Friends reunited


As I mentioned in my last post, on Saturday, I managed to meet up with “The Girl” for the first time since September. Our reunion was everything I expected. There were smiles, there were tears, there were hugs, there was laughter and, yes, there were orgasms.

It was lovely to simply see her and talk to her in person again. Yes, we have kept in touch, but Zoom calls don’t quite do it. It was, however, pretty obvious from the outset that we were not going to be restricting ourselves to chat. From the very first peck on the cheek, the first hand on the other’s arm or shoulder, we both knew exactly where this encounter was heading.

So, not to beat about the bush, as it were, things moved in the direction we both knew they were moving and ended up exactly where we both wanted them to be.

Feeling “The Girl’s” body next to mine again, feeling her skin beneath my fingers as her hands caressed mine was simply wonderful. From the first kiss, we just melted into each other and let nearly 9 months of pent up hunger for each other fall away.

Fingers tickled and teased. Lips kissed and explored. Teeth nipped and nibbled. Tongues flicked and licked. Orgasms ignited, subsided and flared again.

It felt so good to taste her and to taste me on her. The scent and taste of her cunt was intoxicating as I feasted hungrily upon it. The intensity of the sensations as her fingers twisted inside my cunt, and her tongue tormented my clit was simply divine.

The last 9 months were simply stripped away as we took each to the heights of orgasm again and again; sometimes using our fingers to tease each other’s cunts, sometimes using our lips and tongues to drive each other wild.

Time, such as it had any meaning at all, was measured in heartbeats, in kisses, in sighs and moans, in climaxes and cuddles and it all felt so right, so wonderful.

Afterwards, at home, Master C, as I knew he would, required me to recount every detail; making me relive the events of the afternoon and evening as I told Him everything. Occasionally He would require more specific detail. Sometimes He would stop me and do to me the very thing I had just described that “The Girl” had done earlier.

“Did she do this?” He’s ask, pinching my nipples as His tongue beat on my clit. “Was it like this?” He’d enquire as He slid one, then two fingers up inside me and twisted them around. “Did you taste like this?” He’d ask, lifting His fingers to my lips and slipping them into my mouth.

When I’d told Master C all the was to tell, He spun me around, told me to brace myself, and reminded me of the one thing “The Girl” couldn’t do.

He fucked me hard, driving His cock into my cunt with powerful thrusts. Having been taken so tenderly by “The Girl”, it felt so good to be used by Master C; the differences so apparent as He fucked me; the rougher touch of His hands, the firmness of His body, the coarseness of the stubble on His face and, of course, His cock; His wonderful thick, hard cock that was pounding me mercilessly.

As the end approached, He spun me around again and demanded that I took Him in His mouth. For an intense moment I tasted myself on His cock before He filled my mouth with a deliciously think load of cum.

We would fuck again later; Master C eating me to the edge of another shuddering climax, having held me on the brink for what seemed like eternity before finally using His cock to ignite my release as He fucked me beyond my ability to hold on.

All in all, it was a fantastic day and a wonderful way to see in the new month.

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A dirty little fantasy


A little daydream; inspired, in part, by the evenings getting longer and the easing of Covid restrictions meaning nights out and meeting people become possible again, and I might just get be able to “get my slut on” again…

While out with friends, I meet a stranger in a club or bar.

We sneak out, find some dark, out of the way alleyway, and then, without any preliminaries required, we fuck. After so many months of not meeting anyone, the thrill of being with someone else is electrifying. His cock feels so good fucks me hard, in my mouth, in my cunt and in my arse.

He pulls my hair as he fucks me; calling me a filthy slut. His cock pounds me with increased urgency.

Sounds of voices and footsteps pass nearby. Have they seen us? I don’t care. All that matters is what his cock is doing to me and how it is making me feel.

I hold back a moan as I come hard, not wanting to betray our presence to anyone who may be passing. My restraint intensifies my climax. His laboured breathing tells me that his climax is approaching.

Suddenly, he pulls out, spins me a round, calls me a “dirty whore” before blowing his load over my boobs.

