Meditations on submission

The “No True Way” prompt this week is:

Spend some time every day meditating on your submission, even if you can only spend 15 minutes or so.

Now, this got me thinking.

I’m a great believer in meditation and it is something I will make the time to do every day. When I meditate, however, I’m not really thinking about anything at all. If anything, it’s quite the reverse and I am consciously emptying my mind of thought, just focussing on the moment, counting my breaths, or my heartbeats, or, if I’m outdoors, just listening to the sounds of nature around me. The whole point of meditation is to clear my mind, not to make it examine something.

So, the simple answer to the prompt is that I do not meditate on my submission. The simple fact is that my submission is so deeply ingrained into who I am that it is something I don’t really need to consider. I’ve written before about how, for me, my submission is both conscious and unconscious; how it is who I am, even when I am simply going about my everyday life. My submission is active when I am doing something at Master C’s behest, e.g. when I am undertaking a task, when I am being disciplined, when we are ducking; but it is also passive in that I am still submissive when I am at work, or when I’m shopping, or even when I’m asleep.

But sex, and my submission, can themselves be meditative. Nothing restores my equilibrium than a toe-curling, back-arching, strength-sapping orgasm or too. When I’m fucking, the only thing in my mind is how it feels and how it makes me feel. When I’m sucking cock, the only thing I’m concentrating on is the cock that I’m sucking and the pleasure I am giving. When Master C’s belt is lashing my skin, it is also cleansing my mind. For me, pain is a great restorative; it provides me with a reset.

And that brings me to the most meditative aspect of my submission, and that is when Master C takes me to that place known as subspace. It’s that sweet spot where pain and pleasure combine to take me out of myself. It is a timeless, transcendental state where my submission becomes a total surrender; I am no longer in my body, I become a personification of sensation.

Sometimes my need is overwhelming. I need to be broken down and rebuilt. The most powerful and deepest state of subspace is when Master C takes me to this particular level, when nothing is “off limits”, when He uses the freedom to do whatever He pleases to me to its fullest; banishing my demons and satisfying my darkest desires and needs.

So, while I don’t meditate on my submission, my submission often does transport me into what can only be described as a meditative state that restores and enriches my body, mind and soul.

Degrees of punishment

In the Kink of the Week introduction, Molly talks about the separation of “punishment and faux-punishment aka funishment into two separate topics”. Now, I kind of see the distinction, but I’m not so sure it’s quite as clear cut as that.

So, when we talk about “funishment”, I suspect we are looking at the “Oh, look what I did tee hee, I’ve been ever such a bad girl and need to be spanked, tee hee” somewhat reminiscent of a 1970’s Carry On film, or saucy seaside postcard type scenario, whereupon the submissive finds themselves across their Dominant’s knee and get their arse (bare or otherwise) playfully swatted before being admonished with a “don’t let me catch you doing that again, young lady” kind of scenario (please note I am writing this from the perspective of me being the one getting their arse tanned, please use your own identity descriptors where relevant).

I will admit, I regularly engineer situations that result in me ending up in just that position, i.e. bare arsed, over Master C’s knee and getting my arse cheeks turned a rosy red by whichever means He deems fit. Now, yes, this is intended as fun; I enjoy being spanked, but Master C will only ever dispense discipline, even in “fun” situations, if I give Him a genuine reason to do so. It’s one of His things, but He will never hurt me without there being a reason for it being necessary, so if I want to feel His hand or belt, or some other implement on my arse, I have to do something to merit it, however playfully intended it may be.

Effectively, what this means is that even when done primarily in a fun way, in the context of our relationship and our dynamic, they are still punishments, albeit minor ones for minor infringements. Further, knowing my tolerance for and enjoyment of pain, Master C doesn’t hold back when delivering admonishment in these cases. He may not reduce me to tears, but my arse will definitely sting after any form of corporal punishment He applies.

But this brings us to the crux of the matter. I’ve mentioned this before, but within the context of our dynamic, we tend to speak less of punishments and more of consequences. Transgressions on my part require me at accept the consequences of my actions, and those consequences and the level and method of discipline are determined to be appropriate to the scale of my misdemeanour.

By way of example, simple disobedience on my part may, depending on what I’ve done, result in a spanking, or the punishment may be that I am not permitted to come for a particular period. Sometimes the orgasm deprivation is made worse by the fact that, rather than edging me Himself, Master C will instruct me to essentially edge myself and deprive myself of orgasm.

