Let’s fuck


It will come as no surprise to anyone when I say that I absolutely love fucking and being fucked. It doesn’t matter where or when, I love it. In bed, on the sofa, on the floor, over the kitchen counter, in the car, upstairs, downstairs, indoors, outdoors, my mouth, my cunt, my arse, it doesn’t matter; if it’s fucking then I’m all for it. It is the ultimate expression of me as a sexual being; using my body and having my body used for the most basic, primal gratification of one of humanity’s deepest and strongest urges.

But what do I mean by “fucking”?

Obviously, when Master C, or “The Other Guy”, or possibly some random acquaintance has their cock in my mouth, or my cunt, or my arse, and is thrusting away with carefree, wanton abandon, they are fucking me and I am being fucked. Specifically, my mouth/throat is being fucked, my cunt is being fucked, my arse is being fucked. But fucking isn’t just me having a penis in one (or more) of my orifices; it is something much deeper.

To me, fucking doesn’t even need to involve a penis and it doesn’t even need to involve penetration. “The Girl” and I fuck using just our fingers, hands, lips and tongues. Yes, we may finger-fuck each other, but that is secondary; we were fucking even before fingers ended up inside each other’s cunts.

Fucking, to me, involves the whole range of sexual activity, both penetrative and non-penetrative. It is sex where nothing is held back. It is sex where the participants are fully engaged in whatever they are doing to each other and whatever is being done to them. It is the unrestrained release required to fulfil a deep need. It’s not just about my mouth or my cunt or my arse; those are simply the bits of me that are most actively and directly involved. In away, it is probably being more accurate to say I am being fucked in my arse or in my cunt rather than to say I am having my throat/cunt/arse fucked because it is me that is being fucked, those are simply the means by which I am being fucked.

And that, for me, is the crux of it; I am being fucked. It’s not just a particular hole, it is all of me; it is my body, my mind and my soul. When Master C or “The Other Guy” has their cock in my arse or my cunt, they are using that hole to fuck me; they have simply chosen to fuck me in a particular way.

I realise that this is not one of my more coherent posts; you’d be excused for thinking it was simply an exercise in seeing how many times I can use the words “fuck”, “fucked” and “fucking” in the same post. I’m trying to put an intense set of feelings and emotions into words, and language is such an imperfect medium; some things simply have to be experienced, and for me, nothing beats the experience of a long, hard, uninhibited fuck that satisfies the body and the soul.

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He knows me


I’ve written before about how my d/s relationship with Master C often acts as a form of restoration. As someone who provides mental health support, my work is often emotionally draining. The experiences that some people share with me can often be harrowing and there is no amount of training that can fully shield you and leave you untouched by what you hear. My working life is spent helping people deal with the traumas of their everyday lives; lives that they have to return to every time their session comes to an end. It’s a job where “success” is sometimes measured by the fact that someone actually makes it through to come back for their next session. There are always some “good news” stories, but for the most part my job is to listen and provide support as the other person unburdens themselves, albeit briefly, of the suffering and pain they are experiencing. I am not inhuman. Their stories do not leave me unaffected. Emotionally, a toll is extracted.

Sometimes I need Master C to be gentle and soothing. Sometimes I need Him to be harsh, demanding and rough. There are times when I need to be held, caressed and have my hair stroked. There are times when I need to be choked, thrashed and fucked so hard I almost lose consciousness. One of Master C’s many great qualities is that He has an almost instinctive knowledge of what form of attention I am most in need of.

Last night Master C decided that what I really needed was for my arse to receive “six of the best” from His belt and for my throat to be thoroughly fucked. When I received His text message telling me that that was what He had planned for me, a thrill ran through me. I hadn’t appreciated that that was what I needed until I read His words, but as soon as I had, I realised that, yet again, He was absolutely right.

I was on my knees, naked apart from my collar when Master C arrived home. He had me wait while He attended to a few things. My anticipation levels climbing with every passing second that I had to wait until he came into the room and instructed me to bend over the arm of the sofa.

Even then, bent over, my arse exposed and waiting, I had to endure long agonising moments as He slowly undid and removed His belt. He tortured me by pacing the room, an end of His belt in each hand. Occasionally He would pause and pull the belt taught, making a resounding crack as the folded leather made contact. Eventually Master C stopped pacing. He turned to me and asked, “Are you ready?”

I nodded. “Yes Sir.”

“Then count them with me.”

“Yes Sir!”

