Freshly fucked


It’s a feeling I love. I’ve just been fucked, Master C has shot a lovely thick load of cum inside my cunt and then, after He has pulled out, as I lie there, my body warm and tingly, it begins to trickle out of me.

I love the warm, sticky feeling as His cum begins to ooze; a lovely warm reminder of the fuck we’ve just had.

Sometimes I reach down, let it gather on my fingers before lifting them to my mouth and savouring the rich taste of our combined essences. Mostly though, I just love the sensation as His cum slowly makes its way out of my cunt and between my buttocks, leaving that warm, wetness on the sheet beneath me.

It’s especially nice when Master C fucks me in the morning and then, afterwards, I sit at my desk at work, squirming slightly in my seat as His cum dribbles into my knickers, reminding me of the lovely start to my day.

Today however, because it was the weekend, I just lay there in His embrace as His warm, sticky goodness slowly drained out of my well fucked cunt.

What can I say? I’m a slut that loves cum. You knew that already though…

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Watching him


There is something magical about watching a man masturbate. The whole process, from the first stroke to the final messy eruption is, I find, mesmerisingly hypnotic.

I love to watch a man as he slowly teases himself, transforming his soft, slightly comically, flaccid penis into that steel-hard, solidly erect pole that I long to feel inside me.

It’s such a simple thing, fingers wrapped around those inches of proud flesh, rubbing it, stroking it until he pushes himself over the edge. And yet, despite the inherent simplicity of the act, there are as many variations in technique as there are men. Some stroke lightly, from start to finish, keeping an even pace. Others start slowly and increase the pace as their climax approaches. Still, others beat frantically, turning it into a sprint to the finish.

Some men grip tightly, their fingers wrapped around their shafts, gripping it like a baton in a relay race as they pump up and down. Others circle their cock with their thumb and forefinger, teasing, caressing, almost coaxing their eventual climax.

I’ve watched quite a few men get themselves off, and every one did it differently, applying different amounts of pressure and beating out their own particular rhythms in the pursuit of their pleasure.

I love to watch the expressions on their faces. I love to listen to the various sounds that they make. I love they way that they are inhabiting their own worlds, and I have no idea what thoughts they are relying on as they travel to their orgasmic destination.

And then there are those little signs that speak so loudly of the state of a man’s arousal. The changes in his breathing, the tension in his thighs, the tautness of his lower torso, the tightening around the eyes; all indicating that the pressure for release is building inexorably inside him.

A soft sigh, a deep moan, a slight tightening of his grip tell me that he is on the brink. His free hand presses firmly against his inner thigh as the tension grows.

A grimace, a tightening of the jaw and the muscles around his eyes tell me he is trying to hold back, delay the inevitable, extend his pleasure.

And then there’s that magical moment, that split second when he succumbs to the inevitable, that briefest instant in time when he realises that, like King Canute standing before the incoming tide, he can no longer prevent the what is about to occur. There is something almost bittersweet for him in that moment; the sweetness of orgasm, the bitterness of ending.

And then he comes. Thick jets of sticky white loveliness erupt from his cock. As he sends this lovely substance shooting through the space between us, the tension visibly drains from his body. His breathing is laboured, his heart pounds in his chest, sweat forms on his brow; yet at the same time he relaxes, drained, content, satisfied.

If I weren’t so hungry for the feel cock inside me, I could happily watch men do this endlessly.

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TMI Tuesday – Life


1. Do you typically wake up feeling optimistic?
I am generally a positive, “glass half full” type, but, having said that, even a glass that’s half full still has room for more wine it. I’m a lot like that with sex too; no matter how good it is, there’s always plenty more to be had…

2. Do you pursue your passions?
Very much so and, in the context of my relationship with Master C, I am free to follow them and benefit from his support and guidance where that is needed. I am aware however, that my actions will have consequences, and the price of freedom is the need to take responsibility for my actions.

3. If your life was affected by covid19 lockdowns/restrictions how have you pursued your passions during the pandemic?
As for the majority of people, I have definitely had my freedoms impinged upon. It couldn’t be helped and was, I believe, necessary. I’ve had to spend quite a lot of time, living in my head, and it life has required a quite a bit of improvising, and the need to be creative at times.

