Going down


Leaving aside those encounters where I’m sucking someone off in a dark alley and where, by necessity, there is a certain urgency to proceedings; generally, my main considerations are comfort and maximising the enjoyment for both me and the recipient.

If you have even a passing familiarity with this blog, you will be aware that going down on a partner is one of my absolute favourite things to do. I’ve written before about the sense of control it gives me, and that is a big thing. Mostly though, it’s about the joy I take from giving pleasure to a partner. There is an inherent selflessness in giving head; you are doing unto your partner while nothing is being done unto you. Yes, I take a lot of pleasure from it, but that pleasure is secondary; it derives from the knowledge of the pleasure I am giving, it comes from knowing that I am entirely responsible for what my partner is feeling and experiencing, it’s the knowledge that their orgasm is entirely down to me.

Yes, sometimes, after a short period to recover, they may reciprocate, but that isn’t necessary. It may be that what I’ve just done is my form of reciprocation for something they have done to me. It might be that sucked his cock or licked her cunt as part of a “larger” sexual experience but, quite often, when I go down on a partner, particularly when I suck Master C’s cock, I do it, because I want to; I want His cock in my mouth and I want Him to just sit/lie back and enjoy the pleasure my mouth will deliver.

So, how do I like to do it? Well, I like to revel in it, to wallow in it; I like to give the task in hand (or should that be mouth?) my undivided attention.

Comfort is paramount; mine as well as theirs. If I’m going to be between their legs with their cock in my mouth or my face buried in their cunt for a prolonged period of time, I want to be comfortable. If I’m going to feel cramp anywhere, the only place I want to feel it, eventually, is in my jaw. Often this will involve me lying on the bed or sofa, but if I’m kneeling on the floor, I have a particularly comfy cushion that I tend to use to protect my knees (I’m not looking to add Cocksucker’s Knee to the list of medical conditions any time soon).

After that, it really comes down to knowing what my partner likes and enjoys. Master C has a preference for me starting slow, with lots of licking and kissing, whereas “The Other Guy” is much more about the sucking and being simultaneously stroked with my fingers. With “The Other Guy”, I tend to concentrate a lot on the very tip, as this is where he is most sensitive. With Master C, the whole head is pretty much equally responsive to my ministrations.

Both men like me to vary the pace. Both men like, occasionally to feel my teeth drag softly along the length of their shaft. Both me absolutely love it when I gaze up at them and make eye contact while their cock is deep in my mouth.

With “The Girl”, she likes slow, but firm strokes of my tongue between her labia, interspersed with rapid flicks over her clit. She likes my to have my fingers inside her as I lick her; sliding in and out and twisting around.

The key for me is to listen to and feel their responses; to be guided by what their bodies are telling me, to be receptive to any particular requests they may make. Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy are all comfortable and ensured enough to be able to express their desires, which makes satisfying them so muc easier.

Of course, my own wants are also important; there are things I need too. There will be times when I want to concentrate on pleasing the head with my lips and tongue. There will also be times when I want to feel it lodged tight in the back of my throat. There will be times when I want to lash “The Girl’s” clit to feed her climax, and there will be times when I just want to lick her cunt at a leisurely pace and savour the taste of her on my tongue.

For me, giving the best head I can is all about being in the moment; I am concentrating entirely on the act and thinking of nothing else. It’s about attuning myself to the other person, reading the signs to gauge their level of arousal and, ultimately, the nearness of their climax. I don’t really have any “signature” moves other than the fact I always give it my best effort. It may be a bit big headed of me to say I’ve never had any complaints, but the greatest compliment is a satisfyingly large load of thick, rich cum in my mouth (or over my face and/or boobs) and the knowledge that they will want me to do it to them again. Nothing makes me a happier slutty little cocksucker/cuntlicker.

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Atonement


I am naked and on my knees before Master C. It is time for me to give an account of my time with “The Other Guy” and to accept the consequences of my actions.

“I have been a bad girl, Master. I have indulged myself and engaged in sluttish behaviour. How may I atone for my actions?”

Master C assumes an expression of stern gravity. “I will need to consider this,” He says, “but first, you may suck my cock.”

“Yes Master!” I concur softly. Then, with eyes downcast, I shuffle forward to commence my penance.

Sucking Master C’s cock is something I always relish and all ways give my all to, regardless of the circumstances but, as this is an atonement blow-job, I know I need to be extra attentive.

