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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The first submission


It was a ceremony of sorts; a symbol of trust and acceptance. A sign of my submission to Him.

As He sat, I stood before him, eyes downcast. Slowly I undressed, the removal of each item an acceptance of His claim over me.

Finally I stood, naked, offering myself to Him. Presenting myself to His scrutiny. He told me to turn around. I complied, letting Him study me, showing him the prize that was His.

“Kneel!” Master C demanded, ” You know what to do.”

I did as I was bid. I unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned and unzipped His jeans, reached inside His boxers and released His cock from its confinement.

I took His cock in my mouth, paying homage to it with my lips and tongue. I was determined to show Master C how diligent I could be in the performance of my duties. My mouth’s purpose was to please Him and I yearned to do my best.

As my service to Him brought Him to the point of no return, He pushed me from him. “Have I displeased you?” I asked.

“No, not at all, little one,” Master C replied, “I intend to mark you.”

He stroked his cock, His hand almost a blur. “I am claiming you, Morag,” he groaned, “I am marking you as mine. From this moment on, you are MY slut.”

His cock errupted. His cum sprayed over my face, it trickled down my neck, dribbling on to my boobs.

“Give me Your belt,” I asked in a small voice, His cum drying on my skin. He gave me an enquiring look. “Pass me Your belt Sir, it’s important,” I urged.

Master C slipped His belt from its stays and passed it to me. I accepted it and adopted a position of supplication, on my knees, my head bowed, my hands raised with His belt draped over them.

“I submit to You,” I said, “I submit to You and accept Your domination. I offer You this belt to use for my instruction and correction. I will accept Your discipline as You see fit to dispense it.”

Master C took the belt from my hands. I turned around as He folded it and cracked it sharply together.

I waited. The anticipation built. I heard the belt swish through the air. With a resounding smack, His leather kissed my arse. In that moment, I truly became His submissive and He became my Master. With that first stinging caress of hard leather on my soft skin, He made me His…

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Thrashed


So, as expected, Master C punished me thoroughly for my escapades with “The Other Guy”. I won’t bore you with the details of how the appropriate level of discipline was negotiated, but the result ended up being as follows:

I am bent over Master C’s “workbench” and He ties me firmly, securely in place. The ropes cut tightly into my wrists, my ankles and across my back.

My boobs are  pressed against the cold, hard, unyielding wooden surface, forcing the clamps around my nipples into their skin. It hurts with a delicious intensity.

Cold lube is dribbled over my arsehole. With one, then two fingers, Master C roughly opens me up, stretching my tight, tender rear entrance. Fingers withdrawn, I feel the cold plastic of a dildo being pushed firmly into place; holding me open for what will come later.

“Are you ready?” Master C asks, his voice oddly tender and concerned.

“Yes Master,” I reply, “I am ready.”

I wait. Seconds pass. Anticipation grows inside me. My cunt grows wet as I await the first kiss of His belt.

A finger runs between my lower lips. I feel my juices flow.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” I admit.

“You’re a nasty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” Again I can’t deny the accusation.

“What are you?”

“I’m a nasty little slut, Master.”

“And what happens to nasty little sluts?”

“They get thrashed, Master.”

“Yes they do. Yes they do.”

More time passes. The anticipation continues to build. Master C forces his finger into my warm, wet cunt.

“Are you going to thrash me, Master?”

“Yes I am, my little slut.”

“Will you thrash me hard, Master?”

“Yes I will, my little slut.”

“I deserve to be thrashed hard, Master.”

“Yes you do, my lovely, filthy little slut.”

His finger slides from my cunt and is forced into my mouth. I love the way I taste on His finger.

I hear the crack as Master C flexes His belt. I close my eyes, waiting to feel its first biting kiss.

Swoosh, SLAP! It cuts into my skin. I hold back a cry, pretending to be brave.

Swoosh, SLAP! Again it bites. Tears begin to well in my eyes. My face begins to redden, to match the hot, stinging glow that my arse is beginning to display.

