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…

 

Helping hands

As much as I enjoy using my fingers to pleasure myself, there is something quite wonderful about having another person stick their fingers up my cunt. Whether it be the sort of gentle caressing, teasing type of fingering that “The Girl” employs, or the rough, hard, finger-fucking that I can expect from Master C, I love that feeling of having someone else play with my cunt.

Sometimes, it is a delightful form of foreplay; getting me wet, opening me up in readiness to receive a cock. On other occasions, Master C, “The Other Guy” or “The Girl” will use their fingers to bring me to orgasm, usually while their mouths are kissing and sucking on my nipples, or sometimes while their tongues are lashing my clit.

When you consider that, for most of us girls, I suspect, getting someone’s fingers pushed up our cunts was one of the first overtly below the belt sexual experiences we ever encountered, it’s amazing how much pleasure we can still experience from this most simple form of play; not least given that we have since become accustomed to having much longer and thicker objects inside us.

In my case, that first, fumbled, furtive fingering happened, alliteratively enough, when I was fourteen. We were supposedly watching a movie, don’t ask me what it was, I was much more interested in the fact he had one hand up my top, playing with my boobs, and the other inside my knickers, fingering my cunt. I didn’t come, I’d frigged myself into a frenzy often enough to know that, but it did feel wonderful. Let’s be honest, what randy fourteen year old girl, in the first flush of hormone-fuelled lust, doesn’t like getting her boobs played with? Getting fingered at the same time was was the icing on my very creamy muffin.

Maybe if he’d used a bit more pressure or spent a bit more time on my clit rather than inside me, and maybe if he’d also been a little less gentle in the way he treated my nipples, I might have got there; but hey, I wasn’t complaining. I was fourteen and getting my cunt fingered in a public place and it felt great. Besides which. I was able to finish myself off later on my own, while imagining it was his fingers that were bringing me off.

I’ve had many fingers up me since then, both male and female; and in the main, they have been much more experienced and a lot more successful in their application, but that first fingering will always remain with me.

I will always welcome a helping hand…

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?

My first vibrator

I bought my first vibrator when I was 16. This was in a pre-internet age, where I cut out a coupon from one of my brother’s naughty magazines, paid by postal order (I was too young to have a cheque book or credit card) and had to allow 28 days for delivery and then hope to hell that the discreet packaging it said it would be delivered in was, in fact, discreet, and that my mum didn’t open it for me.

Thankfully it was, and she didn’t.

On the day it arrived, I couldn’t wait to try it. Of course, this pre-internet age was also the age of batteries not included, and as it was a Wednesday (which meant half-day trading in those days, of course), the post hadn’t arrived until after the village shop had shut, I had to improvise.

Now, this was 1991. It was about 6″ long, about 1½” in diameter, shaped like a nuclear missile and, as I was about to find out, about as noisy as one too. It took two “C” size batteries for fuck sake. The only way I could power it up was to steal the batteries from one of the torches in the cupboard under the stairs. When I turned the thing on, I nearly leapt out of my skin; not because of the vibrations, which were powerful enough I guess (having nothing to compare it with), but because of the noise. Discreet, it most certainly was not. Even muffled under the bedclothes, I was certain that it could probably be heard downstairs; hell, my best friend could probably hear it and she lived on the other side of the village.

Suffice to say, while pleasant, and while I did, eventually, get myself off, the whole experience was spent on tenterhooks, expecting at any moment to have someone knocking on my bedroom door, demanding to know what was making all the racket.

The whole experience was, I’ll admit, somewhat disconcerting. Far from needing to peel myself of the ceiling as I’d expected, I found that I could come quicker using my fingers. The one good thing about it was that, when switched off, it made me feel deliciously full, albeit in a hard, inflexible piece of plastic sort of way, which certainly helped me.

As it turned out, it got used more as a dildo than it ever did as a vibrator, the only time I ever dared switch it on was when I knew I had the house to myself. I’d have probably felt safer if I had the entire village to myself, but sometimes you just have to go with what circumstances provide.

The one thing I did make sure of was that the next one I bought, was a hell of a lot quieter.

The discovery years

As is, I suppose, the case for may of us, my teenage years were a time of discovery and experimentation. They were the years when the “theory” of sex things were, largely, put into practice. By the time I put my teenage years behind me in the spring of 1994, there really wasn’t much I hadn’t tried. By my 20^th birthday, I’d experienced the full gamut from those first, furtive fumblings and fingerings, through sucking, fucking, licking and being licked by both male and female partners, all the way to having sex with multiple partners at a party during my university’s freshers’ week. My teenage years were the years of first times and discoveries of what was simply just enjoyable and what was “Oh my fucking God! What just happened?”

