The making of me


The the quote for us to unpick on ‘Quote Quest‘ this week has got me revisiting my relationship with pain and my need to feel it again:

It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.
– Marquis de Sade

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  a large part of 15 years we’ve been together;  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.

And that brings us back to pain. Pain is a reminder that I’ve misbehaved. pain is a reminder that I’ve done something wrong, or stepped beyond a line that I should have stayed within. Pain is a reminder that I ned to try harder. All these things are true, but when Master C cause me pain, He is also doing it because He loves me, He hurts me because He knows I need that pain; I need the sweet, exquisite release, to fully experience the pleasure of being broken down simply to Have Master C rebuild me.

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

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Focus


The current teaser on the ‘No True Way‘ site is:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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At His mercy


I’m on my back. My wrists are bound and tied, above my head, to the rail of the headboard. My legs frog-tied with rough rope that digs simultaneously into my thighs, calves and shins, the knots pressing into my skin. My legs spread as wide as the can in that arrangement, my ankles cuffed the tied to the outsides of the bed.

I can’t move. I’m blindfolded. I’m forced to wait.

Master C runs a finger over then around the curve of each of my breasts. His fingers then butterfly caress the insides of my thighs. The cold, hardness of a well-lubed, brushed-steel plug presses against my arsehole and slowly pushes inside.

I wait again.

Kisses on the inside of my thighs.

A gentle tickle of the ends of the flogger over my nipples.

Each action followed by more agonising nothing.

Hot breath on my labia. Fingers running up the insides of my legs. Master C’s mouth is so close, but so far away, and then it is gone.

Clamps applied to my nipples. The sweet exquisite pain makes me cry out, makes my cunt contract. Master C tightens them with a deft twist. My cunt grows wetter.

Again, the warmth o f His breath is so close. If I could just move, I’d push my mound against His lips, The licks and kisses to my thighs torment me. So close, so close, and then they are gone.

More waiting; each second an eternity.

My head is turned to one side. Master C pushes the head of His cock into my mouth. I accept it gratefully, something to distract me from His torment.

As I tease the tip with my tongue, His finger slides between my legs, parts my labia and slips easily inside me. I gasp. Master C’s cock slips from my mouth. His finger is withdrawn from my cunt and he puts it in my mouth. I taste myself as I have done so many times before.

His finger returns to my cunt and he feeds me my juices again. I accept them willingly, grateful to be required to do something more than just passively await His next action. His fingers then His cock each take it in turns in my mouth. I want to suck Him properly. I want to feel Him erupt in my mouth so I can savour His cum before swallowing it, but it’s not to be.

More waiting.

Again, His mouth approaches. He kisses my left thigh, then right; left, then right, each time getting inexorably closer. Seconds pass, minutes, an eternity of agonising anticipation.

And then, contact. Master C’s tongue touches me. “You taste divine, little one,” He says as He begins to slowly lick and tease.

I want to writhe, but all I can to is wriggle my bum against the bed. I want to reach down and press His face to my cunt, forcing Him to eat me more firmly,

I am at His mercy, He licks and nibbles, fingers and flicks in a way that He knows will take me to the edge and then holds me there. Each lap of his tongue on my clit increases the pressure inside me. Each thrust of His fingers inside my cunt makes its walls contract and has me begging for release.

Master C’s tongue is relentless. His stubble is rough against my labia, increasing the sensations. His fingers twist inside me. The onslaught is unending.

Again an eternity of agony, not of anticipation, but for the need for release. I screw my eyes shut beneath the blindfold, lights flash beneath my eyelids. Fire burns along my nerves. My clit throbs, my cunt pulses, but still Master C denies me.

I have no idea how long He holds me in this state; time is meaningless on the edge of the abyss. The cloth over my eyes is soaked with tears of frustration. The sheet beneath my bottom is soaked with my juices and His saliva. The scent of my frustration hangs over the bed, filling the room. My throat raw as I plead and beg for release.

“Soon, little one, soon,” Master C’s  are anything but soothing “Endure it for just a little longer.”

