The bus ride of shame


The mid-morning bus wasn’t full, but my arse was too sore for me to sit. I wondered if my fellow travellers could feel the heat emanating from my glowing, recently thrashed cheeks.  Could they tell how moist my cunt was, having been fucked less than 30 minutes before?

Someone brushed against me as they moved to alight. I winced as they bumped into my  decidedly tender arse.

I wondered if they could smell Master C on me; the thick load of cum He unleashed over my boobs before rubbing it in, before I dressed with His cum dried on my skin.

The thought aroused me. My cunt grew warmer; I could feel my juices trickle down the insides of my thighs. Could anyone tell? Could they have known that beneath the primly, professionally dressed exterior there was a recently fucked and thrashed and seriously aroused, filthy little slut. Could they even guess that having been so recently and so very  thoroughly fucked by Master C, I was on my way to spend the day with “The Other Guy”, to be fucked some more? Could they possibly have imagined that the seemingly demure, professional woman in their midst was just a few stops away from having a second cock inside her, less than an hour after being so soundly fucked by the first?

The insides of my thighs tingled. A reminder of how Master C’s thighs, so firm and strong from years of playing rugby, slammed against mine as he fucked me. Could the other passengers sense the bruises He left there?

My stop approached. My arousal levels peaked. Could anyone see how pronounced my nipples were? Could they possibly imagine the reason for slight flushing on my skin?

I stepped off the bus, leaving my fellow commuters in blissful ignorance. The only thing I was caring about as I walked the 100 or so yards to “The Other Guy’s” flat was how quickly I could feel his cock inside me, and which hole he would fuck first…

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Love & Sex


This week’s Quote Quest teaser is one that I have some very strong thoughts about.

“Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.”

– Hunter S Thompson

Now, I’m going to be honest and say right from the the very outset, that I completely disagree with this statement. My disagreement can be summed up by answering two very simple questions:

  1. Have I loved every person I’ve ever had sex with?
    Absolutely not.
  2. Have I had sex with every person I’ve ever loved?
    Again, a resounding “no”.

Sex and love are two separate things; although they can often be closely interlinked. Love is an emotion, a feeling, a connection of spirits and souls. Sex is a physical act, a joining and (sometimes literally) coming together of bodies.

To illustrate my point, there are many people I love (and have loved). I love my parents, I loved my grandparents, I (mostly) love my siblings. Have I had sex with any of these people? Well, no, absolutely not. I also have and have had any number of friends, with whom I have shared what I would describe as a deeply platonic form of love.

The flip side to this is that I definitely love Master C and I love “The Girl” and also “The Other Guy” and I absolutely do have sex with them. There are also a couple of exs in my past that I also loved and had sex with. However, as anyone with a passing familiarity with this blog will be aware, I have also had and enjoyed a hell of a lot of casual sex down the years; sex where it wasn’t uncommon for me to never even find out the name of the person I sucked and/or fucked. I think it goes without saying that there was absolutely no love involved in these encounters (unless my love of the act itself and the way that act made me feel counts).

In a way, this kind of follows on from my previous post. I completely agree that having sex with someone tat you love and that loves you is special; it adds a whole several extra layers of feeling and emotion to proceedings. Having Master C roughly fuck my arse feels different from some unknown random fucking it, even when done with the same force. Why? Because I have a deep emotional connection with Master C that adds to it. Having Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” go down on me feels so much more intense than having someone else do it, irrespective of how skilful that person is. Why? Well, aside from their knowledge of what really presses my buttons, again there is the emotional overlay.

Don’t get me wrong, I (mostly) fully enjoy my casual encounters. If the person you with knows what they are doing, and is in any way considerate to your wants and needs, what isn’t to enjoy about getting soundly and thoroughly fucked? What is their not to enjoy about getting your cunt skilfully eaten out, or going down on someone else?

Good sex, even great sex, doesn’t require love for it to be satisfying. I have had casual encounters that have resulted in me being reduced to a dishevelled, sticky, spasming mess; fighting to bring my breathing and or heart rate back under control, that come close in intensity to anything that I have done with those that I love.

There is a difference though. Those casual encounters are physically satisfying and, to a certain degree, emotionally so as well. Sex with Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies me on a “spiritual” level. Where a great casual fucking may satisfy me in body and mind, a fucking from Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies my soul.

So, to me, sex without love is far from hollow; if it were I probably wouldn’t engage in it. Yes, there have been disappointments; there have been encounters that, with hindsight, would probably have been better avoided. There were times in my past where I’ve got under someone to get over someone else, but those are a minority. But for each of those fucks that have been less than great, there have been many many more that have given me everything I have wanted from them and, sometimes, even more.

