Accepting pain


Balance, in the context of a D/s relationship is, I believe, constantly evolving. As a submissive learns their limits and boundaries, so must the Dominant evolve to be able to help the submissive explore and then possibly further expand those limits. A common perception about D/s is that it is the Dominant partner who sets the rules, but actually it is very much a two-way conversation.

By way of example, I will use my own relationship with pain.

Pain is a big thing for me. I’ve discovered that it centres and balances me. I’ve written many times about my need for a restorative thrashing, about how I need to feel Master C’s belt or paddle or cane on my buttocks, how I heed to feel His hand constrict my throat when He fucks me, how I need Him to fuck me hard in the cunt, in the arse, in the throat, and to show me no mercy when He is using me. I want that treatment; I need that treatment. I am, without doubt, very much a masochist.

Master C, on the other hand, is not by nature particularly sadistic. He is very much the guide, protect and nurture sort of Dominant; he prefers to educate rather than to correct.

The problem for Master C is that He has me as His submissive, and I need a lot of correction. Again, I’ve mentioned it many times on here, but I will often go out of my way to require “correction”; I will contrive to be punished just so I can have that slap of His hand on my face, the kiss of His belt or the bit of the cane on my arse.

A big part of the evolution of our dynamic has been for Master C to go against His natural inclinations, He is really a big softie at heart, and to administer the discipline I need and to inflict the levels of pain that take me out of myself. There are times when my life is getting on top of me that I need Master C to break me down and rebuild me. I need Him to really hurt me.

Despite the fact that He will often precede such a session with an admonishment to me to “be brave”, this is when Master C needs to find the courage and steel Himself to do something that He admits, were it not for our D/s context, He would find abhorrent.

It really isn’t me that is being brave when I’m fastened securely in place and enduring the pain of whatever implement has been chosen to leave its marks on my skin and turn my buttocks a deep, angry shade of crimson; it is Master C. He has to find it in Himself to hurt me and take me to the very limits of what I can bear, and that is no easy task. He knows what I want, He knows that I accept such treatment willingly, He knows that this is who I am; that the woman He loves and who submits to Him, needs Him to hurt her.

I’ve seen the anguish behind His eyes, the clenching of His jaw as He raises His belt. I have sensed His relief at the end of a particularly hard session, when He runs me a bath or just holds me tight against Him, soothing me with His hands, His words and just His presence. Master C knows that when I say “Thank you, Sir!” after one of those sessions, that I genuinely DO mean it; the blow-job that I am often “required” to give Him afterwards is simply a further confirmation of my gratitude; and as I’ve pointed out countless times, I never really need an excuse to have Master C’s cock in my mouth.

I don’t need to be brave when Master C punishes me; I need that pain and I know that ultimately He has a limit beyond which He will not go. It is Master C who needs to be brave and my gratitude towards Him for finding the courage to regularly satisfy such a deep-rooted need in me is boundless.

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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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A taste for things that come


I gave my first blow-job at the tender age of 14. It was kind of a special “present” to my then boyfriend on his 15th birthday. Despite have discussed the subject with one of my girlfriends who had had quite a bit of experience in the art of sucking cocks (note the plural), I really didn’t have much of a clue what I was doing; I sucked and licked and worked my lips up and down his shaft until, with very little in the way of warning, he blew his load in my mouth. Luckily for me, it was also my boyfriend’s first experience of a blow-job, so he had nothing to compare it with, but it was clear that he had enjoyed my attentions and, on the evidence of how wet my cunt was, I’d definitely enjoyed my part in the proceedings too. I’ve mentioned before that in the more than 30 years that have elapsed since that day, I’ve lost count of the number of cocks that I’ve had in my mouth, but that first one was the one that made me realise that sucking a guy off was just as much something for me as it was for the recipient.

