Girl on the Net

This week’s guest blogger is Cassie C, and she’s here to talk about oral sex. Specifically, she’s here to tell you a story that’s equal parts relatable and saucy. If you’ve ever thought to yourself ‘I wish there was more porn about people eating me out’ then this one’s for you…

I’ve avoided guys eating me out… until now

When I was in sixth form college, my secret nickname (as in the one I never knew about) was ‘The Ice Maiden’. I’d had only one boyfriend in high school and we’d never gone further than kissing, occasional frotting, and this one time he clumsily fingered me and I was too shocked to enjoy it. I spent most of my two years at college crushing madly on a number of guys but not having the confidence to do anything about it. All of my friends were cheerfully banging their way around the social circle and I think I would up in the ‘don’t even bother’ camp. However, the minute I lost my virginity (not until I was nineteen) I went sex nuts. I would fuck anything tasty I could get my hands on, and quite frequently it got me in a lot of trouble. You could even say I had a bit of a reputation.

For as long as I’ve been having sex, I’ve loved it. Everything about it. If I go a long time without getting fucked, it isn’t because I don’t want to but because I can’t get any.

There was one thing I could never get past though, and that was guys going down on me. I think the first time someone tried it was when I was about eighteen and I lay there on my bedroom floor like a deer in the headlights, not knowing what to do – it felt kind of okay in a tickly way, but even I used to have trouble making myself come back then so there was no way it was going anywhere other than disappointment-ville. I think it would be a further eighteen years before a guy made me come without physical “hands-on” assistance from me (yes sports fans, eighteen years… until I was thirty-six… it was last December).

Over the next eighteen years (yes, I’m saying it again because I can hardly believe it myself… eighteen years), various partners and casual shags gave it a go but there was something about the way they would get frustrated if they couldn’t get me off in the first few minutes that discouraged me from the whole thing. It felt like they were doing it, not because it might feel good and I might enjoy it, but because they wanted me to orgasm. Like they were trying to prove something. None got close and whilst they were down there, the more I thought about it – the more I put all my concentration into trying to climax – the less likely it was to happen. I felt under pressure from them, from myself, from society. So eventually I simply stopped letting anyone try.

It also didn’t help that I’d been brainwashed by that whole “guys don’t really like doing it” rhetoric that bounced around when I was younger, leading me to curtail any efforts quick-sharp when for all I knew if they’d carried on a bit longer we would have got somewhere. I wish I could say that putting on a lot of weight made no difference to how I felt about it, but the truth is I didn’t feel comfortable doing much other than letting someone lie on top of me so they couldn’t see my body. I didn’t miss it, because I’d never felt good about it and it’s not like you can miss something you’ve never experienced, except in the most abstract of ways.

I will only talk a little about the first time someone pulled it off (and I hasten to add that I never told him this fact – sorry dude). We got chatting on OKCupid, met for a drink, then the next date he came over to watch a movie. I was on the back of a divorce, relocation, and four-and-a-half stone weight loss and had been having a lot of sexy fun in my new town – I was definitely feeling more self-confident than at any previous point in my entire adult life.

Suffice to say the movie got ignored when he pulled off my pants and got stuck in whilst I awkwardly had one foot up on the sofa and one braced against the coffee table. I was not expecting it to work but I knew what felt good when I wanked, and made sure he slipped a couple of eager fingers inside me whilst his tongue did the majority of the work. And it was as simple as that – a magic formula. I had a brain-rattling orgasm for two reasons. Firstly, he was good. Secondly, this was literally the first time someone else had made me come and that was a big deal for me. I’m loathe to move on so swiftly from the incident, and by doing so I’m certainly not diminishing its significance or quality, but it opened the way for something that I never thought would happen for me.

Once that bandaid had been ripped off and I knew what they had to do, what I had to do, and more importantly, that I was capable of it at all, I wanted to do it again. And again and again and again.

Enter stage left (not pursued by a bear but certainly pursued by me) the smoking hot stud muffin I met shortly after that fateful evening and who I have been joyfully screwing for the past six months. He’s a big fan of going down on girls, and once we got past the first trial run to ascertain the perfect crossover between his technique and my requirements, it is a sulky day if he goes a visit without burying his face between my legs. Sometimes I don’t get there, be it due to diminished sensitivity because of my cycle, me being distracted or in fibropain, or simply because I want him to fuck me so badly that I yank him up and away so he can bury his cock in me instead of his fingers. Nine times out of ten though, he’s the master of my nethers. And let me tell you, as time’s gone on we’ve got to the point he can nearly take the top of my head clean off, so I didn’t imagine there was much room for it to get significantly better than it already was.