Resigned to my fate, I accept it. His tongue laps with a slightly greater intensity; His fingers fuck me with increased force. Pressure builds, mounting rapidly.

“Now, little one! Come for me now!” Master C gently commands.

A firm lick of His tongue, and I am undone. The dam breaks and I cry out. Waves of pleasure coarse through me. I sense Master C move above me. His cock slides inside me. My orgasm reignites as He fucks me with deep, powerful, forceful strokes.

“Please fuck me harder! Please fuck me harder! Please…” I moan, still carried on the crest of my climax.

Master C’s thrusts become faster, harder. His hands around my upper arms, farcing them into the mattress as He takes me.

His body collides with mine. The slap of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Master C moans my name as His climax approaches, “Morag! Morag! Morag!”

“Come for me Master,” I plead, “Release yourself inside me.”

Thrusts increase with urgency, His breathing deepens. I sense rather than feel the increased tension in His body.

In… Out… In… Out… In… A groan… A pause… He erupts inside me; the warmth of His essence flooding into me.

Some time later, Master C unties me, up around us and lets me snuggle into Him as He holds me close and secure in His arms and I feel the heat of His body against mine. Once again, Master C has restored me and made me His.

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The darkness inside


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

The current prompt on ‘Quote Quest‘ asks us to consider the following:

“Don’t Worry About The Darkness In My Soul. It Ignites Me Like An Embered Coal.
– Anon

I consider myself extremely fortunate that I have never suffered from a significant mental illness such as depression, anxiety or bi-polar disorder. I do, however, encounter these conditions and the people who suffer from, live with (and on occasions cannot live with) these conditions daily in my work. That isn’t to say that I never feel down, or disheartened. I have written a number of posts recently about the need for support from Master C; how much I rely on Him to recentre and rebalance me when pressures threaten to become overwhelming.

There is, however, something quite dark within me. I have written about it before. I have needs that need a certain edge to satisfy them. Partially, I think this is what has always driven me to sexual activities that are somewhat riskier; I need that fight or flight reaction that comes with the heightened sensitivity of increased risk/danger.

The past year has seen this darker side surface more often. Understandable perhaps, given the increased suffering I see due to Covid and the restrictions it places on lives, and the effect that dealing with other peoples’ live has on me; the extra pressures, the stresses and the increased feeling of helplessness in the face of something I cannot control.

All these things tap into my darkest desires, feeding my need for Master C to treat me with increasing roughness. I need to feel His hands tighten around my neck, starving me of breath as He forces His cock deep into my throat. I need the extra lashes of His belt, or strokes of the cane on my arse to unleash my tears and ultimately the healing flood of endorphins. I long to have Him grab a handful of my hair and pull my head back sharply, his other hand around my throat as He takes me hard from behind; fucking my cunt or arse with a force and brutal urgency that almost makes a lie out of the love Master C has for me.

I don’t just want this, I actually need it, I need to feel my oxygen staved lungs scream for breath. I need to feel the searing pain in my buttocks from whatever tool/implement He has used to turn them an angry, fiery crimson. I need to feel the harsh burn of the rope on my skin, bound around my wrists, my ankles, my arms, my legs, my neck. I need the agony of returning circulation to my extremities when He unties me. I need Him to slap me, to call me every abusive term He can as He fucks me with a brutal intensity. I need Him to bruise me. I need Him to use me.

I need the cathartic release that only Master C can deliver by taking me to the absolute extremes of my limits; and that only He can deliver simply because He knows how much I need it.

I know that these sessions are never easy for Master C. I know that they drain Him as much as, ultimately, they restore me. I know that He will require almost as much aftercare from me after one of these sessions as I require from Him. If you were to ask, Him, He would admit that this is one of the aspects of our relationship that He finds hardest; Master C is not really sadistic by nature, whereas I am very much masochistic. In the aftermath of a session like this, we heal each other. In a slightly perverse way, these sessions are where we recommit, unconditionally to each other.

My inner darkness can scare me, but Master C always manages to exorcise it, and to release me from its grip, until the next time it takes hold.

