Love is blind(ish)


The the quote for us to unpick on ‘Quote Quest‘ this week had got my grey cells arguing with each other:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
– William Shakespeare

I think, for me, it depends on the type of love you are describing and the relationship between oneself and the loved one. Love, after all, comes in many flavours: we love our families (mostly), we love our friends, we (hopefully) love our partners. Love is emotional but how we express it, depends on who it is we are expressing it towards, and the nature of the love/relationship that exists.

I suspect, that the quote is really meant to focus on “romantic” love, i.e. the love between “lovers”, essentially those that we share our lives with and fuck.

Not everyone we fuck, obviously; I definitely have not loved everyone with whom I have rubbed bits and exchanged fluids with, but the important ones, the significant ones.

I think we also have to detach love from attraction. Attraction is, for most of us, very visual. We see someone we fancy, we think “Yeah, I want a bit of that,” we hook-up, date, fuck and maybe a relationship forms and, if it does, it’s possible that the emotional connection we call love develops.

And I think, it is possibly that at this point that the “blindness” develops. Let’s be honest, we all have habits that others find annoying. There are things I do that drive Master C nuts. There are things Master C  does that make me despair. If we didn’t love each other, those little annoyances would probably, over time, become unbearable; but because we love each other, we learn to ignore them wherever we can, and live with them where we can’t and, in some instances, exploit them if it means wheedling/provoking/providing an extra hard spanking out of  it.

Love allows us to turn a blind eye on things that if someone we didn’t love were to do them, would provoke a reaction from mild irritation all the way through to full on rage. Where we are not completely blinded by love, love filters and mitigates the annoyances that we cause our loved ones and they cause us.

I love Master C, for the way He treats me, the way that makes me feel, the strength, comfort and support He provides; that, however, is the emotional side of love. There is also the physical, which is largely based on the things He does to me, but also based on His physical attractiveness to me.

Now, I accept that I am coming from this from the perspective of a sighted person. An unsighted person would almost certainly find attractiveness in other forms and from other stimuli and, for them, I guess, in the visual sense, love truly would be blind. For me however, it is multifaceted; it draws on so many senses and stimuli that my brain then mixes together in some strange neurochemical imbalance to create this crazy little thing called love.

At His mercy


I’m on my back. My wrists are bound and tied, above my head, to the rail of the headboard. My legs frog-tied with rough rope that digs simultaneously into my thighs, calves and shins, the knots pressing into my skin. My legs spread as wide as the can in that arrangement, my ankles cuffed the tied to the outsides of the bed.

I can’t move. I’m blindfolded. I’m forced to wait.

Master C runs a finger over then around the curve of each of my breasts. His fingers then butterfly caress the insides of my thighs. The cold, hardness of a well-lubed, brushed-steel plug presses against my arsehole and slowly pushes inside.

I wait again.

Kisses on the inside of my thighs.

A gentle tickle of the ends of the flogger over my nipples.

Each action followed by more agonising nothing.

Hot breath on my labia. Fingers running up the insides of my legs. Master C’s mouth is so close, but so far away, and then it is gone.

Clamps applied to my nipples. The sweet exquisite pain makes me cry out, makes my cunt contract. Master C tightens them with a deft twist. My cunt grows wetter.

Again, the warmth o f His breath is so close. If I could just move, I’d push my mound against His lips, The licks and kisses to my thighs torment me. So close, so close, and then they are gone.

More waiting; each second an eternity.

My head is turned to one side. Master C pushes the head of His cock into my mouth. I accept it gratefully, something to distract me from His torment.

As I tease the tip with my tongue, His finger slides between my legs, parts my labia and slips easily inside me. I gasp. Master C’s cock slips from my mouth. His finger is withdrawn from my cunt and he puts it in my mouth. I taste myself as I have done so many times before.

His finger returns to my cunt and he feeds me my juices again. I accept them willingly, grateful to be required to do something more than just passively await His next action. His fingers then His cock each take it in turns in my mouth. I want to suck Him properly. I want to feel Him erupt in my mouth so I can savour His cum before swallowing it, but it’s not to be.

