Lack of imagination


Given what I’ve written for prompts relating to creativity, or imagination, and fantasies, this particular post will probably be a bit of a let down. The prompt this time, on the subject of pen-names has, I admit, left me with nothing really to say. This is largely down to the fact that Morag is actually my real name.

So, there you have it; my secret is out. In a way, I’d have probably been as well if I’d linked my “About” page to the prompt.

About the only thought that I put into the pen-name was the inclusion of the accent over the “o”. This isn’t really an affectation. Although my official given name is Morag, this is an anglicised spelling of the original Scots Gaelic name, Mòrag. As my mother’s family hail from Stornaway and my father’s side are from Portree (both of whom are Gaelic/English bilingual), and I have a degree of fluency in the language, it didn’t seem unreasonable to adopt the Gaelic version of my name for my online presence.

Sadly, there really isn’t any more to say.

But what about “Moggy”? I hear some of you ask. Well, while you may be excused for thinking it’s a reference to me being some sort of crazy cat-woman, it was, in fact, simply an early playground nickname that I’ve kind of carried with me ever since.  Given my red hair, the name Morag, and the fact that Master C and I share the house with a slightly overweight black tomcat called Sgàil (Gaelic for shadow), I probably could do a pretty good witch at Halloween but, once again, almost no imagination was used in coming up with that particular name.

What can I say, other than, “Is mise Mòrag”? It’s not in anyway original or imaginative. Can you ever forgive me?

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Guidance through discipline


I’ve touched on this many times in this blog, but discipline/punishment is a very important part of the D/s dynamic that exists between Master C and myself. Punishment helps define boundaries; not to confine, but to determine the “price” required to cross those boundaries. As I mentioned in this post, any corrections that Master C administers, are never delivered unilaterally; I am always required to consider my actions and what the “tariff” for any given transgression may be.

Punishments can, of course, take many forms. There are, of course, the obvious forms of corporal punishment: spanking, belting, caning, flogging; all always delivered to my naked arse, each one with it’s own unique form and intensity of pain, each one leaving a different mark on my skin.

Master C’s hand is usually for the most minor infringements; when I’m being particularly bratty or impudent, or when He knows I’m not trying my hardest. His belt, the flogger and the cane are used for more “serious” infringements. In those pre-covid days where such things were possible, a drunken blow-job with a random might earn me several lashes from the belt, fucking more than one random on the same night out might mean the flogger, and getting publicly fucked in the arse at a local dogging site absolutely  called for the cane.

Knowing the level of punishment I can expect, helps me determine the level I am willing to accept for any one act or transgression. In my mind, I know the level of recompense I am likely to have to pay, and this helps shape whether or not the “act” is worth the “cost”.

But punishments aren’t just corporal.

One of Master C’s favourite alternative punishments takes the form of denial. That can be denial of orgasm for me; where he takes His pleasure from me but forbids me to come. Another form of denial is when He fucks me, or requires me to suck His cock, He will deprive me of His cum. Master C knows how much I love to feel Him erupt inside me, He knows how I consider taking His cum in my mouth to be a reward and He knows how much I don’t like it when He chooses to withhold that from me.

Again, in the pre-covid days when we would get together with other members of our “Circle”, punishment could take the form of me having to watch him being attended to by one of the other women or for me to have to “wear” the cum of one or more of the other men (although having a big degradation fetish, this one never really seems like a punishment, but having it done to me then not being allowed to come myself does make this unpleasant).

Finally, there are those times when I overstep the line, I have gone too far in my misbehaviour, I have provoked Him beyond what He is prepared to accept. In these instances, I am subject to the ultimate punishment and banished to the cage. It happens rarely, but the threat is there.

The point, however, of all of these, is not to prevent me from doing things, but for me to respect the fact that my actions have consequences. They are a form of guidance as much as they are of correction; they allow me a degree of freedom to fulfil my needs and desires, while making me consider their worth and urgency. Punishment, for me, is a form of currency; I can have whatever I want, so long as I am willing to pay the appropriate “price” for it and it allows me to decide if the gratification I would receive is worth the price I would pay (while factoring in that the price is very much a part of the overall gratification).

