Cunt


I love the word cunt; so coarse, so harsh a word for something so warm, soft, inviting and, ultimately welcoming. It is, however, a very satisfying word. Cunt: it just rolls of the tongue. It has a lovely, earthy Anglo Saxon feel about it, the way so many of our sex words have. Cock, cunt, fuck; such short forceful words that combine so well together, both on the page and in the flesh.

It hasn’t always been my cunt. When I was much younger, it was my fanny. When I was a bit older, it became my pussy. Occasionally, mostly because I’m redheaded, it got referred to as a minge, because that rhymes so playfully with ginge.

I never really liked pussy as a descriptive term. Yes, mine is sometimes “furry” after a fashion, and it does love being stroked, but in its own way pussy always seemed to be almost as childish a name as fanny.

I can’t exactly remember the first time a partner referred to it as a cunt. I do remember thinking, “Yes! That’s what it is. It is my cunt!” I remember enjoying the things his tongue was doing to my cunt. I remember how I felt as his cock fucked my cunt. That wasn’t just its name, that was what it was. It completed the unholy trinity of C words: cock, clit, and now cunt.

From then on, when a guy, or girl, went down on me, he/she licked my cunt, tasted my cunt, ate my cunt. When I had sex with me, he fucked my cunt. And when I masturbated, I would frig my cunt.

Frig. Wank. Cock. Fuck. Arse. Cunt.

Such short, sharp, harsh, vulgar yet, at the same time, beautiful words.

And then of course there is one more; slut, for that is what I am. A filthy, greedy, insatiable, submissive little slut. A slut who craves nothing more than Master C’s cock, whether it be in her mouth, her arse or her cunt. A slut who loves to be told how warm and tight her cunt feels around her Master’s cock. A slut who loves to fee Master C’s tongue lapping her juices from her cunt. A slut who just simply loves her cunt licked, fucked and generally used however Master C deems fit.

#MasturbationMonday #PussyPrideProject

 

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The cage


Ever since Master C installed the cage a couple of years ago, it has been a constant source of dread. It is His last recourse of discipline, to be used when a simple thrashing is not sufficient for the transgression that I have committed.

The punishment for those very worst offences is always the same:

Step one: I am thrashed/birched soundly.

Step two: With my hands cuffed behind my back, I am forced to kneel before Master C as He wanks, then cums all over me.

Step three: I am pushed into the cage, the door is locked, the light is switched off, and I am left overnight to contemplate my behaviour.

Step four: At some point the next day, I will be required to apologise, suck His cock through the bars of the cage then, once released, submit myself for another thrashing.

I fear and dread the cage more than anything.  More than simply being thrashed. More than being denied the release of orgasm. I fear it because it denies me a night spent next to Master C, feeling His body against mine, feeling safe wrapped up in His strong yet soft embrace. I fear it because it means I have done something so bad, I have temporarily lost the right to His protection.

And yet, the cage isn’t always bad…

Sometimes, when I’m feeling low after a bad day at work, or a particularly bad bout of PMT, I will retreat to the cage, waiting for Master C to return.  The cage becomes a sanctuary, a place of comfort and security.  When Master C comes home and finds me in my cage, He knows that I’m feeling particularly fragile, that I need His care and reassurance more than anything else. It is my sign to Him that the world is proving too much for me and I need Master C to look after me, to cherish me, to love me.

It is a sign that Master C knows only to well how to interpret. I need Him to be my caring, protecting Dominant. He never fails me.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The “truth” about size


Having been a member of numerous adult contact sites in the past, and having browsed a few profiles on those same sites, I wasn’t all that surprised when I noticed that a lot of women want the men they meet to be “well hung”. What did surprise me was the number who insist that only men with cocks greater than 8″ (or in some cases the specification was greater than 9″) should bother contacting them.

This got me to wondering just how many “genuine” contacts they get.

It is generally accepted that the average length of the male organ, when erect is approximately 5½-6½”. Now, I know, averages being averages means that there must be a distribution of lengths on either side of that figure. Fair enough, I get that. I’ve had quite a few cocks in my life and some have been longer and some have been shorter but, typically, they’ve all been much of a muchness (thickness, on the other hand…)

Anyway, back to my point. When a woman specifies such a requirement, how does she actually know what she’s getting in advance? OK, there are pictures on these sites (believe me, there are lots of pictures…) but, to be perfectly frank, these don’t actually tell the viewer anything about how long they are.

