Getting up to mischief


mischief / (ˈmɪstʃɪf) /
noun

  1. wayward but not malicious behaviour, usually of children, that causes trouble, irritation, etc
  2. a playful inclination to behave in this way or to tease or disturb
  3. injury or harm caused by a person or thing
  4. a person, esp. a child, who is mischievous
  5. a source of trouble, difficulty, etc. e.g. floods are a great mischief to the farmer

As a child, I was definitely what was known as “a mischief“. In fact, I was “a right, proper wee mischief“. It wasn’t that I was bad or especially naughty, I just had a penchant for doing things that my elders didn’t always approve of. The “Oh Morag! We’re not angry, just disappointed…” thing, said in a weary, resigned tone whenever my misdeeds were found out, was a near constant refrain growing up. I was never one of those genteel, girly girls; I was very much the tomboy and tearaway; preferring to muck about with the boys than be one of the girls.

Of course, mucking about with the boys took on a slightly different meaning when I moved into my teens, but that just simply added to the opportunities for mischief and, very often, that mischief felt very good. I might allow a boy who done something particularly nice for me to feel my boobs or I might stroke their cock through their jeans, marvelling at how that made it stiffen. Later of course, I would move on to stroking their cocks under their boxers and letting myself get fingered. The mischief stakes were frequently being upped. Eventually I would have my first orgasm at the hands of another person, give my first blow-job, discarded my virginity and get my arse fucked. All of these things were just a natural progression as I experimented with the naughty things I was discovering that I liked doing.

My student years introduced me to threesomes and group sex and I was already dabbling with kink, although, at that stage, I didn’t consider myself to be submissive, I just knew I liked toys, occasional restraining, and getting my backside tanned every now and then.

Over the years, my tendency towards mischief has, if anything, only grown stronger as I’ve got older. This, I suspect, is largely because my relationship with Master C has given me a framework within which I can be my mischievous self so long as I am aware of the consequences of my actions and know there is a price to pay. As such, if I’m on a night out and see someone I fancy, so long as I am willing to accept that any dalliance with that person will result in a thrashing from Master C’s belt, the number of lashes to be determined depending on what form the dalliance takes, then I am free to lick/stroke/suck/fuck whomever I feel inclined to do so.

Of course, there is also the fact that I enjoy receiving Master C’s discipline/physical chastisement and my inner brat is always pushing limits and looking for ways to be on the receiving end of some much needed correction.

As the saying goes, I’m not really a very naughty person, I’m just a person who really enjoys doing some very naughty things, and I really enjoy the consequences that arise from them.

Am I a brat? Yes, without question.

Am I a right, proper wee mischief? Definitely (well, maybe not quite so “wee” any more), and I hope I always am…

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Open access


This week’s prompt on No True Way is:

A good girl is always available.”

Now, it is true that, within the context of my relationship I am pretty much “always available”, and that if I perform “my services” well, Master C will call me His “Good girl”, but I’m not sure whether always being available, makes me a good girl or whether being a good girl means I am always available.

I suspect, if it’s either, it’s largely the former; largely because I am “availability” means that quite often (although sadly not recently), I am actually a very BAD girl.

I suspect the context to this is it’s not the availability that defines goodness/badness, but the who I am making myself available to.

I freely admit (and have done so frequently on this blog), that I enjoy casual sexual encounters with random men. I’ve possibly mellowed a little as I’ve got older, largely due to having my regular additional partners in “The Other Guy” and “The Girl”, and through our poly “Sharing Circle”, but there is still an element of, if I fancy someone, there’s a good chance I may end up fucking them. This, of course, is why I am often (although currently not nearly as often as I’d wish, to the point that I can currently only think about such things), a bad girl. And, of course, bad girls absolutely have to be punished. Now, because I am an absolute glutton for punishment, my natural inclination to put my “availability” to use means that I am frequently a bad girl. I am, however, also willing to accept responsibility for my misbehaviour, and therefore freely accept whatever discipline Master C chooses to apply. The fact that I accept such discipline from Him, and regularly “thank” Him for His correction by sucking His cock afterwards as a means of showing my genuine contrition for my transgressions, is one of the things that sometimes earns me that coveted “Good girl” appellation.

