Sharing the love


We met Lucy and Pete (not their real names) several years ago through fabswingers (don’t bother looking for us, we are no longer members). Lucy was looking for her first experience of being with another woman and Pete wanted to watch. We exchanged emails, swapped naughty pictures and arranged to meet at a local pub to break the ice.

Pete was in his mid-thirties, about the same age as Master C. He was about 6′, fair haired and not bad looking in a fairly non-descript kind of way. He did have a very sexy laugh however. Lucy was quite a bit younger than us, in her late-twenties, about 5’2″. Short, bobbed, dark brown hair and had just the faintest hint of a Scandinavian accent.

We chatted easily, got on well, and, ultimately agreed to meet up at ourselves at the weekend and “see how things went”.

On the afternoon in question, my preparations were meticulous. I showered, moisturised, made sure I was nice and tidy “downstairs”, spent absolutely ages picking out sexy undies, and a nice outfit that conveyed relaxed and sensual rather than in your face, I want to fuck you, slut. Master C, being a typical male, was no use at all, insisting that whatever I wore would be fine as it wouldn’t be on very long anyway. For my part, I told Him to fuck right off and banished Him downstairs to make sure the house looked presentable and that the drinks and snacks were sorted. Sometimes even the most subservient of sluts have their limits.

I was excited. My cunt had been moist since the moment I’d woken up. I was also nervous. Not at the idea of being with Lucy; I’d been with girls on numerous occasions. No, I was nervous because Pete and, more importantly, Master C would be watching. I’d always made a point of describing my girl-on-girl experiences to Master C in full and graphic detail, it always turned Him on to hear about them, but He’d never witnessed such a thing before. I hoped the reality would live up to his mental images of me. The fact that Lucy had never been with a woman added to my nervousness. I wanted to put on a great show for the guys while ensuring that Lucy had a memorable (for the right reasons) first lesbian experience.

By the time they arrived, I was a mess of nervous anticipation. The guys sat on the armchairs on one side of the room, and I sat next to Lucy on the sofa opposite them. We chatted, drank a little to loosen any inhibitions and made it clear to Lucy that things would only proceed as and when she felt comfortable.

As we chatted, I occasionally stroked her leg. I could feel how tense she was. After a couple of drinks, she noticeably relaxed and, tentatively at first, began to reciprocate. The feel of her hand on my thighs made my breathing deepen, my pulse race and my cunt moisten. Eventually I asked her if I could kiss her. She gave Pete a nervous glance and he nodded his agreement. I touched my lips to hers. She returned the kiss, tentatively at first, but with growing confidence.

As we kissed, I ran my hand up and stroked her boobs through her top. She kissed me with increased passion and I felt her nipple stiffen beneath my palm.

Being the considerate hostess, I suggested that, in her own time, she might want to undress me, at least as far as my undies and, I would do the same to her.

Our tops were first to go, and I encouraged her to explore my skin, partially by demonstrating, and also by telling her how good what she was doing felt. Our skirts were next to go and we continued to explore each other’s bodies with our fingers and lips; me becoming less anxious and Lucy growing in confidence with every kiss and caress.

At some point I removed my bra and wriggled out of my knickers. I figured it would put Lucy more at ease if I were the first one to be fully naked. She complimented my boobs and I invited her to kiss and lick them.

As she did, I helped her out of her bra. I guided her hand between my legs. Essentially, I used her hand to wank myself off, but the effect was the same, as she sucked and kissed my boobs, I came as I pressed her fingers to my clit.

Having had a climax of my own. I removed her knickers and began kissing her, exploring her body with my lips and tongue. I asked if I could taste her. She nodded. I slid off the sofa and moved between her legs. Her mound was smooth and her cunt tasted heavenly.

She came quickly. I like to think I have certain talents in that department, but I suspect the novelty of the situation contributed to the situation. I kept licking and she came again, more powerfully; her juices flowed copiously over my face.

Finally she begged me to stop. I climbed back on the sofa and held her as her body trembled. After a while, I asked her if she would like to do the same to me. With a slight hesitation, she agreed.