We straighten ourselves out, and return to the club/bar; going back to our respective groups of friends as if nothing has happened (although my top is sticking uncomfortably to my cum covered boobs).

We never tell each other our names.

When I get home, Master C thrashes me soundly for being an insatiable, filthy little slut before giving all three of my holes another rough and very thorough fucking and adding his load to that of the stranger’s on my skin.

I fall asleep; tired, sticky, a little tender and sore, but very VERY happy…

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My sexual personality


I actually learned two new words when I read this week’s prompt: ambivert being someone who has a balance of extrovert and introvert features in their personality, and omnivert being someone who displays classic traits of both introverts and extroverts, in specific situations. When it comes to sex, I think I may be something of a mix of both of these.

I am a fairly outgoing person in all aspects of my life, and when it comes to most things sex related, I’m no different. That “most” in there is key however. I am completely open about my sexuality, I am a bisexual woman who is attracted to and enjoys sex with men and women. I am open about the kinds of sex I enjoy; specifically the rough, hard kind that leaves me aching all over and feeling thoroughly used. I make no bones about my inability to be monogamous, and the fact that I still, on occasion, will pick up random men or women for casual, and often anonymous sexual encounters. I don’t hide the fact that I have deep masochistic tendencies that Master C helps me explore and fulfil. It should come as no surprise that I love sucking cock, I enjoy having my arse fucked every bit as much as my cunt, I will never have enough of having my cunt licked, or enjoying the taste of another woman’s cunt. I get off on being humiliated, and I have a strong predilection for cum, be it in me or all over me.

I think it’s fair to say that if someone was creating an illustrated dictionary of sex, when you got the the entry on “submissive slut”, there’d be a good chance you’d find a picture of me.

Except, of course, you almost certainly wouldn’t.

Which is where one of the more contradictory aspects of being “me” comes in.

I am absolutely comfortable in my skin. I accept my lumpy and wobbly bits and the fact that as I approach my 50s, they are lumpier and wobblier and decidedly less pert than the were in my 20s. My body has had enough compliments from enough partners down the years for me to not have hang-ups about it (although, I suspect, the basis for a large part of those compliments was what I was prepared to do with and allow to be done to my body, but I digress).

I don’t know how many people have seen me naked, in person, but it’s a lot; be they my sexual partners, people who have seen me in swinger’s clubs or dungeons, or people who have chanced upon me when I’ve been indulging in sex outdoors. There is also the fact that I am no stranger to nudist beaches.

It’s not that I deliberately go out of the way to show off my body, or be naked in public (although there are occasions when I do this under instruction from Master C), it’s simply that I am comfortable being naked, and if people see me in that state, it’s fine.

One thing you won’t see very often, however, is photos of me naked. As a general rule, I don’t post those, and the few that I have posted are always carefully edited to make sure I’m not identifiable. Why is this? I’m not entirely sure. In one sense, there is no difference between someone seeing me naked, or engaging in sex, than there is someone seeing a photo of me naked or engaging in sex, and yet, there very much is.

I can kind of control what happens when people see me in the flesh. In the context of clubs/dungeons/etc., photography/filming is not permitted (except where all the parties have agreed in advance), and as a rule, what happens in the club/dungeon, stays there. OK, if I’m frolicking in some secluded outdoor spot, and someone snaps a photo of me, there’s not much I can do, but fucking al fresco always has some element of risk; that’s part of why I do it.

Posting photos, however, means kind of giving up control. Once that photo is out there, I no longer have any real say in how the viewer of that photo chooses to use it, or how they themselves choose to share it. That bothers me and so that is why although I participate in any number of blogging memes where I openly discuss sex, I don’t participate in memes like Monochromatic, Sinful Sunday, Love Your Selfie or any other photo based meme. Despite being comfortable letting people see me naked and/or having sex in person, somehow letting people (with a few notable exceptions) see photos or videos of me naked and/or having sex, is something that makes me uneasy, and so it is something I will very rarely do. I am willing to share my body, and frequently do, but not images of my body.

So yes, I am definitely quite extroverted in most aspects of my life in general and my sex live/sexuality in particular, but there are times and instances where I am definitely much more reticent (I don’t think I could really call myself introverted in any way that people would believe). As I said, I’m definitely something of a contradicyion.

