Love & Sex

This week’s Quote Quest teaser is one that I have some very strong thoughts about.

“Sex without love is as hollow and ridiculous as love without sex.”

– Hunter S Thompson

Now, I’m going to be honest and say right from the the very outset, that I completely disagree with this statement. My disagreement can be summed up by answering two very simple questions:

1. Have I loved every person I’ve ever had sex with?
   Absolutely not.
2. Have I had sex with every person I’ve ever loved?
   Again, a resounding “no”.

Sex and love are two separate things; although they can often be closely interlinked. Love is an emotion, a feeling, a connection of spirits and souls. Sex is a physical act, a joining and (sometimes literally) coming together of bodies.

To illustrate my point, there are many people I love (and have loved). I love my parents, I loved my grandparents, I (mostly) love my siblings. Have I had sex with any of these people? Well, no, absolutely not. I also have and have had any number of friends, with whom I have shared what I would describe as a deeply platonic form of love.

The flip side to this is that I definitely love Master C and I love “The Girl” and also “The Other Guy” and I absolutely do have sex with them. There are also a couple of exs in my past that I also loved and had sex with. However, as anyone with a passing familiarity with this blog will be aware, I have also had and enjoyed a hell of a lot of casual sex down the years; sex where it wasn’t uncommon for me to never even find out the name of the person I sucked and/or fucked. I think it goes without saying that there was absolutely no love involved in these encounters (unless my love of the act itself and the way that act made me feel counts).

In a way, this kind of follows on from my previous post. I completely agree that having sex with someone tat you love and that loves you is special; it adds a whole several extra layers of feeling and emotion to proceedings. Having Master C roughly fuck my arse feels different from some unknown random fucking it, even when done with the same force. Why? Because I have a deep emotional connection with Master C that adds to it. Having Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” go down on me feels so much more intense than having someone else do it, irrespective of how skilful that person is. Why? Well, aside from their knowledge of what really presses my buttons, again there is the emotional overlay.

Don’t get me wrong, I (mostly) fully enjoy my casual encounters. If the person you with knows what they are doing, and is in any way considerate to your wants and needs, what isn’t to enjoy about getting soundly and thoroughly fucked? What is their not to enjoy about getting your cunt skilfully eaten out, or going down on someone else?

Good sex, even great sex, doesn’t require love for it to be satisfying. I have had casual encounters that have resulted in me being reduced to a dishevelled, sticky, spasming mess; fighting to bring my breathing and or heart rate back under control, that come close in intensity to anything that I have done with those that I love.

There is a difference though. Those casual encounters are physically satisfying and, to a certain degree, emotionally so as well. Sex with Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies me on a “spiritual” level. Where a great casual fucking may satisfy me in body and mind, a fucking from Master C or “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” also satisfies my soul.

So, to me, sex without love is far from hollow; if it were I probably wouldn’t engage in it. Yes, there have been disappointments; there have been encounters that, with hindsight, would probably have been better avoided. There were times in my past where I’ve got under someone to get over someone else, but those are a minority. But for each of those fucks that have been less than great, there have been many many more that have given me everything I have wanted from them and, sometimes, even more.

Full disclosure; no one makes me feel the way I feel when Master C and I fuck. No one knows what my body, mind, soul and spirit needs more than He does. Sometimes, however, all I need is the “thrill of the chase” and the “surrender” that comes with letting myself be caught.

What can I say? I’m simply a voraciously happy slut that loves sex.

Master C’s belt

There is, I admit, something about leather; the smell, the texture, the feeling of it against my skin. When it comes to leather clothing, the only items I actually possess are my motorbike gear. I don’t actually have any leather fetish items, although Master C does like to fuck His “Biker Slut” sometimes, so my biking leathers have featured in my sex life from time to time. The only other item that I own, that kind of counts is a pair of almost knee length “fuck me” boots which I wear very rarely because I would almost certainly fall over if I wore them for any prolonged period.

No, when it comes to leather, sex and kink, there is only one thing that really “does it” for me and that is, of course, 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.

When Master C thrashes me, there are always those moments of dreadful anticipation before the first blow lands; the calm before the storm, the silence as Master C prepares Himself for what needs to be done. There are the shivers of anticipation that run along my spine, the involuntary clenching of the muscles in my buttocks as I await the first contact, and the inevitable moistening of my cunt as I wait, exposed and vulnerable, awaiting my fate.

The tension mounts as the eternal seconds tick by; my stoic silence is a pretence at defiance, a challenge that requires to be met and for which Master C should show me no mercy.

And then, that brief, short swooshing sound as the belt moves through the air, gathering momentum as it makes that short arc that ends with a stinging crack as it bites into the flesh of my bare arse.

