Punishment: pain or pleasure?


When Master C  spanks/thrashes me it hurts; it’s supposed to; I’ve been a bad girl and He is punishing me for my misdeeds/misbehaviour and punishment is meant to hurt. So yes, there is pain, but that pain gives me intense pleasure.

Being the wayward slut that I am, Master C is never short of a reason to bend me over, bare my arse and apply whatever measure of punishment, delivered by whatever implement He feels is appropriate for the transgression in question. I never challenge Him on it; it His is right to punish me as He deems fit and I have accepted that my actions must have consequences.

Confession time:

  • I have a particular fondness for His belt. I love the sharp stinging pain as it connects with my flesh, and I love the deep, angry red marks that it leaves and that take so many days to heal.
  • I have been know to deliberately misbehave in order to provoke a spanking/thrashing.

Yes, the feel of his hand, or the leather against my skin turns me on, but it is so much more than that. The punishment is, for me, a redemptive act; it is a way of not just earning Master C’s forgiveness, but knowing I’ve earned it. Every time I’ve “failed him”, whether it be not sucking His cock to His satisfaction, to fucking some random guy I fancied in the pub, I know that with every stinging, burning slap or lash, that  Master C is forgiving me as much as He is punishing me.

The mark of Master C’s forgiveness, the badge of His care for me, the sign of His instruction, is the burning red  glow of my well skelpt arse.

So yes, it hurts, yes, it is a pain, but it is a beautiful, restorative pain with an intense deeper meaning that brings me so much pleasure and reassurance.

#MasturbationMonday
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On display


It’s a nerve wracking experience, even for those of us who have a reasonably positive body image, letting someone see you naked for the first time. It doesn’t matter how many partners you’ve had, or how good you feel about yourself, the first time you expose yourself to another person, your latent insecurities come bubbling to the surface.

Will they really like what they see? Will they be repulsed by the various marks, scars and blemishes that a lifetime of simply living have inflicted on our skin?  Those bits of us that we personally despise for their imperfections: our knees, our legs, our bums, our tummies, our boobs, our necks, our bingo-wings all get magnified out of proportion when first exposed to a new partner’s gaze.

But the first time, the very first time, the time when another person’s eyes gaze on our naked bodies for the very first time is something, I suspect, we will never forget.

For me, the experience is more vividly remembered than my first blow-job and losing my virginity combined.

The boy in question had recently turned 16; I was still 15. I was a gawky teenager, my body still somewhere between that of a girl and a woman; a mixture of sharp angles and curves. I had spots, I had freckles, my boobs looked like they were at least one size too big for the rest of me, as if my body hadn’t yet caught up. I also had (and still do for that matter) ginger pubes.

There was a naïve nervousness combined with anticipation. Sure, he’d seen me in my underwear before, so he knew in general terms what my body looked like. He’d seen and played with my boobs before, so I knew that he liked them. Getting naked with him, however, was totally different.

Having him slowly remove my outer layers was intensely arousing. I was almost oblivious to the fact that I was doing the same to him. Having my bra removed and standing there in just my knickers sent shivers through me.

He took the next step, discarding his boxer shorts, to stand naked before me. I marvelled at his body. I loved how his cock, hard and proud, stuck out from his body. I’d seen his cock before, of course; I’d sucked his cock before. Now however, with his full body on display before me for the first time, his cock looked bigger, harder and more enticing than ever.

He sat on the edge of my bed, and I knelt on the floor between his legs. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked him hungrily. As I sucked him, my fingers explored every inch of him that the could reach. When he came, I swear it was the biggest load of cum I’d ever had to swallow.

I lay down on my bed and felt his eyes on me. I knew what was coming next. All that remained between me and him was a very small and very wet pair of knickers.

I closed my eyes as I let him remove me. I could feel his eyes on me, devouring my nakedness. In that instant I learned the difference between being unclothed and being naked. I’d been unclothed before, but for the first time, there in my bedroom, there with him, I was naked.

Naked… What a wonderful word. I was exposed. I felt vulnerable. There was nowhere I could hide. I was naked.

He explored my body with his fingers. He explored my body with his lips and tongue. He went down on me, and the orgasms he gave me seemed more powerful, more intense, than any he had ever given me before, and all because I was naked.

Afterwards, we lay in each other’s arms; holding each other, exploring each other with our fingers, feeling the warm of each other’s bodies.

