Punishment: pain or pleasure?


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

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

Confession time:

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

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

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

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

#MasturbationMonday
Advertisements

Cheating


I’ll be the first to admit that monogamy has never really been my thing. I have also written before about the fact that, when it comes to casual sex, I couldn’t care less if the guy I’m fucking is in a relationship or not. If I’m fucking a guy and that guy happens to be cheating on his significant other, that is their issue, not mine.

But what about my own “behaviour” on this front?

Well, it’s true, I do fuck other guys. I’m not just talking about “The Other Guy”, I’m talking about casual sex with random men.

Is this cheating?

Some would say that it is. I can understand why they would think so. After all, I am in a committed relationship and I am fucking other guys. What’s more, I am fucking other guys whom I don’t even know, I’m just attracted to them at some primal sexual level.

But, and here’s the thing, within the context of my relationship with Master C, so long as I am honest about the guys I fuck, and so long as I am willing to accept the consequences of fucking other guys, then I am free to fuck whomever I like.

For me, it is not the fucking that constitutes cheating in our relationship, it would be not being honest about it. In any relationship, but especially in a poly/non-monogamous relationship, trust and honesty are paramount. While I am free to fuck anyone that takes my fancy, there is an expectation that I will admit that I have done it and, for those occasions where it involves some random guy I pick up on a night out, accept the punishment for my actions.

Now I fully understand that for some, cheating, even where forgiveness and absolution after the fact is sought and obtained, is still cheating. For Master C and I, this just simply isn’t the case. We accept and embrace the fact that sex is an enjoyable act and that, taking the proper precautions, is an act that does not need to be restricted to just ourselves. He allows me the freedom to explore and enjoy my sexual expression. We are open and honest about such things and, if I’m being completely honest, sometimes the punishment He inflicts afterwards is even more enjoyable than the transgression itself.

I guess what I’m saying here is that everyone has different values, and what is right for Master C and me, may, understandably, be completely wrong for others. If you think that my actions mean I am cheating on Him and that I am lucky to have someone so tolerant, then that’s up to you; although I would agree that I am a very luck woman indeed to have someone like Him as my Master.

What matters most is that Master C and I are happy with our relationship; it works for us. We are open, honest, have each other’s full trust and support and no one is getting hurt (apart from my arse when He thrashes me for being a spoiled little slut, but that’s another matter entirely). That, to me, is so much more important than some conventional “morality” based around monogamy.

#WickedWednesday

On my knees


Whether it’s facing Master C, ready to take His cock in my mouth, or facing away, bracing myself, ready to feel Him in my cunt or arse, I spend a lot of time on my knees.

When I’m sucking His cock, I love to look up at Master C, making eye contact as I take Him deep into the back of my throat. As I kneel between His legs, Mater C puts His hands on my head and forces His cock deeper. I look up through my lashes and see the look of hunger in His eyes.

Turning away from Him, I brace myself, waiting for Master C to take me. The anticipation grows as His hands grip my hips, peaking as I feel the head of His wonderful cock press against the entrance of His choice. My body moves as Master C plunges into me. Sometimes He grabs my hair, pulling my head back painfully, at other times, He’ll push me forward, forcing my face towards the floor as He fucks me with long, hard, forceful thrusts of His magnificent cock.

Of course, it’s not just about blow-jobs and fucking. I kneel to receive His spankings, I kneel when I await the bite of His belt on my arse, I kneel when I thank Master C for my punishment.

I spend a lot of time on my knees, and I love every moment I spend on them.

#WickedWednesday Tell Me About

Head to head


There is a popular belief that when it comes to going down on a woman, those of us of a female persuasion are better than it than men. The theory seems to be that because we women have our own cunts and clits, and know how we like to have them treated, that this, somehow gives us some innate instinct or knowledge of how another woman will want her pleasure spots treated.

This argument is, of course, a complete load of bollocks.

If it were true, then on meeting a woman for the first time, not only would I know all of her turn-ons and desires, I’d also instinctively know what kind of films she likes, her favourite takeaway food and how many sugars she takes in her coffee. Clearly, this is not the case.

All of those examples are matters of personal taste and choice, and the way we women like to have another person go down on us is no different.