There is one final form of “punishment” that I have still to touch upon.  This one is much more fun (although, again, current circumstances mean that I haven’t been on the receiving end for a while) and is “the punishment fuck“. It’s not really a punishment per se, and is reserved for when I’ve been with “The Girl” or another female partner. It involves nothing more than, after having provided Master C of a full account of what I’ve got up to with the other woman, He gives me a very thorough fucking, usually precluded by a spanking and almost always resulting in my mouth, cunt and arse all being roughly all being fucked by His lovely cock just to “remind me of what I missed”. With the exception of the watching and humiliation, the other punishments are still very much part of life (although I have to be quite creative to earn some of the harsher corporal punishments at the moment), but I do miss the punishment fucks, and I definitely miss the reasons for receiving them.

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Impulsively bad behaviour


I think I may have mentioned that I am, quite unashamedly, a slut. Promiscuity has pretty much always been second nature to me and monogamy almost unthinkable. Even within the confines and context of my relationship, much of my submission to Him comes from the fact that He allows me to channel my impulsive sluttiness in ways that allow me freedom to indulge that aspect of my personality, albeit in a framework of control and discipline and a need to accept responsibility for my actions.

I’m not sure if engaging in casual sex is necessarily “bad” but in my younger days, it did have a lot of negative connotations. Yes, I enjoyed sex then just as much as I do now. I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and I particularly enjoyed being caught (and sometimes being the one doing the catching). And while, in the main, the sex was primarily and mainly for the enjoyment of a good fuck, it had a darker side too.

Yes, I enjoyed the anticipation, the teasing, the flirting, the seduction and, ultimately, the gratification (whether it be a drunken blow-job in the pub car park or an all night one-nighter at their place – I almost never took my victims/conquests back to mine). The sex was absolutely about all those things. If, upon a night out, I saw a guy or woman I fancied, the chances are I’d have had some form of sexual liaison with them before my night was finished. Many a quick drink after class/work ended with a “walk of shame” in the early hours for a shower, a couple of hours sleep and a change of clothes before heading back to lectures/work.

But, on top of the thrill and the enjoyment, often I was searching for a form of validation. I wasn’t good at relationships, but I was good at sex, or at least I hoped I was. As much as I crave those times when Master C calls me His “good girl”, I needed to hear how good a fuck I was, how amazing it felt when I sucked a guy off, how much a woman enjoyed me going down on her, how much partners of either sex enjoyed my taste. The validation was almost as addictive as the anticipation and gratification, and the more I received, the more I craved it. I was an addict searching for their next fix.

The irony was that the more praise I received, the less it satisfied me, and the more I needed but, at the same time, the very act of seeking it out had an almost cancelling effect on my self worth. I wasn’t just a slut, I was a worthless slut. I didn’t deserve gratification or validation because I was cheap, an easy lay, the town bike. Of course I could have a relationship because, once they’d fucked me, who would actually want a relationship with someone like me who was emotionally incapable of being faithful.

I’ve come a long way since those days. I’m still impulsive, I still have sex with random men/women on nights out, I still love all the things about these encounters as I did then: the excitement, the recognition and appreciation of me as a sexual and sexy person. Obviously, I still enjoy being told how good I am (or how bad I am if I’m being honest), but now, largely down to Master C’s guidance, nurture and discipline, I fully appreciate my worth, I am good enough. There is no shame to having a high sex drive and in allowing myself to act upon such impulses as feel inclined to act upon. I know now that I am not cheapening myself, I am simply engaging in an enjoyable pastime. I know that such “punishment” as is required will be agreed with and administered by Master C and that any acts of “atonement” will be performed willingly.

