Waiting


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sharp tug forces me to raise my head.

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

He groans.

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

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

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

#WickedWednesday
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Keeping it casual


I have it on the very best authority that we redheaded girls are insatiable, immoral, wanton sluts. Certainly, I will admit that I’ve never had difficulty keeping emotional attachments out of sex. Yes I love the additional element of having sex with someone I love, but I also love the purely physical sensations of a good fuck.

Whilst I can’t say that I’ve never had a “Fuck Buddy”, I definitely have “Friends With Benefits”, friends with whom I have sex with on a fairly regular basis; the most notable being “The Girl” and “The Other Guy“.

These friendships have, so far, lasted several years, so in that respect, they count as long term; and while I have strong bonds with them (some more than others), the only place I seek the emotional, companionable support of a partnership is with Master C.

I enjoy fucking. I enjoying fucking and being fucked by other people. I make no bones about it, I am an insatiable slut. But while I love being with my FwBs for what they do to me and how they make me feel sexually as both a lover/partner and as a woman, the only one I love is Master C; he is the one I simply could not be with out.

Quite simply, as well as being my Master, He is my rock, my soul mate, my world. I maybe an insatiable slut, but I am also an incurably romantic slut. Yes, I “love” my FwBs as friends, but if you took away the sex, they would still, in most cases, be friends. With Master C, there is the full package of intimacy; physical, spiritual, emotional, intellectual and sexual. It is, perhaps, because of this, knowing that I have all this, that I am able to enjoy sex with others without fee of any other entanglement, and just concentrate on enjoying the sex.

As for one-night stands, well, I’ve recounted my experiences of these often enough for it to probably go without saying that these are something else that I enjoy and that, luckily for me, Master C allows me the freedom to enjoy so long as I am prepared to accept the consequences of letting my cunt do my thinking for me.

I am particularly fortunate that I am able to enjoy these side relationships, both with my long-term FwBs and my random one-nighters. I am, however fully aware that I can only have these as added benefits within the context of a strong, fully bound together primary relationship with Master C.

Food For Thought Friday - #F4TFriday

Wet


It’s that moment. He has turned me on. His lips, his tongue, His fingers have all worked their magic. My body is a quivering mass of anticipation. My cunt aches with the need to filled. And then, just then, He touches me; tracing a finger between my labia, feeling my wetness for the first time.

It is a moment that I particularly love; that moment when Master C feels just how wet He has made me; just how ready I am for His cock to fill me.

That first touch can be all that is needed sometimes to set me off, to ignite my orgasm while at the same time wanting so much more.

Spreading me open with His fingers; coating them with my juices. Will He anoint my nipples with my essence? Will He make me taste myself on Him? His fingers in my mouth so close to my nose that I can inhale the scent of my arousal as I lick His fingers clean. Will He drive a finger deep inside me? In that moment, I am helpless, undone, His to do with however He so desires. Will He lick me? Will He fuck me? Will He tease me some more?

It is such a delicious moment; that moment where He discovers just how much He has turned me on, just how much I want and need Him, just how much I hunger to feel his wonderfully hard cock inside me.

And then, that almost agonising moment when His fingers are gone, and the anticipation builds for what He is about to do next.

#WickedWednesday

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

Misbehaving


When I’m bad, I know there is a very good chance I will feel Master C’s belt. Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I will deliberately misbehave, just so I can feel its kiss on my skin, and the deliciously uncomfortable glow that is its aftermath.

Master C never resorts to the belt without good reason, it is the ultimate punishment. As I’ve mentioned previously, I both fear and love its application.

When His belt lands against my skin, it is a reminder of how naughty I have been. It is a statement of His displeasure and a notice that I must earn forgiveness. Sometimes, earning that forgiveness is even more fun the misbehaviour that earned me the thrashing in the first place.

As with so many things, it is a reminder of my submission to Him; its marks, the badge of His ownership; its pain, a lesson to be learned, an example of His care and guidance.

Long after the belt has done its work, and I have performed whatever acts of contrition were required to atone for my transgression, the warm rosy glow remains. As the marks turn to a deep, angry purple before slowly fading, they become a reminder of both my misdeeds and Master C‘s loving guidance. It is both a symbol of my shame and of my redemption.

I love what Master C‘s belt and its resultant markings mean.

You could say I am a glutton for punishment.

#WickedWednesday

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

Call me


I’ve been a way for a while, for a number of reasons; some of them nice, some of them not so much. I’ll leave it there and won’t burden you with the details.

My experience with phone sex is somewhat one sided. It invariably involves Master C phoning me when He is away from home on business and giving me some very explicit instructions.

He will tell me which bits of me to play with; my nipples, my cunt, and what to use; my fingers, a particular toy.

He will tell me how much pressure to apply to my clit, how tight and how hard to squeeze and pull my nipples, how hard and how deep to finger-fuck my cunt and how many fingers to use.

As Master C instructs me, He calls me His “filthy slut”, His “Dirty whore”. I confess that I am. I tell Him how bad I have been, letting Him know how much I need His correction.

He tells me how He will punish me when He returns home; how He will bind and restrain me, how many deliciously painful strokes of His belt I will feel on my arse.