So, given that the photos aren’t much to go by, unless there’s some frame of reference to give an idea of scale, It does beg the question about how she knows the cock she is going to get meets the required specification.

Do these women insist on documentary evidence?

Do they carry a measuring tape around with them at all times?

If the latter, what happens when they unwrap the aforementioned ‘gift’ and discover it is short by a fraction? Do they just kick him out and dig out their favourite toy instead?

That said, even if the guy does actually measure up, it’s still no guarantee of success. The biggest guy I ever had claimed to be 9″. I took that with a pinch of salt and was right to do so as, in reality, he was probably nearer to 8″ (no, I didn’t measure him, Master C’s cock is the only cock I have measured and that was simply as a bit of a laugh, but with hindsight, the cock of the man in question wasn’t really that much longer than Master C’s, and I know how long 1½” is, and he wasn’t that much longer). The sad thing was, he was probably the crappest shag I’ve ever had. He was so impressed with his size (and naturally assumed I would be too), that his technique was sadly deficient. 10/10 for content, certainly, but only 2/10 for application.

Now, the simple biological fact is that the most sensitive part of a woman’s vagina is in the first 3½” – 4″ so, as long as your cock is at least that long, you’re probably going to be stimulating all the right nerve endings. Anything more than this is simply filling. Don’t get me wrong, I do love to feel full, but I get more pleasure out of feeling stretched. If I’m being totally honest, once a guy is inside me, unless his cock is so long that the head of it is continually banging against my cervix (not a sensation I enjoy, believe me) then I haven’t really got any idea how long or short his cock is.

And, the thing is, guys who have (or perceive themselves to have, regardless of whether or not the actually have) do, in my experience at least, tend to try harder to satisfy us women. They tend to be better with their tongues, they tend to touch more, they tend to engage us more in a sensual way than their longer phallused counterparts. My simple rule of thumb, derived from bitter experience, is that the bigger the dick the guy has, the bigger the dick he tends to be. My alleged 9″ guy was so impressed with his cock that he seemed to think I should, I don’t know, swoon in it’s presence or bow down and worship it, or something. He certainly seemed to believe being penetrated by it should provide me with all the pleasure I could possibly want. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.

A big cock doesn’t turn a crap shag into a great one, but it can turn a mediocre one into a towering disappointment.

So, getting back to my original point, why would any woman insist on a particular size given that there is no guarantee of satisfaction? Wouldn’t insistence on ability be more beneficial (if a lot harder to quantify)?

Don’t get me wrong, if a guy has a nice sized cock, and can use it (eg, Master C/”The Other Guy”) then this is great, but if I cant have size and ability, then I will choose ability over size every time. Life is too short to put up with crap sex and if the guy you’re with really knows how to push all your buttons and can fuck you seven shades of senseless, then his cock is quite clearly the ideal size for the job.

#MasturbationMonday

 

Rough


I may be an incorrigible little slut, but I’m still a woman and I like a little romance and tender, loving sex every bit as much as any woman. Sometimes though, I want, no, I need it rough, I need it hard; I require to be taken with a certain primal, almost animal intensity.

When I’m in this mood there’s only one hole for the job; my arsehole. Now, not everyone will agree, but for me, when I want it rough and hard and filthy, my arse is the hole I want it in.

It’s the discomfort, it’s the filthiness of it, it’s the whole “nice girls don’t take it up the bum” thing that makes anal sex so suited to a hard, merciless fucking.

It’s the way Master C pulls my hair, the way He calls me His filthy little slut as His cock is driven into my tight rear hole; stretching it, abusing it, hurting it. It’s the way His fingers grip into me, almost bruising my skin as He fucks me with long, hard strokes; His balls slapping against the lips of my cunt as He pounds my arse.

It’s dirty, it’s hard, it’s so deliciously slutty; and when He cums, when Master C pulls out and fires a thick load of warm, sticky cum up my back, calling me a dirty whore as He marks me with His seed, I feel a sense of satisfaction at having received the rough, hard fuck I so badly needed.

#MasturbationMonday

 

A mouthful of man


In my last post, I discussed how much I love wanking . So, inspired by a rather yummy prompt image, today I thought I’d wax lyrical on the subject of another of my favourite activities, sucking cock.