I don’t think it can be fully banished. I believe, even when dormant, it shapes so many of my wants, needs, desires and passions. It is a part of me that needs, occasionally, to be controlled, but it is what makes me the person I am. Master C understands this; He understands me. That, in a nutshell, is why I give Him my submission.

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Creative misbehaviour


One of the many problems of living under lock down conditions is that it that it definitely impinges upon my ability to misbehave. The flip-side of this being that opportunities for me to incur Master C’s discipline, correction and guidance are also limited.

Now, some of you might argue this is a good thing; if I can’t misbehave then there is no need for Master C to punish me. On a very basic level, there is, of course, some truth to this.  The problem is, there are times when I need His discipline and correction, there are times when I need His guidance to be accompanied by a firm, but fair, spanking or something a bit more severe. There is a part of me that not only wants to be punished, but actually needs it.

In more relaxed times, it would be easy enough; I could go out, find myself a suitable “victim”, suck them, fuck them, or very possibly both, the confess my transgression to Master C, determine the appropriate degree of punishment, assume the required position and accept whatever He inflicted. These days, when the only other human I see in the flesh (and don’t get me wrong, I’ll never get too much of that) is Master C, if I’m going to incur some form of discipline, I need to be a bit more inventive.

It’s possible that I may decide to have an unsanctioned orgasm. This doesn’t mean that I can’t masturbate without Master C’s permission, but that there are times when I am playing for His benefit, that I am not allowed to come until such time as Master C allows me to do so. In these circumstances, I may decide to be a little over enthusiastic in my wanking, or exercise too little control and, as a result, “accidentally” climax before I have been give leave to do so.

Alternatively, when I’m sucking His cock, I may possibly bring Him to orgasm too soon. Again, this demonstrates a lack of control and restraint on my part resulting in Master C being denied the pleasure of my mouth for as long as He would have wished.

On other occasions, I just resort to being especially bratty and stubborn; not performing task He has set me correctly (even when they are perfectly with in my abilities to do so), or not applying myself with an appropriate degree of diligence. I don’t ever openly defy Him or refuse, I simply don’t apply the fullness of my abilities to whatever the assigned task or duty happens to be.

Of course, Master C knows exactly what I am doing and why I am doing it, and He accepts that, in part, it is also for His benefit; I am giving Him a reason to exert his Dominance so that we can both connect with ourselves and each other. It would be very easy, in the current circumstances, for complacency to set in; it would be, given the near constant proximity, to take each other for granted, even unintentionally. I have mentioned before, that part of my roil is to provide support and companionship for Master C and this is one of the ways in which I do this; I am providing a means by which an extremely important part of our relationship can be kept fresh during these difficult times.

Yes, I may be a bad girl, I may be a disobedient and impudent madam, I may be a disrespectful slut (and I can be all of those things), but, when I am there, bare arsed, bracing myself in anticipation for the smack of Master C’s hand, or the kiss of His belt, when the slaps or lashes are reining down on my buttocks, and afterwards, when my arse glows a rosy red and the heat of my punishment slowly dissipates, I know and Master C knows, that I was simply doing my duty and that in being bad, I was being His “good girl”.

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Throat wank


With my arms restrained beside me, Master C tilts my head back. I dutifully open my mouth. The head of His cock slips between my lips, followed by the shaft. Master C pushes slowly and firmly into me, inch by thick, delicious inch of him. And then that wonderful moment when His balls rest against my nose, His shortly trimmed pubic hair tickles my lips, and the swollen head of His cock lodges deep in my throat.

He stops; not because I can’t take any more, but because there is no more of Him to take. Every inch, every last fraction has been fed to me.

I am well trained, but I still gag slightly, choking around the thickness of His cock as it restricts my airway. Saliva fills my mouth and it is impossible to swallow. It trickles from the corners of my mouth, down my up-turned cheeks. Some of it dribbles into my nostrils, making it still harder to breath.

Master C’s cock begins to move; long, slow, deliberate and forceful strokes. I gasp for air each time He pulls back, filling my lungs, not knowing when my next breath will be allowed.