4. Is there a conversation you need to have with someone but you have avoided? Tell us the basic subject and your relationship to the person.
Simple answer is “no”. The basic premise of the relationship (and D/s dynamic) between Master C and me is that we are open and honest about things and that we express our wants, needs and desires to each other

5. Fill in the blank. When my partner is around I feel _____ .
In a word, “Safe and secure”. OK, yes, I know, that was three words… I am, particularly in my professional life, assured and self reliant. That, however, doesn’t mean that I can do everything on my own or that there are times when I don’t need support and reassurance. This does, however, work both ways; I support Master C just as He supports me, and we rely on each other. There are times, however, when I need that little bit more from Him; when I need Master C to rebuild me. It often seems as if Master C can sense this need in my intuitively, and sometimes I need to make my fragility known. Either way, I am grateful for being my rock in stormy seas.

Bonus:  Are you living in reality or a fabricated fantasy?
That is an interesting question. Where does reality end and fantasy start? Are the lines blurred. Within the context of my reality, it’s true that fantasy plays a very important part. Fantasies allow you to experience things that may not be possible in the real world. They can also give you goals to aim toward. Some fantasies can be made real and acted upon; others stay within the confines of my head. Another aspect of this is that the reality of my actual life, may possibly be someone else’s fantasy; by recounting my experiences, I allow others to live vicariously though me.

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality

Queen
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Thoughts on foreplay


Women, we are constantly being told, want/expect/demand* (*delete as appropriate depending on your chosen woman’s magazine) more foreplay. There exists, so it would seem, a direct relationship between our enjoyment of sex and the quality/amount of foreplay we receive. Apparently we cannot have a fulfilling or satisfying sexual experience with out it.

But what, exactly, do these glossy fonts of all knowledge actually mean by foreplay? What counts as enough? Is all foreplay the same? How do we judge its quality? Do we, in fact, actually need it to enjoy sex?

Foreplay can, and does, mean different things to different people. It can also mean different things to the same person depending on their mood and circumstances. I don’t want sex to be the same every time I do it, nor do I want my foreplay to follow some “tried and tested” formula. I’m all for a romantic evening on the sofa; kissing, caressing, slowly being undressed and having Master C lick me to a couple of orgasms before begging Him to fuck me. On the contrary, I enjoy that kind of thing when I’m in that kind of mood (and even the filthiest, submissive slut enjoys a little romance from time to time). But there are times, when all I really want is for Master C (or any guy for that matter) to tell me He wants me, throw me up against a wall, yank my knickers off and fuck my brains out.

Similarly, as a fan of early morning, wake-up sex, sometimes, especially during the week, time is at a premium. I’ll be honest, nothing is more likely to make me want to jump on Master C’s cock more than to wake up, feeling His finger already inside me. We don’t have time for a protracted, leisurely session (well, OK, so weekends are a different matter), so that intruding digit, waking me up, warming me up, is all that’s needed for me to know that we will both be heading to work with smiles on our faces.

Now all this seems a bit one-sided. “What about him?” I hear you cry, “Men enjoy foreplay too, you know.”

It’s true, men do enjoy foreplay. If I’m being honest, foreplay isn’t all about the “stuff” that’s being done to me. I love to turn my partners on; touching them, teasing them, sucking their cocks (assuming I’m having sex with guys). But turning them on, and knowing that I’m turning them on; that I am making them want to fuck me, is still a huge turn on for me too. Sometimes, just sucking a guy’s cock is all that is required as a precursor to a damned good fuck. Knowing how hard I’ve got Him, knowing how much Master C wants to fuck me, is all that is needed for me to want to have Him inside me.

So, anyway, getting back to what turns me on, well, in a word, anticipation. When I’m lying there, blindfolded, restrained, waiting to feel His belt on my arse, you can pretty much count on the fact that my cunt is doing its very own, one-woman impression of the great flood. By the time Master C has finished dealing out whatever punishment my transgression has merited, I am crying out (frequently quite literally on the crying part) for a good fuck. A fuck that tells me I’m still His good little slut, a fuck that demonstrates that, once again, my recalcitrance has been forgiven and my “sins” absolved.

