Discarding my virginity


Let us be very clear, I did not lose my virginity; that has always implied a certain carelessness to me, and there was nothing careless about my first time. No, my first time was very much deliberate; I actively discarded my virginity.

As I’ve mentioned before, I did it for the first time a couple of weeks after my 15th birthday. There was no real significance to the timing; I didn’t deliberately wait until I turned 15, it’s simply that this was the first opportunity that presented itself. My boyfriend at the time and I already had a pretty active sex life and had had so for several months; the only thing absent from that sex life was actual penetrative sex. It was an omission I became increasingly keen to rectify.

It wasn’t that I felt under any pressure to get rid of my virginity, although a couple of my friends had already dispensed with theirs, it was simply that I wanted to experience it. I knew what it felt like to have a vibrator up me, I knew what it felt like to have my fingers up me, I even knew what it felt like to have someone else’s fingers up me, having experienced that from my boyfriend and my best girl friend, but I wanted to feel his cock (or, if I’m being completely honest, any cock) inside me. I knew what it felt like in my mouth, but in the same way that sucking your thumb feels nothing like sucking a cock, I imagined that being fucked by his cock would feel nothing being fucked by my, or his fingers.

The opportunity arose because on that particular Saturday both his parents were at work, and we would have his house to ourselves.

It all started of in what had become a familiar pattern; lying on his bed, kissing and cuddling, with quite a lot of groping and fondling. At a certain point, he got my top off and started lavishing attention on my boobs. Thereafter, I proceeded to suck him off, being rewarded with a lovely thick load of cum, which I hungrily swallowed down.

Pausing only to catch his breath, and to get me out of my jeans and knickers, he went down on me and ate me to a couple of shuddering climaxes that were intensified, in part, by the anticipation of what would happen next.

As my cunt spasmed around his fingers and my clit thronged in response to his tongue, I asked him if he was hard again. When he informed me that he was, I responded by saying, “Good, because I want your cock inside me.” The wolfish smile he gave me in return was almost enough to make me come again.

As he positioned himself above me, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it woulld feel like. I had a pretty good idea that images of cascading waterfalls and fireworks were a load of guff; I’d had enough orgasms without experiencing such imagery to know that wasn’t going to happen.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I nodded and felt myself growing even moister as the head of his cock pressed against me. He slid into me slowly but easily. It was obvious he was enjoying feeling his cock being engulfed by my cunt as much as I was enjoying the sensation of him slowly filling me.

It felt good, I felt wonderfully, deliciously full. His cock was so much thicker and fuller than anything that I had ever had up me before. I had expected it to hurt and was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t; just a slight discomfort and a lovely feeling of being stretched and filled.

As he moved inside me, slowly at first, but with steadily increasing pace, I opened my eyes and saw him smiling down at me. “Harder,” I said, “You can go a bit harder.”

He picked up the pace, pulling out and thrusting in, his body colliding with mine, slamming against me with every stroke.

Suddenly, his face contorted, his body went stiff. He groaned: “Shit! Fuck! Morag! Fuck!” (or something equally as coherent and eloquent) as his cock erupted inside me. I felt the warmth of his cum inside me as he slumped on top of me. As his cock slipped out of my cunt and I felt his cum trickle out of me.

I didn’t come; I didn’t care. I had been fucked and it had been good. The second time we did it, later that afternoon was better still. Practice, as they say, makes perfect, and while we never achieved perfection in the time that we were together, the sex continued to get better and increasingly satisfying.

All in all, it’s fair to say, I enjoyed my first time.

#WickedWednesday
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Rub it in


I’m lying on my back, Master C standing over me, looking down at me, stroking His lovely thick cock in one hand. I know what’s going to happen next and, sure enough, moments later, thick, hot wads of warm, sticky cum splash over my boobs.

It’s something I love; the sensation of cum on my skin. That initial wet heat as it splashes against me, the sensation as it trickles over me. The way it feels as it cools and dries. It’s just all so fantastically filthy.

Not that it got the chance to dry.

No sooner had Master C disgorged all over me when He proceeded to bury His face between my thighs and, reaching up, began rubbing His cum into my boobs as He nibbled and licked my clit and labia.