Full disclosure; no one makes me feel the way I feel when Master C and I fuck. No one knows what my body, mind, soul and spirit needs more than He does. Sometimes, however, all I need is the “thrill of the chase” and the “surrender” that comes with letting myself be caught.

What can I say? I’m simply a voraciously happy slut that loves sex.

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The first submission


It was a ceremony of sorts; a symbol of trust and acceptance. A sign of my submission to Him.

As He sat, I stood before him, eyes downcast. Slowly I undressed, the removal of each item an acceptance of His claim over me.

Finally I stood, naked, offering myself to Him. Presenting myself to His scrutiny. He told me to turn around. I complied, letting Him study me, showing him the prize that was His.

“Kneel!” Master C demanded, ” You know what to do.”

I did as I was bid. I unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned and unzipped His jeans, reached inside His boxers and released His cock from its confinement.

I took His cock in my mouth, paying homage to it with my lips and tongue. I was determined to show Master C how diligent I could be in the performance of my duties. My mouth’s purpose was to please Him and I yearned to do my best.

As my service to Him brought Him to the point of no return, He pushed me from him. “Have I displeased you?” I asked.

“No, not at all, little one,” Master C replied, “I intend to mark you.”

He stroked his cock, His hand almost a blur. “I am claiming you, Morag,” he groaned, “I am marking you as mine. From this moment on, you are MY slut.”

His cock errupted. His cum sprayed over my face, it trickled down my neck, dribbling on to my boobs.

“Give me Your belt,” I asked in a small voice, His cum drying on my skin. He gave me an enquiring look. “Pass me Your belt Sir, it’s important,” I urged.

Master C slipped His belt from its stays and passed it to me. I accepted it and adopted a position of supplication, on my knees, my head bowed, my hands raised with His belt draped over them.

“I submit to You,” I said, “I submit to You and accept Your domination. I offer You this belt to use for my instruction and correction. I will accept Your discipline as You see fit to dispense it.”

Master C took the belt from my hands. I turned around as He folded it and cracked it sharply together.

I waited. The anticipation built. I heard the belt swish through the air. With a resounding smack, His leather kissed my arse. In that moment, I truly became His submissive and He became my Master. With that first stinging caress of hard leather on my soft skin, He made me His…

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Living life fully


The teaser on Quote Quest this week is:

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”

– Mae West

It is, as I’m sure anyone who reads this blog on even the most casual basis, a view that I am fully on board with. I try to apply it as much as possible in all aspects of my life.

Pre-pandemic me loved to travel (and hopefully one day that will be possible again). I love discovering new places, immersing myself in different cultures, seeing new places, trying new foods and, when inspiration files, adding new locations to the “I’ve been fucked/gave Master C a blow-job there” list. Actually, that last was pretty much a given, but there is something about being somewhere new, whether it be on the other side of the world, or just somewhere a few miles down the road that you’ve never visited before, that adds to the richness of life.

I also enjoy trying out new things, from rock climbing to scuba diving, downhill skiing to white water rafting, pedalling sedately round the village, to long tours on my trusty Kawasaki. I do, however have one rule: never jump out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft; parachute jumping is not for me.

Not surprisingly, when it comes to sex, my approach is pretty much the same.

When I split up with my cheating ex, I embarked on what could have been a very destructive path, but, in terms of my sexual personality, turned out to be very much a voyage of discovery. Even before him, I’d already discovered I enjoyed my casual encounters. I’d already participated in and enjoyed group sex activities, but in the aftermath of that break-up, I learned to fully embrace my inner slut and let her out.

Id never felt shame as to my casual fucks before, but I learned that “numbers” didn’t matter. If I wanted to fuck someone, and they wanted to fuck me, then the best thing we could do was just get on with it and fuck. If, on any given night, I found myself in a situation where I couldn’t decide between which of two guys I wanted to fuck more, I’d fuck them both; and if that happened simultaneously, so much the better.

I discovered my penchant for sex that is definitely not vanilla. The masochist in me began to bud (although it would take Master C for it to fully bloom) and I began enjoying sex that was rougher and darker than the sex I had had up until then. I would let partners restrain me more often, I would let them spank me, I would let them pull my hair and occasionally choke me. My latent submissive was being awoken and, when Master C, finally unleashed it, that was the game-changer.