Anticipation also handily leads into my next point; namely that foreplay doesn’t always require the other person to even be physically present. We all have mobile devices of some sort or another nowadays, and sexting can be a wonderfully protracted form of foreplay; a foreplay that can be extended over hours, days, weeks, and possibly longer. The anticipation builds with each reply, each suggestion so that, by the time you are actually in each other’s presence, all that remains is to rip each other’s clothes off, find a suitable surface (horizontal is preferred, but not essential), and fuck.

So, to answer my original question as to what exactly is foreplay; in my opinion, and for what it’s worth, it can be anything from a “Fancy a shag?” to a protracted session of kissing, caressing, sensual massage, and mind blowing oral, with every possibility in between. Its quality can be judged by how much it turns me on and how quickly it makes a mess of my knickers (assuming they haven’t long since been discarded). As for how much is required, If I’m begging someone to have their cock inside me, they’ve probably done enough.

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Flying solo


I love sex. Nothing beats a bloody good seeing-to from a partner who (literally) knows you inside and out, and knows exactly what buttons to press to guarantee I get as much pleasure as possible. Yet despite having a ready supply of cock on hand (not to mention in mouth, cunt or arse), that’s not to say I don’t still enjoy a bloody good wank.

I started wanking when I was 12. Of course, I didn’t call it wanking back then; I didn’t think girls could wank; wanking was something that boys did, or sometimes had done to them. I had several girlfriends who had mentioned that they had wanked their boyfriends off, and I knew boys who wanked, so to my inexperienced mind, wanking was something that required a penis.

I was wrong of course, but that is of no consequence. Ultimately I didn’t care about the terminology, all I cared about was how fucking amazing it felt. I almost couldn’t wait for bedtime to come around, just so I could I stuff my fingers up my cunt and bring myself off again and again; the need to keep the volume down so as not to betray my nocturnal fingerings, only intensifying the sensations.

My fingers were to be nightly playthings until I bought my first vibrator when I was 16; although, on account of the racket the made, they were still my go to orgasm provider unless I was sure I had the house to myself.

Of course, the other great discovery was the fact that I didn’t have to do it to myself, someone else could do it to me, and I could do it to them. That first time that “The Girl” brought my to orgasm with her fingers was a real eye-opener. No one, other than myself, had ever made me come before and after that first fingering from “The Girl” I made sure my boyfriend of the time got in on the act, and his fingers in to my cunt too.

Even after I’d discovered cock, and was getting fucked on a “regular” basis (I was a teenage girl still living at home remember) my fingers remained a constant source of satisfaction that I could depend upon when my boyfriend and I couldn’t find an appropriate degree of privacy. Nowadays, of course, I can have cock whenever I want; be it Master C‘s, or that of “The Other Guy” or even just some random guy (or guys) I’ve decided to favour. I also have an extensive array of toys, including my Doxy, but still my fingers are an important part of my self-pleasuring.

The thing with wanking is you can do it pretty much anywhere, whenever the mood takes you. I’ve wanked at work, I’ve wanked on public transport, I’ve wanked in pubs and in restaurants. But mostly I wank at home.

Sometimes if I’m in the mood, I’ll wank sitting on the sofa. I may watch some porn, I may not. I’ll just undo my jeans or hitch up my skirt, stick my fingers down my knickers and rub one out. It’s a great way to relieve the stresses of a tough day at work.

Sometimes I’ll bring myself off, snuggled up to Master C, strumming my clit as He whispers sexy nothings in my ear to urge me along. Occasionally I’ll stroke His cock, its hardness showing that my moans and sighs are turning Him on too. Wanking, after all, does not need to be a solitary activity.

If time permits, and I’m going for an extended session, then my bed is the place to be. I can arrange my favourite massage oils and creams, I can lay out my toys. I can take my time and really enjoy it. Massaging my creams and oils into my skin, using my fingers to get me started, using my toys to finish myself off, spending anything up to an hour to work myself to climax after delicious climax until my orgasm-wracked body can take no more.

