Dominance Through Cunnilingus

Wicked WednesdayOne of the things I really don’t understand is the idea that performing cunnilingus on a woman is somehow an inherently submissive act. I get that it can be. I realise that porn abounds with images of the Domme female forcing her sissy male to eat her out. I understand, really I do.

But just because something can be done in a submissive fashion, doesn’t make it inherently submissive. You will no doubt have read the views of many female bloggers, women who identify as submissive, on the “power” and “control” they feel when they are sucking a cock. Does this suddenly maker the submissive woman Dominant in that relationship? No, of course it doesn’t. The chances are, while she may still doing it to please her Dominant; I suspect however, that rather than sucking cock as an act of submission, mostly the women in question are sucking cock because they love to suck cock.

The same is true for me and cunnilingus. It is something I love to do. I love the taste of a woman. I love her reactions as I feast on her. On top of all that, I love the fact that when my face is between her thighs, her pleasure is mine to dictate. I can choose how rough or how tenderly I treat her. I can decide how much teasing she has to endure before my tongue moves between her labia and works over her clit. I can dictate the pace and the power. Furthermore, I have absolute control over her orgasm.

TOSPI can chose to award her one quickly. I can choose to prolong the experience. I can take her to the edge over and over until I relent. I can push her beyond the limits of her endurance, driving her over the edge repeatedly until she begs me to stop (which I alone will decide whether or not I do). I can, on occasion, take her to the very brink and then deny her the final release should I so desire.

So far from being a submissive act, cunnilingus is simply another tool in the Dominant’s arsenal; a tool that, when used effectively can reward and punish in equal measure.

Ultimately however, the main reason I go down on a woman, is simply because it is something I thoroughly enjoy doing, whatever the end result.



Word for Wednesday – Sensualism



  1. the quality or state of being sensual

When it comes to sex, I am all about the senses; the sounds, the feelings, the scents, the scenes and the tastes. Great sex combines each of these; taking those essential building blocks and building them into a whole that is so much more than their sum.

Humans are a visual species, and it is fair to say that what we see is what initially attracts us to another person. We each have our own measure of the qualities that we find visually appealing in a potential partner.

Vision, however goes much deeper than that. They is the voyeuristic pleasure of watching your partner arouse and pleasure themselves. There is the joy that comes from watching their response to your attentions; the involuntary twitches and shakes, the changes of expression, the sinuous arching of their backs as the pleasure builds within them.

Wicked Wednesday
I am, by my own admission, an extremely tactile person. I love touch and I loved to be touched. I love the feel of a partner’s skin, soft and warm, against mine. I love the feel of their body under my fingertips and under my lips. I love the feel of theirs on mine; the warmth of her mouth as it encircles my cock and the soft heat of her cunt as I move inside her.

And then their is taste. The taste of her skin as I explore with lips. The intense flavour of her cunt as I feast on her. The subtle changes in flavour as her arousal grows, the sharp sweetness of her climax on my tongue.

Sound also plays its part, intensifying and amplifying every action. Her moans as I lick her, that sigh as I thrust slowly into her, filling her for the first time. There’s the sounds of skin on skin as our bodies move together. Sometimes the sound of leather on skin as my belt kisses her flesh. The sound of the bed beneath us adding to every movement, every squirm, every thrust.

Sex is so much more than just a physical pleasure. It engages all of the senses to become an emotional canvas on which we paint our desires.

That is the essence of sensualism; the surrendering to the full spectrum of experience.


Talking Dirty

#MasturbationMondayTRIGGER WARNING: This post will probably make me sound like a massive bellend/pious twat.







All words that are frequently used to describe aspects of sex. Also words that are used in the names of some of my favourite blogs and blogging memes; blogs and memes that promote body/image/sex positivity.

Yet, despite all the good things about these, I have one niggling problem them; the names.

Now, I must emphasise that I am not having a go at the bloggers and writers involved. The problem isn’t with their blogs, or what they write, or the photos they post. After all, I participate in these memes, posting both my writing and photos. My problem is with the language. Not the language used by my fellow bloggers/writers you understand, just the language that has grown up around sex itself.

Now, when it comes to writing about sex, I am as “guilty” as everyone else; I describe it as dirty/filthy/naughty/etc. The problem is, the negative connotations of these words goes against the sex positive message we try to put forward. Somehow, while on the one hand seeming entirely apt, they also reinforce the message that there is something wrong with sex; that somehow we should feel shame for enjoying it and the pleasure it brings us.

And yet…

And yet, the use of such words is partially what makes it so much fun; it makes it seem like we’re doing something we really shouldn’t. Which is, of course bollocks. Of course we should be doing it. If we didn’t, none of us would be here to discuss it. And since we should be doing it, it only seems right that we should also enjoy it.