Some of my partners had called me a slut in the past, but under Master C’s tutelage, I began to identify as a slut; I was His slut. Being Master C’s slut allowed me a degree of freedom that I’d never had in a relationship before; I was free to fuck whomever I so pleased so long as I was prepared to pay the price and accept the consequences of my actions.

I wasn’t just Master C’s slut, I was His submissive slut. Through my submission, I found a way to fully explore my relationship with pain and its juxtaposition with desire and pleasure and the exploration of my masochism deepened.

I would find reasons for Master C to thrash me, yearning the kiss of his belt on my buttocks. We would go out in the evening, and I would have clamps on my nipples and a plug up my arse. I would let Him choke me, almost to the point where I would lose consciousness. When His belt wasn’t enough, I would conspire to be flogged or caned instead; the lattice of deliciously painful, angry welts on my arse making me squirm in my seat days later.

And then there was our “Sharing Circle”; that close network of other likeminded D/s participants that added an extra element; whether it be in participating in group activities, or allowing me to explore my humiliation/degradation fetish. There is something about to kneel, naked and bound in the corner of a room watching your Master and several others giving pleasure to another woman while being told you aren’t worthy of their attention, then, to add further insult, have that woman thrash you on their bequest, as they call you a worthless slut, before she “services” them again, before finally, at the invitation of Master C, some of the men shoot their cum all over you, that just does something to me. The pain of being rejected, the jealousy of seeing another woman get to enjoy my Master, seeing her enjoy the attentions of several men while I get nothing but insults, the humiliation of being treated with contempt; they all combine into something that, for me, is so deeply arousing that makes the fucking I will eventually receive from Master B later, when we are on our own, when He rewards me and calls me His “good girl” so much more intensely satisfying than it would other wise have been.

So, yes, for me, a big part of living a full life is that I get to be the masochistic submissive slut who loves to be humiliated and fucked every which way she can. I’ve enjoyed it so far and I hope that I continue to live it fully for a long time to come.

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A great end to an otherwise shit day


So, I was in a right old grump most of yesterday.  It started when I broke my favourite mug, spilling coffee all over my feet and the kitchen floor at breakfast and continued pretty much for the whole day. In fact, my mood only improved (and it did so considerably) when I managed to meet up with “The Other Guy” after work.

He gently rubbed my neck and shoulders as I told him all about how shit my day had been. It didn’t take him long to have me out of my clothes and to have me feeling warm and relaxed as his hands worked away the tension in my back.

He did, of course, comment on the visible effects of my most recent thrashing; asking me what I’d done to deserve such punishment this time.  I told him, in great detail, about the fun “The Girl” and I had got up to on Wednesday evening after our most recent “catch-up”; to which he agreed that my subsequent thrashing had been more than merited. In fact, he even went as far as to suggest that, given how the marks had almost faded, I had, perhaps, been let off somewhat lightly.

Now, I have to say, when I was enduring the kiss of Master C’s belt on Wednesday evening, it didn’t seem like He was being particularly lenient. He really does know how to wield that belt; but I digress…

Of course, my lurid descriptions of my afternoon and evening of  wanton, girl-on-girl debauchery had a very obvious effect on him; it was evident than “The Other Guy’s” cock was straining, desperate to be set free.

Now, one thing that Master C has taught me is that I should always be fully appreciative when someone does something nice for me. As “The Other Guy” had cheered me up no end, and had made me feel so nice as he massaged the strains of the day from my body, it was only right that I should show how thankful I was by releasing his cock from its straining confinement and subjecting it to the much more pleasant, warm and wet confinement of my mouth.

I may be a slut, but no one can ever fault my manners.

It seems he was every bit as grateful for the blow-job as I had been of the massage. I had hardly had time to get into my stride when I recognised that familiar pattern of breathing, that tension in his groin that announce that he is on the point of orgasm.

His cock erupted, deluging my mouth with a thick torrent of cum. Swallowing it down, I marvelled at how much he produced. “The Other Guy” is generally quite a heavy comer, but anyone would have thought he had gone without coming for weeks; whereas I know for a fact he’d been relieved of several loads just as recently as last Saturday

Once he’d recovered, we swapped places; me on the edge of the sofa and him on his knees, between my legs, as he embarked on a prolonged bout of “getting his beard moisturised”.

I wasn’t going to complain. When it comes to going down on a woman, both the men in my life are extremely talented. Both Master C and “The Other Guy” belong to that rare breed of men that, when they go down on a woman, they give their full concentration to the task that’s in front of them; they both take their time and do the job properly. With them it isn’t just a quick perfunctory licking, to be done as quickly as possible, they both actually seem to luxuriate in it.