For a first-timer, under my encouraging guidance, she did a pretty good job of eating me out. The orgasm she brought me to wasn’t the most powerful I’ve ever had, but it was still delicious.

After we’d finished, I remembered about the guys. They were sitting there, stroking the biggest hard-ons that I had ever seen. Lucy and I laughed about how we’d had all the fun and the guys had had to contend with being our audience.

An idea came to me. It was going further than we’d agreed, but I decided to test the water. I asked her if, assuming Pete was happy, she would like to suck Master C’s cock. She gave her man an almost pleading look. When he smiled and nodded, she kissed me and made her way over to Master C.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Master C with another woman and it was clear that He was enjoying the attention of Lucy’s mouth. I was so aroused that by the time Master C shot his load down Lucy’s throat, I’d fingered myself to another climax.

Master C then offered Pete my services. As I sucked on his cock, I noticed Master C and Lucy were cuddled together, kissing and caressing as they watched me feast on Pete. When he came, his rich thick load flooded my mouth. I savoured every last drop, sucking him dry.

All in all, it was an extremely hot and very satisfying introduction to the world of swinging. The fuck Master C gave me after Lucy and Pete had left was painfully intense and felt so good.

That was the first of many sessions we were to have together with Lucy and Pete until they moved to London a couple of years ago. Even now, we are still in touch and we visit each other when we can. Well be heading down to London later in the year and I know Master C is looking forward to that trip as much as I am.

#WickedWednesday
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Finger fucked at 35,000 feet


I have a confession to make: I am a late 30-something grown woman and I still have a comfort blanket. It’s from IKEA, red and made from a fleecy material. It’s soft, warm, snuggly and I love it.

Well now, that’s all very interesting, but what exactly has this revelation got to do with the subject of this post?” I hear you ask. Well, that’s a very good question, so please let me explain.

When I say I have a comfort blanket, I’m not trying to imply that I take it everywhere with me like some red-haired, adult female version of Linus from the Peanuts cartoon. Usually I tend to snuggle it around me on the sofa in the evenings, especially during winter.

However, if I’m going on a long journey, say travelling for more than a couple of hours, be it on a train, or a plane, or even a long car journey, I like to take it with me so I can wrap it round me and snooze. I am a pretty lousy travelling companion, as any of my friends and or colleagues will tell you, mainly because I tend to spend most of the actual travelling time dozing.

Anyway, this particular incident relates to when Master C and I were flying home from a fortnight’s holiday in Greece. The flight involves being on a plane for the guts of four hours which, naturally, means the blanket came on holiday too, and made an appearance on the flight home as I adopted my customary travelling habit: as the wheels lift, my head goes back and Zzzzz…

Can you see where this is going yet? Is the connection becoming clearer?

At some point in the flight, my slumber was rudely, but pleasantly interrupted. Under the blanket, I felt a hand slide up the inside of my leg and under my skirt. My head was already resting on Master C’s shoulder, but I snuggled in more closely as His fingers brushed the gusset of my knickers aside. Casually, I wriggled a little in my seat, opening my legs as much as it is possible to do in the confines of an airline economy seat, to give Him slightly easier access to his goal.

My juices were already flowing and I had to suppress a moan as Master C slipped his long, strong fingers between my lower lips, teasing the entrance to my cunt.

Whether it was coincidence (highly unlikely), or whether He planned it that way (almost certainly), just as Master C thrust his finger fully up inside me, a member of the cabin crew enquired if we wanded anything to drink. While I feigned sleep and tried not to show any outward reaction to the “come here” motion His finger was making inside my cunt, Master C just calmly informed the stewardess that we were fine and didn’t need anything, thank you very much.

I turned slightly in my seat towards Him, allowing myself to open up a little bit more, and Master C took this as his cue to ram a second finger up me.

Again, I had to fight back the urge to moan. The fact that I was being so masterfully finger-fucked while, less than a foot away, both in front and behind me, my fellow travellers were (I hoped) completely ignorant of what was happening almost under their noses (pretty literally in the case of those in the row behind us) was a huge turn on.

