The great procrasturbator


Procrastination: what a wonderful word, and so very apt. I’m not sure where I first cam across the word (pun possibly intended) but it’s fair to say I procrasturbate a lot; if it were an Olympic sport, I’d be a medal standard procrasturbator. All too often, I’ll have a wank simply because I can’t be arsed doing something else.

Whether it be contemplating the mountain of ironing that has built up from the weekend, scrubbing the bathroom, cleaning out the fridge, or feeding the cat (no, scrub that last one, if you want the peace and quiet to enjoy a good wank, always ensure the cat has been fed), there are very few things that cannot be put off until after you’ve devoted a little time to yourself.

For example:

You get home from work. If you’re like me, the first thing I do, after feeding the cat, is change out of my work stuff (unless Master C has previously indicated that he wants me to play the part of His slutty PA that evening, and even that requires some costume adjustment). Sometimes I’ll have a shower, sometimes I’ll just change straight into my jeans and a cosy jumper. Depending on the time of the month, I may or may not decide to dispense with the services of my bra. I know that, feeding the cat not withstanding, 100 of those 101 things that need to be done each evening still need doing. The dishwasher needs emptying, the living room needs hoovering, that lightbulb in the hall that’s needed changing since April still needs changing, but I’m naked, or near enough, and I’ve had a long, difficult day, and I need to unwind. Ironically, all the things I used to do in my student days to put off doing any actual studying are now the very things I’m about to have a wank to postpone doing because they actually need doing.

Cue, quick rummage in my toy drawer…

And there is one of the key points of procrasturbation, it itself can be delayed by deciding what kind of wank to have and which toys to employ. Do I want a fast, furious orgasm? Dig out my wand. Do I want a slower, but intense and prolonged climax? I may use my rabbit or one of my other vibrators. Do I want a longer, lazy build up where I can keep myself simmering for as long as I want before allowing myself to come? I may just forget the toys altogether and just use my fingers.

Tonight, I decided to combine the lovely full feeling in both holes by using my double dildo, while enjoying the slow burn of rubbing my clit to climax. In my mind, Master C comes home to find the housework still not done and his lazy slut pleasuring herself. I feel His belt for failing to keep house properly. He spanks me for not ironing the perfect creases into his work shirts. He stands over me as, naked and on my knees, I scrub the kitchen floor, His belt twitching in His hand, ready to punish me if I miss any bits that need cleaning.

When I complete my chores to His satisfaction, Master C bends me over His desk and fucks my arse, brutally and without mercy. His fingers dig into my freshly thrashed arse cheeks as he fucks me.

He pulls out and spins me around. I drop to my knees.

“Filthy!” Slap.

“Lazy!” Slap.

“Worthless!” Slap.

“Slut!” Slap.

My eyes brim with tears, which trickle down my stinging cheeks.

Master C stands over me, stroking His cock. The head swells, an angry purple, and as His cock erupts in my mind, covering my face and neck with a thick load of cum, back in the reality of my bedroom, my orgasm rips through me; claiming me, owning me, holding me in its embrace before finally releasing me.

Afterwards, once I’ve recovered and got dressed, I add ‘wash dildo‘ to my list of chores that still need doing.

#WickedWednesday
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On my knees


Whether it’s facing Master C, ready to take His cock in my mouth, or facing away, bracing myself, ready to feel Him in my cunt or arse, I spend a lot of time on my knees.

When I’m sucking His cock, I love to look up at Master C, making eye contact as I take Him deep into the back of my throat. As I kneel between His legs, Mater C puts His hands on my head and forces His cock deeper. I look up through my lashes and see the look of hunger in His eyes.

Turning away from Him, I brace myself, waiting for Master C to take me. The anticipation grows as His hands grip my hips, peaking as I feel the head of His wonderful cock press against the entrance of His choice. My body moves as Master C plunges into me. Sometimes He grabs my hair, pulling my head back painfully, at other times, He’ll push me forward, forcing my face towards the floor as He fucks me with long, hard, forceful thrusts of His magnificent cock.

Of course, it’s not just about blow-jobs and fucking. I kneel to receive His spankings, I kneel when I await the bite of His belt on my arse, I kneel when I thank Master C for my punishment.

I spend a lot of time on my knees, and I love every moment I spend on them.

#WickedWednesday Tell Me About

The joys of wanking


The relationship I have had with my fingers is the longest sexual relationship I have had. Stretching back over more than half my life, it’s fair to say that no one, not even Master C, has given me as many orgasms as I have myself.