Suffice to say, I came several times before “The Other Guy” finished his devotions. By that time his cock was fully restored and, with the aid of gravity, I slid off the sofa, on to the floor and, to my astonishment, found myself underneath him.

We fucked. We fucked slow, we fucked fast, we fucked long and we fucked hard. We fucked until my cunt ached, and then we fucked some more. His cock massaged my insides every bit as skilfully as his hands had massaged my outsides. I came hard on his cock, gripping it tight inside me, feeling stretched and full and fabulously fucked.

He pulled out just before the end and fed me his cock. I loved the taste of myself on its length and the flavour of my juices was quickly combined with the wonderful taste of yet another load of his cum.

We cuddled there, on the floor, for a while after that and I left and drove home.

Master C still wasn’t in when I arrived, so showered and then poured myself a large glass of wine, before plonking myself down on the sofa, and proceeded to “unwind further”.

And that’s pretty much how Master C found me when he got home; somewhat tipsy, naked, nipples clamped, my favourite plug in my arse and with my fingers in my cunt. I didn’t even need any instruction; I simply got off the sofa and meekly adopted the required position as He smiled, winked and proceeded to remove His belt.

The lashes that rained down mercilessly upon my arse were as painfully delicious as they were fully deserved. The pain made my face flush almost as hotly as my other cheeks.

Tears streaked down my face as Master C spun me around and forced his cock into my mouth.

“Filthy Slut!” He said with quiet authority as he fucked my face, driving His cock angrily into my throat as His grip tightened around my neck.

I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I hoped I would be allowed to take Master C’s cum in my mouth. Instead, I got what I deserved. At the last second Master C pulled out and dumped a heavy load on to my face.

The rest of the evening was spent in acts of atonement. Once in bed, Master C fucked me gently and tenderly, letting me know that he had forgiven me.

My last conscious thought before I finally drifted off to sleep was, “well, today ended much, much, much better than it started…

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The male orgasm


Cum… It’s a strange substance really. That’s not to say I find it repulsive in any way, because I most definitely do not.

I’ve been bizarrely fascinated by the stuff ever since the first time  I saw/made a guy come when I was 14. It has a sticky, smooth texture that defies words and, for me, watching a guy come is simply one of the most erotic scenes I can witness.  There’s a sense of gratification that comes (no pun intended) of seeing the reward for your efforts as he unloads.

Now don’t get me wrong, that’s not to say that I don’t prefer to have his sticky goodness inside me, but for all the times I’ve had a nice, thick load shot into my cunt or arse, or down my throat or over my face/boobs/arse/skin, actually watching a guy erupt and knowing that I’m the cause, is something I’ll never tire of seeing. There is, for me, something strangely hypnotic about it. I simply love watching guys come.

Perhaps it’s the inherent honesty of  of it.  It is, after all, a reaction that can’t (to my knowledge anyway) be faked.  It’s a kind of confirmation to me, as a woman, that I’ve properly pleasured my man.

I also love the way that the male orgasm is so visual, compared to ours. I can be fairly vocal when I come, and I tend to writhe and moan a lot, and Master C’s back often has the scratches to demonstrate how much I’ve enjoyed things. Apart from the noises I make and the way my body shudders uncontrollably, there isn’t really any visible evidence my orgasm for my partners to see (although Master C claims He can always tell when I have and He can certainly taste when I have when it’s His tongue that has caused it).

With the male orgasm, it’s completely different. We women get very warm, sticky, and at times, very visible and in our face evidence of when our man has reached the point of no return. We know we’re the reason he’s lost control (leaving aside whomever he’s actually fantasising about at that point, we’ll allow them that), we know that, in that moment, the only thing he’s really thinking about is that sensation as his balls contract and his seed floods up through his cock and we know, that we have contributed in what ever way, be it with our hands, mouth, cunt, arse, or even just whispering naughty nothings in his ear as he jerks himself off, that we have contributed to his pleasure.

For me, at least, that is a huge turn-on.

That’s not to say I’m being completely selfless; I will, after all, have derived an awful lot of pleasure from his cock in the process, and my own orgasm is just as important but, where as I can, and frequently do come more than once in a single session, for most guys, they only come once and it’s part of my job to make sure his orgasm is every bit as enjoyable for him as mine was/were for me.

