The bus ride of shame


The mid-morning bus wasn’t full, but my arse was too sore for me to sit. I wondered if my fellow travellers could feel the heat emanating from my glowing, recently thrashed cheeks.  Could they tell how moist my cunt was, having been fucked less than 30 minutes before?

Someone brushed against me as they moved to alight. I winced as they bumped into my  decidedly tender arse.

I wondered if they could smell Master C on me; the thick load of cum He unleashed over my boobs before rubbing it in, before I dressed with His cum dried on my skin.

The thought aroused me. My cunt grew warmer; I could feel my juices trickle down the insides of my thighs. Could anyone tell? Could they have known that beneath the primly, professionally dressed exterior there was a recently fucked and thrashed and seriously aroused, filthy little slut. Could they even guess that having been so recently and so very  thoroughly fucked by Master C, I was on my way to spend the day with “The Other Guy”, to be fucked some more? Could they possibly have imagined that the seemingly demure, professional woman in their midst was just a few stops away from having a second cock inside her, less than an hour after being so soundly fucked by the first?

The insides of my thighs tingled. A reminder of how Master C’s thighs, so firm and strong from years of playing rugby, slammed against mine as he fucked me. Could the other passengers sense the bruises He left there?

My stop approached. My arousal levels peaked. Could anyone see how pronounced my nipples were? Could they possibly imagine the reason for slight flushing on my skin?

I stepped off the bus, leaving my fellow commuters in blissful ignorance. The only thing I was caring about as I walked the 100 or so yards to “The Other Guy’s” flat was how quickly I could feel his cock inside me, and which hole he would fuck first…

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Duty of care


The current No True Way prompt is:

“Aftercare is mandatory for subs.”

There is a certain ambiguity in the way that it is phrased. Does it mean that it is mandatory for the Dominant partner to provide after care to their submissive, or is it implying that the submissive must must care for their Dominant?

I suspect, in the general D/s context it is the former; particularly in the aftermath of any form of impact/discipline/torture/S&M session of your choice. It’s true, after a (very literally) bruising session, I definitely need all the care I can get; be that physical relief in the form of soothing balms being applied to my inflamed skin, the the emotional care of being wrapped up in Master C’s strong arms and listening to His soothing words. In that specific context, within our particular dynamic, given the level of pain I will have almost certainly had to endure because of my own masochistic tendencies, then it would be fair to say that, yes, the provision of aftercare is Master C’s responsibility. It is a responsibility that He takes very seriously. His strong hands, firmly but gently applying the soothing, cool aloe balm to my tender skin after a thrashing/flogging/caning is actually every bit as much a part of the “session” as everything that went before it. The bath He runs for me, the glass of wine He pours for me, the gentle reassuring words, the hugs, the caresses are all a very important part of the whole episode.

But what about Him? What about Master C’s feelings and emotions following an intense S&M session? While He knows and understands that not only can I endure the pain that He inflicts, my emotional make up means that I actually need it some times. I have written before about how I periodically need to be broken down and rebuilt in order to fully release the stresses and tensions of living. Knowing that I need it does not make any easier for Him to inflict it upon me. It’s not easy to deliberately inflict pain and cause hurt to a person you love, even when you know it’s what the want and need. It requires a kind of emotional strength that carries its own price. And for that reason, aftercare, for us, is very much a two way thing. I need to reassure Master C that I will willingly accept the physical pain that His belt, or the flogger, or the cane or the paddle inflicts. I need to assure Him that the welts and bruises on my back and buttocks are symbols that I wear with pride; they are the marks that He, and only He has and can put on my skin. I reassure Master C with my words, and also with my actions. It turns out that a long, slow, sensual blow-job is the most effective cure for “Dom-drop”; which is fortunate for both of us I guess.

But, what this illustrates, once again, is a point I have made on a number of occasions; namely that a D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship. The aftercare element of D/s, is simply an extension of the care and support that we provide each other in all other aspects of our lives. We care for each other and support each other every single day; being in a D/s relationship doesn’t change that; in fact, I would go as far as to say it enhances it because of the need for extra care in those particularly vulnerable moments.