Of course, those first furtive fingerings were very much clandestine affairs, under the covers of my bed, biting my lip so as not to make a sound, not wanting to betray the pleasure I was having. In truth, the need to keep quiet, to not alert my parents or siblings to what I was doing only intensified the sensations, making my orgasms even more powerful, but that didn’t lessen the secret, almost shameful source of my pleasure.

When I bought my first vibrator, I remember rushing home, hoping that the house would be empty so that I could enjoy some time with my new purchase.

As luck would have it, the house was unoccupied; my parents were still at work, my brother was probably off with his mates in some garage, practicing to be the next big rock sensation, and my goody-two shoes (as I thought) sister was probably pouring over her books in the library. Excitedly, I ripped my new toy from its packaging, inserted the batteries and, pausing only to pull the curtains, I threw myself on my bed, hitched up my skirt, yanked off my knickers and set about myself.

The result was almost disappointingly instantaneous. I came almost as soon as the buzzing tip touched my clit. I came, moaning and shaking. In my defence, I was so excited, my anticipation almost certainly contributed to my near instant climax.

That first vibrator wasn’t the quietest I’ve ever had. As a result, it’s use was limited to when the house was empty, but it gave many hours of pleasure before it finally moved to the great sex-shop in the sky.

When my sex life expanded to include other people, I discovered that wanking wasn’t just a solitary pleasure, it could be a shared joy.

The first time I wanked for someone was an awakening. I’d gone back to my boyfriend’s and we took advantage of his parents being out. After I’d sucked him off he put his head between my thighs. His tongue worked its magic on me, taking me deliciously close to a climax. Almost, but not quite. For some reason, on that particular occasion, he couldn’t quite take me over the brink.

When he fucked me, it was as good as it always was but, for some reason, I still couldn’t quite get there. When he came, I was still randy, still bursting with sexual energy. He suggested I finish myself off.

I was nervous. I’d never wanked openly before. It was exciting; having someone there. Knowing he was watching me gave it an added fillip. As it happened, that was all I needed to make that final connection, to drive me over the edge, to come hard and loud as he encouraged me. It really opened my eyes (figuratively that is, they were screwed tightly shut at the time) as to how wanking, far from being a solo, secretive activity could be a fabulously intense shared experience. Wanking, at least when in the presence of a partner, was not something that had to be done in secret, it could be done openly and was a huge turn-on for both the wanker and the watcher.

Which brings me to the present. Master C, like just about every partner I’ve had, loves to watch me wank, and I, being the shameless exhibitionist that I am, love putting on a show for Him. I love the fact that Hetakes so much pleasure from my own. I get off knowing that He is rock hard as I finger my cunt or fuck myself with one of my toys. Sometimes, when I come, He’ll fuck my brains out. At other times, the show I have put on has been too much for Him and He blows a huge load of cum over me; an outcome that, as often as not, triggers yet another climax for me.

Sometimes, however, wanking is still a solitary experience. There are times when I’m randy and Master C isn’t around to give me release I need. Sometimes I will deny myself, enduring the frustration until Master C gets home and can give me a thorough seeing-to. The denial and suppressed frustration makes the sensations when He eventually fucks me even more intense. Most often though, the need proves to be too great and I’ll dig out my toys or use my fingers to bring myself off.

Nowadays, of course, wanking doesn’t need to be confined to my bedroom, nor does it need to be silent. I can wank in the bedroom, or in the shower, or on the sofa, or (weather permitting) I can even wank in the garden and, if I’m feeling really daring, I can wank on public transport. The garden and in public excepted, I can give full voice to my pleasure; moaning, perhaps even screaming as the sensations overwhelm me.

I can use my toys. I can use my fingers. Sometimes I will use a combination of both. Ultimately, the method by which I get myself off is entirely down to my mood (although sometimes suggestions from the “audience” will be considered). Far from being something to be ashamed of, wanking is an activity to enjoy, to relish, to luxuriate in; whether it be strictly for my own pleasure, or for a partner’s “benefit”.

I’ve been a wanker for well over half my life so far, and I intend to be a wanker for a very long time to come.

#MasturbationMonday

The humble hand-job


The hand-job is an often overlooked aspect of sexual activity; which is slightly ironic since, for many of us, it was the first overtly sexual act that we ever performed on another person. In my own particular case, I was 14 when I did it.

