Call me


I’ve been a way for a while, for a number of reasons; some of them nice, some of them not so much. I’ll leave it there and won’t burden you with the details.

My experience with phone sex is somewhat one sided. It invariably involves Master C phoning me when He is away from home on business and giving me some very explicit instructions.

He will tell me which bits of me to play with; my nipples, my cunt, and what to use; my fingers, a particular toy.

He will tell me how much pressure to apply to my clit, how tight and how hard to squeeze and pull my nipples, how hard and how deep to finger-fuck my cunt and how many fingers to use.

As Master C instructs me, He calls me His “filthy slut”, His “Dirty whore”. I confess that I am. I tell Him how bad I have been, letting Him know how much I need His correction.

He tells me how He will punish me when He returns home; how He will bind and restrain me, how many deliciously painful strokes of His belt I will feel on my arse.

The words that Master C speaks are every bit as arousing as the things He makes me do to myself.

At His command, the silky cold glass plug is pushed up my arse.

Another instruction and I fasten the clamps around my nipples.

My fingers fill my cunt as Master C tells me to fuck myself more firmly; stopping occasionally to be allowed to lick my juices from their surface.

The tension builds inside me as I dutifully follow His every instruction.

Will He give me permission to come, or will He hang-up and leave me waiting for further direction?

My passion flares.

My need for release grows stronger with every second.

Have I pleased Him? Will He let my have my orgasm?

The tension mounts unbearably as I wait for Master C to announce my fate.

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Two words


“Bend over!”

I’ll admit, as foreplay goes, it’s not exactly extensive, but sometimes it’s all I need.

I don’t think there is any other combination of two words that can have more of an effect on me. Said in the right tone, and with the right degree of forcefulness, they can reduce me to a quivering mess of anticipation. No other two words will make my cunt instantly wet.

And as I comply with His demand I bite my lip as I wait for Master C to flip my skirt up over my arse, or pull my jeans down around my ankles, and yank my knickers out of His way.

With my arse exposed, I wonder what Master C has planned for me; is He just going to fuck me, does He plan to spank me, or will wield His belt?

In fairness, it doesn’t matter what His intentions are, I am ready; I want whatever Master C decides. As every second passes, the anticipation mounts, and my cunt grows hotter and wetter.

A hand slips between my legs, feeling how wet I am, how ready I am for Him. A shiver of excitement runs through me, my clit throbs slightly in response to His touch.

I want His cock inside me, filling me, pounding me, fucking me hard. I want Master C to take me, to use me, to cum deep inside of me. I don’t just want it, I need it. My whole body aches for Him.

Master C grabs a handful of my hair. He pulls my head back. Will it be His belt, or His cock? I still don’t know.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Yes!” I sob.

I brace myself for whatever is about to come next.

Sometimes “Bend over!” is all the foreplay I need.

#KinkOfTheWeek

Finally


It’s such a wonderful feeling. The relief is as overwhelming as it is instantaneous.

Pushed to the brink of my endurance, taken to the very edge and the held there for what seems an eternity. I am way beyond tears. I no longer have the energy to sob and moan in my frustration. Every nerve inside me burns. The tension inside me is so great, I feel as if I would snap in two at the slightest pressure.

For minutes that seem like hours, days, an eternity, He has held me in that place, that deliciously agonising limbo

A slow boil.

A vigorous simmering.

The pressure mounting interminably, but the release valve locked tightly shut.

I want to explode. My need for release is a physical pain, burning through me. I both love and hate what He is forcing me to endure; craving release from my torment while knowing the longer He denies me, the sweeter, more exquisite will be my final surrender.

He is a maestro, a virtuoso; he plays my body skilfully and effortlessly. He has played and conducted his latest symphony upon me; and as the crescendo builds inside me, growing ever more intense, I await that flick of the conductor’s batton that will signal the grand finalé.

My breathing is pained. Lights flash with brilliant luminescence behind my tightly shut eyes. And then I hear His instruction, I hear the words I have been waiting an eternity for Him to utter.

Two words; that is all He says. Two words that, when obeyed, ignite my climax. Two words that will give me instant relief and such intense pleasure.

Two words said softly.

Two words.

“Touch yourself.”

For the love of cock


I love cock. Since my very first encounter with the male organ over 20 years ago, I have been endlessly fascinated by them. The come in all shapes and sizes and, big ones, smaller ones, thick ones, thin ones, I’ve pretty much had them all and loved every one of them.

There is something endlessly fascinating, almost hypnotic about watching those few inches of man unfurling themselves from a slightly comical, soft, wrinkled, flaccid state; transforming into a proud, hard, raging erection that will give me so much pleasure. A hard-on is, I believe, the most primal compliment a man can pay a woman, and the knowledge that you are responsible for this amazing metamorphosis is greatly flattering.

Of course, the cock isn’t everything. The man maketh the cock and, usually, it is the man I see first, not the cock. There is always a thrill of anticipation the first time you “unwrap” a new cock; that moment when the suggestion, the bulge in his jeans, becomes the reality of a living cock, released for you to enjoy, to explore with your fingers and lips, before it pushes inside you.

It’s fair to say, I’ve never encountered a disappointing cock, although I have been disappointed by the way a cock has been used. I won’t lie, I prefer my cocks to be on the bigger, by which I mean thicker rather than longer, side but I’ll take a smaller cock coupled with the ability to use it over a larger one attached to a guy who is an even bigger one. Ability, not size, is key. Size with ability is a very nice bonus.

