It’s what I needed


I’m on my knees, bent forward, face pressed against the floor, my wrists bound behind my back. “The Other Guy’s” cock pounds my arsehole, and it feels so good to be being used so roughly by him.

It’s been a couple of months since we last saw and fucked each other. Life gets in the way sometimes. We are making up for lost time.

I’ve already sucked him off; taking a deliciously large load of cum in my mouth; savouring it before swallowing it down. He repaid the compliment by eating me to a series of shuddering orgasms; each one more intense and more draining than the last.

We’ve already fucked twice, the first with him on top, pounding my cunt, hitting me hard, pinning me to the bed with each thrust. Taking me. Using me. Fucking me. The second time was more leisurely; with me on top this time; riding his cock with carefree abandon, impaling myself on those wonderfully thick, hard inches. Him, content to let me do all the work. Me, happy to just let him lie back while I use his cock for my enjoyment.

I cam both times; both as the rider and the ridden; both times savouring the feeling of my cunt tightening and contracting around his cock – those oh so familiar inches of him inside me that feel so different from those of Master C.

The first time, he pulled out and came all over my boobs, then proceeded to rub his cum into their skin as he licked my cunt until he elicited yet another shuddering climax. The second time, I slid off and took him in my mouth, savouring the taste of my cunt in his shaft as I sucked him to a climax.

We rested, cuddled together, using the time to refamiliarise ourselves with each others bodies. Hands exploring, stroking, caressing. Lips kissing; bodies responding.

And now, here I was, being taken again. There was none of the tenderness we’d shared earlier; this time it was raw, it was rough. It had a different kind of urgency to our earlier sexual collisions. Those had been driven from the need to be with each other, the need to feel each other, the need to use and be used by each other. This time it was driven by the need to make the most out of our remaining time. Soon, I would return home to Master C, to tell Him what I had done, to receive whatever punishment it was determined was appropriate for my actions, to pay the price and then to perform whatever acts of contrition I felt would atone for what I was doing now and had already done.

That was still in the future, however; in the now, “The Other Guy” was fucking my firmly and relentlessly in the arse; having declared he needed the extra tightness if he was going to be able to come once more.

As his cock pounded my back passage, I urged him on. “Fuck my arse!” I cried, “Use it! Fuck it! Fuck it hard!”

He grabbed the restraints around my wrists and pulled sharply, lifting my head and upper body from the floor.

“Filthy slut!” he groaned. “Dirty slut who loves getting her arse fucked hard!”

“Yes!” I moaned. “I’m a filthy slut! I love the way you fuck my arse!”

He released my wrists and let me fall forward to the floor again. Grabbing my hips, he pounded harder, his balls slapping against my cunt with every stroke.

“I’m going to come on your arse! I’m going to paint your arse cheeks with my cum!”

“Oh yes, please! I love that!”

The relentless pounding continued and then, suddenly, he was gone. I experienced a wrenching momentary sensation of emptiness and then the sticky warmth of his load as it landed on my skin.

My afternoon with “The Other Guy” was over. My evening atoning for it with Master C was still to come. I was ready to face whatever penalty was required of me. An afternoon spent with “The Other Guy” had, as it so often did, started the process of restoring a certain equilibrium within me, and now it was time for me to return to Master C to complete the process.

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Suspended


Sometimes, I like to take things to extremes. Sometimes I like to go that little bit further, have things turn that bit darker. This was one of those occasions.

The suspension frame is something that Master C and I use fairly frequently. Most often, I will be gagged, my nipples will be clamped, my wrists will be cuffed and the hook will be fastened around the cuffs. Master C will then slowly turn the handle until my hands are pulled above my head. He will keep turning as it begins to pull my arms tighter. My heels lift from the ground, then the balls of my feet, and then, finally, my toes will break what little contact the had with the floor, and I am hanging freely above the ground.

At this point, it isn’t uncommon for Master C to apply the flogger liberally to my back and buttocks. The combination of pain in my arms, taking my weight, and the pain from being soundly flogged is a heady mix and Master C expertly draws the scenario out, maximising my pain, my discomfort and, ultimately, my enjoyment, before bringing me safely down, only to be tied to His “workbench” and fucked soundly.