This is one of may favourite things. Don’t ask my why. I love getting my boobs played with, I have a thing for cum, and I definitely have a thing for cunnilingus, so I guess the combination of all three just overloads my brain’s pleasure centres. Whatever the reason, it generally has me coming in virtually no time flat and this occasion was no exception.

Deliciously dirty and overwhelmingly orgasmic; what more could a wanton slut possibly ask for?  According to Master C, it’s good at preventing or, at the very least, reducing wrinkles. I remain to be convinced on this point, but so long as He is happy to keep “moisturising” me in this fashion, I’ll live with the results…

#WickedWednesday

Lazy lie-ins


Nothing beats a long, lazy, lie-in at the weekend, or when you are on holiday. There’s something special about knowing you don’t have to get up. Instead of being awakened by the shrill chime of the alarm, I am instead roused from my slumber by Master C kissing the back of my neck.

His finger traces a line up my side, then around the curve of my breast. I sigh and squirm against Him, feeling the warmth of His body against mine, His hard cock pressing against the curve of my arse.

His fingers seek out my nipples. As they stiffen, my cunt begins to grow moist.

I stretch and roll on to my back. I turn my head to face Him and Master C kisses me lingeringly on the lips, before starting down my neck.

He plants kisses on my boobs. He teases my nipples with His lips, His tongue, His teeth. It feels so good, my cunt grows wetter; Master C begins to move lower.

I spread my legs. He moves between them. Master C kisses the insides of my thighs. His breath is hot on my moist lower lips and I long to feel His tongue slide between them.

He teases; torturing me, making me beg for His tongue until Master C finally relents and shows me mercy.

It feels so good as He feasts on my cunt; not too rough, not too gently. My body responds as His tongue works its magic.

I come. Master C continues. I come again. I surrender to the sensations as they wash over and through me.

And then Master C is inside me; His lovely thick, hard cock filling and stretching me.

He fucks me, slowly but firmly. My cunt grips His cock as he moves inside me.

The pace increases. The force of His thrusts mounts as Master C fucks me harder.

The pressure in Him builds. Master C slams His body against mine, driving His cock in hard. I long to feel His release, feel His cum flood my cunt. I know it won’t be much longer.

His breathing quickens. I can feel His heart pound. He can’t hold back any more.

His cock erupts. He softly moans: “Morag! Oh Morag!” as He unloads inside me; flooding my cunt with a lovely warm, thick load.

Spent, Master C slumps on to me, pinning me beneath Him, His cock still twitching inside me as I wrap my arms around Him and hold Him close.

Finally he pulls out. We snuggle together. We doze for a while in each other’s arms.

We rouse a while later. Should we get up? Maybe, not yet. There is no need. With that in mind I kiss Him, my hand seeks out His cock, as I decide I’d like Him to do it to me all over again.

Kink of the Week

Think of a number


Think of a number. Now double it. Subtract the day of the month your birthday falls on. Divide by your bra size/inside leg measurement. Add forty-two. Round to the nearest whole number.

Yes, this is my take on that perennial old chestnut: “The Number!” You know the one I mean; the one about how many people we’ve had sex with.

It’s a question that comes up from time to time and, it seems, it is one that we are endlessly fascinated with.

Personally, I’m in the mildly curious but generally couldn’t give a fuck camp. It’s an interesting insight into the person you are currently fucking, possibly a handy bit of trivia to store away for those Mr and Mrs type quizzes, but, otherwise not important.

The problem with it is, that when you start thinking about it, it’s not actually a straightforward question.

What exactly counts as a sexual partner?

If you limited it strictly to men and women that I’ve fucked, and if you give me some time, I could probably work it out. It would, however, take me considerably longer than it took Andie MacDowell’s character in Four Weddings and a Funeral. But then, you see, I’ve included women, and I haven’t had penetrative sex with women, only oral and finger play. So does than mean that I also now have to include all those men with whom I have only ever sucked their cocks? On the assumption that it does, then I have no chance at all of determining the total; given that my penchant for the drunken, random, back of the pub blow-job means that I really don’t know.

Still, even if I could, somehow, divine the total number of men who’s cocks I’ve sucked and add it to the number of men I’ve fucked (eliminating any duplication as I go), and then add on the women I’ve had sex with, does this give me my number?