The most accurate term to describe me, although not especially scientific, is a contrary bisim.

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Accepting pain


Balance, in the context of a D/s relationship is, I believe, constantly evolving. As a submissive learns their limits and boundaries, so must the Dominant evolve to be able to help the submissive explore and then possibly further expand those limits. A common perception about D/s is that it is the Dominant partner who sets the rules, but actually it is very much a two-way conversation.

By way of example, I will use my own relationship with pain.

Pain is a big thing for me. I’ve discovered that it centres and balances me. I’ve written many times about my need for a restorative thrashing, about how I need to feel Master C’s belt or paddle or cane on my buttocks, how I heed to feel His hand constrict my throat when He fucks me, how I need Him to fuck me hard in the cunt, in the arse, in the throat, and to show me no mercy when He is using me. I want that treatment; I need that treatment. I am, without doubt, very much a masochist.

Master C, on the other hand, is not by nature particularly sadistic. He is very much the guide, protect and nurture sort of Dominant; he prefers to educate rather than to correct.

The problem for Master C is that He has me as His submissive, and I need a lot of correction. Again, I’ve mentioned it many times on here, but I will often go out of my way to require “correction”; I will contrive to be punished just so I can have that slap of His hand on my face, the kiss of His belt or the bit of the cane on my arse.

A big part of the evolution of our dynamic has been for Master C to go against His natural inclinations, He is really a big softie at heart, and to administer the discipline I need and to inflict the levels of pain that take me out of myself. There are times when my life is getting on top of me that I need Master C to break me down and rebuild me. I need Him to really hurt me.

Despite the fact that He will often precede such a session with an admonishment to me to “be brave”, this is when Master C needs to find the courage and steel Himself to do something that He admits, were it not for our D/s context, He would find abhorrent.

It really isn’t me that is being brave when I’m fastened securely in place and enduring the pain of whatever implement has been chosen to leave its marks on my skin and turn my buttocks a deep, angry shade of crimson; it is Master C. He has to find it in Himself to hurt me and take me to the very limits of what I can bear, and that is no easy task. He knows what I want, He knows that I accept such treatment willingly, He knows that this is who I am; that the woman He loves and who submits to Him, needs Him to hurt her.

I’ve seen the anguish behind His eyes, the clenching of His jaw as He raises His belt. I have sensed His relief at the end of a particularly hard session, when He runs me a bath or just holds me tight against Him, soothing me with His hands, His words and just His presence. Master C knows that when I say “Thank you, Sir!” after one of those sessions, that I genuinely DO mean it; the blow-job that I am often “required” to give Him afterwards is simply a further confirmation of my gratitude; and as I’ve pointed out countless times, I never really need an excuse to have Master C’s cock in my mouth.

I don’t need to be brave when Master C punishes me; I need that pain and I know that ultimately He has a limit beyond which He will not go. It is Master C who needs to be brave and my gratitude towards Him for finding the courage to regularly satisfy such a deep-rooted need in me is boundless.

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A taste for things that come


I gave my first blow-job at the tender age of 14. It was kind of a special “present” to my then boyfriend on his 15th birthday. Despite have discussed the subject with one of my girlfriends who had had quite a bit of experience in the art of sucking cocks (note the plural), I really didn’t have much of a clue what I was doing; I sucked and licked and worked my lips up and down his shaft until, with very little in the way of warning, he blew his load in my mouth. Luckily for me, it was also my boyfriend’s first experience of a blow-job, so he had nothing to compare it with, but it was clear that he had enjoyed my attentions and, on the evidence of how wet my cunt was, I’d definitely enjoyed my part in the proceedings too. I’ve mentioned before that in the more than 30 years that have elapsed since that day, I’ve lost count of the number of cocks that I’ve had in my mouth, but that first one was the one that made me realise that sucking a guy off was just as much something for me as it was for the recipient.

