Friends reunited


As I mentioned in my last post, on Saturday, I managed to meet up with “The Girl” for the first time since September. Our reunion was everything I expected. There were smiles, there were tears, there were hugs, there was laughter and, yes, there were orgasms.

It was lovely to simply see her and talk to her in person again. Yes, we have kept in touch, but Zoom calls don’t quite do it. It was, however, pretty obvious from the outset that we were not going to be restricting ourselves to chat. From the very first peck on the cheek, the first hand on the other’s arm or shoulder, we both knew exactly where this encounter was heading.

So, not to beat about the bush, as it were, things moved in the direction we both knew they were moving and ended up exactly where we both wanted them to be.

Feeling “The Girl’s” body next to mine again, feeling her skin beneath my fingers as her hands caressed mine was simply wonderful. From the first kiss, we just melted into each other and let nearly 9 months of pent up hunger for each other fall away.

Fingers tickled and teased. Lips kissed and explored. Teeth nipped and nibbled. Tongues flicked and licked. Orgasms ignited, subsided and flared again.

It felt so good to taste her and to taste me on her. The scent and taste of her cunt was intoxicating as I feasted hungrily upon it. The intensity of the sensations as her fingers twisted inside my cunt, and her tongue tormented my clit was simply divine.

The last 9 months were simply stripped away as we took each to the heights of orgasm again and again; sometimes using our fingers to tease each other’s cunts, sometimes using our lips and tongues to drive each other wild.

Time, such as it had any meaning at all, was measured in heartbeats, in kisses, in sighs and moans, in climaxes and cuddles and it all felt so right, so wonderful.

Afterwards, at home, Master C, as I knew he would, required me to recount every detail; making me relive the events of the afternoon and evening as I told Him everything. Occasionally He would require more specific detail. Sometimes He would stop me and do to me the very thing I had just described that “The Girl” had done earlier.

“Did she do this?” He’s ask, pinching my nipples as His tongue beat on my clit. “Was it like this?” He’d enquire as He slid one, then two fingers up inside me and twisted them around. “Did you taste like this?” He’d ask, lifting His fingers to my lips and slipping them into my mouth.

When I’d told Master C all the was to tell, He spun me around, told me to brace myself, and reminded me of the one thing “The Girl” couldn’t do.

He fucked me hard, driving His cock into my cunt with powerful thrusts. Having been taken so tenderly by “The Girl”, it felt so good to be used by Master C; the differences so apparent as He fucked me; the rougher touch of His hands, the firmness of His body, the coarseness of the stubble on His face and, of course, His cock; His wonderful thick, hard cock that was pounding me mercilessly.

As the end approached, He spun me around again and demanded that I took Him in His mouth. For an intense moment I tasted myself on His cock before He filled my mouth with a deliciously think load of cum.

We would fuck again later; Master C eating me to the edge of another shuddering climax, having held me on the brink for what seemed like eternity before finally using His cock to ignite my release as He fucked me beyond my ability to hold on.

All in all, it was a fantastic day and a wonderful way to see in the new month.

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A dirty little fantasy


A little daydream; inspired, in part, by the evenings getting longer and the easing of Covid restrictions meaning nights out and meeting people become possible again, and I might just get be able to “get my slut on” again…

While out with friends, I meet a stranger in a club or bar.

We sneak out, find some dark, out of the way alleyway, and then, without any preliminaries required, we fuck. After so many months of not meeting anyone, the thrill of being with someone else is electrifying. His cock feels so good fucks me hard, in my mouth, in my cunt and in my arse.

He pulls my hair as he fucks me; calling me a filthy slut. His cock pounds me with increased urgency.

Sounds of voices and footsteps pass nearby. Have they seen us? I don’t care. All that matters is what his cock is doing to me and how it is making me feel.

I hold back a moan as I come hard, not wanting to betray our presence to anyone who may be passing. My restraint intensifies my climax. His laboured breathing tells me that his climax is approaching.

Suddenly, he pulls out, spins me a round, calls me a “dirty whore” before blowing his load over my boobs.

We straighten ourselves out, and return to the club/bar; going back to our respective groups of friends as if nothing has happened (although my top is sticking uncomfortably to my cum covered boobs).

We never tell each other our names.

When I get home, Master C thrashes me soundly for being an insatiable, filthy little slut before giving all three of my holes another rough and very thorough fucking and adding his load to that of the stranger’s on my skin.