More waiting.

Again, His mouth approaches. He kisses my left thigh, then right; left, then right, each time getting inexorably closer. Seconds pass, minutes, an eternity of agonising anticipation.

And then, contact. Master C’s tongue touches me. “You taste divine, little one,” He says as He begins to slowly lick and tease.

I want to writhe, but all I can to is wriggle my bum against the bed. I want to reach down and press His face to my cunt, forcing Him to eat me more firmly,

I am at His mercy, He licks and nibbles, fingers and flicks in a way that He knows will take me to the edge and then holds me there. Each lap of his tongue on my clit increases the pressure inside me. Each thrust of His fingers inside my cunt makes its walls contract and has me begging for release.

Master C’s tongue is relentless. His stubble is rough against my labia, increasing the sensations. His fingers twist inside me. The onslaught is unending.

Again an eternity of agony, not of anticipation, but for the need for release. I screw my eyes shut beneath the blindfold, lights flash beneath my eyelids. Fire burns along my nerves. My clit throbs, my cunt pulses, but still Master C denies me.

I have no idea how long He holds me in this state; time is meaningless on the edge of the abyss. The cloth over my eyes is soaked with tears of frustration. The sheet beneath my bottom is soaked with my juices and His saliva. The scent of my frustration hangs over the bed, filling the room. My throat raw as I plead and beg for release.

“Soon, little one, soon,” Master C’s  are anything but soothing “Endure it for just a little longer.”

Resigned to my fate, I accept it. His tongue laps with a slightly greater intensity; His fingers fuck me with increased force. Pressure builds, mounting rapidly.

“Now, little one! Come for me now!” Master C gently commands.

A firm lick of His tongue, and I am undone. The dam breaks and I cry out. Waves of pleasure coarse through me. I sense Master C move above me. His cock slides inside me. My orgasm reignites as He fucks me with deep, powerful, forceful strokes.

“Please fuck me harder! Please fuck me harder! Please…” I moan, still carried on the crest of my climax.

Master C’s thrusts become faster, harder. His hands around my upper arms, farcing them into the mattress as He takes me.

His body collides with mine. The slap of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Master C moans my name as His climax approaches, “Morag! Morag! Morag!”

“Come for me Master,” I plead, “Release yourself inside me.”

Thrusts increase with urgency, His breathing deepens. I sense rather than feel the increased tension in His body.

In… Out… In… Out… In… A groan… A pause… He erupts inside me; the warmth of His essence flooding into me.

Some time later, Master C unties me, up around us and lets me snuggle into Him as He holds me close and secure in His arms and I feel the heat of His body against mine. Once again, Master C has restored me and made me His.

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Cadged, benched and the sweet release of subspace


I’ve mentioned the cage before; about how it can be a place of punishment, and how it can be a place of retreat where I communicate my need of support. Last night, for reasons I won’t bore you with, it was most definitely the latter.

The process is simple: I finished work, logged off from my PC, undressed, closed myself into the cage, curled up and waited for Master C to discover me there.

I don’t know how long I was confined; time within the cage has its own special duration, it’s a kind of limbo where time has no meaning until I’m released.

“Is my little one feeling delicate?” Master C enquired softly on finding me confined.

I nodded. “Yes Sir,” I replied meekly, eyes downcast.

He left momentarily before returning; my collar and lead in one hand and a pair of cuffs on the other. “I think I know exactly what might help,” He said as He opened the cage and helped me out.

“Turn around!” a gentle command. I did as Master C bid me. The cuffs fastened around my wrists behind my back. The collar went around my neck and he fastened it tight. Attaching the lead. He turned me around, kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You know where to go,” He said.

I did. I know how this goes, but I still get a thrill of anticipation. “Yes Sir!” I replied.

“Well, lead the way then,” He said, giving my arse a playful swat.

I walked slowly thought to our playroom. In the middle of the room stood the bench. I glanced a coy look back of my shoulder. He nodded.