From that moment on it is simply about endurance; accepting each stroke that rains down, feeling the burn intensify with each lash as synapses linking my pain and pleasure centres go into overdrive.

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 His belt 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, its surface chafing my wrists; holding me in place as I endure the pounding of His cock in whichever hole Master C has chosen to take His pleasure from. Once again, I am helpless as His cock pounds my cunt or my arse. My arms and shoulders strain as He pulls back, pulling me on to Him as He fucks me.

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

Sometimes, when Master C fucks me, He will hold His belt across my neck as He drives His cock into my cunt; holding me down, depriving me of air. As He fucks me, He alternates His grip on either side of the belt, easing then increasing the constriction. When Master C fucks me from behind, He will pull more firmly on the belt, tightening it around my neck as He take me hard. In either way, with Master C above me or behind me, fucking my cunt or my arse, the anoxia intensifying the sensations as He takes me along the path to the brink of my climax; the need for release competing with the increasing need to breathe until, so often, it is that first shuddering inhalation that provides the spark to ignite my orgasm.

For all of the things I love about Master C’s belt and the way He wields and uses it to hurt me and pleasure me, what I love most of all, however, is the way it marks my pale white skin, branding me with the mark of Master C’s ownership, his domination and his mastery of me.

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

Accepting pain

Balance, in the context of a D/s relationship is, I believe, constantly evolving. As a submissive learns their limits and boundaries, so must the Dominant evolve to be able to help the submissive explore and then possibly further expand those limits. A common perception about D/s is that it is the Dominant partner who sets the rules, but actually it is very much a two-way conversation.

By way of example, I will use my own relationship with pain.

Pain is a big thing for me. I’ve discovered that it centres and balances me. I’ve written many times about my need for a restorative thrashing, about how I need to feel Master C’s belt or paddle or cane on my buttocks, how I heed to feel His hand constrict my throat when He fucks me, how I need Him to fuck me hard in the cunt, in the arse, in the throat, and to show me no mercy when He is using me. I want that treatment; I need that treatment. I am, without doubt, very much a masochist.

Master C, on the other hand, is not by nature particularly sadistic. He is very much the guide, protect and nurture sort of Dominant; he prefers to educate rather than to correct.

The problem for Master C is that He has me as His submissive, and I need a lot of correction. Again, I’ve mentioned it many times on here, but I will often go out of my way to require “correction”; I will contrive to be punished just so I can have that slap of His hand on my face, the kiss of His belt or the bit of the cane on my arse.

A big part of the evolution of our dynamic has been for Master C to go against His natural inclinations, He is really a big softie at heart, and to administer the discipline I need and to inflict the levels of pain that take me out of myself. There are times when my life is getting on top of me that I need Master C to break me down and rebuild me. I need Him to really hurt me.

Despite the fact that He will often precede such a session with an admonishment to me to “be brave”, this is when Master C needs to find the courage and steel Himself to do something that He admits, were it not for our D/s context, He would find abhorrent.

It really isn’t me that is being brave when I’m fastened securely in place and enduring the pain of whatever implement has been chosen to leave its marks on my skin and turn my buttocks a deep, angry shade of crimson; it is Master C. He has to find it in Himself to hurt me and take me to the very limits of what I can bear, and that is no easy task. He knows what I want, He knows that I accept such treatment willingly, He knows that this is who I am; that the woman He loves and who submits to Him, needs Him to hurt her.

I’ve seen the anguish behind His eyes, the clenching of His jaw as He raises His belt. I have sensed His relief at the end of a particularly hard session, when He runs me a bath or just holds me tight against Him, soothing me with His hands, His words and just His presence. Master C knows that when I say “Thank you, Sir!” after one of those sessions, that I genuinely DO mean it; the blow-job that I am often “required” to give Him afterwards is simply a further confirmation of my gratitude; and as I’ve pointed out countless times, I never really need an excuse to have Master C’s cock in my mouth.

I don’t need to be brave when Master C punishes me; I need that pain and I know that ultimately He has a limit beyond which He will not go. It is Master C who needs to be brave and my gratitude towards Him for finding the courage to regularly satisfy such a deep-rooted need in me is boundless.

 

Love is blind(ish)

The the quote for us to unpick on Quote Quest this week had got my grey cells arguing with each other:

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

– William Shakespeare

I think, for me, it depends on the type of love you are describing and the relationship between oneself and the loved one. Love, after all, comes in many flavours: we love our families (mostly), we love our friends, we (hopefully) love our partners. Love is emotional but how we express it, depends on who it is we are expressing it towards, and the nature of the love/relationship that exists.

I suspect, that the quote is really meant to focus on “romantic” love, i.e. the love between “lovers”, essentially those that we share our lives with and fuck.