I begin by kissing all over its surface, stroking gently as I caress His length with my lips. My tongue swirls around the head and I softly caress His balls with my hands. Already I can feel Master C respond. His cock stiffens further, He sighs and settles Himself to accept my attentions. A low moan escapes as I wrap my lips around His shaft and draw Him deep into my mouth until the tip lodges in the back of my throat.

From there on in, my worship of those proud, hard inches of Him in my mouth becomes almost automatic. My lips glide up and down His length, sliding over the familiar pattern of veins just under the surface. My tongue licks and flicks and swirls around and over the tip. My throat closes around the head. My fingers encircle and stroke in tandem with my lips.

Master C’s cock twitches in response to my attentions. I an feel the head swell as the pressure for release begins to build. I sense the tension in His thighs. I take please in His contented moans and sighs. As much as I am doing this for Him, to please Him, to serve Him, to apologise to Him for being the slut that I am, I am also doing this for me. I love paying homage to Master C’s cock with my mouth. I love taking Him to the brink and making Him lose control. I love knowing that I am responsible for His pleasure and, ultimately, His climax. I can feel my cunt grow warm and wet as I take pleasure from the pleasure I am giving Him.

I wonder if He will come in my mouth? To swallow down His thick, rich cum would be a wonderful reward for my attentions. Then I remember, I am seeking atonement, not reward. I will accept His load wherever He deems appropriate and I will accept it without complaint.

Almost as the thought enters my head, Master C’s breathing and groans announce that He is almost at the edge. Gently He pushes me away; His cock slips from my mouth; I await His load.

He strokes His cock; I watch transfixed. His jaw is clenched. I can sense His pre-climactic tension.

A groan. The briefest pause. His cock erupts. His cum splatters over my face: over my forehead, across bridge of my nose, down my cheeks.

His eruption subsides. “Clean me, slut!” He demands. I take the still engorged head of His cock between my lips and suck the remnants of His load from Him as His cum trickles down my face and begins to dry on my skin.

When I am finished, He instructs me to retrieve the cane from His study. I don’t even try to suppress the shudder of anticipation His command elicits. Master C intends to punish me thoroughly.

I return, hand Him the cane and once again I kneel before Him. “Now tell me, slut,” He commands, “Tell me everything. Do not miss out a single detail.”

I do as I am commanded.

“I start by telling Master C how I sucked “The Other Guy’s” cock before we’d even made it out of His hall. The description earned me four strokes of the cane over my arse.

With tears in my eyes, I described in the minutest details how “The Other Guy” had eaten me out, driving me repeatedly to the brink and holding me there, over and over, again and again until I was finally permitted to come. Another four strokes, harder this time. The heat in my buttocks began to spread. My cunt began to clench.

I told Master C how “The Other Guy” fucked me; the positions employed; the pace and force of his thrusts. I admitted to Master C about how “The Other Guy” had fucked each of my holes repeatedly, earning my four more strokes for each hole.

My throat was raw from the sobs of pain as I confessed to the cuffs, the nipple clamps, the butt-plug, the dildo. One more stroke for each item.

When I completed my account, I was given four more strokes, just for being a cock hungry, pain loving slut. My buttocks were on fire, pain burned through every nerve, the cheeks of my face burned as crimson as the cheeks of my arse, my tears ran down my cheeks, mixing with His dried in cum.

“On your back, slut! Legs open!” Master C commanded.

I did as ordered, unleashing fresh tears as my arse made contact with the hard wooden floorboards. Master C entered me and took me. As His cock pounded my cunt, His hands closed around my neck. This may have been a punishment fuck, but to me it was the sweetest form of punishment. His cock drove into me, His hands choked me; tears flowed from my eyes, a combination of the asphyxiation and the pain of my arse being pressed into the hard floor.

Master C was relentless; pounding me, punishing me, fucking me. Despite the pain, despite the comfort, despite having to fight for every breath, I was loving every second, every squeeze of His fingers around my neck, every thrust of His cock in my cunt.

I came, hard. “Oh Master, forgive me, please!” I managed to gasp.

His body stiffened. He drove into me for a final time. “Oh Morag!” He groaned as I felt Him release deep inside me.

We lay together for a while, ignoring the discomfort of the hard floor beneath us. “Am I forgiven?” I asked in a small voice.

Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me then smiled. “Of course you are, little one,” He said softly. I smiled and He continued, “Now let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll get the salve for your arse, a large glass of wine and a nice soft cushion and, I think, you may have earned that cunt of yours, a very thorough tongue lashing.” I smiled. Much as I enjoy receiving Master C’s discipline, I enjoy His particular forms of after care-even more; and His plans certainly sounded very appealing.