On the other hand, as I have said countless times, part of my submission is that if Master C wants me, He is free to have me and use me in any way He sees fit, whenever He desires. He is also free to offer me within the context of our “Sharing Circle”, to other members. I am “required” to be available to Master C and to whomever He offers me to. I know that it pleases Master C when I perform my duties diligently and unquestioningly and, pleasing Master C is a very big part of my own pleasure. A large part of being Master C’s “Good girl” is my dedication to His pleasure; it is my duty and one I perform willingly and, as a result, my mouth, my cunt, and my arse are always available when He has a need and/or desire for them.

I’m still not entirely sure if always being available makes me a good girl, but then, perhaps, maybe sometimes I have to be a bad girl to be good.

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A strong, independent woman


On twitter, people will often post or retweet a meme that says something they feel is particularly pertinent to them and say something along the lines of “I feel seen…” I must confess, that’s exactly how I felt when I read the current prompt on the No True Way site:

“Submission appeals to responsible, hard working and independent women, because it takes them to a world free from those pressures.”

In fact, that simple statement resonates so much that I almost feel I should print it out, frame it and hang it on a wall somewhere because, for me, there is so much truth in it.

In the “real world”, I am a mental health counsellor.  The people I deal with are often at the lowest point in their lives when I first meet them. The stories they tell are always raw and deeply personal and, all to frequently, border on the horrific. To say it is stressful is an understatement. In these current times, it has been even more so than usual.

But who cares for the carer? Who heals the healer? For me, my submission to Master C often falls into this space.

Through my submission I am able to free myself from the strains, stresses and anguishes that I have to contend with daily. I surrender control to Master C. I let Him choose what is appropriate, what I should and shouldn’t do, I free myself from the need to make decisions, to choose one path over another. His care, His direction, His support and, yes, sometimes His discipline help me remain balanced.

Master C knows when I need soothing words and to be held firmly yet tenderly in His arms. He also knows when what I need is to be firmly restrained and soundly thrashed. He balances my needs for passion, pleasure and pain, and wields them in ways that keep me centred. Master C has developed an instinct for knowing when I need to have my shoulders rubbed, or my neck grabbed, when I need His hands massaging my back, or the stinging bite of His belt on my arse. When we fuck, sometimes I want Him to kiss me and stroke my hair from my face, at other times I want to feel His hands tighten around my throat. Sometimes I need to be an active participant and sometimes I need to be bound and helpless, allowing myself to be subjected to whatever treatment Master C decides is appropriate.

Sometimes, what I really need, is for Master C to fuck and thrash my cares away. My submission to Him gives me this.

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Hauddin ma wheesht


I am feeling a wee bit torn by the current prompt on the No True Way site:

“A submissive knows that they should learn to control their tongue when annoyed with their dominant.”

In so many ways, I agree with this statement. Largely this is because I am actually quite an irritable cow and most of the time, when Master C annoys me, it is unintentional and He’s just caught me at a bad moment. By His very nature, while He may be stern and strict when He needs to be (and having me as his sub/partner, that can be quite frequent), Master C really isn’t an annoying person. He may occasionally get angry at things (and sometimes, with justification, those things will include me, and I then get annoyed that He’s angry), but He never goes out of His way to annoy me. It is fair to say that, if I get annoyed at Master C , it almost certainly reflects more on me than it does Him; that is simply the kinds of people we are. That being the case, I probably should do a better job of not taking my propensity to get annoyed at things out on Him.

There is a slight drawback here, however. While I am submissive, I am definitely not meek and I am far from pliant. Part of our dynamic is that Master C constantly has to remind me who is “in charge” and has to “bend me to His will”. I can, by my own admission, be something of a brat.

