Meditations on submission

The “No True Way” prompt this week is:

Spend some time every day meditating on your submission, even if you can only spend 15 minutes or so.

Now, this got me thinking.

I’m a great believer in meditation and it is something I will make the time to do every day. When I meditate, however, I’m not really thinking about anything at all. If anything, it’s quite the reverse and I am consciously emptying my mind of thought, just focussing on the moment, counting my breaths, or my heartbeats, or, if I’m outdoors, just listening to the sounds of nature around me. The whole point of meditation is to clear my mind, not to make it examine something.

So, the simple answer to the prompt is that I do not meditate on my submission. The simple fact is that my submission is so deeply ingrained into who I am that it is something I don’t really need to consider. I’ve written before about how, for me, my submission is both conscious and unconscious; how it is who I am, even when I am simply going about my everyday life. My submission is active when I am doing something at Master C’s behest, e.g. when I am undertaking a task, when I am being disciplined, when we are ducking; but it is also passive in that I am still submissive when I am at work, or when I’m shopping, or even when I’m asleep.

But sex, and my submission, can themselves be meditative. Nothing restores my equilibrium than a toe-curling, back-arching, strength-sapping orgasm or too. When I’m fucking, the only thing in my mind is how it feels and how it makes me feel. When I’m sucking cock, the only thing I’m concentrating on is the cock that I’m sucking and the pleasure I am giving. When Master C’s belt is lashing my skin, it is also cleansing my mind. For me, pain is a great restorative; it provides me with a reset.

And that brings me to the most meditative aspect of my submission, and that is when Master C takes me to that place known as subspace. It’s that sweet spot where pain and pleasure combine to take me out of myself. It is a timeless, transcendental state where my submission becomes a total surrender; I am no longer in my body, I become a personification of sensation.

Sometimes my need is overwhelming. I need to be broken down and rebuilt. The most powerful and deepest state of subspace is when Master C takes me to this particular level, when nothing is “off limits”, when He uses the freedom to do whatever He pleases to me to its fullest; banishing my demons and satisfying my darkest desires and needs.

So, while I don’t meditate on my submission, my submission often does transport me into what can only be described as a meditative state that restores and enriches my body, mind and soul.

It’s what I needed

I’m on my knees, bent forward, face pressed against the floor, my wrists bound behind my back. “The Other Guy’s” cock pounds my arsehole, and it feels so good to be being used so roughly by him.

It’s been a couple of months since we last saw and fucked each other. Life gets in the way sometimes. We are making up for lost time.

I’ve already sucked him off; taking a deliciously large load of cum in my mouth; savouring it before swallowing it down. He repaid the compliment by eating me to a series of shuddering orgasms; each one more intense and more draining than the last.

We’ve already fucked twice, the first with him on top, pounding my cunt, hitting me hard, pinning me to the bed with each thrust. Taking me. Using me. Fucking me. The second time was more leisurely; with me on top this time; riding his cock with carefree abandon, impaling myself on those wonderfully thick, hard inches. Him, content to let me do all the work. Me, happy to just let him lie back while I use his cock for my enjoyment.

I cam both times; both as the rider and the ridden; both times savouring the feeling of my cunt tightening and contracting around his cock – those oh so familiar inches of him inside me that feel so different from those of Master C.

The first time, he pulled out and came all over my boobs, then proceeded to rub his cum into their skin as he licked my cunt until he elicited yet another shuddering climax. The second time, I slid off and took him in my mouth, savouring the taste of my cunt in his shaft as I sucked him to a climax.

We rested, cuddled together, using the time to refamiliarise ourselves with each others bodies. Hands exploring, stroking, caressing. Lips kissing; bodies responding.

And now, here I was, being taken again. There was none of the tenderness we’d shared earlier; this time it was raw, it was rough. It had a different kind of urgency to our earlier sexual collisions. Those had been driven from the need to be with each other, the need to feel each other, the need to use and be used by each other. This time it was driven by the need to make the most out of our remaining time. Soon, I would return home to Master C, to tell Him what I had done, to receive whatever punishment it was determined was appropriate for my actions, to pay the price and then to perform whatever acts of contrition I felt would atone for what I was doing now and had already done.

