Two words


“Bend over!”

I’ll admit, as foreplay goes, it’s not exactly extensive, but sometimes it’s all I need.

I don’t think there is any other combination of two words that can have more of an effect on me. Said in the right tone, and with the right degree of forcefulness, they can reduce me to a quivering mess of anticipation. No other two words will make my cunt instantly wet.

And as I comply with His demand I bite my lip as I wait for Master C to flip my skirt up over my arse, or pull my jeans down around my ankles, and yank my knickers out of His way.

With my arse exposed, I wonder what Master C has planned for me; is He just going to fuck me, does He plan to spank me, or will wield His belt?

In fairness, it doesn’t matter what His intentions are, I am ready; I want whatever Master C decides. As every second passes, the anticipation mounts, and my cunt grows hotter and wetter.

A hand slips between my legs, feeling how wet I am, how ready I am for Him. A shiver of excitement runs through me, my clit throbs slightly in response to His touch.

I want His cock inside me, filling me, pounding me, fucking me hard. I want Master C to take me, to use me, to cum deep inside of me. I don’t just want it, I need it. My whole body aches for Him.

Master C grabs a handful of my hair. He pulls my head back. Will it be His belt, or His cock? I still don’t know.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Yes!” I sob.

I brace myself for whatever is about to come next.

Sometimes “Bend over!” is all the foreplay I need.

#KinkOfTheWeek
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Aural sex


For me, sex is as much an auditory experience as it is a visual and physical one. The sounds of sex are myriad; from the barely audible, half murmured sweet nothings, to the triumphant orgasmic exclamations that irritate the fuck out of your neighbours. The best sex, in my opinion, engages all the senses, and that includes sound; a well timed moan from Master C or another partner can be as much of a turn-on as a passionate kiss. Sound has an important part to play at every stage of the process; from seduction to foreplay, through fucking and all the way up to climax and its aftermath.

Seduction:
Sometimes the way something is said is more important than the actual words themselves. The words, “I love you” when whispered huskily in my ear, the desire and hunger for me evident in His voice, can make my clothes vanish every bit as rapidly as a barked command to “Get naked! Bend over! And brace yourself!” Sometimes even a simple enquiry like, “I’m going upstairs to lie down, care to join me?” is enough to have me following Master C upstairs like a puppy, shedding garments expectantly as I go. Ultimately, the mood and desire of the seductee is as important as the words of the seductor. If I’m in a receptive mood, Master C can seduce me with nothing more than a glance.

Foreplay:
This is where sound, be it the spoken word or incoherent exclamations, can make so much difference. Being told how wet I am, how hard I’m making Him,  long with a vivid description of just what Master C intends to do to me, and how hard He’s going to do it, is guaranteed to turn my arousal levels up to 11 and have me begging to be used as His personal fuck toy.

It’s not just about the dirty talk, the commands, and the lurid descriptions, however. As often as not it’s those little involuntary noises Master C makes. The sharp intakes of breath as I drag my fingernails lightly over His skin, the moans as I wrap my lips around His lovely cock, the sounds of my sucking Him, all keep my juices flowing, and let me know how much Master C is enjoying my attentions.

Fucking:
Fucking produces its own delicious cacophony. From the squelching of my cunt, as Master C pounds it with His deliciously thick cock, and the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh, to the creaking of the bed beneath us, and the headboard banging against the wall; they all contribute to the overall experience. Then there’s the moans of pleasure, the increasingly laboured breathing, my increasingly strident demands to be fucked harder and Master C’s equally vocal reminders of what a dirty slut I am. All of these produce a positive feedback loop that intensifies the sensations with every cunt squelching thrust of His cock and slap of His balls.

Orgasm:
I can be fairly loud when I come. I’m not talking porn star banshee wailing, but I do like to give voice to my climax. Almost perversely, sometimes, when I’m being drunkenly fucked in a dark alleyway, and there’s a risk of being discovered, the need to keep quiet so as not to betray my pressence can actually intensify the sensations and make me come even harder; but I digress…

The sounds of Master C’s strained breathing as His climax approaches is extremely gratifying, but the one sound that always makes me melt is when Master C moans my name just at the point He explodes inside me, then calls me His “good girl”. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me feel more appreciated as a woman than that simple acknowledgement of me as a sexually being.