The upshot of this is that there are times where I want, and indeed need, Master C to be strict with me; I need to feel the slap of His hand or the kiss of His belt on the skin of my bare arse. I need that touch, its harshness, its pain; and sometimes, in order to get what I need, I need to provoke the response out of Him.

It is entirely wilful on my part and when Master C finally can take no more of my impudence, when He puts me over His knee, Or bends me over the arm of the sofa, or edge of the bed; knickers (assuming I was wearing any) round my ankles, waiting for His punishment, I will absolutely be deserving of it in whatever form He decides is appropriate.

It is, however, a high risk strategy on my part. Master C has the patience of a saint and, dear only knows, He needs it having to live with me, so there is always a risk that the “punishment” He decides to mete out is simply to just ignore my behaviour and deny me the satisfaction He knows I am trying to wheedle out of Him. This, of course, only annoys me even more and ratchets my frustration levels up a few more notches.

Ultimately though, it’s part of who we are; it’s one of the things we do. We are both human and getting annoyed is part of being human. We can choose to bury it and let it fester, or we can acknowledge it and express it in ways get i out of the system.

So, yes, I acknowledge that there are times when I should just haud ma wheesht, but being me, there are times when I just don’t want to.

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Foundations


In their 1999 track, “Affirmation”, the band Savage Garden wrote:

I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy

In a way, those words are central to my view of myself, and my relationship with Master C.

I make no bones about the fact that I consider myself to be bisexual. I am sexually attracted by both men and women. I’ve mentioned before that the first time another person brought me to orgasm, it was, quite literally, at the hands of another girl; “The Girl” to be precise. I won’t repeat the details as you can read them if you follow the link to that earlier post, but the point was, at no time did what I was doing with “The Girl” seem in any way wrong. Yes, as I alluded to in that earlier post, the nature of all-girls schooling being what it was, while no one wanted to be known as a virgin, no one particularly wanted to be openly branded as a slut (although we “sluts” were quite happy to compare slutiness notes and tips within our own friend circles). The only thing “worse” than being a slut was, almost inevitably, to be a “lez”.

Of course, by the time I left school at 18, I was no longer a virgin and had had a number of sexual partners, both male and female and, name-calling aside, it all felt good and right. Sex with male and female partners was different, and different partners did different things, but it was all sex and it was all about pleasure and it was all good (apart from the times where it wasn’t, but, sadly, bad sex happens sometimes; we all have had our disappointments somewhere). Never, at any point did I ever feel the need to pigeonhole myself into a category that potentially limited how I could enjoy myself and who I could enjoy myself with.

I was fortunate. I had a good relationship my mother where I could discuss sex and sexuality openly. And, while I didn’t give her a running tally of how many  partners I’d had, I was able to talk to her about the fact that I was attracted to, and had had sex with boys and girls. My mum’s advice was essentially, if fucking someone makes you happy, go ahead and fuck them (she didn’t use those exact words, but they convey her meaning). That, essentially, since the earliest days of sexual awakening has been central to my self-image and approach to my sex life.

So, that’s the first line of the quote dealt with, now on to the second…

At no time in our relationship have Master C or I been exclusive. When we first met, we were essentially fuck-buddies/friends-with-benefits and both of us had other arrangements in addition to what we shared with each other. When we became a couple, we agreed at the outset that, given our history, and the nature of our personalities (mine, I suspect, more so than Master C’s) that even attempting to be exclusive would be pointless. We both knew that even if we could do it, it almost certainly wouldn’t satisfy either of us , and, in the worst case scenario, could possibly drive an irreparable wedge between us.  The solution was, quite simply, total honesty. Even before we became what would now be recognised as D/s, there was still the requirement that we were both free to fuck anyone else, so long as we were always honest about it.