In truth, there is only one woman for whom I can say unequivocally and with absolutely certainly as to how she wants her cunt and clit licked, and that woman is me. And given how, depending on my mood, I want it treated in different ways, what chance have I got of knowing exactly what any potential recipient of my attentions is going to want,or vice versa for that matter?

I will let you into a little secret; I cheat…

How?

Actually, very simply…

You see, unless we both go instantly into a 69, one of us has to go first. Whenever I’m with a woman for the first time, I try to arrange thing so that I go second. Why this approach? Well based on the earlier logic, the chances are pretty good that, with nothing else to go on, the things she does to me will, in all likelihood, be the kind of things that she herself enjoys. Now that may seem a little bit contrived, but if she enjoys the experience and thinks I’m a fantastic fuck, then does it really matter?

I have adopted this technique on any number of occasions, and it has never failed me. It doesn’t give me a complete picture of her wants and desires, but it gives me a very good starting point.

Now, I love having my cunt licked out; it makes no difference to me if the person doing the licking is male or female. While I don’t believe one gender is better at going down than another, there are differences to the approaches of men and women .

Its a bit of a generalisation, but men tend to be a bit rougher, a bit harder, more intently focussed on getting us off. Maybe it’s because, in the main, men tend to come more quickly than us women. Women tend to be softer and slower. If there is one advantage a woman has, simply through being a woman, it’s that we know our sexual response is generally slower than that of men, so we tend to take our time more. Another reason is that, for a lot of men, cunnilingus is often a prelude to him sticking his cock in us, whereas for us women, it’s the full thing.

That’s not to say women can’t be rough, and that men can’t take it slowly, because they can. Master C and “The Other Guy” will often spend ages pleasuring me with their mouths; one because they enjoy it for itself, and two, because, through experience, they both know my sexual needs, tastes and moods.

For me, while there are differences in technique between the sexes, there are just as many differences between one member of a particular sex and another, and it is those differences that make it so enjoyable. Master C is great with His tongue, but so are both “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”. Their techniques are different, but they can all turn me into a quivering, orgasmic mess; and that, at the end of the day, is the main thing a womaa really wants from getting her cunt licked

#MasturbationMonday The Oral Sex Project Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The cage


Ever since Master C installed the cage a couple of years ago, it has been a constant source of dread. It is His last recourse of discipline, to be used when a simple thrashing is not sufficient for the transgression that I have committed.

The punishment for those very worst offences is always the same:

Step one: I am thrashed/birched soundly.

Step two: With my hands cuffed behind my back, I am forced to kneel before Master C as He wanks, then cums all over me.

Step three: I am pushed into the cage, the door is locked, the light is switched off, and I am left overnight to contemplate my behaviour.

Step four: At some point the next day, I will be required to apologise, suck His cock through the bars of the cage then, once released, submit myself for another thrashing.

I fear and dread the cage more than anything.  More than simply being thrashed. More than being denied the release of orgasm. I fear it because it denies me a night spent next to Master C, feeling His body against mine, feeling safe wrapped up in His strong yet soft embrace. I fear it because it means I have done something so bad, I have temporarily lost the right to His protection.

And yet, the cage isn’t always bad…

Sometimes, when I’m feeling low after a bad day at work, or a particularly bad bout of PMT, I will retreat to the cage, waiting for Master C to return.  The cage becomes a sanctuary, a place of comfort and security.  When Master C comes home and finds me in my cage, He knows that I’m feeling particularly fragile, that I need His care and reassurance more than anything else. It is my sign to Him that the world is proving too much for me and I need Master C to look after me, to cherish me, to love me.

It is a sign that Master C knows only to well how to interpret. I need Him to be my caring, protecting Dominant. He never fails me.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

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

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

Bad sex


It’s pretty much accepted that bad is the opposite of good. This definition implies that the thing that is “bad” is somehow deficient, substandard, of poor quality and unsatisfactory. Now I’m no different from any other woman and, if we’re being honest, we’ve all had sexual encounters that fit the above description.

I know I could recount any of a number of disappointing fucks, and worse still, non-fucks for this feature. The trouble is, the telling of them would almost be as disappointing as the experiences were themselves.

So I decided to attempt to come at the topic more laterally than literally. What if there was another definition of bad that I could use?