That was still in the future, however; in the now, “The Other Guy” was fucking my firmly and relentlessly in the arse; having declared he needed the extra tightness if he was going to be able to come once more.

As his cock pounded my back passage, I urged him on. “Fuck my arse!” I cried, “Use it! Fuck it! Fuck it hard!”

He grabbed the restraints around my wrists and pulled sharply, lifting my head and upper body from the floor.

“Filthy slut!” he groaned. “Dirty slut who loves getting her arse fucked hard!”

“Yes!” I moaned. “I’m a filthy slut! I love the way you fuck my arse!”

He released my wrists and let me fall forward to the floor again. Grabbing my hips, he pounded harder, his balls slapping against my cunt with every stroke.

“I’m going to come on your arse! I’m going to paint your arse cheeks with my cum!”

“Oh yes, please! I love that!”

The relentless pounding continued and then, suddenly, he was gone. I experienced a wrenching momentary sensation of emptiness and then the sticky warmth of his load as it landed on my skin.

My afternoon with “The Other Guy” was over. My evening atoning for it with Master C was still to come. I was ready to face whatever penalty was required of me. An afternoon spent with “The Other Guy” had, as it so often did, started the process of restoring a certain equilibrium within me, and now it was time for me to return to Master C to complete the process.

TMI Tuesday – Bind ~ Blind ~ Tease

1. Select a kink. You’re a first-time visitor to a dungeon, and you are ‘centre stage’ because a sizeable crowd has gathered to watch you:
a. Writhing from bare-hand spanking
b. Restrained on an X-cross receiving a whipping
c. Dangling in air wrapped in an ornate web of rope
d. Naked on a floor mat with 3 people pleasuring you
I think it’s fairly safe to say that I would clearly need to make four trips to this dungeon so that I could do all four. Or, alternatively I could do all four, one after the other in a single evening. If I really had to choose though, I’d have three people pleasuring me simultaneously. Truth be told, I have actually done all of these in such a venue.

2. If you selected #4 in the last question, tell us how you are pleasured?
It kind of depends on the make-up of the participants, but there would be lots of licking, kissing and caressing involved. If one of the participants was a woman, I’d love to be eating her out, savouring the taste of her cunt as I have both my cunt and my arse stuffed full of cock. If I’m being pleasured by three men, well the solution is pretty obvious. How they decide who gets to fuck which hole, I’ll leave entirely up to them

3. Bind, blind, tease. Write a 50-word story and include those 3 words.
Blind; the cloth over my eyes prevents me from seeing. Motionless; the rope used to bind my wrists and ankles holds me in place, biting my skin. They tease me with anticipation; not knowing who will do what. The tension build, my pulse quickens. And then, at last, they begin…

4. Sex Doll play: The ‘doll’ is the human version of an inflatable sex doll. The ‘doll’ must lie completely still on a bed and let their partner have at it. The partner is free to control the doll’s body and movements, and do what they please. Which will you be–the doll or the doll-master? Why?
Kind of goes without saying that as a submissive, I’d be the “doll” and Master C would be in charge. Again, like the first question, it’s something that we actually do after a fashion. I will be required to be still and silent, and endure whatever Master C chooses to do to me. The sting, of course, is that their are forfeits for each time He deems that I fail. There is also always a reward at the end, however, dependent on how well I have managed to comply.

#TMITuesday

Walking on air

First, the rope goes taut, as the slack is taken up, then it begins to tighten. The rough weave presses into the skin of my neck, squeezing tighter until the limiter is reached. Master C smiles at me, giving me a few moments to contemplate my circumstances, before he continues..

Another turn of the handle. My heels rise and I balance on the balls of my feet. The rope digs in. It’s uncomfortable, but I can breath.