This isn’t to say that there weren’t jealousies and insecurities, because we are both human, but it allowed us to find something that worked and what would, ultimately, lay the foundation of our D/s dynamic. In a way, Master C telling me how much pleasure another woman had given Him would become a kind of punishment or a form of humiliation for me. Me admitting to my indiscretions and having to be disciplined in order to atone for them, would, of course bring corporal punishment into the mix. In a very real sense, our particular D/s dynamic evolved out of a recognition that, so long as we were emotionally “faithful” to each other by being open and honest, the “need” for monogamy disappeared.

This does not mean that other emotional attachments aren’t allowed. There is obviously a very strong emotional (as well as sexual) bond between “The Girl” and me that extends back more than a decade before I’d even met Master C. There is also a lesser, but still strong emotional attachment between “The Other Guy” and me as well. For His part, Master C  is very closely attached to one of the other women in our poly circle. The point is, that we know about this, and we are honest about these things, both with ourselves and with each other. While some of them may be friends, or perhaps a little more, the various sexual others in our lives are simply people we have sex with, either on our own, or together. None of those others, however, share a bond with us that is anything like the bond that Master C and I share. We are partners in every sense. If I’m allowed to be vomit-inducingly cringe-worthy for a second, we complete each other. Yes, we love, we fuck and sometimes we fight but, most importantly, we share, we confide, we support, we occasionally drive each other nuts, we argue and then we make up (and there’s almost always fucking involved). All of those are foundations of not just our D/s dynamic, but our relationship and our lives together, and they are all built on the bedrock of openess, honesty and trust.

Say “please”


I must confess, the current prompt on the No True Way site made me chuckle:

“A Dom doesn’t need to ever use the word
PLEASE.”

I suspect, like many couples, whether their relationship be D/s or vanilla (or anywhere in between), use of “please” in everyday discourse is taken as implied. I don’t ask Master C if He would please pop out to the shop for milk/eggs, etc. or if He would please pick up such and such when He is in town. The same is also true in reverse; Master C won’t ask me to please take a letter to the post office, or please pick up a bottle of wine on my way home. In these instances, the “please” is understood without ever being spoken. About the only time, outside of a sex/kink context, you will ever here either of us, and by which I mean Master C, use the word please, is when it’s done in exasperation, e.g. “For fuck sake, Mo, would you please stop leaving things on the stairs for me to trip over, are you trying to kill me?” or “please can you not leave piles of newspaper absolutely everywhere?” You may, quite correctly, assume from this that I can be quite an untidy person and it does, on occasion, drive Master C to despair and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, to drive Him to put me over His knee; but I digress…

When it comes to sex/kink, however, it is usually down to me to say “please”. Master C may instruct me to bend over, or  get undressed, or suck His cock; He may tell me that He intends to thrash me, or fuck my arse. His wants are almost always expressed as commands or instructions. My needs and wants are, however, almost always expressed as a form of question, e.g. “please may I suck Sir’s cock?” or “please can Sir fuck me?”

In this sense, it is I, as the submissive that “has” to say “please”; Master C merely needs to make His particular need/want known to me and that is sufficient. In this context, there is no need for Him to ask, He simply tells me how He intends me to be used or what He requires me to do.

There is an exception to this, however, that I find particularly hot. Sometimes Master C will phrase His instructions in the form of a question, e.g. “Will you please assume the position so I can thrash you?”, or “Please brace yourself against the worktop so I can fuck you hard from behind,” or “Please behave yourself appropriately if you want to be allowed to come tonight.” There is something about the way that when Master C phrases His instructions/demands in this way that makes me powerless to resist; the use of “please” in this context, rather than making them weak, makes them more formal and enforces the need for compliance on my part.

So, from my perspective, there is never any need for Master C to say please. Within the context of our dynamic, He always has the freedom to take whatever pleasure He wants from me and to use me in whatever way He sees fit. Having said that, judicious use of “please” adds an extra something, an air of gentlemanly formality that makes me want to obey Him and please Him, even more than I already always do.

Used sparingly, “please” is a very powerful weapon in Master C’s arsenal.