There was someone extremely exciting about the whole thing; the feeling of his cock growing hard in my hand,the moans of pleasure as I teased him with my fingers, the stiffening of his body and increasing raggedness of his breathing as his climax approached, and then the explosive release of his load when I finally took him past of no return.

Similarly, feeling his fingers pump in and out, twisting around inside me, stretching me as he attempted to work another inside my cunt really got me going. When his thumb pressed against my clit, my orgasm was so intense I thought I might faint.

For me, much of the enjoyment came from discovering the types of touches that drove him wild and then learning to prolong proceedings as much as possible; teasing, almost torturing him until he could take no more.

Of course, it wasn’t all one way traffic. I enjoy being teased too. Fingers driven skilfully into my cunt combined with clit being rubbed and flicked will give me an orgasm every bit as enjoyable as one resulting from a bloody good fucking. For the first few months as a sexually active person, until I discovered the joys of having him go down on me, every orgasm I experienced was either as a result of either his fingers or mine.

Today, the hand-job still plays an important part of my sexual repertoire; sometimes as part of foreplay, and sometimes as an event in its own right. Still the aim is the same, to give Master C as much pleasure as possible, and delaying his release for as long as possible. In the same way, Master C will skilfully use His fingers to take me to the brink of climax and then hold me there, hovering on the precipice until He decides whether or not it is time for me to come..

Of course, since those early days, I’ve also added my mouth and my boobs to my arsenal if ‘weapons’ that can be employed. Hand-jobs and blow-jobs work particularly well in tandem, but sometimes there is a lot of fun to be had from reverting back to those more “innocent” days of early sexual exploration.

Mutual masturbation can be a highly enjoyable experience; having Master C’s fingers working inside my cunt as I’m jerking Him off, both of us cuddled together can, in its own way, be every bit as intimate, sometimes even more so, than an intense fucking.

It also has the advantage of being something that can be done, almost blatantly in a public situation, for example on a train or in a cinema. A strategically placed jacket, a surreptitious undoing of the flies and you’re pretty much good to go.

Hands, and in particular fingers, are so much more versatile compared to cocks, cunts and tongues, and touch is such an important sense. The hand-job is almost an intrinsic part of sex-play, be it on our own, for our own pleasure, or with a partner. Far from being a solitary experience, masturbation can be a wonderfully shared source of pleasure, so let’s hear it for those wonderfully flexible digits that have been the source of so much pleasure.

#WickedWednesday Kink of the Week

Fingers


Fingers are such versatile things. My own fingers have given me immense pleasure innumerable times over the last 30 plus years. The effect that someone else’s fingers can have on me though, well…

I am an immensely tactile person. I love touching and I especially love being touched. From the first time a boy ever put his hand up my top to squeeze my boobs, or slipped a finger inside my knickers before sliding it up inside my cunt, I have been utterly at their mercy. Even now, as much as I love the attentions of a nice, thick, hard cock or a skilfully applied tongue, it is frequently a partner’s fingers that most often reduces me to quivering, gooey mess.

Sometimes it’s the way they are used them to squeeze, pinch and tug my nipples; rolling the rough pads of the thumbs over their tips as I am being fucked hard from behind. On other occasions it’s the way they are forced them up inside my cunt, twisting around inside me, being fucked with those wonderfully dextrous digits before having them fed them to me, covered in my own juices. At other times it can be the way they are used them to tease me, when I’m tied and blindfolded, helpless, unable to tell what will happen next, but loving every touch, however fleeting or prolonged, however light or forceful.

I will never get enough of a tongue on my clit, nor will I ever get too much of having a cock in my cunt, arse or mouth; but when it comes to the sheer flexibility of the things they can do to me, and for me, I will always love the attentions of the fingers.

#MasturbationMonday

I touch myself


Master C loves to watch me bring myself to orgasm and, fortunately, I love to put on a show for him.

Enjoyable as a good wank is, there’s something undeniably hot about knowing that someone is watching you and is getting off to you getting yourself off.

When I come, I lick my juices off my fingers and then accept Master C’s cock as He wanks Himself off into my mouth; rewarding me with a thick load of cum for turning Him on with my show.

It’s an experience that I find particularly hot.

Does Master C think of me when He wanks? I don’t know, and to be honest, it doesn’t really matter. What goes on in His mind to add to the sensory experience and help Him come is up to him. It might be me, it might be Jessica Alba, it may even be me and Jessica Alba if He’s really lucky.

So who or what do I think about when I’m wanking? It all depends really.