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Earning punishment


I’m on my knees. The clamps around my nipples dig in with a delicious level of pain. The dildo in my cunt stretches and fills me. “The Other Guy’s” cock pounds and pummels my arsehole.

I’m tired, but in a good way. I’ve lost count of the orgasms “The Other Guy” has inflicted upon me today. His cock has given my cunt several thorough poundings today. I’ve wrapped my lips around his cock and taken him into my throat more times than I care to count. I’ve tasted myself on those wonderful inches of firm flesh and had taken loads of cum from him in my mouth. His fingers and his tongue have taken it in turns to drive me to and beyond the brink many times during the course of the day we have enjoyed together. I’ve been teased and pleasured, licked, fingered and fucked. I’ve had orgasms denied, and orgasms permitted. My jaw aches, my throat is raw, my cunt is tender and now my arse is being used.

My whole body feels used and I love that feeling. Sex with “The Other Guy” is almost always primal; I provide a release for his carnal needs. He uses my body, uses my holes; my mouth, my cunt, my arse, for his pleasure and, in doing so, gives me so much in return.

When I return home to Master C, I will recount the events of this day. I will tell Master C how I sucked “The Other Guy’s” cock, how I swallowed his cum, how he licked me and fucked me and how much I loved having his cock between my lips and in my throat, in my cunt and in my arse. I will confess every detail knowing the punishment I will need to endure, aware of the acts of contrition I will be required to perform to earn Master C’s forgiveness; to earn the right to be called his “good girl” once more.

That is in the future. I will endure it and accept it and enjoy it when the time for me to make atonement to my Master for my transgressions is upon me. For now, however, I will enjoy one last fuck before I return home.

Having fed me so many loads already, “The Other Guy” informed me that he needed the extra tightness of my arse if he was to squeeze one last load out of his tired but happy cock. The dutiful slut that I am, I was happy to oblige.

“The Other Guy’s” cock pounds my back passage. He yanks my head back with a handful of hair as he fucks me. Soon it will be over. Soon I will return home and earn the discipline I deserve for such wanton sluttishness, but for now I’m just enjoying the feeling of having The Other Guy fuck me one more time.

His breathing is laboured, but his strokes are firm and powerful. His body slams into mine again and again. I finger my clit as The Other Guy fucks me, feeling one final climax grow inside me.

A moan, and suddenly I feel empty. “Turn around!” he commands.

I do as I’m bid. The Other Guy removes the condom and strokes his cock with a rapid, jerking motion. His hand blurs. “Come for me,” I encourage, “Come all over my boobs. I love feeling your cum on my skin.”

A long, low moan escapes from “The Other Guy’s” throat. It grows to a growl and ends with a gasp as he reaches the point of climax. Hi cum lands on my skin.

I lie back. “The Other Guy’s” face is between my thighs. His hands rub his cum into my skin as he feasts on my cunt. It doesn’t take much; a few firm strokes of his tongue is all that is needed to push me over the edge one last time.

Having ridden out my climax, we shower then dress. I have a quick coffee before I head to my car. I send Master C a text, “I’ve been a bad girl, again,” is all that it says. I turn the key in the ignition, pull out of “The Other Guy’s” drive and, with a smile on my face and a sense of anticipation building inside me, I drive home to accept my thoroughly deserved correction.

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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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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.”

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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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Going down


I cannot lie, I am a massive fan of oral sex in all its forms. I love having my cunt eaten out and I also love feasting on the cunts of my female partners. I love having Master C roughly fuck my throat, treating my mouth as nothing more than another hole to be used by His cock. Finally, and it goes without saying and will come as no surprise to readers of this blog, I simply cannot get enough when it comes to sucking cock. With that in mind, I have some thoughts on this week’s No True Way teaser:

“I love going down on a woman/man, but I’d never go down on my sub”

Now, clearly, being the sub in my relationship, I don’t have a sub of my own, but as mentioned above, I do love going down and being gone down on.

First off, I don’t believe there is anything inherently dominant or submissive about the act of performing oral sex as and of itself; it is simply using our mouths to give our partners pleasure. As often as not, when I’m sucking a cock, even when it’s Master C’s cock, I’m not doing it as an act of submission, I am doing it because I love sucking cock and I want to suck cock.

That’s not to say that sucking cock can’t be a submissive gesture, because it can. That, however is more to do with the circumstances the scenario and the mood rather than the act itself. There are the rituals, the performances, the nuances that differentiate between a simple, honest to goodness, I want His cock in my mouth blow-job and an act of submission whereby I am sucking His cock by way of performing a “service” of as confirmation of Master C’s Domination.

