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.

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Relationship evolution

First of all, I was absolutely delighted that my suggestion was what became this week’s #F4TFriday prompt. The only slight drawback to that honour is, of course, that it means I do have to write something for it.

The questions this week cover how relationships evolve and grow over time. My experiences are based primarily around my relationship with Master C and His acceptance and support of my bisexuality and promiscuity; and the fact that His acceptance has allowed me to grow and become confident in who I am and how I live my life, so that I can now accept my appetites and desires. Master C has provided me with a framework that allows me to explore my sexual personality, to feel no shame in my sexual choices because I know that my actions have balancing consequences.

In addition to Master C, there are, of course, my relationships with “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”; both of which add important elements to my life.

Anyway, enough of that, let’s get to my answers, which is the bit of this post you are probably interested in:

Casual sex, dating, friends with benefits, hook-up, one night stand, fuck-buddy; have you ever had one (or more) of these arrangements? What is the difference?
To me, casual sex can involve any and all of the rest, sometimes more than one can be going on at the same time. I’ve certainly had one-nighters while I’ve also had regular fuckbuddies/friends with benefits.

In my opinion, the difference between a hook-up and a one-nighter is that there is an element of planning involved in the former whereas the latter tends to be more spontaneous. A hook-up generally involves two (or more) people actively planning to meet for sex. It may still however, end up being a one-off. What they can have in common is that they are both fun (hopefully) and there is often no expectation of a repeat.

I’ve never really been much of a dater. My “dates” with Master C didn’t start until we’d been fucking each other for over 6 months. I guess that the difference between a date and a hook up is the expectation. The purpose of hook-ups is almost certainly for sex, a successful date may lead to sex but, while that may be the hoped for outcome there is less “inevitably” about it. I guess, and again this is just me, you wouldn’t arrange a hook-up if you didn’t already fancy and want to fuck the other person. You date where you think there’s at least a possibility that you could fancy the other person.

The common theme is, with the possible exception of dating, is that in all of these situations there is no expectation is exclusivity; all parties are free to explore and enjoy other avenues.

What is the most interesting way you ever met a partner?
I’ve been chatted up in bars and clubs and I’ve hooked up with both men and women through online contact sites. The most outrageous come-on was at a bar. I was being served by a very chunky Irish guy and, as he handed me my drink, he asked, “Would you like a fuck with that?” 30 seconds later we were outside in the lane behind the pub and we were going at it like crazed animals. It was quick, it was rough, it was deliciously dirty and, ultimately, very enjoyable, if not actually satisfying. He came in my mouth, we shared a cigarette (I was a casual drunken smoker in those days) and then I went back to my drink and my friends and he went back to work.

Have you ever had a hook-up become a relationship? How do you know that it had happened?
This for me was an interesting one as it describes my relationship with Master C. We started as random shags, became semi-regular fuckbuddies, progressed to regular fuckbuddies, started “dating”, became a couple, moved in together, and I finally formally submitted to him and became his slut and submissive.

For me, as the “relationship” evolved, there was a growing realisation that I actually enjoyed His company as much, if not more than His cock. There was a growing, and scary, realisation that I actually had feelings for Him; that I liked Him and that, just possibly *whispers* I loved Him. Then came the equally staggering discovery that those feelings were reciprocated. That was when my fate was sealed.

Someone once said that it becomes a relationship when the cuddles become more important than the sex. As a self-confessed cuddle slut, I think that’s a pretty fair assessment.

How would you tell a potential partner you want a non-monogamous or D/s relationship? If you are already in one, how did it evolve?
This hasn’t really come up for me. When I was casual, I just fucked whomever I pleased. I wasn’t committed to anyone and I frequently had more than one guy on the go at the same time.

With Master C, given that we started out as casual, the fact I was fucking other men and women and he was fucking other women wasn’t an issue. By the time we became a couple, Master C was already fully aware that I am an insatiable slut. It was this, probably more than anything else, that led to the D/s dynamic that we now have.  I was free to fuck whom I wanted, but I had to accept the consequences. The fact that, in our dynamic, I am required to recount my transgressions, give an honest self-appraisal of how bad I have been and the possible sanction that my action requires has helped me learn a lot about my desires and needs and how it is appropriate to accommodate them.

If you relationship is poly, what is its principal dynamic? Do you have a primary? A few fuck buddies? Is everyone equal? Does everyone know?
I guess, in the broadest sense of the term, I am in a non-monogamous relationship, one where Master C is my “primary” and both “The Girl” and “The Other Guy” are my “secondaries” and I am also free to enjoy random encounters outside of these. The fact that it’s all out in the open and everyone is happy and I get to enjoy both sides of my sexuality makes it very satisfying.

There’s a certain amount of irony to the fact that while I’ve involved been involved in both MMF and MFF threesome with Master C and “The Girl” individually, I’ve never had a threesome that has involved more than one of my “regular partners” at the same time. Would we ever play as a threesome or possibly even foursome? The honest answer is, I don’t know. The closest we’ve ever come to doing anything like this so far was the drunken cam show “The Girl” and I put on for Master C during our recent girly spa weekend that I told you about last week. It’s something that I have talked about with each of the parties, working out the possible permutations but, while it’s not off the cards entirely, it remains, for now, at least, it’s just a particularly pleasant fantasy that I can call upon in my “alone time”.

