The perfect Friday evening


I’m on my knees. Master C’s lovely thick cock fills my cunt with deep hard strokes. Each thrust drives me forward, forcing more of Geoff’s cock into my mouth. Master C’s hands are on my hips; Geoff’s hands are on my shoulders. Their pushing and pulling is perfectly in sync, their thrusting cocks filling my cunt and mouth as they share me.

It’s the culmination; the final phase of something that started this morning when Master C sent me a text telling me we would have a “guest” this evening. It was the fulfilment of a day spent in delicious anticipation of what would happen, what was now happening. It had been a day spent with ben-wa balls in my cunt, and clamps around my nipples, heightening my arousal, but under the strictest instructions not to come.

When Master C got home from work, I thanked Him in advance for what was to come with a blow-job. It was relaxed, unhurried and I savoured the experience of sucking Him as much as He enjoyed being sucked. My cunt was soaked with arousal and anticipation by the time I swallowed down His thick warm load.

With the balls and clamps removed, I put on the lingerie that Master C had chosen for me to wear, covering it with my favourite silk kimono.

When Geoff arrived, I was required to play the perfect hostess, serving drinks and nibbles while he and Master C made small talk that occasionally touched on the important subject of what they would do to me. My anticipation and frustration were at unbearable levels when, finally, Master C beckoned me to join them.

I was in ecstasy as I allowed them to remove my kimono. I trembled as two pairs of strong hands explored my body. My bra was removed and I found myself with a mouth around each nipple. After so much anticipation and frustration, I almost came just from that simple attention.

I allowed myself to be positioned on the edge of the sofa. Geoff positioned himself between my legs, pulled the gusset of my knickers aside and began to lick. Master C reached over from behind the sofa, kissed my neck and began to play with my nipples. As He did so He whispered instructions not to come in my ear.

Time passed…

Master C and Geoff swapped places.

More time passed; they swapped again.

Every nerve in my body screamed with the need for release, but Master C did not give me permission.

My whimpers of frustration became moans. My moans coalesced into words. “Please!” I begged, “Please let me come.”

Finally Master C relented. “You may come for us now,” he said softly. My release was immediate. The air was filled with a deep moan that was torn from my mouth as Geoff’s tongue continued to flick of my clit, as Master C’s fingers tweaked and twisted my nipples. My climax tore through me. Wave after wave of orgasmic energy shook me as my cunt and womb contracted violently.

They stopped. I felt myself being lifted from the sofa, positioned on all fours. Geoff’s cock was in front of my mouth and I felt Master C slide effortlessly into me from behind. I opened my mouth and Geoff slid his cock between my lips and, in that moment, the tables turned; instead of providing for my pleasure, they were now taking theirs from me, fucking me in their chosen hole, using me like the filthy, depraved slut that I am.

In and out, over and over, their cocks filled and refilled my cunt and throat; the intensity building with each stroke.

“Filthy slut!”

“Dirty whore!”

The words sounded like insults but were really compliments, testament to my willingness to fuck and be fucked, to be used.

Master C pulled out. “Time to give my slut what she really wants,” He said.

Geoff also stopped.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Master C enquired, “Put a condom on him and get on his dick!”

Geoff lay back and I did as I was instructed to do. I slowly lowered myself on to him, aware of those slight differences that distinguished his cock from Master C’s. As I began to slide up and down, I knew what was coming. It was no surprise when I felt the cold lube being applied to my arsehole. Master C had, of course been correct; He knew exactly what I wanted; something that I’ve been craving for so long. His fingers worked the lube into my back passage and then, slowly, He pushed His cock into me.

At this point, let me, for the record, state that I have no idea how men work out how this next bit works; all I know is that from where I’m sitting, with a cock filling each hole, it feels fucking amazing.

Master C grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back roughly as He fucked me in the arse. Geoff tormented my nipples with his fingers and teeth as he fucked me in the cunt from below. Between them, I was being fucked in the most depraved and slutty way possible and I was loving every second of it.

I came hard with their cocks inside me. My release was loud, as befitting the depravity of my actions, as their cocks filled me.

The fucked me until their own climaxes became inevitable. Master C pulled out first. He commanded me to dismount and adopt a kneeling position. Geoff stood up and removed the condom. Both he and Master C stood before me, stroking their cocks. “My slut deserves a cum bath,” Master C said, “A suitably filthy ending for a filthy slut.” I closed my eyes and smiled. Two men standing over me, about to paint me with their loads was exactly what I wanted and exactly what I deserved.

