Knowing my place


I’ve said it before, and no doubt I will say it again; I am quite unashamedly a cock-loving slut. I love cock, lot’s of cock. I love it in my mouth, I love it in my cunt, I love it in my arse; it doesn’t matter, I will enjoy every lovely inch of cock wherever it is put.

I am, of course, very fortunate. I have a very considerate Master who allows me to satisfy my particular cravings, so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions. I know I will be required to atone for my transgressions. I accept that there is a price to be paid for the pleasure of feeling another man’s cock in me. I know  that the price of my waywardness is to feel the stinging kiss of Master C’s belt on my arse; and it is a price I am willing to pay.

And yet, I know my place. I know the one place where I truly belong. That place is on Master C’s cock.

For all that I enjoy the novelty of being with a new partner. For all that I crave that heady (and indeed, hedonistic) rush that comes with being so turned on, you just want the guy you are with to take you and use you right there, in that instant. For all that I love the excitement of having a stranger’s cock inside me; the one cock I will always crave, the one cock that does the most wonderful things to me, the one cock that I know every inch of, every bump, every ridge, every vein is the cock that belongs to Master C.

Master C’s cock is the one that claims me, completes me and truly satisfies me. Master C’s cock is the one that will make me moan and sigh in ways that no other man will ever hear. Master C’s cock is the one on which I ultimately belong; feeling its oh so achingly familiar length, thickness and hardness inside me.

Yes, I am a slut. Yes I love cock. And yet I still know my place; and that place is on Master C’s cock.

#MasturbationMonday
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Fingers


Fingers are such versatile things. My own fingers have given me immense pleasure innumerable times over the last 30 plus years. The effect that someone else’s fingers can have on me though, well…

I am an immensely tactile person. I love touching and I especially love being touched. From the first time a boy ever put his hand up my top to squeeze my boobs, or slipped a finger inside my knickers before sliding it up inside my cunt, I have been utterly at their mercy. Even now, as much as I love the attentions of a nice, thick, hard cock or a skilfully applied tongue, it is frequently a partner’s fingers that most often reduces me to quivering, gooey mess.

Sometimes it’s the way they are used them to squeeze, pinch and tug my nipples; rolling the rough pads of the thumbs over their tips as I am being fucked hard from behind. On other occasions it’s the way they are forced them up inside my cunt, twisting around inside me, being fucked with those wonderfully dextrous digits before having them fed them to me, covered in my own juices. At other times it can be the way they are used them to tease me, when I’m tied and blindfolded, helpless, unable to tell what will happen next, but loving every touch, however fleeting or prolonged, however light or forceful.

I will never get enough of a tongue on my clit, nor will I ever get too much of having a cock in my cunt, arse or mouth; but when it comes to the sheer flexibility of the things they can do to me, and for me, I will always love the attentions of the fingers.

#MasturbationMonday

I touch myself


Master C loves to watch me bring myself to orgasm and, fortunately, I love to put on a show for him.

Enjoyable as a good wank is, there’s something undeniably hot about knowing that someone is watching you and is getting off to you getting yourself off.

When I come, I lick my juices off my fingers and then accept Master C’s cock as He wanks Himself off into my mouth; rewarding me with a thick load of cum for turning Him on with my show.

It’s an experience that I find particularly hot.

Does Master C think of me when He wanks? I don’t know, and to be honest, it doesn’t really matter. What goes on in His mind to add to the sensory experience and help Him come is up to him. It might be me, it might be Jessica Alba, it may even be me and Jessica Alba if He’s really lucky.

So who or what do I think about when I’m wanking? It all depends really.

Sometimes I’ll be having a particularly salacious daydream. This may involve Master C or “The Other Guy”, it may involve a celebrity, it may just be a faceless other person, it doesn’t matter. In this case the thought comes first, the thought causes the wank; I use my fingers and/or toys to give some substance to the daydream, to give it a little more realness. If I’m imagining that Master C/Ryan Gosling/nameless stranger is fucking me, I want to feel something in whatever hole my daydream has me being fucked in. The daydream provides the backdrop while my fingers/toys bring it to life.

Usually though, it’s the other way around; I’ll begin to play with myself and then I’ll conjure up something in my mind to give it something to work with and connect to the sensations coming from my boobs or my cunt. I may remember a particularly good shag that I’ve had. Perhaps it was the setting that made it special rather than the fuck itself. It may or may not involve Master C. It may or may not involve a guy at all; sometimes my hottest fantasies are those where I’m with “The Girl” or possibly even another girl. The sex I’m having in my head may be soft and romantic, or it could be hard, rough, verging on brutal. Sometimes I’ll imagine a one-on-one scene, at other times I’ll imagine multiple partners, be they people I know or total strangers.

The fantasy fits my mood. If I want to enjoy a long, slow wank, I’ll picture something tender and protracted. If I want to get off in a hurry, I’ll imagine something rough and urgent.

The fact is, there is a wank for every mood, and a fantasy for every wank, all I have to do is match them up in my head.

#MasturbationMonday

Think of a number


Think of a number. Now double it. Subtract the day of the month your birthday falls on. Divide by your bra size/inside leg measurement. Add forty-two. Round to the nearest whole number.