I think it was in the first month we’d been seeing each other that during the throws of a bit of kink play he gasped the words “sit on my face so I can make you come”. Now I’d most certainly never done that before and have to admit I baulked a little because it just seemed too… much… even for me. I wasn’t even sure how to position myself, or if he was just saying that because it was hot but in reality wouldn’t actually like it. We hadn’t been seeing each other long and I was still desperately trying not to make a tit out of myself, so I continued beating the crap out of him and didn’t address his request.

I think that moment popped into my consciousness only a handful of times afterwards, until about two weeks ago. I was browsing Fetlife and saw I’d been followed by an account I didn’t recognise. I went and had a shuftie and even though my interest wasn’t piqued by the user, I did see he’d put a couple of links to face-sitting videos in his profile text. I remembered what my deliciously randy boytoy had said and was feeling a bit horny anyway, so I went and had a look.

Oooooookay then. Yep. Wasn’t going to get that image out of my head any time soon. I wasn’t expecting him over for a few days, so I had quite a lot of time by myself to watch more material and think hot, frustrated thoughts about doing it to him. One night I had a wank before sleep whilst fantasising about it and I might have woken my upstairs neighbours.

Our staying in date rolled around and I’m surprised I made it as long as I did before making it clear that dragging me to the bedroom was required now. I’d been lingering around him for hours in a short skirt and no pants and I don’t think he’d even realised. As an aside, it turns out hanging out around a gorgeous boy whilst wearing no underwear is a huge turn on. When we got into the bedroom his hand meandered south of the border, discovered my lack of knickers and he half moaned “fuck that is so hot”. LIKE DUH, I’VE NOT BEEN WEARING ANY FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS AND I BENT OVER REPEATEDLY. But anyway, he’d got there eventually.

I won’t spend ages describing the foreplay, though rest assured it was pretty hot. I’ll stop rambling and skip straight to the headline act. I untied his wrists from the bedposts because I didn’t want his arms in the way. I leaned down from my position already straddling him and murmured in his ear: “I want you to keep your hands by your sides. Don’t touch me, or touch yourself. I’m going to make you tongue fuck me whilst I ride your face”.

I wiggled myself until my now throbbing pussy was over his head and grabbed hold of the bedstead. Gently I lowered myself until my pussy pressed up against his face – his tongue instantly went to work and fucking hell. I squirmed and gyrated and pushed down harder. I thrust backwards and forwards so his mouth slid across every inch of me, his tongue almost touching my asshole. When I felt his mouth right against the opening of my cunt I started to gently bounce up and down, his tongue expertly fucking me, hot and wet and soft. By this point I was half out of my mind, painfully aware that I was grinding his face harder and harder and trying to resist the temptation to smother him totally. Repositioning slightly, suddenly his lips were fastened around my clit, his tongue flicking out to tease me and I simply could not hold on any longer.

My neighbours must hate me.

I dunno – something about being in a mostly upright position (I’m a big fan of stress positions and when you have fibromyalgia everything is a stress position), feeling his saliva making me even wetter than I already was, his heavy breath against the folds of my labia, the vibrations from his low moaning, it blew my tiny little mind. And I haven’t even touched on the D/s aspect of the whole affair. Yes, I was dominating him by using his mouth as a sex toy, but even whilst being face fucked by me, he was still in control of my pleasure. He could have stopped, cut me off, left me begging – and though that would probably have led to some fun power-exchanges, I would have been a little disappointed because I was getting off so much on subjugating him like that whilst his enthusiasm gave away just how much he was loving it.

Why am I glad it took this long to happen? I could have been annoying neighbours the length and breadth of London for a decade if I’d reached this point sooner. But the thing is, back in the day I don’t think I would have appreciated it. These past eight months have been a sexual awakening for me. A revelation. I look better than I ever have. I know what I want with more certainty than ever. My confidence is at a level I’m not afraid to ask for things, to initiate things, to try new things. And having regular access to someone I’m comfortable with and who has mad oral skills doesn’t hurt either.

I’m sitting here at my keyboard wearing a tiny skirt, paper thin top, and zero underwear, painfully aware that I’m making my computer chair a little damp. I desperately want to go bash one out, reliving the sensation of riding his face and coming hard on him… but I’m not going to. ‘Cause he’ll be here in about an hour.