Blow-job art

There seems to be something of a theme with the current round of memes, but fortunately they focus on a topic that I never tire of, and that is the art of sucking cock. The current teaser on Quote Quest is no exception:

“A good blow job is fucking art. It’s like playing jazz piano blindfolded for an audience you’re desperate to please. It’s improvisation and communication and skill and practise and a whole lot of love.”

– Girl on the Net

I love sucking cock. It’s been over 30 years since I first sucked one, and I genuinely cannot remember how may different cocks I have wrapped my lips around.

Am I any good at it? Well, I would like to think I am, but it’s kind of hard to say. I’ve never had any complaints and, in the majority of cases, the owners of the cocks in question have been highly complimentary, but they could just have been being nice to me I guess. According to Master C, I am an Olympic medal standard cock-sucker and He frequently calls me His “good girl” when I have used my mouth to bring Him to climax; rewarding me with a wonderful rich mouthful of His manly essence. Ultimately, as a cock sucker, that is kind of the ultimate confirmation.

The problem, I find, is that when I’m in my rhythm, sucking a guy off as if our lives both depended on it, I find it hard to stop and ask for instruction. I have learned to take identify certain cues; cues that apply almost equally to some random guy I’ve never met before, to one of my more frequent partner, all the way through to Master C himself – the moans and sighs that they make, the involuntary flinches and twitches, the increasingly laboured breathing, the way they will grab my head and start to thrust their cock between my lips. sometime the recipient of the blow-job will tell me how good it feels; they will compliment me on my skills. That kind of talk will invariably be rewarded with me trying to up my game further and make it even more enjoyable.

With Master C, there is also the advantage of familiarity with both His cock and both its and His responses. I know exactly how He likes the slit to be teased, I know how He loves it when I take the head right to the back of my throat and make swallowing movements, I know how He likes me to drag my fingernails along the surface. Master C will often tell me how good it feels, how much He is enjoying what my mouth is making Him feel. He doesn’t actually need to; I have learned to read his unconscious vocalisations and involuntary movements, but it gives me a real sense of pride when He does. Let’s be honest here, no one is ever going to object to compliments, and I am no exception.

For me though, the greatest reward, the confirmation of my skill, is when the recipient of my cock-sucking repertoire fills my mouth with a thick load of cum. The male orgasm is such an inherently honest response that tells me that I have done this, I have made this happen; this eruption is my doing. I take a great satisfaction in bringing another person to orgasm, man or woman, but there is something about being rewarded with a mouthful of cum that is almost impossible to better; except when Master C moans my name the calls me His “good girl”, of course.

A penis for a day

It’s something I think about from time to time; what I would do if I had a penis for a day. It’s not that I wish I were a man; I most certainly do not. I love being a woman and, when it comes to sex, I love the fact that I have the receiving bits. I love the feeling of having my holes stuffed full of thick, hard cock, but I am fascinated by what sex feels like from a male perspective. After all, no matter how close a couple are, and how good at describing the sensations we feel, we can never actually what the other party experiences.

So, if I had a penis for a day, the first thing I’d do is spend time getting to know my new appendage; discovering what it likes, how it likes to be touched, how to prolong my pleasure.

Being no stranger to masturbation, I can, intellectually at least, understand for a guy to pleasure himself, but no matter how swollen my clit gets, rubbing it is never going to feel the same as having several inches of hard flesh that I can wrap my fingers around.

I’m pretty confident in my hand-job technique, and certainly, Master C assures me that I do a fantastic job, but I have no idea how it feels to him. Not that having a cock of my own would improve my hand-job skills per se; in the same way that knowing how my clit likes to be treated gives me no insight into what another woman likes, having a cock of my own wouldn’t tell me anything more about what Master C enjoys. It would, however, give me some insight as to how the different bits that guys have respond to stimuli.

Then there’s the male orgasm. I know what mine feels like, but what does it feel like for a guy to come? What does it feel like to have a thick load surge through them and shoot out the end? What does it feel like for him afterwards as his cock relaxes and returns to its relaxed state? I can only imagine what the differences between Master C’s climax and my own must feel like.

Then there’s sex. I know what it feels like to have a cock inside me, but what does it feel like to be inside the body of another person?

I guess, having got to know my penis, I would need to call upon one of my girl friends to discover how to use it. What does Master C feel when I wrap my lips around his cock and suck it? How would a girl’s mouth feel around my cock if I had one? What would it feel like to put my cock inside a woman, feeling the warm moisture of her cunt envelop me as I fuck her? How different does her arse feel from her cunt?

