Virtuoso performance


I love the feeling as Master C runs His fingers up the insides of my thighs. Teasing me; never quite touching the lips of my cunt, always pulling away at the very last instant.  The teasing is a delicious form of torture; I want Master C to touch me there; to feel my warmth, my wetness. I want to feel His fingers inside me, pumping in and out and twisting around.

The approach…

The retreat…

His fingers caress my skin like those of concert pianist stroking the ivory keys in front of Him.

Each time it drives me crazy. Each time it makes me that little bit more hungry, more desperate for that most intimate of touches. Each time I think He can’t possibly tease me any more, but He does.

And then I gasp, and quiver, as a finger brushes lightly against my folds. My legs part a little more, allowing Him more access should He require it.

A little more pressure, a slightly firmer touch; my lower lips part and my juices flow. My clit pulses as Master C presses his thumb to it and then, oh… oh! That moment when He slowly inserts the tip of his finger.

My body is a finely tuned instrument that Master C plays with an easy virtuosity that comes from knowing just which keys to press.

In He pushes, deeper and deeper. He pulls right back and I feel a second join it, stretching me as they work their way in. My cunt grips them tight as they begin to pump in and out. I squeeze my nipples as His fingers work their magic on my cunt. My moans, a counterpoint harmony to the soft sounds of His fingers playing my cunt.

What’s this? A third? I try to relax as Master C works another digit inside me. His thick, strong fingers open me up wide as He pushes them deep inside me.

He pushes in harder, He pushes in deeper; I tug hard on my nipples as He fucks me with his fingers. My moans become cries; a chorus that He is conducting.

And now a fourth squeezes inside me. Only his thumb remains outside to tease my clit.

Harder… Deeper… Rougher… It feels so good.

My orgasm builds with in me. My cunt spasms around His fingers. My cunt throbs under His thumb.

My back arches. I throw my head back and moan as the sensations consume me, claim me, hold me. My climax, a crescendo that demonstrates the skill with which He performs His art.

Again… Again… How much more can my poor cunt take?

And then he is gone. He touches his fingers to my lips, and I taste myself on his fingers.

A pause… Silence… The first movement is over, the second is yet to begin…

 

#WickedWednesday
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Call me


I’ve been a way for a while, for a number of reasons; some of them nice, some of them not so much. I’ll leave it there and won’t burden you with the details.

My experience with phone sex is somewhat one sided. It invariably involves Master C phoning me when He is away from home on business and giving me some very explicit instructions.

He will tell me which bits of me to play with; my nipples, my cunt, and what to use; my fingers, a particular toy.

He will tell me how much pressure to apply to my clit, how tight and how hard to squeeze and pull my nipples, how hard and how deep to finger-fuck my cunt and how many fingers to use.

As Master C instructs me, He calls me His “filthy slut”, His “Dirty whore”. I confess that I am. I tell Him how bad I have been, letting Him know how much I need His correction.

He tells me how He will punish me when He returns home; how He will bind and restrain me, how many deliciously painful strokes of His belt I will feel on my arse.

The words that Master C speaks are every bit as arousing as the things He makes me do to myself.

At His command, the silky cold glass plug is pushed up my arse.

Another instruction and I fasten the clamps around my nipples.

My fingers fill my cunt as Master C tells me to fuck myself more firmly; stopping occasionally to be allowed to lick my juices from their surface.

The tension builds inside me as I dutifully follow His every instruction.

Will He give me permission to come, or will He hang-up and leave me waiting for further direction?

My passion flares.

My need for release grows stronger with every second.

Have I pleased Him? Will He let my have my orgasm?

The tension mounts unbearably as I wait for Master C to announce my fate.

Let’s be upstanding


I absolutely fucking love cock. There, I’ve said it, “I love cock”. It’s probably fair to say that I love all cocks but, in particular, I love Master C’s cock.

I find penises endlessly fascinating. I love the way they change from their wrinkly flaccid state into an angry and swollen full-scale hard-on. I love watching this transformation in Master C’s cock as I slowly play with it, teasing it, turning Him on, arousing Him until he is fully erect and ready to pound my cunt with its lovely thick hardness. I also find those little involuntary twitches it makes in response to my touches amusingly endearing.

