Taking Him in hand


Let’s be honest, there are times when our body lets us down; we’re tired, stressed, or, God forbid, just not really in the mood for sex. Yes, I know it may come as a shock, but even the most insatiable sluts sometimes have their off days.

Of course, just because we aren’t really up for getting down, it doesn’t mean we can’t still give Him a good time.

The good old hand-job often seems like a neglected act in a couple’s sexual repertoire, which is strange given that, if you are like me, it was probably the first overtly sexual act that a lot of us women (or girls as we were back then) ever performed on a guy. Long, long before I lost my virginity, and before I became the cock-sucking addict that I am, I loved stroking guy’s cocks. I loved making the guy I was with hard, making him lose control, and eventually firing off a load. It was such a hot experience just knowing that I could do that to a guy and, even though I moved on to “bigger and better” things, it’s still something I love to do.

I’ve said before how much I enjoy being responsible for getting a guy hard. There are times, either as a result of one or more of the reasons listed above, or simply because I want to do something nice for Master C, when I will fall back on this most wonderfully simple method of pleasing Him. There is something extremely gratifying knowing that what I am doing the cause of that reaction as His cock responds to my touch; getting longer, thicker, stiffer. I love how Master C reacts when I touch Him in different ways; stroking His shaft, teasing the tip, playing with His balls, running my fingertip over His frenulum. Each touch elicits its own response. The sigh, the moan, the involuntary flinch, the sharp intake of breath.

As I lie beside Him, my hand sliding up and down His shaft, I love to feel the tension in His body build as His pleasure increases.

Again, as a submissive woman, I love the reversal of control. I can decide how much to tease, I can decide when to let Master C cum. I can speed up, slow down, I can change the pressure of my grip, concentrate on another area. Each action of mine has its corresponding reaction. The laws of physics apply to sex every but as much as they do everywhere else.

Sometimes, as I stroke those lovely, hard, proud inches of flesh, I like to tell Master C naughty stories; encounters from my past, trysts with other men or women, things I want Him to do to me, things that remind Him of what an insatiable filthy little slut I am. I know the effect this has on Master C; I know how much my words turn Him on.

As His climax nears, I love the way His cock swells and pulses in my hand. I love the way His lower abdomen tightens. I love the way His breathing strains as Master C does everything He can to delay the inevitable.

Where should He cum? For once, the choice is mine. Do I let Him fire his load into the air, letting it fall where ever it lands? Do I aim His cock so that His eruption lands on my skin, allowing me to more fully savour His moment of release? Do I move, place the tip of His lovely straining cock at my lips so Master C can fill my mouth with His rich, creamy essence?

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; I go with what feels right at the time. The important thing is not the manner of His final explosion, only that I have brought Master C there; pleasured Him, served Him. His release is my reward and when Master C moans my name, when the pent-up tension drains from His body, when He gathers me to Him and holds me in His strong arms and calls me His “good girl”, I know Master C is pleased with me, and that’s what it was all about.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Your sub, your way?


When it comes to sex, I love having things to be done to me. I enjoy being spanked, I love being restrained, blindfolds figure quite frequently in my sex play and I thoroughly love being taken, by a strong, confident man who is comfortable and secure enough to use my body in a way that brings him, and ultimately me, pleasure.

I’ve used that word: “taken” again. As I mentioned in a recent post on the subject of blow-jobs, the vast majority of sexual acts are done, no matter how actively and enthusiastically we participate, to women. Nature has designed the female body to be the receiver. Not that I’m complaining, I do like being on the receiving end of a bloody good fuck, and both Master C and “The Other Guy” are particularly adept at dishing those out. The result, I believe, is, that the sexual act is inherently submissive from the female perspective. We give our bodies to our partners, and men take their pleasure from us. Even when we women initiate things, ultimately it is our legs that part and we offer ourselves up to our partner.

Now, again, I’m not complaining; I love that feeling of having whichever hole is being taken stretched and filled by a cock. I love being pinned down beneath a guy as he thrusts into me, filling me with those rock hard, proud several inches of flesh.

I’m all in favour of sexual equality, but the male and female bodies are not designed to be equal.

Now, I like a little tenderness and romance; I am a woman after all, but I also like a man who knows what he wants. I want my men to be, well, manly. I want them to fuck me properly. Sometimes this can be slow and gentle and loving, other times it can be rough, fast, hard.

