Punishment: pain or pleasure?


When Master C  spanks/thrashes me it hurts; it’s supposed to; I’ve been a bad girl and He is punishing me for my misdeeds/misbehaviour and punishment is meant to hurt. So yes, there is pain, but that pain gives me intense pleasure.

Being the wayward slut that I am, Master C is never short of a reason to bend me over, bare my arse and apply whatever measure of punishment, delivered by whatever implement He feels is appropriate for the transgression in question. I never challenge Him on it; it His is right to punish me as He deems fit and I have accepted that my actions must have consequences.

Confession time:

  • I have a particular fondness for His belt. I love the sharp stinging pain as it connects with my flesh, and I love the deep, angry red marks that it leaves and that take so many days to heal.
  • I have been know to deliberately misbehave in order to provoke a spanking/thrashing.

Yes, the feel of his hand, or the leather against my skin turns me on, but it is so much more than that. The punishment is, for me, a redemptive act; it is a way of not just earning Master C’s forgiveness, but knowing I’ve earned it. Every time I’ve “failed him”, whether it be not sucking His cock to His satisfaction, to fucking some random guy I fancied in the pub, I know that with every stinging, burning slap or lash, that  Master C is forgiving me as much as He is punishing me.

The mark of Master C’s forgiveness, the badge of His care for me, the sign of His instruction, is the burning red  glow of my well skelpt arse.

So yes, it hurts, yes, it is a pain, but it is a beautiful, restorative pain with an intense deeper meaning that brings me so much pleasure and reassurance.

#MasturbationMonday
Advertisements

Is it in the genes?


What is it that makes us who we are? What drives our sexual urges, appetites, and preferences? Is it nature or is it nurture? Is it something completely random?

Take my sister and me, for example. My sister is three years older than me. To all intents and purposes, our DNA is pretty much identical. We’re about the same height, the same build (albeit my boobs are bigger, but she has a nicer arse), we have the same colour hair, and the same colour eyes. We share a very similar sense of humour, and in most respects, very similar personalities. However, when it comes to sex and sexuality, we couldn’t be more different.

That’s not to say my sister doesn’t enjoy sex as much as I do, because I’m pretty certain she does. Nor has she been without her share of sexual partners; although unlike me, all of her partners have been male.

Whereas I am openly and actively bisexual, my sister has no inclination towards girls. She can appreciate female beauty, she is not attracted sexually to other women.

Another difference between us is that casual sex is not her thing. She’s had a couple of flings between relationships, whereas, you could almost say, I’ve had a few relationships between flings.

I know, she’s never had sex with more than one person at a time, and while she isn’t averse to anal, it’s not a big feature of her repertoire; saving it “special occasions”.

One thing we do have in common is our love of giving blow-jobs. Given that I have previously recounted how I almost walked into her, mid-suck, this didn’t surprise me. Like me, she is also a swallower.

We both enjoy our toys, we both enjoy sex in slightly risky situations, we both enjoy it hard and, sometimes, a little rough, but whereas I enjoy a good thrashing from Master C’s belt, and I have some very obvious submissive tendencies (to put it mildly), my sister is much more vanilla in her tastes. She enjoys the occasional spanking, likes to be restrained from time to time, but by and large, kink is just an occasional bit of fun to spice things up. Anyone who is a regular reader of this blog, will know that for me, kink defines what Master C and I do.

So how is it that two people who have the same genetic heritage, have had the same upbringing, be so different. What made my sister the almost model of sexual respectability, while I am wanton slut? What makes us so different in our sexual appetites and tastes?

Oh, and while I’m at it, why is she able to hold her drink so much better than me?.

#MasturbationMonday

Just take me…


As I’ve mentioned before, I’m am very much a submissive and I love to be dominated. I don’t necessarily mean in a sadomasochistic/bondage kind of way (although, I’m not averse to being restrained on occasion), but just that I like to be taken in a way where when Master C does things to me, it’s simply because it’s what He wants to do and not because He is trying to respond to what I might want. In these situations my pleasure derives solely from the fact that Master C is taking His pleasure from me, doing what He does because He wants to and is enjoying it.