The aftermath:
When we’re snuggled together in post-coital exhaustion, sounds still abound. There’s the sound of our hearts pounding in our chests, our breathing slowly returning to normal and the occasional whispered endearments.

From start to finish, sound has contributed to and intensified the sensations, heightening the pleasure for both participants, and yet it is an often overlooked aspect of the sexual sensory experience. For me however, it is an amazingly important element that is essential to my overall arousal and ultimate enjoyment.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Cumslut


So, it was Friday evening, and I’d been having a few drinks to wash away the working week blues. Anyone who knows me will know I have a particularly unScottish inability to drink, so it didn’t take too much to get me fairly drunk. Not rolling drunk, just seriously randily drunk.

Master C, of course, was happy to oblige. Despite it being a Friday, there weren’t too many people about; possibly because it was still fairly early, or possibly, on account of the weather (this is Scotland in March after all). Either way, we used the apparent lack of humanity to our advantage and, almost inevitably, we found ourselves in one of those lanes that have seem many a drunken sexual escape.

Bracing myself in a suitable back-doorway, it wasn’t long before I was being taken hard and fast from behind; Master C’s long, thick cock giving my cunt a delicious pounding.

Rubbing my clit furiously as He fucked me from behind, I surprised myself by how quickly I came, my climax taking me almost completely unawares. I wasn’t complaining though, it felt good; just the release I hadn’t appreciated I’d needed so badly.

Master C wasn’t far behind me, but instead of flooding my cunt with His warm, sticky cum, He spun me around and made me get on my knees. I wasn’t complaining; I’ll happily take His cum in any hole and as I knelt before Him, I opened my mouth wide in expectation.

He didn’t cum in my mouth though; instead Master C let fly, covering my face, neck and the front of my top. Almost instinctively, I raised my hand to my face to gather His cum, but He batted it away. I was puzzled but then I saw a wicked glint in His eye. “Leave it” Master C said, “I want to see you wear it like a badge of shame, I want people to see what a filthy slut you are.”

As his cum dried on my skin, my cunt grew even wetter. The idea that I was about to be humiliated in public was a surprisingly huge thrill.

We walked out of the alley and on to the main street. It wasn’t long before we began encountering people. Most didn’t notice, but some gave me an odd look, and more than a couple actually stared. My cheeks were burning, which probably only served to make the mess on my face even more noticeable, but I didn’t care; with every step, every glance, my cunt was getting wetter and wetter.

If walking down the street wasn’t bad enough, standing at the bus stop was unbearable. There was no way to avoid the gaze of people waiting there. I could see their expressions, I could hear their comments of, “that looks like…” and, ” is that…?” Part of me wanted to disappear, part of me wanted to shout out, proudly, that yes, it was cum on my face, and a lot of me wanted Master C‘s cock inside me again, right there in that bus stop.

The bus driver gave me a long, hard stare, and I was painfully aware of the glances in my direction.

On getting home, I wasn’t allowed to get cleaned up; not that I wanted to wait. Displaying me as His filthy slut had obviously turned Master C on as much as it had turned me on to be displayed. We fucked hard, furiously; my mouth, my cunt, my arse all being claimed by His wonderful cock before He unleashed a second load over me.

I don’t think I have ever felt so filthy, and I loved it. After the strains and stresses of the previous few days, it was just the pick-me-up I needed.

Finally


It’s such a wonderful feeling. The relief is as overwhelming as it is instantaneous.

Pushed to the brink of my endurance, taken to the very edge and the held there for what seems an eternity. I am way beyond tears. I no longer have the energy to sob and moan in my frustration. Every nerve inside me burns. The tension inside me is so great, I feel as if I would snap in two at the slightest pressure.

For minutes that seem like hours, days, an eternity, He has held me in that place, that deliciously agonising limbo

A slow boil.

A vigorous simmering.

The pressure mounting interminably, but the release valve locked tightly shut.

I want to explode. My need for release is a physical pain, burning through me. I both love and hate what He is forcing me to endure; craving release from my torment while knowing the longer He denies me, the sweeter, more exquisite will be my final surrender.