There are also times, as I’ve written before, where there is a certain power reversal, in as much as I am the one in control. Master C is still Dominant, and I am still submissive, but I am using my moth to be in control of His pleasure; His orgasm will be because of what I do to Him rather than what He does to me.

The flip side of this is when Master C goes down on me. In the main, He does this for a number of reasons:

  • He knows how much I enjoy it when He does it.
  • He enjoys doing it.
  • His pleasure is heightened by the knowledge of the pleasure He is causing me to experience.

There is, however, absolutely nothing submissive or any lessening of Master C’s Dominance when He goes down on me, however. In actual fact, when Master C is eating my cunt, He is still very much the Dominant partner. With His lips and tongue, Master C can choose to grant or deny me the release of orgasm. As a “tool” for edging me, it is probably without rival. The skill with which He can take me to the edge of the orgasmic abyss and then hold me there for what can seem like an eternity, that point where pleasure becomes torture, and so becomes an even greater pleasure, is almost indescribable. When Master C goes down on me, He has a control over my body and my responses that is greater and more finely tuned than is unmatched in anything else he does to me.

So, all of this is, I guess, a rather long-winded way of me saying, when I go down on Master C, it can be a submissive act, but, more often than not, it isn’t, it’s simply me enjoying having His cock between my lips, and when Master C goes down on me, it is most definitely not a submissive act in any way shape or form.

As with so many things in D/s, it’s not the act or the activity itself that is Dominant or submissive, it is the way the act is performed.

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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.

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Theory & practice


Growing up on a farm, I learned at quite an early age that when “daddy cow” climbed on “mummy cow’s” back it would, ultimately, result in the arrival of “baby cow”. I also learned that the same thing went for other species as well; the reason there were baby animals was because at some point the male animal did something to the female animal. Having put two and two together, I remember coming to the conclusion that something similar must have occurred between my parents that resulted in me and I remember asking my mum something along the lines of “Did Daddy have to climb on you to make me?” and being delighted that I was right when my mum confirmed this with a very simple, but affirmative “Yes dear, something like that.”

So I had the theory of mammalian reproduction understood at a very basic level but, of course, I didn’t really know about sex, or the fact that the majority (or in my case and that of many others, the entirety) of sexual activity has nothing to do with reproduction.

Skip forward a few years to my first year in secondary school, age 12. If you are Scottish and of a certain age demographic, you will remember the big red Scottish Secondary Science Book and you will almost certainly remember chapter 6.6 with its outline drawings of the male and female reproductive parts. Again, we were taught about the mechanics of sex and the reproduction; about erections for boys and periods for girls; and that was really about as far as it went. I’m not, I hasten to add, being dismissive of trans-gendered people here, I am simply recounting the classroom language that was used; i.e. that sexual intercourse involved the man putting his penis in the woman’s vagina and moving it in and out until the man ejaculated inside the woman. Again it was the theory.

Of course, around about this time, I’d also started getting interested in boys and, of course, boys meant snogging. Being a fairly early developer, snogging also meant that boys attempted some awkward groping and, even in those days where such things were “top half only”, that hands on top of clothes progressed to hands under clothes. That’s where things started to get interesting.

I discovered that I liked getting my boobs touched I also discovered that when I was enjoying getting my boobs touched, I also got quite moist between my legs. I soon discovered that I didn’t need someone else touching my boobs for this to happen, I could do it to myself and, when I ultimately reached down to examine more closely what the effects of my boob play were having down there, I discovered that I definitely liked touching myself down there. Not too long after that, “The Girl” would help me discover that I really liked it when someone else touched me down there and that was where the theory began to turn into practice.

Why the sex education I got in school covered the basics of reproduction and the mechanics of penis in vagina intercourse and the fact that, if I weren’t careful, it might result in pregnancy, it didn’t go near masturbation, or oral or even hint that anal might even be a thing for anyone other than gay men. The sex education didn’t teach me about the pleasure or enjoyment associate with sex. It absolutely did not teach me anything about kink.

I was, however, fortunate that I could talk to my mother about certain aspects of sex and sexuality, but even then there were limits. I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d just sucked my boyfriend’s cock for the first time. She didn’t need to know exactly when a guy fucked me for the first time and she absolutely did not need to know about the first time I took it in the arse. What she absolutely didn’t need to know was that I’d reached this point on my sexual journey before I’d even turned 16. I could discuss masturbation, but she didn’t need to know how often I did it. I could admit that I was sexually active (although I was somewhat reticent about how long I had been), but she really didn’t need to know how may people I’d had sex with. I could admit to the fact that I felt an attraction to other women, but she absolutely did not need to know that “The Girl” (whom she had known forever) and I were more than just best mates and were “at it” whenever circumstances allowed.