Geoff came first; his cum taking me square across my forehead and down my left cheek Master C followed a few seconds later, painting the other side of my face. Their cum trickled down my face and dripped on to my boobs. As a reward, I was permitted to clean Geoff’s cock with my mouth.

Afterwards, still naked, and with their cum now dried on to my skin, I resumed my duties as hostess before Master C ate me to another shuddering climax followed by Geoff fucking me again before going home.

It goes without saying that my depraved and wanton sluttiness earned my arse a sound thrashing from Master C’s belt before the evening was finally over and we retired to bed, but the evening had been worth every kiss of the leather on my buttocks.

As Friday evenings go, I can’t think of a better way to enjoy one.

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Definition


The poser set by Quote Quest this week is all about definitions.

“I am the sole author of the dictionary that defines me.”

– Zadie Smith

It is interesting, to me at least, as there are so many words I would use to define myself:

  • Advocate
  • Bisexual
  • Brat
  • Carer
  • Cock-sucker
  • Counsellor
  • Filthy
  • Insatiable
  • Masochist
  • Nympho
  • Partner
  • Promiscuous
  • Sexual
  • Slut
  • Submissive
  • Voracious

The above is not exhaustive, by any means, but it takes account my professional, personal and private lives, and I identify as and with all of the above.

It is fair to say that to “defining me”, I am, to a greater or lesser degree, fully responsible for the above being attributable; I chose my career, and I chose to fully explore my sexuality as well as my sexual tastes and desires.

If you’ve read any of this blog, you will know that I am open about the fact that I am attracted to and have sex with men and women; you will know that I enjoy sex with multiple partners; you will know that I have, almost from the beginning of my sexual journey, enjoyed casual sex with random partners; and you will, of course, know that I am submissive and that I submit to Master C.

None of these things have been forced upon me; they are all down to me making conscious choices. That’s not to say others haven’t had input. My parents, my lecturers at university, my colleagues and superiors at work have helped me in the development of my career. The men and women I’ve fucked over the past 30+ years have assisted me in exploring my sexual self. My submission to Master C has, of course, given me a framework and freedom that has allowed me to continue to explore and grow.

While I may not have been the first person to assign the more derogatory terms above to myself, I chose to accept and embrace them, weaving them into my own narrative and making them part of my sexual identity.

I am extremely fortunate to be in a place in my life where, at work, I have a career that, while often hugely stressful and demanding, I take great satisfaction from and, at home (and not at home), I have the freedom to enjoy exploring me, and to indulge my passions and desires.

So where does D/s fit into all this?

Well, largely it is because Master C allows me the freedom, within parameters that we’ve worked out, to explore. Master C provides support, He nurtures and helps me grow, He guides and sometimes He corrects. What Master C does not do, however, is limit me. Again, this is because my submission is my choice; Master C did not force it upon me. I chose to offer it and He chose to accept it. While, in one sense, the application of the dynamic is His “responsibility” as the Dominant, the detail of the dynamic is something that we have developed between us. Ultimately we are the authors of the dictionaries of our lives, but we are the co-authors of the dictionary of our D/s dynamic and our life together.

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The long and the short of it


I’ve mentioned before that blow-jobs are hugely adaptable; there is literally a blow-job for every occasion. Fast and rough, long and slow; as an appetiser, the main course or as an aperitif, there is a blow-job for that.

As always, the type of blow-job will depend on circumstances: your level of randiness, where you are and who you are with will go a long way to determining how that cock is going to get sucked. Make no mistake about it though, when I’m sucking a cock, as much as I am doing for the benefit of the recipient, I am taking great pleasure from it for myself.

At on end of the spectrum is the rough, hard, dirty quickie. Maybe it’s with some random gut who has caught my eye in a pub, maybe I’m with Master C and one or both of us is caught up in an overwhelming rush of randiness. There will often be an outdoor element to this: a dark alley, in a park, on a beach, in the car in the supermarket car park. Alternatively we may be at a party or some other kind of reception and I and the person I’m with have snuck away for a few minutes. The common theme is that there is an element of risk that we could be disturbed/caught in the act. As much as I love to luxuriate in the act of sucking cock, taking time to utilise my full range of talents and skills so that we both extract as much pleasure as we can from the experience, in these situations speed is very much of the essence. Almost as soon as the urge materialises, a (relatively) safe location is found, I am on my knees, and that cock is in my mouth.