I walked up to the bench then bent over, my legs spread. Master C fastened the leather restraints around my ankles and then the side restraints went over my arms and fastened between my shoulder blades, holding me tightly in place. and then, I waited.

I waited while he pondered what implement to use. I flinched each time I heard a swoosh of air, only for flogger, or His belt, or the cane to land on the desk. I didn’t care which He used on me; any of them would hurt, any of them would begin my journey. I waited.

I waited, and the anticipation grew. I waited as he walked around me, scrutinising me, flexing the cane, or snapping the folds of his belt together in front of my face. I waited.

Again, that state of limbo, the passage of time meaningless. I waited.

SMACK! his belt struck across my arse. I cried out, as the stinging heat spread across my buttocks. SMACK! harder this time, or so it seemed. SMACK! harder still. His belt crisscrossed my buttocks; the intensity of each kiss adding to the fire of those that preceded it.

Hot tears fell from my eyes. Cries of pain were torn from my throat. His belt was merciless, His belt was harsh, His belt was unrelenting, His belt was just what I needed.

I didn’t count the lashes. This wasn’t a punishment where I needed to keep track, this was a centring, a rebalancing. My tears, my cries and my reddening skin were all that Master C needed to determine when I had reached the next stage.

Mt restraints were briefly undone. Master C repositioned me on my back, my head tilted back over the edge of the bench. The restraints were refastened, tighter; the one around my chest squashing my boobs and constricting my breathing. Slowly, Master C buckled his belt around my neck between my chin and my collar.

Tears still stung in my eyes, but I could see his lovely thick cock was hard. He slapped my face. “Open your mouth, slut! I’m going to fuck your throat.”

The words were what I needed to hear, and His cock was what I wanted to have. This wasn’t a blow-job, this wasn’t me worshiping His cock, lavishing attention on it; this was Master C fucking my throat, treating my mouth like just another hole.

He fucked me hard, rough, without mercy. I chocked and spluttered as He drove His cock down my neck; gasping for breath as He tightened His belt around neck. In… Out… In… Out… Again and again, over and over. The pressure around my neck making it almost impossible to breath around his cock.

Occasionally he would pull out fully, allowing me a few gasping breaths down my tortured throat before beginning again.

I was losing myself. I was become nothing more than something for Him to use.

Time stopped. The pain in my buttocks seemed to melt away, my jaw no longer ached. Tears still streamed from my eyes, but I barely noticed. This was it. This was that transcendent moment where nothing mattered, I just let myself go and get carried along on the current.

He came. Not down my throat, but across my boobs. I barely felt it, the fire burning in my veins was all consuming.

And then… And then… and then His tongue on my clit, His hands rubbing His cim into my boobs as He feasted on me.

My back tried to arch as I came for the first time. The restraints holding me firmly in place seemed to intensify the power of my climax. I cried a long, silent scream of release, my raw throat unable to produce sound. His fingers inside my cunt, His tongue on my clit, the pain, the power of my release. I was lost, powerless to respond. My consciousness seemed to float outside my body; I was a disembodied observer, watching on with fascination as Master C’s tongue and fingers relentlessly pushed my body beyond any last remaining iota of endurance.

Again, that timeless limbo, accompanied this time by a detachment from reality. How long had He kept me there? I’ve no idea.

The restraints were gone, soothing balm applied to my buttocks numbed the sensation of the soft sheets beneath me, the soft pillow beneath my head as Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me tenderly on the lips and slid into me.

He took me, slowly, languidly, but thoroughly. Never losing control, never allowing Himself to surrender to His inner primal animal self. This fuck was for me, to restore me, to bring me back to myself. I found my body responding to His, increasingly moving in harmony. I found the strength to raise my arms, to lift my hands to his buttocks, to slowly squeeze my fingers into his taut, firm flesh to let Him know that He didn’t need to be quite so considerate. I managed a very hoarse whisper. “Fuck me Sir! Your little slut needs to be fucked.”

