The bus ride of shame


The mid-morning bus wasn’t full, but my arse was too sore for me to sit. I wondered if my fellow travellers could feel the heat emanating from my glowing, recently thrashed cheeks.  Could they tell how moist my cunt was, having been fucked less than 30 minutes before?

Someone brushed against me as they moved to alight. I winced as they bumped into my  decidedly tender arse.

I wondered if they could smell Master C on me; the thick load of cum He unleashed over my boobs before rubbing it in, before I dressed with His cum dried on my skin.

The thought aroused me. My cunt grew warmer; I could feel my juices trickle down the insides of my thighs. Could anyone tell? Could they have known that beneath the primly, professionally dressed exterior there was a recently fucked and thrashed and seriously aroused, filthy little slut. Could they even guess that having been so recently and so very  thoroughly fucked by Master C, I was on my way to spend the day with “The Other Guy”, to be fucked some more? Could they possibly have imagined that the seemingly demure, professional woman in their midst was just a few stops away from having a second cock inside her, less than an hour after being so soundly fucked by the first?

The insides of my thighs tingled. A reminder of how Master C’s thighs, so firm and strong from years of playing rugby, slammed against mine as he fucked me. Could the other passengers sense the bruises He left there?

My stop approached. My arousal levels peaked. Could anyone see how pronounced my nipples were? Could they possibly imagine the reason for slight flushing on my skin?

I stepped off the bus, leaving my fellow commuters in blissful ignorance. The only thing I was caring about as I walked the 100 or so yards to “The Other Guy’s” flat was how quickly I could feel his cock inside me, and which hole he would fuck first…

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Duty of care


The current No True Way prompt is:

“Aftercare is mandatory for subs.”

There is a certain ambiguity in the way that it is phrased. Does it mean that it is mandatory for the Dominant partner to provide after care to their submissive, or is it implying that the submissive must must care for their Dominant?

I suspect, in the general D/s context it is the former; particularly in the aftermath of any form of impact/discipline/torture/S&M session of your choice. It’s true, after a (very literally) bruising session, I definitely need all the care I can get; be that physical relief in the form of soothing balms being applied to my inflamed skin, the the emotional care of being wrapped up in Master C’s strong arms and listening to His soothing words. In that specific context, within our particular dynamic, given the level of pain I will have almost certainly had to endure because of my own masochistic tendencies, then it would be fair to say that, yes, the provision of aftercare is Master C’s responsibility. It is a responsibility that He takes very seriously. His strong hands, firmly but gently applying the soothing, cool aloe balm to my tender skin after a thrashing/flogging/caning is actually every bit as much a part of the “session” as everything that went before it. The bath He runs for me, the glass of wine He pours for me, the gentle reassuring words, the hugs, the caresses are all a very important part of the whole episode.

But what about Him? What about Master C’s feelings and emotions following an intense S&M session? While He knows and understands that not only can I endure the pain that He inflicts, my emotional make up means that I actually need it some times. I have written before about how I periodically need to be broken down and rebuilt in order to fully release the stresses and tensions of living. Knowing that I need it does not make any easier for Him to inflict it upon me. It’s not easy to deliberately inflict pain and cause hurt to a person you love, even when you know it’s what the want and need. It requires a kind of emotional strength that carries its own price. And for that reason, aftercare, for us, is very much a two way thing. I need to reassure Master C that I will willingly accept the physical pain that His belt, or the flogger, or the cane or the paddle inflicts. I need to assure Him that the welts and bruises on my back and buttocks are symbols that I wear with pride; they are the marks that He, and only He has and can put on my skin. I reassure Master C with my words, and also with my actions. It turns out that a long, slow, sensual blow-job is the most effective cure for “Dom-drop”; which is fortunate for both of us I guess.

But, what this illustrates, once again, is a point I have made on a number of occasions; namely that a D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship. The aftercare element of D/s, is simply an extension of the care and support that we provide each other in all other aspects of our lives. We care for each other and support each other every single day; being in a D/s relationship doesn’t change that; in fact, I would go as far as to say it enhances it because of the need for extra care in those particularly vulnerable moments.

