I was so excited to see my photo used for this weeks prompt on Masturbation Monday. This brought back delicious thoughts and, as we all know, memories are timeless treasures.
When this post was originally shared my life was not influenced by lockdown or directly by Sir. I had a selection of regular play partners that I could meet as and when I fancied, and my orgasms were my own to be enjoyed at a whim. Currently I’m home with just my children for company, aside from occasional socially distanced walk with friends, and have very particular guidance around any orgasms I may experience.
I’m in a pretty good place, lockdown is treating me well.
What is truly fascinating for me is the way that my body is missing play. I haven’t been intimate with anyone for a while now, I know I’m not alone there and I also know that I am enjoying more than my fair share of self-love. But my mind wanders off to somewhere very specific in those times and I thought I would share it here.
You see, in a couple of weeks it will be a year since the last time I REALLY got to enjoy giving a blow job.
This isn’t the last time I sucked a cock, but it is the last time the cock involved was really enthusiastic. And the man attached, of course!
The memories have been coming back to me recently, and I have been searching for the right kind of porn to feast my eyes and ears on. Sadly it is rare to find videos which show what I want, to see her but not hear her except for the gagging and drooling. And to be able to enjoy watching his pleasure… that’s what I need to see. The majority of videos are from his perspective, looking down on her as she moans, drooling all over his swollen shaft, but what isn’t seen often is the tension on his face as she works him closer and closer.
My mouth has excellent muscle memory, and I am salivating as I type.
I’ve been “practising” with dildos, trying to recreate the sensations that set my cunt ablaze. Hoping to rediscover the knack for deep-throating, but the fake shafts are relentless, and they have no give, warmth or scent. They aren’t attached to a man who responds to my efforts, throbbing and grunting as I relax enough for him to slide down. Fellating a rubber cock brings excitement and pleasure in certain ways, mostly due to preparing myself for His pleasure, but my brain has skipped a step and is needing to feel Him, to accomodate Him in his entirety. If He doesn’t need to use me immediately after restrictions are lifted perhaps I will be granted permission to practise elsewhere…
The urgency of my desires is escalating…
I can’t even wash up without drifting off into oral imaginings. Rolling my tongue over the roof of my mouth is as close as I can get to the feel of a cock. The faint ridges on my palette echoing the veins that get teased by my taste buds as I roll up and down, exploring the ripples of his pleasure. I miss having my hair fisted, and when he does that to her in the videos my cunt clenches in anticipation of the orgasm that could overwhelm me as I worship the shaft, ass and balls that are being offered up by Him.
I’m reminded of pre-cum, those little slicks of deliciousness that lubricate the back of my throat.
I have no way of replicating that flavour, and the scent that drives me wild. Strong male pheremones in lustrous pubic hair have the most wonderful effect on my dark, damp and hot spots. Knowing that I am bringing pleasure, those groans, that momentary loss of control as He crests a beautiful wave of pleasure. Will He hold my head still and thrust forward, pulse out His orgasm in my throat while tears of intensity are forced from my eyes? Maybe He will withdraw as He finds release, leaving a slick along my tongue, marking his retreat? Or will I be left panting, waiting open mouthed for Him to spray my reward, to be covered in ream after ream of sticky, white ejaculate.
To be able to wear it as my badge of honour as I go about the rest of my day.
To feel it’s warmth as it lands on my skin, covering my face, chin, collar… and then the temperature fades to match mine. The bits that I can’t lick off with my tongue drying to a transparent, mildly flaky crust that looks just like dry skin, waiting to peel off as I inadvertently rub against it. Like some kind of perverted game of scratch and sniff submission, marked with a subtlety that the world will not notice, but that means the world to me. By Him, for Him, or just for me… facials of days gone by make for interesting and erotic memories.
Yes, this is where my mind is going now, and as I edge myself at his behest this week I run my tongue around my lips, snaking it out as far as possible in its quest for the deposits that have been missing for so long…
Have you enjoyed Memories are timeless treasures? Perhaps you’ll enjoy this one too? Cunnilingus and Me.