Waiting


I am on my knees; head downcast, naked, blindfolded, my hands tied securely behind my back. Helpless. Bound. At His mercy.

He has me exactly where, and how, He wants me. I can do nothing but wait for Him to use me as He desires.

The anticipation burns as I wait for Him. I endure His scrutiny; feeling His eyes on me as He slowly walks around me; occasionally filling my ears with the loud snapping crack of His belt.

He examines me. Although I cannot see Him, I can sense how He views me. I yearn for His touch. I hunger for His command; eager to obey His slightest whim.

His silence is agonising. My cunt is hot and wet. I long for Him to acknowledge me, to give me some indication of His desire, His need.

I wait in silence; enduring each second as it ticks by. My legs begin to cramp in the uncomfortable position of my submission to Him.

I wait in silence, as the sound of leather cracking against leather fills my senses.

Discomfort wars with anticipation, pain with arousal. What is His will? What does He require of me?

A shiver runs through me as the belt coils around my neck. It presses my skin as He pulls it tight.

A sharp tug forces me to raise my head.

I become aware of His breathing; rapid, laboured. I can almost feel His pre-climactic tension. Apart from His breathing and the rhythmic beat of His hand stroking His cock, there is silence.

He groans.

His cum strikes my face like a blow from His hand. Hot, rich, sticky; I feel it trickle down my face, warming my skin as moves.

At last, He speaks. “Open your mouth, little one. Taste your reward.”

I comply. His cock fills my mouth. I tighten my lips around Him and savour the taste of His essence.

#WickedWednesday
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Wet


It’s that moment. He has turned me on. His lips, his tongue, His fingers have all worked their magic. My body is a quivering mass of anticipation. My cunt aches with the need to filled. And then, just then, He touches me; tracing a finger between my labia, feeling my wetness for the first time.

It is a moment that I particularly love; that moment when Master C feels just how wet He has made me; just how ready I am for His cock to fill me.

That first touch can be all that is needed sometimes to set me off, to ignite my orgasm while at the same time wanting so much more.

Spreading me open with His fingers; coating them with my juices. Will He anoint my nipples with my essence? Will He make me taste myself on Him? His fingers in my mouth so close to my nose that I can inhale the scent of my arousal as I lick His fingers clean. Will He drive a finger deep inside me? In that moment, I am helpless, undone, His to do with however He so desires. Will He lick me? Will He fuck me? Will He tease me some more?

It is such a delicious moment; that moment where He discovers just how much He has turned me on, just how much I want and need Him, just how much I hunger to feel his wonderfully hard cock inside me.

And then, that almost agonising moment when His fingers are gone, and the anticipation builds for what He is about to do next.

#WickedWednesday

Misbehaving


When I’m bad, I know there is a very good chance I will feel Master C’s belt. Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I will deliberately misbehave, just so I can feel its kiss on my skin, and the deliciously uncomfortable glow that is its aftermath.

Master C never resorts to the belt without good reason, it is the ultimate punishment. As I’ve mentioned previously, I both fear and love its application.

When His belt lands against my skin, it is a reminder of how naughty I have been. It is a statement of His displeasure and a notice that I must earn forgiveness. Sometimes, earning that forgiveness is even more fun the misbehaviour that earned me the thrashing in the first place.

As with so many things, it is a reminder of my submission to Him; its marks, the badge of His ownership; its pain, a lesson to be learned, an example of His care and guidance.

Long after the belt has done its work, and I have performed whatever acts of contrition were required to atone for my transgression, the warm rosy glow remains. As the marks turn to a deep, angry purple before slowly fading, they become a reminder of both my misdeeds and Master C‘s loving guidance. It is both a symbol of my shame and of my redemption.

I love what Master C‘s belt and its resultant markings mean.

You could say I am a glutton for punishment.

#WickedWednesday

Hunger


Sometimes I have a certain hunger, a hunger for Master C’s cock in my mouth.

I want to use my lips to make Him hard.

I want to feel my lips slide along His length.

I want to feel the head of His cock lodge in the back of my throat.

I want to hears His moans and sighs as I drive Him closer.

I want to feel his cock twitch as His climax approaches.

I want to feel His cock erupt, filling my mouth with His cum.

I want to savour the rich flavour of His cum on my tongue before swallowing it down.

I want to sit back, lick my lips and await His approval.

I want to hear him say “Good little slut” as his breathing slowly returns to normal.