Trusting someone enough to actually let them hurt you is actually quite a big thing for both parties. I know that Master C is aware of my limits. While we may have the equivalent of a safe word, it is something I almost never resort to and on those rare occasions I do, it’s because of me, not something that Master C is doing because He never attempts to force me to use it. When Master C is doing something particularly rough or that causes me a degree of pain, He will often ask things like “Your enjoying this, aren’t you?” or “You want more of this don’t you, you slut?” or “You need a few more lashes/strokes, don’t you?” On the surface, these questions actually do have their literal meaning, Master C is actually asking me those very questions, but He is also checking in with me and reaffirming that I am happy and willing to continue. The language may sound demeaning (which is important because it plays to my humiliation fetish) but it is just another example of the care Master C takes. In it’s own way, Him asking/telling me “You need the brat thrashed out of you, don’t you?” is no different to Him asking me if I need help with a particular “vanilla” task in everyday life; the only thing that is different is the context.

So, once again, I’ve used several rambling, stream of consciousness paragraphs that essentially boil down to, yes, aftercare is mandatory for submissives, both the receipt of said aftercare and to provide it too and that applies both within the D/s context of the relationship and in everyday life as well.

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Don’t try this at home!


Sometimes I really don’t fully think through the consequences of my actions. Take the following situation for example; a cautionary tale from the early days of Master C and I living together, which was almost custom made for this particular prompt.

It was mid-afternoon one Saturday, and I had just returned home from a morning spent with “The Girl”. I was looking forward to having Master C remind me of “what I’d been missing” while “The Girl” and I had been enjoying each other’s company, in that particular way that He always does, after I’ve finished providing Him with the required and fully detailed account of what we’d got up to.

Having been playing rugby that morning, Master C still hadn’t got home by the time I had, so I had some time on my hands that I needed to use. Being home, alone, and still on a high after an orgasm filled time with “The Girl”, I stripped off and headed to the shower, where I spend a considerable time experimenting with the shower head to determine which angles and pressure had the most pleasing effects. This was followed by an extended session using my fingers and wand, and despite several very intense climaxes, I was still still incredibly randy and feeling decidedly naughty.

So, in my pleasure hormone saturated brain, I hatched a plan to prepare a nice surprise for Master C on his return home.

So, after rummaging in the bottom drawer for the necessary accoutrements, and pausing only to ensure a trail of clothing was strewn artfully up the stairs, I set to work.

First off was to secure my ankles to the foot end of the bed and attach the handcuffs to one of my wrists. Next was to fit and secure the ball-gag and tie the blindfold firmly in place. Finally, and this was the tricky bit, was to wind the handcuff chain around one of the headboard bars before locking the empty cuff around my free wrist. This is not the easiest task while blindfolded and after several failed attempts, and several muffled swear words, I was relieved when I finally managed to click it into place.

Now all that was left was to wait for Master C’s return.

After the initial cunt soaking excitement had passed, a dawning realisation that I hadn’t thought this fully through, began asserting itself on me.

It started with little things like:

Did I remember to lock the door? Or:

Has He got his keys?

Then the slightly darker thoughts like:

What if there’s a fire?

Then full-on panic:

What if mum comes round? She has her own key.

As time went by, there was the, what if He’s hurt himself. That caused a brief thrill of excitement at the thought of Master C being assisted home by a team-mate (or two) who might then join us, but it was quickly replaced with: “what if He’s really hurt himself and is in casualty”?

As the enormity of my predicament finally penetrated, I had one last, horrific thought:

Where the fuck is the cat?

By this stage, any randiness or anticipatory excitement had completely drained away and, resigned to my situation, I gave up and, somewhat surprisingly, fell asleep.

