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:
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.