Inappropriate sex


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday
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Cumslut


So, it was Friday evening, and I’d been having a few drinks to wash away the working week blues. Anyone who knows me will know I have a particularly unScottish inability to drink, so it didn’t take too much to get me fairly drunk. Not rolling drunk, just seriously randily drunk.

Master C, of course, was happy to oblige. Despite it being a Friday, there weren’t too many people about; possibly because it was still fairly early, or possibly, on account of the weather (this is Scotland in March after all). Either way, we used the apparent lack of humanity to our advantage and, almost inevitably, we found ourselves in one of those lanes that have seem many a drunken sexual escape.

Bracing myself in a suitable back-doorway, it wasn’t long before I was being taken hard and fast from behind; Master C’s long, thick cock giving my cunt a delicious pounding.

Rubbing my clit furiously as He fucked me from behind, I surprised myself by how quickly I came, my climax taking me almost completely unawares. I wasn’t complaining though, it felt good; just the release I hadn’t appreciated I’d needed so badly.

Master C wasn’t far behind me, but instead of flooding my cunt with His warm, sticky cum, He spun me around and made me get on my knees. I wasn’t complaining; I’ll happily take His cum in any hole and as I knelt before Him, I opened my mouth wide in expectation.

He didn’t cum in my mouth though; instead Master C let fly, covering my face, neck and the front of my top. Almost instinctively, I raised my hand to my face to gather His cum, but He batted it away. I was puzzled but then I saw a wicked glint in His eye. “Leave it” Master C said, “I want to see you wear it like a badge of shame, I want people to see what a filthy slut you are.”

As his cum dried on my skin, my cunt grew even wetter. The idea that I was about to be humiliated in public was a surprisingly huge thrill.

We walked out of the alley and on to the main street. It wasn’t long before we began encountering people. Most didn’t notice, but some gave me an odd look, and more than a couple actually stared. My cheeks were burning, which probably only served to make the mess on my face even more noticeable, but I didn’t care; with every step, every glance, my cunt was getting wetter and wetter.

If walking down the street wasn’t bad enough, standing at the bus stop was unbearable. There was no way to avoid the gaze of people waiting there. I could see their expressions, I could hear their comments of, “that looks like…” and, ” is that…?” Part of me wanted to disappear, part of me wanted to shout out, proudly, that yes, it was cum on my face, and a lot of me wanted Master C‘s cock inside me again, right there in that bus stop.

The bus driver gave me a long, hard stare, and I was painfully aware of the glances in my direction.

On getting home, I wasn’t allowed to get cleaned up; not that I wanted to wait. Displaying me as His filthy slut had obviously turned Master C on as much as it had turned me on to be displayed. We fucked hard, furiously; my mouth, my cunt, my arse all being claimed by His wonderful cock before He unleashed a second load over me.

I don’t think I have ever felt so filthy, and I loved it. After the strains and stresses of the previous few days, it was just the pick-me-up I needed.

Getting off in public


There is, in my opinion, nothing hotter than having a very public, if secret orgasm. The fact that people are all around you, yet (assuming you are discreet) blissfully unaware of what is going on right under their noses, heightens the enjoyment of the experience.

I spend a lot of time on trains and planes, travelling for work. Wearing my ben-wa balls can keep me nicely simmering; however nothing, but nothing, helps pass the time on a long journey like a good wank.

Preparation is important. When I’m traveling by train, I like to make sure I’m wearing a skirt for ease of access. Wherever possible, I try to make sure I get a table seat. Once on the train, I open up my laptop, load up a meaningless spreadsheet that I can pretend to work on,  drape my coat over my lap for concealment purposes and, once everyone is sitting comfortably, I can begin.

The secret, I believe, is not to make any obvious movements. The naughtiness of the situation is already, for me, a massive turn-on. Just sitting there in the middle of the carriage, “minding my own business” as everyone else minds theirs, will have my cunt soaking in now time.

An occasional movement of the mouse, heightens the illusion that I’m concentrating on my work. In fairness I am, but the work in question is what my fingers are doing to my cunt.

I’ll order a coffee as the trolley goes past; sipping from the cup to make it look like nothing unusual is happening. Subterfuge and misdirection are the public wanker’s tools of the trade; drawing attention away from the “sleight of hand” that is taking place.

As my arousal builds, my cunt becomes increasingly wet. I become acutely aware of the soft squelching noises my fingers make as they play inside me.

I cough to stifle a moan; fanning myself with my free hand, trying to look for all the world like a woman who has taken too big a sip of her coffee and not like a wanton slut on the verge of a self-induced orgasm.

And now the fun bit begins; trying to keep myself on the brink for as long as possible. I stare intently at my laptop screen, not seeing anything as I hold myself on the edge. The pressure, the need for release become excruciating as I “suffer” in silence. The need for discretion adds to the intensity. Do I look flushed? Do I appear flustered? Is my coat still concealing what I am doing.

As the end becomes inevitable, I drain the remains of my coffee. Holding my now empty cup to my face for concealment, I surrender to my climax. I struggle to keep my body still as waves of intense pleasure spread through me. I bite down on the edge of my cup to stop myself from crying out. I’ve done this so many times, I know how to keep my climax from my fellow travellers.

As my destination approaches, I pack my laptop away, straighten my skirt under my coat, stand up and make my way to the toilet to wash my hands and my face. My knickers are uncomfortably wet, and I change them for the spare pair I keep in my bag for such purposes.

I return to my seat, continue to pack up, then alight from the train when it reaches my stop. I walk to the taxi rank, hail a cab, and set off, satisfied and relaxed ahead of my next meeting.

Helping hands


As much as I enjoy using my fingers to pleasure myself, there is something quite wonderful about having another person stick their fingers up my cunt. Whether it be the sort of gentle caressing, teasing type of fingering that “The Girl” employs, or the rough, hard, finger-fucking that I can expect from Master C, I love that feeling of having someone else play with my cunt.

Sometimes, it is a delightful form of foreplay; getting me wet, opening me up in readiness to receive a cock. On other occasions, Master C, “The Other Guy” or “The Girl” will use their fingers to bring me to orgasm, usually while their mouths are kissing and sucking on my nipples, or sometimes while their tongues are lashing my clit.

When you consider that, for most of us girls, I suspect, getting someone’s fingers pushed up our cunts was one of the first overtly below the belt sexual experiences we ever encountered, it’s amazing how much pleasure we can still experience from this most simple form of play; not least given that we have since become accustomed to having much longer and thicker objects inside us.

In my case, that first, fumbled, furtive fingering happened, alliteratively enough, when I was fourteen. We were supposedly watching a movie, don’t ask me what it was, I was much more interested in the fact he had one hand up my top, playing with my boobs, and the other inside my knickers, fingering my cunt. I didn’t cum, I’d frigged myself into a frenzy often enough to know that, but it did feel wonderful. Let’s be honest, what randy fourteen year old girl, in the first flush of hormone-fuelled lust, doesn’t like getting her boobs played with? Getting fingered at the same time was was the icing on my very creamy muffin.

Maybe if he’d used a bit more pressure or spent a bit more time on my clit rather than inside me, and maybe if he’d also been a little less gentle in the way he treated my nipples, I might have got there; but hey, I wasn’t complaining. I was fourteen and getting my cunt fingered in a public place and it felt great. Besides which. I was able to finish myself off later on my own, while imagining it was his fingers that were bringing me off.

I’ve had many fingers up me since then, both male and female; and in the main, they have been much more experienced and a lot more successful in their application, but that first fingering will always remain with me.

I will always welcome a helping hand…