Yes, this is my take on that perennial old chestnut: “The Number!” You know the one I mean; the one about how many people we’ve had sex with.

It’s a question that comes up from time to time and, it seems, it is one that we are endlessly fascinated with.

Personally, I’m in the mildly curious but generally couldn’t give a fuck camp. It’s an interesting insight into the person you are currently fucking, possibly a handy bit of trivia to store away for those Mr and Mrs type quizzes, but, otherwise not important.

The problem with it is, that when you start thinking about it, it’s not actually a straightforward question.

What exactly counts as a sexual partner?

If you limited it strictly to men and women that I’ve fucked, and if you give me some time, I could probably work it out. It would, however, take me considerably longer than it took Andie MacDowell’s character in Four Weddings and a Funeral. But then, you see, I’ve included women, and I haven’t had penetrative sex with women, only oral and finger play. So does than mean that I also now have to include all those men with whom I have only ever sucked their cocks? On the assumption that it does, then I have no chance at all of determining the total; given that my penchant for the drunken, random, back of the pub blow-job means that I really don’t know.

Still, even if I could, somehow, divine the total number of men who’s cocks I’ve sucked and add it to the number of men I’ve fucked (eliminating any duplication as I go), and then add on the women I’ve had sex with, does this give me my number?

What about the lad I jerked off at a friend’s 16th birthday party? What about the boy in my class whom I let thoroughly finger me so I could scrounge a cigarette off him when I was at school? What about that boy that first kissed and sucked my nipples and made me feel oh so good when we were both horny teenagers, even if I didn’t actually come? What about…?

You see my point though. Clearly “the number” does not simply refer to penetration. If it did, then I would have had no female sexual partners, and I most certainly have had sex with women. But, if sexual partners are not limited to those that you have had penetrative sex with, where do you draw the line?

Orgasm perhaps? Well maybe, but does that mean if I don’t come, I haven’t had sex? No, surely not. On the other hand, does the boy who snuck his hand up my top to cop a feel while snogging me at a school disco also count? Again, I don’t think so (although, had I not wanted him to do it, it could possibly have counted as sexual assault).

So, given that I can’t suitably define what a sexual partner is, how can I possible tell you how many I’ve had?

Let’s just say I’ve had rather a lot and let it go at that…

#MasturbationMonday

Taking Him in hand


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 cum. 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 cum? 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.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Your sub, your way?


When it comes to sex, I love having things to be done to me. I enjoy being spanked, I love being restrained, blindfolds figure quite frequently in my sex play and I thoroughly love being taken, by a strong, confident man who is comfortable and secure enough to use my body in a way that brings him, and ultimately me, pleasure.

I’ve used that word: “taken” again. As I mentioned in a recent post on the subject of blow-jobs, the vast majority of sexual acts are done, no matter how actively and enthusiastically we participate, to women. Nature has designed the female body to be the receiver. Not that I’m complaining, I do like being on the receiving end of a bloody good fuck, and both Master C and “The Other Guy” are particularly adept at dishing those out. The result, I believe, is, that the sexual act is inherently submissive from the female perspective. We give our bodies to our partners, and men take their pleasure from us. Even when we women initiate things, ultimately it is our legs that part and we offer ourselves up to our partner.

Now, again, I’m not complaining; I love that feeling of having whichever hole is being taken stretched and filled by a cock. I love being pinned down beneath a guy as he thrusts into me, filling me with those rock hard, proud several inches of flesh.

I’m all in favour of sexual equality, but the male and female bodies are not designed to be equal.

Now, I like a little tenderness and romance; I am a woman after all, but I also like a man who knows what he wants. I want my men to be, well, manly. I want them to fuck me properly. Sometimes this can be slow and gentle and loving, other times it can be rough, fast, hard.

It’s a huge turn-on for me, when Master C comes home, kisses me roughly, spins me around, bends me over the table, flips up my skirt and just takes me roughly from behind and just pounds my cunt or arse until He cums hard inside me. It’s a sign that He wants me for that purpose and that purpose alone. I know, because I’ve asked, and He’s admitted, that at that particular moment, it doesn’t actually matter that it’s me He’s fucking, all Master C is aware of is His own need; to all intents and purposes, I am simply an object for him to take His gratification from and, ironically (and I’m aware the rabidly feminist of my readers will be appalled by this), as a woman, I relish in this. It’s primal, it’s animal and it’s knicker-moisteningly good.

At other times, what starts off as slow and tender can, as the passion mounts, slowly grow until it becomes a full-on cunt pounding, and again, that’s great.

We women are receivers; men are givers and takers; that’s how nature has designed us. That’s not to say that we women can’t use men for our own pleasure; of course we can. I do frequently, and I’m sure most, if not all women reading this do, or have done so.

But for me, much of the pleasure comes from tipping the man I happen to be with, whether it be Master C, “The Other Guy” or some random I’ve met in the pub, over the edge so he releases his inner Cro-Magnon. Much as I love tenderness and romance, I also love it hard and rough; the kind of sex that leaves both participants sweaty, exhausted and, in my case at least, satisfyingly achy in places.