Master C walks over to me. He puts a hand between my thighs, slides His middle finger between my labia. I squirm; my toes struggling for purchase on the raised blocks beneath them. His finger slides up inside me; I’m amazed at how easily it enters me, how wet I am. Master C skips His finger from my cunt and presses it to my mouth. “Taste yourself!” He demands, “Taste how much you are enjoying this.”

I comply, savouring the rich flavour of my essence on His finger. Master C is right; despite the discomfort, despite the difficulty to breath, I am enjoying this most exquisite form or torture.

He returns to the handle. Another couple of ratchet clicks; I am pulled imperceptibly higher. Stood, as I am, feet apart on blocks, my toes barely maintain contact. If one leg goes, if one foot loses that most tenuous of holds with the block beneath it, the other will inevitably follow. The rope cannot go any tighter, but still it digs in as it takes more of my weight.

Another click, and yet another. Somehow, I don’t know how, I maintain contact. Again Master C smiles; again He approaches me. The anticipation builds; becomes unbearable.

He touches me. The gentlest of contacts, almost as if a butterfly caressed my clit. That touch is my undoing. I flinch. As I flinch, my left foot breaks contact with the block beneath it. Unbalanced, my right foot is pulled from the dubious support of its block. My feet come together, scant inches above the ground, but above it they are; there is air between me and the safety of the floor.

The rope digs in as I hang there, pressing against the front of my neck, putting pressure on my windpipe. I can breath, but only just as my feet sway above the ground, like a pendulum.

Mere seconds passed, before Master C lowered me to safety. Seconds that seemed like an eternity as I hung there, suspended, helpless, entirely at the mercy of gravity, dependent on the limiter to prevent the rope from tightening fully.

The relief as the rope was loosened was almost orgasmic; the euphoric intensity of that first, deep, unrestricted breath was as intense as any climactic release. Master C held me tight as, with racing heart and almost hyperventilating, my body shook.

Later, Master C skilfully brought me to climax with His tongue; then lay back and let me ride Him with a carefree abandon until I came again and He unloaded inside me.

All in all, it was a hugely intense experience. I suspect I’m going to need to wear a scarf or polo-neck for the next few days though.

Cliff top views

After the long drudge through the storms and miserable weather of January and February, yesterday was one of those bright, early spring days that help lift the soul. The sun was shining, birds were singing and there was some genuine warmth in the sunshine. Since it was such a nice day, Master C and I took a drive from our village to the nearby coastal trail.

The trail goes through some wooded stretches, passes a pretty impressive waterfall, but mostly follows a gently undulating path along the cliff-tops. It’s one of our favourite short(ish) walking routes, looking out over the Forth of Clyde across towards Arran. After parking up, we followed the path for about 3½ miles until we reached the viewpoint we were aiming for. From here, on a clear day like yesterday, you can look to the southwest and see the coast of Northern Ireland. You can, conveniently, see for about half a mile along the path in both directions. During the summer, and the school holidays, the path would be teeming with walkers; individually, couples, families, the occasional runner, but yesterday we met two dog walkers on our way to the view point and, apart from the hum of the traffic from a fairly busy main road about 500m behind us, and a couple of fishing boats that we could make out in the Forth, we could have been the only people in the world. What came next, was probably inevitable.

“If I brace myself against the wall, you could fuck me from behind,” I observed.

While we may, just about have been visible from the road I mentioned, it wasn’t actually a clear view and given the speed the cars were doing as the zipped along, it was doubtful that anyone would actually notice anything more than what looked like two people looking out over the cliffs.

Master C flashed me a smile. “Good girl,” He said, “Now, drop them!”

I wriggled my jeans and knickers down to my ankles and supported myself against the wall. Master C ran His fingers up the inside of my thighs and between the folds of my cunt, sliding them back and forth. I was amazed how wet I was and, when He occasionally forced His fingers into my cunt, I felt myself on the verge of orgasm already.

Master C paused, and lifted His fingers to my mouth. I took them between my lips and licked my juices from them, savouring the taste of myself. His fingers returned to my cunt. Distracted, I kept a watch as best I could for anyone coming towards us along the path; thankfully there was still no one.