What about the lad I jerked off at a friend’s 16th birthday party? What about the boy in my class whom I let thoroughly finger me so I could scrounge a cigarette off him when I was at school? What about that boy that first kissed and sucked my nipples and made me feel oh so good when we were both horny teenagers, even if I didn’t actually come? What about…?

You see my point though. Clearly “the number” does not simply refer to penetration. If it did, then I would have had no female sexual partners, and I most certainly have had sex with women. But, if sexual partners are not limited to those that you have had penetrative sex with, where do you draw the line?

Orgasm perhaps? Well maybe, but does that mean if I don’t come, I haven’t had sex? No, surely not. On the other hand, does the boy who snuck his hand up my top to cop a feel while snogging me at a school disco also count? Again, I don’t think so (although, had I not wanted him to do it, it could possibly have counted as sexual assault).

So, given that I can’t suitably define what a sexual partner is, how can I possible tell you how many I’ve had?

Let’s just say I’ve had rather a lot and let it go at that…

#MasturbationMonday

On display


It’s a nerve wracking experience, even for those of us who have a reasonably positive body image, letting someone see you naked for the first time. It doesn’t matter how many partners you’ve had, or how good you feel about yourself, the first time you expose yourself to another person, your latent insecurities come bubbling to the surface.

Will they really like what they see? Will they be repulsed by the various marks, scars and blemishes that a lifetime of simply living have inflicted on our skin?  Those bits of us that we personally despise for their imperfections: our knees, our legs, our bums, our tummies, our boobs, our necks, our bingo-wings all get magnified out of proportion when first exposed to a new partner’s gaze.

But the first time, the very first time, the time when another person’s eyes gaze on our naked bodies for the very first time is something, I suspect, we will never forget.

For me, the experience is more vividly remembered than my first blow-job and losing my virginity combined.

The boy in question had recently turned 16; I was still 15. I was a gawky teenager, my body still somewhere between that of a girl and a woman; a mixture of sharp angles and curves. I had spots, I had freckles, my boobs looked like they were at least one size too big for the rest of me, as if my body hadn’t yet caught up. I also had (and still do for that matter) ginger pubes.

There was a naïve nervousness combined with anticipation. Sure, he’d seen me in my underwear before, so he knew in general terms what my body looked like. He’d seen and played with my boobs before, so I knew that he liked them. Getting naked with him, however, was totally different.

Having him slowly remove my outer layers was intensely arousing. I was almost oblivious to the fact that I was doing the same to him. Having my bra removed and standing there in just my knickers sent shivers through me.

He took the next step, discarding his boxer shorts, to stand naked before me. I marvelled at his body. I loved how his cock, hard and proud, stuck out from his body. I’d seen his cock before, of course; I’d sucked his cock before. Now however, with his full body on display before me for the first time, his cock looked bigger, harder and more enticing than ever.

He sat on the edge of my bed, and I knelt on the floor between his legs. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked him hungrily. As I sucked him, my fingers explored every inch of him that the could reach. When he came, I swear it was the biggest load of cum I’d ever had to swallow.

I lay down on my bed and felt his eyes on me. I knew what was coming next. All that remained between me and him was a very small and very wet pair of knickers.

I closed my eyes as I let him remove me. I could feel his eyes on me, devouring my nakedness. In that instant I learned the difference between being unclothed and being naked. I’d been unclothed before, but for the first time, there in my bedroom, there with him, I was naked.

Naked… What a wonderful word. I was exposed. I felt vulnerable. There was nowhere I could hide. I was naked.

He explored my body with his fingers. He explored my body with his lips and tongue. He went down on me, and the orgasms he gave me seemed more powerful, more intense, than any he had ever given me before, and all because I was naked.

Afterwards, we lay in each other’s arms; holding each other, exploring each other with our fingers, feeling the warm of each other’s bodies.

I’ve displayed my body to many partners since then, and the first time I do so, still gives me goosebumps. That very first time however was special; nothing will ever feel like that again.

#MasturbationMonday

A little bit of “me” time


So, having got home from work and having had a shower, I step out of the bathroom, my skin tingling, my body pink and glowing. From there, I walk the few steps to my bedroom. I drop the large, fluffy towel and, for a moment, I stand there, naked, surveying myself in the full length mirror on the wall. From there, I sit on the edge of the bed and reach for the jar of skin crème. Applying a generous amount to my hands I start to rub it in.