All these things are things that I know and enjoy from a woman’s perspective; sucking Master C’s cock, having him fuck me in my cunt or up my arse, but it would be fascinating, I think, to spend one day experiencing masturbation and sex the way guys experiences it, by having a cock for one day.

I could probably live quite happily without the peeing standing up, or running the risk of getting it caught in the zip of my jeans though.

Throat wank

With my arms restrained beside me, Master C tilts my head back. I dutifully open my mouth. The head of His cock slips between my lips, followed by the shaft. Master C pushes slowly and firmly into me, inch by thick, delicious inch of Him. And then that wonderful moment when His balls rest against my nose, His shortly trimmed pubic hair tickles my lips, and the swollen head of His cock lodges deep in my throat.

He stops; not because I can’t take any more, but because there is no more of Him to take. Every inch, every last fraction has been fed to me.

I am well trained, but I still gag slightly, choking around the thickness of His cock as it restricts my airway. Saliva fills my mouth and it is impossible to swallow. It trickles from the corners of my mouth, down my up-turned cheeks. Some of it dribbles into my nostrils, making it still harder to breath.

Master C’s cock begins to move; long, slow, deliberate and forceful strokes. I gasp for air each time He pulls back, filling my lungs, not knowing when my next breath will be allowed.

He pushes in. His hands go around my neck. His thumbs press down firmly, squeezing my neck between them and His cock. Master C holds me there for long breathless moments, each one seeming like an eternity, until He finally relents and pulls back.

I have mere seconds to exhale and refill my lungs before Master C repeats the process, each time starving me that little bit longer, each time making me more desperate, making each breath being sweeter than the one that preceded it.

And then, something new.

As Master C holds me at the deepest point of He traces the outline of His cock with His thumb and finger. I can feel every ridge, every contour of His cock as He runs His thumb along the shape of the shaft and over the head. I hear him groan. I feel His cock twitch. He works His thumb up and down my neck, rubbing His cock through my skin. He is wanking himself, wanking His cock inside my throat by pressing it through my neck.

Master C’s breathing deepens. His hips rock slightly, moving His cock in short thrusts as He presses down. His thumb concentrates on the ridge where the head joins the shaft; that spot that gives him so much pleasure when He takes himself in hand, or when I stroke him.

Those involuntary movements of His hips tell me Master C is getting close. His grip around my neck tightens as He tries to increase the pressure on His cock. My throat is raw. My jaw aches. He is so close.

I feel it first in His balls as they contract and tighten against my face. I can almost feel His cum surge through Him. A strangled gasp escapes from between Master C’s lips. His hands fall from my neck as He braces himself. He erupts, deep in my throat, far beyond my tastebuds.

I begin to choke. Mercifully He pulls out. I let my tongue trail over His shaft as Master C extracts himself from my throat.

Sobbing and gasping in air, I let him move me; lifting my head, placing a cushion beneath it, stroking my hair, making me comfortable and telling me I am His “good girl”.

I would smile at His words, but my jaw is too stiff.

He kisses me.

He holds me.

He restores me again.

A cock in the hand…

Like a lot of women (and a fair number of men), I have a fascination with the male reproductive organ. There is something slightly hypnotic about the way it undergoes its metamorphosis from the wrinkled, slightly comical, flaccid unaroused state into a full, raging, swollen hard-on. And, for me, there is nothing more satisfying than knowing that I am the reason for that glorious transformation. A hard-on cannot, after all, be faked, and I am always grateful for that very obvious compliment of my desirability and, well, fuckability that the man’s hard-on so obviously bestows upon me.

I love to play with those lovely inches of turgid flesh; stroking them, kissing them, wrapping my fingers and/or lips around them and giving their owner so much pleasure.

As I stroke Master C’s (or, indeed any) cock, I love to watch His reactions; the little moans and sighs of pleasure, the involuntary flinches of His body, the way His breathing changes as His arousal increases.

I love the way Master C’s cock stiffens and swells in my hand. I love the way the head becomes engorged and full, I love knowing how much Master C is enjoying what I am doing to Him, for Him.

As Master C’s orgasm grows ever closer, I am fascinated by the way his body reacts; the growing tension in His thighs, the involuntary thrusting of His hips that grows increasingly urgent as that most primal urge begins to take hold. The closer His climax gets, the more His cock twitches and jerks between my fingers.