Fingers of one hand in my cunt, the other hand up my top, squeezing my boobs, Master C tormented me relentlessly, mercilessly. I was loving the attention of His fingers, but I’d suggested a fuck, because I really wanted a fuck; to have His cock inside me. Every moment He denied me increased the risk of some walker, runner, or cyclist appearing and depriving me of what I wanted so much.

“Come first, then I’ll fuck you,” Master C breathed into my ear.

I didn’t really need to be told twice. I pushed my hips back, increasing the pressure of Master C’s finger against my clit, and let go; a long moan released from deep inside me.

Fingers gone; the head of Master C’s cock pressed against my opening and pushed its way in.

Braced against the wall, the sunlight from a blue sky reflecting off the sea below, Master C’s cock deep inside me; everything felt so good.

Master C thrust hard. I pushed my hips back to meet Him. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back sharply as he drove His cock into me, pounding my cunt with deep, hard strokes.

There was an urgency to the way Master C fucked me. An urgency borne of a deep need to release and the possibility of interruption.

“Naughty girl! Brazen hussy! Mischievous slut!” These were just some of the names He called me as He fucked me, and I felt like I was everyone of those things. I was naughty and mischievous and, being fucked in a spot where I could so easily be observed, was definitely brazen.

Master C’s breathing became more laboured. The pace and intensity of His thrusts increased. He released my hair, grabbed my hips, pulled me firmly back to Him as He thrust hard inside me and, moaning my name, came hard inside me.

He pulled out. I turned and squatted down, taking His cock in my mouth, relishing the mixed flavours of us as His cum dripped from my cunt.

Once I had Him cleaned, we both straightened ourselves up, walked over to one of the tables, poured ourselves drinks from the flask and enjoyed the snacks we’d brought for when we got here.

A couple jogged by as we picnicked. The waved and gave us a cheery “Hello” to which we responded in kind. As we retraced our steps back to the car park, we encountered another couple of walkers. With Master C’s cum still dribbling out of me, the walk back was decidedly less comfortable than the walk out had been, but all things considered, I didn’t mine at all.

Suspended

Sometimes, I like to take things to extremes. Sometimes I like to go that little bit further, have things turn that bit darker. This was one of those occasions.

The suspension frame is something that Master C and I use fairly frequently. Most often, I will be gagged, my nipples will be clamped, my wrists will be cuffed and the hook will be fastened around the cuffs. Master C will then slowly turn the handle until my hands are pulled above my head. He will keep turning as it begins to pull my arms tighter. My heels lift from the ground, then the balls of my feet, and then, finally, my toes will break what little contact the had with the floor, and I am hanging freely above the ground.

At this point, it isn’t uncommon for Master C to apply the flogger liberally to my back and buttocks. The combination of pain in my arms, taking my weight, and the pain from being soundly flogged is a heady mix and Master C expertly draws the scenario out, maximising my pain, my discomfort and, ultimately, my enjoyment, before bringing me safely down, only to be tied to His “workbench” and fucked soundly.

On other occasions the cuffs will be around my ankles, my wrists bound tightly to my thighs. Master C raises me, suspending me upside down until my face is level with His groin. At this point, He takes my head in His hands and fucks me firmly in the mouth, making me cough and splutter, my saliva trickling down my cheeks, up my nose and into my eyes.

He fucks me roughly, then, just at the end, He pulls out and sends His load over my neck and face, where it mixes with the saliva from my mouth, making a delightfully degrading mess.

This time, however, we did something different. We did something that I’ve been fantasising about for some time and finally was brave enough to try.

On my knees before him, Master C commands me to suck Him off. I do so diligently, paying close attention to His instructions, changing my pace, moving my attention to the head, sucking harder then more slowly. I comply with His every command and am rewarded with a thick load of cum to savour then swallow.

Then it begins.