He is a maestro, a virtuoso; he plays my body skilfully and effortlessly. He has played and conducted his latest symphony upon me; and as the crescendo builds inside me, growing ever more intense, I await that flick of the conductor’s batton that will signal the grand finalé.

My breathing is pained. Lights flash with brilliant luminescence behind my tightly shut eyes. And then I hear His instruction, I hear the words I have been waiting an eternity for Him to utter.

Two words; that is all He says. Two words that, when obeyed, ignite my climax. Two words that will give me instant relief and such intense pleasure.

Two words said softly.

Two words.

“Touch yourself.”

Watching myself


I sit on my bed across from the full length mirror on the wardrobe door. I part my legs and see my soft, pink labia reflected back at me.

I watch as I run my hands over my body, paying particular attention as I cup and caress and squeeze my boobs. I moan as I pinch my nipples. Does my face really look like that as I become aroused?

I guide a hand between my legs. A sigh escapes as I trace a finger between my lower lips. I watch as I spread my labia, revealing the opening to my cunt. Even now I can see my juices glistening as they begin to seep from me.

I see my grimace as I tease my clit. I notice how vulnerable I look as I bite my lip as I slowly slide one finger inside me. Is this what he sees when he watches me? Is this what turns him on so much?

A second finger feels so good as I pump and twist them inside me. My moisture coats their surface. I pull them from my cunt and lift them to my mouth. I savour the taste. How slutty I look. Do I look anything like this as I suck My Master’s cock? I hope that I do.

Feeling braver, I reach inside the bedside drawer for a toy; A long, sleek, stainless steel vibrator. It is cold to the touch but I know how good it feels on my clit.

I flick the switch, it buzzes into life, I guide it into place between my now swollen labia.

The first touch sends a jolt through me. My eyes open wide, I can see the hunger in my expression. I slowly move it around, teasing myself, all the time watching myself as I turn myself on.

I slide it inside me. It feels oh so good; cold brushed steel against the heat of my vagina. I marvel at how easily it fits inside me and how my hips begin to rock as it works its magic on me.

My need for release builds. I hold the tip to my clit. I watch my moisture trickle from my cunt as my clit responds to the vibrator’s caress.

My expression looks pained as my climax approaches. My mouth is wide open as I begin to moan.

I watch as my cunt contracts. I see the rippling tightening of my abdomen. Does my left leg always tremble like that when I’m about to cum? Do my nipples always darken like that?

The pressure builds. I grip the sheets with my free hand. My knuckles whiten. My hips begin to buck.

“Fuck! Oh Fuck!” I cry as my orgasm erupts within me. I see my face, contorted with what looks like pain but what I know is pleasure, a face that he must see every time he makes me cum.

I fall back on to the bed, unable to sit up any longer. The vibrator rips another intense orgasm from me before I let it slip from my fingers, to roll off the bed and land on the floor.

Eventually, I sit up; my face serene, my hair a disaster, the insides of my thighs covered with the essence of my sex.

A wonderful way to waste half an hour.

#Masturbation Monday

Give and take – Oral sex


When done right, oral sex is bloody amazing. I like to receive and I like to give. Being bisexual is an added bonus because I am every bit as happy when I am feasting on another woman’s cunt as I am when a man has his cock in my mouth.

Cunnilingus:
I love cunnilingus. And, in all honesty, I love performing it almost as much as I love having it performed on me. Cunnilingus, in my opinion, can make the difference between OK sex and absolutely fucking amazing sex. And here’s a little factoid for you; men can be every bit as good at it as us women.

Most men can fuck with an adequate level of proficiency, and some of us women are fortunate that we can cum simply through being fucked. Let’s be honest though, penises are pretty good at doing what they are designed to do; the fit nicely inside those bits of us that can accommodate them, they feel good when they are used with a certain proficiency, but they are not the most flexible of organs (especially when in fucking mode). Mouths, lips and tongues however, we’ll that is a whole other matter.

For me, as with almost everything sex related, the build up is just as important as the act itself. I can be driven wild by those teasing kisses to the insides of my thighs; those touches that get tantalisingly close before pulling away. For anyone going down on me, getting that bit right will pretty much have me eating out of your hand.

