Same-sex sex


I have never made any secret of the fact that I am attracted to members of both sexes.  Having gone to an all girls private school, it was inevitable, I suppose that I would experience female nudity before experiencing the male equivalent and, it is fair to say, that I found the naked forms of some of my classmates to be very attractive indeed. Of course, being at an all girl school, I had to keep this fact pretty much to myself; if there is one thing “worse” than being branded a slut in such an environment, teenage girls being what they are, it was being branded a lesbian.  That, however, didn’t stop me being curious.

It was probably inevitable then, that the first time I ever came at (quite literally) the hands of another person, those hands would belong to another girl; “The Girl” to be precise.

“The Girl” and I have “known” each other pretty much all our lives. We went to the same nursery, primary school, secondary school and, although we did different courses at different universities, for a lot of our time as students shared a flat too. From the very first, we were pretty much inseparable; “The Girl” was, however, the dominant personality in our friendship, always the leader, and I was the faithful sidekick.

I can’t actually remember how we ended up coming to have sex that first time.  We were 13 and both still virgins and when it came to boys I, at least, hadn’t progressed much further than kissing and letting them occasionally put a hand up my top and squeeze my boobs through my bra; as for “The Girl”, she’d gleefully confided in me recently before this, that she’s given a guy in third year a hand-job. We had both, very definitely discovered wanking and orgasms though.

The fact that we were in bed together wasn’t unusual.  We’d been having sleepovers since we were about 4 or 5 and had often cuddled up under the duvet together; it’s just what we did. I remember that we had been talking about boys, and wanking, and orgasms, and how good they felt.  I also remember that they more we discussed such things, the more urgent the need to have a bloody good wank became. We were turning ourselves and each other on with our talk and, at some point we stopped talking and started kissing.  At some point slightly further in the proceedings, our nightshirts came off and I felt her soft, naked body against mine.  The kisses slowly moved down from our lips to our boobs and I remember coming hard as I furiously rubbed my clit while “The Girl” sucked on my nipples.  Once I’d recovered, I reciprocated until “The Girl” came too.  Then things got even more interesting…

As we were lying there, still extremely turned on, “The Girl” tentatively reached over to stroke my cunt.  The effect was immediate.  This was the first time anybody other than me had touched my cunt.  As I came again, I put my hand between her thighs and mirrored what she was doing to me on her. I can’t remember how many times we both came during that first orgy of finger-fucking but I do remember being relieved that it was a Friday night and we didn’t have to go to school the next day, as neither of us got a lot of sleep.

You will notice that all we did was kiss and finger-fuck each other.  Neither of us went down on the other.  It would be almost a year before we did that and only after we’d experienced having guys go down on us.  The truth is, it never even occurred to us.

That was the first of the countless times “The Girl” and I have fucked each other over the last 30 years.  Most often it was one-on-one, but sometimes we’d be the FF of an FFM threesome, and, on a few occasions, we were the girls at the centre of a group fucking.

She was my first girl, and since that night, there have been quite a few others.  Nowadays I generally fuck women on a one-on-one basis, or as part of an FFM threesome with Master C, but back in my adult contact site days, I did sometimes respond to ads from couples looking for a bi girl to join them and, as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve also had some all female threesomes.

Of course, it goes without saying that Master C knows all about this side of my sexuality and He allows me to explore it with His blessing.  There is, however, one condition to this freedom, and it’s one that I happily accept: namely that I have to tell Master C everything about these encounters, not leaving out a single detail.  This of course, almost always results in me receiving a thorough spanking for my misdeed, followed by a very rough, very hard punishment fuck; the purpose of which is to show me exactly what us carpetmunchers were missing. It’s fair to say, Master C does make an excellent point on these occasions, but for some reason, I never can quite learn my lesson…

Desire


How do we demonstrate our desire for something or, indeed, something? We can drop subtle hints, we can drop not-so-subtle hints, sometimes we can blatantly demand what is required to satisfy our needs and wants.

The “I can’t wait to get you home” when having a meal in a restaurant, the whispered “I want you so badly” when you’re in public, or the barked command to “Bend over!” can all, depending on the circumstances, be equally indicative of desire.

When we write, we use words like hunger, longing, yearning, craving, to indicate that state that is more than just simply wanting. The words we use say a lot about how we express our desires.

When Master C orders me to bend over, I know exactly what He wants. He wants to hurt me, He wants to punish me, He wants to fuck me roughly, treating me as His own personal slut. How do I indicate my reciprocal desire to be treated in such a way? I comply with his demands; acknowledging his claim.

In a D/s relationship, it is easy for the submissive to acquiess to their Dominant’s desires. It is, after all, our duty to do so. But what of the submissive? How do they articulate their desires? How do they illicit the treatment from their Dominant that they hunger for?

That, I suspect, depends entirely on the dynamic of your relationship.

I tend to express my desires by asking if Master C would like me to do something, or if He would like to do something to me.