On other occasions the cuffs will be around my ankles, my wrists bound tightly to my thighs. Master C raises me, suspending me upside down until my face is level with His groin. At this point, He takes my head in His hands and fucks me firmly in the mouth, making me cough and splutter, my saliva trickling down my cheeks, up my nose and into my eyes.

He fucks me roughly, then, just at the end, He pulls out and sends His load over my neck and face, where it mixes with the saliva from my mouth, making a delightfully degrading mess.

This time, however, we did something different. We did something that I’ve been fantasising about for some time and finally was brave enough to try.

On my knees before him, Master C commands me to suck Him off. I do so diligently, paying close attention to His instructions, changing my pace, moving my attention to the head, sucking harder then more slowly. I comply with His every command and am rewarded with a thick load of cum to savour then swallow.

Then it begins.

The clamps are applied to my nipples and tightened as far as they can go. Pain shoots through me, but it’s a pain we both know I can endure. My wrists are hog-tied to my thighs. The thick cords of the rope dig into my skin. Master C lifts my hair and tightens my collar a couple of stays. Not so tight that I can’t breath, but tight enough that it digs uncomfortably into the skin of my neck. He kisses me, gives my arse a playful swat and leads me to the frame.

There are no cuffs this time; I am not being raised by my wrists nor by my ankles.

“Ready?” He asks.

I nod.

“You know the signals?”

Again, I nod.

“OK then,” He says.

Master C slowly feeds the hook of the suspension cord under my collar before clipping it back on itself. He walks towards the winding handle. I manage a nervous smile as He begins to turn it.

It seems like an age passes as the slack is taken up but then I feel the slight tug of resistance. I feel a pull against my neck as the cord goes taut and starts to pull.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My feet begin to raise, slowly. Master C watches me intently as He turns the handle, watching for any sign that He needs to stop.

I’m on the tips of my toes; still in contact with the ground, but only just. My collar digs into my neck. A rush of anticipation shoots through me.

Suddenly I’m free; there is air between my feet and the ground. The leather of my collar bites into my neck as I am suspended by it. Master C, having locked the handle, walks towards me, flogger in hand.

Dangling, I squirm as He fingers my cunt. I’m surprised by how wet I am. My neck aches, but soon a now, stronger pain engulfs me as the fingers of the flogger caress my arse.

Six lashes; that was what we’d agreed before embarking on this. After every lash, Master C would check to see how I was before delivering the next. The tightness of the collar around my neck prevented me from giving full voice to the pain as the flogger bit my arse cheeks.

Tears ran down my cheeks as Master C flogged me. Despite my predicament, my cunt was incredibly wet. When, after the final caress of the flogger, Master C touched my clit with the buzzing head of my wand, I came instantly; legs kicking and flailing wildly, increasing the pressure on my neck.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Master C lowered me to the ground. I was still coming as He bent me over and fucked me hard, His hand gripping my collar and pulling my head back sharply as He drove His cock into me with long, hard strokes of His wonderful cock until He released inside me.

It was, an intense experience. Watching back the video He made of it turned me on intensely. There was something about watching myself, essentially strung up by the neck, helpless as Master C tortured me, my legs kicking wildly in the air in the aftermath of my climax, that ticks an awful lot of my “Fuck yeah!” boxes. Having done it once, it is definitely something I want to do again. A part of me wants to have the cord itself around my neck, but that is possibly something that will stay firmly in the realm of fantasy, for now at least.

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Breakfast time fun


I’m pottering about in the kitchen doing my best (but not very good) impression of an early morning domestic goddess. Master C comes up behind me, wraps His arms around my waist and kisses me on that spot where the back of my neck meets my shoulders. It is a kiss with intent. He could have kissed me anywhere else if it was “just” a kiss, but when He kisses me there, He knows exactly how I will react.

I moan and press back against Him. He kisses me again, His hands sliding up under my nightshirt, as he cups and squeezes my boobs, teasing my nipples with His thumbs.