My teenage years were the time of the so called “slut bands”, the multi-coloured string bracelets that me and other girls in my school (and probably countless others) wore around our left wrist; each colour indicating something we’d let a boy do to us: yellow, for having our boobs felt, green for having been fingered, orange for touched his cock, purple for having sucked it, red for having gone all the way. We wore our bands with pride and there was always a feeling of appreciative envy when one of the group added a new colour to her wrist that you didn’t have on yours.

It was also the time where I discovered that something that was just “meh!” with one partner could be amazing with an other, and that similarly something that one partner did that almost required scraping me off the ceiling could, with another partner, be little more than a damp squib.

Those were the years where I learned what I enjoyed, how I liked to be touched, how I liked to be licked, the positions where I could most enjoy the feeling of a partner’s cock inside me, the things that I did with my lips and tongue that my partners enjoyed the most. They were the years of discovering the different ways of how I could give myself pleasure; which worked best when I needed to get off in a hurry and which best suited a long, leisurely session when I had time on my hands. They were the years where I learned about the almost infinite ways in which two or more bodies could fit together to bring pleasure and enjoyment to the participants.

Most of all though, it was a journey where I discovered me as a sexual human being. My sexual tastes, appetites and desires were forged in those years. My love of of sucking a partner’s cock, my love of the taste of another woman’s cunt, my hunger for sex that was just that little bit rougher and “out there” were all born in those years. By the time I turned 20, I was already well on the way to becoming the unrestrained sex-hungry slut I would become before Master C taught me. Casual sex had become my norm. A night out at the Student Union invariably meant going home with a different man or woman, and sometimes more than one, or both; the night often starting before we wound up in whatever room/flat we were heading to.

I went from from curious virgin, to experimental novice and on to seasoned slut in just a few short years. Solo sex, sex within a committed relationship (by teenage standards), same-sex sex, experimental sex, casual sex, risky sex, public sex, group sex, I had done all within a few short years.

Do I regret any of it? No, not really. Some of the individual encounters I had  may have been less enjoyable or satisfactory, but even they were building blocks towards making me the person I am today. Every partner, every fuck, every blow-job, every cunt licked or tongue on my clit, every load of cum swallowed have made me the confident sexual person that I am today.

Under Master C’s guidance and correction, I have become somewhat more discerning and restrained when it comes to my random encounters than I was back in those days and throughout my 20s, but looking back at those early days, I had a lot of fun, a lot of pleasure, a lot of fucks and a lot of orgasms, so I really can’t complain.

Would I do my teenage years differently if I could do them again? Maybe. I might not be in such a head-long rush to try absolutely everything; maybe leaving longer for the novelty of my latest new thing to diminish before seeking the next thing to try, but there’s nothing I’d leave out. And let’s face it, every teenager needs a hobby and as a particularly randy one in the late 1980s/early 1990s, growing up in a remote part of Scotland, there really wasn’t much else to do in terms of recreational activities.

Tongue lashings

As with all things sex, the range of talents displayed in the performance of cunnilingus range from “Was that it?” To “Oh God! Oh my fucking God! Oh fuck! OH FUCK! Yes! YES! FUCKING YESSSS!” Some rush at it, some luxuriate in it. I’m probably going to shatter a well held belief here; but in my opinion, women are not inherently better than men. Yes, I know I have a cunt and I know how it likes to be treated, but that’s just it; I know how my cunt likes to be treated. A woman going down on me for the first time has no more knowledge or experience of the way I like to be licked than a man in that same position does. Anyway, I digress…

In a way, I was lucky. I had about six months or so of “oral only” relationships before I discarded my virginity. I discovered very quickly that one way of ensuring I was on the receiving end of some pretty good cunnilingus was to have the guy go down on me first. Suck the guy off first and he pretty much lost interest as soon as he’d blown his load in my mouth, but promising him a blow-job after he’d seen to my needs always seemed to make a guy raise his game. He didn’t have to make me come, although nine times out of ten I would, but he did have to make an effort to pleasure me. My mouth was going nowhere his cock until I was thoroughly eaten out. The guys I went with at this stage quickly learned that the way to my mouth was through my cunt.

It was one particularly intense tongue lashing that led to me reward the guy in question by letting him take my virginity. He had always had a particular talent (it’s not generally a talent you associate with the teenage male, but he knew the more he put into his efforts, the more rewarding it would be for him). He knew how to take me slowly to boiling point and then keep me there. He knew when “Please, no more!” meant “Don’t even think about stopping!” and when it actually meant I really couldn’t take any more. And on that perfect late summer afternoon during half-term, a few weeks after my 15^th birthday, having licked me and fingered me into a quivering mess of hot, sweaty, over-climaxed Morag, I begged him to fuck me; and fuck me he did.