I waited. long drawn out seconds until I heard that short, sharp swoosh, felt the air move as the belt rushed in an arc towards me, then cried “One!” as the leather bit into my buttocks for the first time.

The second lash bit harder, the third harder still. The fire in my buttocks grew exponentially with each stroke. Each number was increasingly more difficult to articulate, having to be forced past sobs. Never has six been such a difficult number to count to.

After the final stroke, Master C cuffed my hands behind my back and instructed me to lie on my back on the sofa and tilt my head back over the arm. From His pocket, He withdrew a pair of clamps and a squirmed as He tightened them around my nipples.

Taking my head in His hands He commanded me to “Open wide!”

I didn’t hesitate. The swollen head of Master C’s cock passed between my lips. He allowed me to savour it for a few brief moments before He pushed on, sliding His cock inch by inch into my mouth, forcing the head into my throat. He touched my neck with a fingertip, tracing His cock through my skin. My buttocks stung from their recent thrashing. My nipples throbbed inside the clamps. He gripped my neck with one hand, squeezing with a gentle but steady increase in pressure and began to fuck my throat.

Master C fucked me with firm, hard strokes, forcing the head of His cock deep down my throat each time, fucking it in the same way He would fuck my cunt or my arse. My mouth was simply a hole to be fucked like any of my others, my throat there to be filled by His cock.

His grip tightened as the force of His thrusts increased. I struggled for breath, gasping hard each time He gave me a moment’s respite. Saliva dribbled up my nose, into my eyes; His balls slapped my face as He fucked me.

At some point, as I struggled to breath, my throat raw from the pounding it was enduring, my nipples throbbing in agony, I felt a familiar dissociation; a feeling that I was somewhere else, that somehow I was watching this being done to me as well as experiencing it. It was if it were happening to me and yet it wasn’t me because I was watching the scene as it played out.

I became increasingly aware of Master C’s breathing, I could feel the veins in His cock pulse, the print marks His fingertips were making on my neck. I could taste His urgency, sense the increasing tension in His body as He used me.

Master C groaned as He thrust hard, then pulled back. A momentary pause that seemed to last forever passed and then he came, filling my mouth with cum. With my head tilted back and my throat raw, swallowing was hard, but somehow I managed; His rich, thick essence almost acting as a balm as it ran down my throat.

I heard a sharp buzzing. My brain barely had time to resolve what this meant before I felt the head of one of my wands being pressed to my clit. Almost at once, my back arched, I let out a cry that seared my already raw throat, and I came, hard.

Eventually Master C turned the wand off, released the clamps from my nipples, removed the cuffs from my wrists, wrapped me in the soft fleecy throw and held me in His arms. The cares and stresses of several days had been cleansed from my body and my soul. The dissociation subsided, I reconnected with myself. Master C kissed my forehead and stroked my hair; while there. in His strong arms, I consciousness returned from whatever plane it had been to, bringing me back to the here and now, back to the real world.

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After dark


It’s pretty fair to say that there is no way I could let this prompt pass without writing something on this subject. Since my earliest student days in my late teens, all the way through to the present, as someone with a particular penchant for doing sex things in risky locations, the darkened alleyway and/or the deserted thoroughfare have been a constant part of my locationary repertoire; whether that be with Master C or with some random casual acquaintance.

The very first time was in my first year at university. It was a Friday night, some drinks had been consumed, and I was enjoying the company of a charming young man who was saying all the right things and whom I decided I wanted to see more of. The intention had been to go back to halls, but as soon as we stepped outside the Student Union building, there was an urgency that overtook us. That part of town has numerous closes and vennels, and we quickly found one that was suitably secluded, although not entirely not overlooked, for our purposes.

Of course, it was only as things had heated up to the point where I had his cock in my hand that the realisation that neither of us had condoms on us dawned and so, I got to my knees in the darkened rear doorway of whatever building we were behind, took him in my mouth and sucked him off. The fact that we could potentially be caught in the act at any moment should someone else walk down that lane, or that we could possibly be overseen from the window of one of the tenements opposite was, it turned out, almost as big a turn on for him as it was for me. I sucked his cock with a frantic urgency and, in virtually no time at all (although in that exposed location, it seemed like an eternity), he exploded in my mouth, filling it with a huge load of thick cum that I hungrily gobbled down. After that, we straightened ourselves up, headed back to the Student Union to purchase condoms, went back to halls and spent the rest of Friday night and most of Saturday fucking each other senseless.

Since then, the drunken back alley fuck/blow-job has become one of my al fresco activities.