I didn’t hear the lock turn, I didn’t hear Master C make His way up the stairs; I was eventually awakened to the sound and sight of Him almost pissing himself laughing at my predicament. Which elicited a somewhat grumpy, “Well don’t just stand there laughing. After all the bother I’ve gone to, the least you could do is take advantage of me…” Which, from around my ball gag, probably sounded more like “Mmmph, unof! Umph, fmbl, gurrumph hmmm, ach!” Still, to be fair, after regaining His composure, take advantage of me He did; very thoroughly, and I enjoyed it imensely.

Of course, due to the ball-gag situation, I had to wait until Master C had finished His initial “taking advantage” before being able to recount my earlier activities with “The Girl”. This resulted in me being briefly released while I turned onto my front, having my arse soundly thrashed before being very soundly reminded of “what my holes are for” and ended with a load of Master C’s cum being deposited over my face.

So yeah, clouds and silver linings. I accept that, shining the cold light of hindsight on the situation, it wasn’t one of my cleverest moments. Having said that it wasn’t the last time that I acted before properly thinking things through and I’m almost sure to have further misadventures in future.

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Love & Sex


This week’s Quote Quest teaser is one that I have some very strong thoughts about.

“Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.”

– Hunter S Thompson

Now, I’m going to be honest and say right from the the very outset, that I completely disagree with this statement. My disagreement can be summed up by answering two very simple questions:

  1. Have I loved every person I’ve ever had sex with?
    Absolutely not.
  2. Have I had sex with every person I’ve ever loved?
    Again, a resounding “no”.

Sex and love are two separate things; although they can often be closely interlinked. Love is an emotion, a feeling, a connection of spirits and souls. Sex is a physical act, a joining and (sometimes literally) coming together of bodies.

To illustrate my point, there are many people I love (and have loved). I love my parents, I loved my grandparents, I (mostly) love my siblings. Have I had sex with any of these people? Well, no, absolutely not. I also have and have had any number of friends, with whom I have shared what I would describe as a deeply platonic form of love.

The flip side to this is that I definitely love Master C and I love “The Girl” and also “The Other Guy” and I absolutely do have sex with them. There are also a couple of exs in my past that I also loved and had sex with. However, as anyone with a passing familiarity with this blog will be aware, I have also had and enjoyed a hell of a lot of casual sex down the years; sex where it wasn’t uncommon for me to never even find out the name of the person I sucked and/or fucked. I think it goes without saying that there was absolutely no love involved in these encounters (unless my love of the act itself and the way that act made me feel counts).

In a way, this kind of follows on from my previous post. I completely agree that having sex with someone tat you love and that loves you is special; it adds a whole several extra layers of feeling and emotion to proceedings. Having Master C roughly fuck my arse feels different from some unknown random fucking it, even when done with the same force. Why? Because I have a deep emotional connection with Master C that adds to it. Having Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” go down on me feels so much more intense than having someone else do it, irrespective of how skilful that person is. Why? Well, aside from their knowledge of what really presses my buttons, again there is the emotional overlay.

Don’t get me wrong, I (mostly) fully enjoy my casual encounters. If the person you with knows what they are doing, and is in any way considerate to your wants and needs, what isn’t to enjoy about getting soundly and thoroughly fucked? What is their not to enjoy about getting your cunt skilfully eaten out, or going down on someone else?

Good sex, even great sex, doesn’t require love for it to be satisfying. I have had casual encounters that have resulted in me being reduced to a dishevelled, sticky, spasming mess; fighting to bring my breathing and or heart rate back under control, that come close in intensity to anything that I have done with those that I love.

There is a difference though. Those casual encounters are physically satisfying and, to a certain degree, emotionally so as well. Sex with Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies me on a “spiritual” level. Where a great casual fucking may satisfy me in body and mind, a fucking from Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies my soul.

So, to me, sex without love is far from hollow; if it were I probably wouldn’t engage in it. Yes, there have been disappointments; there have been encounters that, with hindsight, would probably have been better avoided. There were times in my past where I’ve got under someone to get over someone else, but those are a minority. But for each of those fucks that have been less than great, there have been many many more that have given me everything I have wanted from them and, sometimes, even more.