Part of that is letting Master C come wherever He wants. Well, actually, “let” doesn’t come into it, He comes where He wants to cum. Sometimes that’ll mean taking His load in my mouth, which, of course I have no objection to, sometimes it’ll mean taking it in my cunt or arse, depending on which hole He’s fucking when He reaches boiling point, and at other times it will mean having Him shoot it all over my skin, which is a sensation that I particularly love, especially when He comes all over my boobs as a prelude to rubbing his warm sticky load into my skin as he eats me out.

I guess you could say I’m a bit of a cum addict.  It’s been the best part of three and a half decades since I saw my first load and I dread to think how many more loads I have seen, felt (both in me and on me), or tasted since then, but I’m still just as fascinated by cum now, as I was back then, if not more so.

Funnily enough, you’ll never hear Master C complaining about my fixation.  He’s only more than happy to provide me with my regular fix. And, of course, I’m always happy to take it in whatever quantities and in what ever location He is able to give it to me.

In the end, we both get what we want, He gets to give me a bloody good seeing to, where I “let” Him fuck me any way He pleases, and I get to savour a nice thick load of His maleness wherever He so wishes to deposit it. There’s absolutely no doubting the fact that I’m a very lucky little slut indeed…

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Freshly fucked


It’s a feeling I love. I’ve just been fucked, Master C has shot a lovely thick load of cum inside my cunt and then, after He has pulled out, as I lie there, my body warm and tingly, it begins to trickle out of me.

I love the warm, sticky feeling as His cum begins to ooze; a lovely warm reminder of the fuck we’ve just had.

Sometimes I reach down, let it gather on my fingers before lifting them to my mouth and savouring the rich taste of our combined essences. Mostly though, I just love the sensation as His cum slowly makes its way out of my cunt and between my buttocks, leaving that warm, wetness on the sheet beneath me.

It’s especially nice when Master C fucks me in the morning and then, afterwards, I sit at my desk at work, squirming slightly in my seat as His cum dribbles into my knickers, reminding me of the lovely start to my day.

Today however, because it was the weekend, I just lay there in His embrace as His warm, sticky goodness slowly drained out of my well fucked cunt.

What can I say? I’m a slut that loves cum. You knew that already though…

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Making the most of morning wood


I stretch and yawn. Master C’s hand is between my thighs, a finger brushing over my smooth lips. I wriggle and part my thighs ever so slightly; an invitation for Him to go further when it suits him.

He plays with my soft curls and begins to press firmer. My juices begin to flow. His fingers slowly but deliberately spread my labia.

A hand on my breast, tracing its curve. I feel warm and languid; content to be little more than a passive participant in this seduction.

I moan as his finger slides inside me. I shudder slightly as Master C pinches one nipple with His fingers and His lips fasten on the other.

He moves above me; kissing my neck, my collar bone, my boobs, my nipples, and then lower.

He moves between my thighs and begins to lick. It feels so good as Master C lazily applies His tongue to my clit with slow, firm licks.

His hands move up to cup and squeeze my boobs as His tongue explores my cunt. My juices flow over His tongue. A “Yesssss!” escapes from my mouth as he pinches my nipples.

I can feel my climax approach. Without changing pace or intensity, His tongue drives me inexorably onwards.

I come, hard. My fingers clenched in the sheets. My head tossing from side to side as I surrender control of my body.

Master C moves up, kisses me and I savour the taste of myself on His lips.

A movement of His hips, a moan from me, a sigh from Him as His marvellous thick cock slides so easily into me; filling me, stretching me.

We fuck, long, slow and hard and Master C pins me beneath Him with powerful thrusts of His lovely, forceful cock.

The tempo slowly builds, His thrusts become more rapid, sharper, stabbing into me. It feels so good as Master C slowly loses control, surrendering to His urges, fucking me as if He neither knows nor care who is beneath Him.

This is His moment, it’s all now about Him; His need, His climax. I am simply the means for Him to achieve his end, a body for Him to use, a hole for Him to fuck.

His breathing deepens, His body grows taut, His hips surge of their own volition, driving his cock into my cunt. I offer soft moans of encouragement, letting Him know how much I am enjoying being fucked by Him, being used for His pleasure.

He stiffens, He groans, I feel His cock pulse inside me as Master C fills my cunt with a thick load of cum. Then He collapses, spent, on top of me, squashing me into the mattress.

We lie there, Master C on top and still in me; me holding Him tight, feeling His warm breath on my neck, His heart pound in His chest.

A kiss, a groan. Master C dismounts and rolls over. I snuggle up close, feeling the heat of His body next to mine, gently stroking the hairs on His chest as we bask in the post-coital afterglow.