When it slips into cunt, I love the way it stretches me, and the pressure as it slides into me, inch by delicious inch, filling me. As I clench myself around it, I can feel those twitches inside me as it slides in and out.

As Master C fucks me, I imagine I can feel the head swell inside me as His orgasm approaches. When He cums, I feel His cock pulse, feel the eruption as His load is unleashed deep inside me.

Afterwards, the combined tastes of our juices is intoxicating as I take His cock into my mouth to clean Him. Then, as we lie together, His cock slowly shrinks back to its pre-aroused size and shape and I’m already looking forward to the next time I can make it hard and feel it inside me again.

Penises are very simple creatures that act as a barometer of their owner’s arousal. A hard-on can’t really be faked and are a very obvious mark of sexual approval. If you’ve given a guy a hard-on, he’s probably going to want to fuck you with it; and in Master C’s case, as He has such a fine specimen, it would be churlish of me not to let Him put it to good use.

#MasturbationMonday

Inappropriate sex


When you’re an insatiable little slut like me, sometimes you get craving for cock in the most inappropriate situations. For example, when you’re surrounded by family and friends, at your parent’s place, celebrating their wedding anniversary.

In my defence, I’d had a few drinks and Master C was, well He was as deliciously fuckable as Master C always is. It was the combination of the drink and the utter inappropriate circumstances that made it so exciting.

It had started off with me being the dutiful Auntie Morag, going upstairs to read my nephews and niece a bedtime story.

Having done my duty, I stopped in in my old room. I felt a wave of nostalgia for all the times I and whatever partner I had been with at the time had fooled around in that very room before I’d moved out and got my own flat.

I sent Master C a text: “My old room. I need fucked.”

Under the pretext that His services were also required, Master C quickly joined me. I kissed Him hard, urgently. I led Him over to my old bed, bent over, hitched up my skirt and braced myself. “Fuck me!” I demanded in an urgent whisper.

Seconds later, Master C was inside me, gripping my hips as He fucked me, hard, rough and fast.

It felt so good, so naughty; having Him fucking me while downstairs my parents and siblings, other members my family and their friends were drinking and chatting and generally being totally unaware of what was happening just a few feet above them.

It didn’t last long, in truth I didn’t need it to; just having Master C‘s wonderful thick cock inside me, fucking me, filling me, pounding me hard, was all I needed. It felt good. It felt deliciously wrong. I came hard with His cock deep inside me.

I dropped to my knees, turned around and took His cock in my mouth. A few seconds of sucking as my fingers stroked His cock and it was all over. Master C shot His load into my mouth and gulped it down hungrily.

The whole episode couldn’t have lasted more than 10 minutes but it was deeply satisfying. Master C went downstairs and re-joined the others while I made a sidetrip to the bathroom to make sure there was no obvious evidence of what I’d just been up to.

My cheeks were a little flushed as I rejoined the festivities but only Master C and I knew it wasn’t just because of the wine.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Sometimes, you don’t have to fuck her hard…


I enjoy a good, hard fuck. I will be the first to admit that there are times when, quite simply, Master C cannot fuck me hard enough. When I’m in the mood to take it rough, I want it rough: hair pulling, arse slapping, nipple tugging, hands around my neck… When I’m in that sort of mood, anything, absolutely anything goes. I love it, I crave it, hell, I’ll admit right here, I need it sometimes.

Not every time though. For all I’m a filthy little slut who enjoys being royally seen to, I am still a woman, and I do have my softer side. As much as I love being Master C’s naughty little fuck-toy, sometimes I want to be desired, I want to be loved, I want to be cherished.

Sometimes, all I really want is, for want of a better term, to be made love to. I want to lie back and enjoy every sensation as Master C explores my body with His fingers, lips and tongue. I want to feel Him slowly slide into me, filling me up, stretching my cunt with His wonderful cock.

I want Master C to take me slowly, so I can feel every thrust, experience every inch of Him as He slides in and out. I want to savour every moment as He takes me, from the first thrust to the last.