Sometimes I’ll be having a particularly salacious daydream. This may involve Master C or “The Other Guy”, it may involve a celebrity, it may just be a faceless other person, it doesn’t matter. In this case the thought comes first, the thought causes the wank; I use my fingers and/or toys to give some substance to the daydream, to give it a little more realness. If I’m imagining that Master C/Ryan Gosling/nameless stranger is fucking me, I want to feel something in whatever hole my daydream has me being fucked in. The daydream provides the backdrop while my fingers/toys bring it to life.

Usually though, it’s the other way around; I’ll begin to play with myself and then I’ll conjure up something in my mind to give it something to work with and connect to the sensations coming from my boobs or my cunt. I may remember a particularly good shag that I’ve had. Perhaps it was the setting that made it special rather than the fuck itself. It may or may not involve Master C. It may or may not involve a guy at all; sometimes my hottest fantasies are those where I’m with “The Girl” or possibly even another girl. The sex I’m having in my head may be soft and romantic, or it could be hard, rough, verging on brutal. Sometimes I’ll imagine a one-on-one scene, at other times I’ll imagine multiple partners, be they people I know or total strangers.

The fantasy fits my mood. If I want to enjoy a long, slow wank, I’ll picture something tender and protracted. If I want to get off in a hurry, I’ll imagine something rough and urgent.

The fact is, there is a wank for every mood, and a fantasy for every wank, all I have to do is match them up in my head.

#MasturbationMonday

Think of a number


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

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

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

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

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

What exactly counts as a sexual partner?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#MasturbationMonday

Taking Him in hand


Let’s be honest, there are times when our body lets us down; we’re tired, stressed, or, God forbid, just not really in the mood for sex. Yes, I know it may come as a shock, but even the most insatiable sluts sometimes have their off days.

Of course, just because we aren’t really up for getting down, it doesn’t mean we can’t still give Him a good time.

The good old hand-job often seems like a neglected act in a couple’s sexual repertoire, which is strange given that, if you are like me, it was probably the first overtly sexual act that a lot of us women (or girls as we were back then) ever performed on a guy. Long, long before I lost my virginity, and before I became the cock-sucking addict that I am, I loved stroking guy’s cocks. I loved making the guy I was with hard, making him lose control, and eventually firing off a load. It was such a hot experience just knowing that I could do that to a guy and, even though I moved on to “bigger and better” things, it’s still something I love to do.

I’ve said before how much I enjoy being responsible for getting a guy hard. There are times, either as a result of one or more of the reasons listed above, or simply because I want to do something nice for Master C, when I will fall back on this most wonderfully simple method of pleasing Him. There is something extremely gratifying knowing that what I am doing the cause of that reaction as His cock responds to my touch; getting longer, thicker, stiffer. I love how Master C reacts when I touch Him in different ways; stroking His shaft, teasing the tip, playing with His balls, running my fingertip over His frenulum. Each touch elicits its own response. The sigh, the moan, the involuntary flinch, the sharp intake of breath.

As I lie beside Him, my hand sliding up and down His shaft, I love to feel the tension in His body build as His pleasure increases.

Again, as a submissive woman, I love the reversal of control. I can decide how much to tease, I can decide when to let Master C cum. I can speed up, slow down, I can change the pressure of my grip, concentrate on another area. Each action of mine has its corresponding reaction. The laws of physics apply to sex every but as much as they do everywhere else.

Sometimes, as I stroke those lovely, hard, proud inches of flesh, I like to tell Master C naughty stories; encounters from my past, trysts with other men or women, things I want Him to do to me, things that remind Him of what an insatiable filthy little slut I am. I know the effect this has on Master C; I know how much my words turn Him on.

As His climax nears, I love the way His cock swells and pulses in my hand. I love the way His lower abdomen tightens. I love the way His breathing strains as Master C does everything He can to delay the inevitable.

Where should He cum? For once, the choice is mine. Do I let Him fire his load into the air, letting it fall where ever it lands? Do I aim His cock so that His eruption lands on my skin, allowing me to more fully savour His moment of release? Do I move, place the tip of His lovely straining cock at my lips so Master C can fill my mouth with His rich, creamy essence?