It’ll come as no surprise to anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time that I simply love sucking cock. I can honestly say that I have had more cocks in my mouth than I have had in either my cunt or my arse.

I’ve mentioned before about the sense of control sucking a guy’s cock gives me, but what I love most about it is the knowledge that his pleasure, his orgasm, is entirely down to me.

There is something immensely satisfying about taking a cock from a state of flaccid disinterest, through the stages of arousal to full pulsing hardness, until it erupts sending its hot, thick load down my throat. It gives me a great sense of gratification to know that I alone have done this; that I have given him so much pleasure.

I love licking and kissing every inch. I love taking the swollen head deep into the back of my throat, sometimes allowing myself to chock and gag on it. I love the moans and sighs that the recipient of my talent makes, letting me know how much pleasure I am giving him. I love it when he grabs my hair and pushes his cock deeper into my mouth as he begins to lose control. And I especially love it when he comes, filling my mouth with his manly essence, rewarding me for a job well done.

Sucking any guy’s cock, for me, is all about the pleasure I give him. It’s not entirely selfless however, as I take a deep pleasure of satisfaction from knowing that I am pleasing him, worshipping his cock as a symbol of his masculinity.

And, as Master C’s dutiful submissive slut, it is right that I should praise and, yes, worship my Master’s cock. For me, the most devotional form of worship I can give, is to suck His cock.

#MasturbationMonday

 

The joys of wanking


The relationship I have had with my fingers is the longest sexual relationship I have had. Stretching back over more than half my life, it’s fair to say that no one, not even Master C, has given me as many orgasms as I have myself.

Of course, those first furtive fingerings were very much clandestine affairs, under the covers of my bed, biting my lip so as not to make a sound, not wanting to betray the pleasure I was having. In truth, the need to keep quiet, to not alert my parents or siblings to what I was doing only intensified the sensations, making my orgasms even more powerful, but that didn’t lessen the secret, almost shameful source of my pleasure.

When I bought my first vibrator, I remember rushing home, hoping that the house would be empty so that I could enjoy some time with my new purchase.

As luck would have it, the house was unoccupied; my parents were still at work, my brother was probably off with his mates in some garage, practicing to be the next big rock sensation, and my goody-two shoes (as I thought) sister was probably pouring over her books in the library. Excitedly, I ripped my new toy from its packaging, inserted the batteries and, pausing only to pull the curtains, I threw myself on my bed, hitched up my skirt, yanked off my knickers and set about myself.

The result was almost disappointingly instantaneous. I came almost as soon as the buzzing tip touched my clit. I came, moaning and shaking. In my defence, I was so excited, my anticipation almost certainly contributed to my near instant climax.

That first vibrator wasn’t the quietest I’ve ever had. As a result, it’s use was limited to when the house was empty, but it gave many hours of pleasure before it finally moved to the great sex-shop in the sky.

When my sex life expanded to include other people, I discovered that wanking wasn’t just a solitary pleasure, it could be a shared joy.

The first time I wanked for someone was an awakening. I’d gone back to my boyfriend’s and we took advantage of his parents being out. After I’d sucked him off he put his head between my thighs. His tongue worked its magic on me, taking me deliciously close to a climax. Almost, but not quite. For some reason, on that particular occasion, he couldn’t quite take me over the brink.

When he fucked me, it was as good as it always was but, for some reason, I still couldn’t quite get there. When he came, I was still randy, still bursting with sexual energy. He suggested I finish myself off.

I was nervous. I’d never wanked openly before. It was exciting; having someone there. Knowing he was watching me gave it an added fillip. As it happened, that was all I needed to make that final connection, to drive me over the edge, to come hard and loud as he encouraged me. It really opened my eyes (figuratively that is, they were screwed tightly shut at the time) as to how wanking, far from being a solo, secretive activity could be a fabulously intense shared experience. Wanking, at least when in the presence of a partner, was not something that had to be done in secret, it could be done openly and was a huge turn-on for both the wanker and the watcher.

Which brings me to the present. Master C, like just about every partner I’ve had, loves to watch me wank, and I, being the shameless exhibitionist that I am, love putting on a show for Him. I love the fact that Hetakes so much pleasure from my own. I get off knowing that He is rock hard as I finger my cunt or fuck myself with one of my toys. Sometimes, when I come, He’ll fuck my brains out. At other times, the show I have put on has been too much for Him and He blows a huge load of cum over me; an outcome that, as often as not, triggers yet another climax for me.