I’ve displayed my body to many partners since then, and the first time I do so, still gives me goosebumps. That very first time however was special; nothing will ever feel like that again.

#MasturbationMonday

The making of me


It will come to no surprise to anyone that I am submissive and that I have been in a D/s relationship with Master C for 15 years. But what exactly does that mean? In particular, since the dynamics of every D/s relationship is different what does being a submissive and submitting to Master C’s will specifically mean to me?

For many who live outside the D/s world, there is a perception that it’s all about, bondage, pain and perhaps the various role-playing subcultures that exist within our particular sexual sphere. There is a fixation on the pain/punishment element without any understanding of how it fits within the dynamic of a particular relationship.

Yes, Master C does punish me and yes, it does hurt; but it is never pain simply for the sake of pain itself.

When Master C punishes me, it is because I have done wrong, transgressed, displeased Him, failed in some way. The punishment is, first of all, appropriate to the level of the transgression; Master C will never use his belt when his hand is more appropriate, and vice versa, and it is always intended as a lesson.

Before I met Him, I pretty much fucked whomever I wished, with no regard to the consequences of my actions. Now, because we are happily poly, I still have the freedom to fuck other men, but now I know that there will be consequences. As a result, I am much choosier about whom I decided to have liaisons with. This doesn’t mean I won’t have a drunken shag with some nameless stranger, but I know that such indiscriminateness will earn me a much sterner disciplining than I would receive if I exercise a modicum of restraint over my need to have a cock inside me.

The discipline serves as part of His guidance. It is part of the way Master C makes me a better person, instilling in me a greater awareness of my own worth. I may not be any less of a slut under His guidance, but I am certainly a much more discriminating slut as a result.

For me, submission to Master C is not an abrogation of self, far from it; it as a confirmation, a validation of my worth as a person. It is a worth that grows under His strict, but fair tutelage. Yes, Master C punishes me when it is appropriate that He do so, but he also guides me, supports me, encourages me, protects me and, most of all loves me. Everything in our relationship is about making me the best person I can be. I have put that trust in Master C because he deserves it.

Master C is, quite literally, the making of me.

Punished for my pleasure


So, having spent almost the whole of yesterday getting myself well and truly fucked senseless by “The Other Guy”, it was only right that last night I faced a reckoning for my actions.

Bent, bare arsed over Master C’s knee, I proceeded to tell Him all about my activities of the previous hours. Every now and then, my narration would be punctuated with a resounding slap of His hand against my arse as I recounted some particularly naughty transgression. My arse was already stinging by the time I finished my account, telling Master C how I had packed “The Other Guy” off to work on the late shift with a smile on his face after a final farewell blow-job.

As is always the case, I was required to assess my performance. How slutty had I been? How much pleasure had I given “The Other Guy”? How well had I attended to his needs and wants? What punishment did my wanton sluttiness deserve?

It was agreed that I deserved Master C’s belt. That was pretty much a given in these circumstances. It was also agreed that my blatant hedonism was deserving of 10 lashes.

However, as I have mentioned before, Master C is a fair Master and He decided that the level of pleasure I had given “The Other Guy” over the best part of a whole day, especially the selflessness of the final blow-job deserved leniency. My punishment then was to be 8 lashes; 4 to each cheek.

My arse was already hot from where His hand had slapped it as I took position. I waited for the first kiss of His belt.

SLAP! “Count them!”

“Ahhh, one…”

SLAP!

“Ohhhh, t…two”

SLAP!

And so it continued, with me sobbing out each number as the leather bit into my skin; my eyes hot with tears.

The final lash landed. I was sobbing through the pain as I stammered out “ei…eight.”

Master C gripped my hips; His fingers pressed into my tortured skin as He pushed His wonderful cock inside me. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head roughly back as He fucked me, hard, powerfully, without mercy.

In and out, again and again, over and over; Master C‘s cock drove deep into my cunt. He tugged on my hair, slapped my arse, called me His “filthy little slut” as his cock abused me.

And then He was gone. I felt a sudden emptiness where He had been as He spun me around. I watched, transfixed, frozen to the spot as Master C stroked His lovely cock in front of me.

One stroke, two, then a third, and then He erupted; showering His cum over my neck and boobs before forcing His cock between my lips to suck away the final traces.