When his (or her) tongue finally slips between my labia, I want my partner to feast on me, to enjoy it, to luxuriate in it. Good cunnilingus doesn’t need to be a marathon, but it should (almost) never be a sprint. To keep with the sporting metaphor, think of it like a 10k, or at the very least a 5k. In some instances, I’ll even be content with the 1,500m, but I am almost certainly not going to get there if you’re going to do the equivalent of trying to beat Ussain Bolt (now that’s a whole other fantasy in itself).

When someone is going down on me, ideally I want them to be concentrating on nothing else. It’s not some precursor to the main event, it’s as much an event in its own right as intercourse is and; sometimes, for some of us girls, it can actually be our favourite event.

Don’t get me wrong, I love fucking, and I love being fucked, but being expertly eaten out can take me to a completely different levels.

So, and this may be a gross generalisation, if you want to give a girl an amazing sexual experience, learn to (tr)eat her properly.

Fellatio:
The flip-side of this is that I am, quite unashamedly, a cocksucker. I’ve been sucking cocks for over twenty years, and I actually shudder to think about how many penises have been in my mouth during that time. I’m not avoiding the actual number because I’m ashamed of it in any way, I genuinely can’t remember how many different cocks I have sucked. I know for a fact that I’ve sucked more guys off than I have actually fucked, but that’s as much as I can tell you.

I truly love the feeling of having a cock in my mouth. Despite being utterly submissive, I love the control it gives me over the guy whose cock I am sucking. I love the way it drives him wild. I love the way that my lips and tongue makes him lose control. I love the feelings of those final few seconds before he cums when his cock swells and twitches in his mouth. Most of all, I love it when he erupts and floods my mouth with his hot, thick load.

Since the very first blow-job I ever have, I have been a swallower. For me, that rich, warm mouthful of male essence is my reward for my efforts. It’s not my favourite flavour, I will freely admit, although if he takes care of his diet and doesn’t smoke it can be not too unpleasant, but I love the feeling of it in my mouth. I love its heat, I love its texture, I love the feeling of it sliding down my throat.

Of course, not all blow-jobs end this way. Sometimes they are simply a preliminary part of the proceedings. Even when I do make him cum, sometimes his load ends up over me and not inside me. While I love the feeling of a man’s cum in my skin, and I certainly have no objection to wherever a man decides to unload, the greatest compliment to my cock-sucking skills that any man can pay me is when he gives me a lovely mouthful of thick, warm, rich cum to savour before I swallow it hungrily down.

So, ultimately, what does all this tell you about me? Give or receive, lick or suck, this greedy little slut is definitely down for oral.

 

Why, where, how, when and how often?


I am, apparently,  quite literally a wanker of the highest order; if wanking were an Olympic sport, I’d like to think I’d be a strong contender for a medal, but how typical, or indeed atypical a wanker am I? How do I compare and contrast with my fellow members of the Sisterhood of Self Pleasure? If you are in anyway even remotely curious, read on…

Why?
It’s a question I’m sometimes asked: why, when I have a bloke on hand, whom I can fuck whenever I please, do I still need to wank?

Now, my “vanilla” friends clearly don’t understand the D/s dynamic of my relationship; and while I do have a man on hand, basically I fuck when He pleases, not when I do. If I want to fuck when I do, that’s what casual sex is for. That small point aside however, the reason I still wank is because I bloody love wanking. It feels great, I can take time to wallow in it and more importantly, Master C isn’t always around when I feel the urge to get off. Self-restraint has never been my thing; I’m all about instant gratification, and the idea of waiting for Master C to get home from work when I’m badly in need of an orgasm, just doesn’t compute; especially if it results in a spanking for succumbing to my impatience.  In a nutshell (or should that be clam shell?), if I want to cum, and the situation is conducive to me cumming, then I will cum. If a man (or woman) is involved, so much the better, but if not, well I’m not going to deny myself.

Another aspect is that masturbation plays a very important part of our sex life. Master C loves to watch me wank, and I love to put on a show wanking for him.

Where?
The simple answer is wherever I can get away with it. Indoors, outdoors, in private, in public, on public transport; really anywhere is fair game if I think I can get away with it. Let’s be honest here, a little bit of risk only adds to the fun.

If I had to admit a preference though, much as I enjoy the risks associated with a bit of (semi) public, furtive fanny fingering, I do like my home comforts. Probably my favourite places are my bed, the sofa, and in the bath.