There is, to me, an inherent sluttiness about it; particularly if it’s a random encounter. Its a surrender to an urge that is so powerful, a need so intense that it cannot be denied or delayed. The act itself has an urgency, caused in no small part by the fact that it is risky, you could be disturbed and that simply adds to the experience. I have, in fact, been caught in the act on a few occasions. Fortunately nothing more ever came of it than some disapproving comments by the person who chanced upon us, but that in itself added another element to the experience.

If I’m fucking or sucking someone in a lane behind a pub, there is always that possibility. Senses are already heightened, but voices in the next street sound closer, footsteps on cobbles or pavements sound louder, lights in windows suggest the possibility of being observed. At any moment you could be disturbed by a drunken reveller, someone putting rubbish out, a resident coming home or going out, another couple looking for a secluded spot to do exactly what you are doing. All these thoughts are constantly there at the edge of your consciousness; the sense of excitement and apprehension combining to intensify the whole experience.

It doesn’t matter if I have my back against the wall, one leg hooked around his waist as he fucks me, or if he’s fucking me from behind as I brace myself against a doorway, or if I’m on my knees, sucking hungrily on his cock, the whole time I am aware of the riskiness of our situation and that only makes me even more determined to extract every ounce of filthy, wanton pleasure out of the act I am engaging in.

When it’s Master C I am engaging in such activities with, there is always the risk of an extra element being added to this. It is not unknown for Him to decide to mark me, to come on my face and forbid me from cleaning it off, forcing me to wear the evidence of my wanton sluttiness as we emerge from the dark alley out into the street lit, more populated lanes and streets as we make our way home. This, of course, while somewhat mortifying, does play to my humiliation/degradation fetishes and leaves me with a delicious juxtaposition of hoping no one notices His cum on my face while, at the same time, also hoping they do.

It’s been 30 years or so since I sucked my fellow student off in that alley. In the intervening years I have enjoyed many, many frantic fucks in deserted lanes, and I’m absolutely certain I will enjoy more still in the future.

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My flavour


I am, as I suspect many women are, very familiar with the taste of my own sexual fluids. By which I mean, many women are familiar with the taste of their own, not with mine; although there are a fair few who are familiar with mine too. I digress…

Almost from the very beginning, from pretty much the first furtive fingering I ever gave myself, I have been fascinated by the scent and flavour of my cunt. As I experimented, I began to notice the subtle changes in both consistency and flavour depending on my level of arousal and where I was in my cycle. Despite those variations there was an underlying intrinsic “meness” that, as I became acquainted with the taste of other vaginas, I released that I, like every other woman I tasted had my own unique flavour; my own essence.

I can’t really describe my flavour. It has a rich, slightly bitter, musky tanginess. At the point of orgasm, my flavour becomes sharper, richer and more intense. Many partners have commented on the fact that, when they are going down on me, they can tell the moment that I come simply because the way I taste changes; becoming stronger and (apparently) more intoxicating.

Now, I’m not sure about the intoxicating bit, but I will admit that tasting myself while masturbating has always heightened my arousal and intensified the sensations. When I wank, my fingers will travel between my cunt and my mouth many times as I drive myself towards orgasm; it is an intrinsic part of my self-play.

It isn’t just when I’m flying solo that I get to taste myself. I am fortunate that in Master C, “The Other Guy” and “The Girl”, I am blessed by having partners for whom going down on me is something the do with relish and gusto. I love tasting myself on their lips as they kiss me, my essence on their tongue as it snakes inside my mouth. I love it when a partners fingers, glistening with my juices, are pushed into my mouth to be licked clean. I can never get enough of the taste of myself on Master C’s or “The Other Guy’s” cock after it has been inside me.

I particularly love the combination of flavours when my cum is mixed with that of my partner’s, whether that be when Master C commands me to lick His cock clean after He has fucked me, or when I gather up our mixed essences as they trickle from my cunt and lick my fingers clean.

I have made no secret in this blog about how hungry I am when it comes to having my partners’ cum in my mouth but, it seems, when you get right down to it, I’m every bit as hungry for the taste of my own.

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Need


Sometimes the need is so intense, there is a fire in me that only Master C can extinguish, a hunger that only Master C can satiate, a thirst that only Master C can quench.

As I lie naked, exposed, and available, I yearn for the touch of His lips and His fingers exploring my body; stroking and caressing every inch of my skin, working their way into the folds and cervices of my cunt, teasing my nipples, making my juices flow, feeding my inner desire.