Trusting someone enough to actually let them hurt you is actually quite a big thing for both parties. I know that Master C is aware of my limits. While we may have the equivalent of a safe word, it is something I almost never resort to and on those rare occasions I do, it’s because of me, not something that Master C is doing because He never attempts to force me to use it. When Master C is doing something particularly rough or that causes me a degree of pain, He will often ask things like “Your enjoying this, aren’t you?” or “You want more of this don’t you, you slut?” or “You need a few more lashes/strokes, don’t you?” On the surface, these questions actually do have their literal meaning, Master C is actually asking me those very questions, but He is also checking in with me and reaffirming that I am happy and willing to continue. The language may sound demeaning (which is important because it plays to my humiliation fetish) but it is just another example of the care Master C takes. In it’s own way, Him asking/telling me “You need the brat thrashed out of you, don’t you?” is no different to Him asking me if I need help with a particular “vanilla” task in everyday life; the only thing that is different is the context.

So, once again, I’ve used several rambling, stream of consciousness paragraphs that essentially boil down to, yes, aftercare is mandatory for submissives, both the receipt of said aftercare and to provide it too and that applies both within the D/s context of the relationship and in everyday life as well.

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Don’t try this at home!


Sometimes I really don’t fully think through the consequences of my actions. Take the following situation for example; a cautionary tale from the early days of Master C and I living together, which was almost custom made for this particular prompt.

It was mid-afternoon one Saturday, and I had just returned home from a morning spent with “The Girl”. I was looking forward to having Master C remind me of “what I’d been missing” while “The Girl” and I had been enjoying each other’s company, in that particular way that He always does, after I’ve finished providing Him with the required and fully detailed account of what we’d got up to.

Having been playing rugby that morning, Master C still hadn’t got home by the time I had, so I had some time on my hands that I needed to use. Being home, alone, and still on a high after an orgasm filled time with “The Girl”, I stripped off and headed to the shower, where I spend a considerable time experimenting with the shower head to determine which angles and pressure had the most pleasing effects. This was followed by an extended session using my fingers and wand, and despite several very intense climaxes, I was still still incredibly randy and feeling decidedly naughty.

So, in my pleasure hormone saturated brain, I hatched a plan to prepare a nice surprise for Master C on his return home.

So, after rummaging in the bottom drawer for the necessary accoutrements, and pausing only to ensure a trail of clothing was strewn artfully up the stairs, I set to work.

First off was to secure my ankles to the foot end of the bed and attach the handcuffs to one of my wrists. Next was to fit and secure the ball-gag and tie the blindfold firmly in place. Finally, and this was the tricky bit, was to wind the handcuff chain around one of the headboard bars before locking the empty cuff around my free wrist. This is not the easiest task while blindfolded and after several failed attempts, and several muffled swear words, I was relieved when I finally managed to click it into place.

Now all that was left was to wait for Master C’s return.

After the initial cunt soaking excitement had passed, a dawning realisation that I hadn’t thought this fully through, began asserting itself on me.

It started with little things like:

Did I remember to lock the door? Or:

Has He got his keys?

Then the slightly darker thoughts like:

What if there’s a fire?

Then full-on panic:

What if mum comes round? She has her own key.

As time went by, there was the, what if He’s hurt himself. That caused a brief thrill of excitement at the thought of Master C being assisted home by a team-mate (or two) who might then join us, but it was quickly replaced with: “what if He’s really hurt himself and is in casualty”?

As the enormity of my predicament finally penetrated, I had one last, horrific thought:

Where the fuck is the cat?

By this stage, any randiness or anticipatory excitement had completely drained away and, resigned to my situation, I gave up and, somewhat surprisingly, fell asleep.

I didn’t hear the lock turn, I didn’t hear Master C make His way up the stairs; I was eventually awakened to the sound and sight of Him almost pissing himself laughing at my predicament. Which elicited a somewhat grumpy, “Well don’t just stand there laughing. After all the bother I’ve gone to, the least you could do is take advantage of me…” Which, from around my ball gag, probably sounded more like “Mmmph, unof! Umph, fmbl, gurrumph hmmm, ach!” Still, to be fair, after regaining His composure, take advantage of me He did; very thoroughly, and I enjoyed it imensely.

Of course, due to the ball-gag situation, I had to wait until Master C had finished His initial “taking advantage” before being able to recount my earlier activities with “The Girl”. This resulted in me being briefly released while I turned onto my front, having my arse soundly thrashed before being very soundly reminded of “what my holes are for” and ended with a load of Master C’s cum being deposited over my face.

So yeah, clouds and silver linings. I accept that, shining the cold light of hindsight on the situation, it wasn’t one of my cleverest moments. Having said that it wasn’t the last time that I acted before properly thinking things through and I’m almost sure to have further misadventures in future.

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TMI Tuesday – Do your thing


1. Does your sex life need some fantasy? What kind of fantasy?
Not really. I’m not a big one for fantasy really; I much prefer to actually be engaging in activities than imagining them. Having said that, I will often allow myself to become distracted, thinking about what I’d want Master C, “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” to be doing to me. That’s less fantasy though and more a statement of intent. During lockdown, I did have to rely on imagination/fantasy in respect of my encounters with “The Girl” and “The Other Guy”, but now that things are opening up again, so am I, and those encounters are now happening in person again.

2. What is eroticism for you?
It can be anything really. A steamy scene/story that I’ve read, some flirty/sexy/downright suggestive text messages that I get sent, a picture or scene from a film (doesn’t need to be porn) that just makes me “think”, or simply a smile and a kiss from Master C. For me, it really is just anything that sets my mind along a certain path to start thinking about the next time I’m going to get fucked. Doesn’t take much sometimes.

3. You are invited to a kink party, will you go?
Absolutely; unless, of course, we are the ones hosting it.

4. Your lover has tied your naked body down. What do you want to happen next?
a. You get tickled mercilessly
b. You are covered in whip cream and people lick the cream entirely from your naked body
c. Bind, blind, and tease your erogenous zones with an ice cube, feather, candle wax, tongue, etc.
d. A sex toy is used to penetrate you to orgasm
I’m not ticklish (much to the annoyance of Master C; and believe me, He has done extensive research), and food play really isn’t my thing. Either c. or d. or some combination of both, if I’m lucky, work for me. Really though, when I’m in that situation, I simply accept whatever it is Master C decides He wants to do to me.

5. In your sex life, do you go along with whatever your partner wants and needs or when necessary do you handle things to make sure you have thrilling sex?
Being submissive, there is a large element of letting Master C take the lead and I go along with His desires and needs and I do my utmost to serve Him and meet those needs. That said, I have my own desires, wants and needs, and Master C is insistent that I express them so they can be attended to fully. There are also times when we just go with the flow and we both do what comes naturally in that moment; sometimes Master C taking the initiative and lead, and sometimes I will. Sex shouldn’t be about strict, rigid rules; except, of course, when it is…

Bonus: When is the last time you purchased a sex toy? What did you buy? Was it purchased online or at a store?
As a general rule, responsible for purchasing our kink paraphernalia; the cuffs, clamps, plugs, gags, etc. are almost all bought by Him (although I am allowed to pick out things that I like and He will buy those). In terms of what I last bough myself, it would be the vibrator I bought a few months ago (to replace one that had been worn out). It was bought online due to lockdown. Most of these type of purchases are, not because I’m averse to purchasing them from shops in person, simply that I’d have to travel to Glasgow to buy them and doing it online is much more convenient. That said, out local B&Q is always handy for DIY kink supplies.

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The first submission


It was a ceremony of sorts; a symbol of trust and acceptance. A sign of my submission to Him.

As He sat, I stood before him, eyes downcast. Slowly I undressed, the removal of each item an acceptance of His claim over me.

Finally I stood, naked, offering myself to Him. Presenting myself to His scrutiny. He told me to turn around. I complied, letting Him study me, showing him the prize that was His.

“Kneel!” Master C demanded, ” You know what to do.”

I did as I was bid. I unbuckled His belt, unbuttoned and unzipped His jeans, reached inside His boxers and released His cock from its confinement.

I took His cock in my mouth, paying homage to it with my lips and tongue. I was determined to show Master C how diligent I could be in the performance of my duties. My mouth’s purpose was to please Him and I yearned to do my best.

As my service to Him brought Him to the point of no return, He pushed me from him. “Have I displeased you?” I asked.

“No, not at all, little one,” Master C replied, “I intend to mark you.”

He stroked his cock, His hand almost a blur. “I am claiming you, Morag,” he groaned, “I am marking you as mine. From this moment on, you are MY slut.”

His cock errupted. His cum sprayed over my face, it trickled down my neck, dribbling on to my boobs.

“Give me Your belt,” I asked in a small voice, His cum drying on my skin. He gave me an enquiring look. “Pass me Your belt Sir, it’s important,” I urged.

Master C slipped His belt from its stays and passed it to me. I accepted it and adopted a position of supplication, on my knees, my head bowed, my hands raised with His belt draped over them.

“I submit to You,” I said, “I submit to You and accept Your domination. I offer You this belt to use for my instruction and correction. I will accept Your discipline as You see fit to dispense it.”

Master C took the belt from my hands. I turned around as He folded it and cracked it sharply together.

I waited. The anticipation built. I heard the belt swish through the air. With a resounding smack, His leather kissed my arse. In that moment, I truly became His submissive and He became my Master. With that first stinging caress of hard leather on my soft skin, He made me His…

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TMI Tuesday – Making Waves


1. Are you happy with the number of people you have slept with?
In a way, this ties in very well with my previous post. Let’s not be euphemistic here and call it what it is, i.e. people I’ve fucked. Granted, I have also slept with some of them, but given my penchant for quickies that didn’t even come close to involving a bed; those drunken, late-night knee-tremblers in darkened alleyways, “slept with” seems far too much of a misnomer to me. I fucked them and they fucked me; or at the very least, I sucked them off. With that out of the way, there is also the minor point that I can’t actually tell you how many people I’ve fucked and/or sucked off. I probably haven’t made it into three figures, but I’m definitely up towards the higher end of the two figure range. The crux of the matter is, however, that none of this matters; I enjoy sucking and fucking and I enjoy getting fucked. The number of people I’ve done it with is of absolutely no consequence. I certainly haven’t enjoyed every single sexual encounter I’ve participated in, but I don’t regret any of them. So, in a sense, the answer is “yes”, I’m, happy with it, but really, the truth of the matter is, I’ve enjoyed, and still enjoy fucking; “the number”, even if I could be bothered working out the best approximation I could, would be nothing more than an interesting statistic.

2. Tell us a random fact about yourself.
I play the clarinet.

3. Would you say you have an excessive need for stimulation and are you prone to boredom?
I think I have a fairly normal boredom threshold (whatever “normal” is). Yes, I can get bored on occasion, but I can generally keep myself occupied pretty easily (and it doesn’t always involve fucking or wanking).

4. Do you have a history of promiscuous sexual behaviour or wish you had?
Given my answers to both 1. above, and 5. below, plus the general tone of the content of this blog, does that question really need answering. My tendency towards promiscuity is not so much a “history” as more a case of “current affairs” (pun semi-intended). Granted, over a year of Covid restrictions has definitely meant I’ve had to rein that side of me in. Now that things are able to open up again, hopefully, so am I…

5. How do you cope with a sex drought?
a. masturbation
b. sex droughts don’t bother me
c. try not to think about sex

In all honesty, I can’t think of when I last has a sex drought. Master C and I have a very active sex life, and I also have “The Girl”, “The Other Guy” and members of our “Sharing Circle”, not to mention my randoms (albeit there haven’t been any of these for a while). Before I met Master C, my way of dealing with it would simply have been to have gone out and picked someone up (or allowed myself to be picked up) and fucked them; job done, itch scratched, hopefully enjoyable for both parties.

Bonus: If you were a wave in the ocean would you be rough or calm?
Having lived most of my life on/near the coast, I love the sea in all its moods, from flat calm, to raging storm. The sea has both tranquillity and power. There are times when I would be happy to exist in that calmness, but there are definitely those times when I relate more to the storm driven breakers, crashing on the shore.

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TMI Tuesday – It’s All Good


1. What’s the most stressful thing in your life right now
Working in mental health care, the most stressful thing now, as it has been for pretty much the last 15 months, is the Covid pandemic. Now that things are becoming less restrictive, different anxieties and pressures are rising to the surface; people are worried about re-emerging back into the world and being amongst people when the situation is still very uncertain.

2. True or False. The best way to get over an ex is to get under someone new.
I’m not sure that it’s true, per se, but I’ve done it often enough in my past to admit that it was definitely one of the more enjoyable bits of having broken up with someone; and it helped take my mind of things.

3. Is rebound sex empowering or does it leave you feeling lonelier?
See previous answer. I wouldn’t say it empowered particularly. I’ve definitely enjoyed the sex in those situations, but then I enjoy sex full stop and have done whether I’ve been in a relationship or been single. It’s lack of companionship that makes you feel lonely and, while sex and companionship can often be found combined in the same person they are separate things. Sex is simply sex, something that can deepen the bonds between people in a relationship but, ultimately, something to be enjoyed whether you’re in a relationship with the person you’re fucking or not.

4. Would you rather watch porn every night forever or never watch porn again?
I enjoy some porn now and again, but I actually don’t really watch a lot of it. Truth be told, I’d much rather be having sex than watching it on screen and, in terms of watching sex, I’d much rather be right there in the room watching (or being watched). Push comes to shove, if I were unable to ever watch porn again, I wouldn’t miss it all that much.

5. Would you rather go to bed alone forever or share a bed with someone forever?
Definitely the latter. I love snuggling up to and falling asleep beside Master C, and I absolutely love that His body, there, next to mine, is the first thing I feel when I wake up.

Bonus: You must pick one and explain. Would you rather your mum or your ex set up and run your dating apps?
Pretty much, with possibly only one exception, I would let an ex handle this. My exes at least know what my tastes and turn-ons (even the one I wouldn’t want involved) so I think they would probably have a good idea of the type of person I’d like (having been in that category themselves at some point) and the kind of things I need to have a satisfying sex-life as well. As for my mum, well we get on well, and have always been frank and open, but there are some things she really doesn’t need to know or get involved in, and I’m sure she’d be happier if I didn’t involve her either.

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A great end to an otherwise shit day


So, I was in a right old grump most of yesterday.  It started when I broke my favourite mug, spilling coffee all over my feet and the kitchen floor at breakfast and continued pretty much for the whole day. In fact, my mood only improved (and it did so considerably) when I managed to meet up with “The Other Guy” after work.

He gently rubbed my neck and shoulders as I told him all about how shit my day had been. It didn’t take him long to have me out of my clothes and to have me feeling warm and relaxed as his hands worked away the tension in my back.

He did, of course, comment on the visible effects of my most recent thrashing; asking me what I’d done to deserve such punishment this time.  I told him, in great detail, about the fun “The Girl” and I had got up to on Wednesday evening after our most recent “catch-up”; to which he agreed that my subsequent thrashing had been more than merited. In fact, he even went as far as to suggest that, given how the marks had almost faded, I had, perhaps, been let off somewhat lightly.

Now, I have to say, when I was enduring the kiss of Master C’s belt on Wednesday evening, it didn’t seem like He was being particularly lenient. He really does know how to wield that belt; but I digress…

Of course, my lurid descriptions of my afternoon and evening of  wanton, girl-on-girl debauchery had a very obvious effect on him; it was evident than “The Other Guy’s” cock was straining, desperate to be set free.

Now, one thing that Master C has taught me is that I should always be fully appreciative when someone does something nice for me. As “The Other Guy” had cheered me up no end, and had made me feel so nice as he massaged the strains of the day from my body, it was only right that I should show how thankful I was by releasing his cock from its straining confinement and subjecting it to the much more pleasant, warm and wet confinement of my mouth.

I may be a slut, but no one can ever fault my manners.

It seems he was every bit as grateful for the blow-job as I had been of the massage. I had hardly had time to get into my stride when I recognised that familiar pattern of breathing, that tension in his groin that announce that he is on the point of orgasm.

His cock erupted, deluging my mouth with a thick torrent of cum. Swallowing it down, I marvelled at how much he produced. “The Other Guy” is generally quite a heavy comer, but anyone would have thought he had gone without coming for weeks; whereas I know for a fact he’d been relieved of several loads just as recently as last Saturday

Once he’d recovered, we swapped places; me on the edge of the sofa and him on his knees, between my legs, as he embarked on a prolonged bout of “getting his beard moisturised”.

I wasn’t going to complain. When it comes to going down on a woman, both the men in my life are extremely talented. Both Master C and “The Other Guy” belong to that rare breed of men that, when they go down on a woman, they give their full concentration to the task that’s in front of them; they both take their time and do the job properly. With them it isn’t just a quick perfunctory licking, to be done as quickly as possible, they both actually seem to luxuriate in it.

Suffice to say, I came several times before “The Other Guy” finished his devotions. By that time his cock was fully restored and, with the aid of gravity, I slid off the sofa, on to the floor and, to my astonishment, found myself underneath him.

We fucked. We fucked slow, we fucked fast, we fucked long and we fucked hard. We fucked until my cunt ached, and then we fucked some more. His cock massaged my insides every bit as skilfully as his hands had massaged my outsides. I came hard on his cock, gripping it tight inside me, feeling stretched and full and fabulously fucked.

He pulled out just before the end and fed me his cock. I loved the taste of myself on its length and the flavour of my juices was quickly combined with the wonderful taste of yet another load of his cum.

We cuddled there, on the floor, for a while after that and I left and drove home.

Master C still wasn’t in when I arrived, so showered and then poured myself a large glass of wine, before plonking myself down on the sofa, and proceeded to “unwind further”.

And that’s pretty much how Master C found me when he got home; somewhat tipsy, naked, nipples clamped, my favourite plug in my arse and with my fingers in my cunt. I didn’t even need any instruction; I simply got off the sofa and meekly adopted the required position as He smiled, winked and proceeded to remove His belt.

The lashes that rained down mercilessly upon my arse were as painfully delicious as they were fully deserved. The pain made my face flush almost as hotly as my other cheeks.

Tears streaked down my face as Master C spun me around and forced his cock into my mouth.

“Filthy Slut!” He said with quiet authority as he fucked my face, driving His cock angrily into my throat as His grip tightened around my neck.

I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I hoped I would be allowed to take Master C’s cum in my mouth. Instead, I got what I deserved. At the last second Master C pulled out and dumped a heavy load on to my face.

The rest of the evening was spent in acts of atonement. Once in bed, Master C fucked me gently and tenderly, letting me know that he had forgiven me.

My last conscious thought before I finally drifted off to sleep was, “well, today ended much, much, much better than it started…

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Thrashed


So, as expected, Master C punished me thoroughly for my escapades with “The Other Guy”. I won’t bore you with the details of how the appropriate level of discipline was negotiated, but the result ended up being as follows:

I am bent over Master C’s “workbench” and He ties me firmly, securely in place. The ropes cut tightly into my wrists, my ankles and across my back.

My boobs are  pressed against the cold, hard, unyielding wooden surface, forcing the clamps around my nipples into their skin. It hurts with a delicious intensity.

Cold lube is dribbled over my arsehole. With one, then two fingers, Master C roughly opens me up, stretching my tight, tender rear entrance. Fingers withdrawn, I feel the cold plastic of a dildo being pushed firmly into place; holding me open for what will come later.

“Are you ready?” Master C asks, his voice oddly tender and concerned.

“Yes Master,” I reply, “I am ready.”

I wait. Seconds pass. Anticipation grows inside me. My cunt grows wet as I await the first kiss of His belt.

A finger runs between my lower lips. I feel my juices flow.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” I admit.

“You’re a nasty little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” Again I can’t deny the accusation.

“What are you?”

“I’m a nasty little slut, Master.”

“And what happens to nasty little sluts?”

“They get thrashed, Master.”

“Yes they do. Yes they do.”

More time passes. The anticipation continues to build. Master C forces his finger into my warm, wet cunt.

“Are you going to thrash me, Master?”

“Yes I am, my little slut.”

“Will you thrash me hard, Master?”

“Yes I will, my little slut.”

“I deserve to be thrashed hard, Master.”

“Yes you do, my lovely, filthy little slut.”

His finger slides from my cunt and is forced into my mouth. I love the way I taste on His finger.

I hear the crack as Master C flexes His belt. I close my eyes, waiting to feel its first biting kiss.

Swoosh, SLAP! It cuts into my skin. I hold back a cry, pretending to be brave.

Swoosh, SLAP! Again it bites. Tears begin to well in my eyes. My face begins to redden, to match the hot, stinging glow that my arse is beginning to display.

Swoosh, SLAP! Another caress of leather. A small sob escapes from between my lips. My tears begin to flow.

Swoosh, SLAP! I want to cry, but I need to be brave for my Master. I need to show Him I can take my punishment.

Swoosh, SLAP! I can’t hold back. I cry out as the pain intensifies. My tears feel like burning rain against my cheeks.

Swoosh, SLAP! “Oh Master!” I cry, “P… Punish me, M… Master! Punish your filthy s… slut!”

Master C shows no mercy. His belt rains down on me again and again. The pain is so strong I can no longer feel the clamps around my nipples, digging into my boobs.

And then it stops.

The dildo is pulled from my arse, only to be replace by Master C‘s lovely thick cock.

His hand grabs my hair. He pulls my head sharply back as He fucks my arse.

As his cock pounds me, Master C slaps my arse cheeks with his free hand, never letting the pain subside. He tightens His grip on my hair, pulling it harder.

“Filthy slut!” He moans; His words punctuating the long, hard, punishing thrusts of His beautiful cock, “Filthy, little, dirty slut!”

His free hand moves around me to tease my clit as Master C pummels my arse relentlessly with His cock. Despite the pain, despite the agonising intensity of this treatment, I come almost immediately.

“Oh… Oh M.. Master! Oh thank you, Master!” I sob as my orgasm rips through me.

Master C releases my hair. His cock slips from my arsehole. Seconds pass until I feel the warm wetness of His cum splash over the burning cheeks of my bum.

It feels so good. It feels so dirty. It reignites my climax, pushing me beyond the brink of my endurance.

Master C unties me, picks me up and carries me over to the bed. I hear the crack of a bottle lid. The familiar scent of aloe, and the coolness of gel as He begins to spread it into my burning skin.

Suffice to say, I was squirming in my seat as I wrote the above; partially because my arse still hurts, but mostly because writing that has made me hot in places well under the collar.

If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go and do something about my current worked up state…

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Getting up to mischief


mischief / (ˈmɪstʃɪf) /
noun

  1. wayward but not malicious behaviour, usually of children, that causes trouble, irritation, etc
  2. a playful inclination to behave in this way or to tease or disturb
  3. injury or harm caused by a person or thing
  4. a person, esp. a child, who is mischievous
  5. a source of trouble, difficulty, etc. e.g. floods are a great mischief to the farmer

As a child, I was definitely what was known as “a mischief“. In fact, I was “a right, proper wee mischief“. It wasn’t that I was bad or especially naughty, I just had a penchant for doing things that my elders didn’t always approve of. The “Oh Morag! We’re not angry, just disappointed…” thing, said in a weary, resigned tone whenever my misdeeds were found out, was a near constant refrain growing up. I was never one of those genteel, girly girls; I was very much the tomboy and tearaway; preferring to muck about with the boys than be one of the girls.

Of course, mucking about with the boys took on a slightly different meaning when I moved into my teens, but that just simply added to the opportunities for mischief and, very often, that mischief felt very good. I might allow a boy who done something particularly nice for me to feel my boobs or I might stroke their cock through their jeans, marvelling at how that made it stiffen. Later of course, I would move on to stroking their cocks under their boxers and letting myself get fingered. The mischief stakes were frequently being upped. Eventually I would have my first orgasm at the hands of another person, give my first blow-job, discarded my virginity and get my arse fucked. All of these things were just a natural progression as I experimented with the naughty things I was discovering that I liked doing.

My student years introduced me to threesomes and group sex and I was already dabbling with kink, although, at that stage, I didn’t consider myself to be submissive, I just knew I liked toys, occasional restraining, and getting my backside tanned every now and then.

Over the years, my tendency towards mischief has, if anything, only grown stronger as I’ve got older. This, I suspect, is largely because my relationship with Master C has given me a framework within which I can be my mischievous self so long as I am aware of the consequences of my actions and know there is a price to pay. As such, if I’m on a night out and see someone I fancy, so long as I am willing to accept that any dalliance with that person will result in a thrashing from Master C’s belt, the number of lashes to be determined depending on what form the dalliance takes, then I am free to lick/stroke/suck/fuck whomever I feel inclined to do so.

Of course, there is also the fact that I enjoy receiving Master C’s discipline/physical chastisement and my inner brat is always pushing limits and looking for ways to be on the receiving end of some much needed correction.

As the saying goes, I’m not really a very naughty person, I’m just a person who really enjoys doing some very naughty things, and I really enjoy the consequences that arise from them.

Am I a brat? Yes, without question.

Am I a right, proper wee mischief? Definitely (well, maybe not quite so “wee” any more), and I hope I always am…

4 Thoughts Or Fiction ~ #4Thoughts_Fiction