There’s something decidedly primal about it. It doesn’t have to be rough (although it often can be, and that’s fine too), it’s just knowing that Master C is going to take me and do to me as He pleases, and I just have to take whatever is dished out.

It’s the knowing that, when Master C sucks on my boobs, it’s because that’s what He wants to do, and not because He knows I like it. When Master C forces his cock between my lips, into my mouth and deep into the back of my throat, chocking me with its fullness as His strong hand tightens around my neck, it’s because He wants to feel my throat tighten around the swollen head, starving me of oxygen. When Master C sinks his cock into my cunt and begins to fuck me, it’s because of His sexual urge, His most basic need. In that particular moment, the fact that it’s me that Master C’s fucking is immaterial, all that matters is that His cock is inside a tight, warm, wet and willing cunt and that He is going to keep fucking it until He comes. It’s the fact that no matter how caring and considerate a lover Master C is (and believe me, He is usually very considerate), at this particular moment, He is being driven by His own ‘selfish’ sexual desire; my needs are of no consequence and that I’m simply there as a means to facilitate His desire. I am there to yield to Him, to give myself to Him utterly, to receive Him and to be used by Him.

It’s the knowing how much Mater C is enjoying having His way with my body that gives me my pleasure (that, combined with the fact that I’m still getting a bloody good seeing-to). I may not always come in these situations (but I frequently do) but it still leaves me with a deep sense of satisfaction; to have been taken so utterly, so completely, to have been used for His fulfilment, to have Him collapse on top of me, breathless and drained, pinning me beneath Him, His cum warm inside me or on my skin.

Don’t get me wrong, I like tenderness, I like consideration, I love the deep emotional connection of mutual pleasure, but sometimes, what it all boils down to is, I just want to be fucked and I know I can depend on Master C to do just that whenever the urge takes Him.

#MasturbationMonday

On my knees


Whether it’s facing Master C, ready to take His cock in my mouth, or facing away, bracing myself, ready to feel Him in my cunt or arse, I spend a lot of time on my knees.

When I’m sucking His cock, I love to look up at Master C, making eye contact as I take Him deep into the back of my throat. As I kneel between His legs, Mater C puts His hands on my head and forces His cock deeper. I look up through my lashes and see the look of hunger in His eyes.

Turning away from Him, I brace myself, waiting for Master C to take me. The anticipation grows as His hands grip my hips, peaking as I feel the head of His wonderful cock press against the entrance of His choice. My body moves as Master C plunges into me. Sometimes He grabs my hair, pulling my head back painfully, at other times, He’ll push me forward, forcing my face towards the floor as He fucks me with long, hard, forceful thrusts of His magnificent cock.

Of course, it’s not just about blow-jobs and fucking. I kneel to receive His spankings, I kneel when I await the bite of His belt on my arse, I kneel when I thank Master C for my punishment.

I spend a lot of time on my knees, and I love every moment I spend on them.

#WickedWednesday Tell Me About

It’s as if he hates me


Sometimes I like to be abused. When Master C calls me a filthy little bitch, or a dirty whore, punctuating His words with slaps across my cheeks that bring tears to my eyes and set my cunt juices flowing.

When Master C bends me over his knee, yanks my knickers down and spanks me hard until I cry, I get a warm feeling inside.

When His belt cuts into the skin of my arse cheeks and Master C tells me that I’m a worthless slut who deserves to be punished, my desire to feel His cock inside me grows.

When Master C rams his cock forcefully down my throat, making choke and splitter, I can’t wait to taste His cum.

As Master C fucks me hard from behind, abusing my cunt or my arse, I love it when He tugs my hair, pulling my head back as far as my neck will allow. All the time He fucks me, He’s telling me how I’m just a collection of holes to be used, abused and filled with cum.