It’s a huge turn-on for me, when Master C comes home, kisses me roughly, spins me around, bends me over the table, flips up my skirt and just takes me roughly from behind and just pounds my cunt or arse until He cums hard inside me. It’s a sign that He wants me for that purpose and that purpose alone. I know, because I’ve asked, and He’s admitted, that at that particular moment, it doesn’t actually matter that it’s me He’s fucking, all Master C is aware of is His own need; to all intents and purposes, I am simply an object for him to take His gratification from and, ironically (and I’m aware the rabidly feminist of my readers will be appalled by this), as a woman, I relish in this. It’s primal, it’s animal and it’s knicker-moisteningly good.

At other times, what starts off as slow and tender can, as the passion mounts, slowly grow until it becomes a full-on cunt pounding, and again, that’s great.

We women are receivers; men are givers and takers; that’s how nature has designed us. That’s not to say that we women can’t use men for our own pleasure; of course we can. I do frequently, and I’m sure most, if not all women reading this do, or have done so.

But for me, much of the pleasure comes from tipping the man I happen to be with, whether it be Master C, “The Other Guy” or some random I’ve met in the pub, over the edge so he releases his inner Cro-Magnon. Much as I love tenderness and romance, I also love it hard and rough; the kind of sex that leaves both participants sweaty, exhausted and, in my case at least, satisfyingly achy in places.

So I guess some of the submissive in me that comes, for no other reason, than the fact that I have a vagina, and I love having it stuffed full of penis. Sometimes I think that the human body is the model of bad design, but in sex, I think nature got it about right…

#MasturbationMonday

It’s not just about orgasms


It’s probably just as well given the ephemeral nature of the female orgasm. Sure, some of are lucky, some of us come quite easily, some of us enjoy multiple ones, some of our orgasms go on for ages (compared to guys, whose tend to be over in a few quick spurts); but even for the least orgasmically challenged of us there are times when it just doesn’t happen. Sometimes we’re not really in the mood, other times we’re just not turned on enough, sometimes were just having sex because it feels nice and we’re not that fussed. As women, we’re probably all familiar with this, it happens, but actually, just having sex is enough for us. But sometimes, occasionally, there is that most frustrating on non-orgasmic situations: the orgasm that got away…

We’ve all been there, I’m almost certain of it. There’s the feeling of anticipation, followed by the intense arousal as our lady-parts grow flushed and increasingly wet. Then there’s that long plateau phase, where the things he (or she) is doing to us feel so good you don’t want them to stop. The sensations grow more intense, you can feel yourself surrendering to the feelings that are so nearly overwhelming you, you’re on the very cusp and then…

  • The cat chooses that moment to jump on the bed;
  • Your mum phones;
  • One of you sneezes/farts or has some other bodily exclamation;
  • He/she changes position, trapping your hair/boob/other part under his/her elbow causing intense unexpected pain; or
  • A host of other possible things that knock you off your stride.

And then it’s gone, and no matter what he/she does, unless they are a miracle worker, it isn’t coming back. Even for those of us for whom climaxing is relatively easy, the very fragile of our orgasms means that we will experience this at some time or another.

For guys, most of the time they generally seem to just be able to carry on until its done, for us however, we just have to resign ourselves to the fact that, this time, it isn’t happening and just enjoy the rest of the fuck.

Fortunately, we enjoy being fucked regardless of whether or not we come. Yes, orgasms are great and ours are every bit as important to us as guys’ orgasms are to them, but really they are the chocolate coated cherry on the icing of the cake.

Great sex is all about making us feel great. Granted, nothing achieves that more than an orgasm (or two, or more), but the truth is orgasms during sex are a bonus, and if we don’t have one during, we can probably dig out our favourite toy and beat one off in pretty short order afterwards; secure in the knowledge that we’ll probably be able to have a couple more before he’s ready again.

The fact that sex is something that can be enjoyed even if, sometimes, orgasm can be elusive is something that I am definitely grateful for.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Variety


If you have read this blog, you will know that I am a fairly adventurous slut. I’m generally in the mood for trying new things and, when circumstances allow, fucking new people. That being the case it’s probably no surprise that when it came to this week’s questions, I’ve probably tried (and usually enjoyed) most of them.

Tickling
I am extremely ticklish and, I absolutely hate being tickled; particularly my feet and my lower back, but really, just about anywhere. Master C is, of course, aware of this, and delights in using it as a way of tormenting and torturing me. Usually He just uses his fingers, it doesn’t take much to set me off, but other items have included feathers an upholstery brush, woolly gloves, and even the plastic bristles of an old hair brush (the reverse of which was used to spank me when I complained too vociferously about the tickling).