Well, being naughty is being bad, isn’t it? Anyone who reads this blog will know that hubby and I have a penchant for naughtiness. The only problem was which story to recount? I hope you enjoy the one I’ve settled on.

It was a Sunday and Master C and I were enjoying an extended lie in. His attentions were beginning to take a more amorous turn when the phone rang. It was my mum. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but since I was intent on enjoying my lie in, I decided it was better to answer now, before things got intense, than to risk her deciding to pop round while I was in the process of being soundly seen to.

“Hello, mum… No I’m fine… He’s fine too… No really, you’re not interrupting… Really…” and so on.

Master C, however, was not to be thwarted. His hand slide up my thigh and His fingers lightly brushed my lower lips. I pushed His hand away with a slightly irritated “Get off!”

“What was that dear?”

“No mum, you’re really not interrupting, it was just the cat jumping on me.”

I glared at Master C. He stuck His tongue out. He clearly wasn’t going to be deterred. Smiling wickedly, He continued to tease me as my mum made small talk in my ear.

I could feel my body respond as His fingers stoked, probed, and teased. I had to concentrate every effort to keep my voice sounding natural.

I let out an involuntary “Umf!” as He pushed a finger up inside.

“That wasn’t the cat again was it dear?”

“Um, yes. The bloody animal is being a proper bloody pest.”

I closed my eyes, grinding my cunt against His hand, pushing my hips forward to force His finger deeper inside me.

In my defense, it was quite easy to keep up the pretense of a normal conversation. My mum is a stream of consciousness when she is on the phone and all I really had to do my make sure I interjected from time to time with the odd “Yes” or “No” or “Mmmm hmmm”. So long as she did ask me anything that required extended articulation, I was quite safe.

At that point Master C decided to up the ante. He slid down the bed, positioned Himself between my legs, applied His mouth to my cunt and proceeded to feast.

Torture!

Did I want Master C to stop? No I didn’t. The naughtiness of the situation, my mum rabbitting on in my ear, completely unaware while His tongue lashed my clit made the situation so unbearably arousing.

As the sensations grew, I was helpless to prevent a soft moan from escaping. I managed, somewhat convincingly I thought, to turn it into something sounding like a yawn.

“That’ll be that man and of yours keeping you up past your bedtime again, I assume,” she commented in a knowingly, joking, one woman to another fashion.

“Uh, er, yes mum.” If she only knew; if she only really knew.

The pressure for release was becoming unbearable. I needed to come, but before I could do that, I needed to get my mum off the phone. I wracked my endorphin soaked brain for a reason to end the call.

“Mum, um, look, um, I’m sorry but I’m, uh absolutely bursting. I um, ah, have to go. See you this, ah, evening, ok?” It was the best I could manage.

“Ok dear, won’t keep you. Have a nice afternoon.”

“Yes mum, we will,” get off the phone, please.

“And give my love to…”

“I will,” will you please get off the fucking phone?

“See you later.”

“Mmmm, yes, later,” gripping the edge of the mattress with my free hand.

“Bye, Morag love.”

“Bye mum.”

I hang up and drop the phone. Master C reached up and grabbed my nipples as His tongue beat on my clit.

I can take no more. “Fuck yesssss!” I scream, releasing the pent up tension and frustration. My back arches off the bed, my body shakes as I am gripped by the mother, father aunt and uncle of all climaxes.

When I come back down, Master C smiles at me; His cock is hard and swollen. Part of me wants to deny Him, to punish Him for the torture He subjected me to, but how can I not thank him for an orgasm that intense.

“If you want me to suck that, you’re going to have to come up here, I haven’t the energy to move.”

Smiling, Master C moved back up the bed. I turned my head towards Him. He slipped His lovely thick, hard cock between my lips.

Master C is sometimes very naughty; and if naughty is bad, then this was very bad sex indeed.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Master C’s belt


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

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

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

I love it when Master C uses it to bind my wrists together as He fucks me from behind. I love the way it digs into my skin, tightening as I struggle against its binds; holding me in place as I endure the pounding of His cock in whichever hole Master C has chosen to take His pleasure from.

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

Most of all, however, I love the way it marks my pale white skin, branding me; a mark of Master C’s ownership, his domination, his mastery of me.

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

#MasturbationMonday