, has decreed that buggery, to all intents and purposes, must hurt, must be done with the minimum of lubrication and must be done in such a way that the recipient will be unable to sit without the aid of an ice pack for at least the next several days.

I think this is a great shame. It gives men, and women, an altogether wrong impression about anal sex. Men get the idea that, unless they are almost raping the arse in question, they are doing it wrong, and women get the message that it has to hurt, lots!

But here’s the thing, just like any other sexual activity, anal doesn’t have to hurt at all. Yes, fine, so the sensations take a little bit of getting used to, but it only needs to hurt as much as you want it to.

One of the most delicious things for me is when Master C grabs a handful of my hair, whispers something like “I’m going to fuck you in the arse you dirty, little slut”, then slowly, but forcefully pushes His cock inch by inch into my back passage. All the time He’ll be telling me what a nasty, filthy little slut I am as His cock sinks in deeper and deeper.

Sometimes Master C will go hard, sometimes He will go slow, but it will always, always feel deliciously filthy. When Master C fucks my arse he is using me, taking His pleasure from me, dominating me; while at the same time I am surrendering utterly to Him, accepting His mastery over me.

So why do I like it so much? It’s a good question and one that I have been asked on numerous occasions.

Well, for a start, it feels amazing. Despite their proximity, being fucked in the cunt and being fucked in the arse have completely different sensations. That I guess is down to the fact that the cunt is self lubricating and is designed to have a cock in it, whereas the arse isn’t.

Then there’s the fact that it just seems so amazingly filthy and nasty. Nothing makes me feel more like a dirty little slut than having a cock pounding my back passage. It’s a wonderful feeling of being used, being treated as nothing more than a receptacle for the guy in question’s cock. It’s rough, it can be painful if you haven’t been fully lubed up but it is such a wonderful, dirty feeling.

Finally there’s the fact that it satisfies my deeply submissive side. Allowing myself to be taken in this “degrading” way just feels so good. When Master C fucks my arse I am being used for His pleasure. He is taking me and treating me as His slut. My holes are His to use as He sees fit and when He fucks my arse, Master C is taking his deepest, darkest, basest pleasure from me. He is using me and I am His to be used.

If Master C hurts me when He fucks me, that is His right. If, as described above, He pulls my hair and tells me I am a disgusting, filthy little slut, Master C is confirming my status as something to be used but, and here’s the part my vanilla friends find difficult to get their heads around, for me He is doing so in a way that is both positive and affirming. I truly believe that there is nothing more affirming for me as a submissive than having  Master C use me and tell me how much He enjoys using me for his pleasure. When he tells me that my arse is lovely and tight, and how much he enjoys fucking it, it makes me feel good knowing how much pleasure Master C derives from it.

Each of us who enjoy taking it up the arse will have our own reasons for doing so. Some may find a resonance with my reasons, others will enjoy it for completely different reasons of their own.

I also accept that anal is a no go area for many women simply on the grounds that they don’t fancy it, and I get that; sex, after all is a very personal thing and we are all different. I do, however think it is a shame that there are some people are put off enjoying what, for me at least, is a wonderful experience, simply because porn displays it so unrealistically.