The bus ride of shame


The mid-morning bus wasn’t full, but my arse was too sore for me to sit. I wondered if my fellow travellers could feel the heat emanating from my glowing, recently thrashed cheeks.  Could they tell how moist my cunt was, having been fucked less than 30 minutes before?

Someone brushed against me as they moved to alight. I winced as they bumped into my  decidedly tender arse.

I wondered if they could smell Master C on me; the thick load of cum He unleashed over my boobs before rubbing it in, before I dressed with His cum dried on my skin.

The thought aroused me. My cunt grew warmer; I could feel my juices trickle down the insides of my thighs. Could anyone tell? Could they have known that beneath the primly, professionally dressed exterior there was a recently fucked and thrashed and seriously aroused, filthy little slut. Could they even guess that having been so recently and so very  thoroughly fucked by Master C, I was on my way to spend the day with “The Other Guy”, to be fucked some more? Could they possibly have imagined that the seemingly demure, professional woman in their midst was just a few stops away from having a second cock inside her, less than an hour after being so soundly fucked by the first?

The insides of my thighs tingled. A reminder of how Master C’s thighs, so firm and strong from years of playing rugby, slammed against mine as he fucked me. Could the other passengers sense the bruises He left there?

My stop approached. My arousal levels peaked. Could anyone see how pronounced my nipples were? Could they possibly imagine the reason for slight flushing on my skin?

I stepped off the bus, leaving my fellow commuters in blissful ignorance. The only thing I was caring about as I walked the 100 or so yards to “The Other Guy’s” flat was how quickly I could feel his cock inside me, and which hole he would fuck first…

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Don’t try this at home!


Sometimes I really don’t fully think through the consequences of my actions. Take the following situation for example; a cautionary tale from the early days of Master C and I living together, which was almost custom made for this particular prompt.

It was mid-afternoon one Saturday, and I had just returned home from a morning spent with “The Girl”. I was looking forward to having Master C remind me of “what I’d been missing” while “The Girl” and I had been enjoying each other’s company, in that particular way that He always does, after I’ve finished providing Him with the required and fully detailed account of what we’d got up to.

Having been playing rugby that morning, Master C still hadn’t got home by the time I had, so I had some time on my hands that I needed to use. Being home, alone, and still on a high after an orgasm filled time with “The Girl”, I stripped off and headed to the shower, where I spend a considerable time experimenting with the shower head to determine which angles and pressure had the most pleasing effects. This was followed by an extended session using my fingers and wand, and despite several very intense climaxes, I was still still incredibly randy and feeling decidedly naughty.

So, in my pleasure hormone saturated brain, I hatched a plan to prepare a nice surprise for Master C on his return home.

So, after rummaging in the bottom drawer for the necessary accoutrements, and pausing only to ensure a trail of clothing was strewn artfully up the stairs, I set to work.

First off was to secure my ankles to the foot end of the bed and attach the handcuffs to one of my wrists. Next was to fit and secure the ball-gag and tie the blindfold firmly in place. Finally, and this was the tricky bit, was to wind the handcuff chain around one of the headboard bars before locking the empty cuff around my free wrist. This is not the easiest task while blindfolded and after several failed attempts, and several muffled swear words, I was relieved when I finally managed to click it into place.

Now all that was left was to wait for Master C’s return.

After the initial cunt soaking excitement had passed, a dawning realisation that I hadn’t thought this fully through, began asserting itself on me.

It started with little things like:

Did I remember to lock the door? Or:

Has He got his keys?

Then the slightly darker thoughts like:

What if there’s a fire?

Then full-on panic:

What if mum comes round? She has her own key.

As time went by, there was the, what if He’s hurt himself. That caused a brief thrill of excitement at the thought of Master C being assisted home by a team-mate (or two) who might then join us, but it was quickly replaced with: “what if He’s really hurt himself and is in casualty”?