I fall asleep; tired, sticky, a little tender and sore, but very VERY happy…

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Taken


The ball-gag fills my mouth. I am bent over Master C’s “workbench”, my ankles fastened to the legs, my hands tied behind my back, the hard surface of the bench forcing the clamps on my nipples to press into my breasts, intensifying their pain. My arse is flaming red from the stokes of His belt, six deliciously stinging lashes to each buttock. Hot tears coarse down my cheeks as Master C’s cock pounds my arsehole.

He said I needed teaching a lesson, and this is it. His body slams into mine, driving His cock deep into my back passage with every powerful, surging thrust. With my hair wrapped around one hand, Master C pulls my head sharply back as He fucks me.

“Bad girl!”

“Naughty slut!”

A stream of insults, each punctuated by a thrust oh His cock or a slap of His free hand across my burning buttocks.

It hurts. It’s meant to hurt. I want it and need it to hurt and Master C does not deprive me.

“Your arse is mine, slut! I’m taking what is mine and fucking it hard.” Somehow He manages to pull my head back even further.

Thrust after deep, powerful thrust pounds into my arse. His cock and pain from my nipple clamps are combining, bringing me to the edge.

A sharp yank of my hair brings more tears to my eyes. The thumb of His free hand presses into my cunt; my clit rubbed by the space between His thumb and forefinger.

“Do not come!” He commands. I screw my eyes shut, trying to detach myself from the combination of pain and pleasure that Master C is subjecting me to.

My arse is raw from the pounding of His cock, my buttocks feel like they are on fire, the pain in my nipples is excruciating, my scalp burns and my clit throbs. I want to cry, but no sound escapes from around the ball in my mouth. Lights flash against the insides of my eyelids.

The wonderful torture is unrelenting, I can feel myself almost slipping away. Every nerve is screaming for the release that only orgasm will provide.

“Not yet, slut! You haven’t earned it yet!”

I want to nod, but His grip on my hair prevents my head from moving. I want to say “Yes, Sir” but no words can pass around the ball in my mouth. I want to acknowledge His command in some way, to show Him I accept, but all I can do is just accept more of the blissful agony and torment.

Time loses meaning; I am on the edge of the precipice and Master C holds me there for what seems like an eternity.

My reverie is broken by a sudden sense of emptiness. His cock is gone from my back passage and is now in front of my face. I know what comes next. Hot streaks cross my face, His cum dribbles down my cheeks adding its trail to those of my tears.

“Now it’s your turn,” He says as His cum begins to dry on my skin. I hear the buzz as Master C switches on the wand. A moment’s stillness and then He presses it firmly to my clit. I endure for brief moments as its powerful vibrations return me to the precipice then cast me over the lip. My orgasm claims me and carries me away, lifting me out of myself. The tension drains from my body in one huge cataclysmic eruption.

I sense, rather than feel my restraints being undone, the gag and clamps removed, Master C lifting me and carrying me to the couch. I smile as He tenderly cleans His cum from my face; His large, strong hands so gentle as He applies and removes the cleanser from my skin. Master C props my head up with a cushion, kisses my forehead before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. I know that when He returns He will have a mug of tea for me.

As I listen absently to the sounds in the kitchen, I lie there content at having been taken and used so thoroughly.

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Challenging misconceptions


For me, the biggest misconception around D/s and/or kink is probably a result of the 50 Shades thing. It’s the perception that it’s all about the Dominant and their needs and wants, and their ability to inflict pain on the submissive while forcing them to perform whatever sexual act the Dominant desires.

This is, of course, utter bullshit.

If it’s one thing I’ve said to the point of being blue in the face (and crimson in the arse cheeks) it’s that a D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship. For it to work, there has to be trust and respect on both sides. I get how, if the only experience of D/s you have is through porn or from “literature” such as 50 Shades, you might come to the above conclusion that it’s all pain and punishment and forced sex (and, indeed, if that’s a particular couple’s dynamic, then great), but beneath it there has to be trust and respect, there has to be an understanding on the part of both the Dominant and the submissive, of the other’s needs, wants, desires, tastes and, possibly most important, their limits.

I’ve written before about how pain and discipline ground and centre me. I have written about the fact that the discipline that Master C issues allows me to grow and be a better person. I’ve written about how a thorough thrashing and (almost brutal) fucking can help restore me. All of these things are true.  Pain is kind of my thing. I use it both emotionally and sexually. Master C knows this and He uses this knowledge appropriately within our dynamic, not because He particularly wants to hurt me, but because He knows that I am open to it, enjoy it and, in many respects, need it.

There is also the misconception that it is only the Dominant’s sexual needs that are getting met. Again, this is nonsense.

