On my knees


Whether it’s facing Master C, ready to take His cock in my mouth, or facing away, bracing myself, ready to feel Him in my cunt or arse, I spend a lot of time on my knees.

When I’m sucking His cock, I love to look up at Master C, making eye contact as I take Him deep into the back of my throat. As I kneel between His legs, Mater C puts His hands on my head and forces His cock deeper. I look up through my lashes and see the look of hunger in His eyes.

Turning away from Him, I brace myself, waiting for Master C to take me. The anticipation grows as His hands grip my hips, peaking as I feel the head of His wonderful cock press against the entrance of His choice. My body moves as Master C plunges into me. Sometimes He grabs my hair, pulling my head back painfully, at other times, He’ll push me forward, forcing my face towards the floor as He fucks me with long, hard, forceful thrusts of His magnificent cock.

Of course, it’s not just about blow-jobs and fucking. I kneel to receive His spankings, I kneel when I await the bite of His belt on my arse, I kneel when I thank Master C for my punishment.

I spend a lot of time on my knees, and I love every moment I spend on them.

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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.

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Getting off in public


There is, in my opinion, nothing hotter than having a very public, if secret orgasm. The fact that people are all around you, yet (assuming you are discreet) blissfully unaware of what is going on right under their noses, heightens the enjoyment of the experience.

I spend a lot of time on trains and planes, travelling for work. Wearing my ben-wa balls can keep me nicely simmering; however nothing, but nothing, helps pass the time on a long journey like a good wank.

Preparation is important. When I’m traveling by train, I like to make sure I’m wearing a skirt for ease of access. Wherever possible, I try to make sure I get a table seat. Once on the train, I open up my laptop, load up a meaningless spreadsheet that I can pretend to work on,  drape my coat over my lap for concealment purposes and, once everyone is sitting comfortably, I can begin.

The secret, I believe, is not to make any obvious movements. The naughtiness of the situation is already, for me, a massive turn-on. Just sitting there in the middle of the carriage, “minding my own business” as everyone else minds theirs, will have my cunt soaking in now time.

An occasional movement of the mouse, heightens the illusion that I’m concentrating on my work. In fairness I am, but the work in question is what my fingers are doing to my cunt.

I’ll order a coffee as the trolley goes past; sipping from the cup to make it look like nothing unusual is happening. Subterfuge and misdirection are the public wanker’s tools of the trade; drawing attention away from the “sleight of hand” that is taking place.

As my arousal builds, my cunt becomes increasingly wet. I become acutely aware of the soft squelching noises my fingers make as they play inside me.

I cough to stifle a moan; fanning myself with my free hand, trying to look for all the world like a woman who has taken too big a sip of her coffee and not like a wanton slut on the verge of a self-induced orgasm.

And now the fun bit begins; trying to keep myself on the brink for as long as possible. I stare intently at my laptop screen, not seeing anything as I hold myself on the edge. The pressure, the need for release become excruciating as I “suffer” in silence. The need for discretion adds to the intensity. Do I look flushed? Do I appear flustered? Is my coat still concealing what I am doing.

As the end becomes inevitable, I drain the remains of my coffee. Holding my now empty cup to my face for concealment, I surrender to my climax. I struggle to keep my body still as waves of intense pleasure spread through me. I bite down on the edge of my cup to stop myself from crying out. I’ve done this so many times, I know how to keep my climax from my fellow travellers.

As my destination approaches, I pack my laptop away, straighten my skirt under my coat, stand up and make my way to the toilet to wash my hands and my face. My knickers are uncomfortably wet, and I change them for the spare pair I keep in my bag for such purposes.

I return to my seat, continue to pack up, then alight from the train when it reaches my stop. I walk to the taxi rank, hail a cab, and set off, satisfied and relaxed ahead of my next meeting.

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Empowerment through sucking cock


I have to admit, I never really give a lot of thought to the mechanics of sex and their impact on the greater world of sexual politics; basically, if I enjoy it, then, fuck yeah, do it to me baby, is about as deep and philosophical as I get on the subject. However, with sex, as with all things in life, there is a certain power balance between men and women, and that balance is generally tilted in the direction of the man.

When we get right down to it, no matter how much we women enjoy it, or how enthusiastically we participate, the truth is that most sexual activities involve things that are done to us.  It is, at the end of the day, our cunts and our arses that are being penetrated and it is his cock that is doing the penetrating. Now, that’s fine, that’s the way nature designed us. As a woman, my body is made to receive, and believe me, I do enjoy being receptive; and the more forcefully a man gives, the more receptive I become.

Even the language of sex is orientated towards the male perspective.  We talk about women being “taken”, I will tell Master C that I want Him to “use” me, or that He“owns” me.  And, if we’re being brutally honest with ourselves, even our own bodies conspire against us, given that it takes us much longer, generally, to get off than it does for men.

There are a couple of activities however, where the balance shifts.  The first is the humble hand-job and the second is the blow-job.  With these two activities, it is us women doing it to the men.  OK, so ultimately it still leads to his orgasm, but we have the power to grant or deny that release.

I gave my first blow-job at the tender age of 14.  It was a special present for my then boyfriend’s 15th birthday. With my lack of experience, I probably wasn’t very good, but as it was the first time that the recipient had ever had his cock sucked, he was hardly in a position to make comparisons. But even then, at that young age, with no experience at all, and a cock in my mouth for the first time, and me wondering if I was doing it right, the thing I became increasingly aware of was that I was in charge. The stirrings in his cock were down to me, the moans of pleasure were down to me. Even when he put his hand on the back of my head, trying to force his cock deeper into my throat, that was all down to me. He was going to cum, and that was down to me.  I could choose to tease him, I could deny him his release and that too, would be down to me.

Actually, I was kidding myself a bit about denying him, given the novelty of the experience, he blew his load pretty quickly, but that in itself was confirmation; I had caused a boy to completely lose control; he couldn’t have stopped himself from cumming even if he had wanted to, and that was all down to me, and the feeling of power it gave me was an immense turn-on.

As I grew in cock-sucking experience, I learned that my mouth could be used pretty much like a weapon, to give or deny a man pleasure at my choosing.

There is a contradiction to the blow-job. When you look at it in one way, getting down on your knees in front of a man and taking his cock in your mouth seems like one of the most submissive and subservient things a woman can do, and to an extent, this is true.  I love it when Master C orders me to get down on my knees and suck His cock, or when He force-feeds His cock to me after it’s been in my cunt, and it is covered in my juices. But, at the same time, however submissive I am, and however submissive the act of sucking His cock  may appear on the outside, knowing I have the power to grant or deny a man release, puts me, the cock-sucker, in a very dominant position over the cock-suckee.

Of course, most of the time, when I’m sucking a cock, I’m not thinking any of these things, I’m simply enjoying having my lips wrapped around a glorious piece of man-meat. Whether it’s part of foreplay that’s going to progress to me getting my brains well and truly fucked out, or whether I’m doing it simply because I think the man in question deserves a blow-job and I’m going to hungrily swallow down his cum at the end, doesn’t really matter.  At the end of the day, I’m a cock-sucking slut, who loves the feeling of a cock sliding between my lips, along my tongue until the swollen head lodges in the back of my throat, making me cough and my eyes water.

Sometimes, however, I take great satisfaction in knowing that, for as long as I have a cock in my mouth, I’m in charge…

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