As the enormity of my predicament finally penetrated, I had one last, horrific thought:

Where the fuck is the cat?

By this stage, any randiness or anticipatory excitement had completely drained away and, resigned to my situation, I gave up and, somewhat surprisingly, fell asleep.

I didn’t hear the lock turn, I didn’t hear Master C make His way up the stairs; I was eventually awakened to the sound and sight of Him almost pissing himself laughing at my predicament. Which elicited a somewhat grumpy, “Well don’t just stand there laughing. After all the bother I’ve gone to, the least you could do is take advantage of me…” Which, from around my ball gag, probably sounded more like “Mmmph, unof! Umph, fmbl, gurrumph hmmm, ach!” Still, to be fair, after regaining His composure, take advantage of me He did; very thoroughly, and I enjoyed it imensely.

Of course, due to the ball-gag situation, I had to wait until Master C had finished His initial “taking advantage” before being able to recount my earlier activities with “The Girl”. This resulted in me being briefly released while I turned onto my front, having my arse soundly thrashed before being very soundly reminded of “what my holes are for” and ended with a load of Master C’s cum being deposited over my face.

So yeah, clouds and silver linings. I accept that, shining the cold light of hindsight on the situation, it wasn’t one of my cleverest moments. Having said that it wasn’t the last time that I acted before properly thinking things through and I’m almost sure to have further misadventures in future.

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The first submission


It was a ceremony of sorts; a symbol of trust and acceptance. A sign of my submission to Him.

As He sat, I stood before him, eyes downcast. Slowly I undressed, the removal of each item an acceptance of His claim over me.

Finally I stood, naked, offering myself to Him. Presenting myself to His scrutiny. He told me to turn around. I complied, letting Him study me, showing him the prize that was His.

“Kneel!” Master C demanded, ” You know what to do.”

I did as I was bid. I unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned and unzipped His jeans, reached inside His boxers and released His cock from its confinement.

I took His cock in my mouth, paying homage to it with my lips and tongue. I was determined to show Master C how diligent I could be in the performance of my duties. My mouth’s purpose was to please Him and I yearned to do my best.

As my service to Him brought Him to the point of no return, He pushed me from him. “Have I displeased you?” I asked.

“No, not at all, little one,” Master C replied, “I intend to mark you.”

He stroked his cock, His hand almost a blur. “I am claiming you, Morag,” he groaned, “I am marking you as mine. From this moment on, you are MY slut.”

His cock errupted. His cum sprayed over my face, it trickled down my neck, dribbling on to my boobs.

“Give me Your belt,” I asked in a small voice, His cum drying on my skin. He gave me an enquiring look. “Pass me Your belt Sir, it’s important,” I urged.

Master C slipped His belt from its stays and passed it to me. I accepted it and adopted a position of supplication, on my knees, my head bowed, my hands raised with His belt draped over them.

“I submit to You,” I said, “I submit to You and accept Your domination. I offer You this belt to use for my instruction and correction. I will accept Your discipline as You see fit to dispense it.”

Master C took the belt from my hands. I turned around as He folded it and cracked it sharply together.

I waited. The anticipation built. I heard the belt swish through the air. With a resounding smack, His leather kissed my arse. In that moment, I truly became His submissive and He became my Master. With that first stinging caress of hard leather on my soft skin, He made me His…

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A great end to an otherwise shit day


So, I was in a right old grump most of yesterday.  It started when I broke my favourite mug, spilling coffee all over my feet and the kitchen floor at breakfast and continued pretty much for the whole day. In fact, my mood only improved (and it did so considerably) when I managed to meet up with “The Other Guy” after work.

He gently rubbed my neck and shoulders as I told him all about how shit my day had been. It didn’t take him long to have me out of my clothes and to have me feeling warm and relaxed as his hands worked away the tension in my back.