So I guess some of the submissive in me that comes, for no other reason, than the fact that I have a vagina, and I love having it stuffed full of penis. Sometimes I think that the human body is the model of bad design, but in sex, I think nature got it about right…

#MasturbationMonday

Choked


Master C kisses me as He puts His belt around my neck. My cunt grows wet as He pulls it into place around me; not too tight, just enough that it lightly presses against my skin.

“Are you ready, little slut?”

“Yes Sir!”

I lie back, tilt my head back over the arm of the sofa and open my mouth. With His belt held firmly in his fist, Master C pushes His cock into my mouth.

He drives it in deep; in this position His cock pushes deep down my throat. Without the belt, it would be hard to breath; with it, it is almost impossible.

He fucks my throat with long, slow, deep strokes. As His cock moves between my lips, Master C begins to pull on his belt, slowly tightening its grip around my neck.

With each thrust of his cock, it becomes even more difficult to breathe; my lungs become increasingly starved of air. His leather cuts into my skin. The buckle presses against my windpipe. His thick cock obstructs my airway.

Tears flow from my eyes. My cunt is uncomfortably wet.

The belt tightens. The lack of air makes me lightheaded. Every so often, he pulls his cock from my mouth, allowing me a few seconds to gasp and fill my lungs before continuing the onslaught.

My jaw aches. My throat is raw. Hot tears sting my eyes. I desperately want to finger my cunt to give me some relief, but my hands are bound tightly behind my back.

Master C fucks my mouth, He fucks my throat. He is relentless, my mouth is simply a hole for His cock; my body, an object for Master C to use and enjoy.

Suddenly He is gone.  As I gasp, pulling air into my oxygen starved lungs, Master C erupts over me. His cum splashes over my face.

Have I pleased Him? I await my sentence.

“Well done, little slut, you did very well,” Master C says as He helps me to sit up and unties the bindings from my wrists. “For that, I’m only going to give you two lashes… Per cheek.”

I remove his belt from around my neck  and, with downcast eyes, I offer it to Him.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say in a hoarse whisper as I turn around and, with a shudder of anticipation, assume the required position…

#MasturbationMonday The Oral Sex Project

On display


It’s a nerve wracking experience, even for those of us who have a reasonably positive body image, letting someone see you naked for the first time. It doesn’t matter how many partners you’ve had, or how good you feel about yourself, the first time you expose yourself to another person, your latent insecurities come bubbling to the surface.

Will they really like what they see? Will they be repulsed by the various marks, scars and blemishes that a lifetime of simply living have inflicted on our skin?  Those bits of us that we personally despise for their imperfections: our knees, our legs, our bums, our tummies, our boobs, our necks, our bingo-wings all get magnified out of proportion when first exposed to a new partner’s gaze.

But the first time, the very first time, the time when another person’s eyes gaze on our naked bodies for the very first time is something, I suspect, we will never forget.

For me, the experience is more vividly remembered than my first blow-job and losing my virginity combined.

The boy in question had recently turned 16; I was still 15. I was a gawky teenager, my body still somewhere between that of a girl and a woman; a mixture of sharp angles and curves. I had spots, I had freckles, my boobs looked like they were at least one size too big for the rest of me, as if my body hadn’t yet caught up. I also had (and still do for that matter) ginger pubes.

There was a naïve nervousness combined with anticipation. Sure, he’d seen me in my underwear before, so he knew in general terms what my body looked like. He’d seen and played with my boobs before, so I knew that he liked them. Getting naked with him, however, was totally different.

Having him slowly remove my outer layers was intensely arousing. I was almost oblivious to the fact that I was doing the same to him. Having my bra removed and standing there in just my knickers sent shivers through me.

He took the next step, discarding his boxer shorts, to stand naked before me. I marvelled at his body. I loved how his cock, hard and proud, stuck out from his body. I’d seen his cock before, of course; I’d sucked his cock before. Now however, with his full body on display before me for the first time, his cock looked bigger, harder and more enticing than ever.

He sat on the edge of my bed, and I knelt on the floor between his legs. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked him hungrily. As I sucked him, my fingers explored every inch of him that the could reach. When he came, I swear it was the biggest load of cum I’d ever had to swallow.

I lay down on my bed and felt his eyes on me. I knew what was coming next. All that remained between me and him was a very small and very wet pair of knickers.

I closed my eyes as I let him remove me. I could feel his eyes on me, devouring my nakedness. In that instant I learned the difference between being unclothed and being naked. I’d been unclothed before, but for the first time, there in my bedroom, there with him, I was naked.

Naked… What a wonderful word. I was exposed. I felt vulnerable. There was nowhere I could hide. I was naked.

He explored my body with his fingers. He explored my body with his lips and tongue. He went down on me, and the orgasms he gave me seemed more powerful, more intense, than any he had ever given me before, and all because I was naked.

Afterwards, we lay in each other’s arms; holding each other, exploring each other with our fingers, feeling the warm of each other’s bodies.

I’ve displayed my body to many partners since then, and the first time I do so, still gives me goosebumps. That very first time however was special; nothing will ever feel like that again.

#MasturbationMonday

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

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