Possibly my favourite wank location is in the bath. Relaxed, with a glass of wine; the water allows my hands to slide effortlessly over my body, whilst providing an almost weightless feeling. The warm water allows the blood to flow to where it’s needed. My cunt, already slick with my juices is so warm and inviting, and my nipples are oh, so sensitive. The wine and the hot water relaxes me and the increased sensitivity of my nipples and clit mean I come so easily.

So yes, while nothing beats a good fuck, a bloody good wank runs it a close second.

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Making the most of morning wood


I stretch and yawn. Master C’s hand is between my thighs, a finger brushing over my smooth lips. I wriggle and part my thighs ever so slightly; an invitation for Him to go further when it suits him.

He plays with my soft curls and begins to press firmer. My juices begin to flow. His fingers slowly but deliberately spread my labia.

A hand on my breast, tracing its curve. I feel warm and languid; content to be little more than a passive participant in this seduction.

I moan as his finger slides inside me. I shudder slightly as Master C pinches one nipple with His fingers and His lips fasten on the other.

He moves above me; kissing my neck, my collar bone, my boobs, my nipples, and then lower.

He moves between my thighs and begins to lick. It feels so good as Master C lazily applies His tongue to my clit with slow, firm licks.

His hands move up to cup and squeeze my boobs as His tongue explores my cunt. My juices flow over His tongue. A “Yesssss!” escapes from my mouth as he pinches my nipples.

I can feel my climax approach. Without changing pace or intensity, His tongue drives me inexorably onwards.

I come, hard. My fingers clenched in the sheets. My head tossing from side to side as I surrender control of my body.

Master C moves up, kisses me and I savour the taste of myself on His lips.

A movement of His hips, a moan from me, a sigh from Him as His marvellous thick cock slides so easily into me; filling me, stretching me.

We fuck, long, slow and hard and Master C pins me beneath Him with powerful thrusts of His lovely, forceful cock.

The tempo slowly builds, His thrusts become more rapid, sharper, stabbing into me. It feels so good as Master C slowly loses control, surrendering to His urges, fucking me as if He neither knows nor care who is beneath Him.

This is His moment, it’s all now about Him; His need, His climax. I am simply the means for Him to achieve his end, a body for Him to use, a hole for Him to fuck.

His breathing deepens, His body grows taut, His hips surge of their own volition, driving his cock into my cunt. I offer soft moans of encouragement, letting Him know how much I am enjoying being fucked by Him, being used for His pleasure.

He stiffens, He groans, I feel His cock pulse inside me as Master C fills my cunt with a thick load of cum. Then He collapses, spent, on top of me, squashing me into the mattress.

We lie there, Master C on top and still in me; me holding Him tight, feeling His warm breath on my neck, His heart pound in His chest.

A kiss, a groan. Master C dismounts and rolls over. I snuggle up close, feeling the heat of His body next to mine, gently stroking the hairs on His chest as we bask in the post-coital afterglow.

Can there be a better way to start the day?

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Theory & practice


Growing up on a farm, I learned at quite an early age that when “daddy cow” climbed on “mummy cow’s” back it would, ultimately, result in the arrival of “baby cow”. I also learned that the same thing went for other species as well; the reason there were baby animals was because at some point the male animal did something to the female animal. Having put two and two together, I remember coming to the conclusion that something similar must have occurred between my parents that resulted in me and I remember asking my mum something along the lines of “Did Daddy have to climb on you to make me?” and being delighted that I was right when my mum confirmed this with a very simple, but affirmative “Yes dear, something like that.”

So I had the theory of mammalian reproduction understood at a very basic level but, of course, I didn’t really know about sex, or the fact that the majority (or in my case and that of many others, the entirety) of sexual activity has nothing to do with reproduction.

Skip forward a few years to my first year in secondary school, age 12. If you are Scottish and of a certain age demographic, you will remember the big red Scottish Secondary Science Book and you will almost certainly remember chapter 6.6 with its outline drawings of the male and female reproductive parts. Again, we were taught about the mechanics of sex and the reproduction; about erections for boys and periods for girls; and that was really about as far as it went. I’m not, I hasten to add, being dismissive of trans-gendered people here, I am simply recounting the classroom language that was used; i.e. that sexual intercourse involved the man putting his penis in the woman’s vagina and moving it in and out until the man ejaculated inside the woman. Again it was the theory.