Sometimes, however, wanking is still a solitary experience. There are times when I’m randy and Master C isn’t around to give me release I need. Sometimes I will deny myself, enduring the frustration until Master C gets home and can give me a thorough seeing-to. The denial and suppressed frustration makes the sensations when He eventually fucks me even more intense. Most often though, the need proves to be too great and I’ll dig out my toys or use my fingers to bring myself off.

Nowadays, of course, wanking doesn’t need to be confined to my bedroom, nor does it need to be silent. I can wank in the bedroom, or in the shower, or on the sofa, or (weather permitting) I can even wank in the garden and, if I’m feeling really daring, I can wank on public transport. The garden and in public excepted, I can give full voice to my pleasure; moaning, perhaps even screaming as the sensations overwhelm me.

I can use my toys. I can use my fingers. Sometimes I will use a combination of both. Ultimately, the method by which I get myself off is entirely down to my mood (although sometimes suggestions from the “audience” will be considered). Far from being something to be ashamed of, wanking is an activity to enjoy, to relish, to luxuriate in; whether it be strictly for my own pleasure, or for a partner’s “benefit”.

I’ve been a wanker for well over half my life so far, and I intend to be a wanker for a very long time to come.

#MasturbationMonday

Knowing my place


I’ve said it before, and no doubt I will say it again; I am quite unashamedly a cock-loving slut. I love cock, lot’s of cock. I love it in my mouth, I love it in my cunt, I love it in my arse; it doesn’t matter, I will enjoy every lovely inch of cock wherever it is put.

I am, of course, very fortunate. I have a very considerate Master who allows me to satisfy my particular cravings, so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions. I know I will be required to atone for my transgressions. I accept that there is a price to be paid for the pleasure of feeling another man’s cock in me. I know  that the price of my waywardness is to feel the stinging kiss of Master C’s belt on my arse; and it is a price I am willing to pay.

And yet, I know my place. I know the one place where I truly belong. That place is on Master C’s cock.

For all that I enjoy the novelty of being with a new partner. For all that I crave that heady (and indeed, hedonistic) rush that comes with being so turned on, you just want the guy you are with to take you and use you right there, in that instant. For all that I love the excitement of having a stranger’s cock inside me; the one cock I will always crave, the one cock that does the most wonderful things to me, the one cock that I know every inch of, every bump, every ridge, every vein is the cock that belongs to Master C.

Master C’s cock is the one that claims me, completes me and truly satisfies me. Master C’s cock is the one that will make me moan and sigh in ways that no other man will ever hear. Master C’s cock is the one on which I ultimately belong; feeling its oh so achingly familiar length, thickness and hardness inside me.

Yes, I am a slut. Yes I love cock. And yet I still know my place; and that place is on Master C’s cock.

#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

Your sub, your way?


When it comes to sex, I love having things to be done to me. I enjoy being spanked, I love being restrained, blindfolds figure quite frequently in my sex play and I thoroughly love being taken, by a strong, confident man who is comfortable and secure enough to use my body in a way that brings him, and ultimately me, pleasure.

I’ve used that word: “taken” again. As I mentioned in a recent post on the subject of blow-jobs, the vast majority of sexual acts are done, no matter how actively and enthusiastically we participate, to women. Nature has designed the female body to be the receiver. Not that I’m complaining, I do like being on the receiving end of a bloody good fuck, and both Master C and “The Other Guy” are particularly adept at dishing those out. The result, I believe, is, that the sexual act is inherently submissive from the female perspective. We give our bodies to our partners, and men take their pleasure from us. Even when we women initiate things, ultimately it is our legs that part and we offer ourselves up to our partner.

Now, again, I’m not complaining; I love that feeling of having whichever hole is being taken stretched and filled by a cock. I love being pinned down beneath a guy as he thrusts into me, filling me with those rock hard, proud several inches of flesh.

I’m all in favour of sexual equality, but the male and female bodies are not designed to be equal.

Now, I like a little tenderness and romance; I am a woman after all, but I also like a man who knows what he wants. I want my men to be, well, manly. I want them to fuck me properly. Sometimes this can be slow and gentle and loving, other times it can be rough, fast, hard.