“Play with yourself, slut, I permit you to cum now,” He ordered.

I closed my eyes, rubbed His cum into my skin with one hand while I fingered my cunt with the other.

“Cum for me, little one,” He said softly, encouragingly, “Cum for your Master.”

I didn’t take me long; Master C‘s soft words of encouragement helped me along as my clit throbbed beneath my fingers.

“I’m cumming, Sir!” I sobbed. “Your little slut is cumming for you.”

As the sensations claimed me, Master C  kissed me lightly on the forehead. “Good girl,” He said, “You are my very good little girl.”

I think I pleased Him…

Casual consequences


Casual sex is nothing new for me. I’ve always found it exciting, I’ve always been hugely turned on by the experience of sucking some stranger’s cock and then having him fuck my brains out. I’d fucked around a lot before I met my ex, and after he finally left me for the girl he was fucking behind my back, the same girl who’s back he would soon come to fuck me behind, I found myself enjoying the freedom of picking up guys for random fucks.

It was, I admit, a case of seeking affirmation of myself as a woman that men find sexually desireable. It was a bit of an ego boost. In reality, whilst I had a lot of fun, the experiences were mostly empty. The guys I fucked weren’t partners, they were simply living sex toys, to be used for the pleasure derived from them, then discarded.

I fucked without caring. I fucked single guys, I fucked married guys; basically, I just fucked whomever I fancied without any care or consideration. That was, until I met Master C.

I’ll come back to him later.

My ex was a cunt. And, in a way, he turned me into one too. I carried on fucking him for almost 18 months after we split up. Not, I hasten to add, because I wanted him back, nor out of any desire for revenge over the girl he was now with. No, it was simply because the sex with him was the best sex I’d ever had.

He knew me, he knew my body, and he knew how to get inside my head. He could push all my buttons, give me the most amazing orgasms, and satisfy me in a way that none of my casual encounters ever could. Sex with him was a drug and I was addicted. And, like all addictions, it was potentially destructive.

Then I met “The Other Guy”. It should have just another casual fling, but somehow it became more than that. The sex was good, very good, he was interested in me as a person and not just as somewhere to stick his cock.

For a while, I was fucking both him and my ex and, I’ll admit, it was one of the most amazing periods of fucking I ever had.

Somehow, though, although there was no commitment or exclusivity between us, I valued the time I spent with “The Other Guy”. He made me feel special, he made me feel worthwhile. I was still fucking random guys but it was him, when he was available that I wanted to spend time with.

Push came to shove when both “The Other Guy” and the ex wanted to meet up with me the same evening. I had to choose and I chose “The Other Guy”. And that was it, the ex was finally out of my life. The fact that I sent him a recording of me having a tumultuous orgasm at the hands (and tongue) of “The Other Guy” was something I took great satisfaction in.

That might have been it, but it wasn’t. Despite the fact we enjoyed each other’s company (both in bed and out) and spent a lot of time together, “The Other Guy” weren’t a couple and definitely weren’t exclusive. He worked away a lot, and there were times when I wouldn’t see him for weeks on end and, well, I am a cock-hungry slut who likes fucking, so when he wasn’t available, I continued fucking any guy who took my fancy.

Then, a few months later, the man who would become Master C entered the picture; and with him I made the most earth shattering discovery. He unleashed Morag the submissive.

I’d never considered myself to be submissive. I’d enjoyed a bit of spanking play in my past, but who doesn’t? Looking back, however, the one thing that my most successful sexual relationships, both with the ex and with “The Other Guy”, and indeed, Master C himself, had in common was that they are all very physical and sexually confident men. I allowed them, albeit unconsciously, to dominate me.

Master C tapped into that side of me and nourished it, bringing it to the fore. I realised that submission wasn’t just about discipline, although that is very much a part of it, but it is about trusting the other person, allowing them the freedom to do whatever they will, giving them the power over you but knowing they won’t abuse it.

Master C has taught me, that it is perfectly OK to be a slut; that I am free to be who I am and express myself how I desire but there are consequences to my actions. I don’t need to seek affirmation from the guys I fuck, because I have a Master who affirms me. He doesn’t simply punish me with His belt, he teaches me and guides me. He gives me the confidence to express my wants, to measure my failings objectively and to see my own self worth. He is my guide and teacher as well as my Master.