I start with my arms. My hands glide over the soft skin. An occasional fleeting contact with my naked boobs sends tiny electric shocks through me.

Next my legs. My hands slide easily up my slender calves and over my rounded and shapely thighs. From there, they travel up to my midsection. A warm glow begins to spread through me as my hands absently trace their way under the curves of my boobs.

Should I stop or should I continue? I hesitate only a moment before applying more crème to my hands. Let’s be honest, this would have been a very short entry if I’d stopped there, wouldn’t it?

I moan softly as I cup my boobs in my hands and begin to caress them, rubbing the crème into those soft mounds of flesh that attract so much attention. My nipples stiffen as my hands slide over them.

Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes. I murmur my contentment as my hands squeeze and massage my boobs. I gently pinch my nipples and then my hands glide over the soft skin again.

My cunt responds in kind. I can feel it begin to pulse. I’m already turned on and getting more so with every moment that passes, every touch of my fingers. My boobs, firm and yet so soft, feel so good under my hands as I press them together, savouring the sensations arising from my attentions.

Tentatively, I let one hand brush lower. I open my legs. A finger slides between my lips, tracing the warm, wet folds of my cunt, coating it with my juices which are already flowing copiously.

I lift my fingers to my mouth, tasting the juices that are flowing freely from my cunt. The flavour intoxicates me.

I return my fingers to my cunt, sliding between the moist lips. I begin teasing my clit, it feels so good, my pleasure intensifies.

Slowly I slide one, then two fingers into me. I thrust them in and out, gently twisting them inside me. Waves of pleasure spread out from my cunt to consume me as I slowly finger-fuck myself.

Before things go too far, I reluctantly slip them out and lightly stroke my clit. In my mind’s eye it’s no longer my finger but a warm, wet tongue that is pleasuring me. Not my Master C’s tongue, not even “The Other Guy’s” tongue but a woman’s; “The Girl’s” tongue to be precise. The excitement inside me builds as I imagine Master C catching me there, catching me with “The Girl” between my legs, watching as her soft tongue gently laps the juices from my cunt.

The excitement mounts, my cunt contracts. It’s too soon, I don’t want to cum just yet, I need to slow down, to make it last, to savour every moment.

Almost reluctantly, I remove my hand from my clit. I lift my fingers to my mouth and lick them clean. As I savour the taste, in my imagination I’m licking my juices from Master C’s cock. In my fantasy He has joined us and has fucked me to the brink of orgasm as the “The Girl” feasted on my clit.

The sexual tension is still building, I have to force myself to slow down. I will my overactive imagination into neutral.

My hands return to my boobs. I shiver with delight as I squeeze and caress them. Pushing them together I pinch my nipples. I cry out with the subtle mixture of pain and pleasure. I rub in a little more crème, imagining that it’s hubby’s cum and I spend what seems like an age caressing each one in turn.

Fire burns in my cunt. My body is alive with expectation of release as I caress myself all over. Like iron to a magnet my fingers are unconsciously drawn towards my cunt once again. I have to use every ounce of will power I possess to prevent them from finding their goal. I run my fingers up and down my inner thighs, teasing myself until the tension and anticipation become too much to bear.

One hand returns to my boobs, the fingers of the other lightly brush over the lips of my cunt. I slowly slide a finger between the lips, spreading them wide. My finger dips into my cunt. Once again I take my finger to my mouth and lick the warm dew from its length. I savour the taste as, fully aroused, my other hand glides over my stomach to take its place.

This time I thrust two fingers into my cunt. I slide them in and out increasing the force with each movement. My thumb rests on my swollen clit and I moan softly as the sensations take over. My passion now owns me; my body, of its own volition, moves steadily towards the impending climax.

I thrust my fingers deep inside me, twisting them round and round inside my cunt. My thumb exerts a steady pressure on my clit. My free hand strokes and squeezes my boobs.

I can feel it approaching. The fire in my cunt builds to an inferno as my thumb and fingers do their work. My breathing quickens. My womb begins to contract. My body begins to shake.

My fantasy lovers return. “The Girl” is frantically licking my clit as, in my imagination, Master C works His cock in and out of my cunt.