Another example may be that misbehaving with a member of our sharing circle might result in some form of humiliation, e.g. being required to wear Master C’s, or some other member of the group’s cum on my face while performing services for our guests, or it could result in me being bound to a chair in the corner and having to watch, but not participate in a group activity.

Meeting up with “The Other Guy” without first informing Master C may earn me a moderate thrashing with His belt, sucking off and/or fucking one or more random guys on a night out is more likely to earn me a caning.

We don’t have a fixed tariff of punishments, and it is always the case that, as a rule, unless I have displeased Him beyond measure, I will always be required to suggest what I believe an appropriate degree of sanction will be. Master C may agree with my assessment, or He may not. If He does not, His own assessment may mean a harsher or more lenient level of correction than the one I initially proposed. For my very worst transgressions, the ultimate sanction is, of course, the cage.

The point of all this is that, for us, punishment is never simply arbitrary; I am not going to get thrashed mercilessly for not bringing Master C a cup of coffee in a timely manner. Similarly, being involved in a drunken threesome with two complete strangers is never just going to earn me a gentle paddling of my backside. For us, discipline/punishment has to be, to a degree, transactional; there has to be a degree of appropriateness where the punishment is befitting of the behaviour being punished.

The problem lies in the fact that, ultimately, I never actually learn my lesson. At a very deep level, I not only enjoy the kiss of Master C’s belt, the caress of the flogger or the bite of the cane, I yearn for it. For me, even the harshest form of discipline is itself a form of funishment; which ultimately makes it impossible for me to truly separate the two.

Cocksucking confessions

I absolutely couldn’t, even if my life depended on it, tell you exactly how many cocks I’ve sucked. I can absolutely guarantee that there are two that I have sucked, more than any other than any others, and that I still suck both of them at every opportunity that I can and those are, of course, the cocks belonging to Master C and “The Other Guy”. Those two are pretty obvious. Then, of course, there was the cock belonging to my first proper (read sexual) boyfriend, then, of course, there was my bastard, cheating ex, and there were a couple of guys that weren’t boyfriends but were regular “fuck buddies” during my student years.

After that, it all tends to get a bit murky. There are the male participants in our “Sharing Circle” for starters. Then there were the numerous casual encounters of my late teens and early 20s, where I licked, sucked and fucked my way through a swathe of the student population. There were the cocks I sucked when on holiday abroad, where almost no night out was complete without a post-nightclub blow-job and fuck. Then there were the guys I sucked off when I was between relationships, the additional guys I sucked off while I’ve been in relationships, and the guys I’ve sucked while they have been in relationships. Even today, there are still the occasional random, drunken blow-jobs in back alleys. I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating, the times that I am at my happiest, generally involve me having my lips wrapped around a penis at some point during the proceedings.

Why is this? Well, as I’ve mentioned before, I love the sense of empowerment I, as a submissive woman, get through giving head. I love the fact that when a man comes in my mouth, that it is almost certainly entirely down to me (possibly with whatever he is visualising in his mind while I am sucking him, helping him along). For me, knowing that the pleasure he is experiencing is entirely down to what I am doing is deeply gratifying. On top of all this, I love the fact that it’s something that I can do pretty much anywhere and at any time; I don’t need to get undressed, I simply need to unzip/unbutton him, take him in my mouth then tuck him away safely when I’m done.

Of course, not every blow-job will result in me receiving a mouthful of cum. Sometime the blow-job will stop before that point so that the recipient of it can fuck me in the cunt or arse. Sometimes Master C might decide I am not worthy of such a reward and will, instead, unload over my face or boobs. That, of course, is His right and I accept it gladly and, given my whole degradation and humiliation thing, I actually treat such an ending as almost as much of a reward as I do when He fills my mouth with a thick load of cum to savour before swallowing it down hungrily.

With Master C, sucking His cock forms part of my service and devotion to Him. I suck His cock to help Him unwind and relax. I suck His cock to give Him pleasure and, in doing so, bring myself pleasure. I suck His cock when He commands me to do it. I suck His cock when He lets me suck it (and pine for it when He doesn’t). I suck His cock as a means of atoning for misdeeds and transgressions. I suck His cock when He deems it is an appropriate reward. Sometimes, I suck His cock simply because He has one and I want to suck it. Sometimes it can be foreplay, sometimes it can be an event in its own right. The simple fact is, whatever the reason I find myself with Master C’s cock in my mouth, you can absolutely, 100% guarantee that it’s what I want to be doing and that I am enjoying every second of it.