He smiled down at me and thrust harder. I smiled back then closed my eyes, savouring His firmness inside me, His body on mine. Firm, yet gentle, strong, yet sensual, considerate, but always Dominant, He took me, He fucked me, He rebuilt me and made me whole again.

I came, feeling sore but secure beneath Him. And then, at last Master C came inside me and my worries and cares were banished again.

We had another slow, leisurely fuck this morning and, sore arse and slightly raw throat not withstanding, I’m feeling much more positive today.

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Guidance through discipline


I’ve touched on this many times in this blog, but discipline/punishment is a very important part of the D/s dynamic that exists between Master C and myself. Punishment helps define boundaries; not to confine, but to determine the “price” required to cross those boundaries. As I mentioned in this post, any corrections that Master C administers, are never delivered unilaterally; I am always required to consider my actions and what the “tariff” for any given transgression may be.

Punishments can, of course, take many forms. There are, of course, the obvious forms of corporal punishment: spanking, belting, caning, flogging; all always delivered to my naked arse, each one with it’s own unique form and intensity of pain, each one leaving a different mark on my skin.

Master C’s hand is usually for the most minor infringements; when I’m being particularly bratty or impudent, or when He knows I’m not trying my hardest. His belt, the flogger and the cane are used for more “serious” infringements. In those pre-covid days where such things were possible, a drunken blow-job with a random might earn me several lashes from the belt, fucking more than one random on the same night out might mean the flogger, and getting publicly fucked in the arse at a local dogging site absolutely  called for the cane.

Knowing the level of punishment I can expect, helps me determine the level I am willing to accept for any one act or transgression. In my mind, I know the level of recompense I am likely to have to pay, and this helps shape whether or not the “act” is worth the “cost”.

But punishments aren’t just corporal.

One of Master C’s favourite alternative punishments takes the form of denial. That can be denial of orgasm for me; where he takes His pleasure from me but forbids me to come. Another form of denial is when He fucks me, or requires me to suck His cock, He will deprive me of His cum. Master C knows how much I love to feel Him erupt inside me, He knows how I consider taking His cum in my mouth to be a reward and He knows how much I don’t like it when He chooses to withhold that from me.

Again, in the pre-covid days when we would get together with other members of our “Circle”, punishment could take the form of me having to watch him being attended to by one of the other women or for me to have to “wear” the cum of one or more of the other men (although having a big degradation fetish, this one never really seems like a punishment, but having it done to me then not being allowed to come myself does make this unpleasant).

Finally, there are those times when I overstep the line, I have gone too far in my misbehaviour, I have provoked Him beyond what He is prepared to accept. In these instances, I am subject to the ultimate punishment and banished to the cage. It happens rarely, but the threat is there.

The point, however, of all of these, is not to prevent me from doing things, but for me to respect the fact that my actions have consequences. They are a form of guidance as much as they are of correction; they allow me a degree of freedom to fulfil my needs and desires, while making me consider their worth and urgency. Punishment, for me, is a form of currency; I can have whatever I want, so long as I am willing to pay the appropriate “price” for it and it allows me to decide if the gratification I would receive is worth the price I would pay (while factoring in that the price is very much a part of the overall gratification).

There is one final form of “punishment” that I have still to touch upon.  This one is much more fun (although, again, current circumstances mean that I haven’t been on the receiving end for a while) and is “the punishment fuck“. It’s not really a punishment per se, and is reserved for when I’ve been with “The Girl” or another female partner. It involves nothing more than, after having provided Master C of a full account of what I’ve got up to with the other woman, He gives me a very thorough fucking, usually precluded by a spanking and almost always resulting in my mouth, cunt and arse all being roughly all being fucked by His lovely cock just to “remind me of what I missed”. With the exception of the watching and humiliation, the other punishments are still very much part of life (although I have to be quite creative to earn some of the harsher corporal punishments at the moment), but I do miss the punishment fucks, and I definitely miss the reasons for receiving them.

