Punished


His belt rains down hard on my arse. Once again, Master C is punishing me for being a naughty little slut; and, of course, I deserve it. After all, I didn’t need to suck the very dishy I guy I met on a work night out off. I certainly didn’t need to go back to his place. I absolutely didn’t need to fuck him; twice. No, I didn’t need to do any of those things, but I did them just the same; and now I am being punished.

My attempts to soften His displeasure by sucking Him off were to no avail. All that it earned me was a sore jaw and a faceful of cum. And so I ended up bent over the hard, wooden table, my ankles pushed apart by the spreader, the ropes passed under the table to secure my wrists to my ankles. Then came His belt.

Ten lashes to each cheek; each one biting deeper and more painfully than last. Master C forces me to count each stroke; one to the left, one to the right.

I gasp the numbers out between my sobs. Tears trickle down my cum encrusted face. My arse burns. I can feel the lovely hot, red glow spread over it.

A pause. Master C surveys the marks He has left on my bottom; the rosy red glow of my stinging cheeks. He decides another five lashes to each is in order.

Again, I count out each stroke, each stinging kiss of the leather on my skin. The pain is intense, but that is part of the lesson, the consequence of my actions.

Untied, stretched out on the bed as Master C rubs the soothing balm into my hot skin, He asks me in His softest tones if I have learned my lesson. I nod. “Yes, Master,” I respond meekly.

“What have you learned, my naughty little slut?”

“That when I misbehave, I must be punished, Master,”

He holds me close. “Good girl,” He whispers.

And in that moment, I am His good girl; punished, admonished and forgiven. I know, however, that it’s only a question of time before I’ll misbehave again.

#MasturbationMonday
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Out and about


I am a lover of the outdoors. I love being naked outdoors. There is something inherently natural about it. I love the feeling of the sun on my naked skin. I love feeling those gentle breezes that make the fine hairs stand on end and add to the sensitivity.

Whether it be soaking up the sun on a Greek beach, finding a remote country spot, or just simply lying out in the garden, the feel of the sun’s warmth  and/or gentle breezes all over my skin, there is a glorious natural feeling that simply can’t be replicated.

Sadly, living in a part of the world where the climate doesn’t often lend itself to outdoor nudity, and on those occasions that it does, the chances of them coinciding with me being free are so few and far between, they almost have to be grabbed and exploited.

Of course, if there’s one thing better than outdoor nudity, it’s outside sex. There are any number of places near to where Master C and I live that lend themselves to alfresco loving; whether it’s in the countryside, or various places along the shore, or, should inspiration fail us, our own garden. Of course there are also numerous back alleys and dark closes that lend themselves to drunken, late night quickies, but those are the subject of another post.

The thrill of outdoor sex comes from the risk of discovery; it adds a degree of excitement that makes the experience more intense. For me, the greater the chance of being caught, the sexier the experience is. The only drawback, if you can call it that, is that the riskier the location, the less clothing is likely to be removed. Sometimes the biggest thrill from outdoor sex is doing it in such a way that any people around are unaware that you are doing it.

One of the sexiest experiences I ever had was having sex in the middle of a park in Dublin, the guy I was with sat with his back against a tree, me sat astride him, my knickers pushed aside and me rocking gently as people passed by all around us, unaware (or at least, so I thought) of what was going on almost right under their noses.

Of course, if you can find a remote enough spot, a more leisurely approach can be taken. If it’s warm enough, you can take the risk of stripping off, letting the heat of the sun add to the heat of the situation.

Of course, seclusion is no guarantee of absolute privacy. Ramblers, dog walkers, horse riders and even mountain bikers can, and do, sometimes, appear seemingly out of nowhere. On those rare occasions where an outdoor shag has been interrupted in circumstances such as those just described, the general response has more often than not been embarrassment rather than outrage. On one particular occasion, one couple did stop briefly to enquire if we’d noticed any other likely spots nearby.

I am a big fan of of alfresco nudity, and sex; it’s just a shame that our weather gives us so few opportunities to indulge in such activities. So, when the circumstances and the weather combine to allow me to be naked outdoors, you can be certain that I will take advantage of it.

#MasturbationMonday

Punishment fucks


One of the reasons I enjoy being such a bad girl is that I love being punished. There’s something about the prospect of getting my arse well and truly paddled until the tears flow from my eyes, followed by a brutal, merciless fuck.

Fortunately for me, Master C is always ready to chastise me for my misdeeds. If I’m being brutally honest, I regularly give Him reasons for disciplining me.

Of course, the most severe, and of course deserving, punishment comes from those times that I am “unfaithful” to Him with “The Girl ” or one of my other girlfriends.

Being unable to lie to Master C, I automatically have to admit to these indiscretions, knowing full well that I will be deservedly punished for them.

Usually, I am ordered to strip, to stand there naked and vulnerable as Master C interrogates me thoroughly; gleaning ever last sordid detail of my illicit encounter. As I recount my guilt, He gives no indication of what my punishment will be. Will He let me off with nothing more than sound spanking? Will He use the the paddle with its grooves that bite into my flesh? Or will He decide that my guilt deserves nothing less than the biting kiss of His belt? There is no way of knowing until I have fully admitted my guilt. Because I’m such a depraved little slut, the very uncertainty around my punishment makes my cunt tingle.

When I have fully unburdoned, I take my position, bent over the arm of the sofa and I bite my trembling lower lip in anticipation of what is to come next.

A spanking, a paddling or a thrashing, it ultimately makes no difference. Sometimes Master C will make me count out the strokes as my arse cheeks redden and sting and tears begin to well in my eyes.

Each slap, each stroke hurts more than the last, my sobs become increasingly pain filled, my cunt grows increasingly wet.

Eventually He stops, but the punishment has not finished. Master C begins to fuck me. There is no foreplay. There is no need, my cunt is already soaked. The is no tenderness; Master C simply grabs my hips and fucks me at full force.

As He fucks me, rough and hard, Master C pulls my hair and reminds me that “The Girl” couldn’t give me what He’s giving me now; how she can’t give me a cock, she can’t fuck me, she can’t abuse my cunt or arse the way He is doing.

Of course, Master C is right; my girlfriends can’t fuck me the way He does, they can’t use my body like He does, they have no cock to fill me, stretch me, abuse me with. And, as Master C punishes me, I become grateful for His reminders, I am grateful for His cock, I am grateful that His punishment has made me realise I need a man, I need Him, to fuck me.

Suddenly His cock is withdrawn. Feeling painfully abused and empty, I kneel on the floor before him to await my final humiliation.

“Have you learned your lesson, slut?” Master C demands, slapping my face firmly, yet tenderly with His hand.

“Yes,” I sob, my eyes filled with tears once more.

Master C doesn’t ask me if this is the last time I will stray with a woman, we both know I will; to suggest otherwise would be a lie and we both know it. Instead He strokes His cock, His breathing becomes laboured until finally He erupts, covering my face in a thick load of cum.

Sitting down, Master C watches me as I gather as much of His cum as I can with my fingers before licking them clean.

As I kneel there before Him, punished, abused and humiliated, Master C smiles and gently pats the cushion beside Him, inviting me next to Him.

As I snuggle, still naked, against Him, Master C puts His arm around me and holds me tight and I know I am forgiven, until the next time.

All relationships have their “traditions”; the unburdening of my various transgressions and accepting the appropriate punishment for them is very much one of the central traditions of ours.

#WickedWednesday

Thoughts of summer sun


As the winter has dragged on interminably and the daily temperatures have struggled recently to make it above 0℃, my thoughts have been turning to warmer, sunnier climes.

I love feeling the heat of the summer’s sun on my body. As a child, and until she passed away a little over ten years ago, a large part of my summer’s were spent with my cousins at my Nonna Serena’s villa in the outskirts of San Cataldo in the heel of Italy. When the cold Scottish winters bite, I often dream that I’m back there, lying about in the sun, walking in the shade of the market stalls or swimming naked in the clear blue Adriatic sea.

I love feeling the warmth of the sun all over my body as its heat sinks into my skin. I love the comfort of being naked in the heat of the sun, with the gentle breeze from the sea keeping me cool.  I love to have the water lap against me, the ripples stimulating my nipples and labia as I swim.

Even when circumstances dictate that need to be more modestly attired, there is, however, one item of clothing whose services I am willing to dispense with when the temperature soars, and that is my knickers.

Now, some would say I’m willing to dispense with them pretty much any time, and that is, of course, very true. When the sun beats down, however, going “commando” beneath a light summer skirt or dress is a simple pleasure that I will avail myself of at every opportunity. There’s something about the feeling that I find delightfully refreshing, and it’s so much more comfortable too.

And while I’m sitting there in a café or bar, demurely sipping an espresso, it gives me so many opportunities to surreptitiously flash my cunt at any good looking guy who takes my fancy, and of coarse, earn myself a thrashing from Master C‘s belt for being such a shameless, cock-teasing slut.

 Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Body image and nudity


I like my bum. Sadly for it, in terms of the attention it gets from oglers, it is most definitely overshadowed (not literally, obviously; that would be freaky) by my boobs. Now, as it happens, I like my boobs too most of the time, but I happen to think my bum is my best feature and it gets somewhat neglected in the getting checked out stakes.

For everyone, especially us women, body image is a very complicated and very personal thing. I am quite fortunate that I happen to like (most of) my body. My face is nothing special (yet another reason for not showing it) and I hate my feet. As for the rest, it’s pretty much how I like it. OK, so it’s size and shape changes from time to time, but it’s been pretty much constant since I was about 16/17.

That’s not to say I’ve always been as self-confident. My boobs in particular caused me a lot of grief in my early teens.

As I’ve mentioned to the point of nausea, I went to an all girls school. I was also quite an early developer on the boob front. As such I got quite a lot of teasing from my still flat-chested classmates. You might have thought that this would have lessened as their own boobs sprouted but alas no. Mine, having had a head start, stayed pretty much out in front on account of their size. Being a 32D at the age of 13 is not the blessing you may think it is, although my boobs did get me noticed by boys, which of course just added to the torment I received from my peer group. I was still in my first year of secondary school when someone first came up with the nickname, Morag McNipples (it being a supposedly clever play on my actual surname), and it was to follow me throughout my school days.

Of course, the only people who ever saw me naked in those days were the same sneering classmates in the showers and changing rooms after PE at school, and , of course, “The Girl”.

The change in my attitude to myself came, quite naturally I guess, as I began to become sexually active. The first time I got naked in front of a guy was nervewracking, but in actual fact, I guess I needn’t have worried; I don’t think he actually took his eyes off my boobs the whole time after my bra came off. We didn’t have sex that time, but we did spend ages lying naked together, exploring each other with out fingers and, I think, during the course of the afternoon, he had complimented every inch of me (but my boobs were definitely his favourite bits).

Allowing men, and women to see me naked taught me to look at my body in a different light. I was (and still am) to a certain extent slightly self-concious about my ladybumps, but I have come to love them almost as much as any other part of me.

Going abroad on holiday in my early teens was always a bit traumatic. My mum has (and possibly still does for all I know) never had any issue with sunbathing topless. She even refused to cover up when her offspring were going through that awkward stage. I was 15 when I first decided to brave discarding my bikini top. I was quite envious of all these other women (my mum excepted) being brave enough to bare their boobs and enjoy the freedom of the sun and the sea on their skin.

My sister (who is almost two years older than me) and I decided to leave the family group and set off further along the beach. Once we were certain we were far enough to be out of view, and with a lot of nervous giggling and a few false starts, we eventually plucked up the courage to discard our tops. I think I was slightly disappointed at the lack of any reaction when there I was, my boobs out in public for the first time, and no one paid a damned bit of notice. Of course, what were two (or four if you count my sister’s) more boobs on a beach where you could see countless pairs of them in any direction?

Going swimming topless for the first time was exhilarating. The contrast of the heat of the sun and the coolness of the water made my nipples stand out, and feeling the waves splash against them sent almost orgasmic like shivers through them.

Except for those parts of the world where it’s required, I’ve never worn a bikini top abroad since, although it took a couple of further holidays before I was comfortable getting them out with my mum and dad present.

Nude sunbathing was something I tried for the first time when I went on an all girls holiday just after finishing school. If you’ve ever been to the Greek Island of Corfu, you may know that on the northwest corner there is a lovely beach just to the north of the village of Arillas. The beach, set against the backdrop of imposing clay cliffs has some of the clearest blue waters off any of the Greek islands. It is also a beach where not only is nudism tolerated, it is, as we discovered, almost expected. Being already completely comfortable with being topless, and seeing all the carefree nudity around me, it didn’t require much persuasion for me to go the whole way and discard the bottoms too.

The thing I discovered very quickly is that nudity, when it is all around, is not sexy nor is it arousing, it is simply nudity. I saw bodies of all shapes, colours, ages and sizes and no one seemed to be either attracted or repulsed by it; it was simply perfectly acceptable. It was also, I discovered, a hell of a lot more comfortable than having soggy, hot, uncomfortable bikini bottoms clinging to you after you’d been for a swim too.

For me, I think, despite never really having any serious body images, that week of just lying in the sun with other naked people lying all around me, just going about and minding their own business, transformed the way I thought about my body and myself. It certainly taught me that I needn’t have hang-ups displaying it and, if a guy was willing to get naked for me, there wasn’t any reason why I should worry about getting naked for him.

I am not a naturist or nudist by any means, but I do admit to enjoying being naked outdoors and, when I go abroad, I do try to ensure that there is the opportunity to sunbathe nude. Not because I want to show off my body, because in all honesty, the only person that will probably even be looking at it is Master C and he sees it every day, but because I enjoy the freedom and the comfort.

As for hang-ups about my boobs, they are mostly relegated to the past, although I still think my bum is cuter.

#MasturbationMonday Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

The BIG reveal


It’s the final stop on the journey. The final revelation.

It’s those final moments before you reveal yourself fully.

It’s the anticipation you feel as you prepare to surrender to your partner’s scrutiny.

It’s the thrill you feel as you peel off your knickers and expose yourself fully to your lover.

It’s the excitement as you prepare to open up for him, to feel his tongue on you, or his cock in you.

It’s the big reveal…