HATE being tickled and yet, when Master C does it to me, I am powerless to resist; I simply have to endure it until He decides to take pity on me and do something else instead.

Food
It can be fun. I’ve had Master C pour melted chocolate over me and nibble it off. I’ve licked chocolate sauce and cream from His cock. He has licked ice cream from my cunt. The most intense experience was when Master C turned me into what He delighted in calling a “Morag Sundae”; hot chocolate sauce on my nipples, ice cream on my cunt. The contrast between heat and cold was mind-blowing and when you factor in what Master C did with His tongue, well, I’m sure you can imagine.

Heat/Cold Play
Well, the food bit above covers that off, but I also enjoy wax play. There’s just something delicious about feeling the heat on my skin, and the way it pinches as it cools and dries. Then there’s the pain as it pulls the fine hairs out of their follicles as it is removed. As someone who has a thing for pain, this is a bit of a double whammy for me. The initial burning heat of the wax and then impromptu depilation.

At the other extreme, ice on my nipples is truly wonderful. In fact, ice being trailed anywhere over my skin is a delightful experience, but when it touches those really sensitive bits, my nipples, my labia, my clit, it sends lightening bolts shooting through me. Having my cunt licked by someone who is sucking on an ice cube is one of the most wonderfully pain/pleasure filled things I have ever experienced.

Blindfold/Restraint
I’ve bundled these together as, so often, they are things that are done at the same time. Being restrained puts me completely at the mercy of the other person; I am completely helpless and vulnerable. Add a blindfold so I have no idea what is about to happen or who is about to do something to me (especially in a group play scenario) and I’m almost certainly going to be wetter than a rainy weekend in next to no time. I love that feeling of helplessness. I love the fact that whoever I am with can do whatever they want with me and to me. I love that I just have to accept that I am about to be used (or not) for the other person’s pleasure and there is nothing I can do to influence or prevent what might happen.

Spankings/Discipline
I mentioned being spanked up above and I have written about discipline many times. It ties into my identity as a submissive and it plays to the pain lover in me. Being punished isn’t about play or spicing things up, it is an essential part of my dynamic with Master C. I am allowed to be the slut I am because there are consequences that I accept. That’s not to say I won’t go out of my way to earn myself a spanking/thrashing; I absolutely will. I love the feel of his hand or his belt marking my skin. To me it’s a reaffirmation of his claim on me and that is something to be cherished.

Casual/Random Sex
Yes, if I really want to “spice” things up, there’s nothing that gets me going more than knowing that, if I want to and am prepared to accept the consequences, I can fuck whoever takes my fancy. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to grow out of the thrill of being dragged into a dark alley behind a pub/club and sucking a total stranger’s cock, or having him fuck me in a doorway; especially when I know that Master C‘s belt will await me when I confess my transgression later.

Being a Slut
I’ve said it before, but I am a slut. Specifically, I am Master C‘s slut. He allows me to explore and be who I am. Really, that is all the spice I need.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Keeping it casual


I have it on the very best authority that we redheaded girls are insatiable, immoral, wanton sluts. Certainly, I will admit that I’ve never had difficulty keeping emotional attachments out of sex. Yes I love the additional element of having sex with someone I love, but I also love the purely physical sensations of a good fuck.

Whilst I can’t say that I’ve never had a “Fuck Buddy”, I definitely have “Friends With Benefits”, friends with whom I have sex with on a fairly regular basis; the most notable being “The Girl” and “The Other Guy“.

These friendships have, so far, lasted several years, so in that respect, they count as long term; and while I have strong bonds with them (some more than others), the only place I seek the emotional, companionable support of a partnership is with Master C.

I enjoy fucking. I enjoying fucking and being fucked by other people. I make no bones about it, I am an insatiable slut. But while I love being with my FwBs for what they do to me and how they make me feel sexually as both a lover/partner and as a woman, the only one I love is Master C; he is the one I simply could not be with out.

Quite simply, as well as being my Master, He is my rock, my soul mate, my world. I maybe an insatiable slut, but I am also an incurably romantic slut. Yes, I “love” my FwBs as friends, but if you took away the sex, they would still, in most cases, be friends. With Master C, there is the full package of intimacy; physical, spiritual, emotional, intellectual and sexual. It is, perhaps, because of this, knowing that I have all this, that I am able to enjoy sex with others without fee of any other entanglement, and just concentrate on enjoying the sex.

As for one-night stands, well, I’ve recounted my experiences of these often enough for it to probably go without saying that these are something else that I enjoy and that, luckily for me, Master C allows me the freedom to enjoy so long as I am prepared to accept the consequences of letting my cunt do my thinking for me.