Not everyone we fuck, obviously; I definitely have not loved everyone with whom I have rubbed bits and exchanged fluids with, but the important ones, the significant ones.

I think we also have to detach love from attraction. Attraction is, for most of us, very visual. We see someone we fancy, we think “Yeah, I want a bit of that,” we hook-up, date, fuck and maybe a relationship forms and, if it does, it’s possible that the emotional connection we call love develops.

And I think, it is possibly that at this point that the “blindness” develops. Let’s be honest, we all have habits that others find annoying. There are things I do that drive Master C nuts. There are things Master C  does that make me despair. If we didn’t love each other, those little annoyances would probably, over time, become unbearable; but because we love each other, we learn to ignore them wherever we can, and live with them where we can’t and, in some instances, exploit them if it means wheedling/provoking/providing an extra hard spanking out of  it.

Love allows us to turn a blind eye on things that if someone we didn’t love were to do them, would provoke a reaction from mild irritation all the way through to full on rage. Where we are not completely blinded by love, love filters and mitigates the annoyances that we cause our loved ones and they cause us.

I love Master C, for the way He treats me, the way that makes me feel, the strength, comfort and support He provides; that, however, is the emotional side of love. There is also the physical, which is largely based on the things He does to me, but also based on His physical attractiveness to me.

Now, I accept that I am coming from this from the perspective of a sighted person. An unsighted person would almost certainly find attractiveness in other forms and from other stimuli and, for them, I guess, in the visual sense, love truly would be blind. For me however, it is multifaceted; it draws on so many senses and stimuli that my brain then mixes together in some strange neurochemical imbalance to create this crazy little thing called love.

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.

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.

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.

Celebration

If there is one thing that 2020 taught me, it’s that we all need to celebrate things more often. Achievements come in all sizes, from running a marathon to, sometimes, just managing to get out of bed and get dressed. In the year that was 2020 and is now 2021, those “small” accomplishments can be the greatest achievements of all.

For me, in my own particular way, I consider my submission to Master C to be a celebration. It is a celebration of the fact that He can take so much pleasure from my body and give so much pleasure with His and, of course, vice versa.

Each interaction, each slap of His hand, each lash of His belt, each lick of His tongue and each thrust of His cock is a celebration of our relationship and the simple fact that we are alive and sharing our lives with each other.

When Master C brings me to orgasm, it is a celebration of the skill with which He plays my body; that deep, intimate knowledge of what I need, how to push me to the edge, hold me there before allowing me the exquisite agony of release from the pent up forces of desire He has caused to grow and build inside me. He is the virtuoso musician and my body is his instrument, the master artist, and my body is His canvas.

When Master C comes it is a celebration of the pleasure my body has given Him. When He comes in my mouth he is paying tribute to the skill with which I have sucked His cock. When he comes in my cunt, or in my arse, it is a celebration of the fact that I have provided Him with an outlet for the release that He needed. When He comes, shooting His thick load over my face or my boobs, I get the pleasure of witnessing that explosive moment of celebration as He marks me as His.

And then, when I am in His arms, either post-coitally or simple snuggled on the sofa in front of the TV in the evening, it is a very simple but effective celebration of the fact that we are together, a couple, a team; not just a Dominant and His submissive, but two halves of a whole.

Life is fleeting, so let us all resolve to celebrate it more.

What about love?

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

“We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.”

– Tom Robbins

Now, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ve spend much time looking for a perfect lover. I have spent a lot of time and effort looking for great (and often, not so great) sex partners, but lovers are a different matter. Yes, Master C definitely is, amongst other things, my lover and He is very definitely my love, and as far as perfection goes, well, I guess that in an imperfect world, they are as close as I’ll get, and I couldn’t be happier, or more satisfied than that.

Stepping back, however, when does a shag become a lover?

At the time, I was pretty sure that I was in love with the boyfriend I let fuck me for the first time. I was definitely attracted to him, I enjoyed spending time with him, as our relationship grew over the few years we were boyfriend and girlfriend; starting from just awkward kissing, all the way up to where he was fucking me in the arse, I’d enjoyed every stop on our journey of sexual exploration. I loved what he could do to my body and make it feel, and I loved doing things back; I particularly loved knowing I was responsible for his orgasm. I was heartbroken when our relationship ended after being so intense, but these things tend to happen, and I was possibly even more upset when he passed away after a short battle with cancer a couple of years ago. But, was it love, or was it just the hormonal rush of horny teenagers? I suspect it was a combination of both.

I’d had “boyfriends” before him, and I’m sure I’d told them that I loved them, but I suspect it would be fair to say he was the first boyfriend that was, actually, a lover.