On the one hand it is great that the sex positive community is attempting to “reclaim” these words and make them positive but, on the other hand, are we not further entrenching the idea of “wrongness” about sex by doing so.

It’s a quandary. No less so because there are no “positive” words in our language that have the same delicious (ok, so there’s one) feel to them when describing the act. There is something primal and satisfying about words such as fuck, cock, cunt; it is their power to shock that illicits such strong emotions and feelings, and what would sex be without those.

So we are stuck with the bizarre juxtaposition that, while proclaiming to the world that sex is good, wholesome, healthy, natural fun, we do so by describing it as dirty, filthy, naughty, bad.

This is a bit of a rambling diatribe. I wish I had a satisfying conclusion (pun intended) to raise. I wish I didn’t sound like a complete berk. Are we right to be wrong, or is wrong being right? I don’t know, I really don’t.

It’s a contradiction, and one that everyone who writes positively about sex faces, but it’s the use of such language that makes our particular genre (and indeed, the act itself) so enjoyable.

What can I say? Sometimes humans baffle me.


In The Mind

#MasturbationMondayTo me, the question as to which is the most important sexual organ is, if you’ll pardon the mixed oxymoron, a no-brainer.  It is the mind that interprets the stimuli received by our senses, it is the mind that generates desire. It is our mind that creates the eroticism of words and images, and it is our mind that dictates our responses. Different parts of my body are assigned different tasks; my lips are assigned the task of kissing you, my tongue gets then task of licking you, my fingers get the job of caressing you and my cock gets given responsibility for fucking you. It is, however, my mind that is control of each action; orchestrating and coordinating the sensual whole.

I will admit that I used to use contact/hook-up sites (Twitter isn’t really one of those, now, is it?). The biggest and most common complaint from women using these sites was about the lack of originality/imagination shown by the male users. All too often, it seems, “communication” from us men was a picture of our cock and a well thought out, highly eloquent one-liner, that went along the lines of: “hey babe, wanna fuk u.” Now, I am sure there are some women out there who appreciate this direct approach, but for the most part, given that these sites are a buyer’s market, with women very much the “buyers”, most, I think, preferred a little more effort than simply stating the blindingly obvious, i.e. that we wanted to fuck. There was, after all, a bit of a clue in the nature of the sites we were using.

Now for me, the whole “stimulate her mind and her body will follow” philosophy was part of the reason I started writing erotic fiction. It was a way of demonstrating that I am articulate, imaginative and, in a way, it gives a certain insight into the kind of things, sexually, that I enjoy.  In the context of hook-up sites, at some point during the correspondence, assuming I’d piqued their initial interest by not leading with my cock and by stringing a couple of paragraphs together, I could ask if they liked such stories and, if the answer was yes, point them in the direction of my site (well, it’s predecessor to be strictly accurate).

Surprisingly (or not), my approach did sometimes succeed. I’m not saying it was my writing that got me laid, but it was the fact that I’d taken the time to think about the person I was contacting, show that I’d taken an interest in what they had to say, and shown that I could think coherently about more than what was (if all went well) the desired and pleasurable (for her as well as me, I hope) endgame.

Mental stimulation, whilst vital in the initial making an impression stages, is no less important when you are in a relationship.  For me, part of foreplay is the drawn out flirting/sexting that goes on between us when we are not together.  This usually starts pretty much after we have seen each other, and continues almost right up until the moment we are next together. Time is often short, and so much of the “preparation” is done before we even see each other.

Being able to think sexy, and, more importantly, making the other person think sexy is, for me at least, a key part of the sex we have. Yes, it can lead to frustration, but it is a lot of fun being to turn someone on when you aren’t in their presence, and the frustration can be relieved when you do finally see each other. There is something wonderful about being able to build and maintain arousal and desire over a number of hours, days, even weeks if required, using just words from your imagination, telling her exactly what I intend to do, and what I want her to do. Knowing that she is wet and aching for me from just the words I have sent her, telling her of my hunger for her is, of itself, hugely arousing.

It is the equivalent  of edging her mind with mine.

So my advice, had I been inclined to give it to those “Ugh! Wanna Fuk!” guys, and thus increase the competition for the more articulate out there, would have been, if you really want to get into her knickers, you should try getting into her mind first.



It’s not just about the pain that it inflicts on the receiver; although that can be a big part of it sometimes, it is about so many other things.

Firstly, it’s about trust. It’s the trust that the receiver has in you, knowing that you are going to cause pain, but trusting you to keep it to what is acceptable.

It’s about exploring boundaries. Linked in with the trust mentioned above, there is the exploration of limits, of taking things that little bit further, of pushing the person on the receiving end to take that little bit more and, for them, trying to determine their own levels of endurance.