I can feel the firmness of His cock as I squirm against Him.

His right hand detaches itself from my boob and strokes the inside of my thigh, up under my hem of my nightshirt, moving the gusset of my knickers aside. Master C can feel how wet He has already made me.

“You want my cock inside you, don’t you?” He asks.

“Yes Sir, I do.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“I do Sir, very much.”

“You’re a cock-hungry little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes Sir, I am!”

He slaps my arse. “Say it!” Master C commands.

“I’m your cock-hungry little slut, Sir?”

“And what do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Sir. I want you to fuck me with your lovely thick cock.”

His fingers find their way to my mouth. I taste myself on them and it turns me on even more.

The head of Master C’s cock presses against my entrance. I long for Him to thrust it deep up inside me, but instead He teases me, flicking the head between my folds and over my clit.

I begin to whimper. His hand slaps down hard on my arse. “Silence!” He commands as He continues to tease me. I struggle to comply.

My cunt is on fire. My legs tremble with pent up frustration and anticipation as He torments me, first with the head of His cock, then with His fingers. Again and again I am made to taste myself, and each time the flavour is subtly different, evidence of my increased arousal.

Finally Master C grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head sharply back. “I’m going to fuck you now,” He says. The head of His cock presses against my opening. It slides in so easily. Slowly, He fills me, letting me savour every delicious inch of His cock before He begins to thrust.

There is no slow, gentle build up; from the very first stroke Master C fucks me with an animal intensity. One hand squeezes my boobs as the other squeezes my neck.

“You… like… it… like… this… Don’t you… slut? He asks, each word punctuated with a hard, forceful thrust.

“Oh yes!” I gasp, “I love how you’re fucking me.” And it’s true, I love the roughness, I love the feeling of being taken, being used by Master C for His pleasure.

“What are you?” He asks.

“I’m a cock-hungry slut!” I reply, “I’m your cock-hungry slut.”

“You want my cum, don’t you?”

“Yes! Oh yes! I want your cum!”

Master C yanks my head back by my hair again. His body collides against me. The corner of the kitchen worktop cuts into the front of my thighs as he forces me against it. I feel the first flickers of my climax ignite.

“May I come, Sir?” I ask.

“Soon,” He replies, “When I say.”

He continues to fuck me. It’s a relentless, merciless pounding and I’m loving every second, every thrust, every collision of His body into mine. The pressure inside me builds and I sense the pressure in Him to. His hands now grasping my Hips, pulling me on to Him as He pushes hard inside me.

I whimper with frustration as I struggle to hold back; the need for release now burning through every nerve.

Finally Master C relents. “You may come now,” He growls.

I let go. the dam breaks, my climax rips through me and, in that instant, I feel Him release inside me.

When He pulls out, Master C sits on one of the kitchen chairs and commands me to clean Him. I turn, approach and drop to my knees. Taking His cock in my mouth, I savour the mixed flavours of us as I comply with His command.

His cum dribbles into my knickers as I make Him His coffee and prepare some toast. We both know that, intense as the orgasm He had given me was, I will need more. He leaves for work, and I am left with the instruction that I must wait until after lunch until I can relieve myself further. It was a very long morning.

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He knows me


I’ve written before about how my d/s relationship with Master C often acts as a form of restoration. As someone who provides mental health support, my work is often emotionally draining. The experiences that some people share with me can often be harrowing and there is no amount of training that can fully shield you and leave you untouched by what you hear. My working life is spent helping people deal with the traumas of their everyday lives; lives that they have to return to every time their session comes to an end. It’s a job where “success” is sometimes measured by the fact that someone actually makes it through to come back for their next session. There are always some “good news” stories, but for the most part my job is to listen and provide support as the other person unburdens themselves, albeit briefly, of the suffering and pain they are experiencing. I am not inhuman. Their stories do not leave me unaffected. Emotionally, a toll is extracted.