The dam suddenly bursts. I cry out as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure wash over me. My body shudders as I slip the fingers from my cunt and slide them back and forth over my throbbing clit, keeping the intensity of my climax at full strength.

My other hand pinches each nipple in turn as I gently rub my clit with a circular motion. Lightning bolts shoot through me as my climax climbs to a higher level. The contractions in my cunt and womb spread out to engulf me until I can take no more. With tears of joy in my eyes I allow myself to let go, hugging myself tight as I let the orgasmic energy dissipate.

After that, I lie on my bed motionless. I lie there, unaware of time passing, unaware of the room around me, unaware of everything except the beating of my heart. A warm glow of satisfaction spreads over me as my breathing returns to normal and my body relaxes.

Hope you enjoyed me telling you about it as much as I did actually doing it (and re-living it)

#MasturbationMonday

Same-sex sex


I have never made any secret of the fact that I am attracted to members of both sexes.  Having gone to an all girls private school, it was inevitable, I suppose that I would experience female nudity before experiencing the male equivalent and, it is fair to say, that I found the naked forms of some of my classmates to be very attractive indeed. Of course, being at an all girl school, I had to keep this fact pretty much to myself; if there is one thing “worse” than being branded a slut in such an environment, teenage girls being what they are, it was being branded a lesbian.  That, however, didn’t stop me being curious.

It was probably inevitable then, that the first time I ever came at (quite literally) the hands of another person, those hands would belong to another girl; “The Girl” to be precise.

“The Girl” and I have “known” each other pretty much all our lives. We went to the same nursery, primary school, secondary school and, although we did different courses at different universities, for a lot of our time as students shared a flat too. From the very first, we were pretty much inseparable; “The Girl” was, however, the dominant personality in our friendship, always the leader, and I was the faithful sidekick.

I can’t actually remember how we ended up coming to have sex that first time.  We were 13 and both still virgins and when it came to boys I, at least, hadn’t progressed much further than kissing and letting them occasionally put a hand up my top and squeeze my boobs through my bra; as for “The Girl”, she’d gleefully confided in me recently before this, that she’s given a guy in third year a hand-job. We had both, very definitely discovered wanking and orgasms though.

The fact that we were in bed together wasn’t unusual.  We’d been having sleepovers since we were about 4 or 5 and had often cuddled up under the duvet together; it’s just what we did. I remember that we had been talking about boys, and wanking, and orgasms, and how good they felt.  I also remember that they more we discussed such things, the more urgent the need to have a bloody good wank became. We were turning ourselves and each other on with our talk and, at some point we stopped talking and started kissing.  At some point slightly further in the proceedings, our nightshirts came off and I felt her soft, naked body against mine.  The kisses slowly moved down from our lips to our boobs and I remember cumming hard as I furiously rubbed my clit while “The Girl” sucked on my nipples.  Once I’d recovered, I reciprocated until “The Girl”came too.  Then things got even more interesting…

As we were lying there, still extremely turned on, “The Girl” tentatively reached over to stroke my cunt.  The effect was immediate.  This was the first time anybody other than me had touched my cunt.  As I came again, I put my hand between her thighs and mirrored what she was doing to me on her. I can’t remember how many times we both came during that first orgy of finger-fucking but I do remember being relieved that it was a Friday night and we didn’t have to go to school the next day, as neither of us got a lot of sleep.

You will notice that all we did was kiss and finger-fuck each other.  Neither of us went down on the other.  It would be almost a year before we did that and only after we’d experienced having guys go down on us.  The truth is, it never even occurred to us.

That was the first of the countless times “The Girl” and I have fucked each other over the last 25 years.  Most often it was one-on-one, but sometimes we’d be the FF of an FFM threesome, and, on a few occasions, we were the girls at the centre of a group fucking.

She was my first girl, and since that night, there have been quite a few others.  Nowadays I generally fuck women on a one-on-one basis, or as part of an FFM threesome with Master C, but back in my adult contact site days, I did sometimes respond to ads from couples looking for a bi girl to join them and, as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve also had some all female threesomes.