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Impulsively bad behaviour


I think I may have mentioned that I am, quite unashamedly, a slut. Promiscuity has pretty much always been second nature to me and monogamy almost unthinkable. Even within the confines and context of my relationship, much of my submission to Him comes from the fact that He allows me to channel my impulsive sluttiness in ways that allow me freedom to indulge that aspect of my personality, albeit in a framework of control and discipline and a need to accept responsibility for my actions.

I’m not sure if engaging in casual sex is necessarily “bad” but in my younger days, it did have a lot of negative connotations. Yes, I enjoyed sex then just as much as I do now. I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and I particularly enjoyed being caught (and sometimes being the one doing the catching). And while, in the main, the sex was primarily and mainly for the enjoyment of a good fuck, it had a darker side too.

Yes, I enjoyed the anticipation, the teasing, the flirting, the seduction and, ultimately, the gratification (whether it be a drunken blow-job in the pub car park or an all night one-nighter at their place – I almost never took my victims/conquests back to mine). The sex was absolutely about all those things. If, upon a night out, I saw a guy or woman I fancied, the chances are I’d have had some form of sexual liaison with them before my night was finished. Many a quick drink after class/work ended with a “walk of shame” in the early hours for a shower, a couple of hours sleep and a change of clothes before heading back to lectures/work.

But, on top of the thrill and the enjoyment, often I was searching for a form of validation. I wasn’t good at relationships, but I was good at sex, or at least I hoped I was. As much as I crave those times when Master C calls me His “good girl”, I needed to hear how good a fuck I was, how amazing it felt when I sucked a guy off, how much a woman enjoyed me going down on her, how much partners of either sex enjoyed my taste. The validation was almost as addictive as the anticipation and gratification, and the more I received, the more I craved it. I was an addict searching for their next fix.

The irony was that the more praise I received, the less it satisfied me, and the more I needed but, at the same time, the very act of seeking it out had an almost cancelling effect on my self worth. I wasn’t just a slut, I was a worthless slut. I didn’t deserve gratification or validation because I was cheap, an easy lay, the town bike. Of course I could have a relationship because, once they’d fucked me, who would actually want a relationship with someone like me who was emotionally incapable of being faithful.

I’ve come a long way since those days. I’m still impulsive, I still have sex with random men/women on nights out, I still love all the things about these encounters as I did then: the excitement, the recognition and appreciation of me as a sexual and sexy person. Obviously, I still enjoy being told how good I am (or how bad I am if I’m being honest), but now, largely down to Master C’s guidance, nurture and discipline, I fully appreciate my worth, I am good enough. There is no shame to having a high sex drive and in allowing myself to act upon such impulses as feel inclined to act upon. I know now that I am not cheapening myself, I am simply engaging in an enjoyable pastime. I know that such “punishment” as is required will be agreed with and administered by Master C and that any acts of “atonement” will be performed willingly.

And that’s the thing, I’ve alluded to this before but, when it comes to discipline, Master C does not decide unilaterally what form my chastisement will take. As part of the acceptance of responsibility I am required to consider my actions, the seriousness of them and to consider what would be the appropriate “tariff” for the transgression. It maybe six lashes of his belt, it may be a form of humiliation in front of members of our “Circle”, it may be that he denies me an orgasm for a number of days or chooses not to let me receive His load when He comes. It could be a combination of any of these, but we always discuss and consider and ultimately agree what form it takes so I never have any grounds to complain that it is unfair.

Sadly, at the moment, my opportunities to engage in my bad habits are extremely limited and I look forward to a time when I can be impulsive again. Until then, when it comes to incurring Master C’s correction, I just need to be creative.

Facial


I love cum. I’ve written about it before. It doesn’t matter to me where the guy (or guys) I’m with comes; I love it in my cunt. I love it in my mouth. I love it on my skin. I am, quite simply, a filthy little, cum-loving slut. I simply cannot get too much of it.

I love the warm, sticky sensation of a thick load of cum on my skin; I love it on my arse, I love it on my boobs, and yes, I love it on my face.