Full disclosure; no one makes me feel the way I feel when Master C and I fuck. No one knows what my body, mind, soul and spirit needs more than He does. Sometimes, however, all I need is the “thrill of the chase” and the “surrender” that comes with letting myself be caught.

What can I say? I’m simply a voraciously happy slut that loves sex.

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Fuck love


I’ve never been fond of the term “making love”. To me, love is something that you feel, not something that you do.  That’s not to say that having sex doesn’t make you feel loved, it can, and when it does, it can add a whole other level of intensity to proceedings; but sex and love are not the same thing, and you can have one with, or without the other.

I like to use the word “fuck”. It’s coarse, it’s earthy, it just sounds right for an act that, when we get right down to it, is basically an animalistic coupling. Yes, sex can be gentle and tender and, dare I say it, loving; and it is great, but it can also be rough, and hard, and, well, animal, and that’s pretty damned amazing too.

I also quite like “shag”. I’m not sure if I can differentiate between a shag and a fuck, or even possibly a screw (although that’s not a term I particularly like), but that’s not important. The thing is, you can fuck, shag, or screw someone without loving them; I know I certainly have.

I’ve never really understood the euphemistic term: “sleep with”. Yes, OK, so I have (literally) slept with a few of the partners, both male and female, that I’ve had sex with, but there have been more than a few guys where no sleeping was involved whatsoever. Similarly, I have shared a bed with (so, again, literally slept with) a guy and not had sex with him. So, generally, it’s a term I avoid.

Euphemisms and slang aside, I will generally just describe it as “sex” or “having sex”. Granted, in the heat of passion, I have never huskily whispered the words “Have sex with me,” into a partner’s ear. I have, however demanded, quite forcefully on occasion, that said partner should “Fuck me!” and that sometimes they should “Fuck me harder!”. Could you possibly imagine asking someone to “Make love to me harder”? No, didn’t think so.

On a similar vein, I have absolutely never asked some one to make love to me in the arse, although I have very definitely asked, begged, pleaded, demanded to have my arse thoroughly fucked.

Sex is our most basic, animal pleasure. For me, words like “fuck” and “shag” have an animal quality that fits so well.  And, as Tina Turner once said, “What’s love got to do with it?”

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TMI Tuesday – Do your thing


1. Does your sex life need some fantasy? What kind of fantasy?
Not really. I’m not a big one for fantasy really; I much prefer to actually be engaging in activities than imagining them. Having said that, I will often allow myself to become distracted, thinking about what I’d want Master C, “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” to be doing to me. That’s less fantasy though and more a statement of intent. During lockdown, I did have to rely on imagination/fantasy in respect of my encounters with “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”, but now that things are opening up again, so am I, and those encounters are now happening in person again.

2. What is eroticism for you?
It can be anything really. A steamy scene/story that I’ve read, some flirty/sexy/downright suggestive text messages that I get sent, a picture or scene from a film (doesn’t need to be porn) that just makes me “think”, or simply a smile and a kiss from Master C. For me, it really is just anything that sets my mind along a certain path to start thinking about the next time I’m going to get fucked. Doesn’t take much sometimes.

3. You are invited to a kink party, will you go?
Absolutely; unless, of course, we are the ones hosting it.

4. Your lover has tied your naked body down. What do you want to happen next?
a. You get tickled mercilessly
b. You are covered in whip cream and people lick the cream entirely from your naked body
c. Bind, blind, and tease your erogenous zones with an ice cube, feather, candle wax, tongue, etc.
d. A sex toy is used to penetrate you to orgasm
I’m not ticklish (much to the annoyance of Master C; and believe me, He has done extensive research), and food play really isn’t my thing. Either c. or d. or some combination of both, if I’m lucky, work for me. Really though, when I’m in that situation, I simply accept whatever it is Master C decides He wants to do to me.