What does your ideal relationship look like? Are you already in it?
I suspect, I’ve already found mine. A loving, supportive, and downright deviant Dominant in Master C, who allows me to fuck whomever I wish so long as I am prepared to accept the consequences of my actions,  a very willing girlfriend in the form of “The Girl” and I also have “The Other Guy” for when Master C  isn’t available and I want something more meaningful than a random fuck.

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.

Let’s be upstanding

I absolutely fucking love cock. There, I’ve said it, “I love cock”. It’s probably fair to say that I love all cocks but, in particular, I love Master C’s cock.

I find penises endlessly fascinating. I love the way they change from their wrinkly flaccid state into an angry and swollen full-scale hard-on. I love watching this transformation in Master C’s cock as I slowly play with it, teasing it, turning Him on, arousing Him until he is fully erect and ready to pound my cunt with its lovely thick hardness. I also find those little involuntary twitches it makes in response to my touches amusingly endearing.

When it slips into cunt, I love the way it stretches me, and the pressure as it slides into me, inch by delicious inch, filling me. As I clench myself around it, I can feel those twitches inside me as it slides in and out.

As Master C fucks me, I imagine I can feel the head swell inside me as His orgasm approaches. When He cums, I feel His cock pulse, feel the eruption as His load is unleashed deep inside me.

Afterwards, the combined tastes of our juices is intoxicating as I take His cock into my mouth to clean Him. Then, as we lie together, His cock slowly shrinks back to its pre-aroused size and shape and I’m already looking forward to the next time I can make it hard and feel it inside me again.

Penises are very simple creatures that act as a barometer of their owner’s arousal. A hard-on can’t really be faked and are a very obvious mark of sexual approval. If you’ve given a guy a hard-on, he’s probably going to want to fuck you with it; and in Master C’s case, as He has such a fine specimen, it would be churlish of me not to let Him put it to good use.

Sometimes, you don’t have to fuck her hard…

I enjoy a good, hard fuck. I will be the first to admit that there are times when, quite simply, Master C cannot fuck me hard enough. When I’m in the mood to take it rough, I want it rough: hair pulling, arse slapping, nipple tugging, hands around my neck… When I’m in that sort of mood, anything, absolutely anything goes. I love it, I crave it, hell, I’ll admit right here, I need it sometimes.

Not every time though. For all I’m a filthy little slut who enjoys being royally seen to, I am still a woman, and I do have my softer side. As much as I love being Master C’s naughty little fuck-toy, sometimes I want to be desired, I want to be loved, I want to be cherished.

Sometimes, all I really want is, for want of a better term, to be made love to. I want to lie back and enjoy every sensation as Master C explores my body with His fingers, lips and tongue. I want to feel Him slowly slide into me, filling me up, stretching my cunt with His wonderful cock.

I want Master C to take me slowly, so I can feel every thrust, experience every inch of Him as He slides in and out. I want to savour every moment as He takes me, from the first thrust to the last.

I want to feel the tension mount in His body; feel the tautness in His thighs as they move against mine, feel His breathing deepen as Master C works towards that moment of final release.

Finally, I want to share that moment of His climax; the shuddering eruption as He unloads deep inside me His cum filling my cunt; so warm, so rich and full.

And then I want Master C to collapse, spent, on top of me, crushing me to the mattress, His heart pounding in His chest, His ragged breathing warm against my neck as He holds on to me, cherishing me, yet still claiming me as His.

Yes, Master C doesn’t always have to fuck me hard…

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.

Terms of endearment

Language is a strange thing; what is one person’s compliment can be highly insulting to another person. Take the word slut for example. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not averse to being called a slut on occasion, in fact, in certain situations I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get called that or something equally degrading.

Now, I must confess, that like many women, I am, deep down, a soppy romantic at heart. As such, I am a sucker for the words, “I love you”. When spoken intimately and when meant can give me a me a warm glow all over.

With everything though, context is important. The words “I love you” said spontaneously by Master C as I’m leaving the house for work in the morning, or whispered in my ear just before I fall asleep at night, have a completely texture and effect than when they are gasped between clenched teeth while my lips are wrapped around His cock and He’s about to explode in my mouth.

Having said that, having Master C moan my name and call me His “good girl” at the point of orgasm just before he floods my cunt with cum and collapses, spent on top of me, pinning me beneath Him is always guaranteed to make me melt.

Getting back to the term slut; while I accept that some people find the term offensive, there are times, for me, that it is the highest compliment that I can be paid; particularly if Master C is calling me His “good little slut”.

When Master C is tugging my hair, fucking my arse mercilessly, I long for him to call me His “filthy little slut” or “dirty fucking whore”. As He sprays His load over my face and boobs, there’s nothing I want more than to have Master C call me His “dirty little cum slut”.

As I said before, the context is what’s important. Depending on the circumstances, being called a slut is every bit as endearing as being told that I am loved.

Language is a rich and varied thing, and there a many ways to express how much another person means to us. Slut, whore, love, fuck; all words that, depending on how they are used and who is using them can make someone feel wanted and special.

The things He does

When He looks at me, I feel His hunger and desire for me. I know that He wants me.

When He reaches for me, I feel myself responding to His need. I know I want Him as much as He wants me.

When He kisses me, I feel myself melt. My passion rises. My want for Him increases. I feel myself grow increasingly moist.

When He undresses me, the anticipation rises. I want Him, I need Him and I can feel His need for me too.

When He explores my body with His fingers and lips, electricity flows through me. My passion ignites. A warm glow spreads through me.

When He licks me, my clit pulses. The walls of my cunt and my womb contract as the pleasure takes hold.

When He makes me cum, I long to feel Him inside me. I want to feel His lovely cock take me.

When He enters me, I surrender to Him. I savour the sensations as He fills me.

When He fucks me, I know that I am His. He claims my body with His cock, users me for His pleasure.

When He moans my name as He cums, I know He loves me. In that moment we are one.

When He slips out of me, I feel empty but satisfied. His cum trickles out of me, a reminder of our passion.

When He holds me in His arms, I feel safe and secure. He is my protector and provider as well as my lover.

When He is with me, He makes me complete. I am who I am because of Him.

Trials, tribulations and (un)wanted distractions

You would think writing a sex blog would be a fairly easy thing to do, wouldn’t you? After all, what is easier than sex? We all do it after all. Sadly though, it’s the universal nature of sex, combined with the individual likes and dislikes of those participating in it that can make it tricky to write about.

Firstly, my particular kinks and preferences may not appeal to you, endless reiterations of the subject of how much I enjoy having Master C’s cock inside me may, just possibly, get a bit boring.

Then there is the act itself. At the end of the day, sex is simply sex. In purely heterosexual terms, it is the insertion by the male of the species of his penis into an available orifice in the body of the female of the species (Note homosexual options are also available) and rubbing said penis inside said orifice until he ejaculates. For the purposes of reproduction, the required female orifice is the vagina, but for recreational purposes, the mouth and anus can, depending on the female in question, also be acceptable alternatives.

There are only so many ways the above process can be described. If you are reading this, the likelihood is that you are familiar with the mechanics of the sexual act.

The difficulty the sex blogger faces (well, this one certainly does) is to find ways to discuss different aspects of the topic in a way that holds the reader’s interest, bearing in mind that the reader’s knowledge of the subject is likely to be at least as proficient, if not more so, than that of the writer. With that in mind, I sometimes think it’s a miracle that I ever find anything to actually write about.

Then there’s the distractions. Real life has a habit of getting in the way and finding time to blog can sometimes be difficult.

But, assuming you have found the inspiration for an entry (as it were), and you have the time available, you’re still not necessarily home and dry…

I’m typing away, trying to get my thoughts out when Master C casually saunters past. Because He’s genuinely interested in what I write, He peers over my shoulder to take a look. Then, because what I’m writing gets Him a bit hot under the collar and because it’s so convenient, He begins to play with my hair and kiss my neck in a way that is absolutely guaranteed to make my clothes disappear. One thing leads to another and, before I know it I’ve gone from sitting at my PC, diligently comparing and contrasting the merits of smooth and spiky ben-wa balls, to being on my back, legs in the air, Master C’s cock in my cunt and his balls slapping against me.

Later, in the post-coital, and hopefully post-orgasmic, aftermath of his interruption, I cast my thoroughly distracted mind back to my blog, I find I’ve lost the thread of what I was trying to say and, with a resigned sigh, I hit delete and yet another post is consigned back to its electronic purgatory.

OK, so you could say that having sex is an occupational hazard for a sex blogger but, perversely, it doesn’t actually make blogging about sex any easier.

 

Sometimes, I just need a cuddle

I love the affirmation of feeling Master C’s lovely, thick, hard cock thrusting inside me, filling me until He releases deep inside me. I love the closeness, I love the intimacy, I love the feeling of Master C claiming me and taking me. I love to fuck and I love being fucked, but sometimes all I really need is a cuddle.

This is especially true at the moment. On account of having a filthy cold, I’ve not been feeling particularly carnal, but I have been in need of a lot of cuddles. Fortunately, Master C is an exceptionally good cuddler.

Whether a cuddle leads to a fuck, is the result of a fuck, or is simply just a cuddle, it has the most amazingly restorative effect.

It’s the feeling of security, it’s the feeling of closeness, it’s a connection with the person doing the cuddling. There is an intimacy and a trust inherent in a cuddle; a sense of belonging and a feeling of being wanted.

The intimacy and, for me, the sense of feeling protected is intensified when the cuddling is done without clothes. The feel of Master C’s warm, firm, strong body next to mine gives me a sense of wellbeing. In a way I draw strength from the additional closeness. Feeling the strength but tenderness of His arms holding me, surrounding me, reassures me and makes me feel cherished and wanted.

In its own way, a good cuddle is even more intimate, even closer than sex; and even on those rare occasions when I’m not in the mood for fucking, I’ll never turn down a cuddle.