He did, of course, comment on the visible effects of my most recent thrashing; asking me what I’d done to deserve such punishment this time.  I told him, in great detail, about the fun “The Girl” and I had got up to on Wednesday evening after our most recent “catch-up”; to which he agreed that my subsequent thrashing had been more than merited. In fact, he even went as far as to suggest that, given how the marks had almost faded, I had, perhaps, been let off somewhat lightly.

Now, I have to say, when I was enduring the kiss of Master C’s belt on Wednesday evening, it didn’t seem like He was being particularly lenient. He really does know how to wield that belt; but I digress…

Of course, my lurid descriptions of my afternoon and evening of  wanton, girl-on-girl debauchery had a very obvious effect on him; it was evident than “The Other Guy’s” cock was straining, desperate to be set free.

Now, one thing that Master C has taught me is that I should always be fully appreciative when someone does something nice for me. As “The Other Guy” had cheered me up no end, and had made me feel so nice as he massaged the strains of the day from my body, it was only right that I should show how thankful I was by releasing his cock from its straining confinement and subjecting it to the much more pleasant, warm and wet confinement of my mouth.

I may be a slut, but no one can ever fault my manners.

It seems he was every bit as grateful for the blow-job as I had been of the massage. I had hardly had time to get into my stride when I recognised that familiar pattern of breathing, that tension in his groin that announce that he is on the point of orgasm.

His cock erupted, deluging my mouth with a thick torrent of cum. Swallowing it down, I marvelled at how much he produced. “The Other Guy” is generally quite a heavy comer, but anyone would have thought he had gone without coming for weeks; whereas I know for a fact he’d been relieved of several loads just as recently as last Saturday

Once he’d recovered, we swapped places; me on the edge of the sofa and him on his knees, between my legs, as he embarked on a prolonged bout of “getting his beard moisturised”.

I wasn’t going to complain. When it comes to going down on a woman, both the men in my life are extremely talented. Both Master C and “The Other Guy” belong to that rare breed of men that, when they go down on a woman, they give their full concentration to the task that’s in front of them; they both take their time and do the job properly. With them it isn’t just a quick perfunctory licking, to be done as quickly as possible, they both actually seem to luxuriate in it.

Suffice to say, I came several times before “The Other Guy” finished his devotions. By that time his cock was fully restored and, with the aid of gravity, I slid off the sofa, on to the floor and, to my astonishment, found myself underneath him.

We fucked. We fucked slow, we fucked fast, we fucked long and we fucked hard. We fucked until my cunt ached, and then we fucked some more. His cock massaged my insides every bit as skilfully as his hands had massaged my outsides. I came hard on his cock, gripping it tight inside me, feeling stretched and full and fabulously fucked.

He pulled out just before the end and fed me his cock. I loved the taste of myself on its length and the flavour of my juices was quickly combined with the wonderful taste of yet another load of his cum.

We cuddled there, on the floor, for a while after that and I left and drove home.

Master C still wasn’t in when I arrived, so showered and then poured myself a large glass of wine, before plonking myself down on the sofa, and proceeded to “unwind further”.

And that’s pretty much how Master C found me when he got home; somewhat tipsy, naked, nipples clamped, my favourite plug in my arse and with my fingers in my cunt. I didn’t even need any instruction; I simply got off the sofa and meekly adopted the required position as He smiled, winked and proceeded to remove His belt.

The lashes that rained down mercilessly upon my arse were as painfully delicious as they were fully deserved. The pain made my face flush almost as hotly as my other cheeks.

Tears streaked down my face as Master C spun me around and forced his cock into my mouth.

“Filthy Slut!” He said with quiet authority as he fucked my face, driving His cock angrily into my throat as His grip tightened around my neck.

I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I hoped I would be allowed to take Master C’s cum in my mouth. Instead, I got what I deserved. At the last second Master C pulled out and dumped a heavy load on to my face.

The rest of the evening was spent in acts of atonement. Once in bed, Master C fucked me gently and tenderly, letting me know that he had forgiven me.