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; I go with what feels right at the time. The important thing is not the manner of His final explosion, only that I have brought Master C there; pleasured Him, served Him. His release is my reward and when Master C moans my name, when the pent-up tension drains from His body, when He gathers me to Him and holds me in His strong arms and calls me His “good girl”, I know Master C is pleased with me, and that’s what it was all about.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Vicarious Sex


I can’t actually remember the circumstances that led to me discovering my brother’s stash of well thumbed porno mags, but I remember my reaction when I found them. By the standard of what you can find with absolutely no effort online today, they were extremely tame. The few hard-core examples mostly had any actual penetration obscured with coloured ovals. The rest were simply your run of the mill skin mags like Mayfair, Escort, Penthouse and the like. The images in them were almost exactly the same as you would find in issues of the same publications today; only this being the mid 1990s, the girls in them had considerably more pubic hair than their contemporary counterparts. There was never any doubt as to whether the girl in question was a natural blonde or not.

I sat transfixed, slowly turning the pages, marvelling at how sexy and how confident these women were. The comments next to the pictures seemed to emphasise how much they were in control of their sexual desires and appetites. It would be another decade before I would have sex with a woman; I didn’t consider myself to be bisexual then, hell, I wasn’t even sexual back then, but those sexy photos turned me on.

If the images were arousing, I wasn’t at all prepared for the letters. There were descriptions of people fucking, descriptions of guys getting their cocks sucked and eating girls’ cunts out, descriptions of girls getting eaten out and sucking guys cocks, descriptions of orgasms, descriptions of threesomes, orgies, outdoor sex, anal sex, sex, sex and more fucking, hot, wonderfully glorious sex. The words turned me on more than anything I had ever experienced before.

Needless to say, a couple of the magazines were secreted away before I returned the box to its hiding place. Once I’d exhausted a particular batch of “contraband” I’d return them and borrow another couple, slowly working my way through his entire collection which, I discovered, much to my delight, was frequently being added to.

As I’ve mentioned before, when I first discovered my brother’s illicit treasure trove, I had yet to discover the joys of wanking. Reading all those marvellously filthy words turned me on immensely, yet frustrated me almost in equal measure. Wanking, and in particular, girls wanking seemed to be the one thing those letters omitted. I wasn’t even aware that girls could wank, let alone have any inkling as to the mechanics of how it could be done.

When, at last, I’d made that particular discovery, the magazines took on a whole new resonance; they became the fuel for my fantasies. I would lie in bed, fingering myself into a frenzy, imagining I was one of those wantonly liberated women who fucked, and licked and sucked any cock that took my fancy. In the safety of my bedroom, with the door firmly locked, I practiced the erotic poses of the girls in the pictures in front of the mirror. As I grew bolder, I would wank myself, watching my reflection, learning how my body responded to arousal, slightly amused and slightly horrified by my facial expressions as I came.

Those magazines taught me that there was no shame to be derived from being a woman that enjoyed sex and being confident in her sexual identity. In the three years it took me between sucking my first cock and finally losing my virginity, I fucked vicariously through those beautifully vivid and deliciously filthy descriptions of sex.

To this day, I still don’t know if my brother was aware he wasn’t the only one in our house getting off to those magazines.

#MasturbationMonday

A return to form


As a result of a nasty bout of lurgy that’s been going round, I haven’t been feeling particularly well recently. As a result, you would be definitely correct if you were to say that I haven’t been feeling myself (pun intended).

Well, it seems that my libido may just be making a comeback.

I awoke from a nap this afternoon to find myself, much to my surprise, feeling decidedly randy. It has been a couple of weeks since I last experienced this, so it was very much a pleasant surprise. Given how unusual this has been of late, I decided it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

My nipples responded almost immediately to my touch, quickly becoming sensitive and stiff. By the time my fingers made their way to my cunt, I was so wet that I encountered almost no resistance as I slid first one, then two, up inside me.

My body responded quite readily to the stimulation. A lovely feeling of sexual tension and arousal quickly spread through me. I’d almost forgotten how good it feels.

I took my time, enjoying every slow thrust and twist of my fingers, teasing my clit with my other hand. Muscle memory quickly took hold and I closed my eyes, allowing my fingers to do their own thing, letting my body respond in its own way.

The sensations quickly grew, but my fingers kept up their steady pace, neither quickening nor slowing; now changing the pressure on my clit as it throbbed beneath them.

My orgasm, when it came, was short but deliciously intense, gripping me in its embrace and tossing me like a leaf in a gale. The climax itself lasted no longer than a few heartbeats, but the warm, satisfied afterglow continued for for what seemed like an age afterwards.

It was my first orgasm in over two weeks and FUCK, was it a good one.

I think it’s fair to say I clearly needed it.

#WickedWednesday