I long to feel His teeth bite down on my nipples. I yearn to feel His tongue work its way between my labia and flick over my clit. I hunger for His cock to be forced deep down my throat, or to feel it stretching and filling my cunt.

I need to feel His body on mine; His weight bearing down as He pins me to the bed, inviting my surrender.

So often, as much as I want to serve and please Master C, to be His attentive and dutiful submissive, all I really want is for Him to fuck me, to use me and to take His pleasure from me.

Each thrust of His cock, harder and more forceful than the last. His hands, first around my wrists, holding my hands above my head as His cock drives into me, then moving to cover my mouth as I start to moan, then, finally, tightening around my neck as the pressure inside Him begins to mount.

I crave the release that only He can give me, and the torment of the denial that He so effortlessly causes me to endure. That intense journey to the edge of the precipice that He takes me to, so expertly, then holds me there until I can endure no more.

Is it instinct that tells Master C when I simply have to given the release of orgasm? Is it the experience of our years together; the knowledge of my body and its responses. Is it some combination of both? I don’t care. All I know is that however Master C gets me to that point, that is where I desire to be; where I need to be.

And then He fucks me. Slow at first but building the pace, force and strength of His thrusts. Filling my cunt as it stretches around His cock. I receive Him as He takes me; using me for His pleasure and gratification. My body is Master C’s to use, and use it He does, with a raw intensity that leaves me helpless and, ultimately, leaves Him drained.

I yearn for the increasing tightness of His body, the deepening of His breathing, the increased frequency of His moans as His climax approaches.

I live for the moment of Master C’s release; the moment where He softly moans my name as His cock erupts inside me, filling me with a thick load of cum.

I long for the afterglow, when we snuggle together; His arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly against Him as His cum slowly begins to trickle out of me.

There are times when the only thing I need is for Master C to give me a bloody good seeing to; to lick me and fuck me, to take me an use me. This is one of those times where the need is upon me.

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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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Watching


The prompt for Kink of the Week has the following quote:

“Voyeurism is a beautiful and delightful thing. There is nothing more intimate than really looking at someone.”

~ Laurel Nakadate

Now, I agree with the above statement, but I also have reservations about it. To me, voyeurism has elements of both pleasure and pain and it largely depends on who I am watching and the circumstances behind it.

For the record, I am very much an exhibitionist; I love the thought that I could be observed and I knowing that people are actually watching me and getting aroused watching me is a massive turn on. That, however, is another post for another time. Let us get back to watching.

For me, there are essentially three different forms of voyeurism and the have different feelings and emotions associated with them.

The first is an what I would describe as participative voyeurism. This happens in a group sex/sex party situation. I’m either watching others fuck while I myself am being fucked, or while I am “between fucks”. In this scenario, I am part of the scene; mine is one of the writhing, pleasure filled bodies. The air is filled with the sounds and scents of people fucking and I am one of those participants making my own contribution to sensual whole. The participants combine and recombine in different pairings, triples, quadruples, or whatever combination of bodies works for the given mood.

From a point of pure hedonism, there is nothing that really comes close to this. Watching the other participants is part of the act itself. As the observer, I am both influencing and being influenced by what I see, what I hear, what I smell, what I taste. I am watching and, simultaneously, being watched; the exhibitionist and voyeur turn-on buttons are both being pressed.

The second is a slightly more passive form of the above. I’m possibly in a swingers’ club or similar. I am watching others fuck, but I am not part of that scene, merely watching others enjoying each other. The sights, sounds and scents are still there, but I am not involved. It’s like a live action porn scene, but without the exaggerated, asthmatic banshee wailing. Unlike the previous situation, I can focus my attention fully on what I am watching. Depending on how close I can be, I can observe the minute little details; the expressions on faces, the changes in breathing, the sounds of two bodies moving together. All of these things are stimulating the pleasure neurons in my brain, triggering a response in me.

I know that, at some point, I will reach a place where I can no longer watch, the need for release will become to great. At that point I will retire to another room and deal with the situation. At that point, I go from being the observer to potentially being the subject of someone else’s voyeurism as the watch me either bring myself off, get fucked by Master C, or, with His permission I fuck someone else.

The final scenario is the one that brings a juxtaposition of emotions. I am tied up, bound, helpless, and I am required to watch as another woman attends to Master C. This is such a hard one because I know what they are enjoying and I know what I’m being deprived of. The dutiful submissive in me is happy for Master C and the pleasure He is receiving, but I am torn because it should be me that is providing it. It should be me that is sucking on that wonderful cock. It should be my cunt that He is feasting on and fucking. It is me that should be receiving that lovely rich, thick load of cum. I should be the one responsible for His pleasure. In an indirect way, I also know that I am. If I’m in this scenario, I’m almost certainly being punished for something and He wouldn’t be being attended to like this if I hadn’t been guilty of some transgression. That, however, is something of a moot point.