One of the most important lessons that I’ve learned is that communication is key. If you want to give a cock a really good blow-job, or give a cunt a good tongue lashing, it’s listen to what the recipient wants and likes. No two cocks or cunts are identical in terms of what elicits the maximum amount of pleasure, so, if in doubt, ask. Also, listen; not just to what someone tells you in words, but also what their body tells you in terms of responses. Learn to identify what the gasps, sighs and moans mean, store away the things that made them flinch and shake. This applies equally to whether its a cock or a cunt that you are pleasuring. The more familiar you are with your partner’s body and how they respond to pleasure, the more you learn their sexual “tells”, the more you can concentrate on giving them the best head they’ve ever had.

Another thing I’ve learned, is that when it comes to licking a cunt, women aren’t intrinsically better at it than men. The idea behind this is that those of us with cunts know how we like to have them pleasured, so we should find it easier to pleasure others. This is, of course, nonsense. As I’ve written before, the only cunt whose responses I know with absolute certainty, is my own; and as I’ve already pointed out, what works for my cunt is not guaranteed to work for anyone else’s.  So, again, communication is key. Another tip I learned, was when having sex with another woman for the first time, try to arrange things so they go down on you first as they way they eat you will probably give you an indication of how they like to be eaten. Of course, if you go first, you’re the one giving tips and pointers to what you want when the time comes for the tables to be turned, so there is no right or wrong. The point is, the person who is feasting on your nether regions isn’t psychic, so unless there is a long familiarity with what you like, don’t be afraid to let them know. Help them to give you the tongue-lashing you want and need.

For me, as a submissive woman, one of the things I love about sucking cock is the sense of “empowerment” it gives me. When I’m sucking a cock, it is me that is doing, not being done to; I am giving them pleasure, my talents and abilities are going to be the reason they come, and their load of cum in my mouth is my reward for doing it to the best of my ability. Sucking cock is the way I give pleasure, rather than have it taken from me; I am providing pleasure, not being used for it. I suspect that this is the biggest reason for why I will try to find any excuse to end up with Master C’s in my mouth; I love being responsible for His orgasm and knowing that I am the reason for His climax.

Of course, sometimes, Master C will take His pleasure from my mouth; a mouth and throat is just as capable of being fucked as a cunt or arse. When Master C tips my head back and fucks me roughly in the throat, there is something about this that is deliciously filthy, that ticks my slut boxes, that reminds me that I am there for Him to be used

Over 30 years of using my mouth has taught me many things; how to use it to give pleasure, how to let it be used for pleasure, and how to fully enjoy both. Those are lessons that, in order to be Master C’s  slut and dutiful submissive, I definitely need to learn.

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All in my mind (for now…)


I spend a lot of time “in my own head”. In a way, this post follows on from the posts I did for both the Creative and Fantasy prompts of the previous weeks.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time engaging in sexual activity, either with Master C or on my own. The opportunities for me to be having sex outside of these parameters currently do not exist, although there is just the faintest glimmer of hope that things might not be quite as restrictive soon.

So, while I can’t actually have sex with “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” or some drunken random, that doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it.

I have, lately, spent a lot of time trying to imagine that it will be like when I finally get to meet my other lovers in person again.

With “The Other Guy”, I suspect it’ll be much like sex with Master C, albeit without the discipline and, given how long it has been since we last fucked, much more urgency. I like to imagine him deciding which of my holes he wants to get reacquainted with first. Does he want to feel my lips wrap around his shaft as I slide them along his length, taking the head of his cock deep into the back of my throat? Is his need to fuck me so great that he simply bends me over, hitches up my skirt or yanks down my jeans, pulls the gusset of my knickers aside and plunges straight into my cunt; gripping my hips as he fucks me long and hard? Does he want the tightness of my arse; to stretch and hurt me as he fucks me? What position does he want me in? On my back so that he can pin me beneath him? Bent over the table or the arm of a chair? On my knees, my boobs swinging free beneath me as he takes me hard? Will he fuck me in the living room? Will me make it upstairs to his bedroom? Will he just take me there on the stairs in the hall; items of clothing scattered at our feet as our bodies become reacquainted.