I sucked my first cock when I was 14, and instantly became addicted. I probably wasn’t very good, but the recipient had never had one before so he had nothing to compare it with. I did put in a lot of practice on that cock, particularly during the several months that we were “oral only” before I finally arranged to have him help me discard my virginity. In the intervening years, I have had a lot more practice and I’ve sucked cocks of all shapes, sizes and colours. I’ve sucked them individually and as part of a group. Practice, or so they say, makes perfect. I would never claim perfection, but both “The Other Guy” and Master C are fully appreciative of the cocksucking skillset I’ve developed over the course of the better part of three and half decades, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never had any complaints from the men in our sharing circle or the random guys whose cocks I’ve sucked either.

So, as I said way back at the start of this tribute to tumescence, I have absolutely no idea how many cocks I have had in my mouth. I can say, without without any fear of contradiction, that it is far more than I have had in either my cunt or my arse. I can only hope that all of those recipients have enjoyed having me suck their cocks at least as much I enjoyed sucking them.

Keeping it simple

I write a lot about the D/s side of my relationship with Master C. For that reason you’d be forgiven if you thought my sex-life was all kink, pain, swinging, thrashings, clamps, plugs, facials, humiliation and degradation, and just generally all things pertaining to being a masochistic submissive slut.

Now, while it’s true that all of things listed above are major parts of what goes into making me the sexual being that I am, and while they are all hugely important to the way I express myself and have my needs met sexually, and, while I’m certain those are the details that most of my readers find most “interesting”, the truth is that the majority of the sex I have is, actually, pretty “ordinary”; it’s the kind of sex that even the most “vanilla” of readers would be able to relate to.

At the end of the day, sex is one of the many forms of intimacy that exist within a relationship. While, for Master C and I, it often contains a BDSM element, albeit to a greater or lesser degree, often it is just that expression of physical intimacy; the ultimate closeness of two bodies enjoying each other.

Take this morning, for example. I woke to feel, as I almost always do, Master C’s body spooned firmly behind mine. I could feel His early morning hardness. His arms around me, His hands cupped my boobs, His thumbs slowly stroking their surface.

I wriggled my bum against Him to let Him know I was awake. He kissed my neck, His thumb brushed my nipple; I moaned softly as my body started to respond.

At some point in the proceedings, I turned to face Him, stroking His cock as we kissed and caressed. I slid down under the sheets and took His cock in my mouth; teasing Him, tasting Him, turning Him on.

I move back up, and Master C fingers my cunt as He teases my nipples with His lips and tongue. I grind my hips, driving His fingers deeper inside me as the sensations increase the pressure inside me.

From there the scene shifts and Master C is above me, His cock poised, ready to slide into me. Delicious long seconds pass before He rocks His hips, entering me slowly, but firmly; letting me savour every inch as His cock fills me.

We fuck. At first slowly; both of us savouring each stroke and thrust. Hands stroke skin; He brushes a lock of hair from my face as He moves to kiss me; my hands caress His arse as He moves inside me.

A change of position; Master C thrusts harder. His body becomes tense as mine becomes more fluid. Each stroke, firm, measured, controlled. Each downward thrust of His hips met with an upward tilt of mine. His head dips; teeth fasten around one nipple, the other pinched between His fingers.

We roll over and I ride His cock with carefree abandon; impaling myself on His hardness. His hands cup and press my boobs together, His lips and tongue tease my nipples. I grind myself down firmly against Him. I ride Him until my orgasm is triggered, its energy pulsing through me.

We roll over again. Master C takes me hard and fast. His body collides with mine. A rhythmic “slap”, “slap”, “slap” echoes as His skin connects with mine.

I close my eyes as I come again; gentler this time, but sill wonderfully intense. Master C’s breathing becomes increasingly laboured. The staccato movements of His hips become increasingly urgent. The tender, caring, loving partner has been replaced by a male in full rut; the primal savage Has once again been release.

These are the moments I love most; those moments where Master C loses Himself in the act of fucking, those moments where He is a slave to His most basic urges; He is no longer fucking me, He is simply fucking, driven by the need to release.