It’s about the senses. There is something animal, something primal about the sound of skin striking skin. There is something about that particular sound of hand coming into contact with buttock that has an electric feel about it; it echoes and reverberates in a way that is uniquely alone. There are the moans and cries of the receiver as the pain and the heat grow with each contact, the sheer animal nature of the other person’s response to pain. And then of course there is the wonder of the skin changing colour; from unblemished, through deepening shades of pink, to a fiery crimson glow. The receiver’s skin, a canvass on which I display my art.

It’s about caring and respect. No spanking should ever go unappreciated. The surrender implicit in the other person allowing me to subject them to such attentions should always be recognised, appreciated and cherished.

It’s very easy to get wrapped up in the physical aspect of spanking that, to the uninitiated, it is sometimes easy to miss the deeply sensual and emotional elements that go along with the act. Inflicting/enduring pain is, of course, a very obvious and visible part of the experience but, just like an iceberg, it is the elements that can’t be seen because they are below the surface, the feelings, the emotions, that go so much deeper.


In Praise Of Pussy

Pussy PrideYes, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Hold on a minute here, Mr Nudist, you’re a guy, you don’t have a vagina, why are you commenting on this?’ If you aren’t thinking that, then you would have been forgiven if you had been.

Yes, I am a guy and, no, I do not possess one of these wonderful objects of my own. I have, however, got to know quite a few of them intimately over the past 20+ years or so, so I think I have a certain perspective.

Pussies (I hate that word, even though I love that part of your body) like penises, come in all shapes, sizes and configurations and they are all amazing. Without exception, of the pussies I have known, I love the feel of them around my cock, I love the taste of them on my tongue. I love how warm and inviting they are. I love how wet they become. Basically, I just love them.

In the same way that we men can get hung up about our cocks, I know that women can have issues with their pussies. When it comes to how they look, I don’t care if your labia protrude beyond your vulva. I don’t mind how you style (or otherwise) your pubic hair. All I want to do is cherish and pleasure that most intimate and sensitive part of you; be it with my lips, my tongue, my fingers, or my cock.

Wicked WednesdayWhen I’m going down, I love how the juices it exudes taste on my tongue. I’m fascinated by the way the flavour changes as your arousal increases. For those that I have become particularly well acquainted with, I can almost tell the level of the woman’s arousal by taste alone; and when you come, oh, believe me, I can tell, and it tastes just perfect to me.

I love the way your labia part for my questing fingers, how you clit reacts to my touch. When I slide my finger inside it, I love the texture of your vagina and the way it grips my fingers.

And when my cock is inside one, when I am inside you, I love the way it feels; holding me, gripping me, caressing me, making me a part of you until I come.

Pussies, cunts, muffins, fannies, whatever you want to call them are all as individual as the women they belong to, and all marvellous. Each has its own “personality” (pussinality?), each has its own list of things that turn it on and things that it doesn’t like. Getting to know the intricacies of your lover’s pussy is, for me at least, one of the most joyful things about being with that person.

So let’s hear it for pussies (or whatever you call yours). They are one of the greatest gifts you can bestow. Those of us to whom you give them will always find ways to show you how much we cherish the gift you give us.



#MasturbationMondayFirst times… Memories… The sexual journey has so many firsts. The first snog, the first feel of a boob, the first time you see someone/someone sees you naked, the first hand-job/fingerfuck, the first blow-job/licking a girl’s cunt, the first fuck. So many, many different firsts. All new, all exciting (hopefully), all more than just a little nerve-racking, and all of them discoveries of the things we like/dislike as we embark on a journey that, if we’re lucky, we will continue upon for the rest of our lives.

But what counts as a sexual first? Is it the same thing for both partners? Where does teenage hormone-fuelled fumbling cross the line and become sexual activity?

For me, the first “sexy” thing I did was playing with a girl’s boobs. First outside her clothes, then moving under her top, then under her bra; teasing her nipples with my fingers before moving on to my lips and tongue. I remember the noises she made as I touched them; how they changed with every new experience. I remember how her nipples stiffened as I touched them with my fingers and her moan of delight as I replaced my fingers with my mouth.

Was that sexual? No “actual” sex took place; there wasn’t even any oral happening that day. But, to my teenage self, it definitely seemed sexual. I had given pleasure, physically, to another person. Neither of us climaxed (at least I didn’t, and I’m fairly sure she didn’t either), but I had used my body to give hers pleasure in a physical way.

But what about my fist ever receipt of sexual pleasure? The first time another person made me come.

Same girl, different date. Serious make-out session on her bed when her parents weren’t home. Me in my boxer shorts, her in just her knickers. Me on my back, her sitting astride my legs rubbing me through the material of my underwear.

Fuck me, it felt good. So different from when I stroked myself. She never touched my bare cock; mostly it was just the friction of the material against me as she rubbed.  I was aroused. She was getting off on how much I was enjoying her.