In these instances, it is very much a sprint; there is no time for dilly-dallying, all eyes are on the prize and the prize is a thick, warm load of cum in my mouth in the least amount of time possible. There is no time for finesse, no protracted teasing or trying to make the moment last; I am sucking hard on that cock while they often have their fingers in my hair as they thrust between my lips. There is an urgency that arises in part from the initial need and desire and from the proximity to other people, people who could intrude on us at any moment. That urgency serves to increase the intensity of the experience, driving both us us towards that inevitable moment of release; that moment when the dam bursts, the cock that I am sucking erupts, rewarding me with a mouthful of that rich, manly essence.

I savour briefly, then swallow as he tucks himself away. I straighten myself up and then, depending on circumstance, we either rejoin the occasion, or we part and go our separate ways into the night.

At the other extreme, there are the slow and leisurely blow-jobs; the ones I want to wallow and luxuriate in as I give the recipient as much pleasure as they can take over a prolonged period.

An example will be in the evening, when Master C is tired after a long and stressful day at work. As He sits back on the sofa, I’ll bring Him a beer or a glass of wine. I’ll make sure He is comfortable, then kneel between His legs, release His cock from its confinement, bring Him to a state of full harness with my fingers, lips and tongue before getting down to business.

Now there are no time constraints, no fears of interruption; it’s about me using my mouth to give Him the greatest pleasure. It’s a time where I let myself be guided by His responses, the sighs and moans, the involuntary muscle spasms and twitches of His cock. I can speed up and slow down. I get to suck, lick, kiss, caress. I want Master C to enjoy this and, knowing that He is, I enjoy doing it even more.

Long experience means I can read Master C’s responses very bit as well as He can read mine. I can measure His state of arousal through the deepness of His breathing, the timbre of His moans, the twitching and swelling of His cock, the long, drawn out sighs accompanied by shudders as take advantage of His increasing sensitivity.

Whereas in the first scenario, it’s all about getting o the finish as quickly as possible, this time it’s about drawing it out for as long as I can. In the earlier scenario it is over in a matter of minutes, here it ma take half an hour or longer.

The end result in both instances is, however, exactly the same; I am rewarded for my attentions with a lovely thick load of rich, warm cum, which every cock-sucker happily accepts as recognition of a job well done.

So which do I prefer? Well, because I derive so much pleasure from serving Master C, the protracted, drawn out version definitely comes out on top. That said, the cock hungry, cum loving slut that I am, does enjoy the quick and dirty version too.

I guess, really, so long as I have a cock in my mouth and I get rewarded with a thick load of cum to swallow down, I’m ultimately going to be happy in every case.

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Balancing needs


It probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this that I tend to like my sex rough, and hard. I like there to be varying degrees of pain involved. My sexual tastes and appetites have a natural tendency to veer towards the darker side. In addition to being submissive, I am also very much a masochist. Fortunately for me, Master C knows me, knows my motivations, knows my needs and desires, knows how to exploit them for His own pleasure and gratification and, most importantly, knows how to satisfy them for mine.

You will note there that I rank my needs as being more important than His, and this is the crux of my epiphany; it is a lesson that Master C has taught me.

The “traditional” view of a submissive is someone who serves their Dominant, who puts the Dominant partner’s need before their own at all times. There is an element of this in my dynamic with Master C; I do serve Him, I obey, Him, I do want Him to be satisfied, I want Him to enjoy and extract the most pleasure from our sexual activities, I want Him to use my body as He sees fit. And yet, while I will do everything I can to please and satisfy Him, my own need are still important and still need to be met.

Part of how I meet this is through “my service”; it’s about how I make myself available for Master C to used; to be bound and restrained, to be spanked, thrashed or caned, to be fucked in whichever hole he desires. Much of my satisfaction comes from knowing that I provide for Master C’s needs and desires, I provide an outlet of release for Him to make use of.

There is, however, a flip side to this; I have my own needs and desires, my own requirement for gratification and satisfaction. While it may seem strange to an outsider, much of our dynamic centres around care and attentiveness; even the thrashings and cagings are part of this.

Master C has taught me that it is right for me to have wants and needs, it is right for me to seek to have them satisfied, it is right for me to articulate them. My submission to Master C does not require me to supress my own needs, it gives me the freedom to explore them and to satisfy them.

I know that however Master C chooses to use me and how He decides to fuck me, He will ensure that, in taking His satisfaction from me, He will also provide for me. I know that when He gives me the freedom to enjoy my relationships with “The Other Guy” and “The Girl” He does so because He recognises the importance of these relationships to me. I know when my arse is being thrashed for having fucked a random stranger on a night out, I am paying the price for enjoying the freedom to satisfy a particular need in me.

