Terms of endearment


Language is a strange thing; what is one person’s compliment can be highly insulting to another person. Take the word slut for example. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not averse to being called a slut on occasion, in fact, in certain situations I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get called that or something equally degrading.

Now, I must confess, that like many women, I am, deep down, a soppy romantic at heart. As such, I am a sucker for the words, “I love you”. When spoken intimately and when meant can give me a me a warm glow all over.

With everything though, context is important. The words “I love you” said spontaneously by Master C as I’m leaving the house for work in the morning, or whispered in my ear just before I fall asleep at night, have a completely texture and effect than when they are gasped between clenched teeth while my lips are wrapped around His cock and He’s about to explode in my mouth.

Having said that, having Master C moan my name and call me His “good girl” at the point of orgasm just before he floods my cunt with cum and collapses, spent on top of me, pinning me beneath Him is always guaranteed to make me melt.

Getting back to the term slut; while I accept that some people find the term offensive, there are times, for me, that it is the highest compliment that I can be paid; particularly if Master C is calling me His “good little slut”.

When Master C is tugging my hair, fucking my arse mercilessly, I long for him to call me His “filthy little slut” or “dirty fucking whore”. As He sprays His load over my face and boobs, there’s nothing I want more than to have Master C call me His “dirty little cum slut”.

As I said before, the context is what’s important. Depending on the circumstances, being called a slut is every bit as endearing as being told that I am loved.

Language is a rich and varied thing, and there a many ways to express how much another person means to us. Slut, whore, love, fuck; all words that, depending on how they are used and who is using them can make someone feel wanted and special.

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First fuck politics


First times can be tricky things sometimes.

Sometimes they can be pretty straightforward; the drunken, random, don’t ask their name, don’t tell them yours one-nighter. Yes, I’ll admit that I’ve had my share of these. In this situation, it’s basically just a fuck, it’s what both parties want. There’s no “getting to know you”, there’s not even the slightest consideration that this might become a “thing”; it’s simply just fucking as an elaborate form of masturbation, with little or no consideration for the other party. To be honest, in the grand scheme of things, they don’t really even qualify as “first times” as there’s very little chance of them ever being repeated.

No, the first times I mean are the “date” types.

There’s the whole fuck on the first date, or wait dilemma. If I fuck him on the first date, will he think I’m cheap/easy/a slut? If I wait until the second or third date before fucking him, only for the sex to be crap, have I wasted my time when I could have fucked him on the first date and moved on?

There are no right or wrong answers to this.

Yes, I have fucked on the first date and yes, sometimes I have waited. There have been good and bad experiences in both situations.

In the case of Master C and me, it’s fair to say that we didn’t date until after the fourth or fifth fuck.

The sexual politics and double-standards can be a bit of a minefield though.

Sometimes, you just know, even on the first date, sometimes right at the point of meeting them, that the night is going to end up in bed. The chemistry is there, the spark, the lust, it just all clicks into place and by the time the meal/drink/film/welcoming kiss is over, all both of you want to do is tear each other’s clothes off and get down to it. If that happens, great. If the sex is even half way good and the guy isn’t a total out-for-himself bastard, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll do it again. If it later transpires that despite the quality of the fucking, the rest of the relationship is non-existent, you can move on and at least you’ve had some fun along the way.

Similarly, sometimes it pays to go a bit more slowly. You may like him but he doesn’t quite excite you. You try a few more times and you either decide to fuck him or fuck off. I will admit to the fact that there have been occasions when I’ve fucked him and that has been what has finally decided me to fuck off, but that’s a different issue.

The truth is though, there is no “right” time to fuck somebody for the first time other than, possibly, if it feels right, then do it.

The other dilemma, having had that first fuck, is do you want to have a second? That is one that only you can decide. First fucks are rarely mind-blowingly great, but there is usually enough indication as to whether or not repeated practice would make it worthwhile. If you’ve unleashed your world class blow-job skills on him, and he’s reciprocated by giving your clit a perfunctory and obligatory flick of his tongue before climbing aboard and giving your cunt a two minute pounding before rolling off and starting to snore, then the chances are, you’re probably not going to give him another chance; but what if the reason he came so quickly was that you were just a little too enthusiastic with your sucking, leaving him no hope of lasting? Maybe a second try once he’s got his breath back?