My last conscious thought before I finally drifted off to sleep was, “well, today ended much, much, much better than it started…

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Cocked and loaded


So, this week’s Quote Quest teaser is:

“Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests; snug as a gun.”

– Seamus Heaney

Well, it wasn’t a pen between my thumb and finger, but those three letters definitely featured.

“The Other Guy” moans as I slowly stroke his cock, occasionally circling my thumb over the tip before encircling the shaft once again and working my slowly down, then back up again.

It’s been far too long since we last saw each other, far too long since I felt his tongue on my clit and his cock inside me.

I’ve already tasted his cum; rich and thick and so welcome after so long.

My cunt aches pleasantly from the ponding it received from his cock. My clit still throbs from where his tongue so expertly lashed it and drove me to a series of shuddering climaxes.

We’ve already done so much in the time we’ve had, and there is still so much more to do. My body is his to use until it is time for me to leave.

His cock twitches in my hand as I kiss him firmly on his lips, his tongue snaking into my mouth. I can taste my cunt on him; intoxicating, fuelling my hunger for him. I tighten my grip around his cock.

Up and down, down and up; I stroke those proud, stiff inches of flesh, refamiliarising myself with its contours. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had any cock but Master C’s, and I am so glad that it’s “The Other Guy” who is able to give me the first extra-curricular penis since the lifting of lockdown restrictions make such happenings possible again.

I move so that I can playfully kiss and tease the tip with my tongue as I stroke the shaft. I am rewarded with a familiar moan; a moan that means so much more because I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s a moan that confirms that I haven’t forgotten what “The Other Guy” likes, how he likes to be touched and teased. It’s a moan that tells me how much he has missed my attentions and how much he is enjoying experiencing them again anew.

The head of his cock swells a deep angry purple. I tease the underside with the tip of my tongue as I drag my nails lightly along his length. I can taste the nearness of his climax. I feel the tension in his body mount as I slide my thumb and finger up to concentrate on the area just below the head; knowing that this is the area that gives him the most pleasure.

“I’m going to come soon, Morag,” he half sighs, half moans.

“Good!” I breathe, “That’s what I want.”

My hand moves a little faster. His breathing deepens; his hips begin those tell-tale involuntary movements.

“Oh… Oh Morag!” he moans. “So close… So, so close…”

I have a decision to make; where do I want his load? In me, or on me?

His cock twitches in my hand.

“I want you to come on my boobs, then rub it in as you eat my cunt,” I tell him.

“Hell, fuck yes!” he gasps.

We pause briefly to change position, in readiness for what comes next. It’s the briefest respite for him but one that is short lived.

I circle his cock once more and stroke, hard, fast, eager for his inevitable eruption.

“Morag!” My name called out, a final groan, and then I feel his sticky warmth on my skin as unloads over my neck and boobs.

A small tremor runs up my spine. I know I’m really going to enjoy what will happen next…

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The male orgasm


Cum… It’s a strange substance really. That’s not to say I find it repulsive in any way, because I most definitely do not.

I’ve been bizarrely fascinated by the stuff ever since the first time  I saw/made a guy come when I was 14. It has a sticky, smooth texture that defies words and, for me, watching a guy come is simply one of the most erotic scenes I can witness.  There’s a sense of gratification that comes (no pun intended) of seeing the reward for your efforts as he unloads.

Now don’t get me wrong, that’s not to say that I don’t prefer to have his sticky goodness inside me, but for all the times I’ve had a nice, thick load shot into my cunt or arse, or down my throat or over my face/boobs/arse/skin, actually watching a guy erupt and knowing that I’m the cause, is something I’ll never tire of seeing. There is, for me, something strangely hypnotic about it. I simply love watching guys come.

Perhaps it’s the inherent honesty of  of it.  It is, after all, a reaction that can’t (to my knowledge anyway) be faked.  It’s a kind of confirmation to me, as a woman, that I’ve properly pleasured my man.