With “The Girl” it will be different. It will still be urgent, but it will be slower, softer. We will take our time as we slowly rediscover each other’s bodies with our lips, our fingers, our tongues. Our lips will kiss, our fingers will explore, our hands will caress, our cunts will ache with the desire to feel each other’s tongues. Nipples will stiffen as they are licked, kissed and bitten. Moans will fill the room as fingers slip between labia and into cunts. Backs will arch as tongues reconnect with clits. We will tease each other, take each other to the edge, let the tension build into an exquisite pain before allowing our climaxes to ignite. And then, after the glow of our reunion slowly wears off, we will do it again.

As for randoms, well that kind of depends very much on when pubs are allowed to reopen and at what time of the evening they turf us out, but I can imagine myself in some alleyway, on my knees, sucking hungrily on the cock of my chosen object of lust. Devouring him until he comes down my throat. I can picture myself standing in some hidden doorway, bracing myself as some unknown man fucks me urgently from behind. I can feel the intensity as I struggle to remain silent lest my moans draw unwanted attention to our furtive fucking. I can sense the thrill of hearing voices nearby and wondering if we will be discovered.

All of these things play out in my mind when Master C leaves me to my own devices, allowing me to spend time with my toys and/or fingers. For now, these events, these encounters, these “indiscretions” that will allow me to encounter Master C’s rightful chastisement can  only happen in my imagination. I hope, however, that one day soon, the can start to become a reality once again.

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Fantasies


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

Inspired by the 6 Nations, a few years back, I wrote about a Changing Room fantasy where I’m bound and helpless and the local rugby team get to have their way with me. Essentially, I get well and truly fucked in every hole, get cum splattered all over me, and then, with the absolute minimum of cleaning up afterwards, I have to join them in the club bar where they all talk very loudly about what they did and how I took it.

The key elements of this story are:

  • restraint/helplessness
  • being used by multiple men
  • having numerous loads of cum shot on my face/boobs/arse/skim
  • public humiliation

The truth is, while the setting and the premise may vary, the above is pretty much a recurring theme of my fantasies. They almost invariably involve me being tied up, naked in some semi-public location where there is an invitation for any who find me to use me as they please.

It could be the changing room as described above, it could be me bound and helpless in a hotel room, where the door has been deliberately wedged open, it could be me bound over a style or a gate on a country footpath or, in some sort of public stocks, being punished for my wanton behaviour by the good citizens, and my punishment is to endure their wanton behaviour.

Wherever the fantasy is located, I am always naked, always restrained, always helpless to resist and there is always the “invitation” for whoever encounters me to use me in whatever way they see fit.

What follows is an indeterminant number of people, both men and women, doing what they want. Fucking my mouth, fucking my cunt, fucking my arse, whipping me, thrashing me, my cunt is fingered, licked, fucked with numerous implements/toys and I simply have to “endure” it.

Usually, but not always, the men choose to punish me by denying me the satisfaction of having their cum released inside me; they shoot their loads on my skin, their cum sticks to my face, drips down my boobs, coats my buttocks. By the time I am finally released, every hole has been fucked countless times and I am a mess of dried on cum.

As if the humiliation of the public sexual torture and cum-soakings weren’t enough, there is always some sort of “walk of shame” element, where my slutiness is displayed for all to see. Those who have fucked me, feign outrage at my deplorable wantonness while congratulating themselves on how they used me, both individually and collectively.

The final act in my fantasy is the redemptive element. The overseer of my punishment/public humiliation (almost always some fictionalised version of Master C or “The Other Guy”) fucks me, rewards me with their cum in my cunt or mouth and tells me that despite being a filthy slut, they are proud of how I stoically took my punishment, how I held my head high, proudly, despite the humiliation, how I have proved myself to be worthy.

It’s probably fair to say that my fantasies are born somewhere within the darker side of my subconscious that I wrote about recently. I can’t deny there is a roughness bordering on violence about them that I suspect some may find disturbing. The thing is though, when my mind goes down these particular paths, the intensity of the orgasms that such mental images help to produce is something else altogether and I’m left feeling as drained as if the scenes playing out in my mind had actually happened.