How?
I have my toys, a whole host of toys, that I use fairly regularly. I have my Doxy for when I need to cum in next to no time. I have a couple of rabbits, one of which is waterproof. I have a very discreet one that looks like a lipstick that I carry around with me everywhere in my handbag for those “emergency” situations. I still have my original “Trident Missile“, although that is simply for nostalgia given that, mercifully, for the sake of my neighbours ears and, more importantly, my own nerves, the motor burned out many years ago.

Now while I love my toys, more often than not, like apparently 87% of women, I will use my fingers. Don’t get me wrong, toys are great, especially if I’m in a hurry, or I want to “guarantee” myself an orgasm, but if you really want a long, satisfying, lingering wank, then nothing, but nothing, beats the “sex toys” you were born with.

Using your fingers gives you the ultimate control. You can set the pace and they are so much more flexible than a rigid piece of plastic. I’m not knocking toys, toys are great, but my best orgasms are always produced when I go fully DIY.

When and How Often?
I’ve linked these two because, well really, one pretty much depends on each other.

I’ve already alluded to some of the times I wank, for example: when I’m randy and Master C isn’t around, when I’m with a partner and want to put on a show for them, when I’m randy and I think I can get away with it. I am, what I would probably describe as an opportunistic wanker. I don’t really have a set masturbatory routine. Having said that, I will, quite often after a hard day at work, flop down on the sofa as soon as I’ve hung up my coat (sometimes even before this), shove my fingers down my knickers (assuming I’m wearing any), and frig myself off. It’s a great way to wind down and relieve the stresses of the working day. Some people drink coffee, others, alcohol, me; I wank (although sometimes I will have a glass of wine too).

I’ve also been know to wank myself to sleep; something that apparently 32% of women do. Generally this happens when Master C is away on business; it helps distract me from not having him there to snuggle up to. As a teenager, once I’d discovered the joys of masturbation, it pretty much was the last thing I did before falling asleep almost every night. Nowadays though, I’m slightly more restrained. A “goodnight” fuck is a more than acceptable alternative.

So how often?  Well, I’m definitely in the 92% of women who regularly wank. In my case, very regularly.  I wouldn’t go as far as to say I have a wank every day.  After all, even the randiest of us have days where, well, let’s be honest, we simply aren’t actually in the mood. We’re ill, we’re too tired, or we simply can’t be arsed. Having said that, I frequently do have more than one wank during any given day; my record is, I’m pretty sure, in double figures. If you averaged it out over my wanking lifetime, it probably would work out pretty close to daily on average I guess.

So what have you learned from this? Other that I am a compulsive wanker, probably not much, and somehow, I suspect, you knew that much about me already.#Masturbation Monday

Thoughts on foreplay


Women, we are constantly being told, want/expect/demand* (*delete as appropriate depending on your chosen woman’s magazine) more foreplay. There exists, so it would seem, a direct relationship between our enjoyment of sex and the quality/amount of foreplay we receive. Apparently we cannot have a fulfilling or satisfying sexual experience with out it.

But what, exactly, do these glossy fonts of all knowledge actually mean by foreplay? What counts as enough? Is all foreplay the same? How do we judge its quality? Do we, in fact, actually need it to enjoy sex?

Foreplay can, and does, mean different things to different people. It can also mean different things to the same person depending on their mood and circumstances. I don’t want sex to be the same every time I do it, nor do I want my foreplay to follow some “tried and tested” formula. I’m all for a romantic evening on the sofa; kissing, caressing, slowly being undressed and having Master C lick me to a couple of orgasms before begging Him to fuck me. On the contrary, I enjoy that kind of thing when I’m in that kind of mood (and even the filthiest, submissive slut enjoys a little romance from time to time). But there are times, when all I really want is for Master C (or any guy for that matter) to tell me He wants me, throw me up against a wall, yank my knickers off and fuck my brains out.

Similarly, as a fan of early morning, wake-up sex, sometimes, especially during the week, time is at a premium. I’ll be honest, nothing is more likely to make me want to jump on Master C’s cock more than to wake up, feeling His finger already inside me. We don’t have time for a protracted, leisurely session (well, OK, so weekends are a different matter), so that intruding digit, waking me up, warming me up, is all that’s needed for me to know that we will both be heading to work with smiles on our faces.