As always in situations where I have to remain quiet, the restraint required to avoid making any sound amplifies the intensity of the sensations. As powerful feelings grew inside me, I had to bite my lip so as not to cry out. At any moment I was expecting a member of the cabin staff to appear and reprimand us for disturbing the other passengers. That too magnified my arousal level.

Master C’s fingers continued their relentless probing. I struggled to contain myself. My fingers tightened on the armrest as the pressure for release grew increasingly stronger.

A convulsive shudder ran through me as I came, my cunt gripping His fingers tight inside me. I wanted to moan, I wanted to cry out, I wanted to give full voice to my orgasm but I couldn’t. To make matters worse, the very act of suppression only made my climax more powerful.

The tremors that ran through me almost had to have been visible if anyone had been looking. They continued for an age, even after Master C’s fingers were gone from inside me. As he extracted His arm from beneath the blanket, and wrapped it around my shoulder, He lightly brushed His fingers against my lips. The scent, the taste of myself on His fingers was intoxicating; I almost came again just from that touch.

Eventually my body settled down and I dozed off again into a very contented sleep.

Later, as the plane taxied to the stand at the airport, the pilot expressed his customary hope that we had had a pleasant flight. I think it’s fair to say that I most certainly had.

#WickedWednesday

Punishment fucks


One of the reasons I enjoy being such a bad girl is that I love being punished. There’s something about the prospect of getting my arse well and truly paddled until the tears flow from my eyes, followed by a brutal, merciless fuck.

Fortunately for me, Master C is always ready to chastise me for my misdeeds. If I’m being brutally honest, I regularly give Him reasons for disciplining me.

Of course, the most severe, and of course deserving, punishment comes from those times that I am “unfaithful” to Him with “The Girl ” or one of my other girlfriends.

Being unable to lie to Master C, I automatically have to admit to these indiscretions, knowing full well that I will be deservedly punished for them.

Usually, I am ordered to strip, to stand there naked and vulnerable as Master C interrogates me thoroughly; gleaning ever last sordid detail of my illicit encounter. As I recount my guilt, He gives no indication of what my punishment will be. Will He let me off with nothing more than sound spanking? Will He use the the paddle with its grooves that bite into my flesh? Or will He decide that my guilt deserves nothing less than the biting kiss of His belt? There is no way of knowing until I have fully admitted my guilt. Because I’m such a depraved little slut, the very uncertainty around my punishment makes my cunt tingle.

When I have fully unburdoned, I take my position, bent over the arm of the sofa and I bite my trembling lower lip in anticipation of what is to come next.

A spanking, a paddling or a thrashing, it ultimately makes no difference. Sometimes Master C will make me count out the strokes as my arse cheeks redden and sting and tears begin to well in my eyes.

Each slap, each stroke hurts more than the last, my sobs become increasingly pain filled, my cunt grows increasingly wet.

Eventually He stops, but the punishment has not finished. Master C begins to fuck me. There is no foreplay. There is no need, my cunt is already soaked. The is no tenderness; Master C simply grabs my hips and fucks me at full force.

As He fucks me, rough and hard, Master C pulls my hair and reminds me that “The Girl” couldn’t give me what He’s giving me now; how she can’t give me a cock, she can’t fuck me, she can’t abuse my cunt or arse the way He is doing.

Of course, Master C is right; my girlfriends can’t fuck me the way He does, they can’t use my body like He does, they have no cock to fill me, stretch me, abuse me with. And, as Master C punishes me, I become grateful for His reminders, I am grateful for His cock, I am grateful that His punishment has made me realise I need a man, I need Him, to fuck me.

Suddenly His cock is withdrawn. Feeling painfully abused and empty, I kneel on the floor before him to await my final humiliation.

“Have you learned your lesson, slut?” Master C demands, slapping my face firmly, yet tenderly with His hand.

“Yes,” I sob, my eyes filled with tears once more.

Master C doesn’t ask me if this is the last time I will stray with a woman, we both know I will; to suggest otherwise would be a lie and we both know it. Instead He strokes His cock, His breathing becomes laboured until finally He erupts, covering my face in a thick load of cum.