In a similar way, Master C is one of those men that luxuriates in going down on a woman. For Him it is never a something to be performed perfunctorily, to be got out of the way quickly before moving on to the main event. For Master C, performing cunnilingus is an event in its own right. When He’s going down on me, that is what Master C is concentrating on. He’s licking me, teasing me, turning me on, taking me to the precipice again and again before, finally letting me come. Sometimes Master C can have me coming in virtually no time at all; at other times He can keep me on the edge for what seems like forever. Sometimes He’ll deliver a series of shudderingly sharp climaxes, at other times Master C builds me up gradually to one powerful finalé that leaves me utterly drained.

As I said, I’ve been extremely fortunate. I’ve known a couple of men who, like Master C and “The Other Guy”, put their heart and soul into the performance of cunnilingus; men who really know how to use their tongues to maximise the pleasure they give; men who take their pleasure from knowing how much I enjoy what their mouths are doing to me.

Most men know how to use their cocks, but a man who also knows how to use their tongue is truly special.

It’s not just for sitting on

I will freely admit, I take it up the arse and I love it.

The first time I got my arse fucked was when I was 16, not really that much after discarding my virginity. It wasn’t planned, well, not by me at least. We were at a party, I’d had quite a lot to drink. My boyfriend had already eaten me to a couple of delicious climaxes, sliding a finger up my arse as he licked my clit. One minute I was standing, feet apart, bracing myself against the wall for support, while he was busy giving my cunt a very thorough pounding from behind, when, suddenly I felt one, then two very well lubricated fingers working their way into and being twisted around in my arsehole. When, moments later, his cock slipped out of my cunt, I had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen next. Sure enough, he suggested replacing his fingers with his cock, and I was like, “fuck yeah, do it!”, to which he promptly removed his fingers and began working his cock into my tight rear hole.

I’ve no idea why he decided to do it; I’m fairly certain that I hadn’t given any indication that it was something I wanted to try, he just went ahead and did it. It’s fair to say, despite the lubrication, it hurt quite a bit, the sensations were, unusual, to say the least; but by the time he’d given my arse a pounding almost every bit as thorough as the one he’d given my cunt, pulled out and shot his warm sticky load over my back and arse cheeks, it is fair to say, I had become an anal addict.

In my opinion. there is, you see, nothing loving or tender about an arse fucking. Well, that’s not entirely true, I love getting my arse fucked, and it is always very tender afterwards, but that isn’t my point. The point is, that for all I enjoy soft, romantic, loving sex, I also like rough, hard, animalistic sex. The filthier it is, the more I love it; and anal sex fits perfectly into this category.

To me, a guy doesn’t make love to an arse, he fucks it, preferably forcefully and hard. When Master C has His cock in my arse, it is the ultimate symbol of His possession of me. It is Master C saying, in the most basic language there is, that I am His filthy little slut and He is going to use me however He so pleases.

And on that point, there’s nothing I like more when I’m having my arsehole brutally pounded than to be told, in no uncertain terms, that I am a filthy little slut and that I am getting exactly what I deserve. If those words are accompanied by some stinging slaps to my buttocks and my hair being yanked hard so that my head is pulled back, then so much the better; it simply emphasises the Master C’s ownership of me and the fact that my body is His to use. In these instances, a thorough buggering is the epitome of filthiness and, quite obviously, there are times when I want to be His filthy little slut and I need Master C to let me know that that is most certainly what I am.

Sometimes, getting my arse fucked will just be part of a wider sexual experience, one where we spend an afternoon, or an evening, or occasionally a whole day just pleasuring each other, doing whatever feels right and whatever we are in the mood for at any given moment. On other occasions, it will be all there is; a brutal punishment for some actual or imagined transgression on my part. It doesn’t really matter to me what the actual circumstances are, so long as my arse gets at least it fair share of attention, then I’m happy.

That isn’t to say I expect, or even want, to feel His cock in my back passage every time we have sex, because I don’t; although it is certainly His right to decide which hole He fucks and how hard He fucks it. I can be just as happy with a good cunt pounding or a prolonged session of oral or even mutual wanking; but, when I’m in the mood for feeling filthy, nothing, but nothing will satisfy me more than getting my tight, slutty little arsehole well and truly fucked by Master C’s glorious hard cock.

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 15^th 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.