The clamps are applied to my nipples and tightened as far as they can go. Pain shoots through me, but it’s a pain we both know I can endure. My wrists are hog-tied to my thighs. The thick cords of the rope dig into my skin. Master C lifts my hair and tightens my collar a couple of stays. Not so tight that I can’t breath, but tight enough that it digs uncomfortably into the skin of my neck. He kisses me, gives my arse a playful swat and leads me to the frame.

There are no cuffs this time; I am not being raised by my wrists nor by my ankles.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod.

“You know the signals?”

Again, I nod.

“OK then,” He says.

Master C slowly feeds the hook of the suspension cord under my collar before clipping it back on itself. He walks towards the winding handle. I manage a nervous smile as He begins to turn it.

It seems like an age passes as the slack is taken up but then I feel the slight tug of resistance. I feel a pull against my neck as the cord goes taut and starts to pull.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My feet begin to raise, slowly. Master C watches me intently as He turns the handle, watching for any sign that He needs to stop.

I’m on the tips of my toes; still in contact with the ground, but only just. My collar digs into my neck. A rush of anticipation shoots through me.

Suddenly I’m free; there is air between my feet and the ground. The leather of my collar bites into my neck as I am suspended by it. Master C, having locked the handle, walks towards me, flogger in hand.

Dangling, I squirm as He fingers my cunt. I’m surprised by how wet I am. My neck aches, but soon a now, stronger pain engulfs me as the fingers of the flogger caress my arse.

Six lashes; that was what we’d agreed before embarking on this. After every lash, Master C would check to see how I was before delivering the next. The tightness of the collar around my neck prevented me from giving full voice to the pain as the flogger bit my arse cheeks.

Tears ran down my cheeks as Master C flogged me. Despite my predicament, my cunt was incredibly wet. When, after the final caress of the flogger, Master C touched my clit with the buzzing head of my wand, I came instantly; legs kicking and flailing wildly, increasing the pressure on my neck.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Master C lowered me to the ground. I was still coming as He bent me over and fucked me hard, His hand gripping my collar and pulling my head back sharply as He drove His cock into me with long, hard strokes of His wonderful cock until He released inside me.

It was, an intense experience. Watching back the video He made of it turned me on intensely. There was something about watching myself, essentially strung up by the neck, helpless as Master C tortured me, my legs kicking wildly in the air in the aftermath of my climax, that ticks an awful lot of my “Fuck yeah!” boxes. Having done it once, it is definitely something I want to do again. A part of me wants to have the cord itself around my neck, but that is possibly something that will stay firmly in the realm of fantasy, for now at least.

Breakfast time fun

I’m pottering about in the kitchen doing my best (but not very good) impression of an early morning domestic goddess. Master C comes up behind me, wraps His arms around my waist and kisses me on that spot where the back of my neck meets my shoulders. It is a kiss with intent. He could have kissed me anywhere else if it was “just” a kiss, but when He kisses me there, He knows exactly how I will react.

I moan and press back against Him. He kisses me again, His hands sliding up under my nightshirt, as he cups and squeezes my boobs, teasing my nipples with His thumbs.

I can feel the firmness of His cock as I squirm against Him.

His right hand detaches itself from my boob and strokes the inside of my thigh, up under my hem of my nightshirt, moving the gusset of my knickers aside. Master C can feel how wet He has already made me.

“You want my cock inside you, don’t you?” He asks.

“Yes Sir, I do.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“I do Sir, very much.”

“You’re a cock-hungry little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes Sir, I am!”

He slaps my arse. “Say it!” Master C commands.

“I’m your cock-hungry little slut, Sir?”

“And what do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Sir. I want you to fuck me with your lovely thick cock.”

His fingers find their way to my mouth. I taste myself on them and it turns me on even more.

The head of Master C’s cock presses against my entrance. I long for Him to thrust it deep up inside me, but instead He teases me, flicking the head between my folds and over my clit.

I begin to whimper. His hand slaps down hard on my arse. “Silence!” He commands as He continues to tease me. I struggle to comply.

