So long as they have a face…

…I will always have a place to sit.

Make no bones about it, I love having a partner’s tongue between my labia and on my clit, particularly if it is the tongue belonging to Master C. It doesn’t matter whether the other person is face down between my thighs or if I’m kneeling astride their face, the feeling of a tongue and mouth on my cunt is something I will never get too much of.

The risks of me accidentally breaking their nose or of me suffocating the partner in question and depriving myself of their tongue aside, there are good reasons from a purely practical perspective why sitting on a partner’s face is such a convenient position.

For a start, if I’m sucking a man off, once he’s blown his load in my mouth, I can simply just move up his body, straddle his head, lower myself on to his mouth and have him return the compliment.

Alternatively, when I’m on top, fucking him, riding his cock with abandon, it may be that he’s overheating while I still have a way to go. Again, it is so much easier for me to just slide off his cock, move up the bed, plant my cunt on his mouth and have him redress the balance before moving back down and reimpaling myself on him.

Sometimes, if I’m facing in the other direction, while he is mid feast, I can lean forward and either play with his cock with my hands, or take him into my mouth and reciprocate. I mean, let’s be honest,  69s aren’t particularly practical, but they can be fun every now and then. With Master C being at least 6″ taller than me, a 69 is much easier with me on top than it is with Him.

When I’m sitting on  Master C’s or “The Other Guy’s” face, they can reach up and play with my boobs as they lick me. They can finger either of my holes as their tongue lashes my clit. What’s more, by moving my weight around, I can directly control the pressure their tongue applies, giving me exactly the stimulation I want at that particular moment.

The same can be said when I’m having sex with “The Girl”. I’ve sat on her face, she has sat on mine. When we 69, as I am the taller of the two of us, she frequently goes on top.

It’s a very practical position and, as anyone who has ever gone down on a woman will know, it’s actually a lot less uncomfortable for the licker, in terms of not giving yourself a cricked neck, than burying yourself face down between her thighs is.

So, let’s hear it for face-sitting. I don’t care if I’m never going to be able to sell videos of me doing it, or having it done to me, I’m going to go right on enjoying it every chance I have.

I swallow

I suspect it comes as no surprise to learn that I swallow. Granted, I haven’t swallowed every load I’ve ever taken in my mouth, but the vast majority that I’ve taken have ended up in my stomach. After all, I’ve worked hard for my reward, I’ve earned it so, as long as I am allowed to do so, I’m going to savour and enjoy it. I’ve no objection to taking a load over my face, or my boobs if that’s the kind of mood I’m in, or if Master C decides that’s what I deserve, but I do love the feeling of a nice, thick, hot load of fresh cum trickling down my throat.

I’ve never really understood the whole “spit or swallow” thing. To me, it’s always been more about whether or not I allow a man to come in my mouth in the first place. Let’s face it, once he has shot his load in your mouth, it’s a bit too late to worry about what it tastes like and, if we’re being brutally honest, if it doesn’t taste pleasant, spitting it out isn’t going to change things. OK, so I admit, there are times when a guy’s cum tastes so foul that you spit out of reflex. It has happened to me and it can’t really be helped, sometimes it’s just automatic. As a general rule however, if it passes that first test, down it goes.

One of the ways I have tried to avoid this unfortunate scenario is to have a few general rules of thumb. Based on experience, the main one is, if the man smokes, I don’t let things get that far. It’s been a rule I’ve had ever since my teens, even back in my student days when I used to be a smoker myself. It hasn’t always guaranteed that the experience wouldn’t be unpleasant, but it has, I think, improved the odds.

Now, there are some women who just won’t let guys go that far. I have a very good friend who has never taken a load in her mouth, and I know she is not alone. She’ll happily let a guy dump a load of cum anywhere else on or in her, but she just can’t bring herself to let men co,e in her mouth. In her cunt, fine, up her arse, no problem, over her boobs, bring it on, in her mouth, no fucking way; the first hint of pre-cum when she’s sucking a guy and his cock is speedily transferred to another hole. She quite openly admits that just the thought of taking a load in her mouth makes her queasy.