The one thing that I am grateful for is the fact that the most important thing my mum taught me about sex is that it is absolutely 100% natural and that it is in no way shameful. I’m sure she probably wouldn’t have approved if she knew the full details of my sex life, but it would be from a position of concern about my safety and well-being rather than from a place of judgement.

Pretty much everything else, I’ve learned “on the job” as it were. My teenage years were kind of my “discovery years“; the years where I discovered what I liked and what worked for me, where I discovered that what worked for one partner might not elicit the same response in another. I learned how much I really loved sucking cock and I learned how numerous guys loved to have their cocks sucked. I learned how much I enjoyed having my cunt eaten out and how to eat cunt in ways that the recipient really enjoyed. I learned the positions that I liked most; I learned that sometimes my enjoyment of a position or a particular activity depended on my mood. At 18, during my university Freshers’ Week, I discovered that I enjoyed having sex with more than one person at once. During my 20s, I discovered that even though I didn’t have a “full time” partner, that I could still enjoy sex through casual arrangements.

I’d always enjoyed a rougher element to sex. From fairly early on I’d enjoyed a certain amount of restraint play, blindfolds, spanking etc. Meeting Master C and submitting to Him was what would take my exploration of kink to the levels it is at today. While I’ve never been especially good on the monogamy front, it would be Master C that would help me channel many of my promiscuous urges and redirect them into our poly circle, but also create the system of action and consequence, of responsibility and punishment that become such a central part of our particular dynamic.

And yet, for all that, I am still learning. The restrictions imposed by the Covid pandemic have meant I’ve had to come up with new ways to receive the discipline from Master C that I both crave and need so much.

If we assume that 12 year old me getting my boobs felt was the start of the practical part of my sexual education, then I’ve been learning for almost 35 years. I wonder how much CPD time I’ve managed to put in during those years?

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In harmony


One of the best things, I think, of being in a long-term relationship with someone who knows exactly what buttons to press to maximise your pleasure is, simply just that; they know your buttons and you also know theirs. Sometimes it almost seems as if no actual expression of need or want is required to be vocalised; things just happen and it just so happens that those things are exactly the right things. To have that kind of relationship with one partner is amazing, for me, the fact that I have it with two, in both Master C and “The Girl” is special beyond words.

I’ve always maintained that Master C can play my body like a musical instrument. He has that virtuoso skill to take me to the edge of orgasm and hold me there for so long that it seems that time has no meaning, and then, when I am past the point of endurance, He will unleash the triumphant crescendo of my climax in a grand finalé.

It works both ways however. When I am sucking Master C’s cock, my long familiarity with His responses; the moans and sighs, the involuntary flinches and twitches, the tension in His muscles, in His thighs and in His face, all tell me what He is experiencing and what He is enjoying. They let me know what I should concentrate on to prolong and maximise His pleasure. They warn me of the proximity of His climax, allowing me to slow things down, or speed things up depending on whether or not prolonging the sensations or providing Him the release He needs is the appropriate course of action.

We can read each other’s signals; my gasps of pain as His belt strokes my arse, my whimpers and sobs of frustration as He edges me, the deepening of His breathing as His climax approaches, the swelling and twitching of His cock as His arousal grows, the tightening of His hold on my hair or around my neck as the primal, animal side of His sexual nature takes hold.

The same is true with “The Girl”. We have been “lovers” for over 30 years so we just instinctively know what to do to and with each other. We know when to use our fingers or our lips or our tongues, we know how hard to bite/nibble and with how much speed and force to apply our tongues. When I’m going down on her, I can tell by taste as her orgasm approaches. When she goes down on me, she knows just what to do to turn me into a soaking mess of orgasmic energy.

And yet, it still comes down to communication. Our bodies; mine, Master C’s and “The Girl’s” are all “talking” to each other even when none of us are using words. Those non-verbal cues express what we need and how what the other person is doing is fulfilling those needs just as much as if we were articulating them out loud. Years of communicating and sharing our desires through all the means at our disposal mean that it is possible to have the most fantastic encounter without ever expressing any words other than those occasional profanities that accompany such intense emotional and sensual experiences.

In both of my relationships, the participants perform well practiced duets, where the performance of each member of that pairing compliment each other; enhancing and enriching the experience for both.

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