I also love the way that the male orgasm is so visual, compared to ours. I can be fairly vocal when I come, and I tend to writhe and moan a lot, and Master C’s back often has the scratches to demonstrate how much I’ve enjoyed things. Apart from the noises I make and the way my body shudders uncontrollably, there isn’t really any visible evidence my orgasm for my partners to see (although Master C claims He can always tell when I have and He can certainly taste when I have when it’s His tongue that has caused it).

With the male orgasm, it’s completely different. We women get very warm, sticky, and at times, very visible and in our face evidence of when our man has reached the point of no return. We know we’re the reason he’s lost control (leaving aside whomever he’s actually fantasising about at that point, we’ll allow them that), we know that, in that moment, the only thing he’s really thinking about is that sensation as his balls contract and his seed floods up through his cock and we know, that we have contributed in what ever way, be it with our hands, mouth, cunt, arse, or even just whispering naughty nothings in his ear as he jerks himself off, that we have contributed to his pleasure.

For me, at least, that is a huge turn-on.

That’s not to say I’m being completely selfless; I will, after all, have derived an awful lot of pleasure from his cock in the process, and my own orgasm is just as important but, where as I can, and frequently do come more than once in a single session, for most guys, they only come once and it’s part of my job to make sure his orgasm is every bit as enjoyable for him as mine was/were for me.

Part of that is letting Master C come wherever He wants. Well, actually, “let” doesn’t come into it, He comes where He wants to cum. Sometimes that’ll mean taking His load in my mouth, which, of course I have no objection to, sometimes it’ll mean taking it in my cunt or arse, depending on which hole He’s fucking when He reaches boiling point, and at other times it will mean having Him shoot it all over my skin, which is a sensation that I particularly love, especially when He comes all over my boobs as a prelude to rubbing his warm sticky load into my skin as he eats me out.

I guess you could say I’m a bit of a cum addict.  It’s been the best part of three and a half decades since I saw my first load and I dread to think how many more loads I have seen, felt (both in me and on me), or tasted since then, but I’m still just as fascinated by cum now, as I was back then, if not more so.

Funnily enough, you’ll never hear Master C complaining about my fixation.  He’s only more than happy to provide me with my regular fix. And, of course, I’m always happy to take it in whatever quantities and in what ever location He is able to give it to me.

In the end, we both get what we want, He gets to give me a bloody good seeing to, where I “let” Him fuck me any way He pleases, and I get to savour a nice thick load of His maleness wherever He so wishes to deposit it. There’s absolutely no doubting the fact that I’m a very lucky little slut indeed…

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Blow-job art


There seems to be something of a theme with the current round of memes, but fortunately they focus on a topic that I never tire of, and that is the art of sucking cock. The current teaser on Quote Quest is no exception:

“A good blow job is fucking art. It’s like playing jazz piano blindfolded for an audience you’re desperate to please. It’s improvisation and communication and skill and practise and a whole lot of love.”

Girl on the Net

I love sucking cock. It’s been over 30 years since I first sucked one, and I genuinely cannot remember how may different cocks I have wrapped my lips around.

Am I any good at it? Well, I would like to think I am, but it’s kind of hard to say. I’ve never had any complaints and, in the majority of cases, the owners of the cocks in question have been highly complimentary, but they could just have been being nice to me I guess. According to Master C, I am an Olympic medal standard cock-sucker and He frequently calls me His “good girl” when I have used my mouth to bring Him to climax; rewarding me with a wonderful rich mouthful of His manly essence. Ultimately, as a cock sucker, that is kind of the ultimate confirmation.