Can there be a better way to start the day?

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A penis for a day


It’s something I think about from time to time; what I would do if I had a penis for a day. It’s not that I wish I were a man; I most certainly do not. I love being a woman and, when it comes to sex, I love the fact that I have the receiving bits. I love the feeling of having my holes stuffed full of thick, hard cock, but I am fascinated by what sex feels like from a male perspective. After all, no matter how close a couple are, and how good at describing the sensations we feel, we can never actually what the other party experiences.

So, if I had a penis for a day, the first thing I’d do is spend time getting to know my new appendage; discovering what it likes, how it likes to be touched, how to prolong my pleasure.

Being no stranger to masturbation, I can, intellectually at least, understand for a guy to pleasure himself, but no matter how swollen my clit gets, rubbing it is never going to feel the same as having several inches of hard flesh that I can wrap my fingers around.

I’m pretty confident in my hand-job technique, and certainly, Master C assures me that I do a fantastic job, but I have no idea how it feels to him. Not that having a cock of my own would improve my hand-job skills per se; in the same way that knowing how my clit likes to be treated gives me no insight into what another woman likes, having a cock of my own wouldn’t tell me anything more about what Master C enjoys. It would, however, give me some insight as to how the different bits that guys have respond to stimuli.

Then there’s the male orgasm. I know what mine feels like, but what does it feel like for a guy to come? What does it feel like to have a thick load surge through them and shoot out the end? What does it feel like for him afterwards as his cock relaxes and returns to its relaxed state? I can only imagine what the differences between Master C’s climax and my own must feel like.

Then there’s sex. I know what it feels like to have a cock inside me, but what does it feel like to be inside the body of another person?

I guess, having got to know my penis, I would need to call upon one of my girl friends to discover how to use it. What does Master C feel when I wrap my lips around his cock and suck it? How would a girl’s mouth feel around my cock if I had one? What would it feel like to put my cock inside a woman, feeling the warm moisture of her cunt envelop me as I fuck her? How different does her arse feel from her cunt?

All these things are things that I know and enjoy from a woman’s perspective; sucking Master C’s cock, having him fuck me in my cunt or up my arse, but it would be fascinating, I think, to spend one day experiencing masturbation and sex the way guys experiences it, by having a cock for one day.

I could probably live quite happily without the peeing standing up, or running the risk of getting it caught in the zip of my jeans though.

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My first vibrator


I bought my first vibrator when I was 16. This was in a pre-internet age, where I cut out a coupon from one of my brother’s naughty magazines, paid by postal order (I was too young to have a cheque book or credit card) and had to allow 28 days for delivery and then hope to hell that the discreet packaging it said it would be delivered in was, in fact, discreet, and that my mum didn’t open it for me.

Thankfully it was, and she didn’t.

On the day it arrived, I couldn’t wait to try it. Of course, this pre-internet age was also the age of batteries not included, and as it was a Wednesday (which meant half-day trading in those days, of course), the post hadn’t arrived until after the village shop had shut, I had to improvise.

Now, this was 1991. It was about 6″ long, about 1½” in diameter, shaped like a nuclear missile and, as I was about to find out, about as noisy as one too. It took two “C” size batteries for fuck sake. The only way I could power it up was to steal the batteries from one of the torches in the cupboard under the stairs. When I turned the thing on, I nearly leapt out of my skin; not because of the vibrations, which were powerful enough I guess (having nothing to compare it with), but because of the noise. Discreet, it most certainly was not. Even muffled under the bedclothes, I was certain that it could probably be heard downstairs; hell, my best friend could probably hear it and she lived on the other side of the village.

Suffice to say, while pleasant, and while I did, eventually, get myself off, the whole experience was spent on tenterhooks, expecting at any moment to have someone knocking on my bedroom door, demanding to know what was making all the racket.

The whole experience was, I’ll admit, somewhat disconcerting. Far from needing to peel myself of the ceiling as I’d expected, I found that I could come quicker using my fingers. The one good thing about it was that, when switched off, it made me feel deliciously full, albeit in a hard, inflexible piece of plastic sort of way, which certainly helped me.

As it turned out, it got used more as a dildo than it ever did as a vibrator, the only time I ever dared switch it on was when I knew I had the house to myself. I’d have probably felt safer if I had the entire village to myself, but sometimes you just have to go with what circumstances provide.

The one thing I did make sure of was that the next one I bought, was a hell of a lot quieter.

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