And then, when Master C comes, when I angle His cock so that it coats my skin with a lovely thick load of His warm, rich, sticky essence, I marvel at the force with which His cock erupts, pulsing in my hand, the way His face contorts in an agony of release as His cum is forced out of His cock and on to my skin.

Finally, as I lower my head, wrapping my lips around the head, to suck the last drops of cum from it, I love the deep sigh of contentment that tells me so clearly how much Master C has enjoyed my attentions.

The humble hand-job is an often neglected part of a couple’s sexual repertoire, but for me, seeing the pleasure it gives a partner, especially Master C, it can be a deeply intimate experience.

A woman’s body?

So, it seems I’ve attracted the attention and ire of  the “outrage for hire” brigade. I suspect it was always likely to be a matter of when, rather than if, so at least I’ve got it out of the way.

So what, pray tell, was the reason for incurring their wrath?

Well, it appears, I had the audacity and temerity to say that my body is a woman’s body and, that in doing so, I was being cis-sexist and trans-exclusionary.

My simple, and in eloquent response to that is that they are talking bollocks.

I am, after all, a woman and, if you prefer, a cis-woman. However, in the context of my use of the term “woman’s body”, that “cis” prefix is nothing more than meaningless padding.

Why meaningless?

Simply because the term “woman” in the context that I use it means all women, be they cis, trans, or any other label they prefer to use. The basic fact, and the central core of my point is that anyone who identifies as a woman is a woman. There is nothing exclusionary about that. I use the term “woman” as a shorthand for all women, regardless of their assigned gender at birth, or their reproductive biology. If you accept that definition then, from there, it follows that all women, have women’s bodies and that there is nothing cis-sexist or exclusionary in that either.

In my own personal context, my own “woman’s body” happens to have breasts, a clitoris, a vulva, a vagina, a womb, ovaries, etc. Mine does and, I think it’s reasonable to say, so do the bodies of the majority of women. Yes, some cis-women, as a result of surgery may not have all of those parts, but that doesn’t negate the fact that cis-women are the majority, that this is true. However, not all women are cis-women, and as such, their bodies may (or may not) have penises and testicles. They are, however, in my opinion and mode of belief, still women’s bodies, because they are the bodies of people who identify as women and, therefore, are women.

When I blog, I am generally blogging about sex and the people I have had sex with. Over the 30+ years that I have been sexually active, my partners have all been cis (or at least were presenting as cis when I had sex with them). Again, this isn’t prejudice on my part, nor is it exclusionary, it’s just simply a fact. In that context, when I use the terms man/men or woman/women, in my blog, there is an implicit assumption that I am using the cis variant of those words, but I am not excluding anyone, nor am I being biased in favour or against anyone. I am simply recounting my experiences from my point of view and my assumed point of view of the other participants in the activities I am recounting.

Now, the purpose of this post is not to change anyone’s mind. It was simply to illustrate that people, particularly those of a self-righteous disposition, are often far too quick to assume a negative interpretation of something, without bothering to avail themselves of the actual facts, simply because that snap condemnation fits their narrative. Perhaps these people just need to lash out, and adopting a position of righteous indignation whenever they find something they can take exception to provides them with outlet, or a coping mechanism of sorts. Of course, the could also just be bullying narcissists who get off on attacking people to attract attention to themselves; who can say?

Language is flexible and always evolving, but language without context is merely words; context is everything. Attacking someone’s words without first trying to understand their context or the meaning intended by the person who wrote them is just lazy bias on the part of the reader – it is nothing more than noise. The fact that some people need to take offence simply to validate themselves is a pity, but it reflects more on them than the person they are taking offence at.

Degradation & Reward

It is, perhaps, an unusual kink, but I get off on being degraded. It is a huge turn on when Master C calls me His filthy slut. I love it when He publicly humiliates me in front of other people.

Nothing cements my place as a no-good, worthless slut than when Master C shows His contempt for me by inviting the other men within our circle to use me and, when they have finished with me, to come all over me; denying me even the use of being a receptacle for their cum.

I love the filthiness of it, as one by one, they take it in turn to fuck me and discharge their loads all over me.

Sometimes Master C invites them to slap me or pull my hair. On other occasions He reminds me that I am barely fit to even be used by His friends; that they are only fucking me because they have no other need for me.

Even the women in the group are allowed to slap me, or thrash me, and tell me that I’m not worthy of having their partners’ loads inside me. Sometimes I will be forced to lick their partner’s cum from their cunts. Sometimes, when I’m on the verge of bringing one of the men off with my mouth, they will steal him back at the last moment, depriving me of my reward, and take his load for themselves.