My cunt is on fire. My legs tremble with pent up frustration and anticipation as He torments me, first with the head of His cock, then with His fingers. Again and again I am made to taste myself, and each time the flavour is subtly different, evidence of my increased arousal.

Finally Master C grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head sharply back. “I’m going to fuck you now,” He says. The head of His cock presses against my opening. It slides in so easily. Slowly, He fills me, letting me savour every delicious inch of His cock before He begins to thrust.

There is no slow, gentle build up; from the very first stroke Master C fucks me with an animal intensity. One hand squeezes my boobs as the other squeezes my neck.

“You… like… it… like… this… Don’t you… slut? He asks, each word punctuated with a hard, forceful thrust.

“Oh yes!” I gasp, “I love how you’re fucking me.” And it’s true, I love the roughness, I love the feeling of being taken, being used by Master C for His pleasure.

“What are you?” He asks.

“I’m a cock-hungry slut!” I reply, “I’m your cock-hungry slut.”

“You want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes! Oh yes! I want your cum!”

Master C yanks my head back by my hair again. His body collides against me. The corner of the kitchen worktop cuts into the front of my thighs as he forces me against it. I feel the first flickers of my climax ignite.

“May I come, Sir?” I ask.

“Soon,” He replies, “When I say.”

He continues to fuck me. It’s a relentless, merciless pounding and I’m loving every second, every thrust, every collision of His body into mine. The pressure inside me builds and I sense the pressure in Him to. His hands now grasping my Hips, pulling me on to Him as He pushes hard inside me.

I whimper with frustration as I struggle to hold back; the need for release now burning through every nerve.

Finally Master C relents. “You may come now,” He growls.

I let go. the dam breaks, my climax rips through me and, in that instant, I feel Him release inside me.

When He pulls out, Master C sits on one of the kitchen chairs and commands me to clean Him. I turn, approach and drop to my knees. Taking His cock in my mouth, I savour the mixed flavours of us as I comply with His command.

His cum dribbles into my knickers as I make Him His coffee and prepare some toast. We both know that, intense as the orgasm He had given me was, I will need more. He leaves for work, and I am left with the instruction that I must wait until after lunch until I can relieve myself further. It was a very long morning.

Keeping it simple

I write a lot about the D/s side of my relationship with Master C. For that reason you’d be forgiven if you thought my sex-life was all kink, pain, swinging, thrashings, clamps, plugs, facials, humiliation and degradation, and just generally all things pertaining to being a masochistic submissive slut.

Now, while it’s true that all of things listed above are major parts of what goes into making me the sexual being that I am, and while they are all hugely important to the way I express myself and have my needs met sexually, and, while I’m certain those are the details that most of my readers find most “interesting”, the truth is that the majority of the sex I have is, actually, pretty “ordinary”; it’s the kind of sex that even the most “vanilla” of readers would be able to relate to.

At the end of the day, sex is one of the many forms of intimacy that exist within a relationship. While, for Master C and I, it often contains a BDSM element, albeit to a greater or lesser degree, often it is just that expression of physical intimacy; the ultimate closeness of two bodies enjoying each other.

Take this morning, for example. I woke to feel, as I almost always do, Master C’s body spooned firmly behind mine. I could feel His early morning hardness. His arms around me, His hands cupped my boobs, His thumbs slowly stroking their surface.

I wriggled my bum against Him to let Him know I was awake. He kissed my neck, His thumb brushed my nipple; I moaned softly as my body started to respond.

At some point in the proceedings, I turned to face Him, stroking His cock as we kissed and caressed. I slid down under the sheets and took His cock in my mouth; teasing Him, tasting Him, turning Him on.

I move back up, and Master C fingers my cunt as He teases my nipples with His lips and tongue. I grind my hips, driving His fingers deeper inside me as the sensations increase the pressure inside me.

From there the scene shifts and Master C is above me, His cock poised, ready to slide into me. Delicious long seconds pass before He rocks His hips, entering me slowly, but firmly; letting me savour every inch as His cock fills me.