Within our dynamic, Master C regularly “requires” me to suck His cock. Within our dynamic, He often decides that it is my arse that should be fucked. Within the “role-play” element of our dynamic there (if that is all someone observed), Master C orders me to suck Him, or to commands me to take it in the arse from Him but the simple truth is, I do it, and I allow Him to do it to me because I love sucking cock (any cock, but especially Master C’s) and I love getting fucked in the arse as much as I love getting fucked in the cunt, and I love getting fucked in the throat. It may be rough, it may to an outside observer look forced on occasion, but it is always consensual and always mutually satisfying. Even when Master C is denying me the release of orgasm, I know that, at some point, He will relent. Also, if I’m being completely honest, sometimes the masochist in me actually really enjoys the frustration of being left high and dry just on the brink; it’s simply another kind of satisfaction.

The final thing for me is the perception that the Dominant must always humiliate the submissive. Now, for me, humiliation is a big thing, it is something I get off on in a big way. Humiliation can take many forms. It can be the derogatory names Master C calls me when He fucks me or thrashes me. It can be when He decides to shower His cum over my face. It can be being made to stand quietly in the corner while I have to watch Master C pleasure or be pleasured by another woman. It can be the humiliation of being out in public with His cum dried on my skin.

From the outside, this may look like it’s entirely a one way thing; that Master C is getting all the benefits but the simple truth is that it is ticking so many of my boxes and Master C is only really inflicting these humiliations on me because He knows how much I enjoy them and get turned on by them and, particularly in the aftermath of public humiliations, the sex that follows will be next level fucking.

The misconception in all this is that, as the submissive, I am the one that is having things done to me and that I am an unwilling participant and simply have to endure what is being done. The reality is that I am fully onboard and absolutely ready, willing and able and I love the things Master C does to and with me.

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A taste for things that come


I gave my first blow-job at the tender age of 14. It was kind of a special “present” to my then boyfriend on his 15th birthday. Despite have discussed the subject with one of my girlfriends who had had quite a bit of experience in the art of sucking cocks (note the plural), I really didn’t have much of a clue what I was doing; I sucked and licked and worked my lips up and down his shaft until, with very little in the way of warning, he blew his load in my mouth. Luckily for me, it was also my boyfriend’s first experience of a blow-job, so he had nothing to compare it with, but it was clear that he had enjoyed my attentions and, on the evidence of how wet my cunt was, I’d definitely enjoyed my part in the proceedings too. I’ve mentioned before that in the more than 30 years that have elapsed since that day, I’ve lost count of the number of cocks that I’ve had in my mouth, but that first one was the one that made me realise that sucking a guy off was just as much something for me as it was for the recipient.

One of the most important lessons that I’ve learned is that communication is key. If you want to give a cock a really good blow-job, or give a cunt a good tongue lashing, it’s listen to what the recipient wants and likes. No two cocks or cunts are identical in terms of what elicits the maximum amount of pleasure, so, if in doubt, ask. Also, listen; not just to what someone tells you in words, but also what their body tells you in terms of responses. Learn to identify what the gasps, sighs and moans mean, store away the things that made them flinch and shake. This applies equally to whether its a cock or a cunt that you are pleasuring. The more familiar you are with your partner’s body and how they respond to pleasure, the more you learn their sexual “tells”, the more you can concentrate on giving them the best head they’ve ever had.

Another thing I’ve learned, is that when it comes to licking a cunt, women aren’t intrinsically better at it than men. The idea behind this is that those of us with cunts know how we like to have them pleasured, so we should find it easier to pleasure others. This is, of course, nonsense. As I’ve written before, the only cunt whose responses I know with absolute certainty, is my own; and as I’ve already pointed out, what works for my cunt is not guaranteed to work for anyone else’s.  So, again, communication is key. Another tip I learned, was when having sex with another woman for the first time, try to arrange things so they go down on you first as they way they eat you will probably give you an indication of how they like to be eaten. Of course, if you go first, you’re the one giving tips and pointers to what you want when the time comes for the tables to be turned, so there is no right or wrong. The point is, the person who is feasting on your nether regions isn’t psychic, so unless there is a long familiarity with what you like, don’t be afraid to let them know. Help them to give you the tongue-lashing you want and need.