Your instinct is probably your only real guide; only you can decide how much pleasure giving potential he has. Ultimately though, sometimes a girl just has to move on and prepare herself for her next first time.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Uh oh! I’m in trouble


“MORAG!” Master C shouts my name from the other room. My full name; not a nickname or an affectionate diminutive or term of endearment, my… full… name…! Clearly, I’m in trouble of some sort, but for once I’m at a total loss as to why.

“MORAG!” He roars again, “GET THAT SLUTTY ARSE OF YOURS THROUGH HERE NOW!”

I walk through to the front room attempting a casual air that I don’t feel. “How do you explain this?” Master C demands, pointing at the laptop screen. Glancing at it, I see my blog on display.

Have I gone too far? have I finally said something He is unhappy with?

I give Him a sheepishly contrite look.

“Don’t come all innocent with me Missy! These comments, how do you explain them?”

I allow myself a little sight of relief. I can’t, after all, be responsible for what my readers write.

“You, you filthy little slut, you’ve been causing inappropriate responses. You’ve been making guys hard. You’ve been making girls wet. You’re a naughty, naughty little slut aren’t you?”

I attempt to sound suitably contrite, “Yes, Sir.”

“What was that?” His hand moves suggestively to His belt buckle.

“Yes, Sir!” I reply a little louder, feeling myself getting wetter.

“Yes, what?”

“I’m a naughty, filthy little slut, Sir.”

Master C unbuckled His belt and began to pull it loose. My cunt contracts.

“Well?”

“I need to be punished, Sir.”

“What was that?”

“I deserve to be punished, Sir, will you please punish me, Sir?”

“Good slut! You know what to do.”

I wriggle out of my jeans, let my knickers slip to the floor. Master C swings His belt I walk to the desk, bend over and brace myself.

“Naughty slut!” He shouts as His belt swings down, cutting into my arse cheeks, making me cry out.

“Filthy slut!” and His belt lashes out again, bringing tears to my eyes.

“Prick-teasing slut!” I feel the leather for a third time. My face feels as hot and red as my arse as I choke back sobs.

“Immoral slut!” Tears roll down my cheeks making them almost as wet as my cunt.

“Mischievous slut!” Despite the pain, my cunt throbs, longing to feel him inside me.

“My slut,” Master C says softly as the belt takes me again. My heart melts at the warmth in His voice.

His hands grip my arse cheeks. I can barely feel them through the stinging pain. His lovely cock enters me and my cries turn to cries of pleasure.

Master C fucks me hard and deep. His cock pounds my cunt. His fingers dig into my raw arse cheeks as He takes me.

He pulls out, I hear him grunt, then I feel his cum splash over my buttocks. “Rub it in, it’ll help soothe some of the pain,” He says.

I do as I’m told, rubbing His rich, thick load into my skin until it dries into me.

“Turn around and clean my cock,” Master C demands. Again I do as I am bid, licking His cock and sucking the last drops of cum from its tip, savouring His manly flavour mixed with my own juices.

Kneeling before Him, I look up to meet His gaze. “Good girl,” Master C says and my heart melts again. ” You can make yourself come now. You’ve been a good little slut and you deserve it.”

Kneeling on the floor, I put my hand between my legs and begin to rub my clit. Master C encourages me with words like: “Good slut!” and “Come for me slut!”

In next to no time, I do just that. I scream as my climax rips through me.

Master C watches me, smiling, and I know that I have pleased Him. After all, he is my Master, and I have promised to obey Him and submit to His will.

Body image and nudity


I like my bum. Sadly for it, in terms of the attention it gets from oglers, it is most definitely overshadowed (not literally, obviously; that would be freaky) by my boobs. Now, as it happens, I like my boobs too most of the time, but I happen to think my bum is my best feature and it gets somewhat neglected in the getting checked out stakes.

For everyone, especially us women, body image is a very complicated and very personal thing. I am quite fortunate that I happen to like (most of) my body. My face is nothing special (yet another reason for not showing it) and I hate my feet. As for the rest, it’s pretty much how I like it. OK, so it’s size and shape changes from time to time, but it’s been pretty much constant since I was about 16/17.

That’s not to say I’ve always been as self-confident. My boobs in particular caused me a lot of grief in my early teens.

As I’ve mentioned to the point of nausea, I went to an all girls school. I was also quite an early developer on the boob front. As such I got quite a lot of teasing from my still flat-chested classmates. You might have thought that this would have lessened as their own boobs sprouted but alas no. Mine, having had a head start, stayed pretty much out in front on account of their size. Being a 32D at the age of 13 is not the blessing you may think it is, although my boobs did get me noticed by boys, which of course just added to the torment I received from my peer group. I was still in my first year of secondary school when someone first came up with the nickname, Morag McNipples (it being a supposedly clever play on my actual surname), and it was to follow me throughout my school days.

Of course, the only people who ever saw me naked in those days were the same sneering classmates in the showers and changing rooms after PE at school, and , of course, “The Girl”.

The change in my attitude to myself came, quite naturally I guess, as I began to become sexually active. The first time I got naked in front of a guy was nervewracking, but in actual fact, I guess I needn’t have worried; I don’t think he actually took his eyes off my boobs the whole time after my bra came off. We didn’t have sex that time, but we did spend ages lying naked together, exploring each other with out fingers and, I think, during the course of the afternoon, he had complimented every inch of me (but my boobs were definitely his favourite bits).

Allowing men, and women to see me naked taught me to look at my body in a different light. I was (and still am) to a certain extent slightly self-concious about my ladybumps, but I have come to love them almost as much as any other part of me.

Going abroad on holiday in my early teens was always a bit traumatic. My mum has (and possibly still does for all I know) never had any issue with sunbathing topless. She even refused to cover up when her offspring were going through that awkward stage. I was 15 when I first decided to brave discarding my bikini top. I was quite envious of all these other women (my mum excepted) being brave enough to bare their boobs and enjoy the freedom of the sun and the sea on their skin.

My sister (who is almost two years older than me) and I decided to leave the family group and set off further along the beach. Once we were certain we were far enough to be out of view, and with a lot of nervous giggling and a few false starts, we eventually plucked up the courage to discard our tops. I think I was slightly disappointed at the lack of any reaction when there I was, my boobs out in public for the first time, and no one paid a damned bit of notice. Of course, what were two (or four if you count my sister’s) more boobs on a beach where you could see countless pairs of them in any direction?

Going swimming topless for the first time was exhilarating. The contrast of the heat of the sun and the coolness of the water made my nipples stand out, and feeling the waves splash against them sent almost orgasmic like shivers through them.

Except for those parts of the world where it’s required, I’ve never worn a bikini top abroad since, although it took a couple of further holidays before I was comfortable getting them out with my mum and dad present.

Nude sunbathing was something I tried for the first time when I went on an all girls holiday just after finishing school. If you’ve ever been to the Greek Island of Corfu, you may know that on the northwest corner there is a lovely beach just to the north of the village of Arillas. The beach, set against the backdrop of imposing clay cliffs has some of the clearest blue waters off any of the Greek islands. It is also a beach where not only is nudism tolerated, it is, as we discovered, almost expected. Being already completely comfortable with being topless, and seeing all the carefree nudity around me, it didn’t require much persuasion for me to go the whole way and discard the bottoms too.

The thing I discovered very quickly is that nudity, when it is all around, is not sexy nor is it arousing, it is simply nudity. I saw bodies of all shapes, colours, ages and sizes and no one seemed to be either attracted or repulsed by it; it was simply perfectly acceptable. It was also, I discovered, a hell of a lot more comfortable than having soggy, hot, uncomfortable bikini bottoms clinging to you after you’d been for a swim too.