When Master C comes all over my face, degrading me, showing His utmost contempt for me as He wipes His cock in my hair, I know I am His, and that I belong to Him.

Later, as Master C holds me close in bed, His strong arms enveloping and protecting me, I am grateful to be His.

Yes, I love it when Master C fucks me like He hates me.

#MasturbationMonday

It’s not just for sitting on


I will freely admit, I take it up the arse and I love it.

The first time I got my arse fucked was when I was 15, not long after losing my virginity. It wasn’t planned, well, not by me at least. One minute I was standing, feet apart, bracing myself against the wall for support, trying hard not to make any noise as my boyfriend’s mum was downstairs watching Eastenders while he was busy giving my cunt a very thorough pounding from behind, when, suddenly I felt one, then two very well lubricated fingers working their way into and being twisted around in my arsehole. When, moments later, his cock slipped out of my cunt, I had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen next. Sure enough, he removed his fingers and began working his cock into my tight rear hole.

I’ve no idea why he decided to do it; I’m fairly certain that I hadn’t given any indication that it was something I wanted to try, he just went ahead and did it. It’s fair to say, despite the lubrication, it hurt quite a bit, the sensations were, unusual, to say the least; but by the time he’d given my arse a pounding almost every bit as thorough as the one he’d given my cunt, pulled out and shot his warm sticky load over my back and arse cheeks, it is fair to say, I had become an anal addict.

In my opinion. there is, you see, nothing loving or tender about an arse fucking. Well, that’s not entirely true, I love getting my arse fucked, and it is always very tender afterwards, but that isn’t my point. The point is, that for all I enjoy soft, romantic, loving sex, I also like rough, hard, animalistic sex. The filthier it is, the more I love it; and anal sex fits perfectly into this category.

To me, a guy doesn’t make love to an arse, he fucks it, preferably forcefully and hard. When Master C has His cock in my arse, it is the ultimate symbol of His possession of me. It is Master C saying, in the most basic language there is, that I am His filthy little slut and He is going to use me however He so pleases.

And on that point, there’s nothing I like more when I’m having my arsehole brutally pounded than to be told, in no uncertain terms, that I am a filthy little slut and that I am getting exactly what I deserve. If those words are accompanied by some stinging slaps to my buttocks and my hair being yanked hard so that my head is pulled back, then so much the better; it simply emphasises the Master C’s ownership of me and the fact that my body is His to use. In these instances, a thorough buggering is the epitome of filthiness and, quite obviously, there are times when I want to be His filthy little slut and I need Master C to let me know that that is most certainly what I am.

Sometimes, getting my arse fucked will just be part of a wider sexual experience, one where we spend an afternoon, or an evening, or occasionally a whole day just pleasuring each other, doing whatever feels right and whatever we are in the mood for at any given moment. On other occasions, it will be all there is; a brutal punishment for some actual or imagined transgression on my part. It doesn’t really matter to me what the actual circumstances are, so long as my arse gets at least it fair share of attention, then I’m happy.

That isn’t to say I expect, or even want, to feel His cock in my back passage every time we have sex, because I don’t; although it is certainly His right to decide which hole He fucks and how hard He fucks it. I can be just as happy with a good cunt pounding or a prolonged session of oral or even mutual wanking; but, when I’m in the mood for feeling filthy, nothing, but nothing will satisfy me more than getting my tight, slutty little arsehole well and truly fucked by Master C’s glorious hard cock.

#MasturbationMonday

The “truth” about size


Having been a member of numerous adult contact sites in the past, and having browsed a few profiles on those same sites, I wasn’t all that surprised when I noticed that a lot of women want the men they meet to be “well hung”. What did surprise me was the number who insist that only men with cocks greater than 8″ (or in some cases the specification was greater than 9″) should bother contacting them.

This got me to wondering just how many “genuine” contacts they get.