And that’s the thing, I’ve alluded to this before but, when it comes to discipline, Master C does not decide unilaterally what form my chastisement will take. As part of the acceptance of responsibility I am required to consider my actions, the seriousness of them and to consider what would be the appropriate “tariff” for the transgression. It maybe six lashes of his belt, it may be a form of humiliation in front of members of our “Circle”, it may be that he denies me an orgasm for a number of days or chooses not to let me receive His load when He comes. It could be a combination of any of these, but we always discuss and consider and ultimately agree what form it takes so I never have any grounds to complain that it is unfair.

Sadly, at the moment, my opportunities to engage in my bad habits are extremely limited and I look forward to a time when I can be impulsive again. Until then, when it comes to incurring Master C’s correction, I just need to be creative.

Maintaining me


My submission is a form of self-care, in that I am placing my wellbeing in His hands because Master C knows what support I need and what form it needs to be provided in. When Master C lays his belt on my skin, it is every bit as much for me as it is for Him.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a spanking as much as any nasty little slutty submissive, but when I really need a restoration of my equilibrium, the only thing that will really provide this is His belt.

People looking in from the outside might just see it as a way for Master C to inflict pain, but it is amazing how, in that moment, just how centring and rebalancing a thrashing can be. I literally rediscover myself in the kiss of His belt on my skin.

With each deliciously painful, stinging lash, it breaks me down, allows the worries, stresses tensions and fears to be released and then, when, with the hot tears still stinging in my eyes,  Master C takes me, uses me, fucks me; it rebuilds me and makes me whole again. It restores my being. I need the pain, I need the biting kiss of the leather on my skin, I need the heat as the glow spreads over the surface of my arse; a heat that spreads to my cunt, making me wet and hungry to have His cock inside me.

I realise that people may find it strange, but it is a very basic need within me; the need to be taken apart and rebuilt; a need that Master C knows so well and is most wonderfully attentive to.

When I thank Him (frequently with a blow-job), I am thanking Master C for the pain of the thrashing, the pleasure of the climaxes He elicits from me, and the restoration of self that the combination of pain and pleasure gives me. That “thank you” blow-job is as much a part of the process as the thrashing itself; it is a vital as the fuck that follows His belt and is part of the aftercare. It is where Master C gives me that opportunity to enjoy my newly recentred balance by indulging in something that, in doing it, in sucking His wonderful cock, I derive as much pleasure from as Master C receives in having me suck it.

This year has been so shit in so many ways, and I simply couldn’t have endured it without Master C. He has given me support and strength, nurture and guidance, direction and correction, but most of all He has given me love; He has given me Him. For that I am truly blessed and grateful.

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Marked


I was watching a porn clip earlier that really got my juices flowing. In it, the girl was going down on a guy in what was clearly some kind of public toilet.

The girl in question was probably in her mid twenties. pretty, blonde curlyish hair, blue eyes, and a very perky pair of boobs. They guy, well to be honest, the only bit of him I could see was the portion of his cock that wasn’t in her mouth, but it certainly looked like a very tasty specimen. I don’t speak much German, but it was pretty obvious he was enjoying the girl’s attentions.

Of course, after a few minutes of having his cock hungrily and enthusiastically sucked, he reaches his climax. Does he reward her for a (blow) job well done, and come in her mouth? No, of course not; he pulls out and blows an unbelievably large load all over her face and boobs. If the average guy produces between 5ml and 10ml of ejaculate, this guy must have been storing it up for months; by the time he was finished, she looked like she’d had a pint of the stuff splashed on her. It did, however, look as sexy as fuck.

So, so far we’ve had:
– Sex in a semi-public place. Check!
– A pretty girl drenched in a thick load of cum. Check!

As you can see, it has already ticked a couple of my “Fuck Yeah” boxes.

She goes to clean herself up and is told, in one of the few words of German I know, very firmly, “Nein!”

The guy pulls up his shorts and proceeds to back out of the toilet, beckoning the girl, who is still naked, to follow.

So, quite clearly, we are about to have public humiliation. CHECK!

The toilet transpires to be one of those huts, next to a beach, where sunbathers can go to “freshen up”. The girl then has to walk past the people lying on their sunbeds, his cum still very noticeable on her skin, until she reaches the sea. Only once she is in the water, is she able to wash his cum off.

Needless to say, I found this short, seven or so minute clip, extremely hot. The wank and the orgasm that followed it lasted longer than the clip itself.

Part of me wanted to be that girl. The nakedness, the naughtiness, the shamelessness, the sluttiness. Not to mention she’d had the pleasure of having a mighty nice cock to suck on.

Part of me wanted to be that shameless exhibitionist; walking proudly, drenched in cum for all to see. Another part of me cringed in terror of the prospect that Master C may, one day, do something similar to me, while at the same time, I’m secretly hoping that He does.

So basically, if I absolutely had to create a porn site, it would definitely feature pretty girls getting drenched in cum before having to display their badge of sluttiness to anyone who just happened to be close enough to see it. And, if it just so happens that the woman who gets to be drenched with a lovely thick load of cum (or several) before being humiliated in public happens to be me on occasion, well, so much the better.

Now, on that delicious thought, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to indulge in another wank.

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Getting the bum(ps)


Today is my birthday. Although it’s rude to ask a lady her age, since I am quite clearly not a lady, I turned 44, in case you were wondering.

When I was at school, there was a tradition of giving someone who was celebrating their birthday “the bumps”. For those not familiar with the term, it generally involved the person whose birthday it was having their friends “bump” them, generally by kneeing them in the rear end a certain number of times, that number being the same as the age attained.

That was the childhood version, of course; now that I am supposedly an adult, Master C has come up with a more “grown up” variation.

This x-rated version of the bumps involves two phases, and as you would probably expect, it also involves me, bare arsed, bent over and bracing myself for support.

So, phase one:

Taking the grooved paddle that I referred to in Punishment fucks, Master C proceeds to give my poor little backside a thorough tanning. Forty four strokes of the paddle, in groups of eleven to each cheek, alternating left and right, before a final slap on each cheek rounds off the total. As I count out each thwack of the paddle, I can feel my face turn as red as my arse, I can feel eyes brim with tears, and I can feel my cunt grow uncomfortably wet.

Each stinging slap hurts that little bit more than the last one, each slap makes me cry out a little louder, each slap makes my juices flow that bit more.

“42…”, SLAP!

“43..”, SLAP!

“44…”, SLAP!

With tears streaming down my cheeks, which are as hot and flushed as my buttocks, I allow myself an inward smile; I have endured and I know what is about to come…

And then, phase two:

Master C lubes my arsehole, grips my hips and his cock pushes into me with one powerful thrust. The cheeks of my arse throb as He digs His fingers into the tender flesh. My back passage stretches around Him. A moment’s pause, and then the “bumps” begin.

Master C thrusts into me, hard and deep, pulling me back on to Him. His body slams against mine with every deliciously powerful stroke of His cock. The only sounds to be heard are the slapping of skin on skin, his balls slapping my labia as His body repeatedly and forcefully collides with mine, and my moans; a mixture of pain and pleasure as Master C pounds my arse.

This time I’m not counting the strokes, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not that there’s any need, Master C won’t stop “bumping” until he’s done.

“Hap… py… birth… day…” He groans, each syllable punctuated with another surging thrust of His wonderful cock deep into my aching arsehole.

Suddenly He’s gone. Distantly I hear Him moan. His warm, thick load splatters off my arse cheeks.

As Master C rubs his cum into still tender skin, applying it as if it were a balm to ease the stinging hurt, He kisses me on the small of my back in a way that makes my knees week and my womb contract, and whispers, “Happy birthday, little one.”

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The BIG reveal


It’s the final stop on the journey. The final revelation.

It’s those final moments before you reveal yourself fully.

It’s the anticipation you feel as you prepare to surrender to your partner’s scrutiny.

It’s the thrill you feel as you peel off your knickers and expose yourself fully to your lover.

It’s the excitement as you prepare to open up for him, to feel his tongue on you, or his cock in you.

It’s the big reveal…

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