5. In your sex life, do you go along with whatever your partner wants and needs or when necessary do you handle things to make sure you have thrilling sex?
Being submissive, there is a large element of letting Master C take the lead and I go along with His desires and needs and I do my utmost to serve Him and meet those needs. That said, I have my own desires, wants and needs, and Master C is insistent that I express them so they can be attended to fully. There are also times when we just go with the flow and we both do what comes naturally in that moment; sometimes Master C taking the initiative and lead, and sometimes I will. Sex shouldn’t be about strict, rigid rules; except, of course, when it is…

Bonus: When is the last time you purchased a sex toy? What did you buy? Was it purchased online or at a store?
As a general rule, responsible for purchasing our kink paraphernalia; the cuffs, clamps, plugs, gags, etc. are almost all bought by Him (although I am allowed to pick out things that I like and He will buy those). In terms of what I last bough myself, it would be the vibrator I bought a few months ago (to replace one that had been worn out). It was bought online due to lockdown. Most of these type of purchases are, not because I’m averse to purchasing them from shops in person, simply that I’d have to travel to Glasgow to buy them and doing it online is much more convenient. That said, out local B&Q is always handy for DIY kink supplies.

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The first submission


It was a ceremony of sorts; a symbol of trust and acceptance. A sign of my submission to Him.

As He sat, I stood before him, eyes downcast. Slowly I undressed, the removal of each item an acceptance of His claim over me.

Finally I stood, naked, offering myself to Him. Presenting myself to His scrutiny. He told me to turn around. I complied, letting Him study me, showing him the prize that was His.

“Kneel!” Master C demanded, ” You know what to do.”

I did as I was bid. I unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned and unzipped His jeans, reached inside His boxers and released His cock from its confinement.

I took His cock in my mouth, paying homage to it with my lips and tongue. I was determined to show Master C how diligent I could be in the performance of my duties. My mouth’s purpose was to please Him and I yearned to do my best.

As my service to Him brought Him to the point of no return, He pushed me from him. “Have I displeased you?” I asked.

“No, not at all, little one,” Master C replied, “I intend to mark you.”

He stroked his cock, His hand almost a blur. “I am claiming you, Morag,” he groaned, “I am marking you as mine. From this moment on, you are MY slut.”

His cock errupted. His cum sprayed over my face, it trickled down my neck, dribbling on to my boobs.

“Give me Your belt,” I asked in a small voice, His cum drying on my skin. He gave me an enquiring look. “Pass me Your belt Sir, it’s important,” I urged.

Master C slipped His belt from its stays and passed it to me. I accepted it and adopted a position of supplication, on my knees, my head bowed, my hands raised with His belt draped over them.

“I submit to You,” I said, “I submit to You and accept Your domination. I offer You this belt to use for my instruction and correction. I will accept Your discipline as You see fit to dispense it.”

Master C took the belt from my hands. I turned around as He folded it and cracked it sharply together.

I waited. The anticipation built. I heard the belt swish through the air. With a resounding smack, His leather kissed my arse. In that moment, I truly became His submissive and He became my Master. With that first stinging caress of hard leather on my soft skin, He made me His…

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TMI Tuesday – Making Waves


1. Are you happy with the number of people you have slept with?
In a way, this ties in very well with my previous post. Let’s not be euphemistic here and call it what it is, i.e. people I’ve fucked. Granted, I have also slept with some of them, but given my penchant for quickies that didn’t even come close to involving a bed; those drunken, late-night knee-tremblers in darkened alleyways, “slept with” seems far too much of a misnomer to me. I fucked them and they fucked me; or at the very least, I sucked them off. With that out of the way, there is also the minor point that I can’t actually tell you how many people I’ve fucked and/or sucked off. I probably haven’t made it into three figures, but I’m definitely up towards the higher end of the two figure range. The crux of the matter is, however, that none of this matters; I enjoy sucking and fucking and I enjoy getting fucked. The number of people I’ve done it with is of absolutely no consequence. I certainly haven’t enjoyed every single sexual encounter I’ve participated in, but I don’t regret any of them. So, in a sense, the answer is “yes”, I’m, happy with it, but really, the truth of the matter is, I’ve enjoyed, and still enjoy fucking; “the number”, even if I could be bothered working out the best approximation I could, would be nothing more than an interesting statistic.