A groan, a final surging thrust, that briefest, almost imperceptible moment, and then His cum begins to fill me. Shorter, shallower thrusts, each followed by a smaller release of His essence inside me.

Spent, Master C slumps on to me, squashing me beneath Him. We lie there, me holding Him as He returns from His primal possession.

His hand once again strokes the hair from my face. A kiss and a smile. Master C slowly pulls out and rolls on to His back. I roll on to my side, kiss His cheek and snuggle against Him as His cum starts to ooze from my cunt. We lie there together until it is time to get up, or we decide to do it again.

This morning, we did it again; and it was even better…

His orgasm

The topic under discussion on No True Way this week is:

“It is a submissive’s responsibility to make sure the dominant (always) reaches orgasm.“

Now, I’ve touched on responsibilities before, and my view is that both the Dominant and the submissive have responsibilities to each other; how these responsibilities are discharged in practice will, naturally, depend very much on the nature of the D/s dynamic that is in place.

When it comes to Master C’s orgasm, I tend to disagree with the above. That isn’t to say that the statement is wrong, per se, it’s just that it doesn’t fit with how we do things.

Now, granted, there will be times when the task (and therefore the responsibility) of bringing Master C will be mine. For example, when I am giving Him a blow-job. In such a case, I am using my mouth (and, possibly hands) to excite and arouse Him, to pleasure Him and, when the time is right, to provide for His release. Ultimately, in this situation, when Master C comes, it is entirely down to me and what I have done. The only thing Master C has needed to do is to be there, sit/lie back, and have His cock sucked; everything else is down to me. It’s probably one of my most frequent “tasks” and it is one that I always apply myself to diligently, and with relish. Having my mouth filled with Master C’s hot, thick cum is a reward I will never tire of working to achieve.

In pretty much any other circumstance, however, Master C’s orgasm pretty much takes care of itself. When He fucks me, He will come. My responsibility, as much as it can be described as one, is merely to provide the means by which Master C achieves orgasm. My responsibility is to be at His disposal should He desire to use my body fir His gratification and satisfaction. My mouth/throat, my cunt and my arse are, to all intents and purposes, the tools that Master C employs to bring Himself to climax; I am there to be used. Does being is to use as He deems appropriate make me in any way responsible for the outcome of that use? Not actively, I believe. After all, if He weren’t fucking me, Master C could be fucking one of the other women in our sharing circle and the end result, i.e. His orgasm, would still be achieved.

And that, I suppose, is another factor to consider; the fact that, in being non-monogamous, I am not always involved in Master C’s orgasms. Granted, within our circle, the other women are, to a greater or lesser degree, submissive, but none of them are His submissive; I am Master C’s submissive.

Perversely, rather than me always being responsible for Master ‘s orgasm, within our particular dynamic, He is largely responsible for mine. Not entirely so, of course; I am generally free to masturbate (unless under specific instruction not to), and I have my other partners who also make me come, but when it comes to sex with Master C, I largely put my orgasm in His hands (or His mouth) and allow Him to determine not only when, but if I am permitted to come.

Dynamics are, of course, individual. This is how it works for us, but it is entirely possible that in other dynamics, the responsibility for the ensuring the Dominant partner comes, rests with the submissive and forms part of their duties towards the Dominant partner. Intellectually, I can see how this might work, but it isn’t the way our dynamic operates, and, you know what, that suits us just fine.

Balancing needs

It probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this that I tend to like my sex rough, and hard. I like there to be varying degrees of pain involved. My sexual tastes and appetites have a natural tendency to veer towards the darker side. In addition to being submissive, I am also very much a masochist. Fortunately for me, Master C knows me, knows my motivations, knows my needs and desires, knows how to exploit them for His own pleasure and gratification and, most importantly, knows how to satisfy them for mine.

You will note there that I rank my needs as being more important than His, and this is the crux of my epiphany; it is a lesson that Master C has taught me.

The “traditional” view of a submissive is someone who serves their Dominant, who puts the Dominant partner’s need before their own at all times. There is an element of this in my dynamic with Master C; I do serve Him, I obey, Him, I do want Him to be satisfied, I want Him to enjoy and extract the most pleasure from our sexual activities, I want Him to use my body as He sees fit. And yet, while I will do everything I can to please and satisfy Him, my own need are still important and still need to be met.