“Would Sir like to watch me come for Him?” or ” Would Sir like me to suck His cock?” or “Would Sir care to taste my cunt?” are, for me at least, good ways of indicating what I really want. Of course, sometimes Sir does not care for such things, but that is His right.

Sometimes a more pleading, “Please may I suck Sir’s cock?” is appropriate, especially if I think I may be able to reverse an earlier rebuff.

Of course, because I’m a naughty, insatiable little slut, sometimes I take more direct action. When I really want to be spanked. I’m not averse to informing him that I’ve been a bad girl, baring my arse and bending myself over His knee.

Sometimes though, just sometimes, I pluck up the courage to actually make a demand; usually when His denials have pushed my frustration levels to breaking point. It’s a technique that I employ rarely, when I’m at the end of my tether, when “no” is simply not an option, no matter how disobedience it shows.

I know it’s part of His plan. I know Master C does it to provoke me. I know it shows me for the selfish, disobedient slut that I am, but those occasional, exasperated, “Look Mister, will you just get your arse over here and fuck my brains out with that lovely cock of yours?” are never ignored. Oh. I accept that I will get a thorough thrashing first for my impudence, but in the end, I get what I desire.

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Casual consequences


Casual sex is nothing new for me. I’ve always found it exciting, I’ve always been hugely turned on by the experience of sucking some stranger’s cock and then having him fuck my brains out. I’d fucked around a lot before I met my ex, and after he finally left me for the girl he was fucking behind my back, the same girl who’s back he would soon come to fuck me behind, I found myself enjoying the freedom of picking up guys for random fucks.

It was, I admit, a case of seeking affirmation of myself as a woman that men find sexually desireable. It was a bit of an ego boost. In reality, whilst I had a lot of fun, the experiences were mostly empty. The guys I fucked weren’t partners, they were simply living sex toys, to be used for the pleasure derived from them, then discarded.

I fucked without caring. I fucked single guys, I fucked married guys; basically, I just fucked whomever I fancied without any care or consideration. That was, until I met Master C.

I’ll come back to him later.

My ex was a cunt. And, in a way, he turned me into one too. I carried on fucking him for almost 18 months after we split up. Not, I hasten to add, because I wanted him back, nor out of any desire for revenge over the girl he was now with. No, it was simply because the sex with him was the best sex I’d ever had.

He knew me, he knew my body, and he knew how to get inside my head. He could push all my buttons, give me the most amazing orgasms, and satisfy me in a way that none of my casual encounters ever could. Sex with him was a drug and I was addicted. And, like all addictions, it was potentially destructive.

Then I met “The Other Guy”. It should have just another casual fling, but somehow it became more than that. The sex was good, very good, he was interested in me as a person and not just as somewhere to stick his cock.

For a while, I was fucking both him and my ex and, I’ll admit, it was one of the most amazing periods of fucking I ever had.

Somehow, though, although there was no commitment or exclusivity between us, I valued the time I spent with “The Other Guy”. He made me feel special, he made me feel worthwhile. I was still fucking random guys but it was him, when he was available that I wanted to spend time with.

Push came to shove when both “The Other Guy” and the ex wanted to meet up with me the same evening. I had to choose and I chose “The Other Guy”. And that was it, the ex was finally out of my life. The fact that I sent him a recording of me having a tumultuous orgasm at the hands (and tongue) of “The Other Guy” was something I took great satisfaction in.

That might have been it, but it wasn’t. Despite the fact we enjoyed each other’s company (both in bed and out) and spent a lot of time together, “The Other Guy” weren’t a couple and definitely weren’t exclusive. He worked away a lot, and there were times when I wouldn’t see him for weeks on end and, well, I am a cock-hungry slut who likes fucking, so when he wasn’t available, I continued fucking any guy who took my fancy.

Then, a few months later, the man who would become Master C entered the picture; and with him I made the most earth shattering discovery. He unleashed Morag the submissive.

I’d never considered myself to be submissive. I’d enjoyed a bit of spanking play in my past, but who doesn’t? Looking back, however, the one thing that my most successful sexual relationships, both with the ex and with “The Other Guy”, and indeed, Master C himself, had in common was that they are all very physical and sexually confident men. I allowed them, albeit unconsciously, to dominate me.

Master C tapped into that side of me and nourished it, bringing it to the fore. I realised that submission wasn’t just about discipline, although that is very much a part of it, but it is about trusting the other person, allowing them the freedom to do whatever they will, giving them the power over you but knowing they won’t abuse it.

Master C has taught me, that it is perfectly OK to be a slut; that I am free to be who I am and express myself how I desire but there are consequences to my actions. I don’t need to seek affirmation from the guys I fuck, because I have a Master who affirms me. He doesn’t simply punish me with His belt, he teaches me and guides me. He gives me the confidence to express my wants, to measure my failings objectively and to see my own self worth. He is my guide and teacher as well as my Master.