2. Tell us a random fact about yourself.
I play the clarinet.

3. Would you say you have an excessive need for stimulation and are you prone to boredom?
I think I have a fairly normal boredom threshold (whatever “normal” is). Yes, I can get bored on occasion, but I can generally keep myself occupied pretty easily (and it doesn’t always involve fucking or wanking).

4. Do you have a history of promiscuous sexual behaviour or wish you had?
Given my answers to both 1. above, and 5. below, plus the general tone of the content of this blog, does that question really need answering. My tendency towards promiscuity is not so much a “history” as more a case of “current affairs” (pun semi-intended). Granted, over a year of Covid restrictions has definitely meant I’ve had to rein that side of me in. Now that things are able to open up again, hopefully, so am I…

5. How do you cope with a sex drought?
a. masturbation
b. sex droughts don’t bother me
c. try not to think about sex

In all honesty, I can’t think of when I last has a sex drought. Master C and I have a very active sex life, and I also have “The Girl”, “The Other Guy” and members of our “Sharing Circle”, not to mention my randoms (albeit there haven’t been any of these for a while). Before I met Master C, my way of dealing with it would simply have been to have gone out and picked someone up (or allowed myself to be picked up) and fucked them; job done, itch scratched, hopefully enjoyable for both parties.

Bonus: If you were a wave in the ocean would you be rough or calm?
Having lived most of my life on/near the coast, I love the sea in all its moods, from flat calm, to raging storm. The sea has both tranquillity and power. There are times when I would be happy to exist in that calmness, but there are definitely those times when I relate more to the storm driven breakers, crashing on the shore.

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Living life fully


The teaser on Quote Quest this week is:

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough”

– Mae West

It is, as I’m sure anyone who reads this blog on even the most casual basis, a view that I am fully on board with. I try to apply it as much as possible in all aspects of my life.

Pre-pandemic me loved to travel (and hopefully one day that will be possible again). I love discovering new places, immersing myself in different cultures, seeing new places, trying new foods and, when inspiration files, adding new locations to the “I’ve been fucked/gave Master C a blow-job there” list. Actually, that last was pretty much a given, but there is something about being somewhere new, whether it be on the other side of the world, or just somewhere a few miles down the road that you’ve never visited before, that adds to the richness of life.

I also enjoy trying out new things, from rock climbing to scuba diving, downhill skiing to white water rafting, pedalling sedately round the village, to long tours on my trusty Kawasaki. I do, however have one rule: never jump out of a perfectly serviceable aircraft; parachute jumping is not for me.

Not surprisingly, when it comes to sex, my approach is pretty much the same.

When I split up with my cheating ex, I embarked on what could have been a very destructive path, but, in terms of my sexual personality, turned out to be very much a voyage of discovery. Even before him, I’d already discovered I enjoyed my casual encounters. I’d already participated in and enjoyed group sex activities, but in the aftermath of that break-up, I learned to fully embrace my inner slut and let her out.

Id never felt shame as to my casual fucks before, but I learned that “numbers” didn’t matter. If I wanted to fuck someone, and they wanted to fuck me, then the best thing we could do was just get on with it and fuck. If, on any given night, I found myself in a situation where I couldn’t decide between which of two guys I wanted to fuck more, I’d fuck them both; and if that happened simultaneously, so much the better.

I discovered my penchant for sex that is definitely not vanilla. The masochist in me began to bud (although it would take Master C for it to fully bloom) and I began enjoying sex that was rougher and darker than the sex I had had up until then. I would let partners restrain me more often, I would let them spank me, I would let them pull my hair and occasionally choke me. My latent submissive was being awoken and, when Master C, finally unleashed it, that was the game-changer.

Some of my partners had called me a slut in the past, but under Master C’s tutelage, I began to identify as a slut; I was His slut. Being Master C’s slut allowed me a degree of freedom that I’d never had in a relationship before; I was free to fuck whomever I so pleased so long as I was prepared to pay the price and accept the consequences of my actions.