Part of how I meet this is through “my service”; it’s about how I make myself available for Master C to used; to be bound and restrained, to be spanked, thrashed or caned, to be fucked in whichever hole he desires. Much of my satisfaction comes from knowing that I provide for Master C’s needs and desires, I provide an outlet of release for Him to make use of.

There is, however, a flip side to this; I have my own needs and desires, my own requirement for gratification and satisfaction. While it may seem strange to an outsider, much of our dynamic centres around care and attentiveness; even the thrashings and cagings are part of this.

Master C has taught me that it is right for me to have wants and needs, it is right for me to seek to have them satisfied, it is right for me to articulate them. My submission to Master C does not require me to supress my own needs, it gives me the freedom to explore them and to satisfy them.

I know that however Master C chooses to use me and how He decides to fuck me, He will ensure that, in taking His satisfaction from me, He will also provide for me. I know that when He gives me the freedom to enjoy my relationships with “The Other Guy” and “The Girl” He does so because He recognises the importance of these relationships to me. I know when my arse is being thrashed for having fucked a random stranger on a night out, I am paying the price for enjoying the freedom to satisfy a particular need in me.

Being Master C’s submissive gives me the freedom to have my own needs met, while satisfying His. Our dynamic works in a way that, often I put His needs ahead of mine, but never at the expense of mine.

Of course, part of this is helped by the fact that my biggest need of all is simply to be Master C’s, bratty, slutty, masochistic submissive. That’s one need I do seem to be particularly good at satisfying.

It’s all sex

The current prompt on No True Way is:

Sex means PIV*

Everything else is foreplay, petting, making out, etc

*PIV means Penis In Vagina

I suspect that it will probably come as no surprise to anyone reading this, that the above statement is one that I disagree with pretty strongly.

As recently as my previous post, I wrote about what fucking meant to me. I get fucked in my mouth and throat, I get fucked in my cunt, I get fucked in my arse, Master C fucks me, “The Other Guy” fucks me, “The Girl” fucks me, random strangers fuck me, and I fuck them. It is me that is fucking and getting fucked, the particular hole or erogenous zone in use at any given time is simply the means by which my partner is fucking me at that point in time.

Now, I’ve also written about foreplay. In my view, depending on how you define it, any activity can be foreplay. Kissing, cuddling and caressing can be foreplay. Having my boobs played with can be foreplay. Me sucking a partner’s cock can be foreplay. A partner licking my clit and/or fingering my cunt can be foreplay. At the same time, having Master C walk into the room and sternly telling me to “Bend over!” can, for me, be foreplay.

For me foreplay isn’t any particular act; foreplay is about working on my mind, it’s about getting me aroused and ready to fuck. Foreplay can often be a series of text messages from Master C, spread throughout the day, telling me what he intends to do to me when we’re together that evening. It can be Him coming up behind me and kissing my neck when I’m busy in the kitchen. It can be me feeling the hardness of His morning erection pressed firmly against me as we snuggle together, barely awake in the time before rising from bed to start the day. It can be Him bending me over and thrashing my arse with His belt as I atone for some misdeed.

For the most part, foreplay acts on my mind. That’s not to say there is no physical activity involved, because often there is, but it is the process of turning the abstract into the actual; it’s about flicking all the right switches that move me from a state of being potentially available for sex into actively desiring and needing sex there in that moment.

The form that the sex takes depends largely on who I’m with and the mood we are in. With “The Girl”, it will involve a lot of kissing, caressing, exploring each other’s bodies with fingers, lips and tongues. It may involve toys, and it will absolutely involve fingering and feasting on each other’s cunts. There are no penises involved, but it is very definitely sex.

With Master C, or “The Other Guy”, it may be that all that happens is that I suck their cocks. Often when Master C is tired, I will give Him a long, slow blow-job to help Him unwind and relieve the stresses of a hard day. He might fuck me later, or He might not, but it’s still sex. It may be that Master C, or “The Other Guy” decide that they are only interested in fucking me in the arse. I’m certainly not going to complain; I’m still getting fucked, and it’s still sex. I may have one of my random encounters where all that happens is that I get down on to my knees and suck them off in a dark alley way. That is very definitely still sex. If I am in a threesome and I’m going down on one partner while the other fucks me in the cunt or arse, I am not engaging in foreplay with one while having sex with the other, I am fucking and being fucked by both of them; it is all still sex.