It’s a huge turn-on for me, when Master C comes home, kisses me roughly, spins me around, bends me over the table, flips up my skirt and just takes me roughly from behind and just pounds my cunt or arse until He cums hard inside me. It’s a sign that He wants me for that purpose and that purpose alone. I know, because I’ve asked, and He’s admitted, that at that particular moment, it doesn’t actually matter that it’s me He’s fucking, all Master C is aware of is His own need; to all intents and purposes, I am simply an object for him to take His gratification from and, ironically (and I’m aware the rabidly feminist of my readers will be appalled by this), as a woman, I relish in this. It’s primal, it’s animal and it’s knicker-moisteningly good.

At other times, what starts off as slow and tender can, as the passion mounts, slowly grow until it becomes a full-on cunt pounding, and again, that’s great.

We women are receivers; men are givers and takers; that’s how nature has designed us. That’s not to say that we women can’t use men for our own pleasure; of course we can. I do frequently, and I’m sure most, if not all women reading this do, or have done so.

But for me, much of the pleasure comes from tipping the man I happen to be with, whether it be Master C, “The Other Guy” or some random I’ve met in the pub, over the edge so he releases his inner Cro-Magnon. Much as I love tenderness and romance, I also love it hard and rough; the kind of sex that leaves both participants sweaty, exhausted and, in my case at least, satisfyingly achy in places.

So I guess some of the submissive in me that comes, for no other reason, than the fact that I have a vagina, and I love having it stuffed full of penis. Sometimes I think that the human body is the model of bad design, but in sex, I think nature got it about right…

#MasturbationMonday

My favourite sex toy


Like many women, I love my toys. I have my ben-wa balls and my rampant rabbit, I have my discrete little vibrator that looks like a lipstick, I have my doxy that can take me from naught to screaming the roof off in a matter of seconds, and I have a lovely double ended dildo that not only fills my arse and cunt simultaneously, but has a little vibrating bit that stimulates my clit too. I have others, but those listed above are some of my favourites. My absolute favourite however, is thick, a little over 7″ long, and comes attached to a living, breathing, hard bodied, hairy man. I am, of course, talking about Master C’s cock.

Now, it should be abundantly clear to anyone who is even the most casual reader of this humble journal that I am submissive. I love when Master C takes control and dominates me. In fact, it goes much deeper than that, I NEED Master C to dominate me. I admit, however, there are also times when I very much need to be the one that is in charge. It is a side of me that that I don’t express very often, but Master C loves that, on occasion, I do.

It is not unknown for me to be waiting for Master C to come home from work, randy as hell, knickers soaked from anticipation, ready to jump on Him the moment He gets in. Usually, I would wait patiently, on my knees, for His return but in these situations I may simply drag Him into the bedroom, or push Him down on the sofa; sometimes I may even just have Him on the stairs in the hall.

Almost always, I will be on top. I’ll undo His trousers and pull them down, quickly followed by His boxers. Straddling Him, I’ll hitch my skirt up, reach back and grab His cock, teasing myself with the tip for several delicious moments or longer, before lowering myself on to it; impaling myself, inch by delicious inch on His length and feeling Master C stretch and fill me, as lower myself down.

Depending on what I’m wearing, I’ll allow my blouse to be unbuttoned, or my top to be pulled over my head, and my bra unclasped to allow Master C access to my boobs. I am, after all, a sucker for nipple stimulation.

Sometimes I will wake up in need of a fuck. Most often, wake-up sex is initiated by Master C, but sometimes it’s me. I’ll stroke His cock until He’s hard before climbing aboard and riding His cock with abandon.

Often, I’ll fuck Master C until He erupts inside me; flooding my cunt with His rich, hot sticky cum. At other times I’ll break off and move up, lowering my cunt to His mouth and have Him lick me to a shuddering climax or two before rolling over and have Him take me hard and fast. Sometimes, if I’ve satisfied myself on His cock, I’ll finish up by taking Him in my mouth; savouring the taste of my juices on his shaft, until Master C comes, our individual tastes mixing in my mouth.

I love the feeling of control. I love being in command of my own pleasure. I love occasionally being able to “use” Master C in a way that gives me sensations all over my body in a way that no simple piece of plastic, vibrating or otherwise can provide. I also love that Master C allows me to “use Him” in this way.

Most of all though, I just love fucking and being fucked by Master C.

#WickedWednesday