Love is blind(ish)


The the quote for us to unpick on ‘Quote Quest‘ this week had got my grey cells arguing with each other:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
– William Shakespeare

I think, for me, it depends on the type of love you are describing and the relationship between oneself and the loved one. Love, after all, comes in many flavours: we love our families (mostly), we love our friends, we (hopefully) love our partners. Love is emotional but how we express it, depends on who it is we are expressing it towards, and the nature of the love/relationship that exists.

I suspect, that the quote is really meant to focus on “romantic” love, i.e. the love between “lovers”, essentially those that we share our lives with and fuck.

Not everyone we fuck, obviously; I definitely have not loved everyone with whom I have rubbed bits and exchanged fluids with, but the important ones, the significant ones.

I think we also have to detach love from attraction. Attraction is, for most of us, very visual. We see someone we fancy, we think “Yeah, I want a bit of that,” we hook-up, date, fuck and maybe a relationship forms and, if it does, it’s possible that the emotional connection we call love develops.

And I think, it is possibly that at this point that the “blindness” develops. Let’s be honest, we all have habits that others find annoying. There are things I do that drive Master C nuts. There are things Master C  does that make me despair. If we didn’t love each other, those little annoyances would probably, over time, become unbearable; but because we love each other, we learn to ignore them wherever we can, and live with them where we can’t and, in some instances, exploit them if it means wheedling/provoking/providing an extra hard spanking out of  it.

Love allows us to turn a blind eye on things that if someone we didn’t love were to do them, would provoke a reaction from mild irritation all the way through to full on rage. Where we are not completely blinded by love, love filters and mitigates the annoyances that we cause our loved ones and they cause us.

I love Master C, for the way He treats me, the way that makes me feel, the strength, comfort and support He provides; that, however, is the emotional side of love. There is also the physical, which is largely based on the things He does to me, but also based on His physical attractiveness to me.

Now, I accept that I am coming from this from the perspective of a sighted person. An unsighted person would almost certainly find attractiveness in other forms and from other stimuli and, for them, I guess, in the visual sense, love truly would be blind. For me however, it is multifaceted; it draws on so many senses and stimuli that my brain then mixes together in some strange neurochemical imbalance to create this crazy little thing called love.

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TMI Tuesday – That’s Life


1. Who do you prefer to discuss politics with?
a. partner
b. best friend
c. co-workers
d. strangers
e. parents
I try not to discuss politics at all if I can get away with it, but if I have to, it’ll probably be with Master C or one of my friends.

2. Which is more offensive to you: book burning or flag burning? Why?
In my opinion, books are sacred, even the trashy ones, so that is definitely more offensive. Knowledge is power, censorship is oppression. A flag is just a bit of coloured cloth.

3. Complete the sentence. Most of all, I want to meet someone who deserves my _____ :
a. trust.
b. loyalty.
c. admiration.
d. love.
I would say, where Master C is concerned, He absolutely deserves all of the above, without question. In any other situation, being deserving of my trust is definitely the most important consideration.

4. Which kind of fidelity (being faithful) is more important to you?
a. Physical/Sexual.
b. Mental/Emotional.
c. Neither is important.
d. Both are equally important.
It absolutely has to be Mental/Emotional. Given that Master C and I are polyamorous, the idea of sexual exclusivity is clearly not one that applies, but our non-monogamy is always based on it being consensual, open and honest.

5. Would you avoid all contact with an ex if your current significant other asked you to?
a. Yes, of course!
b. No. This would be an unacceptable demand.
c. Only if their justification seems reasonable.
Given that Master C would almost certainly never do this, I’m not sure where I stand on this. I think, it would lie somewhere between b. and c. If there were a reasonable justification then I probably would have already broken off contact and so the question wouldn’t arise, but if there were no reasonable justification, I would find it unacceptable.

Bonus: If you were to die, the person going through your belongings would be shocked to find _____ ?
If they know me at all, I’m almost certain that none of my possessions would shock them. If anything, it would be my more ordinary and mundane possessions that would probably raise eyebrows, anything in anyway associated with kink would be almost certainly be taken for granted.

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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.