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 soft 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 them. 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.

Shocks and surprises

The first time I encountered a blow-job face to face, as it were, was an eye-opener to say the least. I’d heard of such things of course but, frankly, to my then 14 year old mind, it seemed positively disgusting and I was certain that nobody I knew would ever do anything like that. I was, of course, wrong; totally wrong; and the manner in which I discovered how wrong I was made it even more shocking.

I hadn’t meant to pry. In fact, I hadn’t even been aware that my sister was in the house, let alone that she had company. My honest and simple intention had been to retrieve a CD that she had ‘borrowed’ from me a couple of weeks earlier and which I now wanted back.

In their defence, they were being very quiet. Apparently they had thought that so long as they didn’t make any noise, then I’d never notice them over the noise of the music I was playing. Well, they were almost right, I guess…

I didn’t actually go into her room. They had kept the door open just a little in the hope that they might hear any approaching interruption (i.e. me, or perhaps mum coming home). However, it seems that their precautions were totally inadequate.

My sister, you see, had a big, full length mirror on her bedroom wall quite close to the door. All I did was push the door open just the tiniest bit more than it already was and I was confronted with the image of my sister, sans top, sliding her lips up and down her then boyfriend’s cock.

Now, if this were some porn story, I’d now regale you with how I stood there transfixed, touching myself and getting all turned on until I betrayed my presence with an orgasmic moan. The truth is, however, that as soon as I recovered from the shock, I beat a hasty, albeit quiet, exit; my CD totally forgotten.

Thinking about it afterwards, I still couldn’t believe that I’d seen my goody-goody older (by just under 3 years) sister do something that to me, still, seemed disgusting.

At the first opportunity, I discussed it with one of my closest girlfriends. I had expected her reaction to by somewhat akin to mine (although with hindsight, I don’t know why I thought that); so I was completely shocked, again, when she just laughed and informed me that “in her experience” it drove guys wild and that she loved it when they couldn’t control themselves any more. The only downside, apparently, was that cum made a mess of your clothes if you weren’t ‘careful’. That was her euphemism for ‘taking it all in your mouth’. She even went so far as to suggest I should try it to give my then boyfriend a treat.

I had been seeing my boyfriend for about 6 months. I’d had other ‘boyfriends’ before him but he was the first one with whom I had ever got past the kissing stage. Not that we’d gone much further. I had got to the stage where I was comfortable with him putting his hand up my top to play with my boobs (and I’ll admit that got me pretty wet) and I’d very recently moved from rubbing his cock through his jeans to actually slipping my hand down inside and actually feeling it in the flesh (although I hadn’t actually seen it at this point…). I had, however, never considered putting his cock in my mouth. Now though, having seen my sister do just that to her boyfriend, and had my best friend just tell me how much she enjoyed sucking cocks (note the plural – and I know for a fact she wasn’t exaggerating), I somewhat unexpectedly found myself warming to the idea.

It didn’t happen immediately. It was another two weeks before I actually plucked up the courage. It was his 15^th birthday and I had my fingers around his cock while giving him a very intense birthday snog when I asked him if he’d like an ‘extra special present’.

I’d never seen an erect cock before. Well, not up close and personal (the reflection of the bit of my sister’s boyfriend’s cock that wasn’t in her mouth doesn’t count). To my untrained eye it seemed huge (actually, as it turned out, he was a little bigger than average) and I was a little intimidated by it and, to be completely honest, I didn’t have a clue what exactly I was supposed to do but, after giving it a few mote strokes, I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and took the head between my lips.

That was pretty much all it took. I just about had time to get used to the idea of his cock being in my mouth when I was choking and spluttering, trying to deal with my first mouthful of cum. And, my friend had been right, it did make a mess of my blouse (she had neglected to make any mention of the actual taste!). I was, however deeply turned-on at the thought that I had caused this reaction, that my mouth had caused him to lose control and shoot his load into it. I just wish I’d had a little longer to savour the experience and that he’d given me at least some warning of his impending eruption.

Needless to say, the blow-job became a regular part of our activities after that and, as well as me getting better at it, and him learning to enjoy it for longer, we quickly moved on to him going down on me too (although it would be another 3 or 4 months before I let him shag me for the first time) All in all, I actually had a lot to be grateful to my big sister for, not that she knew it.

Incidentally, I mentioned my ‘interruption’ to her not that long ago, hence why I know the details of their attempt to avoid discovery, and she confirmed that they had been completely oblivious to the fact. Not only that, but if I’d been a few minutes later, she’d have been riding his cock and not sucking it. I don’t know if that would have shocked the 14 year old me even more…