Now all this seems a bit one-sided. “What about him?” I hear you cry, “Men enjoy foreplay too, you know.”

It’s true, men do enjoy foreplay. If I’m being honest, foreplay isn’t all about the “stuff” that’s being done to me. I love to turn my partners on; touching them, teasing them, sucking their cocks (assuming I’m having sex with guys). But turning them on, and knowing that I’m turning them on; that I am making them want to fuck me, is still a huge turn on for me too. Sometimes, just sucking a guy’s cock is all that is required as a precursor to a damned good fuck. Knowing how hard I’ve got Him, knowing how much Master C wants to fuck me, is all that is needed for me to want to have Him inside me.

So, anyway, getting back to what turns me on, well, in a word, anticipation. When I’m lying there, blindfolded, restrained, waiting to feel His belt on my arse, you can pretty much count on the fact that my cunt is doing its very own, one-woman impression of the great flood. By the time Master C has finished dealing out whatever punishment my transgression has merited, I am crying out (frequently quite literally on the crying part) for a good fuck. A fuck that tells me I’m still His good little slut, a fuck that demonstrates that, once again, my recalcitrance has been forgiven and my “sins” absolved.

Anticipation also handily leads into my next point; namely that foreplay doesn’t always require the other person to even be physically present. We all have mobile devices of some sort or another nowadays, and sexting can be a wonderfully protracted form of foreplay; a foreplay that can be extended over hours, days, weeks, and possibly longer. The anticipation builds with each reply, each suggestion so that, by the time you are actually in each other’s presence, all that remains is to rip each other’s clothes off, find a suitable surface (horizontal is preferred, but not essential), and fuck.

So, to answer my original question as to what exactly is foreplay; in my opinion, and for what it’s worth, it can be anything from a “Fancy a shag?” to a protracted session of kissing, caressing, sensual massage, and mind blowing oral, with every possibility in between. Its quality can be judged by how much it turns me on and how quickly it makes a mess of my knickers (assuming they haven’t long since been discarded). As for how much is required, If I’m begging someone to have their cock inside me, they’ve probably done enough.

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 1996. 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 cum 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.

Helping hands


As much as I enjoy using my fingers to pleasure myself, there is something quite wonderful about having another person stick their fingers up my cunt. Whether it be the sort of gentle caressing, teasing type of fingering that “The Girl” employs, or the rough, hard, finger-fucking that I can expect from Master C, I love that feeling of having someone else play with my cunt.

Sometimes, it is a delightful form of foreplay; getting me wet, opening me up in readiness to receive a cock. On other occasions, Master C, “The Other Guy” or “The Girl” will use their fingers to bring me to orgasm, usually while their mouths are kissing and sucking on my nipples, or sometimes while their tongues are lashing my clit.

When you consider that, for most of us girls, I suspect, getting someone’s fingers pushed up our cunts was one of the first overtly below the belt sexual experiences we ever encountered, it’s amazing how much pleasure we can still experience from this most simple form of play; not least given that we have since become accustomed to having much longer and thicker objects inside us.

In my case, that first, fumbled, furtive fingering happened, alliteratively enough, when I was fourteen. We were supposedly watching a movie, don’t ask me what it was, I was much more interested in the fact he had one hand up my top, playing with my boobs, and the other inside my knickers, fingering my cunt. I didn’t cum, I’d frigged myself into a frenzy often enough to know that, but it did feel wonderful. Let’s be honest, what randy fourteen year old girl, in the first flush of hormone-fuelled lust, doesn’t like getting her boobs played with? Getting fingered at the same time was was the icing on my very creamy muffin.

Maybe if he’d used a bit more pressure or spent a bit more time on my clit rather than inside me, and maybe if he’d also been a little less gentle in the way he treated my nipples, I might have got there; but hey, I wasn’t complaining. I was fourteen and getting my cunt fingered in a public place and it felt great. Besides which. I was able to finish myself off later on my own, while imagining it was his fingers that were bringing me off.

I’ve had many fingers up me since then, both male and female; and in the main, they have been much more experienced and a lot more successful in their application, but that first fingering will always remain with me.

I will always welcome a helping hand…