Me, on the other hand, I was willing to give it a try, and the first load I took was sufficiently not too unpleasant to make me happy enough to keep doing it.

For a lot of women, assuming they were willing to try it in the first place, I suspect their decision whether or not to let a man unload in their mouth is based on how unpleasant or otherwise their first (and in many cases, I suspect, only) experience was. I was fortunate, others won’t have been.

When you have a regular partner, you can become accustomed to the flavour of their cum. You get familiar with the effect that their diet and lifestyle has on the taste. The first time you suck a man’s cock, however, you are largely taking a leap into the unknown; you really don’t know what you’re going to get. You can take “reasonable” precautions, for example my embargo on smokers, but even then you still don’t know what to expect. Even the cleanest tasting cock is capable of producing foul tasting semen; it’s a risk we just have to take. On the whole, I’ve been lucky, the “good” has by far outweighed the bad, but I have had my share of unpleasant experiences too.

As an aside, the Cosmo type magazines of this world would have us women believe that we shouldn’t waste our time going down on men who aren’t prepared to go down on us. Now, largely, I agree with this, but there are exceptions. It’s one thing if a man expects us to suck his cock but is too lazy, arrogant or self-absorbed to return the favour, but there are some men who, just as there a women who won’t let a man come in their mouth, get squeamish about putting their mouths to our lady parts.

I was with such a man for a spell when I was at Uni. He was a lovely guy and the sex was very good; but no amount of coaxing could make him overcome his cunniligaphobia. Even the less than subtle “I’ve done you, the least you could do is do me back” was met with a rueful shrug and a reply along the lines of “Well, so long as I get to fuck you, I guess I can live without getting my cock sucked”. The thing was, he had a very suckable cock, and, as I’ve said, was a pretty damned good fuck; the things he could do with his fingers and mouth could turn me inside out. Ultimately though, I missed getting my cunt eaten out, so it had to end. Shallow? Very probably, but I had needs that he, sadly, couldn’t satisfy.

Anyway, back to my original point; spit, swallow or don’t let him come in your mouth in the first place, it’s a choice every one of us has to make for ourselves and whichever way you fall, if the man whose cock you’re sucking is worth it, he will respect your choice. That said, it’s almost impossible to maintain an air of coy innocence with a mouthful of cum.

Cunt

I love the word cunt; so coarse, so harsh a word for something so warm, soft, inviting and, ultimately welcoming. It is, however, a very satisfying word. Cunt: it just rolls of the tongue. It has a lovely, earthy Anglo Saxon feel about it, the way so many of our sex words have. Cock, cunt, fuck; such short forceful words that combine so well together, both on the page and in the flesh.

It hasn’t always been my cunt. When I was much younger, it was my fanny. When I was a bit older, it became my pussy. Occasionally, mostly because I’m redheaded, it got referred to as a minge, because that rhymes so playfully with ginge.

I never really liked pussy as a descriptive term. Yes, mine is sometimes “furry” after a fashion, and it does love being stroked, but in its own way pussy always seemed to be almost as childish a name as fanny.

I can’t exactly remember the first time a partner referred to it as a cunt. I do remember thinking, “Yes! That’s what it is. It is my cunt!” I remember enjoying the things his tongue was doing to my cunt. I remember how I felt as his cock fucked my cunt. That wasn’t just its name, that was what it was. It completed the unholy trinity of C words: cock, clit, and now cunt.

From then on, when a guy, or girl, went down on me, he/she licked my cunt, tasted my cunt, ate my cunt. When I had sex with me, he fucked my cunt. And when I masturbated, I would frig my cunt.

Frig. Wank. Cock. Fuck. Arse. Cunt.

Such short, sharp, harsh, vulgar yet, at the same time, beautiful words.