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Creative misbehaviour


One of the many problems of living under lock down conditions is that it that it definitely impinges upon my ability to misbehave. The flip-side of this being that opportunities for me to incur Master C’s discipline, correction and guidance are also limited.

Now, some of you might argue this is a good thing; if I can’t misbehave then there is no need for Master C to punish me. On a very basic level, there is, of course, some truth to this.  The problem is, there are times when I need His discipline and correction, there are times when I need His guidance to be accompanied by a firm, but fair, spanking or something a bit more severe. There is a part of me that not only wants to be punished, but actually needs it.

In more relaxed times, it would be easy enough; I could go out, find myself a suitable “victim”, suck them, fuck them, or very possibly both, the confess my transgression to Master C, determine the appropriate degree of punishment, assume the required position and accept whatever He inflicted. These days, when the only other human I see in the flesh (and don’t get me wrong, I’ll never get too much of that) is Master C, if I’m going to incur some form of discipline, I need to be a bit more inventive.

It’s possible that I may decide to have an unsanctioned orgasm. This doesn’t mean that I can’t masturbate without Master C’s permission, but that there are times when I am playing for His benefit, that I am not allowed to come until such time as Master C allows me to do so. In these circumstances, I may decide to be a little over enthusiastic in my wanking, or exercise too little control and, as a result, “accidentally” climax before I have been give leave to do so.

Alternatively, when I’m sucking His cock, I may possibly bring Him to orgasm too soon. Again, this demonstrates a lack of control and restraint on my part resulting in Master C being denied the pleasure of my mouth for as long as He would have wished.

On other occasions, I just resort to being especially bratty and stubborn; not performing task He has set me correctly (even when they are perfectly with in my abilities to do so), or not applying myself with an appropriate degree of diligence. I don’t ever openly defy Him or refuse, I simply don’t apply the fullness of my abilities to whatever the assigned task or duty happens to be.

Of course, Master C knows exactly what I am doing and why I am doing it, and He accepts that, in part, it is also for His benefit; I am giving Him a reason to exert his Dominance so that we can both connect with ourselves and each other. It would be very easy, in the current circumstances, for complacency to set in; it would be, given the near constant proximity, to take each other for granted, even unintentionally. I have mentioned before, that part of my roil is to provide support and companionship for Master C and this is one of the ways in which I do this; I am providing a means by which an extremely important part of our relationship can be kept fresh during these difficult times.

Yes, I may be a bad girl, I may be a disobedient and impudent madam, I may be a disrespectful slut (and I can be all of those things), but, when I am there, bare arsed, bracing myself in anticipation for the smack of Master C’s hand, or the kiss of His belt, when the slaps or lashes are reining down on my buttocks, and afterwards, when my arse glows a rosy red and the heat of my punishment slowly dissipates, I know and Master C knows, that I was simply doing my duty and that in being bad, I was being His “good girl”.

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A cock in the hand…


Like a lot of women (and a fair number of men), I have a fascination with the male reproductive organ. There is something slightly hypnotic about the way it undergoes its metamorphosis from the wrinkled, slightly comical, flaccid unaroused state into a full, raging, swollen hard-on. And, for me, there is nothing more satisfying than knowing that I am the reason for that glorious transformation. A hard-on cannot, after all, be faked, and I am always grateful for that very obvious compliment of my desirability and, well, fuckability that the man’s hard-on so obviously bestows upon me.

I love to play with those lovely inches of turgid flesh; stroking them, kissing them, wrapping my fingers and/or lips around them and giving their owner so much pleasure.

As I stroke Master C’s (or, indeed any) cock, I love to watch His reactions; the little moans and sighs of pleasure, the involuntary flinches of His body, the way His breathing changes as His arousal increases.

I love the way Master C’s cock stiffens and swells in my hand. I love the way the head becomes engorged and full, I love knowing how much Master C is enjoying what I am doing to Him, for Him.

As Master C’s orgasm grows ever closer, I am fascinated by the way his body reacts; the growing tension in His thighs, the involuntary thrusting of His hips that grows increasingly urgent as that most primal urge begins to take hold. The closer His climax gets, the more His cock twitches and jerks between my fingers.