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The darkness inside


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

The current prompt on ‘Quote Quest‘ asks us to consider the following:

“Don’t Worry About The Darkness In My Soul. It Ignites Me Like An Embered Coal.
– Anon

I consider myself extremely fortunate that I have never suffered from a significant mental illness such as depression, anxiety or bi-polar disorder. I do, however, encounter these conditions and the people who suffer from, live with (and on occasions cannot live with) these conditions daily in my work. That isn’t to say that I never feel down, or disheartened. I have written a number of posts recently about the need for support from Master C; how much I rely on Him to recentre and rebalance me when pressures threaten to become overwhelming.

There is, however, something quite dark within me. I have written about it before. I have needs that need a certain edge to satisfy them. Partially, I think this is what has always driven me to sexual activities that are somewhat riskier; I need that fight or flight reaction that comes with the heightened sensitivity of increased risk/danger.

The past year has seen this darker side surface more often. Understandable perhaps, given the increased suffering I see due to Covid and the restrictions it places on lives, and the effect that dealing with other peoples’ live has on me; the extra pressures, the stresses and the increased feeling of helplessness in the face of something I cannot control.

All these things tap into my darkest desires, feeding my need for Master C to treat me with increasing roughness. I need to feel His hands tighten around my neck, starving me of breath as He forces His cock deep into my throat. I need the extra lashes of His belt, or strokes of the cane on my arse to unleash my tears and ultimately the healing flood of endorphins. I long to have Him grab a handful of my hair and pull my head back sharply, his other hand around my throat as He takes me hard from behind; fucking my cunt or arse with a force and brutal urgency that almost makes a lie out of the love Master C has for me.

I don’t just want this, I actually need it, I need to feel my oxygen staved lungs scream for breath. I need to feel the searing pain in my buttocks from whatever tool/implement He has used to turn them an angry, fiery crimson. I need to feel the harsh burn of the rope on my skin, bound around my wrists, my ankles, my arms, my legs, my neck. I need the agony of returning circulation to my extremities when He unties me. I need Him to slap me, to call me every abusive term He can as He fucks me with a brutal intensity. I need Him to bruise me. I need Him to use me.

I need the cathartic release that only Master C can deliver by taking me to the absolute extremes of my limits; and that only He can deliver simply because He knows how much I need it.

I know that these sessions are never easy for Master C. I know that they drain Him as much as, ultimately, they restore me. I know that He will require almost as much aftercare from me after one of these sessions as I require from Him. If you were to ask, Him, He would admit that this is one of the aspects of our relationship that He finds hardest; Master C is not really sadistic by nature, whereas I am very much masochistic. In the aftermath of a session like this, we heal each other. In a slightly perverse way, these sessions are where we recommit, unconditionally to each other.

My inner darkness can scare me, but Master C always manages to exorcise it, and to release me from its grip, until the next time it takes hold.

I don’t think it can be fully banished. I believe, even when dormant, it shapes so many of my wants, needs, desires and passions. It is a part of me that needs, occasionally, to be controlled, but it is what makes me the person I am. Master C understands this; He understands me. That, in a nutshell, is why I give Him my submission.

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Creative misbehaviour


One of the many problems of living under lock down conditions is that it that it definitely impinges upon my ability to misbehave. The flip-side of this being that opportunities for me to incur Master C’s discipline, correction and guidance are also limited.

Now, some of you might argue this is a good thing; if I can’t misbehave then there is no need for Master C to punish me. On a very basic level, there is, of course, some truth to this.  The problem is, there are times when I need His discipline and correction, there are times when I need His guidance to be accompanied by a firm, but fair, spanking or something a bit more severe. There is a part of me that not only wants to be punished, but actually needs it.

In more relaxed times, it would be easy enough; I could go out, find myself a suitable “victim”, suck them, fuck them, or very possibly both, the confess my transgression to Master C, determine the appropriate degree of punishment, assume the required position and accept whatever He inflicted. These days, when the only other human I see in the flesh (and don’t get me wrong, I’ll never get too much of that) is Master C, if I’m going to incur some form of discipline, I need to be a bit more inventive.

It’s possible that I may decide to have an unsanctioned orgasm. This doesn’t mean that I can’t masturbate without Master C’s permission, but that there are times when I am playing for His benefit, that I am not allowed to come until such time as Master C allows me to do so. In these circumstances, I may decide to be a little over enthusiastic in my wanking, or exercise too little control and, as a result, “accidentally” climax before I have been give leave to do so.

Alternatively, when I’m sucking His cock, I may possibly bring Him to orgasm too soon. Again, this demonstrates a lack of control and restraint on my part resulting in Master C being denied the pleasure of my mouth for as long as He would have wished.

On other occasions, I just resort to being especially bratty and stubborn; not performing task He has set me correctly (even when they are perfectly with in my abilities to do so), or not applying myself with an appropriate degree of diligence. I don’t ever openly defy Him or refuse, I simply don’t apply the fullness of my abilities to whatever the assigned task or duty happens to be.

Of course, Master C knows exactly what I am doing and why I am doing it, and He accepts that, in part, it is also for His benefit; I am giving Him a reason to exert his Dominance so that we can both connect with ourselves and each other. It would be very easy, in the current circumstances, for complacency to set in; it would be, given the near constant proximity, to take each other for granted, even unintentionally. I have mentioned before, that part of my roil is to provide support and companionship for Master C and this is one of the ways in which I do this; I am providing a means by which an extremely important part of our relationship can be kept fresh during these difficult times.

Yes, I may be a bad girl, I may be a disobedient and impudent madam, I may be a disrespectful slut (and I can be all of those things), but, when I am there, bare arsed, bracing myself in anticipation for the smack of Master C’s hand, or the kiss of His belt, when the slaps or lashes are reining down on my buttocks, and afterwards, when my arse glows a rosy red and the heat of my punishment slowly dissipates, I know and Master C knows, that I was simply doing my duty and that in being bad, I was being His “good girl”.

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TMI Tuesday – Would You Rather…?


1. Would you rather go on holidays to the beach with no bathers or in the mountains with no jacket?
Well this rather depends on the time of year (and possibly the location of the beach in question). Being Scottish, and growing up in the Highlands, I’ve been in mountains without a jacket many times (in the summer), I definitely wouldn’t want to do it in winter. Having frequented any number of beaches in the Mediterranean where beachwear is “optional”, I’m certainly no stranger to being on a beach wearing nothing more than sun cream, so on the assumption that I am on a warm beach enjoying the summer sun, and not on one of the local beaches looking out over the Ailsa Craig, I’ll pick the beach.

2. Would you rather not be able to eat chocolate for a year or have to eat your least favourite vegetable every day for a month?
I know mushrooms aren’t strictly a vegetable, but they absolutely give me the boak, so if giving up chocolate for a year was the price I had to pay to avoid having to eat them, I’d pay it willingly (and probably consider it a bargain)

3. Would you rather only be able to have sex for five minute increments on any given day for a year or only be able to have sex for five hour increments the rest of your life?
Much as I enjoy the occasional nice long session that lasts all afternoon and evening, if that were the only option, I suspect it would lose its appeal and, ultimately, would mean not having sex very often (if only because there would be no time to get anything else done). So while it is far from idea, the five minute increments whenever I like wins it for me.

4. Would you rather not be allowed to touch your partner’s genitals except with your own or have the reverse applied to them?
This is the toughest one of all essentially comes down to whether I’d be more willing to give up giving blow-jobs, or give up having a tongue or fingers on my clit. Now, I love being on the end of a good tongue-lashing, but as I’ve attested to many times on hear, I absolutely love sucking cock. So, with that in mind, I would reluctantly, and with a heavy heart, have to only allow Master C’s cock to pleasure me, just so that I can continue to let my mouth pleasure him. I suspect, He would probably agree to this almost as reluctantly as I would, as I know how much He enjoys using His tongue to edge me.

5. Would you rather go on a hike barefooted or spend the day at a water park fully clothed?
Wouldn’t catch me dead at a water park anyway, so I’m happy to hike barefoot. Assuming the ground is dry, I actually love the feeling of moss and leaves underfoot anyway. Do I get bonus points if I get to wander naked through the woods?

Bonus: Would you rather receive an alert every time your parents have sex or have your kids alerted every time YOU have sex?
This is kind of theoretical in that I don’t have kids and my parents are in their late 70s. Assuming I did have kids any I had, would probably be in their early to mid-20s and, almost certainly having more sex than my parents. That being the case I think I’d rather have the occasional warning if/when my parents got jiggy that having it go off constantly depending on how many sexually active offspring I had.

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His pleasure = my reward


The current teaser on the No True Way site is:

Pleasing the Dom is the sub’s reward

When I read this, it immediately rang true with me. Nothing makes me happier than knowing I have pleased Master C or made Him happy. I don’t need to be showered with lavish gifts as a reward for my efforts; al I really need is a lovely thick load of cum and to hear Master C say the words “Good girl!”

For me, there is absolutely no higher praise than this.

When Master C calls me His “Good girl”, it means I have excelled in some way, in the performance of a task or the way I have reacted when He has disciplined me.

When I have sucked his cock and He has come in my mouth, and I am cleaning up those last drops of cum, those two words, coupled with His loving smile and the inevitable hint of mischief in His eyes tells me that I have outdone myself, that I have helped Him unwind and destress, that He is truly appreciative of my efforts in what I have done for Him.

It isn’t just about sex though; often it’s just the little things, helping Him find some misplaced object around the house, preparing a favourite meal, generally being there to support and comfort Him when He needs it in the same way that He supports and comforts me when I am the needy one.

It’s not so much about “serving” Him, it’s about being as important a part of His life as Master C is of mine. Knowing Master C is happy goes a very long way, particularly in these troubled times, to making me happy. Getting back to sex, knowing I am responsible for Master C’s pleasure, whether I be giving it to Him, or He is taking it from me, also contributes to my own. The same, of course, is true in reverse. I know that Master C takes a great deal of pleasure from the pleasure He gives me.

In this, and every other respect, Master C and I are very much a partnership; I submit to Him and accept His Dominance because it helps me to be a better version of me. The flipside to this is that my submission also provides support, comfort, and companionship for Him (in addition to a trio of holes to fuck whenever the mood takes Him). We complement each other, physically, emotionally and sexually and our D/s dynamic is part of how we express this.

So while I absolutely and unquestionably agree that pleasing Him rewards me, I know with absolute certainty that Master C is equally rewarded by the pleasure I derive from being with (and being fucked by) Him.

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The discovery years


As is, I suppose, the case for may of us, my teenage years were a time of discovery and experimentation. They were the years when the “theory” of sex things were, largely, put into practice. By the time I put my teenage years behind me in the spring of 1994, there really wasn’t much I hadn’t tried. By my 20th birthday, I’d experienced the full gamut from those first, furtive fumblings and fingerings, through sucking, fucking, licking and being licked by both male and female partners, all the way to having sex with multiple partners at a party during my university’s freshers’ week. My teenage years were the years of first times and discoveries of what was simply just enjoyable and what was “Oh my fucking God! What just happened?”

My teenage years were the time of the so called “slut bands”, the multi-coloured string bracelets that me and other girls in my school (and probably countless others) wore around our left wrist; each colour indicating something we’d let a boy do to us: yellow, for having our boobs felt, green for having been fingered, orange for touched his cock, purple for having sucked it, red for having gone all the way. We wore our bands with pride and there was always a feeling of appreciative envy when one of the group added a new colour to her wrist that you didn’t have on yours.

It was also the time where I discovered that something that was just “meh!” with one partner could be amazing with an other, and that similarly something that one partner did that almost required scraping me off the ceiling could, with another partner, be little more than a damp squib.

Those were the years where I learned what I enjoyed, how I liked to be touched, how I liked to be licked, the positions where I could most enjoy the feeling of a partner’s cock inside me, the things that I did with my lips and tongue that my partners enjoyed the most. They were the years of discovering the different ways of how I could give myself pleasure; which worked best when I needed to get off in a hurry and which best suited a long, leisurely session when I had time on my hands. They were the years where I learned about the almost infinite ways in which two or more bodies could fit together to bring pleasure and enjoyment to the participants.

Most of all though, it was a journey where I discovered me as a sexual human being. My sexual tastes, appetites and desires were forged in those years. My love of of sucking a partner’s cock, my love of the taste of another woman’s cunt, my hunger for sex that was just that little bit rougher and “out there” were all born in those years. By the time I turned 20, I was already well on the way to becoming the unrestrained sex-hungry slut I would become before Master C taught me. Casual sex had become my norm. A night out at the Student Union invariably meant going home with a different man or woman, and sometimes more than one, or both; the night often starting before we wound up in whatever room/flat we were heading to.

I went from from curious virgin, to experimental novice and on to seasoned slut in just a few short years. Solo sex, sex within a committed relationship (by teenage standards), same-sex sex, experimental sex, casual sex, risky sex, public sex, group sex, I had done all within a few short years.

Do I regret any of it? No, not really. Some of the individual encounters I had  may have been less enjoyable or satisfactory, but even they were building blocks towards making me the person I am today. Every partner, every fuck, every blow-job, every cunt licked or tongue on my clit, every load of cum swallowed have made me the confident sexual person that I am today.

Under Master C’s guidance and correction, I have become somewhat more discerning and restrained when it comes to my random encounters than I was back in those days and throughout my 20s, but looking back at those early days, I had a lot of fun, a lot of pleasure, a lot of fucks and a lot of orgasms, so I really can’t complain.

Would I do my teenage years differently if I could do them again? Maybe. I might not be in such a head-long rush to try absolutely everything; maybe leaving longer for the novelty of my latest new thing to diminish before seeking the next thing to try, but there’s nothing I’d leave out. And let’s face it, every teenager needs a hobby and as a particularly randy one in the late 1980s/early 1990s, growing up in a remote part of Scotland, there really wasn’t much else to do in terms of recreational activities.

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Romance?


The alarm clock hasn’t gone off and we’re having our wake-up snuggle. Spooned together, I can feel the firmness of Master C’s early morning erection press against me. I wriggle against it.

Master C’s hand cups and squeezes my boob. His thumb flicks over my nipple. It stiffens in response and I squirm against Him.

He kisses my neck, then announces, quite simply, “I’m going to put my bit inside your bit and slide it in and out until I release a quantity of sticky fluid inside you.”

Master C disentangles His arm from under me as I roll on to my back and open my legs.

He moves above me, His cock pressing against the entrance of my cunt. “I’m putting it inside you now,” He says, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, yes please, please put your bit inside mine,” I reply, not altogether succeeding in keeping a straight face.

I moan softly as Master C  slides into me and duly begins to “move His bit in and out of mine”. Slowly at first, but with firm and steady strokes, filling and stretching my “bit” with His.

The pace increases, as does the force of Master C’s thrusts. Before long, He is fucking my with an urgency that is matched by mine. “Keep moving!” I urge, “Please, uhh… keep moving, ahh… inside me ohh!”

He does; harder, and still more forcefully. I know this phase; in this moment He is lost to me. In this moment, it isn’t me He is fucking; He is simply just fucking. In these moments Master C is at His most primal; rational thought has been replaced with animal instinct. I close my eyes and arch my back beneath His as my own body begins to respond in kind.

My climax ignites. My “bit” tightens around His, griping it as it powers into me. Through the daze of my orgasm, I can sense the approach of His; the sharpness of His breathing, the tension in His body, the urgency of His movements.

And then He comes. A long, strong, surging thrust as He releases inside me, followed by a series of shorter, less urgent ones as He rides the waves of His climax.

We lie, side by side, a tangle of arms, legs and hair. The air filled with the scent of our fucking.

“Did Sir enjoy moving His bit inside mine?” I enquire coyly.

“Sir did indeed,” He replied. “Did you enjoy me moving mine and releasing my fluid inside you?”

“Oh yes, definitely! My bit always enjoys playing host to yours, although other bits are feeling a little jealous of the attention that bit got.”

“They needn’t worry,” He replies, “Those bits will be seen to later.”

We both laugh at our continued whimsy.

The alarm clock makes its presence known. Another day begins. Who says romance is dead?

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My “reality”


The current teaser on the ‘No True Way‘ site is:

Real D/s dynamics are 24/7

Not surprisingly, this got me thinking about my life, my relationship with Master C and or particular D/s dynamic.

First of, who am I and what is my “reality”?

Well, my name, perhaps un surprisingly, is Morag. I am a white, cis, bisexual, submissive woman, who is ginger, Scottish and, at the time of writing, in her mid(ish) 40s. I’m 5’7″/1.77m tall, my boobs measure 36/91C and weight is my own business. I live with Master C and have done so for 12+ years (we’ve been together for just over 15) and he is both my life partner and my Master. I am not His wife, nor am I His, girlfriend; I am His submissive and I am His slut, and very happily so.

Our D/s dynamic has evolved over over the years to it’s present form. What we have, doesn’t really fit any of the more “common” D/s labels; it isn’t a Master/slave arrangement, nor is it a Daddy/babygirl one or a Teacher/student one. If any descriptor comes close it would be that Master C  is my patient, if long-suffering, protector and guide, and I am His unrepentant, bratty, slut.

So that is who I am and a very quick “definition” of the relationship and dynamic I share with Master C.

So, is it real?

Well, it is our lives, so it’s is as “real” as any perceived experience. Of course, since no two people perceive the same thing in precisely the same way, my “reality” will no doubt have difference from “Master C’s” reality; we have, after all, our own sensory interpretations to the world around us, and our brains will interpret those differently, but there are degrees of overlap. Even when we are at our most intimate, these things will have different perspectives.  We will both be aware of the fact that He is fucking my cunt or arse, or that He is eating me out, or that I am giving Him a blow-job, but we will perceive these differently by virtue of the fact that we are experiencing the same thing from the perspective of the giver or received; how He feels His cock feels inside my mouth, cunt or arse will be different from how I feel His cock in my moth, cunt or arse, even though we are both feeling His cock in my mouth, cunt or arse. We are experiencing the same thing, but we are feeling and experiencing it differently according to our own roles.

Is it 24/7?

Well, life is 24/7, but does our dynamic exist 24/7? Am I still His bratty slut when we are both asleep, are we “living our dynamic” when we are both going about our individual jobs/tasks/activities? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Subconsciously, I would say that the answer is “yes”. We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t in each other’s presence. I am still in a relationship with Him when I am at work, or the gym (remember those) or in the supermarket. Master C is still in a relationship with me when He is working, or out with His friends for an after work drink (again, remember those?). We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t physically in each other’s presence, so what about our dynamic? Am I still His slut when I’m not being fucked, or misbehaving in a way that will earn correction from Him? Am I still His slut when I’m sat at my desk, listening to people discuss their lives and their problems? Is Master C still my Dominant when He is on call, when He is treating patients, when He’s driving to/from work?

I suspect, the answer, again subconsciously, is “yes”. Our D/s dynamic is part of our relationship, and if our relationship is always there, then it sort of follows that our dynamic is there too. We might not be actively participating in our dynamic, but it’s still there. I may not be sitting in my Counsellor’s chair listening to people’s concerns, squirming as my favourite butt-plug fills me, or my nipples scream in protest at the claps they are squeezed between, but I have been know to go shopping or to the pub, or cinema, or some other “in public” occasion plugged and clamped. My clothing may mean that it isn’t appropriate to wear my collar in every circumstance, but again, I have worn it suitably concealed in a number of locations where it would raise a few eyebrows if it were noticed.

My collar, the butt-plugs, the ben-wa balls, the nipple-clamps, the bruises on my arse, they are all expressions of our D/s dynamic, but they aren’t the totality of it. When Master C rubs my shoulders, or runs me a bath after a long, tough day, He is still being my supportive, nurturing Dominant just as much as when He is thrashing me with His belt to provide me with a necessary rebalancing. When I listen to Him describe the stresses of His day at work, fetch Him a beer from the fridge, I am still being Hs caring, supportive submissive, just as much as when I’m relieving His stress with a blow-job. We are still Dominant and submissive when we are snuggling comfortably on the sofa just as much as when we fucking vigorously on it.

A D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship; it is still a partnership. It has forms and protocols but it exists whether those are being actively participated in or not.

So while we might not be actively and visibly D/s in our behaviour all day and every day, our D/s dynamic is real to us and, when you boil it right down, that is the only “reality” that matters.

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