Of course, it goes without saying that Master C knows all about this side of my sexuality and He allows me to explore it with His blessing.  There is, however, one condition to this freedom, and it’s one that I happily accept: namely that I have to tell Master C everything about these encounters, not leaving out a single detail.  This of course, almost always results in me receiving a thorough spanking for my misdeed, followed by a very rough, very hard punishment fuck; the purpose of which is to show me exactly what us carpetmunchers were missing. It’s fair to say, Master C does make an excellent point on these occasions, but for some reason, I never can quite learn my lesson…

Give and take – Oral sex


When done right, oral sex is bloody amazing. I like to receive and I like to give. Being bisexual is an added bonus because I am every bit as happy when I am feasting on another woman’s cunt as I am when a man has his cock in my mouth.

Cunnilingus:
I love cunnilingus. And, in all honesty, I love performing it almost as much as I love having it performed on me. Cunnilingus, in my opinion, can make the difference between OK sex and absolutely fucking amazing sex. And here’s a little factoid for you; men can be every bit as good at it as us women.

Most men can fuck with an adequate level of proficiency, and some of us women are fortunate that we can cum simply through being fucked. Let’s be honest though, penises are pretty good at doing what they are designed to do; the fit nicely inside those bits of us that can accommodate them, they feel good when they are used with a certain proficiency, but they are not the most flexible of organs (especially when in fucking mode). Mouths, lips and tongues however, we’ll that is a whole other matter.

For me, as with almost everything sex related, the build up is just as important as the act itself. I can be driven wild by those teasing kisses to the insides of my thighs; those touches that get tantalisingly close before pulling away. For anyone going down on me, getting that bit right will pretty much have me eating out of your hand.

When his (or her) tongue finally slips between my labia, I want my partner to feast on me, to enjoy it, to luxuriate in it. Good cunnilingus doesn’t need to be a marathon, but it should (almost) never be a sprint. To keep with the sporting metaphor, think of it like a 10k, or at the very least a 5k. In some instances, I’ll even be content with the 1,500m, but I am almost certainly not going to get there if you’re going to do the equivalent of trying to beat Ussain Bolt (now that’s a whole other fantasy in itself).

When someone is going down on me, ideally I want them to be concentrating on nothing else. It’s not some precursor to the main event, it’s as much an event in its own right as intercourse is and; sometimes, for some of us girls, it can actually be our favourite event.

Don’t get me wrong, I love fucking, and I love being fucked, but being expertly eaten out can take me to a completely different levels.

So, and this may be a gross generalisation, if you want to give a girl an amazing sexual experience, learn to (tr)eat her properly.

Fellatio:
The flip-side of this is that I am, quite unashamedly, a cocksucker. I’ve been sucking cocks for over twenty years, and I actually shudder to think about how many penises have been in my mouth during that time. I’m not avoiding the actual number because I’m ashamed of it in any way, I genuinely can’t remember how many different cocks I have sucked. I know for a fact that I’ve sucked more guys off than I have actually fucked, but that’s as much as I can tell you.

I truly love the feeling of having a cock in my mouth. Despite being utterly submissive, I love the control it gives me over the guy whose cock I am sucking. I love the way it drives him wild. I love the way that my lips and tongue makes him lose control. I love the feelings of those final few seconds before he cums when his cock swells and twitches in his mouth. Most of all, I love it when he erupts and floods my mouth with his hot, thick load.

Since the very first blow-job I ever have, I have been a swallower. For me, that rich, warm mouthful of male essence is my reward for my efforts. It’s not my favourite flavour, I will freely admit, although if he takes care of his diet and doesn’t smoke it can be not too unpleasant, but I love the feeling of it in my mouth. I love its heat, I love its texture, I love the feeling of it sliding down my throat.

Of course, not all blow-jobs end this way. Sometimes they are simply a preliminary part of the proceedings. Even when I do make him cum, sometimes his load ends up over me and not inside me. While I love the feeling of a man’s cum in my skin, and I certainly have no objection to wherever a man decides to unload, the greatest compliment to my cock-sucking skills that any man can pay me is when he gives me a lovely mouthful of thick, warm, rich cum to savour before I swallow it hungrily down.

So, ultimately, what does all this tell you about me? Give or receive, lick or suck, this greedy little slut is definitely down for oral.