I want to feel the tension mount in His body; feel the tautness in His thighs as they move against mine, feel His breathing deepen as Master C works towards that moment of final release.

Finally, I want to share that moment of His climax; the shuddering eruption as He unloads deep inside me His cum filling my cunt; so warm, so rich and full.

And then I want Master C to collapse, spent, on top of me, crushing me to the mattress, His heart pounding in His chest, His ragged breathing warm against my neck as He holds on to me, cherishing me, yet still claiming me as His.

Yes, Master C doesn’t always have to fuck me hard…

#MasturbationMonday

I flirt, therefore I am…


I am a flirt, I make no apologies for it; I always have been and (hopefully) I always will be. One of the reasons I have this blog is to allow my flirtiness free reign.

I do occasionally get asked why, if I’m so ridiculously in love with Master C, do I feel the need to behave in such a brazen fashion and how does He feel about it? The truth is, I just just enjoy the (usually) harmless attention that it gets me. Yes, I’m totally and hopelessly devoted to my wonderful Master, but I get a buzz from the fact that, despite being well and truly taken, men (and women) find me attractive in a sexual way. As for Master C, not only does He not mind, He openly encourages me. For Him, it’s almost an ego thing; others may fancy me, but He is the one that has me. It also means that on those occasions where I succumb to another man’s flirtation, I will pay the consequences of my actions and feel the kiss of Master C‘s belt.

I know not everyone will agree with me, and some people will probably see some dark secret desires or denied relationship dissatisfaction in my actions, but nothing could be further from the truth. It’s part of our bond, it all comes down to mutual respect and trust; we are together but neither of us dictates what the other can and can’t do. I am free to do what I please and with whomever I please so long as I am willing to take responsibility for and bear the consequences for my actions.

I get a buzz out of it. What woman (or man) doesn’t want to feel desired and wanted? I enjoy the attention, and I enjoy it for the harmless fun that it is. I enjoy the thrill of being “seduced” by someone who takes my fancy and letting the attraction run its natural course. It’s a part of who I am, a part of the person that Master C nurtures, cherishes and loves, and I’m not going to change; if I did, I wouldn’t be the same person any more.

Judge me if you will, agree or disagree as you see fit, play along or walk on past. What matters is that I am Master C‘s slut and He loves and respects me for who I am, and the same is true in reverse.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Master C’s belt


I both fear, and love, Master C’s belt.

I fear it for the pain it will cause me; the delicious agony of my flaming red arse cheeks as Master C punishes me for my various transgressions. I always know when I’ve done something that deserves the belt; I know when to present myself, arse bare, bent over, waiting for its chastising kiss. There is no escaping it. There is no point trying to resist it. When the belt is due, the belt will come, and I will bear it and endure it like the chastened little slut that I am. Forced to count the lashes, desperate to hold back the sobbing tears; Master C will thrash me until my defiance is beaten, my transgression punished, my submission complete.

Yet, for all that I fear it for the pain that it will inflict, I also love it.

I love it when Master C uses it to bind my wrists together as He fucks me from behind. I love the way it digs into my skin, tightening as I struggle against its binds; holding me in place as I endure the pounding of His cock in whichever hole Master C has chosen to take His pleasure from.

I love it when Master C fastens it around my neck, pulling it tighter as He fucks my mouth, forcing His cock deep into my throat. I love how it constricts around me, choking me, denying me air as Master C force feeds me His lovely cock.

Most of all, however, I love the way it marks my pale white skin, branding me; a mark of Master C’s ownership, his domination, his mastery of me.

For all these reasons, and more, I love my Master’s belt; but behind that love, the fear remains.

#MasturbationMonday

Two words


“Bend over!”

I’ll admit, as foreplay goes, it’s not exactly extensive, but sometimes it’s all I need.

I don’t think there is any other combination of two words that can have more of an effect on me. Said in the right tone, and with the right degree of forcefulness, they can reduce me to a quivering mess of anticipation. No other two words will make my cunt instantly wet.

And as I comply with His demand I bite my lip as I wait for Master C to flip my skirt up over my arse, or pull my jeans down around my ankles, and yank my knickers out of His way.

