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.

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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.

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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.

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Going down


Leaving aside those encounters where I’m sucking someone off in a dark alley and where, by necessity, there is a certain urgency to proceedings; generally, my main considerations are comfort and maximising the enjoyment for both me and the recipient.

If you have even a passing familiarity with this blog, you will be aware that going down on a partner is one of my absolute favourite things to do. I’ve written before about the sense of control it gives me, and that is a big thing. Mostly though, it’s about the joy I take from giving pleasure to a partner. There is an inherent selflessness in giving head; you are doing unto your partner while nothing is being done unto you. Yes, I take a lot of pleasure from it, but that pleasure is secondary; it derives from the knowledge of the pleasure I am giving, it comes from knowing that I am entirely responsible for what my partner is feeling and experiencing, it’s the knowledge that their orgasm is entirely down to me.

Yes, sometimes, after a short period to recover, they may reciprocate, but that isn’t necessary. It may be that what I’ve just done is my form of reciprocation for something they have done to me. It might be that sucked his cock or licked her cunt as part of a “larger” sexual experience but, quite often, when I go down on a partner, particularly when I suck Master C’s cock, I do it, because I want to; I want His cock in my mouth and I want Him to just sit/lie back and enjoy the pleasure my mouth will deliver.

So, how do I like to do it? Well, I like to revel in it, to wallow in it; I like to give the task in hand (or should that be mouth?) my undivided attention.

Comfort is paramount; mine as well as theirs. If I’m going to be between their legs with their cock in my mouth or my face buried in their cunt for a prolonged period of time, I want to be comfortable. If I’m going to feel cramp anywhere, the only place I want to feel it, eventually, is in my jaw. Often this will involve me lying on the bed or sofa, but if I’m kneeling on the floor, I have a particularly comfy cushion that I tend to use to protect my knees (I’m not looking to add Cocksucker’s Knee to the list of medical conditions any time soon).

After that, it really comes down to knowing what my partner likes and enjoys. Master C has a preference for me starting slow, with lots of licking and kissing, whereas “The Other Guy” is much more about the sucking and being simultaneously stroked with my fingers. With “The Other Guy”, I tend to concentrate a lot on the very tip, as this is where he is most sensitive. With Master C, the whole head is pretty much equally responsive to my ministrations.

Both men like me to vary the pace. Both men like, occasionally to feel my teeth drag softly along the length of their shaft. Both me absolutely love it when I gaze up at them and make eye contact while their cock is deep in my mouth.

With “The Girl”, she likes slow, but firm strokes of my tongue between her labia, interspersed with rapid flicks over her clit. She likes my to have my fingers inside her as I lick her; sliding in and out and twisting around.

The key for me is to listen to and feel their responses; to be guided by what their bodies are telling me, to be receptive to any particular requests they may make. Master C, “The Girl” and “The Other Guy are all comfortable and ensured enough to be able to express their desires, which makes satisfying them so muc easier.

Of course, my own wants are also important; there are things I need too. There will be times when I want to concentrate on pleasing the head with my lips and tongue. There will also be times when I want to feel it lodged tight in the back of my throat. There will be times when I want to lash “The Girl’s” clit to feed her climax, and there will be times when I just want to lick her cunt at a leisurely pace and savour the taste of her on my tongue.

For me, giving the best head I can is all about being in the moment; I am concentrating entirely on the act and thinking of nothing else. It’s about attuning myself to the other person, reading the signs to gauge their level of arousal and, ultimately, the nearness of their climax. I don’t really have any “signature” moves other than the fact I always give it my best effort. It may be a bit big headed of me to say I’ve never had any complaints, but the greatest compliment is a satisfyingly large load of thick, rich cum in my mouth (or over my face and/or boobs) and the knowledge that they will want me to do it to them again. Nothing makes me a happier slutty little cocksucker/cuntlicker.

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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.

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My flavour


I am, as I suspect many women are, very familiar with the taste of my own sexual fluids. By which I mean, many women are familiar with the taste of their own, not with mine; although there are a fair few who are familiar with mine too. I digress…

Almost from the very beginning, from pretty much the first furtive fingering I ever gave myself, I have been fascinated by the scent and flavour of my cunt. As I experimented, I began to notice the subtle changes in both consistency and flavour depending on my level of arousal and where I was in my cycle. Despite those variations there was an underlying intrinsic “meness” that, as I became acquainted with the taste of other vaginas, I released that I, like every other woman I tasted had my own unique flavour; my own essence.

