His orgasm

The topic under discussion on No True Way this week is:

“It is a submissive’s responsibility to make sure the dominant (always) reaches orgasm.“

Now, I’ve touched on responsibilities before, and my view is that both the Dominant and the submissive have responsibilities to each other; how these responsibilities are discharged in practice will, naturally, depend very much on the nature of the D/s dynamic that is in place.

When it comes to Master C’s orgasm, I tend to disagree with the above. That isn’t to say that the statement is wrong, per se, it’s just that it doesn’t fit with how we do things.

Now, granted, there will be times when the task (and therefore the responsibility) of bringing Master C will be mine. For example, when I am giving Him a blow-job. In such a case, I am using my mouth (and, possibly hands) to excite and arouse Him, to pleasure Him and, when the time is right, to provide for His release. Ultimately, in this situation, when Master C comes, it is entirely down to me and what I have done. The only thing Master C has needed to do is to be there, sit/lie back, and have His cock sucked; everything else is down to me. It’s probably one of my most frequent “tasks” and it is one that I always apply myself to diligently, and with relish. Having my mouth filled with Master C’s hot, thick cum is a reward I will never tire of working to achieve.

In pretty much any other circumstance, however, Master C’s orgasm pretty much takes care of itself. When He fucks me, He will come. My responsibility, as much as it can be described as one, is merely to provide the means by which Master C achieves orgasm. My responsibility is to be at His disposal should He desire to use my body fir His gratification and satisfaction. My mouth/throat, my cunt and my arse are, to all intents and purposes, the tools that Master C employs to bring Himself to climax; I am there to be used. Does being is to use as He deems appropriate make me in any way responsible for the outcome of that use? Not actively, I believe. After all, if He weren’t fucking me, Master C could be fucking one of the other women in our sharing circle and the end result, i.e. His orgasm, would still be achieved.

And that, I suppose, is another factor to consider; the fact that, in being non-monogamous, I am not always involved in Master C’s orgasms. Granted, within our circle, the other women are, to a greater or lesser degree, submissive, but none of them are His submissive; I am Master C’s submissive.

Perversely, rather than me always being responsible for Master ‘s orgasm, within our particular dynamic, He is largely responsible for mine. Not entirely so, of course; I am generally free to masturbate (unless under specific instruction not to), and I have my other partners who also make me come, but when it comes to sex with Master C, I largely put my orgasm in His hands (or His mouth) and allow Him to determine not only when, but if I am permitted to come.

Dynamics are, of course, individual. This is how it works for us, but it is entirely possible that in other dynamics, the responsibility for the ensuring the Dominant partner comes, rests with the submissive and forms part of their duties towards the Dominant partner. Intellectually, I can see how this might work, but it isn’t the way our dynamic operates, and, you know what, that suits us just fine.

A moment in time

I was absolutely delighted to see that Quote Quest was returning today. The prompts that LSB sets always make me think and the one chosen to relaunch the meme was no exception:

“Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.”

― Dr. Seuss

Now, I’m not going to lie, my take on this prompt is tenuous if not downright tangential, but it’s all about interpretation, right?

It starts, as it so often does, with me restrained, blindfolded, with clamps fixed tightly to my nipples. I am utterly at Master C’s mercy; He is free to do whatever He pleases and I have no way of knowing what He will do next.

What happens is, that Master C spends ages using a variety of toys, His fingers, His tongue to take me to the very brink of orgasm and then hold me there for what seems like an eternity.

That is the “moment” that this post is about.

Master C knows my body. He knows its responses. He knows my levels of endurance. He knows exactly how much suffering juxtaposed with pleasure I can take..

The build up is slow, unhurried. The vibrating head of my wand is placed against my clit for a few seconds. Fingers twist inside my cunt as Master C nibbles, licks and sucks on my clit. The clamps around my nipples are tightened. A cold, smooth glass plug forces my arse open.

Each action is deliberate, measured, calculated. Each stroke, flick, kiss, lick is performed to amplify the feelings I’m experiencing, driving me further along the path towards the precipice.

A pause. Agonising seconds of stillness before He resumes His attentions.

Master C’s tongue flicks over my clit. Fast, then slow, then slower, then rapid. The pressure of His tongue changes, increasing and decreasing. There is no correlation between pace and pressure; He uses His tongue with a long-practised ease to keep me off balance.

He studies my breathing, takes note of the subtle changes of flavour on His tongue as He licks me. Fingers coated with my juices are forced into my mouth as the vibrator’s tip replaces His tongue.

Closer, ever close He pushes me. My eyes are screwed tightly shut beneath the blindfold; lights flash and burn behind my eyelids. My clit throbs. Tremors run up through my cunt to grip my womb.

I reach the precipice. I hover on the edge of the abyss. Master C holds me there.

This is the moment; the moment that feels like eternity, the moment where time loses all meaning. I no longer have any control over my responses; that control belongs entirely to Master C. My body has become a finely tuned instrument for Him to play with an effortless virtuosity.

Fingers, lips, tongue; kisses, caresses, licks and flicks; advances and retreats. My body responds; a reaction to His every action. A reaction but never the final one of release.

Pressure builds, sinews scream, nerves aflame, my consciousness detaches and I almost seem to see myself lying there, helpless to do anything but endure and enjoy what is being done to my body.

Time slows in a kind of dilation of sexual relativity. The time between each breath, each heartbeat, each flick of His tongue becomes immeasurable, meaningless in that eternal now.

The dissociation becomes complete. I can no longer feel my body, I simply feel the flows of sexual energy and tension. And still the release of orgasm is denied me.

This is the moment. I am truly on the brink. I can endure no more. With the slightest touch I will be undone. The next flick of Master C’s tongue on my clit, the next thrust and twist of His fingers inside my cunt will be the spark that ignites me. I exist in that timeless void between breaths, between heartbeats between one stroke of His tongue and the next.

In that heightened state I can feel each minute movement as His tongue moves, micron by micron towards the spot where it will release me. So close, so close, and then…

An explosion of light accompanied by a cry of relief. My back attempts to arch up off the bed but restraints hold me in place. Feeling returns with an intensity that tears flood from my eyes. Spasms convulse, the pent up pressure erupts out in one uncontrolled wave. My consciousness reconnects with my physical self, as my brain struggles to reconnect the fragments of the experience and connect them into something resembling a coherent sequence of causes and effects.

Control slowly returns. Master C releases me and comforts me. I am relaxed, I am satisfied, I am made whole again. The time spent on the edge, those moments before release become memories. The intensity of my climax and the blissful joy that now envelopes me is their value, and that value is priceless.

TMI Tuesday – On the fly

1. What’s for breakfast?
Well, this morning, it was me. I do like to make sure Master C starts His day well nourished.

2. Three words you don’t want to hear during sex.
“No you don’t…”

3. Stupid shit you shouldn’t do but do anyway. List two.
i. Fucking or giving blow-jobs to random guys in dark alleyways.
ii. Pretty much any of the bratty stuff I do just to feel Master C’s belt on my arse.

4. One thing you love to hate.
Orgasm denial. It feels so great when Master C finally allows me to come, and he torments me so well, but I hate the frustration of just being on the edge and not quite being able to let go. The relief when I finally do is worth it though.

5. Today is a great day for _____ .
Getting my brains well and truly fucked out

Need

Sometimes the need is so intense, there is a fire in me that only Master C can extinguish, a hunger that only Master C can satiate, a thirst that only Master C can quench.

As I lie naked, exposed, and available, I yearn for the touch of His lips and His fingers exploring my body; stroking and caressing every inch of my skin, working their way into the folds and cervices of my cunt, teasing my nipples, making my juices flow, feeding my inner desire.

I long to feel His teeth bite down on my nipples. I yearn to feel His tongue work its way between my labia and flick over my clit. I hunger for His cock to be forced deep down my throat, or to feel it stretching and filling my cunt.

I need to feel His body on mine; His weight bearing down as He pins me to the bed, inviting my surrender.

So often, as much as I want to serve and please Master C, to be His attentive and dutiful submissive, all I really want is for Him to fuck me, to use me and to take His pleasure from me.

Each thrust of His cock, harder and more forceful than the last. His hands, first around my wrists, holding my hands above my head as His cock drives into me, then moving to cover my mouth as I start to moan, then, finally, tightening around my neck as the pressure inside Him begins to mount.

I crave the release that only He can give me, and the torment of the denial that He so effortlessly causes me to endure. That intense journey to the edge of the precipice that He takes me to, so expertly, then holds me there until I can endure no more.

Is it instinct that tells Master C when I simply have to given the release of orgasm? Is it the experience of our years together; the knowledge of my body and its responses. Is it some combination of both? I don’t care. All I know is that however Master C gets me to that point, that is where I desire to be; where I need to be.

And then He fucks me. Slow at first but building the pace, force and strength of His thrusts. Filling my cunt as it stretches around His cock. I receive Him as He takes me; using me for His pleasure and gratification. My body is Master C’s to use, and use it He does, with a raw intensity that leaves me helpless and, ultimately, leaves Him drained.

I yearn for the increasing tightness of His body, the deepening of His breathing, the increased frequency of His moans as His climax approaches.

I live for the moment of Master C’s release; the moment where He softly moans my name as His cock erupts inside me, filling me with a thick load of cum.

I long for the afterglow, when we snuggle together; His arms wrapped around me, holding me tightly against Him as His cum slowly begins to trickle out of me.

There are times when the only thing I need is for Master C to give me a bloody good seeing to; to lick me and fuck me, to take me an use me. This is one of those times where the need is upon me.

Suffering in silence

When it comes to expressing my pleasure/enjoyment of something, I am quite a vocal person. I don’t mean in the asthmatic banshee wailing of women in porn kind of way, just that I like to be able to “release” vocally (albeit often incoherently) as well as physically, emotionally. With that in mind, here is my take on this week’s Quote Quest prompt:

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”

–   Federico García Lorca

As I said, I tend to vocalise things; not just sexual enjoyment/orgasm, but any strong emotion. I tend to live on the very edge of my skin, and I have a need to let things out. I will howl with laughter at a particularly funny joke/sketch, I will scream with shock at scary bits in films, I will almost certainly let my partner know how much I am enjoying the sensations they are causing me to experience.

Sometimes I will manage to articulate these into actual words, telling them how good their cock feels inside me, or their tongue feels on my clit. More often, the deeper my arousal and closer I am to orgasm, the less articulate I become and my vocalisations are reduced to murmurs, moans, sighs, whimpers and the occasional hoarse profanity.

Of course, all of this is fine when engaging in sex in the privacy of your own home, a hotel room, or in the confines of a swingers’ club, but sometimes there is a need to be more circumspect.

Readers of this blog will be aware that I have a propensity towards sexual activity in less private places; whether that be in some secluded out of the way spot in the countryside to having a frantic quickie in a dark, back street/lane. While part of the enjoyment of these activities is the risk of the possibility of being caught, there is a need to try and mitigate this risk as much as possible. One of the ways to do this is to ty not to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves and what we are doing and, tat generally means needing to be quiet.

For me, as a vocaliser, this is often a source of added torment. Given the risky nature of what we are doing, my arousal is already heightened. If someone has their fingers up my cunt, or is fucking me with a sense of frantic urgency, the sensations I am feeling are going to already be intensely powerful. In “normal”, more private settings, being able to give voice to my pleasure helps release some of the pressure that is building inside me as the sensations move me along the journey to climax. The need to be quiet denies me that pressure valve and as the pressure builds, so the sensations intensify and the need for release increases. Essentially, at this point, I am a living, breathing uncontrollable chain reaction of pre-orgasmic energy. Where normally I would moan with carefree abandon, I am reduced to whimpers which do little to relieve the mounting tension until my climax eventually takes me and reduces me to a trembling wreck.

Of course, it’s not always when being fucked in such observable/overhearable locations that silence may be required. Often, Master C will require me to remain silent, as a form of control. This differs from being gagged in that, with a gag, I can still make sounds, they are just prevented from being articulated, where I am required to be silent, I have to remain silent by volition. When the instruction for silence is combined with a form of orgasm denial, it can lead to a build up of pressure inside me that is excruciating in its intensity that is not unlike that which I experience when I am being choked. In the same way that the first lungful of air when Master C removes His hands/belt from around my neck and pulls His cock from my throat provides a relief to my oxygen-starved self that is beyond words, so the final permission to come and to give voice to my release is of a similar magnitude.

It’s fair to say, I was not designed for silence, and being forced to be so is an almost punishment of almost unbearable torment.

Taken

The ball-gag fills my mouth. I am bent over Master C’s “workbench”, my ankles fastened to the legs, my hands tied behind my back, the hard surface of the bench forcing the clamps on my nipples to press into my breasts, intensifying their pain. My arse is flaming red from the stokes of His belt, six deliciously stinging lashes to each buttock. Hot tears coarse down my cheeks as Master C’s cock pounds my arsehole.

He said I needed teaching a lesson, and this is it. His body slams into mine, driving His cock deep into my back passage with every powerful, surging thrust. With my hair wrapped around one hand, Master C pulls my head sharply back as He fucks me.

“Bad girl!”

“Naughty slut!”

A stream of insults, each punctuated by a thrust oh His cock or a slap of His free hand across my burning buttocks.

It hurts. It’s meant to hurt. I want it and need it to hurt and Master C does not deprive me.

“Your arse is mine, slut! I’m taking what is mine and fucking it hard.” Somehow He manages to pull my head back even further.

Thrust after deep, powerful thrust pounds into my arse. His cock and pain from my nipple clamps are combining, bringing me to the edge.

A sharp yank of my hair brings more tears to my eyes. The thumb of His free hand presses into my cunt; my clit rubbed by the space between His thumb and forefinger.

“Do not come!” He commands. I screw my eyes shut, trying to detach myself from the combination of pain and pleasure that Master C is subjecting me to.

My arse is raw from the pounding of His cock, my buttocks feel like they are on fire, the pain in my nipples is excruciating, my scalp burns and my clit throbs. I want to cry, but no sound escapes from around the ball in my mouth. Lights flash against the insides of my eyelids.

The wonderful torture is unrelenting, I can feel myself almost slipping away. Every nerve is screaming for the release that only orgasm will provide.

“Not yet, slut! You haven’t earned it yet!”

I want to nod, but His grip on my hair prevents my head from moving. I want to say “Yes, Sir” but no words can pass around the ball in my mouth. I want to acknowledge His command in some way, to show Him I accept, but all I can do is just accept more of the blissful agony and torment.

Time loses meaning; I am on the edge of the precipice and Master C holds me there for what seems like an eternity.

My reverie is broken by a sudden sense of emptiness. His cock is gone from my back passage and is now in front of my face. I know what comes next. Hot streaks cross my face, His cum dribbles down my cheeks adding its trail to those of my tears.

“Now it’s your turn,” He says as His cum begins to dry on my skin. I hear the buzz as Master C switches on the wand. A moment’s stillness and then He presses it firmly to my clit. I endure for brief moments as its powerful vibrations return me to the precipice then cast me over the lip. My orgasm claims me and carries me away, lifting me out of myself. The tension drains from my body in one huge cataclysmic eruption.

I sense, rather than feel my restraints being undone, the gag and clamps removed, Master C lifting me and carrying me to the couch. I smile as He tenderly cleans His cum from my face; His large, strong hands so gentle as He applies and removes the cleanser from my skin. Master C props my head up with a cushion, kisses my forehead before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. I know that when He returns He will have a mug of tea for me.

As I listen absently to the sounds in the kitchen, I lie there content at having been taken and used so thoroughly.

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.

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.

At His mercy

I’m on my back. My wrists are bound and tied, above my head, to the rail of the headboard. My legs frog-tied with rough rope that digs simultaneously into my thighs, calves and shins, the knots pressing into my skin. My legs spread as wide as the can in that arrangement, my ankles cuffed the tied to the outsides of the bed.

I can’t move. I’m blindfolded. I’m forced to wait.

Master C runs a finger over then around the curve of each of my breasts. His fingers then butterfly caress the insides of my thighs. The cold, hardness of a well-lubed, brushed-steel plug presses against my arsehole and slowly pushes inside.

I wait again.

Kisses on the inside of my thighs.

A gentle tickle of the ends of the flogger over my nipples.

Each action followed by more agonising nothing.

Hot breath on my labia. Fingers running up the insides of my legs. Master C’s mouth is so close, but so far away, and then it is gone.

Clamps applied to my nipples. The sweet exquisite pain makes me cry out, makes my cunt contract. Master C tightens them with a deft twist. My cunt grows wetter.

Again, the warmth o f His breath is so close. If I could just move, I’d push my mound against His lips, The licks and kisses to my thighs torment me. So close, so close, and then they are gone.

More waiting; each second an eternity.

My head is turned to one side. Master C pushes the head of His cock into my mouth. I accept it gratefully, something to distract me from His torment.

As I tease the tip with my tongue, His finger slides between my legs, parts my labia and slips easily inside me. I gasp. Master C’s cock slips from my mouth. His finger is withdrawn from my cunt and he puts it in my mouth. I taste myself as I have done so many times before.

His finger returns to my cunt and he feeds me my juices again. I accept them willingly, grateful to be required to do something more than just passively await His next action. His fingers then His cock each take it in turns in my mouth. I want to suck Him properly. I want to feel Him erupt in my mouth so I can savour His cum before swallowing it, but it’s not to be.

More waiting.

Again, His mouth approaches. He kisses my left thigh, then right; left, then right, each time getting inexorably closer. Seconds pass, minutes, an eternity of agonising anticipation.

And then, contact. Master C’s tongue touches me. “You taste divine, little one,” He says as He begins to slowly lick and tease.

I want to writhe, but all I can to is wriggle my bum against the bed. I want to reach down and press His face to my cunt, forcing Him to eat me more firmly,

I am at His mercy, He licks and nibbles, fingers and flicks in a way that He knows will take me to the edge and then holds me there. Each lap of his tongue on my clit increases the pressure inside me. Each thrust of His fingers inside my cunt makes its walls contract and has me begging for release.

Master C’s tongue is relentless. His stubble is rough against my labia, increasing the sensations. His fingers twist inside me. The onslaught is unending.

Again an eternity of agony, not of anticipation, but for the need for release. I screw my eyes shut beneath the blindfold, lights flash beneath my eyelids. Fire burns along my nerves. My clit throbs, my cunt pulses, but still Master C denies me.

I have no idea how long He holds me in this state; time is meaningless on the edge of the abyss. The cloth over my eyes is soaked with tears of frustration. The sheet beneath my bottom is soaked with my juices and His saliva. The scent of my frustration hangs over the bed, filling the room. My throat raw as I plead and beg for release.

“Soon, little one, soon,” Master C’s  are anything but soothing “Endure it for just a little longer.”

Resigned to my fate, I accept it. His tongue laps with a slightly greater intensity; His fingers fuck me with increased force. Pressure builds, mounting rapidly.

“Now, little one! Come for me now!” Master C gently commands.

A firm lick of His tongue, and I am undone. The dam breaks and I cry out. Waves of pleasure coarse through me. I sense Master C move above me. His cock slides inside me. My orgasm reignites as He fucks me with deep, powerful, forceful strokes.

“Please fuck me harder! Please fuck me harder! Please…” I moan, still carried on the crest of my climax.

Master C’s thrusts become faster, harder. His hands around my upper arms, farcing them into the mattress as He takes me.

His body collides with mine. The slap of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Master C moans my name as His climax approaches, “Morag! Morag! Morag!”

“Come for me Master,” I plead, “Release yourself inside me.”

Thrusts increase with urgency, His breathing deepens. I sense rather than feel the increased tension in His body.

In… Out… In… Out… In… A groan… A pause… He erupts inside me; the warmth of His essence flooding into me.

Some time later, Master C unties me, up around us and lets me snuggle into Him as He holds me close and secure in His arms and I feel the heat of His body against mine. Once again, Master C has restored me and made me His.

Guidance through discipline

I’ve touched on this many times in this blog, but discipline/punishment is a very important part of the D/s dynamic that exists between Master C and myself. Punishment helps define boundaries; not to confine, but to determine the “price” required to cross those boundaries. As I mentioned in this post, any corrections that Master C administers, are never delivered unilaterally; I am always required to consider my actions and what the “tariff” for any given transgression may be.

Punishments can, of course, take many forms. There are, of course, the obvious forms of corporal punishment: spanking, belting, caning, flogging; all always delivered to my naked arse, each one with it’s own unique form and intensity of pain, each one leaving a different mark on my skin.

Master C’s hand is usually for the most minor infringements; when I’m being particularly bratty or impudent, or when He knows I’m not trying my hardest. His belt, the flogger and the cane are used for more “serious” infringements. In those pre-covid days where such things were possible, a drunken blow-job with a random might earn me several lashes from the belt, fucking more than one random on the same night out might mean the flogger, and getting publicly fucked in the arse at a local dogging site absolutely  called for the cane.

Knowing the level of punishment I can expect, helps me determine the level I am willing to accept for any one act or transgression. In my mind, I know the level of recompense I am likely to have to pay, and this helps shape whether or not the “act” is worth the “cost”.

But punishments aren’t just corporal.

One of Master C’s favourite alternative punishments takes the form of denial. That can be denial of orgasm for me; where he takes His pleasure from me but forbids me to come. Another form of denial is when He fucks me, or requires me to suck His cock, He will deprive me of His cum. Master C knows how much I love to feel Him erupt inside me, He knows how I consider taking His cum in my mouth to be a reward and He knows how much I don’t like it when He chooses to withhold that from me.

Again, in the pre-covid days when we would get together with other members of our “Circle”, punishment could take the form of me having to watch him being attended to by one of the other women or for me to have to “wear” the cum of one or more of the other men (although having a big degradation fetish, this one never really seems like a punishment, but having it done to me then not being allowed to come myself does make this unpleasant).

Finally, there are those times when I overstep the line, I have gone too far in my misbehaviour, I have provoked Him beyond what He is prepared to accept. In these instances, I am subject to the ultimate punishment and banished to the cage. It happens rarely, but the threat is there.

The point, however, of all of these, is not to prevent me from doing things, but for me to respect the fact that my actions have consequences. They are a form of guidance as much as they are of correction; they allow me a degree of freedom to fulfil my needs and desires, while making me consider their worth and urgency. Punishment, for me, is a form of currency; I can have whatever I want, so long as I am willing to pay the appropriate “price” for it and it allows me to decide if the gratification I would receive is worth the price I would pay (while factoring in that the price is very much a part of the overall gratification).

There is one final form of “punishment” that I have still to touch upon.  This one is much more fun (although, again, current circumstances mean that I haven’t been on the receiving end for a while) and is “the punishment fuck“. It’s not really a punishment per se, and is reserved for when I’ve been with “The Girl” or another female partner. It involves nothing more than, after having provided Master C of a full account of what I’ve got up to with the other woman, He gives me a very thorough fucking, usually precluded by a spanking and almost always resulting in my mouth, cunt and arse all being roughly all being fucked by His lovely cock just to “remind me of what I missed”. With the exception of the watching and humiliation, the other punishments are still very much part of life (although I have to be quite creative to earn some of the harsher corporal punishments at the moment), but I do miss the punishment fucks, and I definitely miss the reasons for receiving them.