#MasturbationMonday The Oral Sex Project

The joys of Skype


Skype is the business traveller’s best friend. Even when Master C is as far from home as I can be and still be in Britain, it allows much more in the way of interaction than a simple phone call.

Take last night for example; I’m at home, Master C is in His hotel room, in Bristol. My laptop set up so that it’s camera can take in most of my bed. Maste C calls me and after a few minutes spent describing our respective days to each other, He begins describing what He’d do to me if He weren’t 400+ miles away.

Inevitably, I find myself naked and I’m rubbing moisturiser into my boobs, imagining the gloopy substance is Master C’s cum, as He describes how He’s going to thrash me for being such a dirty little tease.

As my cunt gets hotter and wetter, I long to feel His tongue on my clit. I desperately want to finger myself, make myself cum but Master C orders me not to.

A look at the laptop screen and I see him stroking His lovely, thick cock and I so wish it was me doing it to Him.

“Do you want to suck this?” Master C asks. I nod, wishing He was here or I was there so I could take the angry, swollen purple head between my lips.

“Do you want this in your cunt?” Again I nod, moaning confirmation of how much I want Him inside me, stretching me, filling me, fucking me.

“Do you want this in your arse, you filthy little slut?”

“Yes please,” I moan, “please stick your lovely big fat cock up my slutty little arse.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your filthy little slut and I love taking your cock up my arse.”

“Slut!”

“Yes,”

“Filthy whore!”

“Yes,”

“Finger yourself! Fuck your cunt with your fingers.”

I comply, and as my thumb presses against my clit, I feel my climax ignite.

One orgasm isn’t enough though, and Master C orders me to continue fucking myself. My cunt grips my fingers as I plunge them deep inside me. My clit throbs beneath my thumb. My head tosses from side to side and my back arches. Distantly I hear Him ordering me on, demanding I abuse myself further.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity of pleasure filled torture, Master C relented. He ordered me to lick my juices from my fingers. I savour the taste as, in the screen, He furiously pumps His cock.

“Cum on me!” I gasp, “Cover me with your lovely cum, make me your very own cum-soaked slut.”

He moans my name. “Mmmoooo-ahhhh-rrrraaaggg….” It’s almost a sob as His cock edupts, sending long, thick jets streaking through the air. The rationale part of my brain thinks it’s such a shame all that lovely cum is going to waste, but mostly, I don’t care; my body is too drained to worry about such things.

We sign-off. I switch off the light and curl up to go to sleep and dream filthy dreams. The only thing missing is Master C’s warm, strong body to cuddle up next to.

#MasturbationMonday

Dark alleys


Sex in dark alleyways has always been a particular forte of mine. It began in my casual days and it’s something that I still do quite regularly, be that with Master C, or some random guy who has caught my eye on a night out.

I’m no stranger to outdoor sex, but outdoor sex of the back alley variety usually involves alcohol. Not that I’m particularly inhibited in my sexual wantoness by any means, but there’s nothing like a few drinks to make you feel a wee bit more daring. It also helps that the town I live in has lots of dark lanes, alleyways, closes, nooks and crannies that are just idea for a bit of late night, can’t wait to get home fuckery.

Why do I do it? Well, there’s the thrill factor; there is always a risk of being caught in the act. This has happened on occasion, and on at least two of those, it has been by other couples presumably looking for somewhere to do exactly the same thing. There’s also the thought that even if no one walks by, you could still be being watched. Often these dark closes are down behind tenement blocks and anyone could, potentially, look out their window and watch you giving a drunken blow-job or having an alcohol fuelled quickie.

Mostly though, it’s simply because, when I’m at a certain level of drunkenness, I get uncontrollably randy. I don’t want to wait until I get home to have sex, I want fucked and I want fucked pretty much there and then. Generally, I’ve found guys are quite willing to oblige, despite the obvious risks, and Master C is no exception. If you’ve read my cumslut post, then you will know that, not only does He enjoy it as much as me, but sometimes He likes to crank the stakes up to an entirely higher level.

Really, for me, it’s a combination of things: the excitement, the riskiness, the sop to my exhibitionist streak, the arousal, the need for urgent sexual fulfilment, and the enjoyment of a bloody good fuck. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a filthy little slut who is always ready for cock, especially if it’s Master C’s cock, wherever I am.