He pushes in. His hands go around my neck. His thumbs press down firmly, squeezing my neck between them and His cock. Master C holds me there for long breathless moments, each one seeming like an eternity, until He finally relents and pulls back.

I have mere seconds to exhale and refill my lungs before Master C repeats the process, each time starving me that little bit longer, each time making me more desperate, making each breath being sweeter than the one that preceded it.

And then, something new.

As Master C holds me at the deepest point of He traces the outline of His cock with His thumb and finger. I can feel every ridge, every contour of His cock as He runs His thumb along the shape of the shaft and over the head. I hear him groan. I feel His cock twitch. He works His thumb up and down my neck, rubbing His cock through my skin. He is wanking himself, wanking His cock inside my throat by pressing it through my neck.

Master C’s breathing deepens. His hips rock slightly, moving His cock in short thrusts as He presses down. His thumb concentrates on the ridge where the head joins the shaft; that spot that gives him so much pleasure when He takes himself in hand, or when I stroke him.

Those involuntary movements of His hips tell me Master C is getting close. His grip around my neck tightens as He tries to increase the pressure on His cock. My throat is raw. My jaw aches. He is so close.

I feel it first in His balls as they contract and tighten against my face. I can almost feel His cum surge through Him. A strangled gasp escapes from between Master C’s lips. His hands fall from my neck as He braces himself. He erupts, deep in my throat, far beyond my tastebuds.

I begin to choke. Mercifully He pulls out. I let my tongue trail over His shaft as Master C extracts himself from my throat.

Sobbing and gasping in air, I let him move me; lifting my head, placing a cushion beneath it, stroking my hair, making me comfortable and telling me I am His “good girl”.

I would smile at His words, but my jaw is too stiff.

He kisses me.

He holds me.

He restores me again.

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His pleasure = my reward


The current teaser on the No True Way site is:

Pleasing the Dom is the sub’s reward

When I read this, it immediately rang true with me. Nothing makes me happier than knowing I have pleased Master C or made Him happy. I don’t need to be showered with lavish gifts as a reward for my efforts; al I really need is a lovely thick load of cum and to hear Master C say the words “Good girl!”

For me, there is absolutely no higher praise than this.

When Master C calls me His “Good girl”, it means I have excelled in some way, in the performance of a task or the way I have reacted when He has disciplined me.

When I have sucked his cock and He has come in my mouth, and I am cleaning up those last drops of cum, those two words, coupled with His loving smile and the inevitable hint of mischief in His eyes tells me that I have outdone myself, that I have helped Him unwind and destress, that He is truly appreciative of my efforts in what I have done for Him.

It isn’t just about sex though; often it’s just the little things, helping Him find some misplaced object around the house, preparing a favourite meal, generally being there to support and comfort Him when He needs it in the same way that He supports and comforts me when I am the needy one.

It’s not so much about “serving” Him, it’s about being as important a part of His life as Master C is of mine. Knowing Master C is happy goes a very long way, particularly in these troubled times, to making me happy. Getting back to sex, knowing I am responsible for Master C’s pleasure, whether I be giving it to Him, or He is taking it from me, also contributes to my own. The same, of course, is true in reverse. I know that Master C takes a great deal of pleasure from the pleasure He gives me.

In this, and every other respect, Master C and I are very much a partnership; I submit to Him and accept His Dominance because it helps me to be a better version of me. The flipside to this is that my submission also provides support, comfort, and companionship for Him (in addition to a trio of holes to fuck whenever the mood takes Him). We complement each other, physically, emotionally and sexually and our D/s dynamic is part of how we express this.

So while I absolutely and unquestionably agree that pleasing Him rewards me, I know with absolute certainty that Master C is equally rewarded by the pleasure I derive from being with (and being fucked by) Him.

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My “reality”


The current teaser on the ‘No True Way‘ site is:

Real D/s dynamics are 24/7

Not surprisingly, this got me thinking about my life, my relationship with Master C and or particular D/s dynamic.

First of, who am I and what is my “reality”?