With my arse exposed, I wonder what Master C has planned for me; is He just going to fuck me, does He plan to spank me, or will wield His belt?

In fairness, it doesn’t matter what His intentions are, I am ready; I want whatever Master C decides. As every second passes, the anticipation mounts, and my cunt grows hotter and wetter.

A hand slips between my legs, feeling how wet I am, how ready I am for Him. A shiver of excitement runs through me, my clit throbs slightly in response to His touch.

I want His cock inside me, filling me, pounding me, fucking me hard. I want Master C to take me, to use me, to cum deep inside of me. I don’t just want it, I need it. My whole body aches for Him.

Master C grabs a handful of my hair. He pulls my head back. Will it be His belt, or His cock? I still don’t know.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“Yes!” I sob.

I brace myself for whatever is about to come next.

Sometimes “Bend over!” is all the foreplay I need.

#KinkOfTheWeek

Thoughts of summer sun


As the winter has dragged on interminably and the daily temperatures have struggled recently to make it above 0℃, my thoughts have been turning to warmer, sunnier climes.

I love feeling the heat of the summer’s sun on my body. As a child, and until she passed away a little over ten years ago, a large part of my summer’s were spent with my cousins at my Nonna Serena’s villa in the outskirts of San Cataldo in the heel of Italy. When the cold Scottish winters bite, I often dream that I’m back there, lying about in the sun, walking in the shade of the market stalls or swimming naked in the clear blue Adriatic sea.

I love feeling the warmth of the sun all over my body as its heat sinks into my skin. I love the comfort of being naked in the heat of the sun, with the gentle breeze from the sea keeping me cool.  I love to have the water lap against me, the ripples stimulating my nipples and labia as I swim.

Even when circumstances dictate that need to be more modestly attired, there is, however, one item of clothing whose services I am willing to dispense with when the temperature soars, and that is my knickers.

Now, some would say I’m willing to dispense with them pretty much any time, and that is, of course, very true. When the sun beats down, however, going “commando” beneath a light summer skirt or dress is a simple pleasure that I will avail myself of at every opportunity. There’s something about the feeling that I find delightfully refreshing, and it’s so much more comfortable too.

And while I’m sitting there in a café or bar, demurely sipping an espresso, it gives me so many opportunities to surreptitiously flash my cunt at any good looking guy who takes my fancy, and of coarse, earn myself a thrashing from Master C‘s belt for being such a shameless, cock-teasing slut.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Terms of endearment


Language is a strange thing; what is one person’s compliment can be highly insulting to another person. Take the word slut for example. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not averse to being called a slut on occasion, in fact, in certain situations I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get called that or something equally degrading.

Now, I must confess, that like many women, I am, deep down, a soppy romantic at heart. As such, I am a sucker for the words, “I love you”. When spoken intimately and when meant can give me a me a warm glow all over.

With everything though, context is important. The words “I love you” said spontaneously by Master C as I’m leaving the house for work in the morning, or whispered in my ear just before I fall asleep at night, have a completely texture and effect than when they are gasped between clenched teeth while my lips are wrapped around His cock and He’s about to explode in my mouth.

Having said that, having Master C moan my name and call me His “good girl” at the point of orgasm just before he floods my cunt with cum and collapses, spent on top of me, pinning me beneath Him is always guaranteed to make me melt.

Getting back to the term slut; while I accept that some people find the term offensive, there are times, for me, that it is the highest compliment that I can be paid; particularly if Master C is calling me His “good little slut”.

When Master C is tugging my hair, fucking my arse mercilessly, I long for him to call me His “filthy little slut” or “dirty fucking whore”. As He sprays His load over my face and boobs, there’s nothing I want more than to have Master C call me His “dirty little cum slut”.

As I said before, the context is what’s important. Depending on the circumstances, being called a slut is every bit as endearing as being told that I am loved.

Language is a rich and varied thing, and there a many ways to express how much another person means to us. Slut, whore, love, fuck; all words that, depending on how they are used and who is using them can make someone feel wanted and special.

#MasturbationMonday