I am particularly fortunate that I am able to enjoy these side relationships, both with my long-term FwBs and my random one-nighters. I am, however fully aware that I can only have these as added benefits within the context of a strong, fully bound together primary relationship with Master C.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

We don’t have to take our clothes off


Quickies are great; not just because the can be done just about anywhere, whenever the urge takes you, but because they represent an urgency, a desire, a hunger for the other person that can no longer be denied.

I’ll be honest, it doesn’t really take much to get me in the mood for sex. Sure, long, protracted foreplay with lots of kissing, stroking, slowly undressing, licking and sucking before Master C decides which hole He is going to fuck me in (and if I’m specially lucky it’ll be both) is great. Who doesn’t love a seriously intense session like that. But having said that, when the urge takes Him and He orders me to turn around and lift my skirt because He is going to fuck me there and then, will get me wetter than an Autumn day in Scotland faster than I can comply with His demand.

It might be behind the pub after a night out, in the bathroom at a party, even just when Master C gets home from work and I’m in the kitchen; when Master C wants me, He wants me and He is going to have me.

There is no subtlety, not a hint of romance, it is simply a quick, rough, hard, filthy fuck that leaves me feeling used, but oh so happy. This particularly applies to the random guys that I pick up on nights out. It’s not about romance or protracted foreplay; it’s simply about the urge, the need to fuck that both me and they guy I’m fucking are experience. When I’m bracing myself in a doorway as some guy pounds my cunt urgently from behind, there isn’t any time for niceties (sometimes we haven’t even exchanged names), it’s all about the fuck; his cock, my cunt and the urgent rush to climax.

I love the fact that Master C just can’t keep His hands off me and His cock out of me. I love that He and other men just want to take me and use me. I love being a slut. I love that other men treat me as some sort of easy, common slut  and that Master C makes me feel like His special, filthy little slut, to fuck whenever, wherever He desires. It makes me cheap sometimes, it makes me fell dirty, but it always, always makes me feel desired and wanted. Quickies definitely play to this side of my personality.

You really don’t always have to take your clothes off to have a fucking good time.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The joys of Skype


Skype is the business traveller’s best friend. Even when Master C is as far from home as I can be and still be in Britain, it allows much more in the way of interaction than a simple phone call.

Take last night for example; I’m at home, Master C is in His hotel room, in Bristol. My laptop set up so that it’s camera can take in most of my bed. Maste C calls me and after a few minutes spent describing our respective days to each other, He begins describing what He’d do to me if He weren’t 400+ miles away.

Inevitably, I find myself naked and I’m rubbing moisturiser into my boobs, imagining the gloopy substance is Master C’s cum, as He describes how He’s going to thrash me for being such a dirty little tease.

As my cunt gets hotter and wetter, I long to feel His tongue on my clit. I desperately want to finger myself, make myself cum but Master C orders me not to.

A look at the laptop screen and I see him stroking His lovely, thick cock and I so wish it was me doing it to Him.

“Do you want to suck this?” Master C asks. I nod, wishing He was here or I was there so I could take the angry, swollen purple head between my lips.

“Do you want this in your cunt?” Again I nod, moaning confirmation of how much I want Him inside me, stretching me, filling me, fucking me.

“Do you want this in your arse, you filthy little slut?”

“Yes please,” I moan, “please stick your lovely big fat cock up my slutty little arse.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your filthy little slut and I love taking your cock up my arse.”

“Slut!”

“Yes,”

“Filthy whore!”

“Yes,”

“Finger yourself! Fuck your cunt with your fingers.”

I comply, and as my thumb presses against my clit, I feel my climax ignite.

One orgasm isn’t enough though, and Master C orders me to continue fucking myself. My cunt grips my fingers as I plunge them deep inside me. My clit throbs beneath my thumb. My head tosses from side to side and my back arches. Distantly I hear Him ordering me on, demanding I abuse myself further.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity of pleasure filled torture, Master C relented. He ordered me to lick my juices from my fingers. I savour the taste as, in the screen, He furiously pumps His cock.

“Cum on me!” I gasp, “Cover me with your lovely cum, make me your very own cum-soaked slut.”

He moans my name. “Mmmoooo-ahhhh-rrrraaaggg….” It’s almost a sob as His cock edupts, sending long, thick jets streaking through the air. The rationale part of my brain thinks it’s such a shame all that lovely cum is going to waste, but mostly, I don’t care; my body is too drained to worry about such things.