The problem, I find, is that when I’m in my rhythm, sucking a guy off as if our lives both depended on it, I find it hard to stop and ask for instruction. I have learned to take identify certain cues; cues that apply almost equally to some random guy I’ve never met before, to one of my more frequent partner, all the way through to Master C himself – the moans and sighs that they make, the involuntary flinches and twitches, the increasingly laboured breathing, the way they will grab my head and start to thrust their cock between my lips. sometime the recipient of the blow-job will tell me how good it feels; they will compliment me on my skills. That kind of talk will invariably be rewarded with me trying to up my game further and make it even more enjoyable.

With Master C, there is also the advantage of familiarity with both His cock and both its and His responses. I know exactly how He likes the slit to be teased, I know how He loves it when I take the head right to the back of my throat and make swallowing movements, I know how He likes me to drag my fingernails along the surface. Master C will often tell me how good it feels, how much He is enjoying what my mouth is making Him feel. He doesn’t actually need to; I have learned to read his unconscious vocalisations and involuntary movements, but it gives me a real sense of pride when He does. Let’s be honest here, no one is ever going to object to compliments, and I am no exception.

For me though, the greatest reward, the confirmation of my skill, is when the recipient of my cock-sucking repertoire fills my mouth with a thick load of cum. The male orgasm is such an inherently honest response that tells me that I have done this, I have made this happen; this eruption is my doing. I take a great satisfaction in bringing another person to orgasm, man or woman, but there is something about being rewarded with a mouthful of cum that is almost impossible to better; except when Master C moans my name the calls me His “good girl”, of course.

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Freshly fucked


It’s a feeling I love. I’ve just been fucked, Master C has shot a lovely thick load of cum inside my cunt and then, after He has pulled out, as I lie there, my body warm and tingly, it begins to trickle out of me.

I love the warm, sticky feeling as His cum begins to ooze; a lovely warm reminder of the fuck we’ve just had.

Sometimes I reach down, let it gather on my fingers before lifting them to my mouth and savouring the rich taste of our combined essences. Mostly though, I just love the sensation as His cum slowly makes its way out of my cunt and between my buttocks, leaving that warm, wetness on the sheet beneath me.

It’s especially nice when Master C fucks me in the morning and then, afterwards, I sit at my desk at work, squirming slightly in my seat as His cum dribbles into my knickers, reminding me of the lovely start to my day.

Today however, because it was the weekend, I just lay there in His embrace as His warm, sticky goodness slowly drained out of my well fucked cunt.

What can I say? I’m a slut that loves cum. You knew that already though…

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Watching him


There is something magical about watching a man masturbate. The whole process, from the first stroke to the final messy eruption is, I find, mesmerisingly hypnotic.

I love to watch a man as he slowly teases himself, transforming his soft, slightly comically, flaccid penis into that steel-hard, solidly erect pole that I long to feel inside me.

It’s such a simple thing, fingers wrapped around those inches of proud flesh, rubbing it, stroking it until he pushes himself over the edge. And yet, despite the inherent simplicity of the act, there are as many variations in technique as there are men. Some stroke lightly, from start to finish, keeping an even pace. Others start slowly and increase the pace as their climax approaches. Still, others beat frantically, turning it into a sprint to the finish.

Some men grip tightly, their fingers wrapped around their shafts, gripping it like a baton in a relay race as they pump up and down. Others circle their cock with their thumb and forefinger, teasing, caressing, almost coaxing their eventual climax.

I’ve watched quite a few men get themselves off, and every one did it differently, applying different amounts of pressure and beating out their own particular rhythms in the pursuit of their pleasure.

I love to watch the expressions on their faces. I love to listen to the various sounds that they make. I love they way that they are inhabiting their own worlds, and I have no idea what thoughts they are relying on as they travel to their orgasmic destination.

And then there are those little signs that speak so loudly of the state of a man’s arousal. The changes in his breathing, the tension in his thighs, the tautness of his lower torso, the tightening around the eyes; all indicating that the pressure for release is building inexorably inside him.

A soft sigh, a deep moan, a slight tightening of his grip tell me that he is on the brink. His free hand presses firmly against his inner thigh as the tension grows.