I can’t really describe my flavour. It has a rich, slightly bitter, musky tanginess. At the point of orgasm, my flavour becomes sharper, richer and more intense. Many partners have commented on the fact that, when they are going down on me, they can tell the moment that I come simply because the way I taste changes; becoming stronger and (apparently) more intoxicating.

Now, I’m not sure about the intoxicating bit, but I will admit that tasting myself while masturbating has always heightened my arousal and intensified the sensations. When I wank, my fingers will travel between my cunt and my mouth many times as I drive myself towards orgasm; it is an intrinsic part of my self-play.

It isn’t just when I’m flying solo that I get to taste myself. I am fortunate that in Master C, “The Other Guy” and “The Girl”, I am blessed by having partners for whom going down on me is something the do with relish and gusto. I love tasting myself on their lips as they kiss me, my essence on their tongue as it snakes inside my mouth. I love it when a partners fingers, glistening with my juices, are pushed into my mouth to be licked clean. I can never get enough of the taste of myself on Master C’s or “The Other Guy’s” cock after it has been inside me.

I particularly love the combination of flavours when my cum is mixed with that of my partner’s, whether that be when Master C commands me to lick His cock clean after He has fucked me, or when I gather up our mixed essences as they trickle from my cunt and lick my fingers clean.

I have made no secret in this blog about how hungry I am when it comes to having my partners’ cum in my mouth but, it seems, when you get right down to it, I’m every bit as hungry for the taste of my own.

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Don’t try this at home!


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It started with little things like:

Did I remember to lock the door? Or:

Has He got his keys?

Then the slightly darker thoughts like:

What if there’s a fire?

Then full-on panic:

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

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

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

Where the fuck is the cat?

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

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

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

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

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Cocked and loaded


So, this week’s Quote Quest teaser is:

“Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests; snug as a gun.”

– Seamus Heaney

Well, it wasn’t a pen between my thumb and finger, but those three letters definitely featured.

“The Other Guy” moans as I slowly stroke his cock, occasionally circling my thumb over the tip before encircling the shaft once again and working my slowly down, then back up again.

It’s been far too long since we last saw each other, far too long since I felt his tongue on my clit and his cock inside me.

I’ve already tasted his cum; rich and thick and so welcome after so long.

My cunt aches pleasantly from the ponding it received from his cock. My clit still throbs from where his tongue so expertly lashed it and drove me to a series of shuddering climaxes.

We’ve already done so much in the time we’ve had, and there is still so much more to do. My body is his to use until it is time for me to leave.

His cock twitches in my hand as I kiss him firmly on his lips, his tongue snaking into my mouth. I can taste my cunt on him; intoxicating, fuelling my hunger for him. I tighten my grip around his cock.

Up and down, down and up; I stroke those proud, stiff inches of flesh, refamiliarising myself with its contours. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had any cock but Master C’s, and I am so glad that it’s “The Other Guy” who is able to give me the first extra-curricular penis since the lifting of lockdown restrictions make such happenings possible again.

I move so that I can playfully kiss and tease the tip with my tongue as I stroke the shaft. I am rewarded with a familiar moan; a moan that means so much more because I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s a moan that confirms that I haven’t forgotten what “The Other Guy” likes, how he likes to be touched and teased. It’s a moan that tells me how much he has missed my attentions and how much he is enjoying experiencing them again anew.

The head of his cock swells a deep angry purple. I tease the underside with the tip of my tongue as I drag my nails lightly along his length. I can taste the nearness of his climax. I feel the tension in his body mount as I slide my thumb and finger up to concentrate on the area just below the head; knowing that this is the area that gives him the most pleasure.

“I’m going to come soon, Morag,” he half sighs, half moans.

“Good!” I breathe, “That’s what I want.”

My hand moves a little faster. His breathing deepens; his hips begin those tell-tale involuntary movements.

“Oh… Oh Morag!” he moans. “So close… So, so close…”

I have a decision to make; where do I want his load? In me, or on me?

His cock twitches in my hand.

“I want you to come on my boobs, then rub it in as you eat my cunt,” I tell him.

“Hell, fuck yes!” he gasps.

We pause briefly to change position, in readiness for what comes next. It’s the briefest respite for him but one that is short lived.

I circle his cock once more and stroke, hard, fast, eager for his inevitable eruption.

“Morag!” My name called out, a final groan, and then I feel his sticky warmth on my skin as unloads over my neck and boobs.

A small tremor runs up my spine. I know I’m really going to enjoy what will happen next…

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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 joke/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 swingers’ 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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