Dark alleys


Sex in dark alleyways has always been a particular forte of mine. It began in my casual days and it’s something that I still do quite regularly, be that with Master C, or some random guy who has caught my eye on a night out.

I’m no stranger to outdoor sex, but outdoor sex of the back alley variety usually involves alcohol. Not that I’m particularly inhibited in my sexual wantoness by any means, but there’s nothing like a few drinks to make you feel a wee bit more daring. It also helps that the town I live in has lots of dark lanes, alleyways, closes, nooks and crannies that are just idea for a bit of late night, can’t wait to get home fuckery.

Why do I do it? Well, there’s the thrill factor; there is always a risk of being caught in the act. This has happened on occasion, and on at least two of those, it has been by other couples presumably looking for somewhere to do exactly the same thing. There’s also the thought that even if no one walks by, you could still be being watched. Often these dark closes are down behind tenement blocks and anyone could, potentially, look out their window and watch you giving a drunken blow-job or having an alcohol fuelled quickie.

Mostly though, it’s simply because, when I’m at a certain level of drunkenness, I get uncontrollably randy. I don’t want to wait until I get home to have sex, I want fucked and I want fucked pretty much there and then. Generally, I’ve found guys are quite willing to oblige, despite the obvious risks, and Master C is no exception. If you’ve read my cumslut post, then you will know that, not only does He enjoy it as much as me, but sometimes He likes to crank the stakes up to an entirely higher level.

Really, for me, it’s a combination of things: the excitement, the riskiness, the sop to my exhibitionist streak, the arousal, the need for urgent sexual fulfilment, and the enjoyment of a bloody good fuck. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a filthy little slut who is always ready for cock, especially if it’s Master C’s cock, wherever I am.

Kink of the Week

Advertisements

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

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

Out and about


I am a lover of the outdoors. I love being naked outdoors. There is something inherently natural about it. I love the feeling of the sun on my naked skin. I love feeling those gentle breezes that make the fine hairs stand on end and add to the sensitivity.

Whether it be soaking up the sun on a Greek beach, finding a remote country spot, or just simply lying out in the garden, the feel of the sun’s warmth  and/or gentle breezes all over my skin, there is a glorious natural feeling that simply can’t be replicated.

Sadly, living in a part of the world where the climate doesn’t often lend itself to outdoor nudity, and on those occasions that it does, the chances of them coinciding with me being free are so few and far between, they almost have to be grabbed and exploited.

Of course, if there’s one thing better than outdoor nudity, it’s outside sex. There are any number of places near to where Master C and I live that lend themselves to alfresco loving; whether it’s in the countryside, or various places along the shore, or, should inspiration fail us, our own garden. Of course there are also numerous back alleys and dark closes that lend themselves to drunken, late night quickies, but those are the subject of another post.

The thrill of outdoor sex comes from the risk of discovery; it adds a degree of excitement that makes the experience more intense. For me, the greater the chance of being caught, the sexier the experience is. The only drawback, if you can call it that, is that the riskier the location, the less clothing is likely to be removed. Sometimes the biggest thrill from outdoor sex is doing it in such a way that any people around are unaware that you are doing it.

One of the sexiest experiences I ever had was having sex in the middle of a park in Dublin, the guy I was with sat with his back against a tree, me sat astride him, my knickers pushed aside and me rocking gently as people passed by all around us, unaware (or at least, so I thought) of what was going on almost right under their noses.

Of course, if you can find a remote enough spot, a more leisurely approach can be taken. If it’s warm enough, you can take the risk of stripping off, letting the heat of the sun add to the heat of the situation.

Of course, seclusion is no guarantee of absolute privacy. Ramblers, dog walkers, horse riders and even mountain bikers can, and do, sometimes, appear seemingly out of nowhere. On those rare occasions where an outdoor shag has been interrupted in circumstances such as those just described, the general response has more often than not been embarrassment rather than outrage. On one particular occasion, one couple did stop briefly to enquire if we’d noticed any other likely spots nearby.

I am a big fan of of alfresco nudity, and sex; it’s just a shame that our weather gives us so few opportunities to indulge in such activities. So, when the circumstances and the weather combine to allow me to be naked outdoors, you can be certain that I will take advantage of it.

#MasturbationMonday

Inappropriate sex


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

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…