Kink of the Week

Punished


His belt rains down hard on my arse. Once again, Master C is punishing me for being a naughty little slut; and, of course, I deserve it. After all, I didn’t need to suck the very dishy I guy I met on a work night out off. I certainly didn’t need to go back to his place. I absolutely didn’t need to fuck him; twice. No, I didn’t need to do any of those things, but I did them just the same; and now I am being punished.

My attempts to soften His displeasure by sucking Him off were to no avail. All that it earned me was a sore jaw and a faceful of cum. And so I ended up bent over the hard, wooden table, my ankles pushed apart by the spreader, the ropes passed under the table to secure my wrists to my ankles. Then came His belt.

Ten lashes to each cheek; each one biting deeper and more painfully than last. Master C forces me to count each stroke; one to the left, one to the right.

I gasp the numbers out between my sobs. Tears trickle down my cum encrusted face. My arse burns. I can feel the lovely hot, red glow spread over it.

A pause. Master C surveys the marks He has left on my bottom; the rosy red glow of my stinging cheeks. He decides another five lashes to each is in order.

Again, I count out each stroke, each stinging kiss of the leather on my skin. The pain is intense, but that is part of the lesson, the consequence of my actions.

Untied, stretched out on the bed as Master C rubs the soothing balm into my hot skin, He asks me in His softest tones if I have learned my lesson. I nod. “Yes, Master,” I respond meekly.

“What have you learned, my naughty little slut?”

“That when I misbehave, I must be punished, Master,”

He holds me close. “Good girl,” He whispers.

And in that moment, I am His good girl; punished, admonished and forgiven. I know, however, that it’s only a question of time before I’ll misbehave again.

#MasturbationMonday

Punishment fucks


One of the reasons I enjoy being such a bad girl is that I love being punished. There’s something about the prospect of getting my arse well and truly paddled until the tears flow from my eyes, followed by a brutal, merciless fuck.

Fortunately for me, Master C is always ready to chastise me for my misdeeds. If I’m being brutally honest, I regularly give Him reasons for disciplining me.

Of course, the most severe, and of course deserving, punishment comes from those times that I am “unfaithful” to Him with “The Girl ” or one of my other girlfriends.

Being unable to lie to Master C, I automatically have to admit to these indiscretions, knowing full well that I will be deservedly punished for them.

Usually, I am ordered to strip, to stand there naked and vulnerable as Master C interrogates me thoroughly; gleaning ever last sordid detail of my illicit encounter. As I recount my guilt, He gives no indication of what my punishment will be. Will He let me off with nothing more than sound spanking? Will He use the the paddle with its grooves that bite into my flesh? Or will He decide that my guilt deserves nothing less than the biting kiss of His belt? There is no way of knowing until I have fully admitted my guilt. Because I’m such a depraved little slut, the very uncertainty around my punishment makes my cunt tingle.

When I have fully unburdoned, I take my position, bent over the arm of the sofa and I bite my trembling lower lip in anticipation of what is to come next.

A spanking, a paddling or a thrashing, it ultimately makes no difference. Sometimes Master C will make me count out the strokes as my arse cheeks redden and sting and tears begin to well in my eyes.

Each slap, each stroke hurts more than the last, my sobs become increasingly pain filled, my cunt grows increasingly wet.

Eventually He stops, but the punishment has not finished. Master C begins to fuck me. There is no foreplay. There is no need, my cunt is already soaked. The is no tenderness; Master C simply grabs my hips and fucks me at full force.

As He fucks me, rough and hard, Master C pulls my hair and reminds me that “The Girl” couldn’t give me what He’s giving me now; how she can’t give me a cock, she can’t fuck me, she can’t abuse my cunt or arse the way He is doing.

Of course, Master C is right; my girlfriends can’t fuck me the way He does, they can’t use my body like He does, they have no cock to fill me, stretch me, abuse me with. And, as Master C punishes me, I become grateful for His reminders, I am grateful for His cock, I am grateful that His punishment has made me realise I need a man, I need Him, to fuck me.

Suddenly His cock is withdrawn. Feeling painfully abused and empty, I kneel on the floor before him to await my final humiliation.

“Have you learned your lesson, slut?” Master C demands, slapping my face firmly, yet tenderly with His hand.

“Yes,” I sob, my eyes filled with tears once more.

Master C doesn’t ask me if this is the last time I will stray with a woman, we both know I will; to suggest otherwise would be a lie and we both know it. Instead He strokes His cock, His breathing becomes laboured until finally He erupts, covering my face in a thick load of cum.