Similarly, I am happy for the other woman because I know exactly what she is enjoying; I know the expertise with which Master C’s tongue will drive her repeatedly to orgasm, I know the mastery with which He will fuck her, I can almost feel the pleasure she is feeling, but I should actually be feeling it because all those things should be being done to and with me.

I know that afterwards, Master C will be deeply attentive and will give me what I crave, and I have that to look forward to, but in that moment, there is a delicious mixture of watching Master C fuck majestically and desolation that it isn’t me that is receiving Him.

I think, it’s fair to say, that voyeurism, for me at least, can be something of a complicated issue that ticks so many of my boxes on different levels. It is something that, on the whole, I find deeply arousing. If I had to choose, however, much as I enjoy watching others fuck, on balance, I’d much rather that I was the centre of attention and that it was me that was being watched.

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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 bus ride of shame


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Love & Sex


This week’s Quote Quest teaser is one that I have some very strong thoughts about.

“Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.”

– Hunter S Thompson

Now, I’m going to be honest and say right from the the very outset, that I completely disagree with this statement. My disagreement can be summed up by answering two very simple questions:

  1. Have I loved every person I’ve ever had sex with?
    Absolutely not.
  2. Have I had sex with every person I’ve ever loved?
    Again, a resounding “no”.

Sex and love are two separate things; although they can often be closely interlinked. Love is an emotion, a feeling, a connection of spirits and souls. Sex is a physical act, a joining and (sometimes literally) coming together of bodies.

To illustrate my point, there are many people I love (and have loved). I love my parents, I loved my grandparents, I (mostly) love my siblings. Have I had sex with any of these people? Well, no, absolutely not. I also have and have had any number of friends, with whom I have shared what I would describe as a deeply platonic form of love.

The flip side to this is that I definitely love Master C and I love “The Girl” and also “The Other Guy” and I absolutely do have sex with them. There are also a couple of exs in my past that I also loved and had sex with. However, as anyone with a passing familiarity with this blog will be aware, I have also had and enjoyed a hell of a lot of casual sex down the years; sex where it wasn’t uncommon for me to never even find out the name of the person I sucked and/or fucked. I think it goes without saying that there was absolutely no love involved in these encounters (unless my love of the act itself and the way that act made me feel counts).

In a way, this kind of follows on from my previous post. I completely agree that having sex with someone tat you love and that loves you is special; it adds a whole several extra layers of feeling and emotion to proceedings. Having Master C roughly fuck my arse feels different from some unknown random fucking it, even when done with the same force. Why? Because I have a deep emotional connection with Master C that adds to it. Having Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” go down on me feels so much more intense than having someone else do it, irrespective of how skilful that person is. Why? Well, aside from their knowledge of what really presses my buttons, again there is the emotional overlay.

Don’t get me wrong, I (mostly) fully enjoy my casual encounters. If the person you with knows what they are doing, and is in any way considerate to your wants and needs, what isn’t to enjoy about getting soundly and thoroughly fucked? What is their not to enjoy about getting your cunt skilfully eaten out, or going down on someone else?

Good sex, even great sex, doesn’t require love for it to be satisfying. I have had casual encounters that have resulted in me being reduced to a dishevelled, sticky, spasming mess; fighting to bring my breathing and or heart rate back under control, that come close in intensity to anything that I have done with those that I love.

There is a difference though. Those casual encounters are physically satisfying and, to a certain degree, emotionally so as well. Sex with Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies me on a “spiritual” level. Where a great casual fucking may satisfy me in body and mind, a fucking from Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies my soul.

So, to me, sex without love is far from hollow; if it were I probably wouldn’t engage in it. Yes, there have been disappointments; there have been encounters that, with hindsight, would probably have been better avoided. There were times in my past where I’ve got under someone to get over someone else, but those are a minority. But for each of those fucks that have been less than great, there have been many many more that have given me everything I have wanted from them and, sometimes, even more.

Full disclosure; no one makes me feel the way I feel when Master C and I fuck. No one knows what my body, mind, soul and spirit needs more than He does. Sometimes, however, all I need is the “thrill of the chase” and the “surrender” that comes with letting myself be caught.

What can I say? I’m simply a voraciously happy slut that loves sex.

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