If I were to try and define both in simplistic terms, I would describe foreplay as being about arousal whereas sex is about gratification; they both take many forms and involve different acts depending on the circumstances they are performed in and the person (or persons) they are being performed with.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the feeling of having my cunt stretched, filled and pounded by a cock, but that is just one particular sexual activity. I equally love the same being done to my arse. similarly, I love having my cunt feasted on and I love feasting on another woman’s cunt, and I definitely love sucking cock. All of these, to me, are sex.

I guess, what I’m saying is, sex is simply whatever you decide it is.

He knows me

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.”

“Yes Sir!”

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.

After dark

It’s pretty fair to say that there is no way I could let this prompt pass without writing something on this subject. Since my earliest student days in my late teens, all the way through to the present, as someone with a particular penchant for doing sex things in risky locations, the darkened alleyway and/or the deserted thoroughfare have been a constant part of my locationary repertoire; whether that be with Master C or with some random casual acquaintance.

The very first time was in my first year at university. It was a Friday night, some drinks had been consumed, and I was enjoying the company of a charming young man who was saying all the right things and whom I decided I wanted to see more of. The intention had been to go back to halls, but as soon as we stepped outside the Student Union building, there was an urgency that overtook us. That part of town has numerous closes and vennels, and we quickly found one that was suitably secluded, although not entirely not overlooked, for our purposes.

Of course, it was only as things had heated up to the point where I had his cock in my hand that the realisation that neither of us had condoms on us dawned and so, I got to my knees in the darkened rear doorway of whatever building we were behind, took him in my mouth and sucked him off. The fact that we could potentially be caught in the act at any moment should someone else walk down that lane, or that we could possibly be overseen from the window of one of the tenements opposite was, it turned out, almost as big a turn on for him as it was for me. I sucked his cock with a frantic urgency and, in virtually no time at all (although in that exposed location, it seemed like an eternity), he exploded in my mouth, filling it with a huge load of thick cum that I hungrily gobbled down. After that, we straightened ourselves up, headed back to the Student Union to purchase condoms, went back to halls and spent the rest of Friday night and most of Saturday fucking each other senseless.

Since then, the drunken back alley fuck/blow-job has become one of my al fresco activities.

There is, to me, an inherent sluttiness about it; particularly if it’s a random encounter. Its a surrender to an urge that is so powerful, a need so intense that it cannot be denied or delayed. The act itself has an urgency, caused in no small part by the fact that it is risky, you could be disturbed and that simply adds to the experience. I have, in fact, been caught in the act on a few occasions. Fortunately nothing more ever came of it than some disapproving comments by the person who chanced upon us, but that in itself added another element to the experience.

If I’m fucking or sucking someone in a lane behind a pub, there is always that possibility. Senses are already heightened, but voices in the next street sound closer, footsteps on cobbles or pavements sound louder, lights in windows suggest the possibility of being observed. At any moment you could be disturbed by a drunken reveller, someone putting rubbish out, a resident coming home or going out, another couple looking for a secluded spot to do exactly what you are doing. All these thoughts are constantly there at the edge of your consciousness; the sense of excitement and apprehension combining to intensify the whole experience.

It doesn’t matter if I have my back against the wall, one leg hooked around his waist as he fucks me, or if he’s fucking me from behind as I brace myself against a doorway, or if I’m on my knees, sucking hungrily on his cock, the whole time I am aware of the riskiness of our situation and that only makes me even more determined to extract every ounce of filthy, wanton pleasure out of the act I am engaging in.

When it’s Master C I am engaging in such activities with, there is always the risk of an extra element being added to this. It is not unknown for Him to decide to mark me, to come on my face and forbid me from cleaning it off, forcing me to wear the evidence of my wanton sluttiness as we emerge from the dark alley out into the street lit, more populated lanes and streets as we make our way home. This, of course, while somewhat mortifying, does play to my humiliation/degradation fetishes and leaves me with a delicious juxtaposition of hoping no one notices His cum on my face while, at the same time, also hoping they do.

It’s been 30 years or so since I sucked my fellow student off in that alley. In the intervening years I have enjoyed many, many frantic fucks in deserted lanes, and I’m absolutely certain I will enjoy more still in the future.

A great end to an otherwise shit day

So, I was in a right old grump most of yesterday.  It started when I broke my favourite mug, spilling coffee all over my feet and the kitchen floor at breakfast and continued pretty much for the whole day. In fact, my mood only improved (and it did so considerably) when I managed to meet up with “The Other Guy” after work.