Sitting down, Master C watches me as I gather as much of His cum as I can with my fingers before licking them clean.

As I kneel there before Him, punished, abused and humiliated, Master C smiles and gently pats the cushion beside Him, inviting me next to Him.

As I snuggle, still naked, against Him, Master C puts His arm around me and holds me tight and I know I am forgiven, until the next time.

All relationships have their “traditions”; the unburdening of my various transgressions and accepting the appropriate punishment for them is very much one of the central traditions of ours.

#WickedWednesday

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

Aural sex


For me, sex is as much an auditory experience as it is a visual and physical one. The sounds of sex are myriad; from the barely audible, half murmured sweet nothings, to the triumphant orgasmic exclamations that irritate the fuck out of your neighbours. The best sex, in my opinion, engages all the senses, and that includes sound; a well timed moan from Master C or another partner can be as much of a turn-on as a passionate kiss. Sound has an important part to play at every stage of the process; from seduction to foreplay, through fucking and all the way up to climax and its aftermath.

Seduction:
Sometimes the way something is said is more important than the actual words themselves. The words, “I love you” when whispered huskily in my ear, the desire and hunger for me evident in His voice, can make my clothes vanish every bit as rapidly as a barked command to “Get naked! Bend over! And brace yourself!” Sometimes even a simple enquiry like, “I’m going upstairs to lie down, care to join me?” is enough to have me following Master C upstairs like a puppy, shedding garments expectantly as I go. Ultimately, the mood and desire of the seductee is as important as the words of the seductor. If I’m in a receptive mood, Master C can seduce me with nothing more than a glance.

Foreplay:
This is where sound, be it the spoken word or incoherent exclamations, can make so much difference. Being told how wet I am, how hard I’m making Him,  long with a vivid description of just what Master C intends to do to me, and how hard He’s going to do it, is guaranteed to turn my arousal levels up to 11 and have me begging to be used as His personal fuck toy.

It’s not just about the dirty talk, the commands, and the lurid descriptions, however. As often as not it’s those little involuntary noises Master C makes. The sharp intakes of breath as I drag my fingernails lightly over His skin, the moans as I wrap my lips around His lovely cock, the sounds of my sucking Him, all keep my juices flowing, and let me know how much Master C is enjoying my attentions.

Fucking:
Fucking produces its own delicious cacophony. From the squelching of my cunt, as Master C pounds it with His deliciously thick cock, and the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh, to the creaking of the bed beneath us, and the headboard banging against the wall; they all contribute to the overall experience. Then there’s the moans of pleasure, the increasingly laboured breathing, my increasingly strident demands to be fucked harder and Master C’s equally vocal reminders of what a dirty slut I am. All of these produce a positive feedback loop that intensifies the sensations with every cunt squelching thrust of His cock and slap of His balls.

Orgasm:
I can be fairly loud when I come. I’m not talking porn star banshee wailing, but I do like to give voice to my climax. Almost perversely, sometimes, when I’m being drunkenly fucked in a dark alleyway, and there’s a risk of being discovered, the need to keep quiet so as not to betray my pressence can actually intensify the sensations and make me come even harder; but I digress…

The sounds of Master C’s strained breathing as His climax approaches is extremely gratifying, but the one sound that always makes me melt is when Master C moans my name just at the point He explodes inside me, then calls me His “good girl”. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me feel more appreciated as a woman than that simple acknowledgement of me as a sexually being.

The aftermath:
When we’re snuggled together in post-coital exhaustion, sounds still abound. There’s the sound of our hearts pounding in our chests, our breathing slowly returning to normal and the occasional whispered endearments.

From start to finish, sound has contributed to and intensified the sensations, heightening the pleasure for both participants, and yet it is an often overlooked aspect of the sexual sensory experience. For me however, it is an amazingly important element that is essential to my overall arousal and ultimate enjoyment.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The things He does


When He looks at me, I feel His hunger and desire for me. I know that He wants me.