Sometimes I need Master C to be gentle and soothing. Sometimes I need Him to be harsh, demanding and rough. There are times when I need to be held, caressed and have my hair stroked. There are times when I need to be choked, thrashed and fucked so hard I almost lose consciousness. One of Master C’s many great qualities is that He has an almost instinctive knowledge of what form of attention I am most in need of.

Last night Master C decided that what I really needed was for my arse to receive “six of the best” from His belt and for my throat to be thoroughly fucked. When I received His text message telling me that that was what He had planned for me, a thrill ran through me. I hadn’t appreciated that that was what I needed until I read His words, but as soon as I had, I realised that, yet again, He was absolutely right.

I was on my knees, naked apart from my collar when Master C arrived home. He had me wait while He attended to a few things. My anticipation levels climbing with every passing second that I had to wait until he came into the room and instructed me to bend over the arm of the sofa.

Even then, bent over, my arse exposed and waiting, I had to endure long agonising moments as He slowly undid and removed His belt. He tortured me by pacing the room, an end of His belt in each hand. Occasionally He would pause and pull the belt taught, making a resounding crack as the folded leather made contact. Eventually Master C stopped pacing. He turned to me and asked, “Are you ready?”

I nodded. “Yes Sir.”

“Then count them with me.”

“Yes Sir!”

I waited. long drawn out seconds until I heard that short, sharp swoosh, felt the air move as the belt rushed in an arc towards me, then cried “One!” as the leather bit into my buttocks for the first time.

The second lash bit harder, the third harder still. The fire in my buttocks grew exponentially with each stroke. Each number was increasingly more difficult to articulate, having to be forced past sobs. Never has six been such a difficult number to count to.

After the final stroke, Master C cuffed my hands behind my back and instructed me to lie on my back on the sofa and tilt my head back over the arm. From His pocket, He withdrew a pair of clamps and a squirmed as He tightened them around my nipples.

Taking my head in His hands He commanded me to “Open wide!”

I didn’t hesitate. The swollen head of Master C’s cock passed between my lips. He allowed me to savour it for a few brief moments before He pushed on, sliding His cock inch by inch into my mouth, forcing the head into my throat. He touched my neck with a fingertip, tracing His cock through my skin. My buttocks stung from their recent thrashing. My nipples throbbed inside the clamps. He gripped my neck with one hand, squeezing with a gentle but steady increase in pressure and began to fuck my throat.

Master C fucked me with firm, hard strokes, forcing the head of His cock deep down my throat each time, fucking it in the same way He would fuck my cunt or my arse. My mouth was simply a hole to be fucked like any of my others, my throat there to be filled by His cock.

His grip tightened as the force of His thrusts increased. I struggled for breath, gasping hard each time He gave me a moment’s respite. Saliva dribbled up my nose, into my eyes; His balls slapped my face as He fucked me.

At some point, as I struggled to breath, my throat raw from the pounding it was enduring, my nipples throbbing in agony, I felt a familiar dissociation; a feeling that I was somewhere else, that somehow I was watching this being done to me as well as experiencing it. It was if it were happening to me and yet it wasn’t me because I was watching the scene as it played out.

I became increasingly aware of Master C’s breathing, I could feel the veins in His cock pulse, the print marks His fingertips were making on my neck. I could taste His urgency, sense the increasing tension in His body as He used me.

Master C groaned as He thrust hard, then pulled back. A momentary pause that seemed to last forever passed and then he came, filling my mouth with cum. With my head tilted back and my throat raw, swallowing was hard, but somehow I managed; His rich, thick essence almost acting as a balm as it ran down my throat.

I heard a sharp buzzing. My brain barely had time to resolve what this meant before I felt the head of one of my wands being pressed to my clit. Almost at once, my back arched, I let out a cry that seared my already raw throat, and I came, hard.

Eventually Master C turned the wand off, released the clamps from my nipples, removed the cuffs from my wrists, wrapped me in the soft fleecy throw and held me in His arms. The cares and stresses of several days had been cleansed from my body and my soul. The dissociation subsided, I reconnected with myself. Master C kissed my forehead and stroked my hair; while there. in His strong arms, I consciousness returned from whatever plane it had been to, bringing me back to the here and now, back to the real world.

