Fingers


Fingers are such versatile things. My own fingers have given me immense pleasure innumerable times over the last 30 plus years. The effect that someone else’s fingers can have on me though, well…

I am an immensely tactile person. I love touching and I especially love being touched. From the first time a boy ever put his hand up my top to squeeze my boobs, or slipped a finger inside my knickers before sliding it up inside my cunt, I have been utterly at their mercy. Even now, as much as I love the attentions of a nice, thick, hard cock or a skilfully applied tongue, it is frequently a partner’s fingers that most often reduces me to quivering, gooey mess.

Sometimes it’s the way they are used them to squeeze, pinch and tug my nipples; rolling the rough pads of the thumbs over their tips as I am being fucked hard from behind. On other occasions it’s the way they are forced them up inside my cunt, twisting around inside me, being fucked with those wonderfully dextrous digits before having them fed them to me, covered in my own juices. At other times it can be the way they are used them to tease me, when I’m tied and blindfolded, helpless, unable to tell what will happen next, but loving every touch, however fleeting or prolonged, however light or forceful.

I will never get enough of a tongue on my clit, nor will I ever get too much of having a cock in my cunt, arse or mouth; but when it comes to the sheer flexibility of the things they can do to me, and for me, I will always love the attentions of the fingers.

#MasturbationMonday
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I touch myself


Master C loves to watch me bring myself to orgasm and, fortunately, I love to put on a show for him.

Enjoyable as a good wank is, there’s something undeniably hot about knowing that someone is watching you and is getting off to you getting yourself off.

When I come, I lick my juices off my fingers and then accept Master C’s cock as He wanks Himself off into my mouth; rewarding me with a thick load of cum for turning Him on with my show.

It’s an experience that I find particularly hot.

Does Master C think of me when He wanks? I don’t know, and to be honest, it doesn’t really matter. What goes on in His mind to add to the sensory experience and help Him come is up to him. It might be me, it might be Jessica Alba, it may even be me and Jessica Alba if He’s really lucky.

So who or what do I think about when I’m wanking? It all depends really.

Sometimes I’ll be having a particularly salacious daydream. This may involve Master C or “The Other Guy”, it may involve a celebrity, it may just be a faceless other person, it doesn’t matter. In this case the thought comes first, the thought causes the wank; I use my fingers and/or toys to give some substance to the daydream, to give it a little more realness. If I’m imagining that Master C/Ryan Gosling/nameless stranger is fucking me, I want to feel something in whatever hole my daydream has me being fucked in. The daydream provides the backdrop while my fingers/toys bring it to life.

Usually though, it’s the other way around; I’ll begin to play with myself and then I’ll conjure up something in my mind to give it something to work with and connect to the sensations coming from my boobs or my cunt. I may remember a particularly good shag that I’ve had. Perhaps it was the setting that made it special rather than the fuck itself. It may or may not involve Master C. It may or may not involve a guy at all; sometimes my hottest fantasies are those where I’m with “The Girl” or possibly even another girl. The sex I’m having in my head may be soft and romantic, or it could be hard, rough, verging on brutal. Sometimes I’ll imagine a one-on-one scene, at other times I’ll imagine multiple partners, be they people I know or total strangers.

The fantasy fits my mood. If I want to enjoy a long, slow wank, I’ll picture something tender and protracted. If I want to get off in a hurry, I’ll imagine something rough and urgent.

The fact is, there is a wank for every mood, and a fantasy for every wank, all I have to do is match them up in my head.

#MasturbationMonday

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

Quality, not quantity…


I am a big fan of cocks. I have been intimately acquainted with a fair number of them over the years. Long ones, short ones, thick ones, thin ones, straight ones, bendy ones; all shapes and sizes. The one thing I have discovered is that the size of the package has no bearing at all on the proficiency with which it is used. If anything, the reverse seems more likely to be true; in that guys with larger cocks have a tendency to rely on the size of what they have, thinking that that alone will satisfy us.

Now, I realise that is a gross generalisation, and I have known a few guys with bigger than average penises to be very proficient in the way they have used them but, experience has shown that I’m more likely to be disappointed with an above average partner than with one who is less “heroically” endowed.

The thing is though, much as I love cock (which is lots), and much as I love feeling myself being filled by one, unless all I really want is a thorough fucking, what a guy does to me with his cock is only part of the story. I want a guy to turn me on with his hands, I want him to tease me with his fingers, I want his lips to explore me, I want his tongue to drive me wild, and I want his cock to take me over the edge.

Call me greedy, but I want a guy to do all those things to me and more. Yes, I love his cock, but it’s not all about the cock (except sometimes when it is).

I used to laugh at some of the profiles on sites like fabswingers, where the woman stated she only wanted to meet Very Well Endowed men with at least 8″. I mean, do these women actually take tape measures to bed with them? Do they actually require evidence before they will meet someone. Will they actually pass someone up just because they only measure 7.9″, like that 0.1″ is actually going to make any difference? Don’t get me wrong, I like to feel as full as the next woman but, unless someone is at the extreme of either end of the penile length/girth spectrum, once it’s inside me, I couldn’t honestly tell you how long/thick it is.

Like a lot of women, it seems that if I have a size related preference, it’s for thicker rather than longer, but since I’ve never had a penis that didn’t stretch me in some way as it entered me, I’ve never had an experience where the guy wasn’t “thick enough”.

Essentially, I want to feel nicely full whichever hole his cock is in. Ideally, it should be long enough to fill the back of my throat, but not so long that it bruises my cervix. In terms of thickness, I want to feel stretched, but not as if I’m being split in two or having my jaw dislocated (I am not a python after all).

Mostly though, I want a guy who knows how to turn me on, how to use my body for his pleasure and to give me pleasure. He has to be able to use his cock, whatever size it is, and he needs to be able to use it in conjunction with his fingers, hands, lips and tongue. If, like Master C does, he can turn me into a gibbering, trembling, orgasmic wreck before his cock gets anywhere near being inside me, then frankly I won’t have a care in the world.

#WickedWednesday