Swoosh, SLAP! Another caress of leather. A small sob escapes from between my lips. My tears begin to flow.

Swoosh, SLAP! I want to cry, but I need to be brave for my Master. I need to show Him I can take my punishment.

Swoosh, SLAP! I can’t hold back. I cry out as the pain intensifies. My tears feel like burning rain against my cheeks.

Swoosh, SLAP! “Oh Master!” I cry, “P… Punish me, M… Master! Punish your filthy s… slut!”

Master C shows no mercy. His belt rains down on me again and again. The pain is so strong I can no longer feel the clamps around my nipples, digging into my boobs.

And then it stops.

The dildo is pulled from my arse, only to be replace by Master C‘s lovely thick cock.

His hand grabs my hair. He pulls my head sharply back as He fucks my arse.

As his cock pounds me, Master C slaps my arse cheeks with his free hand, never letting the pain subside. He tightens His grip on my hair, pulling it harder.

“Filthy slut!” He moans; His words punctuating the long, hard, punishing thrusts of His beautiful cock, “Filthy, little, dirty slut!”

His free hand moves around me to tease my clit as Master C pummels my arse relentlessly with His cock. Despite the pain, despite the agonising intensity of this treatment, I come almost immediately.

“Oh… Oh M.. Master! Oh thank you, Master!” I sob as my orgasm rips through me.

Master C releases my hair. His cock slips from my arsehole. Seconds pass until I feel the warm wetness of His cum splash over the burning cheeks of my bum.

It feels so good. It feels so dirty. It reignites my climax, pushing me beyond the brink of my endurance.

Master C unties me, picks me up and carries me over to the bed. I hear the crack of a bottle lid. The familiar scent of aloe, and the coolness of gel as He begins to spread it into my burning skin.

Suffice to say, I was squirming in my seat as I wrote the above; partially because my arse still hurts, but mostly because writing that has made me hot in places well under the collar.

If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go and do something about my current worked up state…

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Restoring balance


Sometimes life can get a little out of kilter. The work/life balance can become a bit uncentred. Even at home, where life should hopefully dominate, the balance between the mundane, everyday parts of living and the more highly charged bits that make living enjoyable can become weighted in the wrong direction.

Often, when such things happen, it’s no one’s fault; real life is seldom tidy. Tasks can take longer than anticipated, things pop up that you weren’t expecting, stress, tiredness and just the routine of day-to-day life can build up and extract a toll that means you have to make more of an effort to do the things you enjoy. This can become a vicious circle as the extra effort needed detracts from the enjoyment, thus requiring more effort which can then reduce the enjoyment even more.

For me, sometimes all that is needed to re-establish some equilibrium is an orgasm or two. These can be self-induced or result from a thorough seeing-to from Master C (or “The Girl”/”The Other Guy”).

Orgasms are great stress relievers; you can actually feel the tension being drained from your body as your climax subsides and its energy dissipates; and with it, your cares/worries can, even if momentarily, be washed away. It doesn’t matter how I get there, whether the orgasm is a result of my own actions or the ministrations of a partner, the effect is pretty much the same; a warm, relaxed feeling of contentment and satisfaction that just makes the world feel right.

Sometimes though, more is needed. Sometimes things get so out of whack that there is only one thing I know of that will set me back on track. It may seem somewhat counter-intuitive, but sometimes what I really need is the pain of a solid thrashing from Master C’s belt.

In the ideal scenario, I’m securely tied to His “work bench” The clamps on my nipples dig into my skin as the hard wooden surface beneath me squashes my boobs. My ankles and wrists are bound tight, the leather cuffs chafing my skin. The ball gag in my mouth adds to my discomfort.

There is the prolonged anticipation that awaits the first stroke; an anticipation that almost turns to relief when the brief swooshing sound of the belt’s travel through the air begins. It’s a relief that turns to a hot, stinging pain as the leather connects with a resounding slap against the skin of my arse.

From there on it is all about endurance; accepting each kiss of the belt as they rain down one after the other. By the time Master C has finished, both sets of cheeks, my face and my arse, are flaming red. Tears stream from my eyes. My cunt is hot and wet with intense arousal. Every nerve is crying out in sympathy with my tortured backside.

I wince as He grips my hips, His fingertips digging in, and then I moan around the gag as His lovely thick cock slides so easily into me and He begins to fuck me.

Master C’s Thrusts are accompanied with occasional slaps to my buttocks. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head sharply back as He fucks me. Friction from the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, the pain of the clamps on my nipples being pushed into my boobs combine with the intense sensations of His cock filling me, pounding me, taking me, fucking me and I slip into the restorative calm, the eye of the storm that is my particular form of subspace.

All conscious thought is banished, my body is simply responding. Master C knows my body, knows its responses and can trigger this state in me almost effortlessly. I surrender to it; oblivious to everything but the sensations, the wonderfully delicious juxtaposition of pain and intense pleasure that coarse through me.

When at last it is over; Master C’s thick, hot load inside me, my bindings, clamps and gag removed, the soothing balm applied to my buttocks and I am lying wrapped up in His arms as He strokes my head; I am restored. I have found a new sense of balance.

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Master C’s belt


There is, I admit, something about leather; the smell, the texture, the feeling of it against my skin. When it comes to leather clothing, the only items I actually possess are my motorbike gear. I don’t actually have any leather fetish items, although Master C does like to fuck His “Biker Slut” sometimes, so my biking leathers have featured in my sex life from time to time. The only other item that I own, that kind of counts is a pair of almost knee length “fuck me” boots which I wear very rarely because I would almost certainly fall over if I wore them for any prolonged period.

No, when it comes to leather, sex and kink, there is only one thing that really “does it” for me and that is, of course, Master C’s belt.

I both fear, and love, Master C’s belt.

I fear it for the pain it will cause me; the delicious agony of my flaming red arse cheeks as Master C punishes me for my various transgressions. I always know when I’ve done something that deserves the belt; I know when to present myself, arse bare, bent over, waiting for its chastising kiss. There is no escaping it. There is no point trying to resist it. When the belt is due, the belt will come, and I will bear it and endure it like the chastened little slut that I am. Forced to count the lashes, desperate to hold back the sobbing tears; Master C will thrash me until my defiance is beaten, my transgression punished, my submission complete.

When Master C thrashes me, there are always those moments of dreadful anticipation before the first blow lands; the calm before the storm, the silence as Master C prepares Himself for what needs to be done. There are the shivers of anticipation that run along my spine, the involuntary clenching of the muscles in my buttocks as I await the first contact, and the inevitable moistening of my cunt as I wait, exposed and vulnerable, awaiting my fate.

The tension mounts as the eternal seconds tick by; my stoic silence is a pretence at defiance, a challenge that requires to be met and for which Master C should show me no mercy.

And then, that brief, short swooshing sound as the belt moves through the air, gathering momentum as it makes that short arc that ends with a stinging crack as it bites into the flesh of my bare arse.

From that moment on it is simply about endurance; accepting each stroke that rains down, feeling the burn intensify with each lash as synapses linking my pain and pleasure centres go into overdrive.

Yet, for all that I fear it for the pain that it will inflict, I also love it.

I love it when Master C uses His belt to bind my wrists together as He fucks me from behind. I love the way it digs into my skin, tightening as I struggle against its binds, its surface chafing my wrists; holding me in place as I endure the pounding of His cock in whichever hole Master C has chosen to take His pleasure from. Once again, I am helpless as His cock pounds my cunt or my arse. My arms and shoulders strain as He pulls back, pulling me on to Him as He fucks me.

I love it when Master C fastens He belt around my neck, pulling it tighter as He fucks my mouth, forcing His cock deep into my throat. I love how His belt constricts around me, choking me, denying me air, making my lungs burn as Master C force feeds me His lovely cock.