Sitting down, Master C watches me as I gather as much of His cum as I can with my fingers before licking them clean.

As I kneel there before Him, punished, abused and humiliated, Master C smiles and gently pats the cushion beside Him, inviting me next to Him.

As I snuggle, still naked, against Him, Master C puts His arm around me and holds me tight and I know I am forgiven, until the next time.

All relationships have their “traditions”; the unburdening of my various transgressions and accepting the appropriate punishment for them is very much one of the central traditions of ours.

#WickedWednesday

Call me


I’ve been a way for a while, for a number of reasons; some of them nice, some of them not so much. I’ll leave it there and won’t burden you with the details.

My experience with phone sex is somewhat one sided. It invariably involves Master C phoning me when He is away from home on business and giving me some very explicit instructions.

He will tell me which bits of me to play with; my nipples, my cunt, and what to use; my fingers, a particular toy.

He will tell me how much pressure to apply to my clit, how tight and how hard to squeeze and pull my nipples, how hard and how deep to finger-fuck my cunt and how many fingers to use.

As Master C instructs me, He calls me His “filthy slut”, His “Dirty whore”. I confess that I am. I tell Him how bad I have been, letting Him know how much I need His correction.

He tells me how He will punish me when He returns home; how He will bind and restrain me, how many deliciously painful strokes of His belt I will feel on my arse.

The words that Master C speaks are every bit as arousing as the things He makes me do to myself.

At His command, the silky cold glass plug is pushed up my arse.

Another instruction and I fasten the clamps around my nipples.

My fingers fill my cunt as Master C tells me to fuck myself more firmly; stopping occasionally to be allowed to lick my juices from their surface.

The tension builds inside me as I dutifully follow His every instruction.

Will He give me permission to come, or will He hang-up and leave me waiting for further direction?

My passion flares.

My need for release grows stronger with every second.

Have I pleased Him? Will He let my have my orgasm?

The tension mounts unbearably as I wait for Master C to announce my fate.

Getting the bum(ps)


Today is my birthday. Although it’s rude to ask a lady her age, since I am quite clearly not a lady, I turned 38, in case you were wondering.

When I was at school, there was a tradition of giving someone who was celebrating their birthday “the bumps”. For those not familiar with the term, it generally involved the person whose birthday it was having their friends “bump” them, generally by kneeling them in the rear end a certain number of times, that number being the same as the age attained.

That was the childhood version, of course; now that I am supposedly an adult, Master C has come up with a more “grown up” variation.

This x-rated version of the bumps involves two phases, and as you would probably expect,it also involves me, bare arsed, bent over and bracing myself for support.

So, phase one:

Taking the grooved paddle that I referred to in Punishment fucks, Master C proceeds to give my poor little backside a thorough tanning. Thirty Eight strokes of the paddle, in groups of nine to each cheek, alternating left and right, before a final slap on each cheek rounds off the total. As I count out each thwack of the paddle, I can feel my face turn as red as my arse, I can feel eyes brim with tears, and I can feel my cunt grow uncomfortably wet.

Each stinging slap hurts that little bit more than the last one, each slap makes me cry out a little louder, each slap makes my juices flow that bit more.

“36…”, SLAP!

“37…”, SLAP!

“38…”, SLAP!

With tears streaming down my cheeks, which are as hot and flushed as my buttocks, I allow myself an inward smile; I have endured and I know what is about to come…

And then, phase two:

Master C grips my hips, his cock slides into me with one powerful thrust. The cheeks of my arse throb as He digs His fingers into the tender flesh. A moment’s pause, and then the “bumps” begin.

Master C thrusts into me, hard and deep, pulling me back on to Him. His body slams against mine with every deliciously powerful stroke of His cock. The only sounds to be heard are the slapping of skin on skin as His body repeatedly and forcefully collides with mine, and my moans; a mixture of pain and pleasure as Master C pounds my cunt.

This time I’m not counting the strokes, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not that there’s any need, Master C won’t stop “bumping” until he’s done.

“Hap… py… birth… day…” He groans, each syllable punctuated with another surging thrust of His wonderful cock deep into my aching cunt.

Suddenly He’s gone. Distantly I hear Him moan. His warm, thick load splatters off my arse cheeks.

As Master C rubs his cum into still tender skin, applying it as if it were a balm to ease the stinging hurt, He kisses me on the small of my back in a way that makes my knees week and my cunt contract, and whispers, “Happy birthday, little one.”