The words that Master C speaks are every bit as arousing as the things He makes me do to myself.

At His command, the silky cold glass plug is pushed up my arse.

Another instruction and I fasten the clamps around my nipples.

My fingers fill my cunt as Master C tells me to fuck myself more firmly; stopping occasionally to be allowed to lick my juices from their surface.

The tension builds inside me as I dutifully follow His every instruction.

Will He give me permission to come, or will He hang-up and leave me waiting for further direction?

My passion flares.

My need for release grows stronger with every second.

Have I pleased Him? Will He let my have my orgasm?

The tension mounts unbearably as I wait for Master C to announce my fate.

Sometimes, you don’t have to fuck her hard…


I enjoy a good, hard fuck. I will be the first to admit that there are times when, quite simply, Master C cannot fuck me hard enough. When I’m in the mood to take it rough, I want it rough: hair pulling, arse slapping, nipple tugging, hands around my neck… When I’m in that sort of mood, anything, absolutely anything goes. I love it, I crave it, hell, I’ll admit right here, I need it sometimes.

Not every time though. For all I’m a filthy little slut who enjoys being royally seen to, I am still a woman, and I do have my softer side. As much as I love being Master C’s naughty little fuck-toy, sometimes I want to be desired, I want to be loved, I want to be cherished.

Sometimes, all I really want is, for want of a better term, to be made love to. I want to lie back and enjoy every sensation as Master C explores my body with His fingers, lips and tongue. I want to feel Him slowly slide into me, filling me up, stretching my cunt with His wonderful cock.

I want Master C to take me slowly, so I can feel every thrust, experience every inch of Him as He slides in and out. I want to savour every moment as He takes me, from the first thrust to the last.

I want to feel the tension mount in His body; feel the tautness in His thighs as they move against mine, feel His breathing deepen as Master C works towards that moment of final release.

Finally, I want to share that moment of His climax; the shuddering eruption as He unloads deep inside me His cum filling my cunt; so warm, so rich and full.

And then I want Master C to collapse, spent, on top of me, crushing me to the mattress, His heart pounding in His chest, His ragged breathing warm against my neck as He holds on to me, cherishing me, yet still claiming me as His.

Yes, Master C doesn’t always have to fuck me hard…

#MasturbationMonday

Master C’s belt


I both fear, and love, Master C’s belt.

I fear it for the pain it will cause me; the delicious agony of my flaming red arse cheeks as Master C punishes me for my various transgressions. I always know when I’ve done something that deserves the belt; I know when to present myself, arse bare, bent over, waiting for its chastising kiss. There is no escaping it. There is no point trying to resist it. When the belt is due, the belt will come, and I will bear it and endure it like the chastened little slut that I am. Forced to count the lashes, desperate to hold back the sobbing tears; Master C will thrash me until my defiance is beaten, my transgression punished, my submission complete.

Yet, for all that I fear it for the pain that it will inflict, I also love it.

I love it when Master C uses it to bind my wrists together as He fucks me from behind. I love the way it digs into my skin, tightening as I struggle against its binds; holding me in place as I endure the pounding of His cock in whichever hole Master C has chosen to take His pleasure from.

I love it when Master C fastens it around my neck, pulling it tighter as He fucks my mouth, forcing His cock deep into my throat. I love how it constricts around me, choking me, denying me air as Master C force feeds me His lovely cock.

Most of all, however, I love the way it marks my pale white skin, branding me; a mark of Master C’s ownership, his domination, his mastery of me.

For all these reasons, and more, I love my Master’s belt; but behind that love, the fear remains.

#MasturbationMonday

Terms of endearment


Language is a strange thing; what is one person’s compliment can be highly insulting to another person. Take the word slut for example. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not averse to being called a slut on occasion, in fact, in certain situations I’d feel cheated if I didn’t get called that or something equally degrading.

Now, I must confess, that like many women, I am, deep down, a soppy romantic at heart. As such, I am a sucker for the words, “I love you”. When spoken intimately and when meant can give me a me a warm glow all over.

With everything though, context is important. The words “I love you” said spontaneously by Master C as I’m leaving the house for work in the morning, or whispered in my ear just before I fall asleep at night, have a completely texture and effect than when they are gasped between clenched teeth while my lips are wrapped around His cock and He’s about to explode in my mouth.

Having said that, having Master C moan my name and call me His “good girl” at the point of orgasm just before he floods my cunt with cum and collapses, spent on top of me, pinning me beneath Him is always guaranteed to make me melt.

Getting back to the term slut; while I accept that some people find the term offensive, there are times, for me, that it is the highest compliment that I can be paid; particularly if Master C is calling me His “good little slut”.

When Master C is tugging my hair, fucking my arse mercilessly, I long for him to call me His “filthy little slut” or “dirty fucking whore”. As He sprays His load over my face and boobs, there’s nothing I want more than to have Master C call me His “dirty little cum slut”.

As I said before, the context is what’s important. Depending on the circumstances, being called a slut is every bit as endearing as being told that I am loved.

Language is a rich and varied thing, and there a many ways to express how much another person means to us. Slut, whore, love, fuck; all words that, depending on how they are used and who is using them can make someone feel wanted and special.

#MasturbationMonday