And then of course there is one more; slut, for that is what I am. A filthy, greedy, insatiable, submissive little slut. A slut who craves nothing more than Master C’s cock, whether it be in her mouth, her arse or her cunt. A slut who loves to be told how warm and tight her cunt feels around her Master’s cock. A slut who loves to fee Master C’s tongue lapping her juices from her cunt. A slut who just simply loves her cunt licked, fucked and generally used however Master C deems fit.

The “truth” about size

Having been a member of numerous adult contact sites in the past, and having browsed a few profiles on those same sites, I wasn’t all that surprised when I noticed that a lot of women want the men they meet to be “well hung”. What did surprise me was the number who insist that only men with cocks greater than 8″ (or in some cases the specification was greater than 9″) should bother contacting them.

This got me to wondering just how many “genuine” contacts they get.

It is generally accepted that the average length of the male organ, when erect is approximately 5½-6½”. Now, I know, averages being averages means that there must be a distribution of lengths on either side of that figure. Fair enough, I get that. I’ve had quite a few cocks in my life and some have been longer and some have been shorter but, typically, they’ve all been much of a muchness (thickness, on the other hand…)

Anyway, back to my point. When a woman specifies such a requirement, how does she actually know what she’s getting in advance? OK, there are pictures on these sites (believe me, there are lots of pictures…) but, to be perfectly frank, these don’t actually tell the viewer anything about how long they are.

So, given that the photos aren’t much to go by, unless there’s some frame of reference to give an idea of scale, It does beg the question about how she knows the cock she is going to get meets the required specification.

Do these women insist on documentary evidence?

Do they carry a measuring tape around with them at all times?

If the latter, what happens when they unwrap the aforementioned ‘gift’ and discover it is short by a fraction? Do they just kick him out and dig out their favourite toy instead?

That said, even if the guy does actually measure up, it’s still no guarantee of success. The biggest guy I ever had claimed to be 9″. I took that with a pinch of salt and was right to do so as, in reality, he was probably nearer to 8″ (no, I didn’t measure him, Master C’s cock is the only cock I have measured and that was simply as a bit of a laugh, but with hindsight, the cock of the man in question wasn’t really that much longer than Master C’s, and I know how long 1½” is, and he wasn’t that much longer). The sad thing was, he was probably the crappest shag I’ve ever had. He was so impressed with his size (and naturally assumed I would be too), that his technique was sadly deficient. 10/10 for content, certainly, but only 2/10 for application.

Now, the simple biological fact is that the most sensitive part of a woman’s vagina is in the first 3½” – 4″ so, as long as your cock is at least that long, you’re probably going to be stimulating all the right nerve endings. Anything more than this is simply filling. Don’t get me wrong, I do love to feel full, but I get more pleasure out of feeling stretched. If I’m being totally honest, once a guy is inside me, unless his cock is so long that the head of it is continually banging against my cervix (not a sensation I enjoy, believe me) then I haven’t really got any idea how long or short his cock is.

And, the thing is, guys who have (or perceive themselves to have, regardless of whether or not the actually have) do, in my experience at least, tend to try harder to satisfy us women. They tend to be better with their tongues, they tend to touch more, they tend to engage us more in a sensual way than their longer phallused counterparts. My simple rule of thumb, derived from bitter experience, is that the bigger the dick the guy has, the bigger the dick he tends to be. My alleged 9″ guy was so impressed with his cock that he seemed to think I should, I don’t know, swoon in it’s presence or bow down and worship it, or something. He certainly seemed to believe being penetrated by it should provide me with all the pleasure I could possibly want. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.

A big cock doesn’t turn a crap shag into a great one, but it can turn a mediocre one into a towering disappointment.

So, getting back to my original point, why would any woman insist on a particular size given that there is no guarantee of satisfaction? Wouldn’t insistence on ability be more beneficial (if a lot harder to quantify)?

