Deconstruction

This week’s “No True Way” is on the subject of being broken down:

“A submissive needs to be broken down by their dominant“

It’s a subject that I have written about before, as it is definitely something that, within my dynamic with Master C, I need and rely upon Him to do. It’s not so much the need to be broken, it’s the need to be taken apart, to release whatever negative energy is keeping me down, and then to be put back together, refreshed and renewed.

For me, pain is an essential when it comes to being “reset”. Master C, being particularly attuned to me moods and their accompanying needs, is usually very good at picking up on when such a reset is needed. Sometimes however, as I’ve previously mentioned, when I need Him to know how badly it is required, I will retreat to the cage, for Him to find me. That is my way of telling Him that there are no restraints on what I am prepared to accept: the clamps around my nipples can be tightened to the absolute maximum, He can wield whatever implement of chastisement He choses to employ as often and with as much force as He deems fit, He can yank my head back by my hair as hard and as far as it will go as He fucks me, He can choke me to the point of almost passing out. In essence, when Master C finds me in the cage, He knows that I am prepared to accept anything up to the point of me resorting to our “stop signals”.

In these circumstances, it isn’t about discipline, or punishment; I haven’t failed in some task or committed some transgression. In these instances it is all about the need for release.

In part, the preparation is as much a part of it. The blindfold so I don’t know what He is going to do. The ball-gag being put in my mouth so I can’t cry out. The clamps being tightened around my nipples. Being frog0marched over to Master C’s “workbench”, being forced roughly on to its hard wooded surface that pushes the clamps on my nipples into my boobs. It’s the harsh, rope bindings around my ankles that will chafe and burn my skin as I struggle. It’s the hook in my arse with its intricate harness that allows my hair to be bound into it, and then twisted to the required tightness. and then there is the waiting before Master C decides what He is going to do.

Often, in these circumstances, His belt will serve simply as an appetiser, a warm-up; turning the cheeks of my arse a rosy red as each lash lands. He will return to my arse later, but next He will remove the ball from my mouth and fuck my face, squeezing my neck with His strong hands as His cock roughly pounds my throat.

He comes, coating my face with a thick load of cum, then picks up the cane.

It swooshes menacingly through the air as it traces an arc towards my backside. It hurts, so much more than the belt does, and so much more because the belt has already done its work.

A twist of the hook harness pulls my hair tighter, pulling my head back further. The rope burns against my ankles.

By the time Master C is finally inside me, fucking me hard from behind while pulling my arms toughly back behind me, I will have been thoroughly beaten and used. If I’m lucky, as His cock takes me, I will have slipped into that almost transcendental state of sub-space, that dissociated almost out of body state of calm, where I can almost observe what is being don to me.

I know that, whatever happens, Master C will ensure that I will begiven the release of climax before He comes again, either in my cunt or over my back.

First my orgasm, and then His, is were the restoration commences. It continues as He unbinds me. It continues as He takes me in His arms, wipes away my tears, strokes my hair. It continues as He gentle massages the soothing balm into my skin, relieving some of the burning from where the cane bit. It continues as He makes me comfortable, and pours me a glass of wine. It continues because Master C is there, He is with me, and I am His.

There are times when the need to be broken like this is fundamental; it goes right to the core of my being. Each time, however, from the ashes I am reborn. I am refreshed and rebuilt. It is one of the greatest gifts that being Master C’s submissive gives me, and one that He gives with such care.

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.

Don’t try this at home!

Sometimes I really don’t fully think through the consequences of my actions. Take the following situation for example; a cautionary tale from the early days of Master C and I living together, which was almost custom made for this particular prompt.

It was mid-afternoon one Saturday, and I had just returned home from a morning spent with “The Girl”. I was looking forward to having Master C remind me of “what I’d been missing” while “The Girl” and I had been enjoying each other’s company, in that particular way that He always does, after I’ve finished providing Him with the required and fully detailed account of what we’d got up to.