A lot of people seem to object to the facial cumshot in porn; however, nothing, for me, demonstrates Master C’s mastery over me than when He paints my face with a full load of His hot, thick, sticky cum.

Why?

Because it’s degrading, because it shows a lack of respect for me, because it’s so deliciously filthy. It screams of the utter contempt that the guy I’m with has for me, it tells me that I’m a filthy, depraved slut, it tells me that I am not worthy to be rewarded with their load inside me and that, instead, I should wear it as a badge of shame, a visual reminder to any who see it of my depraved sluttiness.

Humiliating? Yes! But that is the whole point. With Master C, It’s His way of marking me, claiming me, demonstrating His ownership of me. Yes, it is utterly degrading and contemptuous, and that is precisely why I love it.

Within our poly circle, Master C will ritually paint my face as a way of saying, “This is my slut. You may fuck her, you may use her, but she is mine.”

With the other couples watching, it is humiliating and exhilarating at the same time. The humiliation of being watched as I am marked in this way; the exhilaration of knowing Master C owns me. He may let the other men in the circle fuck me and use me. He may let those men put their own marks on my skin, but only Master C owns me, and His cum on my face is a visual reminder of that.

If I am a good slut, I know later, when we are alone, Master C will reward me, filling either my mouth or my cunt with another thick load; but that first load, the thickest, the fullest is the one that makes me His. Each person that fucks me, will know that I am His.

Wearing Master C’s cum on my face is a badge of my submission, it is a badge proclaiming that I am a filthy little slut, and that I am His filthy little slut. It is a badge I wear with pride; for I am immensely proud to be Master C’s slut.

 

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It’s not just for sitting on


I will freely admit, I take it up the arse and I love it.

The first time I got my arse fucked was when I was 15, not long after losing my virginity. It wasn’t planned, well, not by me at least. One minute I was standing, feet apart, bracing myself against the wall for support, trying hard not to make any noise as my boyfriend’s mum was downstairs watching Eastenders while he was busy giving my cunt a very thorough pounding from behind, when, suddenly I felt one, then two very well lubricated fingers working their way into and being twisted around in my arsehole. When, moments later, his cock slipped out of my cunt, I had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen next. Sure enough, he removed his fingers and began working his cock into my tight rear hole.

I’ve no idea why he decided to do it; I’m fairly certain that I hadn’t given any indication that it was something I wanted to try, he just went ahead and did it. It’s fair to say, despite the lubrication, it hurt quite a bit, the sensations were, unusual, to say the least; but by the time he’d given my arse a pounding almost every bit as thorough as the one he’d given my cunt, pulled out and shot his warm sticky load over my back and arse cheeks, it is fair to say, I had become an anal addict.

In my opinion. there is, you see, nothing loving or tender about an arse fucking. Well, that’s not entirely true, I love getting my arse fucked, and it is always very tender afterwards, but that isn’t my point. The point is, that for all I enjoy soft, romantic, loving sex, I also like rough, hard, animalistic sex. The filthier it is, the more I love it; and anal sex fits perfectly into this category.

To me, a guy doesn’t make love to an arse, he fucks it, preferably forcefully and hard. When Master C has His cock in my arse, it is the ultimate symbol of His possession of me. It is Master C saying, in the most basic language there is, that I am His filthy little slut and He is going to use me however He so pleases.

And on that point, there’s nothing I like more when I’m having my arsehole brutally pounded than to be told, in no uncertain terms, that I am a filthy little slut and that I am getting exactly what I deserve. If those words are accompanied by some stinging slaps to my buttocks and my hair being yanked hard so that my head is pulled back, then so much the better; it simply emphasises the Master C’s ownership of me and the fact that my body is His to use. In these instances, a thorough buggering is the epitome of filthiness and, quite obviously, there are times when I want to be His filthy little slut and I need Master C to let me know that that is most certainly what I am.