I wasn’t just Master C’s slut, I was His submissive slut. Through my submission, I found a way to fully explore my relationship with pain and its juxtaposition with desire and pleasure and the exploration of my masochism deepened.

I would find reasons for Master C to thrash me, yearning the kiss of his belt on my buttocks. We would go out in the evening, and I would have clamps on my nipples and a plug up my arse. I would let Him choke me, almost to the point where I would lose consciousness. When His belt wasn’t enough, I would conspire to be flogged or caned instead; the lattice of deliciously painful, angry welts on my arse making me squirm in my seat days later.

And then there was our “Sharing Circle”; that close network of other likeminded D/s participants that added an extra element; whether it be in participating in group activities, or allowing me to explore my humiliation/degradation fetish. There is something about to kneel, naked and bound in the corner of a room watching your Master and several others giving pleasure to another woman while being told you aren’t worthy of their attention, then, to add further insult, have that woman thrash you on their bequest, as they call you a worthless slut, before she “services” them again, before finally, at the invitation of Master C, some of the men shoot their cum all over you, that just does something to me. The pain of being rejected, the jealousy of seeing another woman get to enjoy my Master, seeing her enjoy the attentions of several men while I get nothing but insults, the humiliation of being treated with contempt; they all combine into something that, for me, is so deeply arousing that makes the fucking I will eventually receive from Master B later, when we are on our own, when He rewards me and calls me His “good girl” so much more intensely satisfying than it would other wise have been.

So, yes, for me, a big part of living a full life is that I get to be the masochistic submissive slut who loves to be humiliated and fucked every which way she can. I’ve enjoyed it so far and I hope that I continue to live it fully for a long time to come.

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TMI Tuesday – It’s All Good


1. What’s the most stressful thing in your life right now
Working in mental health care, the most stressful thing now, as it has been for pretty much the last 15 months, is the Covid pandemic. Now that things are becoming less restrictive, different anxieties and pressures are rising to the surface; people are worried about re-emerging back into the world and being amongst people when the situation is still very uncertain.

2. True or False. The best way to get over an ex is to get under someone new.
I’m not sure that it’s true, per se, but I’ve done it often enough in my past to admit that it was definitely one of the more enjoyable bits of having broken up with someone; and it helped take my mind of things.

3. Is rebound sex empowering or does it leave you feeling lonelier?
See previous answer. I wouldn’t say it empowered particularly. I’ve definitely enjoyed the sex in those situations, but then I enjoy sex full stop and have done whether I’ve been in a relationship or been single. It’s lack of companionship that makes you feel lonely and, while sex and companionship can often be found combined in the same person they are separate things. Sex is simply sex, something that can deepen the bonds between people in a relationship but, ultimately, something to be enjoyed whether you’re in a relationship with the person you’re fucking or not.

4. Would you rather watch porn every night forever or never watch porn again?
I enjoy some porn now and again, but I actually don’t really watch a lot of it. Truth be told, I’d much rather be having sex than watching it on screen and, in terms of watching sex, I’d much rather be right there in the room watching (or being watched). Push comes to shove, if I were unable to ever watch porn again, I wouldn’t miss it all that much.

5. Would you rather go to bed alone forever or share a bed with someone forever?
Definitely the latter. I love snuggling up to and falling asleep beside Master C, and I absolutely love that His body, there, next to mine, is the first thing I feel when I wake up.

Bonus: You must pick one and explain. Would you rather your mum or your ex set up and run your dating apps?
Pretty much, with possibly only one exception, I would let an ex handle this. My exes at least know what my tastes and turn-ons (even the one I wouldn’t want involved) so I think they would probably have a good idea of the type of person I’d like (having been in that category themselves at some point) and the kind of things I need to have a satisfying sex-life as well. As for my mum, well we get on well, and have always been frank and open, but there are some things she really doesn’t need to know or get involved in, and I’m sure she’d be happier if I didn’t involve her either.

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