He gently rubbed my neck and shoulders as I told him all about how shit my day had been. It didn’t take him long to have me out of my clothes and to have me feeling warm and relaxed as his hands worked away the tension in my back.

He did, of course, comment on the visible effects of my most recent thrashing; asking me what I’d done to deserve such punishment this time.  I told him, in great detail, about the fun “The Girl” and I had got up to on Wednesday evening after our most recent “catch-up”; to which he agreed that my subsequent thrashing had been more than merited. In fact, he even went as far as to suggest that, given how the marks had almost faded, I had, perhaps, been let off somewhat lightly.

Now, I have to say, when I was enduring the kiss of Master C’s belt on Wednesday evening, it didn’t seem like He was being particularly lenient. He really does know how to wield that belt; but I digress…

Of course, my lurid descriptions of my afternoon and evening of  wanton, girl-on-girl debauchery had a very obvious effect on him; it was evident than “The Other Guy’s” cock was straining, desperate to be set free.

Now, one thing that Master C has taught me is that I should always be fully appreciative when someone does something nice for me. As “The Other Guy” had cheered me up no end, and had made me feel so nice as he massaged the strains of the day from my body, it was only right that I should show how thankful I was by releasing his cock from its straining confinement and subjecting it to the much more pleasant, warm and wet confinement of my mouth.

I may be a slut, but no one can ever fault my manners.

It seems he was every bit as grateful for the blow-job as I had been of the massage. I had hardly had time to get into my stride when I recognised that familiar pattern of breathing, that tension in his groin that announce that he is on the point of orgasm.

His cock erupted, deluging my mouth with a thick torrent of cum. Swallowing it down, I marvelled at how much he produced. “The Other Guy” is generally quite a heavy comer, but anyone would have thought he had gone without coming for weeks; whereas I know for a fact he’d been relieved of several loads just as recently as last Saturday…

Once he’d recovered, we swapped places; me on the edge of the sofa and him on his knees, between my legs, as he embarked on a prolonged bout of “getting his beard moisturised”.

I wasn’t going to complain. When it comes to going down on a woman, both the men in my life are extremely talented. Both Master C and “The Other Guy” belong to that rare breed of men that, when they go down on a woman, they give their full concentration to the task that’s in front of them; they both take their time and do the job properly. With them it isn’t just a quick perfunctory licking, to be done as quickly as possible, they both actually seem to luxuriate in it.

Suffice to say, I came several times before “The Other Guy” finished his devotions. By that time his cock was fully restored and, with the aid of gravity, I slid off the sofa, on to the floor and, to my astonishment, found myself underneath him.

We fucked. We fucked slow, we fucked fast, we fucked long and we fucked hard. We fucked until my cunt ached, and then we fucked some more. His cock massaged my insides every bit as skilfully as his hands had massaged my outsides. I came hard on his cock, gripping it tight inside me, feeling stretched and full and fabulously fucked.

He pulled out just before the end and fed me his cock. I loved the taste of myself on its length and the flavour of my juices was quickly combined with the wonderful taste of yet another load of his cum.

We cuddled there, on the floor, for a while after that and I left and drove home.

Master C still wasn’t in when I arrived, so showered and then poured myself a large glass of wine, before plonking myself down on the sofa, and proceeded to “unwind further”.

And that’s pretty much how Master C found me when he got home; somewhat tipsy, naked, nipples clamped, my favourite plug in my arse and with my fingers in my cunt. I didn’t even need any instruction; I simply got off the sofa and meekly adopted the required position as He smiled, winked and proceeded to remove His belt.

The lashes that rained down mercilessly upon my arse were as painfully delicious as they were fully deserved. The pain made my face flush almost as hotly as my other cheeks.

Tears streaked down my face as Master C spun me around and forced his cock into my mouth.

“Filthy Slut!” He said with quiet authority as he fucked my face, driving His cock angrily into my throat as His grip tightened around my neck.

I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I hoped I would be allowed to take Master C’s cum in my mouth. Instead, I got what I deserved. At the last second Master C pulled out and dumped a heavy load on to my face.

The rest of the evening was spent in acts of atonement. Once in bed, Master C fucked me gently and tenderly, letting me know that he had forgiven me.

My last conscious thought before I finally drifted off to sleep was, “well, today ended much, much, much better than it started…“