I’ve written before about how my d/s relationship with Master C often acts as a form of restoration. As someone who provides mental health support, my work is often emotionally draining. The experiences that some people share with me can often be harrowing and there is no amount of training that can fully shield you and leave you untouched by what you hear. My working life is spent helping people deal with the traumas of their everyday lives; lives that they have to return to every time their session comes to an end. It’s a job where “success” is sometimes measured by the fact that someone actually makes it through to come back for their next session. There are always some “good news” stories, but for the most part my job is to listen and provide support as the other person unburdens themselves, albeit briefly, of the suffering and pain they are experiencing. I am not inhuman. Their stories do not leave me unaffected. Emotionally, a toll is extracted.
Sometimes I need Master C to be gentle and soothing. Sometimes I need Him to be harsh, demanding and rough. There are times when I need to be held, caressed and have my hair stroked. There are times when I need to be choked, thrashed and fucked so hard I almost lose consciousness. One of Master C’s many great qualities is that He has an almost instinctive knowledge of what form of attention I am most in need of.
Last night Master C decided that what I really needed was for my arse to receive “six of the best” from His belt and for my throat to be thoroughly fucked. When I received His text message telling me that that was what He had planned for me, a thrill ran through me. I hadn’t appreciated that that was what I needed until I read His words, but as soon as I had, I realised that, yet again, He was absolutely right.
I was on my knees, naked apart from my collar when Master C arrived home. He had me wait while He attended to a few things. My anticipation levels climbing with every passing second that I had to wait until he came into the room and instructed me to bend over the arm of the sofa.
Even then, bent over, my arse exposed and waiting, I had to endure long agonising moments as He slowly undid and removed His belt. He tortured me by pacing the room, an end of His belt in each hand. Occasionally He would pause and pull the belt taught, making a resounding crack as the folded leather made contact. Eventually Master C stopped pacing. He turned to me and asked, “Are you ready?”
I nodded. “Yes Sir.”
“Then count them with me.”
I waited. long drawn out seconds until I heard that short, sharp swoosh, felt the air move as the belt rushed in an arc towards me, then cried “One!” as the leather bit into my buttocks for the first time.
The second lash bit harder, the third harder still. The fire in my buttocks grew exponentially with each stroke. Each number was increasingly more difficult to articulate, having to be forced past sobs. Never has six been such a difficult number to count to.
After the final stroke, Master C cuffed my hands behind my back and instructed me to lie on my back on the sofa and tilt my head back over the arm. From His pocket, He withdrew a pair of clamps and a squirmed as He tightened them around my nipples.
Taking my head in His hands He commanded me to “Open wide!”
I didn’t hesitate. The swollen head of Master C’s cock passed between my lips. He allowed me to savour it for a few brief moments before He pushed on, sliding His cock inch by inch into my mouth, forcing the head into my throat. He touched my neck with a fingertip, tracing His cock through my skin. My buttocks stung from their recent thrashing. My nipples throbbed inside the clamps. He gripped my neck with one hand, squeezing with a gentle but steady increase in pressure and began to fuck my throat.
Master C fucked me with firm, hard strokes, forcing the head of His cock deep down my throat each time, fucking it in the same way He would fuck my cunt or my arse. My mouth was simply a hole to be fucked like any of my others, my throat there to be filled by His cock.
His grip tightened as the force of His thrusts increased. I struggled for breath, gasping hard each time He gave me a moment’s respite. Saliva dribbled up my nose, into my eyes; His balls slapped my face as He fucked me.
At some point, as I struggled to breath, my throat raw from the pounding it was enduring, my nipples throbbing in agony, I felt a familiar dissociation; a feeling that I was somewhere else, that somehow I was watching this being done to me as well as experiencing it. It was if it were happening to me and yet it wasn’t me because I was watching the scene as it played out.
I became increasingly aware of Master C’s breathing, I could feel the veins in His cock pulse, the print marks His fingertips were making on my neck. I could taste His urgency, sense the increasing tension in His body as He used me.
Master C groaned as He thrust hard, then pulled back. A momentary pause that seemed to last forever passed and then he came, filling my mouth with cum. With my head tilted back and my throat raw, swallowing was hard, but somehow I managed; His rich, thick essence almost acting as a balm as it ran down my throat.
I heard a sharp buzzing. My brain barely had time to resolve what this meant before I felt the head of one of my wands being pressed to my clit. Almost at once, my back arched, I let out a cry that seared my already raw throat, and I came, hard.
Eventually Master C turned the wand off, released the clamps from my nipples, removed the cuffs from my wrists, wrapped me in the soft fleecy throw and held me in His arms. The cares and stresses of several days had been cleansed from my body and my soul. The dissociation subsided, I reconnected with myself. Master C kissed my forehead and stroked my hair; while there. in His strong arms, I consciousness returned from whatever plane it had been to, bringing me back to the here and now, back to the real world.