Being Master C’s submissive gives me the freedom to have my own needs met, while satisfying His. Our dynamic works in a way that, often I put His needs ahead of mine, but never at the expense of mine.

Of course, part of this is helped by the fact that my biggest need of all is simply to be Master C’s, bratty, slutty, masochistic submissive. That’s one need I do seem to be particularly good at satisfying.

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Let’s fuck


It will come as no surprise to anyone when I say that I absolutely love fucking and being fucked. It doesn’t matter where or when, I love it. In bed, on the sofa, on the floor, over the kitchen counter, in the car, upstairs, downstairs, indoors, outdoors, my mouth, my cunt, my arse, it doesn’t matter; if it’s fucking then I’m all for it. It is the ultimate expression of me as a sexual being; using my body and having my body used for the most basic, primal gratification of one of humanity’s deepest and strongest urges.

But what do I mean by “fucking”?

Obviously, when Master C, or “The Other Guy”, or possibly some random acquaintance has their cock in my mouth, or my cunt, or my arse, and is thrusting away with carefree, wanton abandon, they are fucking me and I am being fucked. Specifically, my mouth/throat is being fucked, my cunt is being fucked, my arse is being fucked. But fucking isn’t just me having a penis in one (or more) of my orifices; it is something much deeper.

To me, fucking doesn’t even need to involve a penis and it doesn’t even need to involve penetration. “The Girl” and I fuck using just our fingers, hands, lips and tongues. Yes, we may finger-fuck each other, but that is secondary; we were fucking even before fingers ended up inside each other’s cunts.

Fucking, to me, involves the whole range of sexual activity, both penetrative and non-penetrative. It is sex where nothing is held back. It is sex where the participants are fully engaged in whatever they are doing to each other and whatever is being done to them. It is the unrestrained release required to fulfil a deep need. It’s not just about my mouth or my cunt or my arse; those are simply the bits of me that are most actively and directly involved. In away, it is probably being more accurate to say I am being fucked in my arse or in my cunt rather than to say I am having my throat/cunt/arse fucked because it is me that is being fucked, those are simply the means by which I am being fucked.

And that, for me, is the crux of it; I am being fucked. It’s not just a particular hole, it is all of me; it is my body, my mind and my soul. When Master C or “The Other Guy” has their cock in my arse or my cunt, they are using that hole to fuck me; they have simply chosen to fuck me in a particular way.

I realise that this is not one of my more coherent posts; you’d be excused for thinking it was simply an exercise in seeing how many times I can use the words “fuck”, “fucked” and “fucking” in the same post. I’m trying to put an intense set of feelings and emotions into words, and language is such an imperfect medium; some things simply have to be experienced, and for me, nothing beats the experience of a long, hard, uninhibited fuck that satisfies the body and the soul.

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He knows me


I’ve written before about how my d/s relationship with Master C often acts as a form of restoration. As someone who provides mental health support, my work is often emotionally draining. The experiences that some people share with me can often be harrowing and there is no amount of training that can fully shield you and leave you untouched by what you hear. My working life is spent helping people deal with the traumas of their everyday lives; lives that they have to return to every time their session comes to an end. It’s a job where “success” is sometimes measured by the fact that someone actually makes it through to come back for their next session. There are always some “good news” stories, but for the most part my job is to listen and provide support as the other person unburdens themselves, albeit briefly, of the suffering and pain they are experiencing. I am not inhuman. Their stories do not leave me unaffected. Emotionally, a toll is extracted.

Sometimes I need Master C to be gentle and soothing. Sometimes I need Him to be harsh, demanding and rough. There are times when I need to be held, caressed and have my hair stroked. There are times when I need to be choked, thrashed and fucked so hard I almost lose consciousness. One of Master C’s many great qualities is that He has an almost instinctive knowledge of what form of attention I am most in need of.

Last night Master C decided that what I really needed was for my arse to receive “six of the best” from His belt and for my throat to be thoroughly fucked. When I received His text message telling me that that was what He had planned for me, a thrill ran through me. I hadn’t appreciated that that was what I needed until I read His words, but as soon as I had, I realised that, yet again, He was absolutely right.

I was on my knees, naked apart from my collar when Master C arrived home. He had me wait while He attended to a few things. My anticipation levels climbing with every passing second that I had to wait until he came into the room and instructed me to bend over the arm of the sofa.