Having been playing rugby that morning, Master C still hadn’t got home by the time I had, so I had some time on my hands that I needed to use. Being home, alone, and still on a high after an orgasm filled time with “The Girl”, I stripped off and headed to the shower, where I spend a considerable time experimenting with the shower head to determine which angles and pressure had the most pleasing effects. This was followed by an extended session using my fingers and wand, and despite several very intense climaxes, I was still still incredibly randy and feeling decidedly naughty.

So, in my pleasure hormone saturated brain, I hatched a plan to prepare a nice surprise for Master C on his return home.

So, after rummaging in the bottom drawer for the necessary accoutrements, and pausing only to ensure a trail of clothing was strewn artfully up the stairs, I set to work.

First off was to secure my ankles to the foot end of the bed and attach the handcuffs to one of my wrists. Next was to fit and secure the ball-gag and tie the blindfold firmly in place. Finally, and this was the tricky bit, was to wind the handcuff chain around one of the headboard bars before locking the empty cuff around my free wrist. This is not the easiest task while blindfolded and after several failed attempts, and several muffled swear words, I was relieved when I finally managed to click it into place.

Now all that was left was to wait for Master C’s return.

After the initial cunt soaking excitement had passed, a dawning realisation that I hadn’t thought this fully through, began asserting itself on me.

It started with little things like:

Did I remember to lock the door? Or:

Has He got his keys?

Then the slightly darker thoughts like:

What if there’s a fire?

Then full-on panic:

What if mum comes round? She has her own key.

As time went by, there was the, what if He’s hurt himself. That caused a brief thrill of excitement at the thought of Master C being assisted home by a team-mate (or two) who might then join us, but it was quickly replaced with: “what if He’s really hurt himself and is in casualty”?

As the enormity of my predicament finally penetrated, I had one last, horrific thought:

Where the fuck is the cat?

By this stage, any randiness or anticipatory excitement had completely drained away and, resigned to my situation, I gave up and, somewhat surprisingly, fell asleep.

I didn’t hear the lock turn, I didn’t hear Master C make His way up the stairs; I was eventually awakened to the sound and sight of Him almost pissing himself laughing at my predicament. Which elicited a somewhat grumpy, “Well don’t just stand there laughing. After all the bother I’ve gone to, the least you could do is take advantage of me…” Which, from around my ball gag, probably sounded more like “Mmmph, unof! Umph, fmbl, gurrumph hmmm, ach!” Still, to be fair, after regaining His composure, take advantage of me He did; very thoroughly, and I enjoyed it imensely.

Of course, due to the ball-gag situation, I had to wait until Master C had finished His initial “taking advantage” before being able to recount my earlier activities with “The Girl”. This resulted in me being briefly released while I turned onto my front, having my arse soundly thrashed before being very soundly reminded of “what my holes are for” and ended with a load of Master C’s cum being deposited over my face.

So yeah, clouds and silver linings. I accept that, shining the cold light of hindsight on the situation, it wasn’t one of my cleverest moments. Having said that it wasn’t the last time that I acted before properly thinking things through and I’m almost sure to have further misadventures in future.

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.

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.

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.

Cadged, benched and the sweet release of subspace

I’ve mentioned the cage before; about how it can be a place of punishment, and how it can be a place of retreat where I communicate my need of support. Last night, for reasons I won’t bore you with, it was most definitely the latter.

The process is simple: I finished work, logged off from my PC, undressed, closed myself into the cage, curled up and waited for Master C to discover me there.

I don’t know how long I was confined; time within the cage has its own special duration, it’s a kind of limbo where time has no meaning until I’m released.

“Is my little one feeling delicate?” Master C enquired softly on finding me confined.

I nodded. “Yes Sir,” I replied meekly, eyes downcast.

He left momentarily before returning; my collar and lead in one hand and a pair of cuffs on the other. “I think I know exactly what might help,” He said as He opened the cage and helped me out.

“Turn around!” a gentle command. I did as Master C bid me. The cuffs fastened around my wrists behind my back. The collar went around my neck and he fastened it tight. Attaching the lead. He turned me around, kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You know where to go,” He said.

I did. I know how this goes, but I still get a thrill of anticipation. “Yes Sir!” I replied.

“Well, lead the way then,” He said, giving my arse a playful swat.

I walked slowly thought to our playroom. In the middle of the room stood the bench. I glanced a coy look back of my shoulder. He nodded.

I walked up to the bench then bent over, my legs spread. Master C fastened the leather restraints around my ankles and then the side restraints went over my arms and fastened between my shoulder blades, holding me tightly in place. and then, I waited.

I waited while he pondered what implement to use. I flinched each time I heard a swoosh of air, only for flogger, or His belt, or the cane to land on the desk. I didn’t care which He used on me; any of them would hurt, any of them would begin my journey. I waited.

I waited, and the anticipation grew. I waited as he walked around me, scrutinising me, flexing the cane, or snapping the folds of his belt together in front of my face. I waited.

Again, that state of limbo, the passage of time meaningless. I waited.

SMACK! his belt struck across my arse. I cried out, as the stinging heat spread across my buttocks. SMACK! harder this time, or so it seemed. SMACK! harder still. His belt crisscrossed my buttocks; the intensity of each kiss adding to the fire of those that preceded it.

Hot tears fell from my eyes. Cries of pain were torn from my throat. His belt was merciless, His belt was harsh, His belt was unrelenting, His belt was just what I needed.

I didn’t count the lashes. This wasn’t a punishment where I needed to keep track, this was a centring, a rebalancing. My tears, my cries and my reddening skin were all that Master C needed to determine when I had reached the next stage.

Mt restraints were briefly undone. Master C repositioned me on my back, my head tilted back over the edge of the bench. The restraints were refastened, tighter; the one around my chest squashing my boobs and constricting my breathing. Slowly, Master C buckled his belt around my neck between my chin and my collar.

Tears still stung in my eyes, but I could see his lovely thick cock was hard. He slapped my face. “Open your mouth, slut! I’m going to fuck your throat.”

The words were what I needed to hear, and His cock was what I wanted to have. This wasn’t a blow-job, this wasn’t me worshiping His cock, lavishing attention on it; this was Master C fucking my throat, treating my mouth like just another hole.

He fucked me hard, rough, without mercy. I chocked and spluttered as He drove His cock down my neck; gasping for breath as He tightened His belt around neck. In… Out… In… Out… Again and again, over and over. The pressure around my neck making it almost impossible to breath around his cock.

Occasionally he would pull out fully, allowing me a few gasping breaths down my tortured throat before beginning again.

I was losing myself. I was become nothing more than something for Him to use.

Time stopped. The pain in my buttocks seemed to melt away, my jaw no longer ached. Tears still streamed from my eyes, but I barely noticed. This was it. This was that transcendent moment where nothing mattered, I just let myself go and get carried along on the current.

He came. Not down my throat, but across my boobs. I barely felt it, the fire burning in my veins was all consuming.

And then… And then… and then His tongue on my clit, His hands rubbing His cim into my boobs as He feasted on me.

My back tried to arch as I came for the first time. The restraints holding me firmly in place seemed to intensify the power of my climax. I cried a long, silent scream of release, my raw throat unable to produce sound. His fingers inside my cunt, His tongue on my clit, the pain, the power of my release. I was lost, powerless to respond. My consciousness seemed to float outside my body; I was a disembodied observer, watching on with fascination as Master C’s tongue and fingers relentlessly pushed my body beyond any last remaining iota of endurance.

Again, that timeless limbo, accompanied this time by a detachment from reality. How long had He kept me there? I’ve no idea.

The restraints were gone, soothing balm applied to my buttocks numbed the sensation of the soft sheets beneath me, the soft pillow beneath my head as Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me tenderly on the lips and slid into me.

He took me, slowly, languidly, but thoroughly. Never losing control, never allowing Himself to surrender to His inner primal animal self. This fuck was for me, to restore me, to bring me back to myself. I found my body responding to His, increasingly moving in harmony. I found the strength to raise my arms, to lift my hands to his buttocks, to slowly squeeze my fingers into his taut, firm flesh to let Him know that He didn’t need to be quite so considerate. I managed a very hoarse whisper. “Fuck me Sir! Your little slut needs to be fucked.”

He smiled down at me and thrust harder. I smiled back then closed my eyes, savouring His firmness inside me, His body on mine. Firm, yet gentle, strong, yet sensual, considerate, but always Dominant, He took me, He fucked me, He rebuilt me and made me whole again.

I came, feeling sore but secure beneath Him. And then, at last Master C came inside me and my worries and cares were banished again.

We had another slow, leisurely fuck this morning and, sore arse and slightly raw throat not withstanding, I’m feeling much more positive today.

Almost limitless

When it comes to sex, I’ve always had a fairly “anything goes” attitude. I’ve always been willing to try new things, I like to experiment, I like to have my boundaries pushed.

There is a difference, I think, between boundaries and limits. My boundaries have definitely expanded since I started on my sexual journey. My natural curiosity led me to try (and enjoy as it turned out) things like anal, sex with other women, group-sex, bondage, swinging, etc. I’ve had casual sex with both men and women, I get off on risky situations such as sex in fairly public place where there is a risk (to varying degrees) of getting caught. In my student days, I once even caught a night bus back from a club with a guy’s cum (albeit dried by the time the bus finally showed up) all over my face.

There is a thrill of trying new things, of experiencing new sensations in different circumstances. Far from being limits, my boundaries are simply things I haven’t tried. Some I have actively wanted to do, some I was less keen on trying, and some, up until I found myself doing them, I hadn’t even considered.

There are, however, a few things that I won’t do.

Anything involving scat/urine/blood is out.  While I have no problem (massive understatement) with anal, rimming is something I won’t do. Similarly, if a cock has been in my arse, even though a condom has been worn, it isn’t going anywhere else until it has had a bloody good wash.

One final thing: needles.  I have a pathological fear of them. I even have to get knocked out when I go to the dentist. So, they are an absolute no-no.

I don’t really have many limits, and those that I have are definitely hard, and, have remained constant from the very start.

Apart from those, as I said at the start, anything goes.

 

Waiting

I am on my knees; head downcast, naked, blindfolded, my hands tied securely behind my back. Helpless. Bound. At His mercy.

He has me exactly where, and how, He wants me. I can do nothing but wait for Him to use me as He desires.

The anticipation burns as I wait for Him. I endure His scrutiny; feeling His eyes on me as He slowly walks around me; occasionally filling my ears with the loud snapping crack of His belt.

He examines me. Although I cannot see Him, I can sense how He views me. I yearn for His touch. I hunger for His command; eager to obey His slightest whim.

His silence is agonising. My cunt is hot and wet. I long for Him to acknowledge me, to give me some indication of His desire, His need.

I wait in silence; enduring each second as it ticks by. My legs begin to cramp in the uncomfortable position of my submission to Him.

I wait in silence, as the sound of leather cracking against leather fills my senses.

Discomfort wars with anticipation, pain with arousal. What is His will? What does He require of me?

A shiver runs through me as the belt coils around my neck. It presses my skin as He pulls it tight.

A sharp tug forces me to raise my head.

I become aware of His breathing; rapid, laboured. I can almost feel His pre-climactic tension. Apart from His breathing and the rhythmic beat of His hand stroking His cock, there is silence.

He groans.

His cum strikes my face like a blow from His hand. Hot, rich, sticky; I feel it trickle down my face, warming my skin as moves.

At last, He speaks. “Open your mouth, little one. Taste your reward.”

I comply. His cock fills my mouth. I tighten my lips around Him and savour the taste of His essence.

Punished

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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