For me, as a submissive woman, one of the things I love about sucking cock is the sense of “empowerment” it gives me. When I’m sucking a cock, it is me that is doing, not being done to; I am giving them pleasure, my talents and abilities are going to be the reason they come, and their load of cum in my mouth is my reward for doing it to the best of my ability. Sucking cock is the way I give pleasure, rather than have it taken from me; I am providing pleasure, not being used for it. I suspect that this is the biggest reason for why I will try to find any excuse to end up with Master C’s in my mouth; I love being responsible for His orgasm and knowing that I am the reason for His climax.

Of course, sometimes, Master C will take His pleasure from my mouth; a mouth and throat is just as capable of being fucked as a cunt or arse. When Master C tips my head back and fucks me roughly in the throat, there is something about this that is deliciously filthy, that ticks my slut boxes, that reminds me that I am there for Him to be used

Over 30 years of using my mouth has taught me many things; how to use it to give pleasure, how to let it be used for pleasure, and how to fully enjoy both. Those are lessons that, in order to be Master C’s  slut and dutiful submissive, I definitely need to learn.

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Fantasies


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

Inspired by the 6 Nations, a few years back, I wrote about a Changing Room fantasy where I’m bound and helpless and the local rugby team get to have their way with me. Essentially, I get well and truly fucked in every hole, get cum splattered all over me, and then, with the absolute minimum of cleaning up afterwards, I have to join them in the club bar where they all talk very loudly about what they did and how I took it.

The key elements of this story are:

  • restraint/helplessness
  • being used by multiple men
  • having numerous loads of cum shot on my face/boobs/arse/skim
  • public humiliation

The truth is, while the setting and the premise may vary, the above is pretty much a recurring theme of my fantasies. They almost invariably involve me being tied up, naked in some semi-public location where there is an invitation for any who find me to use me as they please.

It could be the changing room as described above, it could be me bound and helpless in a hotel room, where the door has been deliberately wedged open, it could be me bound over a style or a gate on a country footpath or, in some sort of public stocks, being punished for my wanton behaviour by the good citizens, and my punishment is to endure their wanton behaviour.

Wherever the fantasy is located, I am always naked, always restrained, always helpless to resist and there is always the “invitation” for whoever encounters me to use me in whatever way they see fit.

What follows is an indeterminant number of people, both men and women, doing what they want. Fucking my mouth, fucking my cunt, fucking my arse, whipping me, thrashing me, my cunt is fingered, licked, fucked with numerous implements/toys and I simply have to “endure” it.

Usually, but not always, the men choose to punish me by denying me the satisfaction of having their cum released inside me; they shoot their loads on my skin, their cum sticks to my face, drips down my boobs, coats my buttocks. By the time I am finally released, every hole has been fucked countless times and I am a mess of dried on cum.

As if the humiliation of the public sexual torture and cum-soakings weren’t enough, there is always some sort of “walk of shame” element, where my slutiness is displayed for all to see. Those who have fucked me, feign outrage at my deplorable wantonness while congratulating themselves on how they used me, both individually and collectively.

The final act in my fantasy is the redemptive element. The overseer of my punishment/public humiliation (almost always some fictionalised version of Master C or “The Other Guy”) fucks me, rewards me with their cum in my cunt or mouth and tells me that despite being a filthy slut, they are proud of how I stoically took my punishment, how I held my head high, proudly, despite the humiliation, how I have proved myself to be worthy.

It’s probably fair to say that my fantasies are born somewhere within the darker side of my subconscious that I wrote about recently. I can’t deny there is a roughness bordering on violence about them that I suspect some may find disturbing. The thing is though, when my mind goes down these particular paths, the intensity of the orgasms that such mental images help to produce is something else altogether and I’m left feeling as drained as if the scenes playing out in my mind had actually happened.

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A cock in the hand…


Like a lot of women (and a fair number of men), I have a fascination with the male reproductive organ. There is something slightly hypnotic about the way it undergoes its metamorphosis from the wrinkled, slightly comical, flaccid unaroused state into a full, raging, swollen hard-on. And, for me, there is nothing more satisfying than knowing that I am the reason for that glorious transformation. A hard-on cannot, after all, be faked, and I am always grateful for that very obvious compliment of my desirability and, well, fuckability that the man’s hard-on so obviously bestows upon me.

I love to play with those lovely inches of turgid flesh; stroking them, kissing them, wrapping my fingers and/or lips around them and giving their owner so much pleasure.

As I stroke Master C’s (or, indeed any) cock, I love to watch His reactions; the little moans and sighs of pleasure, the involuntary flinches of His body, the way His breathing changes as His arousal increases.

I love the way Master C’s cock stiffens and swells in my hand. I love the way the head becomes engorged and full, I love knowing how much Master C is enjoying what I am doing to Him, for Him.