I will be denied orgasms because I don’t deserve them. I will be tied up in the corner, unable to participate, able only to watch as the others in our circle enjoy each other’s bodies.

Sometimes however, if I have been a dutiful slut and performed my function to the fullest of my abilities, I will be rewarded and I will allowed to accept their loads in my hungry mouth.

For me, it is the ultimate recognition of my prowess as a slut, the highest reward for a (blow) job well done, a confirmation of my skill as a cocksucker.

When Master C fills my mouth with cum, it is all of the above and so much more besides.

For once Master C has decided that I have earned my reward, that I am not to be demeaned by having his load dumped over my face as punishment for some infraction or inadequacy. He is letting me savour his very manliness, the taste of his essence and, at the same time rewarding me for being a good girl, his slutty little, cum-hungry submissive. When Master C lets the other men fill my mouth, it is my reward for being a good “hostess”.

Afterwards, if I have been good; if I have been a proper slut and earned His redemption, afterwards Master C will run me a bath, wash me clean, kiss me and tell me that I am His “good girl” again. If, however, I have failed to redeem myself, a night, cum-encrusted, sore, cold and alone awaits me.

It’s not easy being a cumslut. but then nothing worthwhile is ever easy (with the possible exception of me).

A large penis does not a great lover make

I read a quote somewhere recently, it may have been in an article on sex.com, but don’t quote me on that, on the subject of penis size that I rather liked. It went something along the lines of:

Penis size only matters to people who let it matter.

Now, as it happens, I tend to agree with this.

It is, I believe, generally accepted that the average length of an erect penis is in the range of 5½” to 6½”. From the experience of the numerous erect penises that I’ve encountered, this would seem about right, although I admit I don’t actually carry a measuring tape around with me, so I can’t say for certain. What I can say is that from that penile population I have encountered, some have been shorter than average and some have been longer. What I can also state, quite categorically is that the length of penis has made absolutely no difference to how much, or possibly how little, I’ve enjoyed the sex I’ve had with the owner of said penis.

The fact of the matter is I have had penises of all different sizes inside me and I’ve had good sex and bad sex with men irrespective of how well endowed they were.

I’ve said it before, but I think it’s worth repeating, that if I had to choose between size and ability I would choose ability every time. A larger than average penis does not automatically make a man a better lover; and a crap shag from a well hung guy is still a crap shag. The fact that the man in question is generously proportioned tends to make any lack of ability on his part even more disappointing.

And this is the thing, in my experience, and I stress I am only speaking for myself, when I’ve had sex that I’ve really enjoyed, the size of the penis of the guy I was fucking made absolutely no difference to the pleasure I experienced. On the other hand, where the sex was disappointing, there was, perversely, a direct correlation between the level of disappointment I experienced and the size of the guy’s cock. You could say that I actually broke my rules by expecting more from a guy because his cock was bigger, which is, on the face of it, a ridiculous contradiction.

To date, I have never encountered a penis so disproportionately small that I haven’t been able to enjoy having it inside me. Men however, are sensitive about their penises, and actually, for us women, this can be a good thing. Once again,in my experience, men who believe they are under-represented in the penis size department, regardless of whether or not this is actually the case, do tend to try harder to make up for their perceived shortcoming which can actually make them more enjoyable lovers than some of their more well-endowed counterparts.

This isn’t to say large cocked guys can’t be good lovers; they most very certainly can. But I have encountered any number of “larger” men who seemed to think that just being big should be enough to satisfy me, whereas I have found that men who believe they are smaller have a tendency to “compensate” for their “lack” and develop other skill that we women really appreciate.

Of course, what matters most, to me anyway, is ability, coupled with confidence, combined with a genuine desire to make sex as pleasurable for me as it is for them. Fortunately for this slut, she has her slightly larger than averagely endowed Master who revels in my enjoyment every bit as much as His own.

The “truth” about size

Having been a member of numerous adult contact sites in the past, and having browsed a few profiles on those same sites, I wasn’t all that surprised when I noticed that a lot of women want the men they meet to be “well hung”. What did surprise me was the number who insist that only men with cocks greater than 8″ (or in some cases the specification was greater than 9″) should bother contacting them.

This got me to wondering just how many “genuine” contacts they get.

