Think of a number


Think of a number. Now double it. Subtract the day of the month your birthday falls on. Divide by your bra size/inside leg measurement. Add forty-two. Round to the nearest whole number.

Yes, this is my take on that perennial old chestnut: “The Number!” You know the one I mean; the one about how many people we’ve had sex with.

It’s a question that comes up from time to time and, it seems, it is one that we are endlessly fascinated with.

Personally, I’m in the mildly curious but generally couldn’t give a fuck camp. It’s an interesting insight into the person you are currently fucking, possibly a handy bit of trivia to store away for those Mr and Mrs type quizzes, but, otherwise not important.

The problem with it is, that when you start thinking about it, it’s not actually a straightforward question.

What exactly counts as a sexual partner?

If you limited it strictly to men and women that I’ve fucked, and if you give me some time, I could probably work it out. It would, however, take me considerably longer than it took Andie MacDowell’s character in Four Weddings and a Funeral. But then, you see, I’ve included women, and I haven’t had penetrative sex with women, only oral and finger play. So does than mean that I also now have to include all those men with whom I have only ever sucked their cocks? On the assumption that it does, then I have no chance at all of determining the total; given that my penchant for the drunken, random, back of the pub blow-job means that I really don’t know.

Still, even if I could, somehow, divine the total number of men who’s cocks I’ve sucked and add it to the number of men I’ve fucked (eliminating any duplication as I go), and then add on the women I’ve had sex with, does this give me my number?

What about the lad I jerked off at a friend’s 16th birthday party? What about the boy in my class whom I let thoroughly finger me so I could scrounge a cigarette off him when I was at school? What about that boy that first kissed and sucked my nipples and made me feel oh so good when we were both horny teenagers, even if I didn’t actually come? What about…?

You see my point though. Clearly “the number” does not simply refer to penetration. If it did, then I would have had no female sexual partners, and I most certainly have had sex with women. But, if sexual partners are not limited to those that you have had penetrative sex with, where do you draw the line?

Orgasm perhaps? Well maybe, but does that mean if I don’t come, I haven’t had sex? No, surely not. On the other hand, does the boy who snuck his hand up my top to cop a feel while snogging me at a school disco also count? Again, I don’t think so (although, had I not wanted him to do it, it could possibly have counted as sexual assault).

So, given that I can’t suitably define what a sexual partner is, how can I possible tell you how many I’ve had?

Let’s just say I’ve had rather a lot and let it go at that…

#MasturbationMonday

Taking Him in hand


Let’s be honest, there are times when our body lets us down; we’re tired, stressed, or, God forbid, just not really in the mood for sex. Yes, I know it may come as a shock, but even the most insatiable sluts sometimes have their off days.

Of course, just because we aren’t really up for getting down, it doesn’t mean we can’t still give Him a good time.

The good old hand-job often seems like a neglected act in a couple’s sexual repertoire, which is strange given that, if you are like me, it was probably the first overtly sexual act that a lot of us women (or girls as we were back then) ever performed on a guy. Long, long before I lost my virginity, and before I became the cock-sucking addict that I am, I loved stroking guy’s cocks. I loved making the guy I was with hard, making him lose control, and eventually firing off a load. It was such a hot experience just knowing that I could do that to a guy and, even though I moved on to “bigger and better” things, it’s still something I love to do.

I’ve said before how much I enjoy being responsible for getting a guy hard. There are times, either as a result of one or more of the reasons listed above, or simply because I want to do something nice for Master C, when I will fall back on this most wonderfully simple method of pleasing Him. There is something extremely gratifying knowing that what I am doing the cause of that reaction as His cock responds to my touch; getting longer, thicker, stiffer. I love how Master C reacts when I touch Him in different ways; stroking His shaft, teasing the tip, playing with His balls, running my fingertip over His frenulum. Each touch elicits its own response. The sigh, the moan, the involuntary flinch, the sharp intake of breath.

As I lie beside Him, my hand sliding up and down His shaft, I love to feel the tension in His body build as His pleasure increases.

Again, as a submissive woman, I love the reversal of control. I can decide how much to tease, I can decide when to let Master C cum. I can speed up, slow down, I can change the pressure of my grip, concentrate on another area. Each action of mine has its corresponding reaction. The laws of physics apply to sex every but as much as they do everywhere else.

Sometimes, as I stroke those lovely, hard, proud inches of flesh, I like to tell Master C naughty stories; encounters from my past, trysts with other men or women, things I want Him to do to me, things that remind Him of what an insatiable filthy little slut I am. I know the effect this has on Master C; I know how much my words turn Him on.

As His climax nears, I love the way His cock swells and pulses in my hand. I love the way His lower abdomen tightens. I love the way His breathing strains as Master C does everything He can to delay the inevitable.

Where should He cum? For once, the choice is mine. Do I let Him fire his load into the air, letting it fall where ever it lands? Do I aim His cock so that His eruption lands on my skin, allowing me to more fully savour His moment of release? Do I move, place the tip of His lovely straining cock at my lips so Master C can fill my mouth with His rich, creamy essence?

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter; I go with what feels right at the time. The important thing is not the manner of His final explosion, only that I have brought Master C there; pleasured Him, served Him. His release is my reward and when Master C moans my name, when the pent-up tension drains from His body, when He gathers me to Him and holds me in His strong arms and calls me His “good girl”, I know Master C is pleased with me, and that’s what it was all about.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The dutiful slut


Sometimes it just has to be done. He comes home. He’s tired. He’s had a hard day at work. He needs His cock sucked.

As Master C‘s dutiful slut, I know how to attend to His needs; I know what I need to do.

I sit Him down, I undo His trousers, I take His cock between my lips and pleasure Him with my mouth.

Slowly, surely, I use my mouth to ease away the strains and stresses of Master C‘s day. With my mouth, I serve Him and worship Him; welcoming Him home.

He rests a hand on the back of my head. His fingers twist in my hair as He begins to push His cock deeper into my mouth.

A sigh escapes and the tension slowly builds as Master C begins to fuck my face with short, stabbing thrusts. I can feel His cock strain. I can taste His delicious pre-cum.

His breathing deepens. His fingers tighten their grip in my hair, pulling me on to Him.

Master C tells me that I am His “good girl”. He tells me that I have “earned my reward”.

My fingers stroke His shaft as I suck harder on the swollen head of His lovely, lovely cock.

I know Master C is getting close. I can feel the tension in His thighs. I know that soon I will taste His rich cum on my tongue.

Soon… But not yet…

Master C holds back; denying Himself the pleasure of release so that He can savour the attentions of my mouth for as long as possible.

“Is my good girl ready?” He asks. I murmur my assent from around His cock.

His hips surge. His cock twitches. I can feel the head swell in my mouth.

A moment…

That briefest of pauses…

His cum explodes into my mouth, flooding over my tongue.

I swallow the initial surge then milk the remainder from Master C‘s cock. I let it pool on my tongue, savouring the rich taste of Him before swallowing this too.

His cock slips from between my lips. I sit back on my heels and stare up at Him. “Did I do well?” I ask.

“Yes, little one, you did very well.”

Content that I have served Him, I stand up and make my way to the kitchen to make him His coffee.

#MasturbationMonday The Oral Sex Project