And then, when Master C comes, when I angle His cock so that it coats my skin with a lovely thick load of His warm, rich, sticky essence, I marvel at the force with which His cock erupts, pulsing in my hand, the way His face contorts in an agony of release as His cum is forced out of His cock and on to my skin.

Finally, as I lower my head, wrapping my lips around the head, to suck the last drops of cum from it, I love the deep sigh of contentment that tells me so clearly how much Master C has enjoyed my attentions.

The humble hand-job is an often neglected part of a couple’s sexual repertoire, but for me, seeing the pleasure it gives a partner, especially Master C, it can be a deeply intimate experience.

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The discovery years


As is, I suppose, the case for may of us, my teenage years were a time of discovery and experimentation. They were the years when the “theory” of sex things were, largely, put into practice. By the time I put my teenage years behind me in the spring of 1994, there really wasn’t much I hadn’t tried. By my 20th birthday, I’d experienced the full gamut from those first, furtive fumblings and fingerings, through sucking, fucking, licking and being licked by both male and female partners, all the way to having sex with multiple partners at a party during my university’s freshers’ week. My teenage years were the years of first times and discoveries of what was simply just enjoyable and what was “Oh my fucking God! What just happened?”

My teenage years were the time of the so called “slut bands”, the multi-coloured string bracelets that me and other girls in my school (and probably countless others) wore around our left wrist; each colour indicating something we’d let a boy do to us: yellow, for having our boobs felt, green for having been fingered, orange for touched his cock, purple for having sucked it, red for having gone all the way. We wore our bands with pride and there was always a feeling of appreciative envy when one of the group added a new colour to her wrist that you didn’t have on yours.

It was also the time where I discovered that something that was just “meh!” with one partner could be amazing with an other, and that similarly something that one partner did that almost required scraping me off the ceiling could, with another partner, be little more than a damp squib.

Those were the years where I learned what I enjoyed, how I liked to be touched, how I liked to be licked, the positions where I could most enjoy the feeling of a partner’s cock inside me, the things that I did with my lips and tongue that my partners enjoyed the most. They were the years of discovering the different ways of how I could give myself pleasure; which worked best when I needed to get off in a hurry and which best suited a long, leisurely session when I had time on my hands. They were the years where I learned about the almost infinite ways in which two or more bodies could fit together to bring pleasure and enjoyment to the participants.

Most of all though, it was a journey where I discovered me as a sexual human being. My sexual tastes, appetites and desires were forged in those years. My love of of sucking a partner’s cock, my love of the taste of another woman’s cunt, my hunger for sex that was just that little bit rougher and “out there” were all born in those years. By the time I turned 20, I was already well on the way to becoming the unrestrained sex-hungry slut I would become before Master C taught me. Casual sex had become my norm. A night out at the Student Union invariably meant going home with a different man or woman, and sometimes more than one, or both; the night often starting before we wound up in whatever room/flat we were heading to.

I went from from curious virgin, to experimental novice and on to seasoned slut in just a few short years. Solo sex, sex within a committed relationship (by teenage standards), same-sex sex, experimental sex, casual sex, risky sex, public sex, group sex, I had done all within a few short years.

Do I regret any of it? No, not really. Some of the individual encounters I had  may have been less enjoyable or satisfactory, but even they were building blocks towards making me the person I am today. Every partner, every fuck, every blow-job, every cunt licked or tongue on my clit, every load of cum swallowed have made me the confident sexual person that I am today.

Under Master C’s guidance and correction, I have become somewhat more discerning and restrained when it comes to my random encounters than I was back in those days and throughout my 20s, but looking back at those early days, I had a lot of fun, a lot of pleasure, a lot of fucks and a lot of orgasms, so I really can’t complain.

Would I do my teenage years differently if I could do them again? Maybe. I might not be in such a head-long rush to try absolutely everything; maybe leaving longer for the novelty of my latest new thing to diminish before seeking the next thing to try, but there’s nothing I’d leave out. And let’s face it, every teenager needs a hobby and as a particularly randy one in the late 1980s/early 1990s, growing up in a remote part of Scotland, there really wasn’t much else to do in terms of recreational activities.

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