It is generally accepted that the average length of the male organ, when erect is approximately 5½-6½”. Now, I know, averages being averages means that there must be a distribution of lengths on either side of that figure. Fair enough, I get that. I’ve had quite a few cocks in my life and some have been longer and some have been shorter but, typically, they’ve all been much of a muchness (thickness, on the other hand…)

Anyway, back to my point. When a woman specifies such a requirement, how does she actually know what she’s getting in advance? OK, there are pictures on these sites (believe me, there are lots of pictures…) but, to be perfectly frank, these don’t actually tell the viewer anything about how long they are.

So, given that the photos aren’t much to go by, unless there’s some frame of reference to give an idea of scale, It does beg the question about how she knows the cock she is going to get meets the required specification.

Do these women insist on documentary evidence?

Do they carry a measuring tape around with them at all times?

If the latter, what happens when they unwrap the aforementioned ‘gift’ and discover it is short by a fraction? Do they just kick him out and dig out their favourite toy instead?

That said, even if the guy does actually measure up, it’s still no guarantee of success. The biggest guy I ever had claimed to be 9″. I took that with a pinch of salt and was right to do so as, in reality, he was probably nearer to 8″ (no, I didn’t measure him, Master C’s cock is the only cock I have measured and that was simply as a bit of a laugh, but with hindsight, the cock of the man in question wasn’t really that much longer than Master C’s, and I know how long 1½” is, and he wasn’t that much longer). The sad thing was, he was probably the crappest shag I’ve ever had. He was so impressed with his size (and naturally assumed I would be too), that his technique was sadly deficient. 10/10 for content, certainly, but only 2/10 for application.

Now, the simple biological fact is that the most sensitive part of a woman’s vagina is in the first 3½” – 4″ so, as long as your cock is at least that long, you’re probably going to be stimulating all the right nerve endings. Anything more than this is simply filling. Don’t get me wrong, I do love to feel full, but I get more pleasure out of feeling stretched. If I’m being totally honest, once a guy is inside me, unless his cock is so long that the head of it is continually banging against my cervix (not a sensation I enjoy, believe me) then I haven’t really got any idea how long or short his cock is.

And, the thing is, guys who have (or perceive themselves to have, regardless of whether or not the actually have) do, in my experience at least, tend to try harder to satisfy us women. They tend to be better with their tongues, they tend to touch more, they tend to engage us more in a sensual way than their longer phallused counterparts. My simple rule of thumb, derived from bitter experience, is that the bigger the dick the guy has, the bigger the dick he tends to be. My alleged 9″ guy was so impressed with his cock that he seemed to think I should, I don’t know, swoon in it’s presence or bow down and worship it, or something. He certainly seemed to believe being penetrated by it should provide me with all the pleasure I could possibly want. Sadly, that wasn’t the case.

A big cock doesn’t turn a crap shag into a great one, but it can turn a mediocre one into a towering disappointment.

So, getting back to my original point, why would any woman insist on a particular size given that there is no guarantee of satisfaction? Wouldn’t insistence on ability be more beneficial (if a lot harder to quantify)?

Don’t get me wrong, if a guy has a nice sized cock, and can use it (eg, Master C/”The Other Guy”) then this is great, but if I cant have size and ability, then I will choose ability over size every time. Life is too short to put up with crap sex and if the guy you’re with really knows how to push all your buttons and can fuck you seven shades of senseless, then his cock is quite clearly the ideal size for the job.

#MasturbationMonday

 

Rough


I may be an incorrigible little slut, but I’m still a woman and I like a little romance and tender, loving sex every bit as much as any woman. Sometimes though, I want, no, I need it rough, I need it hard; I require to be taken with a certain primal, almost animal intensity.

When I’m in this mood there’s only one hole for the job; my arsehole. Now, not everyone will agree, but for me, when I want it rough and hard and filthy, my arse is the hole I want it in.

It’s the discomfort, it’s the filthiness of it, it’s the whole “nice girls don’t take it up the bum” thing that makes anal sex so suited to a hard, merciless fucking.