Even then, bent over, my arse exposed and waiting, I had to endure long agonising moments as He slowly undid and removed His belt. He tortured me by pacing the room, an end of His belt in each hand. Occasionally He would pause and pull the belt taught, making a resounding crack as the folded leather made contact. Eventually Master C stopped pacing. He turned to me and asked, “Are you ready?”

I nodded. “Yes Sir.”

“Then count them with me.”

“Yes Sir!”

I waited. long drawn out seconds until I heard that short, sharp swoosh, felt the air move as the belt rushed in an arc towards me, then cried “One!” as the leather bit into my buttocks for the first time.

The second lash bit harder, the third harder still. The fire in my buttocks grew exponentially with each stroke. Each number was increasingly more difficult to articulate, having to be forced past sobs. Never has six been such a difficult number to count to.

After the final stroke, Master C cuffed my hands behind my back and instructed me to lie on my back on the sofa and tilt my head back over the arm. From His pocket, He withdrew a pair of clamps and a squirmed as He tightened them around my nipples.

Taking my head in His hands He commanded me to “Open wide!”

I didn’t hesitate. The swollen head of Master C’s cock passed between my lips. He allowed me to savour it for a few brief moments before He pushed on, sliding His cock inch by inch into my mouth, forcing the head into my throat. He touched my neck with a fingertip, tracing His cock through my skin. My buttocks stung from their recent thrashing. My nipples throbbed inside the clamps. He gripped my neck with one hand, squeezing with a gentle but steady increase in pressure and began to fuck my throat.

Master C fucked me with firm, hard strokes, forcing the head of His cock deep down my throat each time, fucking it in the same way He would fuck my cunt or my arse. My mouth was simply a hole to be fucked like any of my others, my throat there to be filled by His cock.

His grip tightened as the force of His thrusts increased. I struggled for breath, gasping hard each time He gave me a moment’s respite. Saliva dribbled up my nose, into my eyes; His balls slapped my face as He fucked me.

At some point, as I struggled to breath, my throat raw from the pounding it was enduring, my nipples throbbing in agony, I felt a familiar dissociation; a feeling that I was somewhere else, that somehow I was watching this being done to me as well as experiencing it. It was if it were happening to me and yet it wasn’t me because I was watching the scene as it played out.

I became increasingly aware of Master C’s breathing, I could feel the veins in His cock pulse, the print marks His fingertips were making on my neck. I could taste His urgency, sense the increasing tension in His body as He used me.

Master C groaned as He thrust hard, then pulled back. A momentary pause that seemed to last forever passed and then he came, filling my mouth with cum. With my head tilted back and my throat raw, swallowing was hard, but somehow I managed; His rich, thick essence almost acting as a balm as it ran down my throat.

I heard a sharp buzzing. My brain barely had time to resolve what this meant before I felt the head of one of my wands being pressed to my clit. Almost at once, my back arched, I let out a cry that seared my already raw throat, and I came, hard.

Eventually Master C turned the wand off, released the clamps from my nipples, removed the cuffs from my wrists, wrapped me in the soft fleecy throw and held me in His arms. The cares and stresses of several days had been cleansed from my body and my soul. The dissociation subsided, I reconnected with myself. Master C kissed my forehead and stroked my hair; while there. in His strong arms, I consciousness returned from whatever plane it had been to, bringing me back to the here and now, back to the real world.

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After dark


It’s pretty fair to say that there is no way I could let this prompt pass without writing something on this subject. Since my earliest student days in my late teens, all the way through to the present, as someone with a particular penchant for doing sex things in risky locations, the darkened alleyway and/or the deserted thoroughfare have been a constant part of my locationary repertoire; whether that be with Master C or with some random casual acquaintance.

The very first time was in my first year at university. It was a Friday night, some drinks had been consumed, and I was enjoying the company of a charming young man who was saying all the right things and whom I decided I wanted to see more of. The intention had been to go back to halls, but as soon as we stepped outside the Student Union building, there was an urgency that overtook us. That part of town has numerous closes and vennels, and we quickly found one that was suitably secluded, although not entirely not overlooked, for our purposes.

Of course, it was only as things had heated up to the point where I had his cock in my hand that the realisation that neither of us had condoms on us dawned and so, I got to my knees in the darkened rear doorway of whatever building we were behind, took him in my mouth and sucked him off. The fact that we could potentially be caught in the act at any moment should someone else walk down that lane, or that we could possibly be overseen from the window of one of the tenements opposite was, it turned out, almost as big a turn on for him as it was for me. I sucked his cock with a frantic urgency and, in virtually no time at all (although in that exposed location, it seemed like an eternity), he exploded in my mouth, filling it with a huge load of thick cum that I hungrily gobbled down. After that, we straightened ourselves up, headed back to the Student Union to purchase condoms, went back to halls and spent the rest of Friday night and most of Saturday fucking each other senseless.