Don’t get me wrong, if a guy has a nice sized cock, and can use it (eg, Master C/”The Other Guy”) then this is great, but if I cant have size and ability, then I will choose ability over size every time. Life is too short to put up with crap sex and if the guy you’re with really knows how to push all your buttons and can fuck you seven shades of senseless, then his cock is quite clearly the ideal size for the job.

 

Rough

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

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

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

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

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

 

A mouthful of man

In my last post, I discussed how much I love wanking . So, inspired by a rather yummy prompt image, today I thought I’d wax lyrical on the subject of another of my favourite activities, sucking cock.

It’ll come as no surprise to anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time that I simply love sucking cock. I can honestly say that I have had more cocks in my mouth than I have had in either my cunt or my arse.

I’ve mentioned before about the sense of control sucking a guy’s cock gives me, but what I love most about it is the knowledge that his pleasure, his orgasm, is entirely down to me.

There is something immensely satisfying about taking a cock from a state of flaccid disinterest, through the stages of arousal to full pulsing hardness, until it erupts sending its hot, thick load down my throat. It gives me a great sense of gratification to know that I alone have done this; that I have given him so much pleasure.

I love licking and kissing every inch. I love taking the swollen head deep into the back of my throat, sometimes allowing myself to chock and gag on it. I love the moans and sighs that the recipient of my talent makes, letting me know how much pleasure I am giving him. I love it when he grabs my hair and pushes his cock deeper into my mouth as he begins to lose control. And I especially love it when he comes, filling my mouth with his manly essence, rewarding me for a job well done.

Sucking any guy’s cock, for me, is all about the pleasure I give him. It’s not entirely selfless however, as I take a deep pleasure of satisfaction from knowing that I am pleasing him, worshipping his cock as a symbol of his masculinity.

And, as Master C’s dutiful submissive slut, it is right that I should praise and, yes, worship my Master’s cock. For me, the most devotional form of worship I can give, is to suck His cock.

 

The joys of wanking

The relationship I have had with my fingers is the longest sexual relationship I have had. Stretching back over more than half my life, it’s fair to say that no one, not even Master C, has given me as many orgasms as I have myself.

Of course, those first furtive fingerings were very much clandestine affairs, under the covers of my bed, biting my lip so as not to make a sound, not wanting to betray the pleasure I was having. In truth, the need to keep quiet, to not alert my parents or siblings to what I was doing only intensified the sensations, making my orgasms even more powerful, but that didn’t lessen the secret, almost shameful source of my pleasure.

When I bought my first vibrator, I remember rushing home, hoping that the house would be empty so that I could enjoy some time with my new purchase.

As luck would have it, the house was unoccupied; my parents were still at work, my brother was probably off with his mates in some garage, practicing to be the next big rock sensation, and my goody-two shoes (as I thought) sister was probably pouring over her books in the library. Excitedly, I ripped my new toy from its packaging, inserted the batteries and, pausing only to pull the curtains, I threw myself on my bed, hitched up my skirt, yanked off my knickers and set about myself.

The result was almost disappointingly instantaneous. I came almost as soon as the buzzing tip touched my clit. I came, moaning and shaking. In my defence, I was so excited, my anticipation almost certainly contributed to my near instant climax.

That first vibrator wasn’t the quietest I’ve ever had. As a result, it’s use was limited to when the house was empty, but it gave many hours of pleasure before it finally moved to the great sex-shop in the sky.

When my sex life expanded to include other people, I discovered that wanking wasn’t just a solitary pleasure, it could be a shared joy.

The first time I wanked for someone was an awakening. I’d gone back to my boyfriend’s and we took advantage of his parents being out. After I’d sucked him off he put his head between my thighs. His tongue worked its magic on me, taking me deliciously close to a climax. Almost, but not quite. For some reason, on that particular occasion, he couldn’t quite take me over the brink.

When he fucked me, it was as good as it always was but, for some reason, I still couldn’t quite get there. When he came, I was still randy, still bursting with sexual energy. He suggested I finish myself off.