Sometimes, getting my arse fucked will just be part of a wider sexual experience, one where we spend an afternoon, or an evening, or occasionally a whole day just pleasuring each other, doing whatever feels right and whatever we are in the mood for at any given moment. On other occasions, it will be all there is; a brutal punishment for some actual or imagined transgression on my part. It doesn’t really matter to me what the actual circumstances are, so long as my arse gets at least it fair share of attention, then I’m happy.

That isn’t to say I expect, or even want, to feel His cock in my back passage every time we have sex, because I don’t; although it is certainly His right to decide which hole He fucks and how hard He fucks it. I can be just as happy with a good cunt pounding or a prolonged session of oral or even mutual wanking; but, when I’m in the mood for feeling filthy, nothing, but nothing will satisfy me more than getting my tight, slutty little arsehole well and truly fucked by Master C’s glorious hard cock.

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Rough


I may be an incorrigible little slut, but I’m still a woman and I like a little romance and tender, loving sex every bit as much as any woman. Sometimes though, I want, no, I need it rough, I need it hard; I require to be taken with a certain primal, almost animal intensity.

When I’m in this mood there’s only one hole for the job; my arsehole. Now, not everyone will agree, but for me, when I want it rough and hard and filthy, my arse is the hole I want it in.

It’s the discomfort, it’s the filthiness of it, it’s the whole “nice girls don’t take it up the bum” thing that makes anal sex so suited to a hard, merciless fucking.

It’s the way Master C pulls my hair, the way He calls me His filthy little slut as His cock is driven into my tight rear hole; stretching it, abusing it, hurting it. It’s the way His fingers grip into me, almost bruising my skin as He fucks me with long, hard strokes; His balls slapping against the lips of my cunt as He pounds my arse.

It’s dirty, it’s hard, it’s so deliciously slutty; and when He comes, when Master C pulls out and fires a thick load of warm, sticky cum up my back, calling me a dirty whore as He marks me with His seed, I feel a sense of satisfaction at having received the rough, hard fuck I so badly needed.

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Discarding my virginity


Let us be very clear, I did not lose my virginity; that has always implied a certain carelessness to me, and there was nothing careless about my first time. No, my first time was very much deliberate; I actively discarded my virginity.

As I’ve mentioned before, I did it for the first time a couple of weeks after my 15th birthday. There was no real significance to the timing; I didn’t deliberately wait until I turned 15, it’s simply that this was the first opportunity that presented itself. My boyfriend at the time and I already had a pretty active sex life and had had so for several months; the only thing absent from that sex life was actual penetrative sex. It was an omission I became increasingly keen to rectify.

It wasn’t that I felt under any pressure to get rid of my virginity, although a couple of my friends had already dispensed with theirs, it was simply that I wanted to experience it. I knew what it felt like to have a vibrator up me, I knew what it felt like to have my fingers up me, I even knew what it felt like to have someone else’s fingers up me, having experienced that from my boyfriend and my best girl friend, but I wanted to feel his cock (or, if I’m being completely honest, any cock) inside me. I knew what it felt like in my mouth, but in the same way that sucking your thumb feels nothing like sucking a cock, I imagined that being fucked by his cock would feel nothing being fucked by my, or his fingers.

The opportunity arose because on that particular Saturday both his parents were at work, and we would have his house to ourselves.

It all started of in what had become a familiar pattern; lying on his bed, kissing and cuddling, with quite a lot of groping and fondling. At a certain point, he got my top off and started lavishing attention on my boobs. Thereafter, I proceeded to suck him off, being rewarded with a lovely thick load of cum, which I hungrily swallowed down.

Pausing only to catch his breath, and to get me out of my jeans and knickers, he went down on me and ate me to a couple of shuddering climaxes that were intensified, in part, by the anticipation of what would happen next.

As my cunt spasmed around his fingers and my clit thronged in response to his tongue, I asked him if he was hard again. When he informed me that he was, I responded by saying, “Good, because I want your cock inside me.” The wolfish smile he gave me in return was almost enough to make me come again.