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Atonement


I am naked and on my knees before Master C. It is time for me to give an account of my time with “The Other Guy” and to accept the consequences of my actions.

“I have been a bad girl, Master. I have indulged myself and engaged in sluttish behaviour. How may I atone for my actions?”

Master C assumes an expression of stern gravity. “I will need to consider this,” He says, “but first, you may suck my cock.”

“Yes Master!” I concur softly. Then, with eyes downcast, I shuffle forward to commence my penance.

Sucking Master C’s cock is something I always relish and all ways give my all to, regardless of the circumstances but, as this is an atonement blow-job, I know I need to be extra attentive.

I begin by kissing all over its surface, stroking gently as I caress His length with my lips. My tongue swirls around the head and I softly caress His balls with my hands. Already I can feel Master C respond. His cock stiffens further, He sighs and settles Himself to accept my attentions. A low moan escapes as I wrap my lips around His shaft and draw Him deep into my mouth until the tip lodges in the back of my throat.

From there on in, my worship of those proud, hard inches of Him in my mouth becomes almost automatic. My lips glide up and down His length, sliding over the familiar pattern of veins just under the surface. My tongue licks and flicks and swirls around and over the tip. My throat closes around the head. My fingers encircle and stroke in tandem with my lips.

Master C’s cock twitches in response to my attentions. I an feel the head swell as the pressure for release begins to build. I sense the tension in His thighs. I take please in His contented moans and sighs. As much as I am doing this for Him, to please Him, to serve Him, to apologise to Him for being the slut that I am, I am also doing this for me. I love paying homage to Master C’s cock with my mouth. I love taking Him to the brink and making Him lose control. I love knowing that I am responsible for His pleasure and, ultimately, His climax. I can feel my cunt grow warm and wet as I take pleasure from the pleasure I am giving Him.

I wonder if He will come in my mouth? To swallow down His thick, rich cum would be a wonderful reward for my attentions. Then I remember, I am seeking atonement, not reward. I will accept His load wherever He deems appropriate and I will accept it without complaint.

Almost as the thought enters my head, Master C’s breathing and groans announce that He is almost at the edge. Gently He pushes me away; His cock slips from my mouth; I await His load.

He strokes His cock; I watch transfixed. His jaw is clenched. I can sense His pre-climactic tension.

A groan. The briefest pause. His cock erupts. His cum splatters over my face: over my forehead, across bridge of my nose, down my cheeks.

His eruption subsides. “Clean me, slut!” He demands. I take the still engorged head of His cock between my lips and suck the remnants of His load from Him as His cum trickles down my face and begins to dry on my skin.

When I am finished, He instructs me to retrieve the cane from His study. I don’t even try to suppress the shudder of anticipation His command elicits. Master C intends to punish me thoroughly.

I return, hand Him the cane and once again I kneel before Him. “Now tell me, slut,” He commands, “Tell me everything. Do not miss out a single detail.”

I do as I am commanded.

“I start by telling Master C how I sucked “The Other Guy’s” cock before we’d even made it out of His hall. The description earned me four strokes of the cane over my arse.

With tears in my eyes, I described in the minutest details how “The Other Guy” had eaten me out, driving me repeatedly to the brink and holding me there, over and over, again and again until I was finally permitted to come. Another four strokes, harder this time. The heat in my buttocks began to spread. My cunt began to clench.

I told Master C how “The Other Guy” fucked me; the positions employed; the pace and force of his thrusts. I admitted to Master C about how “The Other Guy” had fucked each of my holes repeatedly, earning my four more strokes for each hole.

My throat was raw from the sobs of pain as I confessed to the cuffs, the nipple clamps, the butt-plug, the dildo. One more stroke for each item.

When I completed my account, I was given four more strokes, just for being a cock hungry, pain loving slut. My buttocks were on fire, pain burned through every nerve, the cheeks of my face burned as crimson as the cheeks of my arse, my tears ran down my cheeks, mixing with His dried in cum.

“On your back, slut! Legs open!” Master C commanded.