We sign-off. I switch off the light and curl up to go to sleep and dream filthy dreams. The only thing missing is Master C’s warm, strong body to cuddle up next to.

#MasturbationMonday

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

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

Bad sex


It’s pretty much accepted that bad is the opposite of good. This definition implies that the thing that is “bad” is somehow deficient, substandard, of poor quality and unsatisfactory. Now I’m no different from any other woman and, if we’re being honest, we’ve all had sexual encounters that fit the above description.

I know I could recount any of a number of disappointing fucks, and worse still, non-fucks for this feature. The trouble is, the telling of them would almost be as disappointing as the experiences were themselves.

So I decided to attempt to come at the topic more laterally than literally. What if there was another definition of bad that I could use?

Well, being naughty is being bad, isn’t it? Anyone who reads this blog will know that hubby and I have a penchant for naughtiness. The only problem was which story to recount? I hope you enjoy the one I’ve settled on.

It was a Sunday and Master C and I were enjoying an extended lie in. His attentions were beginning to take a more amorous turn when the phone rang. It was my mum. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but since I was intent on enjoying my lie in, I decided it was better to answer now, before things got intense, than to risk her deciding to pop round while I was in the process of being soundly seen to.

“Hello, mum… No I’m fine… He’s fine too… No really, you’re not interrupting… Really…” and so on.

Master C, however, was not to be thwarted. His hand slide up my thigh and His fingers lightly brushed my lower lips. I pushed His hand away with a slightly irritated “Get off!”

“What was that dear?”

“No mum, you’re really not interrupting, it was just the cat jumping on me.”

I glared at Master C. He stuck His tongue out. He clearly wasn’t going to be deterred. Smiling wickedly, He continued to tease me as my mum made small talk in my ear.

I could feel my body respond as His fingers stoked, probed, and teased. I had to concentrate every effort to keep my voice sounding natural.

I let out an involuntary “Umf!” as He pushed a finger up inside.

“That wasn’t the cat again was it dear?”

“Um, yes. The bloody animal is being a proper bloody pest.”

I closed my eyes, grinding my cunt against His hand, pushing my hips forward to force His finger deeper inside me.

In my defense, it was quite easy to keep up the pretense of a normal conversation. My mum is a stream of consciousness when she is on the phone and all I really had to do my make sure I interjected from time to time with the odd “Yes” or “No” or “Mmmm hmmm”. So long as she did ask me anything that required extended articulation, I was quite safe.

At that point Master C decided to up the ante. He slid down the bed, positioned Himself between my legs, applied His mouth to my cunt and proceeded to feast.

Torture!

Did I want Master C to stop? No I didn’t. The naughtiness of the situation, my mum rabbitting on in my ear, completely unaware while His tongue lashed my clit made the situation so unbearably arousing.

As the sensations grew, I was helpless to prevent a soft moan from escaping. I managed, somewhat convincingly I thought, to turn it into something sounding like a yawn.

“That’ll be that man and of yours keeping you up past your bedtime again, I assume,” she commented in a knowingly, joking, one woman to another fashion.

“Uh, er, yes mum.” If she only knew; if she only really knew.

The pressure for release was becoming unbearable. I needed to come, but before I could do that, I needed to get my mum off the phone. I wracked my endorphin soaked brain for a reason to end the call.

“Mum, um, look, um, I’m sorry but I’m, uh absolutely bursting. I um, ah, have to go. See you this, ah, evening, ok?” It was the best I could manage.

“Ok dear, won’t keep you. Have a nice afternoon.”

“Yes mum, we will,” get off the phone, please.

“And give my love to…”

“I will,” will you please get off the fucking phone?

“See you later.”

“Mmmm, yes, later,” gripping the edge of the mattress with my free hand.

“Bye, Morag love.”

“Bye mum.”

I hang up and drop the phone. Master C reached up and grabbed my nipples as His tongue beat on my clit.

I can take no more. “Fuck yesssss!” I scream, releasing the pent up tension and frustration. My back arches off the bed, my body shakes as I am gripped by the mother, father aunt and uncle of all climaxes.

When I come back down, Master C smiles at me; His cock is hard and swollen. Part of me wants to deny Him, to punish Him for the torture He subjected me to, but how can I not thank him for an orgasm that intense.

“If you want me to suck that, you’re going to have to come up here, I haven’t the energy to move.”

Smiling, Master C moved back up the bed. I turned my head towards Him. He slipped His lovely thick, hard cock between my lips.

Master C is sometimes very naughty; and if naughty is bad, then this was very bad sex indeed.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday