Dark alleys


Sex in dark alleyways has always been a particular forte of mine. It began in my casual days and it’s something that I still do quite regularly, be that with Master C, or some random guy who has caught my eye on a night out.

I’m no stranger to outdoor sex, but outdoor sex of the back alley variety usually involves alcohol. Not that I’m particularly inhibited in my sexual wantoness by any means, but there’s nothing like a few drinks to make you feel a wee bit more daring. It also helps that the town I live in has lots of dark lanes, alleyways, closes, nooks and crannies that are just idea for a bit of late night, can’t wait to get home fuckery.

Why do I do it? Well, there’s the thrill factor; there is always a risk of being caught in the act. This has happened on occasion, and on at least two of those, it has been by other couples presumably looking for somewhere to do exactly the same thing. There’s also the thought that even if no one walks by, you could still be being watched. Often these dark closes are down behind tenement blocks and anyone could, potentially, look out their window and watch you giving a drunken blow-job or having an alcohol fuelled quickie.

Mostly though, it’s simply because, when I’m at a certain level of drunkenness, I get uncontrollably randy. I don’t want to wait until I get home to have sex, I want fucked and I want fucked pretty much there and then. Generally, I’ve found guys are quite willing to oblige, despite the obvious risks, and Master C is no exception. If you’ve read my cumslut post, then you will know that, not only does He enjoy it as much as me, but sometimes He likes to crank the stakes up to an entirely higher level.

Really, for me, it’s a combination of things: the excitement, the riskiness, the sop to my exhibitionist streak, the arousal, the need for urgent sexual fulfilment, and the enjoyment of a bloody good fuck. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a filthy little slut who is always ready for cock, especially if it’s Master C’s cock, wherever I am.

Kink of the Week

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Out and about


I am a lover of the outdoors. I love being naked outdoors. There is something inherently natural about it. I love the feeling of the sun on my naked skin. I love feeling those gentle breezes that make the fine hairs stand on end and add to the sensitivity.

Whether it be soaking up the sun on a Greek beach, finding a remote country spot, or just simply lying out in the garden, the feel of the sun’s warmth  and/or gentle breezes all over my skin, there is a glorious natural feeling that simply can’t be replicated.

Sadly, living in a part of the world where the climate doesn’t often lend itself to outdoor nudity, and on those occasions that it does, the chances of them coinciding with me being free are so few and far between, they almost have to be grabbed and exploited.

Of course, if there’s one thing better than outdoor nudity, it’s outside sex. There are any number of places near to where Master C and I live that lend themselves to alfresco loving; whether it’s in the countryside, or various places along the shore, or, should inspiration fail us, our own garden. Of course there are also numerous back alleys and dark closes that lend themselves to drunken, late night quickies, but those are the subject of another post.

The thrill of outdoor sex comes from the risk of discovery; it adds a degree of excitement that makes the experience more intense. For me, the greater the chance of being caught, the sexier the experience is. The only drawback, if you can call it that, is that the riskier the location, the less clothing is likely to be removed. Sometimes the biggest thrill from outdoor sex is doing it in such a way that any people around are unaware that you are doing it.

One of the sexiest experiences I ever had was having sex in the middle of a park in Dublin, the guy I was with sat with his back against a tree, me sat astride him, my knickers pushed aside and me rocking gently as people passed by all around us, unaware (or at least, so I thought) of what was going on almost right under their noses.

Of course, if you can find a remote enough spot, a more leisurely approach can be taken. If it’s warm enough, you can take the risk of stripping off, letting the heat of the sun add to the heat of the situation.

Of course, seclusion is no guarantee of absolute privacy. Ramblers, dog walkers, horse riders and even mountain bikers can, and do, sometimes, appear seemingly out of nowhere. On those rare occasions where an outdoor shag has been interrupted in circumstances such as those just described, the general response has more often than not been embarrassment rather than outrage. On one particular occasion, one couple did stop briefly to enquire if we’d noticed any other likely spots nearby.

I am a big fan of of alfresco nudity, and sex; it’s just a shame that our weather gives us so few opportunities to indulge in such activities. So, when the circumstances and the weather combine to allow me to be naked outdoors, you can be certain that I will take advantage of it.

#MasturbationMonday

I flirt, therefore I am…


I am a flirt, I make no apologies for it; I always have been and (hopefully) I always will be. One of the reasons I have this blog is to allow my flirtiness free reign.

I do occasionally get asked why, if I’m so ridiculously in love with Master C, do I feel the need to behave in such a brazen fashion and how does He feel about it? The truth is, I just just enjoy the (usually) harmless attention that it gets me. Yes, I’m totally and hopelessly devoted to my wonderful Master, but I get a buzz from the fact that, despite being well and truly taken, men (and women) find me attractive in a sexual way. As for Master C, not only does He not mind, He openly encourages me. For Him, it’s almost an ego thing; others may fancy me, but He is the one that has me. It also means that on those occasions where I succumb to another man’s flirtation, I will pay the consequences of my actions and feel the kiss of Master C‘s belt.

I know not everyone will agree with me, and some people will probably see some dark secret desires or denied relationship dissatisfaction in my actions, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s part of our bond, it all comes down to mutual respect and trust; we are together but neither of us dictates what the other can and can’t do. I am free to do what I please and with whomever I please so long as I am willing to take responsibility for and bear the consequences for my actions.

I get a buzz out of it. What woman (or man) doesn’t want to feel desired and wanted? I enjoy the attention, and I enjoy it for the harmless fun that it is. I enjoy the thrill of being “seduced” by someone who takes my fancy and letting the attraction run its natural course. It’s a part of who I am, a part of the person that Master C nurtures, cherishes and loves, and I’m not going to change; if I did, I wouldn’t be the same person any more.

Judge me if you will, agree or disagree as you see fit, play along or walk on past. What matters is that I am Master C‘s slut and He loves and respects me for who I am, and the same is true in reverse.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

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

Hooked up


So, this week the questions related to “hook-ups” and I suspect that it will  come as no surprise to you that this is a subject that I have a certain amount of familiarity with. Actually, it would be more accurate to say it’s a subject I have had experience with, as it tends not to be something I actually do any more.

It’s not that I’ve given up on casual sex. If you’ve read any of this blog you will know that I am very much a cock-hungry slut and I still enjoy random casual encounters. By and large though, these encounters are not planned; they are, as I said, random. And by random I mean that I haven’t previously arranged to meet up and fuck them, they are simply someone who has caught my eye and I’ve decided I want to have some fun with them.  Probably the only things that come close to being “hook-ups” for me nowadays are when I make plans to get together with either “The Girl” or “The Other Guy”. Given that these are “established relationships” that I have, I suspect they aren’t really “hook-ups” in the sense meant by the question, but that doesn’t make them any less enjoyable when they happen, or in any way dampen the anticipation I feel when waiting for one that has been arranged to happen.

For me, “hook-ups” in the “traditional” sense happened in the period between breaking up with my ex and meeting Master C.

Almost invariably,  they were arranged via sites like Plenty Of FishAdult Friendfinder or Fabswingers (don’t bother looking for me on any of those, my profiles are long gone). Contact was made, messages were exchanged and, if all went well, plans to meet were agreed. The “usual” protocol was that first meeting would be “social” to see if we clicked. Generally though, if we did “click” we’d be out the back of the venue for a blow-job/quickie and before heading back to whichever of our respective places was nearer for one or more encores.

Not only did I meet guys locally, I also used to meet them when I was away for work in places like London, Bristol, Birmingham, Cardiff, Belfast or Newcastle. After all, if you’re going to spend a night or two in a hotel, you might as well have some fun while you’re at it.

The sex, as sex does, varied in quality from pretty rubbish to pretty damned amazing. On the whole, I never had what you might call a bad experience (I was always quite lucky that way), although I did have more than a few that, in sex terms, might be described as disappointing.

For me, it was a convenient way for a cock-hungry slut to get herself fucked on a (fairly) regular basis. Today, of course, I have Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” to attend to most of my needs and, so long as I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions, as much random casual sex as I can find for those times when I fancy something a little bit off menu. I can, it seems, have my cake and eat it (as well as being frequently and expertly eaten) and, on the whole, I for one am not complaining.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Meaningless sex?


A very good friend of mine once said:

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she realises that meaningless sex just is no longer enough.

She then went on to follow this up with:

This is quickly followed, however, with the realisation that even meaningless sex is better than none at all.

Now, my friend’s situation was that she was single following an extremely painful break-up and that since the split, the only sex she had had, had been casual encounters, the majority of them one-night stands, where there was no commitment and little or no feelings involved. The sex she was having was, by her own admission, being had pretty much only for the sake of having sex, to scratch an itch, or just simply “keeping her hand in” (although, I suspect, it was actually more to do with giving her hand a rest, but that’s another story…) To her, the sex was meaningless, not because she didn’t enjoy it, because she would be the first to admit that, generally, she did, but because there was a lack of connection with the guys she was having sex with. The truth was, she missed the closeness and connection that she had had with her long-term partner and that the sex she was now having was driven more by hormonal/emotional needs rather than any feeling or desire on her part.

Remembering this discussion when I recently caught up with her again, got me thinking.

In some ways, our situations had a lot in common. Before meeting Master C, I too had experienced a bad break-up and betrayal of trust that, for one reason or another, sent me down a path that involved a lot of casual sex that, by my friend’s definition could be considered “meaningless”. Certainly I attached very little emotional investment in the guys I fucked, even the ones I quite liked and, so, fucked more than once. The quality of the sex varied; from the absolutely awful to the multiple-orgasmicly fantastic; but was it meaningless?

I guess this is where my perspective and that of my friend differ; and the main reason for that is, I suspect, age. My friend was, more or less the same age I am now when she went through this. When My betrayal happened I much younger, having not long graduated. She was already secure in her sexuality and sexual identity; whereas for me, I was still very much at the novelty stage (given most of my early sexual adventures happened while I was at university). As a result, where my friend found the whole experience unsatisfactory, I was, in a way, very much still learning what I liked. Each guy (and girl) that I fucked taught me something new, both about sex, and about myself. For me there was an excitement about each encounter, whereas for my friend, it was just another repetition of the same situation that served only to remind her that she was single and what she wanted most was the companionship of a loving relationship.

In that way, she was, I confess, much more mature than me, but that is understandable. She had had her experimental phase in her teens, met her “ideal” guy at Uni in her early 20s, settled down and was planning a future with him when his betrayal turned her world upside down. In my case, I was still a naïve young woman who was happy to fuck any guy that paid her any sort of attention (“what has changed?”, I hear you ask). That’s not to say I regret my promiscuity, I don’t, it taught me an awful lot about myself and allowed me to hone the skills that Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” now enjoys on a regular basis, but I will admit that I could have been a bit more selective in some of the guys I fucked.

So, for me, casual sex may not have had much meaning to it, but it certainly wasn’t meaningless. Perhaps, in the words of my friend, I hadn’t come to that “time” in my life.

Oh, and before I forget, one other similarity that we share is that, just as I met Master C, she did eventually meet someone with whom the sex clearly did mean something. I say that because she is now happily married and the reason we caught up was that I was a guest at the christening of their second child (whom I managed to give back without dropping). I must, however, point out that as much as I am delighted for her, this did not ignite any feelings of broodiness on my own part.

So can sex ever be meaningless? I guess that really depenmds on the experience and perspective of the person that is having the sex in question.

As for sex and love, well, for me at least, while I enjoy all the sex I have with whomever I have it with, the best sex of all is definitely the sex that I have with Master C, followed closely by the sex I have with both “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”. I will be honest and admit that I do love all three (albeit in very different ways); so I would have to say that, as far as this little slut is concerned, love does make sex better.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

A dirty little fantasy


A little daydream; inspired, in part, by my previous post.

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

We sneak out, find some dark, out of the way alleyway, then he fucks me hard, in my mouth, pussy and arse before blowing his load over my boobs.

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

We never tell each other our names.

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

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

Drunkeness


So, it’s Friday again.  It is also payday. As such, a group of us from work will be going out which, of course, means alcohol.

Now, there are some people who manage to hold their drink with a certain decorum; despite being a little dishevelled they manage to carry it off with a certain style and classiness. You know they’ve had a few too many but yet, they still manage to convey a sense of elegance, if not quite sophistication.

Sadly, I am not one of those people.

No, despite being Scottish, when it comes to alcohol, I am a total lightweight; anything more than two large glasses of wine and I’m pretty much anybody’s. I know this from bitter experience. Although, to be fair, I am frequently quite literally “anybody’s” so it’s not all bad all the time.

So, do I ever learn from these displays of public embarrassment?  No, of course not.

I can guarantee that this evening, once again, I’ll be there, doing my best, but failing miserably as usual to keep up with my colleagues and friends, and before I know it, I’ll be drunk tweeting, will have probably bought, and smoked most of a packet of Regal  (Note: I don’t smoke, except when I’ve had too much to drink), will have sent numerous suggestive texts to Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” describing in graphic and lurid detail what I want them to do to me and what I want to do to them in return, I will almost certainly end up sucking some random guy off and/or getting fucked behind the pub and, finally, one of my friends will have to pour me into a taxi at the end of the night.

I know I shouldn’t do it, I am fully aware that I have no capacity for alcohol, I know I’ll end up making an utter mess of myself, and I know I’ll feel like death for the next few days afterwards, but I also know I can’t help myself sometimes and I’m going to do it anyway. On the plus side, if I’m very bad, I will almost definitely earn myself the attention of Master C‘s belt, so there is a potential silver lining to this particular cloud.

So, if during the course of the evening, you happen to stumble across someone looking like she’s only just managed to escape the fall of civilisation while picking your way through town, please be gentle with me.

Casual sex


I think it’s probably safe to say that Master C‘s and my sex-drives are pretty equally matched, so in terms of the question:

How do you cope when your level of sexual desire doesn’t match that of your partner?

I don’t think this has ever been an issue for us. I suspect the fact that we are quite openly poly would mean that we might not notice even if our sex-drives did get out of whack. And “whack” is almost certainly what I’d get if I did anything about it.

I’ve frequently admitted to the fact I’ve had my share of casual sex and, generally, I’ve enjoyed it. Let’s be honest, so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions, it does have number of things going for it.

First there’s the excitement. There’s something exhilarating about that first, will we, won’t we, oh fuck it, just do me moment. Sexual excitement is a powerful and intoxicating thing. It’s an affirmation that we are sexual beings and that someone finds us attractive and wants us, physically. It’s primal, it’s the mating and breeding instinct (even though, in the main, the breeding part isn’t what we’re looking for). It’s the urge for the male to spread his seed far and wide; it’s the need for the woman to find the strongest, fittest potential mate. It’s possibly one of the most ancient urges in us all and that’s what makes it so exciting.

Then there’s the novelty. At its most basic, at the end of the day, sex is simply a means by which the male of the species impregnates the female. But, in reality, it is so much more than that. No two partners are ever the same. How they touch us, how they make us feel, how they bring us to orgasm (or not), their technique, and yes, sometimes their size all add to the experience. Some experiences are good, some not so, but everyone is different.

There are many interactions between men and women, but sex, when it is done right, is the most pleasurable. And as humans, we have an insatiable hunger for new experiences and, since there are so many variables in what makes sex pleasurable, taking our pleasure from multiple partners can seem a very attractive proposition.

As I said, I’ve had casual sex and I’ve enjoyed it too, but it also has it’s disadvantages.

First, while novelty and variety bring excitement, they also bring unfamiliarity. Unless you only ever had sex with someone once (and I’ll admit, I have done that), the first sex you have with someone, however novel, however exciting, is extremely unlikely to be the best sex you have with someone. There’s just no getting away from the fact that the first time you have sex with a new partner, you just don’t know your way around their body. The basics are always broadly similar but it’s the differences, little things that turn us on that are only discovered through familiarity that make the difference between good sex and great sex.

Also, for me anyway, I find the best sex of all comes from there being a deep (emotional as well as physical) connection with the person I’m having sex with. I’m not saying you can’t have a connection with a casual fuckbuddy, but I’ve never experienced one on the same level as the connection I experience with Master C.

The other drawback, again for me at least, is condoms. However, unless you want to play Russian-Roulette with sexually transmitted diseases, when indulging yourself with multiple random partners, they are a necessary evil. Granted, some people don’t use them, that’s up to them and I don’t judge them but, for me, they are an absolute necessity. I will happily dispense with them for the purposes of blow-jobs, but only Master C gets to fuck me without one.