Of course, around about this time, I’d also started getting interested in boys and, of course, boys meant snogging. Being a fairly early developer, snogging also meant that boys attempted some awkward groping and, even in those days where such things were “top half only”, that hands on top of clothes progressed to hands under clothes. That’s where things started to get interesting.

I discovered that I liked getting my boobs touched I also discovered that when I was enjoying getting my boobs touched, I also got quite moist between my legs. I soon discovered that I didn’t need someone else touching my boobs for this to happen, I could do it to myself and, when I ultimately reached down to examine more closely what the effects of my boob play were having down there, I discovered that I definitely liked touching myself down there. Not too long after that, “The Girl” would help me discover that I really liked it when someone else touched me down there and that was where the theory began to turn into practice.

Why the sex education I got in school covered the basics of reproduction and the mechanics of penis in vagina intercourse and the fact that, if I weren’t careful, it might result in pregnancy, it didn’t go near masturbation, or oral or even hint that anal might even be a thing for anyone other than gay men. The sex education didn’t teach me about the pleasure or enjoyment associate with sex. It absolutely did not teach me anything about kink.

I was, however, fortunate that I could talk to my mother about certain aspects of sex and sexuality, but even then there were limits. I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d just sucked my boyfriend’s cock for the first time. She didn’t need to know exactly when a guy fucked me for the first time and she absolutely did not need to know about the first time I took it in the arse. What she absolutely didn’t need to know was that I’d reached this point on my sexual journey before I’d even turned 16. I could discuss masturbation, but she didn’t need to know how often I did it. I could admit that I was sexually active (although I was somewhat reticent about how long I had been), but she really didn’t need to know how may people I’d had sex with. I could admit to the fact that I felt an attraction to other women, but she absolutely did not need to know that “The Girl” (whom she had known forever) and I were more than just best mates and were “at it” whenever circumstances allowed.

The one thing that I am grateful for is the fact that the most important thing my mum taught me about sex is that it is absolutely 100% natural and that it is in no way shameful. I’m sure she probably wouldn’t have approved if she knew the full details of my sex life, but it would be from a position of concern about my safety and well-being rather than from a place of judgement.

Pretty much everything else, I’ve learned “on the job” as it were. My teenage years were kind of my “discovery years“; the years where I discovered what I liked and what worked for me, where I discovered that what worked for one partner might not elicit the same response in another. I learned how much I really loved sucking cock and I learned how numerous guys loved to have their cocks sucked. I learned how much I enjoyed having my cunt eaten out and how to eat cunt in ways that the recipient really enjoyed. I learned the positions that I liked most; I learned that sometimes my enjoyment of a position or a particular activity depended on my mood. At 18, during my university Freshers’ Week, I discovered that I enjoyed having sex with more than one person at once. During my 20s, I discovered that even though I didn’t have a “full time” partner, that I could still enjoy sex through casual arrangements.

I’d always enjoyed a rougher element to sex. From fairly early on I’d enjoyed a certain amount of restraint play, blindfolds, spanking etc. Meeting Master C and submitting to Him was what would take my exploration of kink to the levels it is at today. While I’ve never been especially good on the monogamy front, it would be Master C that would help me channel many of my promiscuous urges and redirect them into our poly circle, but also create the system of action and consequence, of responsibility and punishment that become such a central part of our particular dynamic.

And yet, for all that, I am still learning. The restrictions imposed by the Covid pandemic have meant I’ve had to come up with new ways to receive the discipline from Master C that I both crave and need so much.

If we assume that 12 year old me getting my boobs felt was the start of the practical part of my sexual education, then I’ve been learning for almost 35 years. I wonder how much CPD time I’ve managed to put in during those years?