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A time of rebirth


Two weeks ago, we still had several inches of snow on the ground; within a day or two, it would mostly all be gone. Today, I look out my window and the snow has gone, the skies are blue with only the occasional cloud, the sun is shining, birds are chirping and spring flowers are beginning to burst into life

It’s not especially warm; it is, after all, the west of Scotland, in February but there is almost no wind and, compared to the minus figures we were enduring just over a week ago, 10oc feels positively balmy.

So, at lunchtime, I stripped off and walked round the garden, feeling the grass under my feet, finding the sunniest spot and just stood there for several minutes for no other reason other than the fact I could.

What little wind there was made the short hairs on my arms stand on end, but it felt good; good to feel the first feeble warmth of the pre-spring sunshine on my skin, good to just be part of that rebirth, that coming back to life after long, cold months of darkness and cold.

A few minutes was all I could manage, but it was all that I needed; it was all that I required to feel as if I had started to emerge from my winter cocoon to face the promise of longer, warmer days.

I can’t lie, I was glad to get back indoors and put my clothes back on; sipping from a hot mug of coffee, but my spirit was still out there, naked and free, acknowledging my part in the world.

We all need those moments; those times where we just shift phase and exist; a few quite seconds to be free of our burdens and cares. Returning to my desk, nothing has really changed; my workload is still what it was before I stopped for lunch, I am still the same person I was, and the world is largely no different from how it was half an hour ago. And yet those few moments of peace, those few moments of standing naked at the end of the garden, listening to the blackbirds and feeling a gentle warmth on my face have filled me with a promise of what will be.

In spring, we brush off the mantle of winter and are reborn.

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Focus


The current teaser on the No True Way site is:

“Stop “trying” to be a good sub… because that’s focusing on “you”…
Focus on Him…
His needs, His wants, His desires…
And everything will fall into place.”

I must admit, that I have conflicting feelings on this subject.

On the one hand, I agree that part of submission, for me at least, is focussing on Master C and his needs, wants and desires. With this, there is an expectation that I will strive to be and do the best that I can in whatever I do, whether that involves a task He has set me, accepting His discipline or sucking His cock. I’ve alluded to this many times, but a major part of my submission to Master C is that He provides me with the instruction and guidance to be a better me. My submission to Master C isn’t just about serving Him and attending to His needs, it is about my own personal growth. When Master C encourages me, He is building me up, letting me know that I have done well. When Master C disciplines me, He is letting me know that I have, in some way, performed beneath myself and that He expects me to learn from this and do better.

The upshot is, that not only am I trying to be a good submissive, I am striving to be the best submissive I can be. And the reason I do this is because that is what Master C expects of me and, in doing so, I am addressing a need and desire in Him to help me.

The flip side of this is that my submission to Master C is centred around Him. In this sense, being a “good” submissive is all about focussing on His needs, wants and desires. It’s about providing Him with support, comfort and companionship. It’s about providing Him with forms of intimacy: the physical, emotional, intellectual, creative, experiential and, of course sexual. It’s about being someone for Him to love, but also someone to use and fuck; providing Him with outlets for that duality that resides in all of us, the tender, caring, unselfish love and the primal, primitive animal. It’s about giving Him reasons to discipline me and accepting such punishments in a way that He knows He is providing me with opportunities to grow. A lot of it is about sucking His cock.

For me, the primary focus of being a “good” submissive will always be about Master C, however that always reflects back on me. The ego cannot be switched off. I want to “serve” Master C and the ultimate reward for my “service” is for Him to call me His “good girl”.

In a way, for me at least, D/s is a kind of symbiotic relationship; I crave Master C’s  recognition of my “service” and that will always mean that I strive even harder to please Him and make Him proud of me. I need to attend to His needs, I want to be the outlet for His wants, I desire to provide for His desires. I am not directly focussing on me, but my sense of self-worth is inextricably bound up in my submission to Master C. That is a bond that cannot be severed and, even if it could, I wouldn’t want to.

Ultimately, both Master C and I expect me to not only be a good submissive, but to be the best version of myself that, with his guidance, support and direction, I can be.