The thing with cocks is the way they feel and make me feel. Much as I love the appearance of a lovely hard cock, it’s the way it feels when it is inside me that makes them so great. The way the head fills my mouth when I’m sucking it, the way the shaft fills and stretches my cunt or arse as it plunges deep inside me; these are the things that I love most about cocks.

And then there is the rich, thick eruption of his climax. I absolutely love watching a guy cum. The way the shaft stiffens and twitches, the way his balls contract, the way the head swells and turns a deep, angry purple, and then it erupts. That moment when he can take no more, at his most vulnerable and knowing that you are the cause of it is one of the most erotically satisfying experience.

I realise that this post has nothing at all to do with the prompt subject of “Chemistry”, but from start to finish, in everything they do, I love cock.

Empowerment through sucking cock


I have to admit, I never really give a lot of thought to the mechanics of sex and their impact on the greater world of sexual politics; basically, if I enjoy it, then, fuck yeah, do it to me baby, is about as deep and philosophical as I get on the subject. However, with sex, as with all things in life, there is a certain power balance between men and women, and that balance is generally tilted in the direction of the man.

When we get right down to it, no matter how much we women enjoy it, or how enthusiastically we participate, the truth is that most sexual activities involve things that are done to us.  It is, at the end of the day, our cunts and our arses that are being penetrated and it is his cock that is doing the penetrating. Now, that’s fine, that’s the way nature designed us. As a woman, my body is made to receive, and believe me, I do enjoy being receptive; and the more forcefully a man gives, the more receptive I become.

Even the language of sex is orientated towards the male perspective.  We talk about women being “taken”, I will tell Master C that I want Him to “use” me, or that He“owns” me.  And, if we’re being brutally honest with ourselves, even our own bodies conspire against us, given that it takes us much longer, generally, to get off than it does for men.

There are a couple of activities however, where the balance shifts.  The first is the humble hand-job and the second is the blow-job.  With these two activities, it is us women doing it to the men.  OK, so ultimately it still leads to his orgasm, but we have the power to grant or deny that release.

I gave my first blow-job at the tender age of 14.  It was a special present for my then boyfriend’s 15th birthday. With my lack of experience, I probably wasn’t very good, but as it was the first time that the recipient had ever had his cock sucked, he was hardly in a position to make comparisons. But even then, at that young age, with no experience at all, and a cock in my mouth for the first time, and me wondering if I was doing it right, the thing I became increasingly aware of was that I was in charge. The stirrings in his cock were down to me, the moans of pleasure were down to me. Even when he put his hand on the back of my head, trying to force his cock deeper into my throat, that was all down to me. He was going to cum, and that was down to me.  I could choose to tease him, I could deny him his release and that too, would be down to me.

Actually, I was kidding myself a bit about denying him, given the novelty of the experience, he blew his load pretty quickly, but that in itself was confirmation; I had caused a boy to completely lose control; he couldn’t have stopped himself from cumming even if he had wanted to, and that was all down to me, and the feeling of power it gave me was an immense turn-on.

As I grew in cock-sucking experience, I learned that my mouth could be used pretty much like a weapon, to give or deny a man pleasure at my choosing.

There is a contradiction to the blow-job. When you look at it in one way, getting down on your knees in front of a man and taking his cock in your mouth seems like one of the most submissive and subservient things a woman can do, and to an extent, this is true.  I love it when Master C orders me to get down on my knees and suck His cock, or when He force-feeds His cock to me after it’s been in my cunt, and it is covered in my juices. But, at the same time, however submissive I am, and however submissive the act of sucking His cock  may appear on the outside, knowing I have the power to grant or deny a man release, puts me, the cock-sucker, in a very dominant position over the cock-suckee.

Of course, most of the time, when I’m sucking a cock, I’m not thinking any of these things, I’m simply enjoying having my lips wrapped around a glorious piece of man-meat. Whether it’s part of foreplay that’s going to progress to me getting my brains well and truly fucked out, or whether I’m doing it simply because I think the man in question deserves a blow-job and I’m going to hungrily swallow down his cum at the end, doesn’t really matter.  At the end of the day, I’m a cock-sucking slut, who loves the feeling of a cock sliding between my lips, along my tongue until the swollen head lodges in the back of my throat, making me cough and my eyes water.

Sometimes, however, I take great satisfaction in knowing that, for as long as I have a cock in my mouth, I’m in charge…
The Oral Sex Project

These lips were made for sucking


According to a certain pair of typical men, who shall remain nameless, I was born to suck cock, and I suspect there may be some truth to this.

I started when I was 14 and was hooked before the guy in question blew his load into my mouth. I wasn’t particularly prepared for it back then, and I probably ended up wearing more than I swallowed, but practice makes perfect.

I love the intimacy of it. To me, sucking a cock is just about the most intimate thing I can do with a man.

It’s a strange mixture of submission and control. When I’m sucking a cock, I am doing it for him; concentrating on his pleasure. In that respect, it can be a very submissive act, and I am a very submissive woman. But, at the same time, I’m the one in control. I set the pace, I ultimately decide when, and where, he can cum.

While I’m sucking his cock, on my knees, eyes downcast, the man in question is losing control because of what I’m doing to him. As someone who thrives on being controlled, it’s a strange juxtaposition of submission and control.

Of course, I may just be overthinking it. It could just be that I love sucking cock.
The Oral Sex Project