When He reaches for me, I feel myself responding to His need. I know I want Him as much as He wants me.

When He kisses me, I feel myself melt. My passion rises. My want for Him increases. I feel myself grow increasingly moist.

When He undresses me, the anticipation rises. I want Him, I need Him and I can feel His need for me too.

When He explores my body with His fingers and lips, electricity flows through me. My passion ignites. A warm glow spreads through me.

When He licks me, my clit pulses. The walls of my cunt and my womb contract as the pleasure takes hold.

When He makes me cum, I long to feel Him inside me. I want to feel His lovely cock take me.

When He enters me, I surrender to Him. I savour the sensations as He fills me.

When He fucks me, I know that I am His. He claims my body with His cock, users me for His pleasure.

When He moans my name as He cums, I know He loves me. In that moment we are one.

When He slips out of me, I feel empty but satisfied. His cum trickles out of me, a reminder of our passion.

When He holds me in His arms, I feel safe and secure. He is my protector and provider as well as my lover.

When He is with me, He makes me complete. I am who I am because of Him.

The joys of sext


Now, I accept that sexting has come in for a lot of bad press. Mostly due to people (generally young girls, but not always) taking nude or sexually explicit photographs of themselves for the benefit of a partner, only to have these photos wind up on the internet through a breach of trust on the part of the recipient. Fortunately, I have never been on the receiving end of so-called “revenge porn” but I know people who have and, to say that it is not nice, is a gross understatement.

But sexting isn’t all bad; far from it. Used in a responsible way, it can be a deeply erotic and highly extended form of foreplay.

Take the following scenario for example. Master C was recently in London. Because I had been in meetings with clients most of the day, my phone has been turned off for the majority of it. Every time I switched my phone back on, there has been a flood of highly salacious and very distracting texts from Him.

Some were simply one word, eg:

Slut!

Others were much, much more explicit, eg:

I’m going to thrash your slutty little arse and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to sit down or walk straight.

I must confess that that one was a particular favourite; it definitely got me more than just a wee bit moist.

To be fair, the texts started not long after Master C left the house at half past four that particular morning; and they continued at irregular intervals through the day. Some mildly suggestive, some highly explicit, some telling me that I should be doing certain particular things like fingering my cunt before my next my next client meeting, or removing my knickers and making sure that someone, be it a client, a colleague, or a random passer-by gets to have a flash of my cunt. Some have simply been general enquiries about how my day has been going.

The whole point of it though, was to turn me on; to get me so frustrated and worked up that when by the time Master C got home, my cunt was soaked and I was absolutely desperate for Him to fuck me, or indeed, do whatever the fuck He wanted to me. Whether or not Master C actually did some, any, or all of the things He told me He would do to me is irrelevant; it was simply all about heightening my arousal, building my anticipation, putting me in the mood.

Master C knows exactly the effect that a message like:

I’m going to bend you over the arm of the sofa, thrash you with my belt then pound the fuck out of your cunt and arse!

will have on me, or that:

I’m going to choke you with my cock!

will have me instantly wanting to find the quiet seclusion of a toilet cubicle somewhere so I can frig myself into orgasmic oblivion.

But that, you see, is the only real rule to our little game; namely that no matter how aroused, how frustrated, how desperate for the release of orgasm I may be, unless I am explicitly commanded to do so by Master C, I am not allowed to do anything about it; I must endure and suffer until I am in His presence again, and He can then use me, or not, as He so desires.

Normally what happens at this point is a short, sharp, frustration driven fuck that has us both cumming before we’ve even got each other’s clothes off. The intensity is overpowering. There is no need for any further foreplay. It is simply a fuck of animal like passion, each of us finally being allowed to give in to the frustrated arousal and use the other for almost instant relief and gratification.

After that, things will settle down. There will be kissing and hugging, teasing, licking and sucking, and almost definitely a whole lot more fucking before the evening is over.

Of course, sometimes, having been up so early, and getting home so late, Master C is too tired. If I have been an obedient slut during the course of the day, and done everything that He has demanded of me, Master C may allow me to cum for Him and, if I’m particularly lucky and have been an exceptionally good and obedient little slut, He may also let me suck His cock.

