Open access


This week’s prompt on No True Way is:

A good girl is always available”

Now, it is true that, within the context of my relationship I am pretty much “always available”, and that if I perform “my services” well, Master C will call me His “Good girl”, but I’m not sure whether always being available, makes me a good girl or whether being a good girl means I am always available.

I suspect, if it’s either, it’s largely the former; largely because I am “availability” means that quite often (although sadly not recently), I am actually a very BAD girl.

I suspect the context to this is it’s not the availability that defines goodness/badness, but the who I am making myself available to.

I freely admit (and have done so frequently on this blog), that I enjoy casual sexual encounters with random men. I’ve possibly mellowed a little as I’ve got older, largely due to having my regular additional partners in “The Other Guy” and “The Girl”, and through our poly “Sharing Circle”, but there is still an element of, if I fancy someone, there’s a good chance I may end up fucking them. This, of course, is why I am often (although currently not nearly as often as I’d wish, to the point that I can currently only think about such things), a bad girl. And, of course, bad girls absolutely have to be punished. Now, because I am an absolute glutton for punishment, my natural inclination to put my “availability” to use means that I am frequently a bad girl. I am, however, also willing to accept responsibility for my misbehaviour, and therefore freely accept whatever discipline Master C chooses to apply. The fact that I accept such discipline from Him, and regularly “thank” Him for His correction by sucking His cock afterwards as a means of showing my genuine contrition for my transgressions, is one of the things that sometimes earns me that coveted “Good girl” appellation.

On the other hand, as I have said countless times, part of my submission is that if Master C wants me, He is free to have me and use me in any way He sees fit, whenever He desires. He is also free to offer me within the context of our “Sharing Circle”, to other members. I am “required” to be available to Master C and to whomever He offers me to. I know that it pleases Master C when I perform my duties diligently and unquestioningly and, pleasing Master C is a very big part of my own pleasure. A large part of being Master C’s “Good girl” is my dedication to His pleasure; it is my duty and one I perform willingly and, as a result, my mouth, my cunt, and my arse are always available when He has a need and/or desire for them.

I’m still not entirely sure if always being available makes me a good girl, but then, perhaps, maybe sometimes I have to be a bad girl to be good.

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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.

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A strong, independent woman


On twitter, people will often post or retweet a meme that says something they feel is particularly pertinent to them and say something along the lines of “I feel seen…” I must confess, that’s exactly how I felt when I read the current prompt on the ‘No True Way‘ site:

Submission appeals to responsible, hard working and independent women, because it takes them to a world free from those pressures.

In fact, that simple statement resonates so much that I almost feel I should print it out, frame it and hang it on a wall somewhere because, for me, there is so much truth in it.

In the “real world”, I am a mental health counsellor.  The people I deal with are often at the lowest point in their lives when I first meet them. The stories they tell are always raw and deeply personal and, all to frequently, border on the horrific. To say it is stressful is an understatement. In these current times, it has been even more so than usual.

But who cares for the carer? Who heals the healer? For me, my submission to Master C often falls into this space.

Through my submission I am able to free myself from the strains, stresses and anguishes that I have to contend with daily. I surrender control to Master C. I let Him choose what is appropriate, what I should and shouldn’t do, I free myself from the need to make decisions, to choose one path over another. His care, His direction, His support and, yes, sometimes His discipline help me remain balanced.

Master C knows when I need soothing words and to be held firmly yet tenderly in His arms. He also knows when what I need is to be firmly restrained and soundly thrashed. He balances my needs for passion, pleasure and pain, and wields them in ways that keep me centred. Master C has developed an instinct for knowing when I need to have my shoulders rubbed, or my neck grabbed, when I need His hands massaging my back, or the stinging bite of His belt on my arse. When we fuck, sometimes I want Him to kiss me and stroke my hair from my face, at other times I want to feel His hands tighten around my throat. Sometimes I need to be an active participant and sometimes I need to be bound and helpless, allowing myself to be subjected to whatever treatment Master C decides is appropriate.

Sometimes, what I really need, is for Master C to fuck and thrash my cares away. My submission to Him gives me this.

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Challenging misconceptions


For me, the biggest misconception around D/s and/or kink is probably a result of the 50 Shades thing. It’s the perception that it’s all about the Dominant and their needs and wants, and their ability to inflict pain on the submissive while forcing them to perform whatever sexual act the Dominant desires.

This is, of course, utter bullshit.

If it’s one thing I’ve said to the point of being blue in the face (and crimson in the arse cheeks) it’s that a D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship. For it to work, there has to be trust and respect on both sides. I get how, if the only experience of D/s you have is through porn or from “literature” such as 50 Shades, you might come to the above conclusion that it’s all pain and punishment and forced sex (and, indeed, if that’s a particular couple’s dynamic, then great), but beneath it there has to be trust and respect, there has to be an understanding on the part of both the Dominant and the submissive, of the other’s needs, wants, desires, tastes and, possibly most important, their limits.

I’ve written before about how pain and discipline ground and centre me. I have written about the fact that the discipline that Master C issues allows me to grow and be a better person. I’ve written about how a thorough thrashing and (almost brutal) fucking can help restore me. All of these things are true.  Pain is kind of my thing. I use it both emotionally and sexually. Master C knows this and He uses this knowledge appropriately within our dynamic, not because He particularly wants to hurt me, but because He knows that I am open to it, enjoy it and, in many respects, need it.

There is also the misconception that it is only the Dominant’s sexual needs that are getting met. Again, this is nonsense.

Within our dynamic, Master C regularly “requires” me to suck His cock. Within our dynamic, He often decides that it is my arse that should be fucked. Within the “role-play” element of our dynamic there (if that is all someone observed), Master C orders me to suck Him, or to commands me to take it in the arse from Him but the simple truth is, I do it, and I allow Him to do it to me because I love sucking cock (any cock, but especially Master C’s) and I love getting fucked in the arse as much as I love getting fucked in the cunt, and I love getting fucked in the throat. It may be rough, it may to an outside observer look forced on occasion, but it is always consensual and always mutually satisfying. Even when Master C is denying me the release of orgasm, I know that, at some point, He will relent. Also, if I’m being completely honest, sometimes the masochist in me actually really enjoys the frustration of being left high and dry just on the brink; it’s simply another kind of satisfaction.

The final thing for me is the perception that the Dominant must always humiliate the submissive. Now, for me, humiliation is a big thing, it is something I get off on in a big way. Humiliation can take many forms. It can be the derogatory names Master C calls me when He fucks me or thrashes me. It can be when He decides to shower His cum over my face. It can be being made to stand quietly in the corner while I have to watch Master C pleasure or be pleasured by another woman. It can be the humiliation of being out in public with His cum dried on my skin.

From the outside, this may look like it’s entirely a one way thing; that Master C is getting all the benefits but the simple truth is that it is ticking so many of my boxes and Master C is only really inflicting these humiliations on me because He knows how much I enjoy them and get turned on by them and, particularly in the aftermath of public humiliations, the sex that follows will be next level fucking.

The misconception in all this is that, as the submissive, I am the one that is having things done to me and that I am an unwilling participant and simply have to endure what is being done. The reality is that I am fully onboard and absolutely ready, willing and able and I love the things Master C does to and with me.

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Hauddin ma wheesht


I am feeling a wee bit torn by the current prompt on the ‘No True Way‘ site:

A submissive knows that they should learn to control their tongue when annoyed with their dominant

In so many ways, I agree with this statement. Largely this is because I am actually quite an irritable cow and most of the time, when Master C annoys me, it is unintentional and He’s just caught me at a bad moment. By His very nature, while He may be stern and strict when He needs to be (and having me as his sub/partner, that can be quite frequent), Master C really isn’t an annoying person. He may occasionally get angry at things (and sometimes, with justification, those things will include me, and I then get annoyed that He’s angry), but He never goes out of His way to annoy me. It is fair to say that, if I get annoyed at Master C , it almost certainly reflects more on me than it does Him; that is simply the kinds of people we are. That being the case, I probably should do a better job of not taking my propensity to get annoyed at things out on Him.

There is a slight drawback here, however. While I am submissive, I am definitely not meek and I am far from pliant. Part of our dynamic is that Master C constantly has to remind me who is “in charge” and has to “bend me to His will”. I can, by my own admission, be something of a brat.

The upshot of this is that there are times where I want, and indeed need, Master C to be strict with me; I need to feel the slap of His hand or the kiss of His belt on the skin of my bare arse. I need that touch, its harshness, its pain; and sometimes, in order to get what I need, I need to provoke the response out of Him.

It is entirely wilful on my part and when Master C finally can take no more of my impudence, when He puts me over His knee, Or bends me over the arm of the sofa, or edge of the bed; knickers (assuming I was wearing any) round my ankles, waiting for His punishment, I will absolutely be deserving of it in whatever form He decides is appropriate.

It is, however, a high risk strategy on my part. Master C has the patience of a saint and, dear only knows, He needs it having to live with me, so there is always a risk that the “punishment” He decides to mete out is simply to just ignore my behaviour and deny me the satisfaction He knows I am trying to wheedle out of Him. This, of course, only annoys me even more and ratchets my frustration levels up a few more notches.

Ultimately though, it’s part of who we are; it’s one of the things we do. We are both human and getting annoyed is part of being human. We can choose to bury it and let it fester, or we can acknowledge it and express it in ways get i out of the system.

So, yes, I acknowledge that there are times when I should just haud ma wheesht, but being me, there are times when I just don’t want to.

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Juxtaposition


If you’ve indulged in any form of group-sex activity, the chances are that you have watched your partner have sex with another person. In these situations, you are either an active participant, or are watching after having been involved in your own activity, or are waiting to take you part in this, or some other activity. In any event, you are either an active participant or actively on the periphery and it’s all extremely hot and everyone (hopefully) has a great time.

An altogether different experience is when you are required to watch your partner have sex with someone else and you are not able to participate in any way, not even able to play with yourself; the only thing you can do and watch. It is a situation that, as part of our poly-circle, I have experienced on a number of occasions; bound and restrained to a chair, unable to move, unable to complain past the gag in my mouth watching as Master C pleasures and takes pleasure from one of the other women in the circle.

It’s a strange mix and mash-up of emotions to watch in such a situation. On the one hand, I am happy for Master C that he is experiencing whatever pleasure being with the other woman gives Him, but obviously it hurts that it is not me that is the source of that pleasure. I can feel joy for the woman’s pleasure, knowing how expertly Master C will use His mouth, His hands, His tongue, His cock to give her pleasure while He takes His from her, but I will still feel a sadness and envy that it is not me that is feeling those things.

As she sucks His cock, I can see from the expression on Master C’s face and the sounds that He is making, that He is enjoying her mouth and I am happy for Him that He can enjoy it; while at the same time I am frustrated that I am not the cause of those reactions.

As Master C fucks her right there, long and hard in front of me, I know exactly what she is feeling. I know how good it must be for her to be fucked by Him, but I want it to be me, I year to have Master C’s cock inside me, doing to me what He is doing to her.

When Master C feasts on her cunt, driving her to the brink of climax and holding her there, I know exactly what she is experiencing. I know what it feels like, that exquisite balance of pleasure and frustration, the intense waves of pleasure and the urgent need for release. I am happy for her, I empathise with her, I sympathise with her, and I also hate her, because it should be me being held mercilessly on the edge waiting for release, not her. Master C should be feasting on me, driving me wild. I know He is enjoying the taste of her cunt, I know He is savouring her response to the expert application of His tongue. I know she is enjoying it. And I so want it to be me.

When at last, Master C comes, showering her skin with a thick load of His lovely, thick cum, I can rejoice in His climax, and yet feel an emptiness that His load was not my reward but hers.

The whole experience, for me, is one of frustration and humiliation, and yet, I am extremely turned on. My cunt is wet, I squirm uncomfortable in my bindings against the hard wooden seat below my naked buttocks.

The other woman’s partner unties me, and beckons me to join him. Master C instructs the other woman to take my place on the chair before proceeding to gag and bind her, just as I had been gagged and bound just moments before.

I kneel before the other man, take His cock in my mouth. Now it is her turn to watch and suffer.

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All in my mind (for now…)


I spend a lot of time “in my own head”. In a way, this post follows on from the posts I did for both the Creative and Fantasy prompts of the previous weeks.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time engaging in sexual activity, either with Master C or on my own. The opportunities for me to be having sex outside of these parameters currently do not exist, although there is just the faintest glimmer of hope that things might not be quite as restrictive soon.

So, while I can’t actually have sex with “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” or some drunken random, that doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it.

I have, lately, spent a lot of time trying to imagine that it will be like when I finally get to meet my other lovers in person again.

With “The Other Guy”, I suspect it’ll be much like sex with Master C, albeit without the discipline and, given how long it has been since we last fucked, much more urgency. I like to imagine him deciding which of my holes he wants to get reacquainted with first. Does he want to feel my lips wrap around his shaft as I slide them along his length, taking the head of his cock deep into the back of my throat? Is his need to fuck me so great that he simply bends me over, hitches up my skirt or yanks down my jeans, pulls the gusset of my knickers aside and plunges straight into my cunt; gripping my hips as he fucks me long and hard? Does he want the tightness of my arse; to stretch and hurt me as he fucks me? What position does he want me in? On my back so that he can pin me beneath him? Bent over the table or the arm of a chair? On my knees, my boobs swinging free beneath me as he takes me hard? Will he fuck me in the living room? Will me make it upstairs to his bedroom? Will he just take me there on the stairs in the hall; items of clothing scattered at our feet as our bodies become reacquainted.

With “The Girl” it will be different. It will still be urgent, but it will be slower, softer. We will take our time as we slowly rediscover each other’s bodies with our lips, our fingers, our tongues. Our lips will kiss, our fingers will explore, our hands will caress, our cunts will ache with the desire to feel each other’s tongues. Nipples will stiffen as they are licked, kissed and bitten. Moans will fill the room as fingers slip between labia and into cunts. Backs will arch as tongues reconnect with clits. We will tease each other, take each other to the edge, let the tension build into an exquisite pain before allowing our climaxes to ignite. And then, after the glow of our reunion slowly wears off, we will do it again.

As for randoms, well that kind of depends very much on when pubs are allowed to reopen and at what time of the evening they turf us out, but I can imagine myself in some alleyway, on my knees, sucking hungrily on the cock of my chosen object of lust. Devouring him until he comes down my throat. I can picture myself standing in some hidden doorway, bracing myself as some unknown man fucks me urgently from behind. I can feel the intensity as I struggle to remain silent lest my moans draw unwanted attention to our furtive fucking. I can sense the thrill of hearing voices nearby and wondering if we will be discovered.

All of these things play out in my mind when Master C leaves me to my own devices, allowing me to spend time with my toys and/or fingers. For now, these events, these encounters, these “indiscretions” that will allow me to encounter Master C’s rightful chastisement can  only happen in my imagination. I hope, however, that one day soon, the can start to become a reality once again.

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The making of me


The the quote for us to unpick on ‘Quote Quest‘ this week has got me revisiting my relationship with pain and my need to feel it again:

It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.
– Marquis de Sade

It will come to no surprise to anyone that I am submissive and that I have been in a D/s relationship with Master C for  a large part of 15 years we’ve been together;  but what exactly does that mean? In particular, since the dynamics of every D/s relationship is different what does being a submissive and submitting to Master C’s will specifically mean to me?

For many who live outside the D/s world, there is a perception that it’s all about, bondage, pain and perhaps the various role-playing subcultures that exist within our particular sexual sphere. There is a fixation on the pain/punishment element without any understanding of how it fits within the dynamic of a particular relationship.

Yes, Master C does punish me and yes, it does hurt; but it is never pain simply for the sake of pain itself.

When Master C punishes me, it is because I have done wrong, transgressed, displeased Him, failed in some way. The punishment is, first of all, appropriate to the level of the transgression; Master C will never use his belt when his hand is more appropriate, and vice versa, and it is always intended as a lesson.

Before I met Him, I pretty much fucked whomever I wished, with no regard to the consequences of my actions. Now, because we are happily poly, I still have the freedom to fuck other men, but now I know that there will be consequences. As a result, I am much choosier about whom I decided to have liaisons with. This doesn’t mean I won’t have a drunken shag with some nameless stranger, but I know that such indiscriminateness will earn me a much sterner disciplining than I would receive if I exercise a modicum of restraint over my need to have a cock inside me.

The discipline serves as part of His guidance. It is part of the way Master C makes me a better person, instilling in me a greater awareness of my own worth. I may not be any less of a slut under His guidance, but I am certainly a much more discriminating slut as a result.

For me, submission to Master C is not an abrogation of self, far from it; it as a confirmation, a validation of my worth as a person. It is a worth that grows under His strict, but fair tutelage. Yes, Master C punishes me when it is appropriate that He do so, but he also guides me, supports me, encourages me, protects me and, most of all loves me. Everything in our relationship is about making me the best person I can be. I have put that trust in Master C because he deserves it.

And that brings us back to pain. Pain is a reminder that I’ve misbehaved. pain is a reminder that I’ve done something wrong, or stepped beyond a line that I should have stayed within. Pain is a reminder that I ned to try harder. All these things are true, but when Master C cause me pain, He is also doing it because He loves me, He hurts me because He knows I need that pain; I need the sweet, exquisite release, to fully experience the pleasure of being broken down simply to Have Master C rebuild me.

Master C is, quite literally, the making of me.

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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.

Fuck cards and flowers, just fuck me


Valentine’s Day started, like a lot of other days, with a fuck. Let’s be honest, it’s a great way to get the heart pounding, and help you start the day. If an orgasm can’t make you face the day with a smile on your face, I’m not sure if anything can.

It was, as wake-up sex often is, a fairly perfunctory, but highly satisfactory fuck. Having established that I was awake, Master C proceeded to skilfully and efficiently get me in the mood. Lips and tongue on my nipples, fingers on my clit and between my labia quickly got me to the point where I needed Him inside me.  “Please Sir, can your slut have your cock inside her now?” I asked, “I would really like Sir to fuck me.”

Fuck me, Master C did. Starting slowly, but firmly, he sank His cock sank me. The pace quickly picked up, the force of His thrusts quickly intensified. I came, my fingers digging into His buttocks. Seconds later, with a final thrust, Master C came too, flooding my cunt with His lovely thick, warm wetness.

And that was that.

Evening found me in the kitchen, preparing a risotto from the remains of the previous evening’s roast chicken. While it was simmering, I decided that I probably had time to give Master C  a blow-job, so, stopping only to set a timer on the hob, that’s what I did.

It wasn’t one of my prolonged worshipings of His cock, but it had the desired effect.  I started slow but, in much the same way as when Master C fucked me that morning, the urgency took over and my head was bobbing frantically up and down in His lap as His fingers twisted in my hair, His hips thrusting His cock deeper into my mouth, driving the head into my throat as my fingers and lips worked on His shaft.

The was an intense urgency to how I sucked Him. Usually, I luxuriate in giving Master C a blow-job, as much for my own enjoyment of performing the act as for the pleasure it gives Him. Last night, however, much as yesterday morning, something more primal took over. I wanted His cum, I wanted it like a starving person wants food, or a thirsty person wants a drink. I wanted, no, I needed Master C’s cum in my mouth and, I got exactly what I wanted/needed.

That particular need satisfied, I returned to the kitchen to finish the preparation of our meal.

A little later, Master C announced that He wanted dessert, and that His dessert of choice was me. Unsurprisingly, I was only too happy to oblige; I never pass up the opportunity to feel Master C’s tongue on my clit.

Unlike our morning fuck, and the pre-teatime blow-job, there was an almost total absence of urgency. Master C wanted to luxuriate in feasting on me and I was not going to complain (not that I would). His tongue slowly but surely took me closer and closer to the edge of orgasm and then held me there for what seemed like an eternity,  Fingers twisting inside my cunt, His tongue applying firm but gentle pressure on my clit, He teased, tormented and tortured me, holding me on the precipice as fire screamed through my nerves demanding release.

I don’t know how Master C does it, but He knows my responses so well. He knows just the right amount of pleasure to push me almost, but not quite over the edge and then keep me there. Sometimes holding me on the very brink, other times, taking me there then drawing back, only to take me there again.  Last night was a combination of both.

Time and time again Master C expertly took me right to the edge, holding me over the rim, only to pull me away again. Each time, I was certain this would be the time that He would take mercy, and each time I would know the frustration of being denied again.

I was sobbing for release; begging to be allowed to come, but Master C had His own agenda; He would let me come only when He had had his fill of of my cunt.

When the end finally came, the release of energy and tension was beyond description. Volcanic would be one word for it, albeit an inadequate word. My body shook so hard I’m almost certain the British Seismology Society probably registered, my moan probably deafened the neighbours half way down the street.

My body was still shaking when Master C propped me up  against the sofa, parted my legs and slid His cock into me. I was entirely passive as He fucked me from behind, starting with my cunt, then moving to my arse. His strokes were strong and firm and my body responded. Even if I was incapable of conscious movement, my unconscious  self knew what to do; the correct synapses fired and I came again.

My cunt throbbed, partially from the intensity of the orgasm His tongue had inflicted on me and partially from the pounding His cock had given it. My arse now felt deliciously stretched and full as he drove into it. The top half of my body lay on the cushions of the sofa as he took me, my nipples being tormented by the nap of the material under them.

Master C came, with a grunt, unloading Himself in my back passage. My body still refused to move. I wasn’t in what you would call an elegant or ladylike position, but elegance or being ladylike has never been my thing. I’d had my cunt thoroughly eaten, and my arse masterfully fucked, I’d had one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had, and a few smaller ones, and I was happy beyond the ability of words to express.

Later still, in bed, I snuggled into Him, enjoying the warmth of His firm body beside mine, and drifted contentedly off to sleep.

So, yeah, some people like cards and flowers and chocolates, some people like romantic dinners for two; me, well I really love being fucked and that’s exactly what I got for Valentine’s Day. I wouldn’t want to spend it any other way.

Erotic Journal Challenge Blogging Meme