A grimace, a tightening of the jaw and the muscles around his eyes tell me he is trying to hold back, delay the inevitable, extend his pleasure.

And then there’s that magical moment, that split second when he succumbs to the inevitable, that briefest instant in time when he realises that, like King Canute standing before the incoming tide, he can no longer prevent the what is about to occur. There is something almost bittersweet for him in that moment; the sweetness of orgasm, the bitterness of ending.

And then he comes. Thick jets of sticky white loveliness erupt from his cock. As he sends this lovely substance shooting through the space between us, the tension visibly drains from his body. His breathing is laboured, his heart pounds in his chest, sweat forms on his brow; yet at the same time he relaxes, drained, content, satisfied.

If I weren’t so hungry for the feel cock inside me, I could happily watch men do this endlessly.

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Friends reunited


As I mentioned in my last post, on Saturday, I managed to meet up with “The Girl” for the first time since September. Our reunion was everything I expected. There were smiles, there were tears, there were hugs, there was laughter and, yes, there were orgasms.

It was lovely to simply see her and talk to her in person again. Yes, we have kept in touch, but Zoom calls don’t quite do it. It was, however, pretty obvious from the outset that we were not going to be restricting ourselves to chat. From the very first peck on the cheek, the first hand on the other’s arm or shoulder, we both knew exactly where this encounter was heading.

So, not to beat about the bush, as it were, things moved in the direction we both knew they were moving and ended up exactly where we both wanted them to be.

Feeling “The Girl’s” body next to mine again, feeling her skin beneath my fingers as her hands caressed mine was simply wonderful. From the first kiss, we just melted into each other and let nearly 9 months of pent up hunger for each other fall away.

Fingers tickled and teased. Lips kissed and explored. Teeth nipped and nibbled. Tongues flicked and licked. Orgasms ignited, subsided and flared again.

It felt so good to taste her and to taste me on her. The scent and taste of her cunt was intoxicating as I feasted hungrily upon it. The intensity of the sensations as her fingers twisted inside my cunt, and her tongue tormented my clit was simply divine.

The last 9 months were simply stripped away as we took each to the heights of orgasm again and again; sometimes using our fingers to tease each other’s cunts, sometimes using our lips and tongues to drive each other wild.

Time, such as it had any meaning at all, was measured in heartbeats, in kisses, in sighs and moans, in climaxes and cuddles and it all felt so right, so wonderful.

Afterwards, at home, Master C, as I knew he would, required me to recount every detail; making me relive the events of the afternoon and evening as I told Him everything. Occasionally He would require more specific detail. Sometimes He would stop me and do to me the very thing I had just described that “The Girl” had done earlier.

“Did she do this?” He’s ask, pinching my nipples as His tongue beat on my clit. “Was it like this?” He’d enquire as He slid one, then two fingers up inside me and twisted them around. “Did you taste like this?” He’d ask, lifting His fingers to my lips and slipping them into my mouth.

When I’d told Master C all the was to tell, He spun me around, told me to brace myself, and reminded me of the one thing “The Girl” couldn’t do.

He fucked me hard, driving His cock into my cunt with powerful thrusts. Having been taken so tenderly by “The Girl”, it felt so good to be used by Master C; the differences so apparent as He fucked me; the rougher touch of His hands, the firmness of His body, the coarseness of the stubble on His face and, of course, His cock; His wonderful thick, hard cock that was pounding me mercilessly.

As the end approached, He spun me around again and demanded that I took Him in His mouth. For an intense moment I tasted myself on His cock before He filled my mouth with a deliciously think load of cum.

We would fuck again later; Master C eating me to the edge of another shuddering climax, having held me on the brink for what seemed like eternity before finally using His cock to ignite my release as He fucked me beyond my ability to hold on.

All in all, it was a fantastic day and a wonderful way to see in the new month.

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