We wasn’t, however, my first lover. That accolade goes to “The Girl”. With her it was a love that grew out of friendship and would become physical. She was the first person (if you exclude my own efforts) to bring me to orgasm. Almost 30 years later, our friendship is still intimate and physical (albeit we can’t be physical at the moment because of Covid) . We revel in each other’s company. There are few greater, yet more simple pleasures than when we get together, spend hours talking shite over a few glasses of wine, and generally fucking each other senseless.

“The Other Guy” is also someone I would put in the “lover” camp. He started of as a random fuck. I hadn’t yet met Master C and I was single at the time. We met via an online contact site, we fucked and, not only was the sex good, but we discovered we actually liked each other, so we decided we would fuck some more. And so we did; whilst never making it to “couple” status we did move from random, to what might almost be described as a “classic” Friends with Benefits relationship which, if you’ve read this blog before will know, still carries on (albeit currently with the same caveats as the relationship with “The Girl”) today.

Then, there is Master C. Again, we started of as casual. We evolved into the kind of Friends with Benefits arrangement that I had with “The Other Guy” and then morphed into a couple. We moved in together a couple of years later and the rest, as they say, is history.

But then, what about the members of our “Sharing Circle”? Are they lovers or are they just sex partners? Well, it’s true that I enjoy their company when we’re sharing (although, honestly, some more than others), and I definitely enjoy the sex, but that’s about as far as it goes. For the most part, these are people that I fuck and people who fuck me. They aren’t people I call up for chats, or spend time with simply for the pleasure of their company. I don’t miss them in the way that I miss “The Girl” or “The Other Guy”. There is no emotional bond. The sex is great and it offers some exciting variety but if the “Circle” ended, I wouldn’t be devastated; I wouldn’t long for and pine after it in the way that I would if my relationships with “The Girl”, “The Other Guy” and especially my relationship with Master C were to end. The are regular (to partners who to a greater or lesser degree I am friendly with rather than people I would consider friends, and certainly I doubt that any would evolve to become “Friends with Benefits” In that respect, I guess, they don’t meet the “lover” criteria, and that’s absolutely fine.

So could I say that I have a perfect love? Well, if I’m being honest, I have to say “no”. Master C and I are, after all, only human. We have our faults, we argue and get on each other’s nerves, we do things that piss each other off; but that’s part of what being life partners is all about. Is Master C the “perfect” lover? Well, certainly, He knows my body and the way it responds like no one else. He can make my knickers fall fall off and my cunt sopping wet and hungry for His cock with just a glance or a gesture. He can and does play my body like a maestro plays a classic instrument. But is He perfect?

Well, again, I would say “no”. Not because I don’t love everything about Him, the things He does and the way He makes me feel, but simply because, like me, Master C is human, and we are not perfect. Besides which, if things were “perfect”, there would never be the opportunity for things to be even better, I would never need to be educated, guided and, where necessary, disciplined, and how dull would that be?

So I will happily take our imperfect lives and the implicit imperfections of our love simply because those imperfections are part of what makes it so fucking great.

Plans, goals & looking forward

If, at the start of 2020, you had told us we would be spending much of the next year in varying degrees of lockdown, I suspect we’d have thought you were having some sort of sick joke at our expense. Yet, before three months were passed, that was where we were.

Now, as we start another year, we find ourselves pretty much where we were back in March last year. Granted, there is slightly more freedom, there are hopes that vaccines might soon return some of our regular freedoms to us in the not too distant future, and yet, here we are, shut off from each other and unable to do so many of the things that a mere 12 months ago, we took so much for granted.

So what plans/goals do I have for the year ahead? Well, to put it quite bluntly, none really.

I long for the time when Master C and I will be able to meet freely with other members of our “Sharing Circle”, I look forward to the days when I can spend time with “The Girl” or “The Other Guy”, I look forward to being able to go out to the pub, meet then drunkenly fuck random strangers and suffer the consequences for my actions.  I want to travel again; to see new places and revisit ones that I’ve been to before and loved. I want to spend more time outdoors, and for more of that time to be in a climate where I can be naked. I want, I want, I want…

When will these things happen? Who knows? I live simply in the hope and belief that they will, one day, be possible again. Until that day, I have Master C, and for that I am grateful. My plans for 2021, such as they are, are simply to remain His obedient(ish) and dutiful(ish) submissive; to be the partner He deserves and the support and love He needs. I plan to submit to His will, to be nurtured, guided and, where necessary, corrected and disciplined by Him. I plan to suck His cock whenever He permits me. I plan to let Him fuck me, whenever He wants to, in whichever hole He chooses. Most of all, however, I plan to love Him, to give myself to Him and to be there for Him in the same way that He loves, cares for, gives Himself to, and is always there for me.

Master C is my steadfast rock in my see of uncertain waters, and I have no plans for that to change.