Since then, the drunken back alley fuck/blow-job has become one of my al fresco activities.

There is, to me, an inherent sluttiness about it; particularly if it’s a random encounter. Its a surrender to an urge that is so powerful, a need so intense that it cannot be denied or delayed. The act itself has an urgency, caused in no small part by the fact that it is risky, you could be disturbed and that simply adds to the experience. I have, in fact, been caught in the act on a few occasions. Fortunately nothing more ever came of it than some disapproving comments by the person who chanced upon us, but that in itself added another element to the experience.

If I’m fucking or sucking someone in a lane behind a pub, there is always that possibility. Senses are already heightened, but voices in the next street sound closer, footsteps on cobbles or pavements sound louder, lights in windows suggest the possibility of being observed. At any moment you could be disturbed by a drunken reveller, someone putting rubbish out, a resident coming home or going out, another couple looking for a secluded spot to do exactly what you are doing. All these thoughts are constantly there at the edge of your consciousness; the sense of excitement and apprehension combining to intensify the whole experience.

It doesn’t matter if I have my back against the wall, one leg hooked around his waist as he fucks me, or if he’s fucking me from behind as I brace myself against a doorway, or if I’m on my knees, sucking hungrily on his cock, the whole time I am aware of the riskiness of our situation and that only makes me even more determined to extract every ounce of filthy, wanton pleasure out of the act I am engaging in.

When it’s Master C I am engaging in such activities with, there is always the risk of an extra element being added to this. It is not unknown for Him to decide to mark me, to come on my face and forbid me from cleaning it off, forcing me to wear the evidence of my wanton sluttiness as we emerge from the dark alley out into the street lit, more populated lanes and streets as we make our way home. This, of course, while somewhat mortifying, does play to my humiliation/degradation fetishes and leaves me with a delicious juxtaposition of hoping no one notices His cum on my face while, at the same time, also hoping they do.

It’s been 30 years or so since I sucked my fellow student off in that alley. In the intervening years I have enjoyed many, many frantic fucks in deserted lanes, and I’m absolutely certain I will enjoy more still in the future.

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My flavour


I am, as I suspect many women are, very familiar with the taste of my own sexual fluids. By which I mean, many women are familiar with the taste of their own, not with mine; although there are a fair few who are familiar with mine too. I digress…

Almost from the very beginning, from pretty much the first furtive fingering I ever gave myself, I have been fascinated by the scent and flavour of my cunt. As I experimented, I began to notice the subtle changes in both consistency and flavour depending on my level of arousal and where I was in my cycle. Despite those variations there was an underlying intrinsic “meness” that, as I became acquainted with the taste of other vaginas, I released that I, like every other woman I tasted had my own unique flavour; my own essence.

I can’t really describe my flavour. It has a rich, slightly bitter, musky tanginess. At the point of orgasm, my flavour becomes sharper, richer and more intense. Many partners have commented on the fact that, when they are going down on me, they can tell the moment that I come simply because the way I taste changes; becoming stronger and (apparently) more intoxicating.

Now, I’m not sure about the intoxicating bit, but I will admit that tasting myself while masturbating has always heightened my arousal and intensified the sensations. When I wank, my fingers will travel between my cunt and my mouth many times as I drive myself towards orgasm; it is an intrinsic part of my self-play.

It isn’t just when I’m flying solo that I get to taste myself. I am fortunate that in Master C, “The Other Guy” and “The Girl”, I am blessed by having partners for whom going down on me is something the do with relish and gusto. I love tasting myself on their lips as they kiss me, my essence on their tongue as it snakes inside my mouth. I love it when a partners fingers, glistening with my juices, are pushed into my mouth to be licked clean. I can never get enough of the taste of myself on Master C’s or “The Other Guy’s” cock after it has been inside me.

I particularly love the combination of flavours when my cum is mixed with that of my partner’s, whether that be when Master C commands me to lick His cock clean after He has fucked me, or when I gather up our mixed essences as they trickle from my cunt and lick my fingers clean.

I have made no secret in this blog about how hungry I am when it comes to having my partners’ cum in my mouth but, it seems, when you get right down to it, I’m every bit as hungry for the taste of my own.