For me, I think, despite never really having any serious body images, that week of just lying in the sun with other naked people lying all around me, just going about and minding their own business, transformed the way I thought about my body and myself. It certainly taught me that I needn’t have hang-ups displaying it and, if a guy was willing to get naked for me, there wasn’t any reason why I should worry about getting naked for him.

I am not a naturist or nudist by any means, but I do admit to enjoying being naked outdoors and, when I go abroad, I do try to ensure that there is the opportunity to sunbathe nude. Not because I want to show off my body, because in all honesty, the only person that will probably even be looking at it is Master C and he sees it every day, but because I enjoy the freedom and the comfort.

As for hang-ups about my boobs, they are mostly relegated to the past, although I still think my bum is cuter.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

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.

Verge


It’s those final moments. Bound, helpless, vulnerable. Completely at His mercy.

He looks at you like a predator contemplates its prey.

You are naked, more than naked; your soul is bared to Him as you endure the intense scrutiny of His gaze.

His hunger is palpable; you can feel it in eyes as they feast on you, devouring you where you lie.

Anticipation builds inside you.

Whatever He chooses, you are helpless to resist.

The clock ticks, seconds pass, each one an eternity as you wait.

You sigh as He traces the contours of your spine with a finger.

You wince as you hear the snap of His belt.

You melt as you hear the words you have been waiting for: “Are you ready, little one?”

“Yes Master,” you reply, and you brace yourself, waiting for the first kiss of His leather on your skin…

#MasturbationMonday

The things He does


When He looks at me, I feel His hunger and desire for me. I know that He wants me.

When He reaches for me, I feel myself responding to His need. I know I want Him as much as He wants me.

When He kisses me, I feel myself melt. My passion rises. My want for Him increases. I feel myself grow increasingly moist.

When He undresses me, the anticipation rises. I want Him, I need Him and I can feel His need for me too.

When He explores my body with His fingers and lips, electricity flows through me. My passion ignites. A warm glow spreads through me.

When He licks me, my clit pulses. The walls of my cunt and my womb contract as the pleasure takes hold.

When He makes me cum, I long to feel Him inside me. I want to feel His lovely cock take me.

When He enters me, I surrender to Him. I savour the sensations as He fills me.

When He fucks me, I know that I am His. He claims my body with His cock, users me for His pleasure.

When He moans my name as He cums, I know He loves me. In that moment we are one.

When He slips out of me, I feel empty but satisfied. His cum trickles out of me, a reminder of our passion.

When He holds me in His arms, I feel safe and secure. He is my protector and provider as well as my lover.

When He is with me, He makes me complete. I am who I am because of Him.

Trials, tribulations and (un)wanted distractions


You would think writing a sex blog would be a fairly easy thing to do, wouldn’t you? After all, what is easier than sex? We all do it after all. Sadly though, it’s the universal nature of sex, combined with the individual likes and dislikes of those participating in it that can make it tricky to write about.

Firstly, my particular kinks and preferences may not appeal to you, endless reiterations of the subject of how much I enjoy having Master C’s cock inside me may, just possibly, get a bit boring.

Then there is the act itself. At the end of the day, sex is simply sex. In purely heterosexual terms, it is the insertion by the male of the species of his penis into an available orifice in the body of the female of the species (Note homosexual options are also available) and rubbing said penis inside said orifice until he ejaculates. For the purposes of reproduction, the required female orifice is the vagina, but for recreational purposes, the mouth and anus can, depending on the female in question, also be acceptable alternatives.

There are only so many ways the above process can be described. If you are reading this, the likelihood is that you are familiar with the mechanics of the sexual act.

The difficulty the sex blogger faces (well, this one certainly does) is to find ways to discuss different aspects of the topic in a way that holds the reader’s interest, bearing in mind that the reader’s knowledge of the subject is likely to be at least as proficient, if not more so, than that of the writer. With that in mind, I sometimes think it’s a miracle that I ever find anything to actually write about.