We fuck. At first slowly; both of us savouring each stroke and thrust. Hands stroke skin; He brushes a lock of hair from my face as He moves to kiss me; my hands caress His arse as He moves inside me.

A change of position; Master C thrusts harder. His body becomes tense as mine becomes more fluid. Each stroke, firm, measured, controlled. Each downward thrust of His hips met with an upward tilt of mine. His head dips; teeth fasten around one nipple, the other pinched between His fingers.

We roll over and I ride His cock with carefree abandon; impaling myself on His hardness. His hands cup and press my boobs together, His lips and tongue tease my nipples. I grind myself down firmly against Him. I ride Him until my orgasm is triggered, its energy pulsing through me.

We roll over again. Master C takes me hard and fast. His body collides with mine. A rhythmic “slap”, “slap”, “slap” echoes as His skin connects with mine.

I close my eyes as I come again; gentler this time, but sill wonderfully intense. Master C’s breathing becomes increasingly laboured. The staccato movements of His hips become increasingly urgent. The tender, caring, loving partner has been replaced by a male in full rut; the primal savage Has once again been release.

These are the moments I love most; those moments where Master C loses Himself in the act of fucking, those moments where He is a slave to His most basic urges; He is no longer fucking me, He is simply fucking, driven by the need to release.

A groan, a final surging thrust, that briefest, almost imperceptible moment, and then His cum begins to fill me. Shorter, shallower thrusts, each followed by a smaller release of His essence inside me.

Spent, Master C slumps on to me, squashing me beneath Him. We lie there, me holding Him as He returns from His primal possession.

His hand once again strokes the hair from my face. A kiss and a smile. Master C slowly pulls out and rolls on to His back. I roll on to my side, kiss His cheek and snuggle against Him as His cum starts to ooze from my cunt. We lie there together until it is time to get up, or we decide to do it again.

This morning, we did it again; and it was even better…

His orgasm

The topic under discussion on No True Way this week is:

“It is a submissive’s responsibility to make sure the dominant (always) reaches orgasm.“

Now, I’ve touched on responsibilities before, and my view is that both the Dominant and the submissive have responsibilities to each other; how these responsibilities are discharged in practice will, naturally, depend very much on the nature of the D/s dynamic that is in place.

When it comes to Master C’s orgasm, I tend to disagree with the above. That isn’t to say that the statement is wrong, per se, it’s just that it doesn’t fit with how we do things.

Now, granted, there will be times when the task (and therefore the responsibility) of bringing Master C will be mine. For example, when I am giving Him a blow-job. In such a case, I am using my mouth (and, possibly hands) to excite and arouse Him, to pleasure Him and, when the time is right, to provide for His release. Ultimately, in this situation, when Master C comes, it is entirely down to me and what I have done. The only thing Master C has needed to do is to be there, sit/lie back, and have His cock sucked; everything else is down to me. It’s probably one of my most frequent “tasks” and it is one that I always apply myself to diligently, and with relish. Having my mouth filled with Master C’s hot, thick cum is a reward I will never tire of working to achieve.

In pretty much any other circumstance, however, Master C’s orgasm pretty much takes care of itself. When He fucks me, He will come. My responsibility, as much as it can be described as one, is merely to provide the means by which Master C achieves orgasm. My responsibility is to be at His disposal should He desire to use my body fir His gratification and satisfaction. My mouth/throat, my cunt and my arse are, to all intents and purposes, the tools that Master C employs to bring Himself to climax; I am there to be used. Does being is to use as He deems appropriate make me in any way responsible for the outcome of that use? Not actively, I believe. After all, if He weren’t fucking me, Master C could be fucking one of the other women in our sharing circle and the end result, i.e. His orgasm, would still be achieved.

And that, I suppose, is another factor to consider; the fact that, in being non-monogamous, I am not always involved in Master C’s orgasms. Granted, within our circle, the other women are, to a greater or lesser degree, submissive, but none of them are His submissive; I am Master C’s submissive.