I was nervous. I’d never wanked openly before. It was exciting; having someone there. Knowing he was watching me gave it an added fillip. As it happened, that was all I needed to make that final connection, to drive me over the edge, to come hard and loud as he encouraged me. It really opened my eyes (figuratively that is, they were screwed tightly shut at the time) as to how wanking, far from being a solo, secretive activity could be a fabulously intense shared experience. Wanking, at least when in the presence of a partner, was not something that had to be done in secret, it could be done openly and was a huge turn-on for both the wanker and the watcher.

Which brings me to the present. Master C, like just about every partner I’ve had, loves to watch me wank, and I, being the shameless exhibitionist that I am, love putting on a show for Him. I love the fact that Hetakes so much pleasure from my own. I get off knowing that He is rock hard as I finger my cunt or fuck myself with one of my toys. Sometimes, when I come, He’ll fuck my brains out. At other times, the show I have put on has been too much for Him and He blows a huge load of cum over me; an outcome that, as often as not, triggers yet another climax for me.

Sometimes, however, wanking is still a solitary experience. There are times when I’m randy and Master C isn’t around to give me release I need. Sometimes I will deny myself, enduring the frustration until Master C gets home and can give me a thorough seeing-to. The denial and suppressed frustration makes the sensations when He eventually fucks me even more intense. Most often though, the need proves to be too great and I’ll dig out my toys or use my fingers to bring myself off.

Nowadays, of course, wanking doesn’t need to be confined to my bedroom, nor does it need to be silent. I can wank in the bedroom, or in the shower, or on the sofa, or (weather permitting) I can even wank in the garden and, if I’m feeling really daring, I can wank on public transport. The garden and in public excepted, I can give full voice to my pleasure; moaning, perhaps even screaming as the sensations overwhelm me.

I can use my toys. I can use my fingers. Sometimes I will use a combination of both. Ultimately, the method by which I get myself off is entirely down to my mood (although sometimes suggestions from the “audience” will be considered). Far from being something to be ashamed of, wanking is an activity to enjoy, to relish, to luxuriate in; whether it be strictly for my own pleasure, or for a partner’s “benefit”. Yes, wanking can be a selfish pleasure, but it can also be a pleasure that is shared.

I’ve been a wanker for well over half my life so far, and I intend to be a wanker for a very long time to come.

Knowing my place

I’ve said it before, and no doubt I will say it again; I am quite unashamedly a cock-loving slut. I love cock, lot’s of cock. I love it in my mouth, I love it in my cunt, I love it in my arse; it doesn’t matter, I will enjoy every lovely inch of cock wherever it is put.

I am, of course, very fortunate. I have a very considerate Master who allows me to satisfy my particular cravings, so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions. I know I will be required to atone for my transgressions. I accept that there is a price to be paid for the pleasure of feeling another man’s cock in me. I know  that the price of my waywardness is to feel the stinging kiss of Master C’s belt on my arse; and it is a price I am willing to pay.

And yet, I know my place. I know the one place where I truly belong. That place is on Master C’s cock.

For all that I enjoy the novelty of being with a new partner. For all that I crave that heady (and indeed, hedonistic) rush that comes with being so turned on, you just want the guy you are with to take you and use you right there, in that instant. For all that I love the excitement of having a stranger’s cock inside me; the one cock I will always crave, the one cock that does the most wonderful things to me, the one cock that I know every inch of, every bump, every ridge, every vein is the cock that belongs to Master C.

Master C’s cock is the one that claims me, completes me and truly satisfies me. Master C’s cock is the one that will make me moan and sigh in ways that no other man will ever hear. Master C’s cock is the one on which I ultimately belong; feeling its oh so achingly familiar length, thickness and hardness inside me.

Yes, I am a slut. Yes I love cock. And yet I still know my place; and that place is on Master C’s cock.