Then there’s the distractions. Real life has a habit of getting in the way and finding time to blog can sometimes be difficult.

But, assuming you have found the inspiration for an entry, and you have the time available, you’re still not necessarily home and dry…

I’m typing away, trying to get my thoughts out when Master C casually saunters past. Because He’s genuinely interested in what I write, He peers over my shoulder to take a look. Then, because what I’m writing gets Him a bit hot under the collar and because it’s so convenient, He begins to play with my hair and kiss my neck in a way that is absolutely guaranteed to make my clothes disappear. One thing leads to another and, before I know it I’ve gone from sitting at my PC, diligently comparing and contrasting the merits of smooth and spiky ben-wa balls, to being on my back, legs in the air, Master C’s cock in my cunt and his balls slapping against me.

Later, in the post-coital, and hopefully post-orgasmic, aftermath of his interruption, I cast my thoroughly distracted mind back to my blog, I find I’ve lost the thread of what I was trying to say and, with a resigned sigh, I hit delete and yet another post is consigned back to its electronic purgatory.

OK, so you could say that having sex is an occupational hazard for a sex blogger but, perversely, it doesn’t actually blogging about sex any easier.

#MasturbationMonday

Friday night sofa snuggles


So it’s Friday night, we’re staying in, snuggled on the sofa, me with my head on Master C‘s lap, watching whatever shite is in the TV.

A couple of glasses of wine consumed and I’m feeling a little bit naughty.

I trace the outline of Master C‘s cock through His jeans. He playfully bats my hand away. I try again. His cock is harder now, the outline more defined. Again Master C moves my hand away; this time it’s even less convincing than last.

I try again. I feel His cock stiffen further. Master C wriggles a bit and He rests His hand on my head, his fingers playing with my hair.

I unzip His jeans and slide my fingers inside. His cock, still encased in his boxers, twitches in response to my touches. Master C moans slightly as I slip my fingers inside His shorts. His fingers twist in my hair as I idly stroke His shaft, feeling it stiffen and twitch.

Master C murmurs softly as I tease the head with my fingers, feeling it swell.

I remove my hand and unbuckle His belt, unbuttoned His jeans and release His cock from its confinement. A bead of pre-cum oozes from the slit. Master C shudders as lick it away with my tongue.

I kiss the tip and swirl my tongue head. On the TV a klaxon sounds; someone has got something obviously wrong on QI again. I take this as a sign and wrap my lips around the head. Master C moans more loudly and His fingers tighten even more firmly in my hair.

I slide my lips leisurely up and down His shaft, pausing at the top to tease the head. Occasionally I let my teeth drag lightly along His skin, making Him flinch.

As I suck and lick, His hips begin to move, driving His cock deeper into my mouth. His hand exerts a pressure on my head, pushing me harder on to Him.

I cup Master C‘s balls, squeezing them as the head of His cock lodges in the back of my throat. His breathing deepens as the jerking of His hips becomes more pronounced.

His cock twitches with increasing frequency. The flavour of His pre-cum grows stronger. His balls swell in my hand.

I can feel the tension in Him build. His moans become deeper, more prolonged. Master C‘s cock stabs my mouth with short, stabbing thrusts.

His fingers tighten in my hair. Once… Twice… Three times… His sign, telling me that He is on the brink.

I slide my mouth back, wrapping my lips tightly around Him, only the head of His wonderful, throbbing cock in my mouth. I encircle Master C‘s shaft with my fingers, stroking Him as I suck.

A moan, a spasmodic jerk and Master C‘s cock erupts. My mouth fills with cum; rich, warm and salty. I savour the taste before swallowing it down. His torrent slows to a trickle; the last drops pool on my tongue.

His cock subsides, His breathing returns to normal, His hand releases my hair and rests lightly on my head as He tells me I am His “Good Girl”.

As I tuck Master C away, the weather forecast says it’s going to be miserable. All the more reason for us to stay in bed…

The Oral Sex Project