Anyway, again, these are only my views, you are free to agree or disagree as you see fit. At the end of the day, sex is there to be enjoyed, and enjoy it I certainly do.  Casual sex allows me to (hopefully) enjoy the excitement and novelty that I described above, coupled with the fact I know that I will have to endure Master C‘s belt as punishment for my actions.

Having said that, no one knows my body, my tastes, my desires as well as Master C does. No one knows how to turn me on and turn me into an incoherent mess quite like Him. As much as I do enjoy casual sex, I enjoy what Master C gives me so much more. In fact, I’m now definitely looking forward to him getting home from work, so I can serve Him and enjoy His attentions..

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

What is a slut?


Having gone to an all girls private school, a slut was someone who was known to be (or at the very least believed to be) sexually active and was known (or believed) to have had sex with more than a “socially acceptable” number of partners. Now, I’ve no idea what that “socially acceptable” number is, but given that I had fucked a fair number of both men and women before I left school, I dare say that I qualify on those grounds. I’m certainly not going to quibble about the number itself.

A definition in an old dictionary I once found was something like this:

Slut A sexually promiscuous woman. Differentiated from a whore insomuch as she gives freely of her body, whereas the whore doth give use of hers by way of commerce.

Well, as I am by pretty much any definition a sexually promiscuous woman, it seems a safe bet that I qualify on those grounds too.

Another definition I’ve encountered is that a slut is someone who has had more sexual partners than birthdays.  Guess what? Yes, quite clearly, I qualify here too.  In fact, I qualified somewhere between my 16th and 17th birthdays and, even if I were never to shag another person in my life, I suspect I actually wouldn’t live long enough to ever discharge my insluttedness.

The two things all these definitions have in common is that:

  1. A slut is a woman; and
  2. The woman in question has had multiple sexual partners.

Basically then, what I am saying is, that by any common definition you care to use, I am a slut!

There, I’ve said it, I am a slut and, frankly, I’m actually quite proud of it.  Not so much of the number per se, but from the fact that my wanton promiscuity has taught me a shitload about who I am and has made me the person I am today.  I wouldn’t be the Morag I am if I hadn’t become a slut.

Even today, with the guidance of Master C, I am still a slut. Very specifically, I am Master C’s slut, granted, but a slut nonetheless.

You see, to me, being a slut is an attitude, not the number of people you fucked.  It’s about being comfortably deviant in the bedroom (or kitchen, or driveway, or wherever…), it’s about being able to enjoy certain sexual activities that you could never imagine your parents doing (God forbid that my mum ever did even a fraction of the stuff I’ve done, and if she did, I never want to know), it’s about being confident in your sexuality and your sexual tastes and appetites and using that confidence to get what you want.

It’s not necessarily about being submissive, although you can be, and I most certainly am; but it is about exploring your boundaries and broadening them wherever possible. As I’ve said numerous times before, sexual acts are generally performed on us women because we are designed to be on the receiving end, but that doesn’t mean we have to take this lying down (unless we want to of course, and that’s fine too), we are free to have men, and other women, use our bodies in ways that satisfy us.

I confess that I have a high sexual appetite, (fortunately Master C’s is more than equal to the task of satisfying it) but even though Master C permits and ultimately corrects my promiscuity, it doesn’t mean that I leap into bed, or on to the back seat of a car, or behind some bushes or allow myself to be bent over the kitchen table for just anyone. I can still be choosy and I look after my sexual health but, at the same time I also enjoy the variety (both in terms of situations and partners) and if anyone thinks that what I do is wrong then, well, they are entitled to their opinion but, quite unashamedly, I’m never going to agree with them. Nor for that matter does Master C, who know all about my less than pristine sexual past, and who guides and corrects me in when my slutty nature gets the better of me.

So yes, I am happy to call myself a slut; Master C‘s slut, as I have already affirmed, but still a slut.  I am a slut who enjoys sex and enjoys satisfying my desires and appetites and I am always open to discovering new experiences. I also enjoy submitting to Master C and accepting the guidance and instruction he gives me, while accepting the punishment he applies as a consequence of the freedoms he allows me.

I’m not sure if all of this makes me a ‘dictionary definition’ slut or a ‘my definition’ slut or just someone who gets a lot of enjoyment out of sex in all its myriad of pleasurable forms and, to be perfectly honest, it’s not something I’m going to lose any sleep pondering over (although I do miss out on a fair bit of sleep participating).