One of the most important lessons that I’ve learned is that communication is key. If you want to give a cock a really good blow-job, or give a cunt a good tongue lashing, it’s listen to what the recipient wants and likes. No two cocks or cunts are identical in terms of what elicits the maximum amount of pleasure, so, if in doubt, ask. Also, listen; not just to what someone tells you in words, but also what their body tells you in terms of responses. Learn to identify what the gasps, sighs and moans mean, store away the things that made them flinch and shake. This applies equally to whether its a cock or a cunt that you are pleasuring. The more familiar you are with your partner’s body and how they respond to pleasure, the more you learn their sexual “tells”, the more you can concentrate on giving them the best head they’ve ever had.

Another thing I’ve learned, is that when it comes to licking a cunt, women aren’t intrinsically better at it than men. The idea behind this is that those of us with cunts know how we like to have them pleasured, so we should find it easier to pleasure others. This is, of course, nonsense. As I’ve written before, the only cunt whose responses I know with absolute certainty, is my own; and as I’ve already pointed out, what works for my cunt is not guaranteed to work for anyone else’s.  So, again, communication is key. Another tip I learned, was when having sex with another woman for the first time, try to arrange things so they go down on you first as they way they eat you will probably give you an indication of how they like to be eaten. Of course, if you go first, you’re the one giving tips and pointers to what you want when the time comes for the tables to be turned, so there is no right or wrong. The point is, the person who is feasting on your nether regions isn’t psychic, so unless there is a long familiarity with what you like, don’t be afraid to let them know. Help them to give you the tongue-lashing you want and need.

For me, as a submissive woman, one of the things I love about sucking cock is the sense of “empowerment” it gives me. When I’m sucking a cock, it is me that is doing, not being done to; I am giving them pleasure, my talents and abilities are going to be the reason they come, and their load of cum in my mouth is my reward for doing it to the best of my ability. Sucking cock is the way I give pleasure, rather than have it taken from me; I am providing pleasure, not being used for it. I suspect that this is the biggest reason for why I will try to find any excuse to end up with Master C’s in my mouth; I love being responsible for His orgasm and knowing that I am the reason for His climax.

Of course, sometimes, Master C will take His pleasure from my mouth; a mouth and throat is just as capable of being fucked as a cunt or arse. When Master C tips my head back and fucks me roughly in the throat, there is something about this that is deliciously filthy, that ticks my slut boxes, that reminds me that I am there for Him to be used

Over 30 years of using my mouth has taught me many things; how to use it to give pleasure, how to let it be used for pleasure, and how to fully enjoy both. Those are lessons that, in order to be Master C’s  slut and dutiful submissive, I definitely need to learn.

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All in my mind (for now…)


I spend a lot of time “in my own head”. In a way, this post follows on from the posts I did for both the Creative and Fantasy prompts of the previous weeks.

Obviously, I spend a lot of time engaging in sexual activity, either with Master C or on my own. The opportunities for me to be having sex outside of these parameters currently do not exist, although there is just the faintest glimmer of hope that things might not be quite as restrictive soon.

So, while I can’t actually have sex with “The Girl” or “The Other Guy” or some drunken random, that doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it.

I have, lately, spent a lot of time trying to imagine that it will be like when I finally get to meet my other lovers in person again.

With “The Other Guy”, I suspect it’ll be much like sex with Master C, albeit without the discipline and, given how long it has been since we last fucked, much more urgency. I like to imagine him deciding which of my holes he wants to get reacquainted with first. Does he want to feel my lips wrap around his shaft as I slide them along his length, taking the head of his cock deep into the back of my throat? Is his need to fuck me so great that he simply bends me over, hitches up my skirt or yanks down my jeans, pulls the gusset of my knickers aside and plunges straight into my cunt; gripping my hips as he fucks me long and hard? Does he want the tightness of my arse; to stretch and hurt me as he fucks me? What position does he want me in? On my back so that he can pin me beneath him? Bent over the table or the arm of a chair? On my knees, my boobs swinging free beneath me as he takes me hard? Will he fuck me in the living room? Will me make it upstairs to his bedroom? Will he just take me there on the stairs in the hall; items of clothing scattered at our feet as our bodies become reacquainted.

With “The Girl” it will be different. It will still be urgent, but it will be slower, softer. We will take our time as we slowly rediscover each other’s bodies with our lips, our fingers, our tongues. Our lips will kiss, our fingers will explore, our hands will caress, our cunts will ache with the desire to feel each other’s tongues. Nipples will stiffen as they are licked, kissed and bitten. Moans will fill the room as fingers slip between labia and into cunts. Backs will arch as tongues reconnect with clits. We will tease each other, take each other to the edge, let the tension build into an exquisite pain before allowing our climaxes to ignite. And then, after the glow of our reunion slowly wears off, we will do it again.

As for randoms, well that kind of depends very much on when pubs are allowed to reopen and at what time of the evening they turf us out, but I can imagine myself in some alleyway, on my knees, sucking hungrily on the cock of my chosen object of lust. Devouring him until he comes down my throat. I can picture myself standing in some hidden doorway, bracing myself as some unknown man fucks me urgently from behind. I can feel the intensity as I struggle to remain silent lest my moans draw unwanted attention to our furtive fucking. I can sense the thrill of hearing voices nearby and wondering if we will be discovered.

All of these things play out in my mind when Master C leaves me to my own devices, allowing me to spend time with my toys and/or fingers. For now, these events, these encounters, these “indiscretions” that will allow me to encounter Master C’s rightful chastisement can  only happen in my imagination. I hope, however, that one day soon, the can start to become a reality once again.

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Fantasies


Content Warning: Sexual Violence (Consensual)

Inspired by the 6 Nations, a few years back, I wrote about a Changing Room fantasy where I’m bound and helpless and the local rugby team get to have their way with me. Essentially, I get well and truly fucked in every hole, get cum splattered all over me, and then, with the absolute minimum of cleaning up afterwards, I have to join them in the club bar where they all talk very loudly about what they did and how I took it.

The key elements of this story are:

  • restraint/helplessness
  • being used by multiple men
  • having numerous loads of cum shot on my face/boobs/arse/skim
  • public humiliation

The truth is, while the setting and the premise may vary, the above is pretty much a recurring theme of my fantasies. They almost invariably involve me being tied up, naked in some semi-public location where there is an invitation for any who find me to use me as they please.

It could be the changing room as described above, it could be me bound and helpless in a hotel room, where the door has been deliberately wedged open, it could be me bound over a style or a gate on a country footpath or, in some sort of public stocks, being punished for my wanton behaviour by the good citizens, and my punishment is to endure their wanton behaviour.

Wherever the fantasy is located, I am always naked, always restrained, always helpless to resist and there is always the “invitation” for whoever encounters me to use me in whatever way they see fit.

What follows is an indeterminant number of people, both men and women, doing what they want. Fucking my mouth, fucking my cunt, fucking my arse, whipping me, thrashing me, my cunt is fingered, licked, fucked with numerous implements/toys and I simply have to “endure” it.

Usually, but not always, the men choose to punish me by denying me the satisfaction of having their cum released inside me; they shoot their loads on my skin, their cum sticks to my face, drips down my boobs, coats my buttocks. By the time I am finally released, every hole has been fucked countless times and I am a mess of dried on cum.

As if the humiliation of the public sexual torture and cum-soakings weren’t enough, there is always some sort of “walk of shame” element, where my slutiness is displayed for all to see. Those who have fucked me, feign outrage at my deplorable wantonness while congratulating themselves on how they used me, both individually and collectively.

The final act in my fantasy is the redemptive element. The overseer of my punishment/public humiliation (almost always some fictionalised version of Master C or “The Other Guy”) fucks me, rewards me with their cum in my cunt or mouth and tells me that despite being a filthy slut, they are proud of how I stoically took my punishment, how I held my head high, proudly, despite the humiliation, how I have proved myself to be worthy.

It’s probably fair to say that my fantasies are born somewhere within the darker side of my subconscious that I wrote about recently. I can’t deny there is a roughness bordering on violence about them that I suspect some may find disturbing. The thing is though, when my mind goes down these particular paths, the intensity of the orgasms that such mental images help to produce is something else altogether and I’m left feeling as drained as if the scenes playing out in my mind had actually happened.

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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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Throat wank


With my arms restrained beside me, Master C tilts my head back. I dutifully open my mouth. The head of His cock slips between my lips, followed by the shaft. Master C pushes slowly and firmly into me, inch by thick, delicious inch of him. And then that wonderful moment when His balls rest against my nose, His shortly trimmed pubic hair tickles my lips, and the swollen head of His cock lodges deep in my throat.

He stops; not because I can’t take any more, but because there is no more of Him to take. Every inch, every last fraction has been fed to me.

I am well trained, but I still gag slightly, choking around the thickness of His cock as it restricts my airway. Saliva fills my mouth and it is impossible to swallow. It trickles from the corners of my mouth, down my up-turned cheeks. Some of it dribbles into my nostrils, making it still harder to breath.

Master C’s cock begins to move; long, slow, deliberate and forceful strokes. I gasp for air each time He pulls back, filling my lungs, not knowing when my next breath will be allowed.

He pushes in. His hands go around my neck. His thumbs press down firmly, squeezing my neck between them and His cock. Master C holds me there for long breathless moments, each one seeming like an eternity, until He finally relents and pulls back.

I have mere seconds to exhale and refill my lungs before Master C repeats the process, each time starving me that little bit longer, each time making me more desperate, making each breath being sweeter than the one that preceded it.

And then, something new.

As Master C holds me at the deepest point of He traces the outline of His cock with His thumb and finger. I can feel every ridge, every contour of His cock as He runs His thumb along the shape of the shaft and over the head. I hear him groan. I feel His cock twitch. He works His thumb up and down my neck, rubbing His cock through my skin. He is wanking himself, wanking His cock inside my throat by pressing it through my neck.

Master C’s breathing deepens. His hips rock slightly, moving His cock in short thrusts as He presses down. His thumb concentrates on the ridge where the head joins the shaft; that spot that gives him so much pleasure when He takes himself in hand, or when I stroke him.

Those involuntary movements of His hips tell me Master C is getting close. His grip around my neck tightens as He tries to increase the pressure on His cock. My throat is raw. My jaw aches. He is so close.

I feel it first in His balls as they contract and tighten against my face. I can almost feel His cum surge through Him. A strangled gasp escapes from between Master C’s lips. His hands fall from my neck as He braces himself. He erupts, deep in my throat, far beyond my tastebuds.

I begin to choke. Mercifully He pulls out. I let my tongue trail over His shaft as Master C extracts himself from my throat.

Sobbing and gasping in air, I let him move me; lifting my head, placing a cushion beneath it, stroking my hair, making me comfortable and telling me I am His “good girl”.

I would smile at His words, but my jaw is too stiff.

He kisses me.

He holds me.

He restores me again.

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Rough love


If you follow me on Twitter, you might know that yesterday was not a great day for me. It was almost serendipty when the following tweet appeared in my timeline.

I won’t lie, by mid morning yesterday, I was fully in agreement with the poster in that I definitely needed the full spectrum of responses.

It wasn’t quite a “caging” event, I’d had one of those recently and I don’t want to overuse that particular form of “therapy” but it was one of those days where I needed a fucking that would help me forget just how horrible a day it had been.

One of the great things about my relationship with Master C is His near instinctive ability to know just what kind of attention I need in any given circumstances; although, to be fair, given that as soon as He was able to attend to me, He found me naked, on all fours, with a paddle and a butt-plug on the table beside me, was possibly something of a giveaway. However, even my fairly blatant statement of intent didn’t prevent Master C from adding his own embellishments.

Clamps were tightened around my nipples. My wrists were cuffed to my ankles. My legs were forced apart by the spreader bar. My mouth strained around the ball-gag which was fastened tightly around my neck. A small glob of lube was squirted on my arsehole. I was in that most wonderfully agonising state of discomfort and then I felt the cold, glassy smoothness of the plug being pushed, not into my arse, but into my cunt.

Master C fucked me with it for a few wonderful moments, coating it with my wetness before slowly, but firmly inserting it into my back passage. I moaned around the ball in my mouth as He worked it in, feeling it stretching me, opening me up.

I flinched as I heard the crack of wood on skin; Master C testing the paddle against the heal of his palm. “Are you ready?” He asked.

I squirmed, trying to nod to confirm. Master C laughed. “And so let it commence,” He announced.

I waited.  I waited to feel the contact of the wood on my buttocks. I waited and the anticipation grew, becoming unbearable. I waited; my nipples throbbing against the clamps, my cunt hot and wet, my arse so deliciously stretched and full. I waited…

And then the wait was over. That first resounding blow to my buttocks send a pulse of pain and pleasure through me. I cried out, but the ball in my mouth muted the sound.

A second blow, a third, each one alternating from side to side, left then right. Each blow delivered with a force that made my eyes water and with a timing that allowed the intensity of the pain to build, maximising the burning sensation across both buttocks.

Twelve blows in all. Twelve wonderfully, deliciously, painful blows in alternation, six to the left and six to the right.

Master C stroked His fingers over my clit. I came instantly.

The plug was removed from my arse and for a few fleeting moments, I felt empty; but not for long. The plug was replaced by Master C’s cock. He gripped my hips and fucked my arse hard. After every few thrusts, He would smack His hand down hard on one buttock or the other, a sharp stinging slap, reigniting the fire of my paddling.

“Dirty slut loves getting her arse fucked, doesn’t she?” I heard Him growl. “My filthy slut loves having her Master’s cock in her arse, doesn’t she?” I wanted to cry out yes, I wanted to let Him know how much His filthy slut was enjoying having her arse fucked. I creamed the words in my mind, but the ball in my mouth reduced my moans to a muffled, incomprehensible  mumble.

Suddenly I felt a buzzing against my clit and that was my undoing. I came hard as His cock pounded my arse and the finger stim pressed against my clit.

I was still coming when Master C pulled His cock from my arse and, second later, I felt the sticky heat of His cum on my skin.

Master C released the spreader, unclasped the nipple clamps and undid the cuffs around my wrists.  As I collapsed, spent and drained on to the floor, He undid the gag and removed the ball from my mouth and kissed me. Pausing to spread a blanket over the couch, Master C gathered me up then laid me out on in it, wrapping the blanket over me. He kissed me again. “Would you like me to run you a bath and get you a glass of wine?” He asked.

I smiled and nodded.

Master C really does know my needs so well.

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.

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Getting fucked


I can’t say that I’ve ever thought of fucking as a kink; it’s really just something that I do (or have done to me) and that I enjoy, A LOT! Over a period of 28+ years, since that very first time when I purposely discarded my virginity, right up to the one I had this morning, getting fucked is something that I relish.

I can’t tell you how many cocks I’ve had inside me (I could probably work it out but really, who is interested?) and I certainly don’t remember every time I’ve been fucked (although there have been some truly memorable fucks as well as those that have been long forgotten), but even where the actual fuck may not have been what I’d hoped for, or needed, I’m pretty certain the circumstances of the fuck, the anticipation, the build up, the moment of first penetration meant that none of them were entirely unenjoyable; from the drunken, late night, back-alley fumbled quickie, all the way through to the most prolonged and protracted, climax filled, weekend long fuckfest (possibly with multiple partners), fucking is simply something that I cannot get enough of.

Cocks, come in all shapes and sizes, and the range of skill with which they are used has almost infinite variety. The same cock can feel completely different depending on the circumstances in which it finds itself in me, depending on the kind of fuck that it is giving me, depending on which hole it is fucking.

And that’s the thing, it’s not just my cunt or my arse that I let get fucked; my mouth/throat are just as receptive to being roughly taken by a cock, of being used, of being taken and filled by a cock repeatedly thrusting into it. When a man grabs my head and roughly fucks my mouth, it is every bit as intense, every bit as rewarding as when he garbs my hips and drives his cock deep into my cunt or my arse. I readily and happily accept that all my holes are available for fucking, whether it be one cock fucking each in turn, or multiple cocks fucking me simultaneously.

The simple truth is, there are very few things in life that give me as much pleasure and sense of self-fulfilment as a fucking good fucking.

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