Perversely, rather than me always being responsible for Master ‘s orgasm, within our particular dynamic, He is largely responsible for mine. Not entirely so, of course; I am generally free to masturbate (unless under specific instruction not to), and I have my other partners who also make me come, but when it comes to sex with Master C, I largely put my orgasm in His hands (or His mouth) and allow Him to determine not only when, but if I am permitted to come.

Dynamics are, of course, individual. This is how it works for us, but it is entirely possible that in other dynamics, the responsibility for the ensuring the Dominant partner comes, rests with the submissive and forms part of their duties towards the Dominant partner. Intellectually, I can see how this might work, but it isn’t the way our dynamic operates, and, you know what, that suits us just fine.

Deconstruction

This week’s “No True Way” is on the subject of being broken down:

“A submissive needs to be broken down by their dominant“

It’s a subject that I have written about before, as it is definitely something that, within my dynamic with Master C, I need and rely upon Him to do. It’s not so much the need to be broken, it’s the need to be taken apart, to release whatever negative energy is keeping me down, and then to be put back together, refreshed and renewed.

For me, pain is an essential when it comes to being “reset”. Master C, being particularly attuned to me moods and their accompanying needs, is usually very good at picking up on when such a reset is needed. Sometimes however, as I’ve previously mentioned, when I need Him to know how badly it is required, I will retreat to the cage, for Him to find me. That is my way of telling Him that there are no restraints on what I am prepared to accept: the clamps around my nipples can be tightened to the absolute maximum, He can wield whatever implement of chastisement He choses to employ as often and with as much force as He deems fit, He can yank my head back by my hair as hard and as far as it will go as He fucks me, He can choke me to the point of almost passing out. In essence, when Master C finds me in the cage, He knows that I am prepared to accept anything up to the point of me resorting to our “stop signals”.

In these circumstances, it isn’t about discipline, or punishment; I haven’t failed in some task or committed some transgression. In these instances it is all about the need for release.

In part, the preparation is as much a part of it. The blindfold so I don’t know what He is going to do. The ball-gag being put in my mouth so I can’t cry out. The clamps being tightened around my nipples. Being frog0marched over to Master C’s “workbench”, being forced roughly on to its hard wooded surface that pushes the clamps on my nipples into my boobs. It’s the harsh, rope bindings around my ankles that will chafe and burn my skin as I struggle. It’s the hook in my arse with its intricate harness that allows my hair to be bound into it, and then twisted to the required tightness. and then there is the waiting before Master C decides what He is going to do.

Often, in these circumstances, His belt will serve simply as an appetiser, a warm-up; turning the cheeks of my arse a rosy red as each lash lands. He will return to my arse later, but next He will remove the ball from my mouth and fuck my face, squeezing my neck with His strong hands as His cock roughly pounds my throat.

He comes, coating my face with a thick load of cum, then picks up the cane.

It swooshes menacingly through the air as it traces an arc towards my backside. It hurts, so much more than the belt does, and so much more because the belt has already done its work.

A twist of the hook harness pulls my hair tighter, pulling my head back further. The rope burns against my ankles.

By the time Master C is finally inside me, fucking me hard from behind while pulling my arms toughly back behind me, I will have been thoroughly beaten and used. If I’m lucky, as His cock takes me, I will have slipped into that almost transcendental state of sub-space, that dissociated almost out of body state of calm, where I can almost observe what is being don to me.

I know that, whatever happens, Master C will ensure that I will begiven the release of climax before He comes again, either in my cunt or over my back.

First my orgasm, and then His, is were the restoration commences. It continues as He unbinds me. It continues as He takes me in His arms, wipes away my tears, strokes my hair. It continues as He gentle massages the soothing balm into my skin, relieving some of the burning from where the cane bit. It continues as He makes me comfortable, and pours me a glass of wine. It continues because Master C is there, He is with me, and I am His.

There are times when the need to be broken like this is fundamental; it goes right to the core of my being. Each time, however, from the ashes I am reborn. I am refreshed and rebuilt. It is one of the greatest gifts that being Master C’s submissive gives me, and one that He gives with such care.