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Atonement


I am naked and on my knees before Master C. It is time for me to give an account of my time with “The Other Guy” and to accept the consequences of my actions.

“I have been a bad girl, Master. I have indulged myself and engaged in sluttish behaviour. How may I atone for my actions?”

Master C assumes an expression of stern gravity. “I will need to consider this,” He says, “but first, you may suck my cock.”

“Yes Master!” I concur softly. Then, with eyes downcast, I shuffle forward to commence my penance.

Sucking Master C’s cock is something I always relish and all ways give my all to, regardless of the circumstances but, as this is an atonement blow-job, I know I need to be extra attentive.

I begin by kissing all over its surface, stroking gently as I caress His length with my lips. My tongue swirls around the head and I softly caress His balls with my hands. Already I can feel Master C respond. His cock stiffens further, He sighs and settles Himself to accept my attentions. A low moan escapes as I wrap my lips around His shaft and draw Him deep into my mouth until the tip lodges in the back of my throat.

From there on in, my worship of those proud, hard inches of Him in my mouth becomes almost automatic. My lips glide up and down His length, sliding over the familiar pattern of veins just under the surface. My tongue licks and flicks and swirls around and over the tip. My throat closes around the head. My fingers encircle and stroke in tandem with my lips.

Master C’s cock twitches in response to my attentions. I an feel the head swell as the pressure for release begins to build. I sense the tension in His thighs. I take please in His contented moans and sighs. As much as I am doing this for Him, to please Him, to serve Him, to apologise to Him for being the slut that I am, I am also doing this for me. I love paying homage to Master C’s cock with my mouth. I love taking Him to the brink and making Him lose control. I love knowing that I am responsible for His pleasure and, ultimately, His climax. I can feel my cunt grow warm and wet as I take pleasure from the pleasure I am giving Him.

I wonder if He will come in my mouth? To swallow down His thick, rich cum would be a wonderful reward for my attentions. Then I remember, I am seeking atonement, not reward. I will accept His load wherever He deems appropriate and I will accept it without complaint.

Almost as the thought enters my head, Master C’s breathing and groans announce that He is almost at the edge. Gently He pushes me away; His cock slips from my mouth; I await His load.

He strokes His cock; I watch transfixed. His jaw is clenched. I can sense His pre-climactic tension.

A groan. The briefest pause. His cock erupts. His cum splatters over my face: over my forehead, across bridge of my nose, down my cheeks.

His eruption subsides. “Clean me, slut!” He demands. I take the still engorged head of His cock between my lips and suck the remnants of His load from Him as His cum trickles down my face and begins to dry on my skin.

When I am finished, He instructs me to retrieve the cane from His study. I don’t even try to suppress the shudder of anticipation His command elicits. Master C intends to punish me thoroughly.

I return, hand Him the cane and once again I kneel before Him. “Now tell me, slut,” He commands, “Tell me everything. Do not miss out a single detail.”

I do as I am commanded.

“I start by telling Master C how I sucked “The Other Guy’s” cock before we’d even made it out of His hall. The description earned me four strokes of the cane over my arse.

With tears in my eyes, I described in the minutest details how “The Other Guy” had eaten me out, driving me repeatedly to the brink and holding me there, over and over, again and again until I was finally permitted to come. Another four strokes, harder this time. The heat in my buttocks began to spread. My cunt began to clench.

I told Master C how “The Other Guy” fucked me; the positions employed; the pace and force of his thrusts. I admitted to Master C about how “The Other Guy” had fucked each of my holes repeatedly, earning my four more strokes for each hole.

My throat was raw from the sobs of pain as I confessed to the cuffs, the nipple clamps, the butt-plug, the dildo. One more stroke for each item.

When I completed my account, I was given four more strokes, just for being a cock hungry, pain loving slut. My buttocks were on fire, pain burned through every nerve, the cheeks of my face burned as crimson as the cheeks of my arse, my tears ran down my cheeks, mixing with His dried in cum.

“On your back, slut! Legs open!” Master C commanded.

I did as ordered, unleashing fresh tears as my arse made contact with the hard wooden floorboards. Master C entered me and took me. As His cock pounded my cunt, His hands closed around my neck. This may have been a punishment fuck, but to me it was the sweetest form of punishment. His cock drove into me, His hands choked me; tears flowed from my eyes, a combination of the asphyxiation and the pain of my arse being pressed into the hard floor.

Master C was relentless; pounding me, punishing me, fucking me. Despite the pain, despite the comfort, despite having to fight for every breath, I was loving every second, every squeeze of His fingers around my neck, every thrust of His cock in my cunt.

I came, hard. “Oh Master, forgive me, please!” I managed to gasp.

His body stiffened. He drove into me for a final time. “Oh Morag!” He groaned as I felt Him release deep inside me.

We lay together for a while, ignoring the discomfort of the hard floor beneath us. “Am I forgiven?” I asked in a small voice.

Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me then smiled. “Of course you are, little one,” He said softly. I smiled and He continued, “Now let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll get the salve for your arse, a large glass of wine and a nice soft cushion and, I think, you may have earned that cunt of yours, a very thorough tongue lashing.” I smiled. Much as I enjoy receiving Master C’s discipline, I enjoy His particular forms of after care-even more; and His plans certainly sounded very appealing.

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Watching


The prompt for Kink of the Week has the following quote:

“Voyeurism is a beautiful and delightful thing. There is nothing more intimate than really looking at someone.”

~ Laurel Nakadate

Now, I agree with the above statement, but I also have reservations about it. To me, voyeurism has elements of both pleasure and pain and it largely depends on who I am watching and the circumstances behind it.

For the record, I am very much an exhibitionist; I love the thought that I could be observed and I knowing that people are actually watching me and getting aroused watching me is a massive turn on. That, however, is another post for another time. Let us get back to watching.

For me, there are essentially three different forms of voyeurism and the have different feelings and emotions associated with them.

The first is an what I would describe as participative voyeurism. This happens in a group sex/sex party situation. I’m either watching others fuck while I myself am being fucked, or while I am “between fucks”. In this scenario, I am part of the scene; mine is one of the writhing, pleasure filled bodies. The air is filled with the sounds and scents of people fucking and I am one of those participants making my own contribution to sensual whole. The participants combine and recombine in different pairings, triples, quadruples, or whatever combination of bodies works for the given mood.

From a point of pure hedonism, there is nothing that really comes close to this. Watching the other participants is part of the act itself. As the observer, I am both influencing and being influenced by what I see, what I hear, what I smell, what I taste. I am watching and, simultaneously, being watched; the exhibitionist and voyeur turn-on buttons are both being pressed.

The second is a slightly more passive form of the above. I’m possibly in a swingers’ club or similar. I am watching others fuck, but I am not part of that scene, merely watching others enjoying each other. The sights, sounds and scents are still there, but I am not involved. It’s like a live action porn scene, but without the exaggerated, asthmatic banshee wailing. Unlike the previous situation, I can focus my attention fully on what I am watching. Depending on how close I can be, I can observe the minute little details; the expressions on faces, the changes in breathing, the sounds of two bodies moving together. All of these things are stimulating the pleasure neurons in my brain, triggering a response in me.

I know that, at some point, I will reach a place where I can no longer watch, the need for release will become to great. At that point I will retire to another room and deal with the situation. At that point, I go from being the observer to potentially being the subject of someone else’s voyeurism as the watch me either bring myself off, get fucked by Master C, or, with His permission I fuck someone else.

The final scenario is the one that brings a juxtaposition of emotions. I am tied up, bound, helpless, and I am required to watch as another woman attends to Master C. This is such a hard one because I know what they are enjoying and I know what I’m being deprived of. The dutiful submissive in me is happy for Master C and the pleasure He is receiving, but I am torn because it should be me that is providing it. It should be me that is sucking on that wonderful cock. It should be my cunt that He is feasting on and fucking. It is me that should be receiving that lovely rich, thick load of cum. I should be the one responsible for His pleasure. In an indirect way, I also know that I am. If I’m in this scenario, I’m almost certainly being punished for something and He wouldn’t be being attended to like this if I hadn’t been guilty of some transgression. That, however, is something of a moot point.

Similarly, I am happy for the other woman because I know exactly what she is enjoying; I know the expertise with which Master C’s tongue will drive her repeatedly to orgasm, I know the mastery with which He will fuck her, I can almost feel the pleasure she is feeling, but I should actually be feeling it because all those things should be being done to and with me.

I know that afterwards, Master C will be deeply attentive and will give me what I crave, and I have that to look forward to, but in that moment, there is a delicious mixture of watching Master C fuck majestically and desolation that it isn’t me that is receiving Him.

I think, it’s fair to say, that voyeurism, for me at least, can be something of a complicated issue that ticks so many of my boxes on different levels. It is something that, on the whole, I find deeply arousing. If I had to choose, however, much as I enjoy watching others fuck, on balance, I’d much rather that I was the centre of attention and that it was me that was being watched.

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