Well, my name, perhaps un surprisingly, is Morag. I am a white, cis, bisexual, submissive woman, who is ginger, Scottish and, at the time of writing, in her mid(ish) 40s. I’m 5’7″/1.77m tall, my boobs measure 36/91C and weight is my own business. I live with Master C and have done so for 12+ years (we’ve been together for just over 15) and he is both my life partner and my Master. I am not His wife, nor am I His, girlfriend; I am His submissive and I am His slut, and very happily so.

Our D/s dynamic has evolved over over the years to it’s present form. What we have, doesn’t really fit any of the more “common” D/s labels; it isn’t a Master/slave arrangement, nor is it a Daddy/babygirl one or a Teacher/student one. If any descriptor comes close it would be that Master C  is my patient, if long-suffering, protector and guide, and I am His unrepentant, bratty, slut.

So that is who I am and a very quick “definition” of the relationship and dynamic I share with Master C.

So, is it real?

Well, it is our lives, so it’s is as “real” as any perceived experience. Of course, since no two people perceive the same thing in precisely the same way, my “reality” will no doubt have difference from “Master C’s” reality; we have, after all, our own sensory interpretations to the world around us, and our brains will interpret those differently, but there are degrees of overlap. Even when we are at our most intimate, these things will have different perspectives.  We will both be aware of the fact that He is fucking my cunt or arse, or that He is eating me out, or that I am giving Him a blow-job, but we will perceive these differently by virtue of the fact that we are experiencing the same thing from the perspective of the giver or received; how He feels His cock feels inside my mouth, cunt or arse will be different from how I feel His cock in my moth, cunt or arse, even though we are both feeling His cock in my mouth, cunt or arse. We are experiencing the same thing, but we are feeling and experiencing it differently according to our own roles.

Is it 24/7?

Well, life is 24/7, but does our dynamic exist 24/7? Am I still His bratty slut when we are both asleep, are we “living our dynamic” when we are both going about our individual jobs/tasks/activities? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Subconsciously, I would say that the answer is “yes”. We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t in each other’s presence. I am still in a relationship with Him when I am at work, or the gym (remember those) or in the supermarket. Master C is still in a relationship with me when He is working, or out with His friends for an after work drink (again, remember those?). We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t physically in each other’s presence, so what about our dynamic? Am I still His slut when I’m not being fucked, or misbehaving in a way that will earn correction from Him? Am I still His slut when I’m sat at my desk, listening to people discuss their lives and their problems? Is Master C still my Dominant when He is on call, when He is treating patients, when He’s driving to/from work?

I suspect, the answer, again subconsciously, is “yes”. Our D/s dynamic is part of our relationship, and if our relationship is always there, then it sort of follows that our dynamic is there too. We might not be actively participating in our dynamic, but it’s still there. I may not be sitting in my Counsellor’s chair listening to people’s concerns, squirming as my favourite butt-plug fills me, or my nipples scream in protest at the claps they are squeezed between, but I have been know to go shopping or to the pub, or cinema, or some other “in public” occasion plugged and clamped. My clothing may mean that it isn’t appropriate to wear my collar in every circumstance, but again, I have worn it suitably concealed in a number of locations where it would raise a few eyebrows if it were noticed.

My collar, the butt-plugs, the ben-wa balls, the nipple-clamps, the bruises on my arse, they are all expressions of our D/s dynamic, but they aren’t the totality of it. When Master C rubs my shoulders, or runs me a bath after a long, tough day, He is still being my supportive, nurturing Dominant just as much as when He is thrashing me with His belt to provide me with a necessary rebalancing. When I listen to Him describe the stresses of His day at work, fetch Him a beer from the fridge, I am still being Hs caring, supportive submissive, just as much as when I’m relieving His stress with a blow-job. We are still Dominant and submissive when we are snuggling comfortably on the sofa just as much as when we fucking vigorously on it.

A D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship; it is still a partnership. It has forms and protocols but it exists whether those are being actively participated in or not.

So while we might not be actively and visibly D/s in our behaviour all day and every day, our D/s dynamic is real to us and, when you boil it right down, that is the only “reality” that matters.

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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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