If I haven’t behaved to His satisfaction. I may end up going to bed even more frustrated with nothing more to show for my efforts than a very hot, red, stinging arse.

However, assuming Mater C decides to relent and give me what I hoped He’d give me; when the dust settles and we collapse in a sweaty, post orgasmic heap, all of that will have stemmed from me sending him a simple:

Hope you have a good trip xx

Yes, when done safely and responsibly, sexting can definitely be a lot of fun.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Casual sex


I think it’s probably safe to say that Master C‘s and my sex-drives are pretty equally matched, so in terms of the question:

How do you cope when your level of sexual desire doesn’t match that of your partner?

I don’t think this has ever been an issue for us. I suspect the fact that we are quite openly poly would mean that we might not notice even if our sex-drives did get out of whack. And “whack” is almost certainly what I’d get if I did anything about it.

I’ve frequently admitted to the fact I’ve had my share of casual sex and, generally, I’ve enjoyed it. Let’s be honest, so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions, it does have number of things going for it.

First there’s the excitement. There’s something exhilarating about that first, will we, won’t we, oh fuck it, just do me moment. Sexual excitement is a powerful and intoxicating thing. It’s an affirmation that we are sexual beings and that someone finds us attractive and wants us, physically. It’s primal, it’s the mating and breeding instinct (even though, in the main, the breeding part isn’t what we’re looking for). It’s the urge for the male to spread his seed far and wide; it’s the need for the woman to find the strongest, fittest potential mate. It’s possibly one of the most ancient urges in us all and that’s what makes it so exciting.

Then there’s the novelty. At its most basic, at the end of the day, sex is simply a means by which the male of the species impregnates the female. But, in reality, it is so much more than that. No two partners are ever the same. How they touch us, how they make us feel, how they bring us to orgasm (or not), their technique, and yes, sometimes their size all add to the experience. Some experiences are good, some not so, but everyone is different.

There are many interactions between men and women, but sex, when it is done right, is the most pleasurable. And as humans, we have an insatiable hunger for new experiences and, since there are so many variables in what makes sex pleasurable, taking our pleasure from multiple partners can seem a very attractive proposition.

As I said, I’ve had casual sex and I’ve enjoyed it too, but it also has it’s disadvantages.

First, while novelty and variety bring excitement, they also bring unfamiliarity. Unless you only ever had sex with someone once (and I’ll admit, I have done that), the first sex you have with someone, however novel, however exciting, is extremely unlikely to be the best sex you have with someone. There’s just no getting away from the fact that the first time you have sex with a new partner, you just don’t know your way around their body. The basics are always broadly similar but it’s the differences, little things that turn us on that are only discovered through familiarity that make the difference between good sex and great sex.

Also, for me anyway, I find the best sex of all comes from there being a deep (emotional as well as physical) connection with the person I’m having sex with. I’m not saying you can’t have a connection with a casual fuckbuddy, but I’ve never experienced one on the same level as the connection I experience with Master C.

The other drawback, again for me at least, is condoms. However, unless you want to play Russian-Roulette with sexually transmitted diseases, when indulging yourself with multiple random partners, they are a necessary evil. Granted, some people don’t use them, that’s up to them and I don’t judge them but, for me, they are an absolute necessity. I will happily dispense with them for the purposes of blow-jobs, but only Master C gets to fuck me without one.

Anyway, again, these are only my views, you are free to agree or disagree as you see fit. At the end of the day, sex is there to be enjoyed, and enjoy it I certainly do.  Casual sex allows me to (hopefully) enjoy the excitement and novelty that I described above, coupled with the fact I know that I will have to endure Master C‘s belt as punishment for my actions.

Having said that, no one knows my body, my tastes, my desires as well as Master C does. No one knows how to turn me on and turn me into an incoherent mess quite like Him. As much as I do enjoy casual sex, I enjoy what Master C gives me so much more. In fact, I’m now definitely looking forward to him getting home from work, so I can serve Him and enjoy His attentions..

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday