Cocked and loaded


So, this week’s Quote Quest teaser is:

“Between my finger and my thumb the squat pen rests; snug as a gun.”

– Seamus Heaney

Well, it wasn’t a pen between my thumb and finger, but those three letters definitely featured.

“The Other Guy” moans as I slowly stroke his cock, occasionally circling my thumb over the tip before encircling the shaft once again and working my slowly down, then back up again.

It’s been far too long since we last saw each other, far too long since I felt his tongue on my clit and his cock inside me.

I’ve already tasted his cum; rich and thick and so welcome after so long.

My cunt aches pleasantly from the ponding it received from his cock. My clit still throbs from where his tongue so expertly lashed it and drove me to a series of shuddering climaxes.

We’ve already done so much in the time we’ve had, and there is still so much more to do. My body is his to use until it is time for me to leave.

His cock twitches in my hand as I kiss him firmly on his lips, his tongue snaking into my mouth. I can taste my cunt on him; intoxicating, fuelling my hunger for him. I tighten my grip around his cock.

Up and down, down and up; I stroke those proud, stiff inches of flesh, refamiliarising myself with its contours. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had any cock but Master C’s, and I am so glad that it’s “The Other Guy” who is able to give me the first extra-curricular penis since the lifting of lockdown restrictions make such happenings possible again.

I move so that I can playfully kiss and tease the tip with my tongue as I stroke the shaft. I am rewarded with a familiar moan; a moan that means so much more because I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s a moan that confirms that I haven’t forgotten what “The Other Guy” likes, how he likes to be touched and teased. It’s a moan that tells me how much he has missed my attentions and how much he is enjoying experiencing them again anew.

The head of his cock swells a deep angry purple. I tease the underside with the tip of my tongue as I drag my nails lightly along his length. I can taste the nearness of his climax. I feel the tension in his body mount as I slide my thumb and finger up to concentrate on the area just below the head; knowing that this is the area that gives him the most pleasure.

“I’m going to come soon, Morag,” he half sighs, half moans.

“Good!” I breathe, “That’s what I want.”

My hand moves a little faster. His breathing deepens; his hips begin those tell-tale involuntary movements.

“Oh… Oh Morag!” he moans. “So close… So, so close…”

I have a decision to make; where do I want his load? In me, or on me?

His cock twitches in my hand.

“I want you to come on my boobs, then rub it in as you eat my cunt,” I tell him.

“Hell, fuck yes!” he gasps.

We pause briefly to change position, in readiness for what comes next. It’s the briefest respite for him but one that is short lived.

I circle his cock once more and stroke, hard, fast, eager for his inevitable eruption.

“Morag!” My name called out, a final groan, and then I feel his sticky warmth on my skin as unloads over my neck and boobs.

A small tremor runs up my spine. I know I’m really going to enjoy what will happen next…

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The male orgasm


Cum… It’s a strange substance really. That’s not to say I find it repulsive in any way, because I most definitely do not.

I’ve been bizarrely fascinated by the stuff ever since the first time  I saw/made a guy come when I was 14. It has a sticky, smooth texture that defies words and, for me, watching a guy come is simply one of the most erotic scenes I can witness.  There’s a sense of gratification that comes (no pun intended) of seeing the reward for your efforts as he unloads.

Now don’t get me wrong, that’s not to say that I don’t prefer to have his sticky goodness inside me, but for all the times I’ve had a nice, thick load shot into my cunt or arse, or down my throat or over my face/boobs/arse/skin, actually watching a guy erupt and knowing that I’m the cause, is something I’ll never tire of seeing. There is, for me, something strangely hypnotic about it. I simply love watching guys come.

Perhaps it’s the inherent honesty of  of it.  It is, after all, a reaction that can’t (to my knowledge anyway) be faked.  It’s a kind of confirmation to me, as a woman, that I’ve properly pleasured my man.

I also love the way that the male orgasm is so visual, compared to ours. I can be fairly vocal when I come, and I tend to writhe and moan a lot, and Master C’s back often has the scratches to demonstrate how much I’ve enjoyed things. Apart from the noises I make and the way my body shudders uncontrollably, there isn’t really any visible evidence my orgasm for my partners to see (although Master C claims He can always tell when I have and He can certainly taste when I have when it’s His tongue that has caused it).

With the male orgasm, it’s completely different. We women get very warm, sticky, and at times, very visible and in our face evidence of when our man has reached the point of no return. We know we’re the reason he’s lost control (leaving aside whomever he’s actually fantasising about at that point, we’ll allow them that), we know that, in that moment, the only thing he’s really thinking about is that sensation as his balls contract and his seed floods up through his cock and we know, that we have contributed in what ever way, be it with our hands, mouth, cunt, arse, or even just whispering naughty nothings in his ear as he jerks himself off, that we have contributed to his pleasure.

For me, at least, that is a huge turn-on.

That’s not to say I’m being completely selfless; I will, after all, have derived an awful lot of pleasure from his cock in the process, and my own orgasm is just as important but, where as I can, and frequently do come more than once in a single session, for most guys, they only come once and it’s part of my job to make sure his orgasm is every bit as enjoyable for him as mine was/were for me.

Part of that is letting Master C come wherever He wants. Well, actually, “let” doesn’t come into it, He comes where He wants to cum. Sometimes that’ll mean taking His load in my mouth, which, of course I have no objection to, sometimes it’ll mean taking it in my cunt or arse, depending on which hole He’s fucking when He reaches boiling point, and at other times it will mean having Him shoot it all over my skin, which is a sensation that I particularly love, especially when He comes all over my boobs as a prelude to rubbing his warm sticky load into my skin as he eats me out.

I guess you could say I’m a bit of a cum addict.  It’s been the best part of three and a half decades since I saw my first load and I dread to think how many more loads I have seen, felt (both in me and on me), or tasted since then, but I’m still just as fascinated by cum now, as I was back then, if not more so.

Funnily enough, you’ll never hear Master C complaining about my fixation.  He’s only more than happy to provide me with my regular fix. And, of course, I’m always happy to take it in whatever quantities and in what ever location He is able to give it to me.

In the end, we both get what we want, He gets to give me a bloody good seeing to, where I “let” Him fuck me any way He pleases, and I get to savour a nice thick load of His maleness wherever He so wishes to deposit it. There’s absolutely no doubting the fact that I’m a very lucky little slut indeed…

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Restoring balance


Sometimes life can get a little out of kilter. The work/life balance can become a bit uncentred. Even at home, where life should hopefully dominate, the balance between the mundane, everyday parts of living and the more highly charged bits that make living enjoyable can become weighted in the wrong direction.

Often, when such things happen, it’s no one’s fault; real life is seldom tidy. Tasks can take longer than anticipated, things pop up that you weren’t expecting, stress, tiredness and just the routine of day-to-day life can build up and extract a toll that means you have to make more of an effort to do the things you enjoy. This can become a vicious circle as the extra effort needed detracts from the enjoyment, thus requiring more effort which can then reduce the enjoyment even more.

For me, sometimes all that is needed to re-establish some equilibrium is an orgasm or two. These can be self-induced or result from a thorough seeing-to from Master C (or “The Girl”/”The Other Guy”).

Orgasms are great stress relievers; you can actually feel the tension being drained from your body as your climax subsides and its energy dissipates; and with it, your cares/worries can, even if momentarily, be washed away. It doesn’t matter how I get there, whether the orgasm is a result of my own actions or the ministrations of a partner, the effect is pretty much the same; a warm, relaxed feeling of contentment and satisfaction that just makes the world feel right.

Sometimes though, more is needed. Sometimes things get so out of whack that there is only one thing I know of that will set me back on track. It may seem somewhat counter-intuitive, but sometimes what I really need is the pain of a solid thrashing from Master C’s belt.

In the ideal scenario, I’m securely tied to His “work bench” The clamps on my nipples dig into my skin as the hard wooden surface beneath me squashes my boobs. My ankles and wrists are bound tight, the leather cuffs chafing my skin. The ball gag in my mouth adds to my discomfort.

There is the prolonged anticipation that awaits the first stroke; an anticipation that almost turns to relief when the brief swooshing sound of the belt’s travel through the air begins. It’s a relief that turns to a hot, stinging pain as the leather connects with a resounding slap against the skin of my arse.

From there on it is all about endurance; accepting each kiss of the belt as they rain down one after the other. By the time Master C has finished, both sets of cheeks, my face and my arse, are flaming red. Tears stream from my eyes. My cunt is hot and wet with intense arousal. Every nerve is crying out in sympathy with my tortured backside.

I wince as He grips my hips, His fingertips digging in, and then I moan around the gag as His lovely thick cock slides so easily into me and He begins to fuck me.

Master C’s Thrusts are accompanied with occasional slaps to my buttocks. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head sharply back as He fucks me. Friction from the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, the pain of the clamps on my nipples being pushed into my boobs combine with the intense sensations of His cock filling me, pounding me, taking me, fucking me and I slip into the restorative calm, the eye of the storm that is my particular form of subspace.

All conscious thought is banished, my body is simply responding. Master C knows my body, knows its responses and can trigger this state in me almost effortlessly. I surrender to it; oblivious to everything but the sensations, the wonderfully delicious juxtaposition of pain and intense pleasure that coarse through me.

When at last it is over; Master C’s thick, hot load inside me, my bindings, clamps and gag removed, the soothing balm applied to my buttocks and I am lying wrapped up in His arms as He strokes my head; I am restored. I have found a new sense of balance.

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Blow-job art


There seems to be something of a theme with the current round of memes, but fortunately they focus on a topic that I never tire of, and that is the art of sucking cock. The current teaser on Quote Quest is no exception:

“A good blow job is fucking art. It’s like playing jazz piano blindfolded for an audience you’re desperate to please. It’s improvisation and communication and skill and practise and a whole lot of love.”

Girl on the Net

I love sucking cock. It’s been over 30 years since I first sucked one, and I genuinely cannot remember how may different cocks I have wrapped my lips around.

Am I any good at it? Well, I would like to think I am, but it’s kind of hard to say. I’ve never had any complaints and, in the majority of cases, the owners of the cocks in question have been highly complimentary, but they could just have been being nice to me I guess. According to Master C, I am an Olympic medal standard cock-sucker and He frequently calls me His “good girl” when I have used my mouth to bring Him to climax; rewarding me with a wonderful rich mouthful of His manly essence. Ultimately, as a cock sucker, that is kind of the ultimate confirmation.

The problem, I find, is that when I’m in my rhythm, sucking a guy off as if our lives both depended on it, I find it hard to stop and ask for instruction. I have learned to take identify certain cues; cues that apply almost equally to some random guy I’ve never met before, to one of my more frequent partner, all the way through to Master C himself – the moans and sighs that they make, the involuntary flinches and twitches, the increasingly laboured breathing, the way they will grab my head and start to thrust their cock between my lips. sometime the recipient of the blow-job will tell me how good it feels; they will compliment me on my skills. That kind of talk will invariably be rewarded with me trying to up my game further and make it even more enjoyable.

With Master C, there is also the advantage of familiarity with both His cock and both its and His responses. I know exactly how He likes the slit to be teased, I know how He loves it when I take the head right to the back of my throat and make swallowing movements, I know how He likes me to drag my fingernails along the surface. Master C will often tell me how good it feels, how much He is enjoying what my mouth is making Him feel. He doesn’t actually need to; I have learned to read his unconscious vocalisations and involuntary movements, but it gives me a real sense of pride when He does. Let’s be honest here, no one is ever going to object to compliments, and I am no exception.

For me though, the greatest reward, the confirmation of my skill, is when the recipient of my cock-sucking repertoire fills my mouth with a thick load of cum. The male orgasm is such an inherently honest response that tells me that I have done this, I have made this happen; this eruption is my doing. I take a great satisfaction in bringing another person to orgasm, man or woman, but there is something about being rewarded with a mouthful of cum that is almost impossible to better; except when Master C moans my name the calls me His “good girl”, of course.

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Watching him


There is something magical about watching a man masturbate. The whole process, from the first stroke to the final messy eruption is, I find, mesmerisingly hypnotic.

I love to watch a man as he slowly teases himself, transforming his soft, slightly comically, flaccid penis into that steel-hard, solidly erect pole that I long to feel inside me.

It’s such a simple thing, fingers wrapped around those inches of proud flesh, rubbing it, stroking it until he pushes himself over the edge. And yet, despite the inherent simplicity of the act, there are as many variations in technique as there are men. Some stroke lightly, from start to finish, keeping an even pace. Others start slowly and increase the pace as their climax approaches. Still, others beat frantically, turning it into a sprint to the finish.

Some men grip tightly, their fingers wrapped around their shafts, gripping it like a baton in a relay race as they pump up and down. Others circle their cock with their thumb and forefinger, teasing, caressing, almost coaxing their eventual climax.

I’ve watched quite a few men get themselves off, and every one did it differently, applying different amounts of pressure and beating out their own particular rhythms in the pursuit of their pleasure.

I love to watch the expressions on their faces. I love to listen to the various sounds that they make. I love they way that they are inhabiting their own worlds, and I have no idea what thoughts they are relying on as they travel to their orgasmic destination.

And then there are those little signs that speak so loudly of the state of a man’s arousal. The changes in his breathing, the tension in his thighs, the tautness of his lower torso, the tightening around the eyes; all indicating that the pressure for release is building inexorably inside him.

A soft sigh, a deep moan, a slight tightening of his grip tell me that he is on the brink. His free hand presses firmly against his inner thigh as the tension grows.

A grimace, a tightening of the jaw and the muscles around his eyes tell me he is trying to hold back, delay the inevitable, extend his pleasure.

And then there’s that magical moment, that split second when he succumbs to the inevitable, that briefest instant in time when he realises that, like King Canute standing before the incoming tide, he can no longer prevent the what is about to occur. There is something almost bittersweet for him in that moment; the sweetness of orgasm, the bitterness of ending.

And then he comes. Thick jets of sticky white loveliness erupt from his cock. As he sends this lovely substance shooting through the space between us, the tension visibly drains from his body. His breathing is laboured, his heart pounds in his chest, sweat forms on his brow; yet at the same time he relaxes, drained, content, satisfied.

If I weren’t so hungry for the feel cock inside me, I could happily watch men do this endlessly.

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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 jock/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 swinger’s 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.

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In harmony


One of the best things, I think, of being in a long-term relationship with someone who knows exactly what buttons to press to maximise your pleasure is, simply just that; they know your buttons and you also know theirs. Sometimes it almost seems as if no actual expression of need or want is required to be vocalised; things just happen and it just so happens that those things are exactly the right things. To have that kind of relationship with one partner is amazing, for me, the fact that I have it with two, in both Master C and “The Girl” is special beyond words.

I’ve always maintained that Master C can play my body like a musical instrument. He has that virtuoso skill to take me to the edge of orgasm and hold me there for so long that it seems that time has no meaning, and then, when I am past the point of endurance, He will unleash the triumphant crescendo of my climax in a grand finalé.

It works both ways however. When I am sucking Master C’s cock, my long familiarity with His responses; the moans and sighs, the involuntary flinches and twitches, the tension in His muscles, in His thighs and in His face, all tell me what He is experiencing and what He is enjoying. They let me know what I should concentrate on to prolong and maximise His pleasure. They warn me of the proximity of His climax, allowing me to slow things down, or speed things up depending on whether or not prolonging the sensations or providing Him the release He needs is the appropriate course of action.

We can read each other’s signals; my gasps of pain as His belt strokes my arse, my whimpers and sobs of frustration as He edges me, the deepening of His breathing as His climax approaches, the swelling and twitching of His cock as His arousal grows, the tightening of His hold on my hair or around my neck as the primal, animal side of His sexual nature takes hold.

The same is true with “The Girl”. We have been “lovers” for over 30 years so we just instinctively know what to do to and with each other. We know when to use our fingers or our lips or our tongues, we know how hard to bite/nibble and with how much speed and force to apply our tongues. When I’m going down on her, I can tell by taste as her orgasm approaches. When she goes down on me, she knows just what to do to turn me into a soaking mess of orgasmic energy.

And yet, it still comes down to communication. Our bodies; mine, Master C’s and “The Girl’s” are all “talking” to each other even when none of us are using words. Those non-verbal cues express what we need and how what the other person is doing is fulfilling those needs just as much as if we were articulating them out loud. Years of communicating and sharing our desires through all the means at our disposal mean that it is possible to have the most fantastic encounter without ever expressing any words other than those occasional profanities that accompany such intense emotional and sensual experiences.

In both of my relationships, the participants perform well practiced duets, where the performance of each member of that pairing compliment each other; enhancing and enriching the experience for both.

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Times are a changin’


If I’m being completely honest, my sex life is pretty much as perfect as anyone could hope for. In Master C, not only do I have a caring and attentive partner, who knows my body and my needs and attends to them regularly and fully, I also have a strict, but fair Master who allows me to be who I am and to do what I want with whom I want so long as I am willing to accept my actions have consequences. I get quality, quantity and variety. It’s a win-win that makes me a very happy slutty but satisfied submissive.

Of course, the one fly in the ointment has been that, for much of the past 12 months, I haven’t been able to enjoy the freedoms that Master C allows me to have.

Now, this isn’t exactly a hardship. I do miss spending time with “The Other Guy” and I also miss the thrill of my occasional random dalliances, but at the end of the day, other than novelty, they don’t give me anything that Master C doesn’t already lavish on me. If I want a cock in any of my holes, Master C’s cock will always be my first cock of choice and is absolutely my preferred cock. “The Other Guy” is also very acquainted with my body, and also elicits the most fabulous responses from me, but such encounters are occasional; at most 2-3 times a year. As for the randoms, well, that’s just fucking. They don’t know me, they don’t know what buttons to push to really turn me on, they are simply a form of “cock on demand” for when an urge that can’t wait until I get home (and the need to be soundly punished when I do) takes me.

No, all things aside, I don’t actually miss any of that.

There is, however, one person I do really miss, and that is “The Girl”. I’ve mentioned before that “The Girl” and I have had an intimate friendship stretching back over 30 years (we been friends for over 40 but the “intimate” is the key bit in that sentence), and she was the first person (other than myself) to bring me to orgasm. I always love the time we spend together, whether it be having sex or simply chatting over a glass or several of wine (although, more often than not, that often leads to sex too). I love exploring the soft curves of her body with my hands, lips and tongue. I love the taste of her cunt, I love the silly little noises and facial expressions she makes when she is aroused and when she comes and I love the things that does to me and how those make me feel.

I long to hold her and be held by her, to kiss her and be kissed by her, to feel her body pressed against mine. I yearn for the sensations of her fingers sliding and twisting inside my cunt, teasing me, tormenting me. I hunger for the taste of her cunt and the feeling of her tongue on mine; so different from Master C’s, but still able to take me to the edge of the precipice and hold me there before finally igniting my climax.

Mentioning Master C, I also miss the “punishment fucks” that sex with “The Girl” will earn me. The fucks where he shows me “what I was missing” and what “she can’t give me”. Those fucks are always wonderfully intense, especially since the retelling of what “The Girl” and I got up to allows me to relive those things before Master C fucks me.

So, where does this all tie in with the prompt? Well, it’s quite simple. Thanks to the changes in Covid related restrictions, in a few hours time, “The Girl” and I will be meeting up, in person, for the first time since September. This is “the change” I have been wishing for the most; not just for the sex, but for the chance to be with and catch-up with my oldest and dearest friend for the first time in what seems like forever. I’m imagining so many things; far more than can fit into a single afternoon encounter, and I’m hoping this means we will be able to spend many more afternoons together again. After all, we have a lot of catching up to do…

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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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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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