I remember the momentary look of anguish when I suggested she might want to stop before “something” happened. I remember her quite clearly telling me that she wanted to make “something” happen. And I remember the smile on her face when I told her she could carry on.

I can’t remember how much longer I lasted; 10 minutes or 10 seconds, it was all a blur. I do remember her involuntary flinch at my initial eruption, and then her hand returning to gently stroke my cock from outside my increasingly sticky boxer shorts, and how good it felt. Afterwards, as she cuddled into me, the softness of her boobs pressed into my side, she absently stroked my cock some more as my breathing returned to normal.

In the months that passed, we both moved on to using our mouths; and much later, we became each other’s “firsts”. That “first” however, was just one in a long line of first experiences we shared together.


Fine Dining

#MasturbationMondayIt seems that when it comes to going down on women, a lot of men can talk the talk, but many fail to deliver the goods. “I could spend hours eating a woman out” is, apparently, a common claim, I’ve even used it myself. The experiences that many of my female friends seems to be that this claim is very rarely backed up when it comes to guys actually putting her cunny where his mouth is.

Another common complaint from the fairer sex is that too many of us guys see it as something that’s done perfunctory, almost reluctantly. Something that is done and got out of the way as quickly as possible before moving on to the main event.

I’ve never understood this approach. For me, the only “main event” is the time spent pleasuring each other in its entirety. The passionate kissing, the stroking, the time spent exploring her body with my lips and fingers, the time spent eating her out, and the actual penetration are all individual events in their own right that add to a bigger whole; a sexual pentathlon if you will.

For me, part of the fun is the slow build up. The teasing of kissing her inner thighs, slowly getting closer but never quite touching. She knows that, eventually, my tongue is going to slip between her labia, and each time I approach, she hopes that this time will be the time. The point here is that I’m not just teasing her, I’m teasing myself too; I want to taste her, and I’m having to restrain and deny myself as much as I am denying her.

When the moment comes, and I allow myself to taste her, if I’ve done it right, I’m rewarded with a moan of relief as my tongue works between her folds and flicks over her clit.

Now, a thing about lady parts: some women like to keep theirs smooth, others nicely trimmed and tidy, where as others keep theirs in their natural state. You know what? I couldn’t care less. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I have my preferences, but going down isn’t about her topiary preferences, for me it’s about her scent, her taste, and once my tongue is between her labia, her pubic styling, or lack thereof, doesn’t matter. OK, so if she isn’t completely smooth, there’s the risk that at some point I’m going to have to stop to disengage a wayward pube, and while dealing with nature’s dental-floss may mean putting me of my stride momentarily, but that’s just part of the risk/reward.

As for once I’m down there, it’s not a race to the finish. Yes, her climax is a goal, but how she gets there is up to me. It’s important to respond to her wants. Does she want me to concentrate on her clit? Does she want me to abuse her nipples? Does she want me to speed up or slow down? All these things can be communicated verbally and non-verbally; her hand pressing my head towards her, the little sounds that tell me what she’s liking.

Ultimately, it’s not a sprint, and it also doesn’t have to be a marathon. At some point she’s (hopefully) going to want me to fuck her, and I’m definitely going to want my cock to benefit from the time my tongue has spent getting her cunt warmed up. The important thing is that both parties should enjoy it fully.

And that brings me to what it is that I enjoy about it so much. I would describe myself as a sensualist; that is I am someone for whom my enjoyment of sex is enhanced by the interactions with my senses. When it comes to sex, for me at least, cunnilingus is very much a full sensory experience.

First there is the sight. The seeing my partner lying there, opened up for me. Seeing her moisture glisten on her labia, which are, themselves, pink and inflamed. It’s seeing the small movements, the involuntary flinches as I lick her.

Then there is the sound. The sound of my tongue as it laps against her. The sounds of my fingers inside her cunt as they assist my mouth with its task.  The sounds of her breathing, her moans and sighs as her pleasure grows and her orgasm first approaches and then ignites.

There is touch. The texture of her most sensitive flesh against my tongue. The wetness of her cunt around my fingers. The pressure of her thighs against the sides of my face and her hand on the back of my head, not letting me go as I feast upon her.

Then there is scent. That rich, heady scent of her arousal that I breathe in.

But most of all there is taste. That sweet, rich flavour; so individual to each woman. The way her flavour deepens with her arousal. That sharp, intoxicating change of flavour that tells me when she cums.

For me, when a woman reaches orgasm on the end of my tongue, it is almost like sensory overload. Every sense is involved. Every sense is participating, combining to enhance the experience, building my own enjoyment and pleasure from hers.

Yes, I am a sensualist, and cunnilingus is the greatest all-round “food” for my senses.