I did as ordered, unleashing fresh tears as my arse made contact with the hard wooden floorboards. Master C entered me and took me. As His cock pounded my cunt, His hands closed around my neck. This may have been a punishment fuck, but to me it was the sweetest form of punishment. His cock drove into me, His hands choked me; tears flowed from my eyes, a combination of the asphyxiation and the pain of my arse being pressed into the hard floor.

Master C was relentless; pounding me, punishing me, fucking me. Despite the pain, despite the comfort, despite having to fight for every breath, I was loving every second, every squeeze of His fingers around my neck, every thrust of His cock in my cunt.

I came, hard. “Oh Master, forgive me, please!” I managed to gasp.

His body stiffened. He drove into me for a final time. “Oh Morag!” He groaned as I felt Him release deep inside me.

We lay together for a while, ignoring the discomfort of the hard floor beneath us. “Am I forgiven?” I asked in a small voice.

Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me then smiled. “Of course you are, little one,” He said softly. I smiled and He continued, “Now let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll get the salve for your arse, a large glass of wine and a nice soft cushion and, I think, you may have earned that cunt of yours, a very thorough tongue lashing.” I smiled. Much as I enjoy receiving Master C’s discipline, I enjoy His particular forms of after care-even more; and His plans certainly sounded very appealing.

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The multi-purpose arse


I quite like my arse. It’s not in bad shape, I don’t have too much cellulite, and it gives me something comfy to sit on.

Master C loves my arse. It has, according to Him, the perfect consistency for squeezing, and He does that at every opportunity.

I also love all the other things Master C does to my arse. From the way He grabs it, particularly in public; a gratuitous display of affection, to the way He spanks it with me bent over his knee. From the way He abuses it with His belt or cane or lash; leaving stinging red welts that make it painful to sit afterwards, to the way He fucks it; hard, rough and without mercy.

My arse is frequently used and abused. It faces regular spankings, paddlings and thrashings when I transgress against Master C’s discipline. It gets fucked regularly as Master C uses me as His filthy little slut. “The Other Guy” also has a penchant for giving my arse a thorough pounding with his cock, and Master C often invites other members of our “sharing circle” to spank, thrash and/or fuck it.

There is something about the coarseness of good, hard, harsh buggering that ticks so many of my “fuck yeah!” boxes. It makes me feel used, it can be deliciously degrading when accompanied with appropriately degrading language, slaps and hair pulling, it confirms my position as Master C’s filthy slut.

But, for all that I love having my arse used and abused, I also love that gets squeezed and caressed by Master C in frequent spontaneous displays of affection.

Arses are extremely versatile, and are certainly not just for sitting on.

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A dirty little fantasy


A little daydream; inspired, in part, by the evenings getting longer and the easing of Covid restrictions meaning nights out and meeting people become possible again, and I might just get be able to “get my slut on” again…

While out with friends, I meet a stranger in a club or bar.

We sneak out, find some dark, out of the way alleyway, and then, without any preliminaries required, we fuck. After so many months of not meeting anyone, the thrill of being with someone else is electrifying. His cock feels so good fucks me hard, in my mouth, in my cunt and in my arse.

He pulls my hair as he fucks me; calling me a filthy slut. His cock pounds me with increased urgency.

Sounds of voices and footsteps pass nearby. Have they seen us? I don’t care. All that matters is what his cock is doing to me and how it is making me feel.

I hold back a moan as I come hard, not wanting to betray our presence to anyone who may be passing. My restraint intensifies my climax. His laboured breathing tells me that his climax is approaching.

Suddenly, he pulls out, spins me a round, calls me a “dirty whore” before blowing his load over my boobs.

We straighten ourselves out, and return to the club/bar; going back to our respective groups of friends as if nothing has happened (although my top is sticking uncomfortably to my cum covered boobs).

We never tell each other our names.

When I get home, Master C thrashes me soundly for being an insatiable, filthy little slut before giving all three of my holes another rough and very thorough fucking and adding his load to that of the stranger’s on my skin.

I fall asleep; tired, sticky, a little tender and sore, but very VERY happy…

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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.

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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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