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Suffering in silence


When it comes to expressing my pleasure/enjoyment of something, I am quite a vocal person. I don’t mean in the asthmatic banshee wailing of women in porn kind of way, just that I like to be able to “release” vocally (albeit often incoherently) as well as physically, emotionally. With that in mind, here is my take on this week’s Quote Quest prompt:

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”

–   Federico García Lorca

As I said, I tend to vocalise things; not just sexual enjoyment/orgasm, but any strong emotion. I tend to live on the very edge of my skin, and I have a need to let things out. I will howl with laughter at a particularly funny jock/sketch, I will scream with shock at scary bits in films, I will almost certainly let my partner know how much I am enjoying the sensations they are causing me to experience.

Sometimes I will manage to articulate these into actual words, telling them how good their cock feels inside me, or their tongue feels on my clit. More often, the deeper my arousal and closer I am to orgasm, the less articulate I become and my vocalisations are reduced to murmurs, moans, sighs, whimpers and the occasional hoarse profanity.

Of course, all of this is fine when engaging in sex in the privacy of your own home, a hotel room, or in the confines of a swinger’s club, but sometimes there is a need to be more circumspect.

Readers of this blog will be aware that I have a propensity towards sexual activity in less private places; whether that be in some secluded out of the way spot in the countryside to having a frantic quickie in a dark, back street/lane. While part of the enjoyment of these activities is the risk of the possibility of being caught, there is a need to try and mitigate this risk as much as possible. One of the ways to do this is to ty not to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves and what we are doing and, tat generally means needing to be quiet.

For me, as a vocaliser, this is often a source of added torment. Given the risky nature of what we are doing, my arousal is already heightened. If someone has their fingers up my cunt, or is fucking me with a sense of frantic urgency, the sensations I am feeling are going to already be intensely powerful. In “normal”, more private settings, being able to give voice to my pleasure helps release some of the pressure that is building inside me as the sensations move me along the journey to climax. The need to be quiet denies me that pressure valve and as the pressure builds, so the sensations intensify and the need for release increases. Essentially, at this point, I am a living, breathing uncontrollable chain reaction of pre-orgasmic energy. Where normally I would moan with carefree abandon, I am reduced to whimpers which do little to relieve the mounting tension until my climax eventually takes me and reduces me to a trembling wreck.

Of course, it’s not always when being fucked in such observable/overhearable locations that silence may be required. Often, Master C will require me to remain silent, as a form of control. This differs from being gagged in that, with a gag, I can still make sounds, they are just prevented from being articulated, where I am required to be silent, I have to remain silent by volition. When the instruction for silence is combined with a form of orgasm denial, it can lead to a build up of pressure inside me that is excruciating in its intensity that is not unlike that which I experience when I am being choked. In the same way that the first lungful of air when Master C removes His hands/belt from around my neck and pulls His cock from my throat provides a relief to my oxygen-starved self that is beyond words, so the final permission to come and to give voice to my release is of a similar magnitude.

It’s fair to say, I was not designed for silence, and being forced to be so is an almost punishment of almost unbearable torment.

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TMI Tuesday – Nice ‘n’ Dirty


1. Your first night out after covid19 lock-down and you catch a friend making a drunken pass at your significant other. Which of the following most mirrors your feelings or thoughts?
a. Ignore it, they are drunk off their ass.
b. Alcohol is a truth serum, true feelings come out and this false friend is after my honey.
c. Well, my babe is pretty hot so I can’t blame them for making a move.
d. After a year of lock-down, people are likely to flirt with a lamp-post. It is no big deal.
e. Hmmm, I wonder if this friend is up for a threesome?
I suspect my answer is kind of of a combination of c, d and e. I mean, there’s no denying Master C is as hot as fuck and the things that He can do with His fingers, lips, tongue and cock are pretty damned amazing, so why wouldn’t my friend want some of what I’m getting. There is also a very real element, I think, of the release of “cabin fever” after the last 15 months is probably going to loosen quite a few inhibitions, and we almost have to relearn how to interact socially again. As for e, well, it depends on the friend I guess, but I’ll never knowingly pass up a threesome.

2. True or False. I am so bored with vanilla sex?
False all the way. All sex is great. Kink may add some spice, but vanilla should be enjoyable too. I’ll be honest, much as I enjoy being thrashed, plugged, gagged, bound and clamped, I don’t want that every time. Sometimes I just want to suck Master C’s cock, have Him eat me to a climax or two and then just fuck my brains out; and if that’s in missionary position, then that’s fine as I actually love the closeness and intimacy of it. If vanilla is boring, I suspect you just need to look at expanding your imagination.

3. Is it unreasonable to hope for mind-blowing sex when you have been together for several years?
In my own experience, absolutely not. Master C still turns me into a quivering, sticky, hot mess pretty much every time we fuck. After all our years together, the long familiarity with each other’s bodies and knowing each other’s likes and desires so well, enhances rather than detracts from the experience.

4. Name two things that could doom your current romantic relationship?
I suspect neither is likely, but one (or both) of us preferring one of our other poly partners (whether that be a current partner or a new one in future), or a breakdown in the openness and honesty we have in our relationship (which may well link to the first point). I don’t believe there is any real danger of either, but life is, by it’s very nature, unpredictable.

5. A local sex educator is holding orgasm classes–as in how to give an orgasm. Would you sign up to be a student or be the demonstration model?
The exhibitionist slut in me would definitely be the model. I would absolutely insist that the practical sessions be “hands-on” and “fully interactive”.

Bonus: May 18 is World No Dirty Dishes Day. How will you celebrate?
Well, now that restaurants and pubs are able to serve again, it seems like the perfect excuse to eat out, as it were…

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In position


So, the teaser to consider this week on No True Way is this:

“Every submissive should know their positions, so they can please their Master when needed.”

Now, I’m fairly indifferent to positions myself. Largely I go with whatever just happens and whatever fits the mood that either Master C or I (or both of us) are in, or the kind of activity we are indulging in at any specific time. For as much as I love being on all fours, being taken hard in the cunt or the arse from behind, while my head is being yanked roughly backwards by Master C pulling roughly on a fistful of my hair, I also love the closeness and intimacy of the full body contact that plain old missionary position sex provides. I’m happy to brace myself against a kitchen unit or in a doorway in an alley somewhere for a frantic quickie, but I’m equally happy having a long, drawn out session entwined on the sofa.

To me, the position really isn’t all that important; what matters is that I’m getting fucked, that one (or sometimes more) of my holes has a cock in it, that I am enjoying being used and that the other person/persons are enjoying using me. The position or positions employed will largely be dictated by the circumstances and location. Often, Master C will instruct with simple commands, e.g. “On your knees” or “Turn around” or “Bend over”; just as often things will change organically, positions changing as we transition from one activity to another.

There is one exception to this, however, and it’s when I am either told to, or choose to, adopt the “Waiting Position”. The waiting position is basically me, naked, on my knees, hands behind my back, eyes downcast. Sometimes Master C will instruct me to adopt this position while He attends to other matters. Sometimes I will voluntarily adopt this position, in order to welcome Him home from work, or simply to let Him know that I am ready to perform some service.

A variation on this is the “Corrective Waiting Position”. It is broadly the same but, instead of my hands being behind my back, they are raised in a supplicant position in front of, and slightly above my head, Master C’s belt resting across my palms.

Again, sometimes I will be commanded to assume this position, while Master C reminds me of the transgression I have committed and makes sure that I fully understand why I need to be disciplined for it. On other occasions, when I know I have done something (or fucked someone) that requires correction, I will assume this position and wait for Him to observe me in it; the act of supplication, of asking for correction, being part of my atonement.

Largely though, through the familiarity that comes of being together so long, I’ve learned how to read Master C’s moods and accompanying needs. Knowing these as well as I do, I can pretty much anticipate what He is likely to want to do, and which positions most readily accommodate such actions. At the same time, however, it would be wrong of me to be presumptive. While I may be aware of the positions I need to assume, it is not my place to get above myself and make assumptions about what He wants to do. While I have a certain degree of leeway to anticipate His needs or to take the lead and to act of my own volition, my preference is to seek direction so that I can better be of service in attending to Him because, ultimately, I want to please Him and be rewarded for being His “Good girl!”

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