Sometimes, when Master C fucks me, He will hold His belt across my neck as He drives His cock into my cunt; holding me down, depriving me of air. As He fucks me, He alternates His grip on either side of the belt, easing then increasing the constriction. When Master C fucks me from behind, He will pull more firmly on the belt, tightening it around my neck as He take me hard. In either way, with Master C above me or behind me, fucking my cunt or my arse, the anoxia intensifying the sensations as He takes me along the path to the brink of my climax; the need for release competing with the increasing need to breathe until, so often, it is that first shuddering inhalation that provides the spark to ignite my orgasm.

For all of the things I love about Master C’s belt and the way He wields and uses it to hurt me and pleasure me, what I love most of all, however, is the way it marks my pale white skin, branding me with the mark of Master C’s ownership, his domination and his mastery of me.

For all these reasons, and more, I love my Master’s belt; but behind that love, the fear remains.

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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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Cadged, benched and the sweet release of subspace


I’ve mentioned the cage before; about how it can be a place of punishment, and how it can be a place of retreat where I communicate my need of support. Last night, for reasons I won’t bore you with, it was most definitely the latter.

The process is simple: I finished work, logged off from my PC, undressed, closed myself into the cage, curled up and waited for Master C to discover me there.

I don’t know how long I was confined; time within the cage has its own special duration, it’s a kind of limbo where time has no meaning until I’m released.

“Is my little one feeling delicate?” Master C enquired softly on finding me confined.

I nodded. “Yes Sir,” I replied meekly, eyes downcast.

He left momentarily before returning; my collar and lead in one hand and a pair of cuffs on the other. “I think I know exactly what might help,” He said as He opened the cage and helped me out.

“Turn around!” a gentle command. I did as Master C bid me. The cuffs fastened around my wrists behind my back. The collar went around my neck and he fastened it tight. Attaching the lead. He turned me around, kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You know where to go,” He said.

I did. I know how this goes, but I still get a thrill of anticipation. “Yes Sir!” I replied.

“Well, lead the way then,” He said, giving my arse a playful swat.

I walked slowly thought to our playroom. In the middle of the room stood the bench. I glanced a coy look back of my shoulder. He nodded.

I walked up to the bench then bent over, my legs spread. Master C fastened the leather restraints around my ankles and then the side restraints went over my arms and fastened between my shoulder blades, holding me tightly in place. and then, I waited.

I waited while he pondered what implement to use. I flinched each time I heard a swoosh of air, only for flogger, or His belt, or the cane to land on the desk. I didn’t care which He used on me; any of them would hurt, any of them would begin my journey. I waited.

I waited, and the anticipation grew. I waited as he walked around me, scrutinising me, flexing the cane, or snapping the folds of his belt together in front of my face. I waited.

Again, that state of limbo, the passage of time meaningless. I waited.

SMACK! his belt struck across my arse. I cried out, as the stinging heat spread across my buttocks. SMACK! harder this time, or so it seemed. SMACK! harder still. His belt crisscrossed my buttocks; the intensity of each kiss adding to the fire of those that preceded it.

Hot tears fell from my eyes. Cries of pain were torn from my throat. His belt was merciless, His belt was harsh, His belt was unrelenting, His belt was just what I needed.

I didn’t count the lashes. This wasn’t a punishment where I needed to keep track, this was a centring, a rebalancing. My tears, my cries and my reddening skin were all that Master C needed to determine when I had reached the next stage.

Mt restraints were briefly undone. Master C repositioned me on my back, my head tilted back over the edge of the bench. The restraints were refastened, tighter; the one around my chest squashing my boobs and constricting my breathing. Slowly, Master C buckled his belt around my neck between my chin and my collar.

Tears still stung in my eyes, but I could see his lovely thick cock was hard. He slapped my face. “Open your mouth, slut! I’m going to fuck your throat.”

The words were what I needed to hear, and His cock was what I wanted to have. This wasn’t a blow-job, this wasn’t me worshiping His cock, lavishing attention on it; this was Master C fucking my throat, treating my mouth like just another hole.

He fucked me hard, rough, without mercy. I chocked and spluttered as He drove His cock down my neck; gasping for breath as He tightened His belt around neck. In… Out… In… Out… Again and again, over and over. The pressure around my neck making it almost impossible to breath around his cock.

Occasionally he would pull out fully, allowing me a few gasping breaths down my tortured throat before beginning again.

I was losing myself. I was become nothing more than something for Him to use.

Time stopped. The pain in my buttocks seemed to melt away, my jaw no longer ached. Tears still streamed from my eyes, but I barely noticed. This was it. This was that transcendent moment where nothing mattered, I just let myself go and get carried along on the current.

He came. Not down my throat, but across my boobs. I barely felt it, the fire burning in my veins was all consuming.

And then… And then… and then His tongue on my clit, His hands rubbing His cim into my boobs as He feasted on me.

My back tried to arch as I came for the first time. The restraints holding me firmly in place seemed to intensify the power of my climax. I cried a long, silent scream of release, my raw throat unable to produce sound. His fingers inside my cunt, His tongue on my clit, the pain, the power of my release. I was lost, powerless to respond. My consciousness seemed to float outside my body; I was a disembodied observer, watching on with fascination as Master C’s tongue and fingers relentlessly pushed my body beyond any last remaining iota of endurance.

Again, that timeless limbo, accompanied this time by a detachment from reality. How long had He kept me there? I’ve no idea.

The restraints were gone, soothing balm applied to my buttocks numbed the sensation of the soft sheets beneath me, the soft pillow beneath my head as Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me tenderly on the lips and slid into me.

He took me, slowly, languidly, but thoroughly. Never losing control, never allowing Himself to surrender to His inner primal animal self. This fuck was for me, to restore me, to bring me back to myself. I found my body responding to His, increasingly moving in harmony. I found the strength to raise my arms, to lift my hands to his buttocks, to slowly squeeze my fingers into his taut, firm flesh to let Him know that He didn’t need to be quite so considerate. I managed a very hoarse whisper. “Fuck me Sir! Your little slut needs to be fucked.”

He smiled down at me and thrust harder. I smiled back then closed my eyes, savouring His firmness inside me, His body on mine. Firm, yet gentle, strong, yet sensual, considerate, but always Dominant, He took me, He fucked me, He rebuilt me and made me whole again.

I came, feeling sore but secure beneath Him. And then, at last Master C came inside me and my worries and cares were banished again.

We had another slow, leisurely fuck this morning and, sore arse and slightly raw throat not withstanding, I’m feeling much more positive today.

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Guidance through discipline


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

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

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

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

But punishments aren’t just corporal.

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

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

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

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

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

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Déjà sex


Déjà vu is a strange experience at the best of times, but when you experience it during sex it can be particularly disconcerting.

In my post: The sexual spectrum, last week, I made reference to a recent holiday Master C and I took to Greece.  This particular episode occurred during that holiday.

So, image the scene; as the sun beats down, Master C and I take shelter from the afternoon heat in an olive grove. One thing leads to another as the temperature and the seclusion, not to mention the beers that we washed down our picnic with, take effect and our activities turn more carnal.

And it’s there, while I’m bracing myself against the trunk of an olive tree, my boobs hanging free and Master C pounding my cunt from behind with his lovely thick, hard cock that I experienced it.

As I said, it was mildly disconcerting; the almost certainty that I’d been fucked there in that very spot, against that very tree before, even though I’d never been in that grove before.

In another sense it was also strangely arousing, a sense of almost watching myself being fucked, a sense of knowing how each thrust of Master C’s cock in my cunt would feel before it was delivered.

The sensation lasted no more than a second, after that it was just the delicious feeling of being fucked hard, yet languidly against the olive tree until Master C’s cock erupted inside me, filling my cunt with his warm, sticky cum.

As we lay together under the branches, once again it briefly felt hauntingly familiar, snuggled up in Master C’s arms as I’ve done countless times before.

Heat, combined with a bloody good fuck can, it seems, play tricks with the mind.

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