It is generally accepted that the average length of the male organ, when erect is approximately 5½-6½”. Now, I know, averages being averages means that there must be a distribution of lengths on either side of that figure. Fair enough, I get that. I’ve had quite a few cocks in my life and some have been longer and some have been shorter but, typically, they’ve all been much of a muchness (thickness, on the other hand…)

Anyway, back to my point. When a woman specifies such a requirement, how does she actually know what she’s getting in advance? OK, there are pictures on these sites (believe me, there are lots of pictures…) but, to be perfectly frank, these don’t actually tell the viewer anything about how long they are.

So, given that the photos aren’t much to go by, unless there’s some frame of reference to give an idea of scale, It does beg the question about how she knows the cock she is going to get meets the required specification.

Do these women insist on documentary evidence?

Do they carry a measuring tape around with them at all times?

If the latter, what happens when they unwrap the aforementioned ‘gift’ and discover it is short by a fraction? Do they just kick him out and dig out their favourite toy instead?

That said, even if the guy does actually measure up, it’s still no guarantee of success. The biggest guy I ever had claimed to be 9″. I took that with a pinch of salt and was right to do so as, in reality, he was probably nearer to 8″ (no, I didn’t measure him, Master C’s cock is the only cock I have measured and that was simply as a bit of a laugh, but with hindsight, the cock of the man in question wasn’t really that much longer than Master C’s, and I know how long 1½” is, and he wasn’t that much longer). The sad thing was, he was probably the crappest shag I’ve ever had. He was so impressed with his size (and naturally assumed I would be too), that his technique was sadly deficient. 10/10 for content, certainly, but only 2/10 for application.

Now, the simple biological fact is that the most sensitive part of a woman’s vagina is in the first 3½” – 4″ so, as long as your cock is at least that long, you’re probably going to be stimulating all the right nerve endings. Anything more than this is simply filling. Don’t get me wrong, I do love to feel full, but I get more pleasure out of feeling stretched. If I’m being totally honest, once a guy is inside me, unless his cock is so long that the head of it is continually banging against my cervix (not a sensation I enjoy, believe me) then I haven’t really got any idea how long or short his cock is.

And, the thing is, guys who have (or perceive themselves to have, regardless of whether or not the actually have) do, in my experience at least, tend to try harder to satisfy us women. They tend to be better with their tongues, they tend to touch more, they tend to engage us more in a sensual way than their longer phallused counterparts. My simple rule of thumb, derived from bitter experience, is that the bigger the dick the guy has, the bigger the dick he tends to be. My alleged 9″ guy was so impressed with his cock that he seemed to think I should, I don’t know, swoon in it’s presence or bow down and worship it, or something. He certainly seemed to believe being penetrated by it should provide me with all the pleasure I could possibly want. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.

A big cock doesn’t turn a crap shag into a great one, but it can turn a mediocre one into a towering disappointment.

So, getting back to my original point, why would any woman insist on a particular size given that there is no guarantee of satisfaction? Wouldn’t insistence on ability be more beneficial (if a lot harder to quantify)?

Don’t get me wrong, if a guy has a nice sized cock, and can use it (eg, Master C/”The Other Guy”) then this is great, but if I cant have size and ability, then I will choose ability over size every time. Life is too short to put up with crap sex and if the guy you’re with really knows how to push all your buttons and can fuck you seven shades of senseless, then his cock is quite clearly the ideal size for the job.

 

The photogenic penis and adult contact sites

OK, so I realise this really doesn’t have very much, or possibly even anything to do with the prompt that No Pants Endurance has set, but it’s one of those perennial questions that comes around, so to speak, every now and then. The question that frequently gets asked us girly sex bloggers is if we get sent unsolicited photos of men’s genitalia, and if so, how many. Thankfully, these days, I receive very few; but in my Adult Friend Finder days, I used to receive anything between 5 – 10 a day. Now I’m fine with a bit of penile bombardment, especially when the penis doing the bombarding belongs to Master C or the “Other Guy”, but there are limits.

The pictures I received were all of fine specimens, but having spent a few months on that, and other sites of that ilk, I can see why so many women get turned off by them. I mean, we ladies do like to shop around, and the adult contact site is kind of a guy’s shop window, I get that, but, the truth is, they all look like cocks. It’s a bit like going into Currys or John Lewis and being presented with a wall of washing machines; we know we want one, but can’t tell very much about them based just on what they look like.

Penises come (no pun intended), in a variety of shapes and sizes. Well, that’s not strictly true. They do present themselves in an infinite variety of sizes; from long and thin, to short and thick, from straight to bendy, and everything in between, but by an large, in terms of shape, they are all pretty much, well, you know,cock shaped. They are, it must be said, designed for function rather than aesthetics in my opinion. I’m not knocking cocks, they are often very good at what they do (some better than others, but that’s down to the owner, not the actual cock), but there are, I believe, much nicer bits of a man’s body to look at.

Now, OK, it doesn’t bother me that much. After all, I:

a) Like cocks, well, the way they feel inside me, not so much for their aesthetic value; and

b) Like one cock very much in particular. It’s the one I come home to every night and regularly makes me come.

But, put yourselves in the women’s shoes for a second (might be a tight squeeze, but the results might be worth it). As I mentioned in a previous post about cock size, there’s only so much you can glean from a photo. You can’t really tell much about its size, you certainly can’t tell anything about the way its owner works it; so what do those pictures tell us?

Well, other than the fact that you have a cock and so, therefore, are definitely a bloke, absolutely nothing. And, given that you are blokes, I can already fairly safely assume that you have a cock, so you’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.

Now, that being the case, how am I, or indeed any woman going to be able to determine anything useful when all we’re being presented with is a picture of a bit that:

a) We already know you have; and

b) If a woman meets you and decides that nothing’s going to happen, she’s never going to see, let alone feel.

I’ll be honest, as I said, I like cocks, but I’ve never yet seen a photo of one (especially a photo that shows nothing but a cock) that’s made me go “WOW!!! I must have that inside me!”. Again, actually, that’s not strictly true, but when Master C or the “Other Guy” sext me with a photo of their cocks, I already know everything about it, and I know I want it in me, but I digress…

In the world of adult contact sites, it’s a buyer’s market as far as we women are concerned given by how much you guys outnumber us, so why not give us something more to look at? It doesn’t have to be a face, but showing us a nice toned body (yes, I am that shallow) might help us. And even if, as I said in my previous post, physical attraction doesn’t guarantee sexual satisfaction, if the attraction isn’t there to start with, then your cock, no matter how nice, probably will never get near us.

Any way, just my thoughts on the subject.

Quality, not quantity…

I am a big fan of cocks. I have been intimately acquainted with a fair number of them over the years. Long ones, short ones, thick ones, thin ones, straight ones, bendy ones; all shapes and sizes. The one thing I have discovered is that the size of the package has no bearing at all on the proficiency with which it is used. If anything, the reverse seems more likely to be true; in that guys with larger cocks have a tendency to rely on the size of what they have, thinking that that alone will satisfy us.

Now, I realise that is a gross generalisation, and I have known a few guys with bigger than average penises to be very proficient in the way they have used them but, experience has shown that I’m more likely to be disappointed with an above average partner than with one who is less “heroically” endowed.

The thing is though, much as I love cock (which is lots), and much as I love feeling myself being filled by one, unless all I really want is a thorough fucking, what a guy does to me with his cock is only part of the story. I want a guy to turn me on with his hands, I want him to tease me with his fingers, I want his lips to explore me, I want his tongue to drive me wild, and I want his cock to take me over the edge.

Call me greedy, but I want a guy to do all those things to me and more. Yes, I love his cock, but it’s not all about the cock (except sometimes when it is).

I used to laugh at some of the profiles on sites like fabswingers, where the woman stated she only wanted to meet Very Well Endowed men with at least 8″. I mean, do these women actually take tape measures to bed with them? Do they actually require evidence before they will meet someone. Will they actually pass someone up just because they only measure 7.9″, like that 0.1″ is actually going to make any difference? Don’t get me wrong, I like to feel as full as the next woman but, unless someone is at the extreme of either end of the penile length/girth spectrum, once it’s inside me, I couldn’t honestly tell you how long/thick it is.

Like a lot of women, it seems that if I have a size related preference, it’s for thicker rather than longer, but since I’ve never had a penis that didn’t stretch me in some way as it entered me, I’ve never had an experience where the guy wasn’t “thick enough”.

Essentially, I want to feel nicely full whichever hole his cock is in. Ideally, it should be long enough to fill the back of my throat, but not so long that it bruises my cervix. In terms of thickness, I want to feel stretched, but not as if I’m being split in two or having my jaw dislocated (I am not a python after all).

Mostly though, I want a guy who knows how to turn me on, how to use my body for his pleasure and to give me pleasure. He has to be able to use his cock, whatever size it is, and he needs to be able to use it in conjunction with his fingers, hands, lips and tongue. If, like Master C does, he can turn me into a gibbering, trembling, orgasmic wreck before his cock gets anywhere near being inside me, then frankly I won’t have a care in the world.