As Master C’s orgasm grows ever closer, I am fascinated by the way his body reacts; the growing tension in His thighs, the involuntary thrusting of His hips that grows increasingly urgent as that most primal urge begins to take hold. The closer His climax gets, the more His cock twitches and jerks between my fingers.

And then, when Master C comes, when I angle His cock so that it coats my skin with a lovely thick load of His warm, rich, sticky essence, I marvel at the force with which His cock erupts, pulsing in my hand, the way His face contorts in an agony of release as His cum is forced out of His cock and on to my skin.

Finally, as I lower my head, wrapping my lips around the head, to suck the last drops of cum from it, I love the deep sigh of contentment that tells me so clearly how much Master C has enjoyed my attentions.

The humble hand-job is an often neglected part of a couple’s sexual repertoire, but for me, seeing the pleasure it gives a partner, especially Master C, it can be a deeply intimate experience.

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An evening in the life of…


Master C is sitting on the sofa. I am on the floor between His legs. Almost inevitably, His cock is in my mouth. That isn’t how things started; originally I’d been facing the other way and Master C had been giving me a very nice head, neck and shoulder rub.

I’d mentioned previously that, on the work front, this had been quite a difficult week for me, but it had also taken it’s toll on Master C. His job is stressful and difficult at the best of times, and the current situation is just multiplying that. On top of that, He has to contend with me being extra needy so, after all the care and consideration Master C had shown me over the past few days, I decided some reciprocation was required and took things into my own hands and, from there, into my mouth.

I don’t know how long I’d already spent, licking and kissing, teasing the shaft, head and tip with my lips and tongue, being rewarded with numerous contented sighs, moans and groans. At some point though, I decided that what I really needed was to have Master C’s lovely thick, hard cock in my mouth.

I love sucking cock. I particularly love sucking Master C’s cock. I am absolutely certain that if you put me blindfolded in a room of men, and made me take each one in my mouth, aside from making me deliriously happy at the prospect, my lips would be able to identify  Master C’s cock just from the long familiar knowledge if its thickness, circumference and every ridge and ripple on its surface.

I love sliding my lips slowly down the length of Him, taking Him deep, having the head of His cock lodge in the back of my throat. I start slowly, up and down, back and forth, swallowing involuntarily when He is fully inside, swirling my tongue around the head and over the tip when I slide back up.

The experience of having done this to Him countless times over the years means I know His responses. I can feel the tenseness grow in His thighs and abdomen as my mouth works its magic. I hear the change in His breathing as the pressure mounts. The throbbing in His cock signals His increased heartrate. His sighs and moans of pleasure become ever more pronounced.

Master C moans my name as I begin to work my mouth a little bit faster. He tells me what a “good girl” I am as I suck a little harder. His hips begin to thrust a little, forcing His cock into my mouth. Master C resists the urge to start fucking my mouth, He wants to enjoy my attentions. The urge within Him to grab my head and drive His cock into my throat is hard to resist and dong so increases the pressure building in side.

I can taste His essence, I can sense the nearness of His climax. I’m torn, wanting Him to come, to erupt in my mouth so I can savour His load, but also wanting Him to savour this moment for as long as He can.

The involuntary movements of  His hips increase, His breathing is more laboured. I know Master C is holding back, fighting to delay the inevitable; not to deny me my reward, but to keep this moment going for as long as possible.

Faster, my head bobs up and down, taking His cock deep, sucking hard. A familiar twitching warns me that He cannot hold on for much longer. I slide my lips back until only the head remains in my mouth. I suck, hard, flicking my tongue over the slit, tasting the nearness of His release.

Seconds that seem like ages pass. The fingers of Master C’s left hand grip my  right shoulder. I look up and see the train around His eyes, that pre-climax tightness in the set of His jaw. And Then, like the flicking of a light switch, His face relaxes and moans softly. A moment later, I feel the familiar surge as His load is forced up His cock an pumped violently into my mouth.

His cum fills my mouth, pooling on my tongue. Master C’s rich, sticky manly essence is the reward for my efforts. I swallow hungrily then suck the remaining drops from Him. Finally, letting His cock slip from between my lips, I savour the last of His cum, swirling it around my mouth with, He tells me later, a look of dreamy contentment on my face.

I swallow and look up, smiling. Master C smiles back. “Good girl,” He says softly, “You are my very, very good girl.” I smile, knowing that I will almost certainly be rewarded more later but, until then, I am content to climb up on to the sofa and snuggle into Him while He recovers.

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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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