As he positioned himself above me, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it woulld feel like. I had a pretty good idea that images of cascading waterfalls and fireworks were a load of guff; I’d had enough orgasms without experiencing such imagery to know that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I nodded and felt myself growing even moister as the head of his cock pressed against me. He slid into me slowly but easily. It was obvious he was enjoying feeling his cock being engulfed by my cunt as much as I was enjoying the sensation of him slowly filling me.

It felt good, I felt wonderfully, deliciously full. His cock was so much thicker and fuller than anything that I had ever had up me before. I had expected it to hurt and was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t; just a slight discomfort and a lovely feeling of being stretched and filled.

As he moved inside me, slowly at first, but with steadily increasing pace, I opened my eyes and saw him smiling down at me. “Harder,” I said, “You can go a bit harder.”

He picked up the pace, pulling out and thrusting in, his body colliding with mine, slamming against me with every stroke.

Suddenly, his face contorted, his body went stiff. He groaned: “Shit! Fuck! Morag! Fuck!” (or something equally as coherent and eloquent) as his cock erupted inside me. I felt the warmth of his cum inside me as he slumped on top of me. As his cock slipped out of my cunt and I felt his cum trickle out of me.

I didn’t come; I didn’t care. I had been fucked and it had been good. The second time we did it, later that afternoon was better still. Practice, as they say, makes perfect, and while we never achieved perfection in the time that we were together, the sex continued to get better and increasingly satisfying.

All in all, it’s fair to say, I enjoyed my first time.

#WickedWednesday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Marked


I was watching a porn clip earlier that really got my juices flowing. In it, the girl was going down on a guy in what was clearly some kind of public toilet.

The girl in question was probably in her mid twenties. pretty, blonde curlyish hair, blue eyes, and a very perky pair of boobs. They guy, well to be honest, the only bit of him I could see was the portion of his cock that wasn’t in her mouth, but it certainly looked like a very tasty specimen. I don’t speak much German, but it was pretty obvious he was enjoying the girl’s attentions.

Of course, after a few minutes of having his cock hungrily and enthusiastically sucked, he reaches his climax. Does he reward her for a (blow) job well done, and come in her mouth? No, of course not; he pulls out and blows an unbelievably large load all over her face and boobs. If the average guy produces between 5ml and 10ml of ejaculate, this guy must have been storing it up for months; by the time he was finished, she looked like she’d had a pint of the stuff splashed on her. It did, however, look as sexy as fuck.

So, so far we’ve had:
– Sex in a semi-public place. Check!
– A pretty girl drenched in a thick load of cum. Check!

As you can see, it has already ticked a couple of my “Fuck Yeah” boxes.

She goes to clean herself up and is told, in one of the few words of German I know, very firmly, “Nein!”

The guy pulls up his shorts and proceeds to back out of the toilet, beckoning the girl, who is still naked, to follow.

So, quite clearly, we are about to have public humiliation. CHECK!

The toilet transpires to be one of those huts, next to a beach, where sunbathers can go to “freshen up”. The girl then has to walk past the people lying on their sunbeds, his cum still very noticeable on her skin, until she reaches the sea. Only once she is in the water, is she able to wash his cum off.

Needless to say, I found this short, seven or so minute clip, extremely hot. The wank and the orgasm that followed it lasted longer than the clip itself.

Part of me wanted to be that girl. The nakedness, the naughtiness, the shamelessness, the sluttiness. Not to mention she’d had the pleasure of having a mighty nice cock to suck on.

Part of me wanted to be that shameless exhibitionist; walking proudly, drenched in cum for all to see. Another part of me cringed in terror of the prospect that Master C may, one day, do something similar to me, while at the same time, I’m secretly hoping that He does.

So basically, if I absolutely had to create a porn site, it would definitely feature pretty girls getting drenched in cum before having to display their badge of sluttiness to anyone who just happened to be close enough to see it. And, if it just so happens that the woman who gets to be drenched with a lovely thick load of cum (or several) before being humiliated in public happens to be me on occasion, well, so much the better.

Now, on that delicious thought, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to indulge in another wank.

#WickedWednesday #WickedWednesday