 

Thoughts on foreplay


Women, we are constantly being told, want/expect/demand* (*delete as appropriate depending on your chosen woman’s magazine) more foreplay. There exists, so it would seem, a direct relationship between our enjoyment of sex and the quality/amount of foreplay we receive. Apparently we cannot have a fulfilling or satisfying sexual experience with out it.

But what, exactly, do these glossy fonts of all knowledge actually mean by foreplay? What counts as enough? Is all foreplay the same? How do we judge its quality? Do we, in fact, actually need it to enjoy sex?

Foreplay can, and does, mean different things to different people. It can also mean different things to the same person depending on their mood and circumstances. I don’t want sex to be the same every time I do it, nor do I want my foreplay to follow some “tried and tested” formula. I’m all for a romantic evening on the sofa; kissing, caressing, slowly being undressed and having Master C lick me to a couple of orgasms before begging Him to fuck me. On the contrary, I enjoy that kind of thing when I’m in that kind of mood (and even the filthiest, submissive slut enjoys a little romance from time to time). But there are times, when all I really want is for Master C (or any guy for that matter) to tell me He wants me, throw me up against a wall, yank my knickers off and fuck my brains out.

Similarly, as a fan of early morning, wake-up sex, sometimes, especially during the week, time is at a premium. I’ll be honest, nothing is more likely to make me want to jump on Master C’s cock more than to wake up, feeling His finger already inside me. We don’t have time for a protracted, leisurely session (well, OK, so weekends are a different matter), so that intruding digit, waking me up, warming me up, is all that’s needed for me to know that we will both be heading to work with smiles on our faces.

Now all this seems a bit one-sided. “What about him?” I hear you cry, “Men enjoy foreplay too, you know.”

It’s true, men do enjoy foreplay. If I’m being honest, foreplay isn’t all about the “stuff” that’s being done to me. I love to turn my partners on; touching them, teasing them, sucking their cocks (assuming I’m having sex with guys). But turning them on, and knowing that I’m turning them on; that I am making them want to fuck me, is still a huge turn on for me too. Sometimes, just sucking a guy’s cock is all that is required as a precursor to a damned good fuck. Knowing how hard I’ve got Him, knowing how much Master C wants to fuck me, is all that is needed for me to want to have Him inside me.

So, anyway, getting back to what turns me on, well, in a word, anticipation. When I’m lying there, blindfolded, restrained, waiting to feel His belt on my arse, you can pretty much count on the fact that my cunt is doing its very own, one-woman impression of the great flood. By the time Master C has finished dealing out whatever punishment my transgression has merited, I am crying out (frequently quite literally on the crying part) for a good fuck. A fuck that tells me I’m still His good little slut, a fuck that demonstrates that, once again, my recalcitrance has been forgiven and my “sins” absolved.

Anticipation also handily leads into my next point; namely that foreplay doesn’t always require the other person to even be physically present. We all have mobile devices of some sort or another nowadays, and sexting can be a wonderfully protracted form of foreplay; a foreplay that can be extended over hours, days, weeks, and possibly longer. The anticipation builds with each reply, each suggestion so that, by the time you are actually in each other’s presence, all that remains is to rip each other’s clothes off, find a suitable surface (horizontal is preferred, but not essential), and fuck.

So, to answer my original question as to what exactly is foreplay; in my opinion, and for what it’s worth, it can be anything from a “Fancy a shag?” to a protracted session of kissing, caressing, sensual massage, and mind blowing oral, with every possibility in between. Its quality can be judged by how much it turns me on and how quickly it makes a mess of my knickers (assuming they haven’t long since been discarded). As for how much is required, If I’m begging someone to have their cock inside me, they’ve probably done enough.

A great end to an otherwise shit day


So, I was in a right old grump most of yesterday.  It started when I had to spend 10 minutes scraping ice off my car windscreen and continued until well after I got home in the evening. In fact, my mood only improved (and it did so considerably) when “The Other Guy” called round unexpectedly on his way his way home from 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 Sunday after our Christmas shopping excursion; 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.

I have to say, when I was enduring the kiss of Master C’s belt on Sunday 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 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 cummer, but anyone would have thought he had gone without cumming for weeks; whereas I know for a fact he’d been relieved of several loads just as recently as Friday

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 pussy 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 then left.

And that’s pretty much how Master C found me when he got home. I didn’t even need any instruction; I meekly adopted the required position as He removed 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…