It’s the way Master C pulls my hair, the way He calls me His filthy little slut as His cock is driven into my tight rear hole; stretching it, abusing it, hurting it. It’s the way His fingers grip into me, almost bruising my skin as He fucks me with long, hard strokes; His balls slapping against the lips of my cunt as He pounds my arse.

It’s dirty, it’s hard, it’s so deliciously slutty; and when He cums, when Master C pulls out and fires a thick load of warm, sticky cum up my back, calling me a dirty whore as He marks me with His seed, I feel a sense of satisfaction at having received the rough, hard fuck I so badly needed.

#MasturbationMonday

 

We don’t have to take our clothes off


Quickies are great; not just because the can be done just about anywhere, whenever the urge takes you, but because they represent an urgency, a desire, a hunger for the other person that can no longer be denied.

I’ll be honest, it doesn’t really take much to get me in the mood for sex. Sure, long, protracted foreplay with lots of kissing, stroking, slowly undressing, licking and sucking before Master C decides which hole He is going to fuck me in (and if I’m specially lucky it’ll be both) is great. Who doesn’t love a seriously intense session like that. But having said that, when the urge takes Him and He orders me to turn around and lift my skirt because He is going to fuck me there and then, will get me wetter than an Autumn day in Scotland faster than I can comply with His demand.

It might be behind the pub after a night out, in the bathroom at a party, even just when Master C gets home from work and I’m in the kitchen; when Master C wants me, He wants me and He is going to have me.

There is no subtlety, not a hint of romance, it is simply a quick, rough, hard, filthy fuck that leaves me feeling used, but oh so happy. This particularly applies to the random guys that I pick up on nights out. It’s not about romance or protracted foreplay; it’s simply about the urge, the need to fuck that both me and they guy I’m fucking are experience. When I’m bracing myself in a doorway as some guy pounds my cunt urgently from behind, there isn’t any time for niceties (sometimes we haven’t even exchanged names), it’s all about the fuck; his cock, my cunt and the urgent rush to climax.

I love the fact that Master C just can’t keep His hands off me and His cock out of me. I love that He and other men just want to take me and use me. I love being a slut. I love that other men treat me as some sort of easy, common slut  and that Master C makes me feel like His special, filthy little slut, to fuck whenever, wherever He desires. It makes me cheap sometimes, it makes me fell dirty, but it always, always makes me feel desired and wanted. Quickies definitely play to this side of my personality.

You really don’t always have to take your clothes off to have a fucking good time.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

A darker shade of subspace


It’s a wee bit bizarre, but I go through spells where my tastes and desires become increasingly dark. I have always had a penchant for roughness. I have always desired to feel used. Such things are not new to me. Sometimes, however, I want it rougher, darker. So much so that the intensity and level to which I want, no, need to be treated in this way becomes almost frightening.

I love when Master C pulls my hair. I love when Master C starves me of air, either forcing His cock down my throat or squeezing my neck with His strong hands; or, better still, both together. Usually this is something that I do because I enjoy it. Sometimes, however, it is something that I actively crave.

I have pretty much always identified as submissive. Subjecting myself to Master C’s will is central to who I am. I accept His support, His tutelage, as much as I recognise His right discipline me when I transgress. I place myself fully in His hands. He is my rock and my teacher as much as He is My Master.

It goes without saying that I trust Him; not just with my life,  but my needs and desires, especially in those times when they turn so much darker. I need Master C to take me to that edge of reality. I yearn to feel His hands tighten around my neck as He fucks my throat. I desire to have Him gather a handful of my hair and tug my head sharply back, bending my neck to its limits as he takes me from behind. I need Him to slap me harder, to thrash me with more and harder lashes of his belt. I want tears. I want Him to command me and use me. I want Him to own me, to take me, to have me anywhere, anyhow He wants me.

Basically, I want to be His filthy, devoted slut and for Master C to call me His “good girl”.

It’s possibly hormone related, but subspace definitely reaches totally different planes of intensity sometimes.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday