My sexual personality


I actually learned two new words when I read this week’s prompt: ambivert being someone who has a balance of extrovert and introvert features in their personality, and omnivert being someone who displays classic traits of both introverts and extroverts, in specific situations. When it comes to sex, I think I may be something of a mix of both of these.

I am a fairly outgoing person in all aspects of my life, and when it comes to most things sex related, I’m no different. That “most” in there is key however. I am completely open about my sexuality, I am a bisexual woman who is attracted to and enjoys sex with men and women. I am open about the kinds of sex I enjoy; specifically the rough, hard kind that leaves me aching all over and feeling thoroughly used. I make no bones about my inability to be monogamous, and the fact that I still, on occasion, will pick up random men or women for casual, and often anonymous sexual encounters. I don’t hide the fact that I have deep masochistic tendencies that Master C helps me explore and fulfil. It should come as no surprise that I love sucking cock, I enjoy having my arse fucked every bit as much as my cunt, I will never have enough of having my cunt licked, or enjoying the taste of another woman’s cunt. I get off on being humiliated, and I have a strong predilection for cum, be it in me or all over me.

I think it’s fair to say that if someone was creating an illustrated dictionary of sex, when you got the the entry on “submissive slut”, there’d be a good chance you’d find a picture of me.

Except, of course, you almost certainly wouldn’t.

Which is where one of the more contradictory aspects of being “me” comes in.

I am absolutely comfortable in my skin. I accept my lumpy and wobbly bits and the fact that as I approach my 50s, they are lumpier and wobblier and decidedly less pert than the were in my 20s. My body has had enough compliments from enough partners down the years for me to not have hang-ups about it (although, I suspect, the basis for a large part of those compliments was what I was prepared to do with and allow to be done to my body, but I digress).

I don’t know how many people have seen me naked, in person, but it’s a lot; be they my sexual partners, people who have seen me in swinger’s clubs or dungeons, or people who have chanced upon me when I’ve been indulging in sex outdoors. There is also the fact that I am no stranger to nudist beaches.

It’s not that I deliberately go out of the way to show off my body, or be naked in public (although there are occasions when I do this under instruction from Master C), it’s simply that I am comfortable being naked, and if people see me in that state, it’s fine.

One thing you won’t see very often, however, is photos of me naked. As a general rule, I don’t post those, and the few that I have posted are always carefully edited to make sure I’m not identifiable. Why is this? I’m not entirely sure. In one sense, there is no difference between someone seeing me naked, or engaging in sex, than there is someone seeing a photo of me naked or engaging in sex, and yet, there very much is.

I can kind of control what happens when people see me in the flesh. In the context of clubs/dungeons/etc., photography/filming is not permitted (except where all the parties have agreed in advance), and as a rule, what happens in the club/dungeon, stays there. OK, if I’m frolicking in some secluded outdoor spot, and someone snaps a photo of me, there’s not much I can do, but fucking al fresco always has some element of risk; that’s part of why I do it.

Posting photos, however, means kind of giving up control. Once that photo is out there, I no longer have any real say in how the viewer of that photo chooses to use it, or how they themselves choose to share it. That bothers me and so that is why although I participate in any number of blogging memes where I openly discuss sex, I don’t participate in memes like Monochromatic, Sinful Sunday, Love Your Selfie or any other photo based meme. Despite being comfortable letting people see me naked and/or having sex in person, somehow letting people (with a few notable exceptions) see photos or videos of me naked and/or having sex, is something that makes me uneasy, and so it is something I will very rarely do. I am willing to share my body, and frequently do, but not images of my body.

So yes, I am definitely quite extroverted in most aspects of my life in general and my sex live/sexuality in particular, but there are times and instances where I am definitely much more reticent (I don’t think I could really call myself introverted in any way that people would believe). As I said, I’m definitely something of a contradicyion.

The most accurate term to describe me, although not especially scientific, is a contrary bisim.

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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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A strong, independent woman


On twitter, people will often post or retweet a meme that says something they feel is particularly pertinent to them and say something along the lines of “I feel seen…” I must confess, that’s exactly how I felt when I read the current prompt on the ‘No True Way‘ site:

Submission appeals to responsible, hard working and independent women, because it takes them to a world free from those pressures.

In fact, that simple statement resonates so much that I almost feel I should print it out, frame it and hang it on a wall somewhere because, for me, there is so much truth in it.

In the “real world”, I am a mental health counsellor.  The people I deal with are often at the lowest point in their lives when I first meet them. The stories they tell are always raw and deeply personal and, all to frequently, border on the horrific. To say it is stressful is an understatement. In these current times, it has been even more so than usual.

But who cares for the carer? Who heals the healer? For me, my submission to Master C often falls into this space.

Through my submission I am able to free myself from the strains, stresses and anguishes that I have to contend with daily. I surrender control to Master C. I let Him choose what is appropriate, what I should and shouldn’t do, I free myself from the need to make decisions, to choose one path over another. His care, His direction, His support and, yes, sometimes His discipline help me remain balanced.

Master C knows when I need soothing words and to be held firmly yet tenderly in His arms. He also knows when what I need is to be firmly restrained and soundly thrashed. He balances my needs for passion, pleasure and pain, and wields them in ways that keep me centred. Master C has developed an instinct for knowing when I need to have my shoulders rubbed, or my neck grabbed, when I need His hands massaging my back, or the stinging bite of His belt on my arse. When we fuck, sometimes I want Him to kiss me and stroke my hair from my face, at other times I want to feel His hands tighten around my throat. Sometimes I need to be an active participant and sometimes I need to be bound and helpless, allowing myself to be subjected to whatever treatment Master C decides is appropriate.

Sometimes, what I really need, is for Master C to fuck and thrash my cares away. My submission to Him gives me this.

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Hauddin ma wheesht


I am feeling a wee bit torn by the current prompt on the ‘No True Way‘ site:

A submissive knows that they should learn to control their tongue when annoyed with their dominant

In so many ways, I agree with this statement. Largely this is because I am actually quite an irritable cow and most of the time, when Master C annoys me, it is unintentional and He’s just caught me at a bad moment. By His very nature, while He may be stern and strict when He needs to be (and having me as his sub/partner, that can be quite frequent), Master C really isn’t an annoying person. He may occasionally get angry at things (and sometimes, with justification, those things will include me, and I then get annoyed that He’s angry), but He never goes out of His way to annoy me. It is fair to say that, if I get annoyed at Master C , it almost certainly reflects more on me than it does Him; that is simply the kinds of people we are. That being the case, I probably should do a better job of not taking my propensity to get annoyed at things out on Him.

There is a slight drawback here, however. While I am submissive, I am definitely not meek and I am far from pliant. Part of our dynamic is that Master C constantly has to remind me who is “in charge” and has to “bend me to His will”. I can, by my own admission, be something of a brat.

The upshot of this is that there are times where I want, and indeed need, Master C to be strict with me; I need to feel the slap of His hand or the kiss of His belt on the skin of my bare arse. I need that touch, its harshness, its pain; and sometimes, in order to get what I need, I need to provoke the response out of Him.

It is entirely wilful on my part and when Master C finally can take no more of my impudence, when He puts me over His knee, Or bends me over the arm of the sofa, or edge of the bed; knickers (assuming I was wearing any) round my ankles, waiting for His punishment, I will absolutely be deserving of it in whatever form He decides is appropriate.

It is, however, a high risk strategy on my part. Master C has the patience of a saint and, dear only knows, He needs it having to live with me, so there is always a risk that the “punishment” He decides to mete out is simply to just ignore my behaviour and deny me the satisfaction He knows I am trying to wheedle out of Him. This, of course, only annoys me even more and ratchets my frustration levels up a few more notches.

Ultimately though, it’s part of who we are; it’s one of the things we do. We are both human and getting annoyed is part of being human. We can choose to bury it and let it fester, or we can acknowledge it and express it in ways get i out of the system.

So, yes, I acknowledge that there are times when I should just haud ma wheesht, but being me, there are times when I just don’t want to.

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Juxtaposition


If you’ve indulged in any form of group-sex activity, the chances are that you have watched your partner have sex with another person. In these situations, you are either an active participant, or are watching after having been involved in your own activity, or are waiting to take you part in this, or some other activity. In any event, you are either an active participant or actively on the periphery and it’s all extremely hot and everyone (hopefully) has a great time.

An altogether different experience is when you are required to watch your partner have sex with someone else and you are not able to participate in any way, not even able to play with yourself; the only thing you can do and watch. It is a situation that, as part of our poly-circle, I have experienced on a number of occasions; bound and restrained to a chair, unable to move, unable to complain past the gag in my mouth watching as Master C pleasures and takes pleasure from one of the other women in the circle.

It’s a strange mix and mash-up of emotions to watch in such a situation. On the one hand, I am happy for Master C that he is experiencing whatever pleasure being with the other woman gives Him, but obviously it hurts that it is not me that is the source of that pleasure. I can feel joy for the woman’s pleasure, knowing how expertly Master C will use His mouth, His hands, His tongue, His cock to give her pleasure while He takes His from her, but I will still feel a sadness and envy that it is not me that is feeling those things.

As she sucks His cock, I can see from the expression on Master C’s face and the sounds that He is making, that He is enjoying her mouth and I am happy for Him that He can enjoy it; while at the same time I am frustrated that I am not the cause of those reactions.

As Master C fucks her right there, long and hard in front of me, I know exactly what she is feeling. I know how good it must be for her to be fucked by Him, but I want it to be me, I year to have Master C’s cock inside me, doing to me what He is doing to her.

When Master C feasts on her cunt, driving her to the brink of climax and holding her there, I know exactly what she is experiencing. I know what it feels like, that exquisite balance of pleasure and frustration, the intense waves of pleasure and the urgent need for release. I am happy for her, I empathise with her, I sympathise with her, and I also hate her, because it should be me being held mercilessly on the edge waiting for release, not her. Master C should be feasting on me, driving me wild. I know He is enjoying the taste of her cunt, I know He is savouring her response to the expert application of His tongue. I know she is enjoying it. And I so want it to be me.

When at last, Master C comes, showering her skin with a thick load of His lovely, thick cum, I can rejoice in His climax, and yet feel an emptiness that His load was not my reward but hers.

The whole experience, for me, is one of frustration and humiliation, and yet, I am extremely turned on. My cunt is wet, I squirm uncomfortable in my bindings against the hard wooden seat below my naked buttocks.

The other woman’s partner unties me, and beckons me to join him. Master C instructs the other woman to take my place on the chair before proceeding to gag and bind her, just as I had been gagged and bound just moments before.

I kneel before the other man, take His cock in my mouth. Now it is her turn to watch and suffer.

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Foundations


In their 1999 track, “Affirmation”, the band Savage Garden wrote:

I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy

In a way, those words are central to my view of myself, and my relationship with Master C.

I make no bones about the fact that I consider myself to be bisexual. I am sexually attracted by both men and women. I’ve mentioned before that the first time another person brought me to orgasm, it was, quite literally, at the hands of another girl; “The Girl” to be precise. I won’t repeat the details as you can read them if you follow the link to that earlier post, but the point was, at no time did what I was doing with “The Girl” seem in any way wrong. Yes, as I alluded to in that earlier post, the nature of all-girls schooling being what it was, while no one wanted to be known as a virgin, no one particularly wanted to be openly branded as a slut (although we “sluts” were quite happy to compare slutiness notes and tips within our own friend circles). The only thing “worse” than being a slut was, almost inevitably, to be a “lez”.

Of course, by the time I left school at 18, I was no longer a virgin and had had a number of sexual partners, both male and female and, name-calling aside, it all felt good and right. Sex with male and female partners was different, and different partners did different things, but it was all sex and it was all about pleasure and it was all good (apart from the times where it wasn’t, but, sadly, bad sex happens sometimes; we all have had our disappointments somewhere). Never, at any point did I ever feel the need to pigeonhole myself into a category that potentially limited how I could enjoy myself and who I could enjoy myself with.

I was fortunate. I had a good relationship my mother where I could discuss sex and sexuality openly. And, while I didn’t give her a running tally of how many  partners I’d had, I was able to talk to her about the fact that I was attracted to, and had had sex with boys and girls. My mum’s advice was essentially, if fucking someone makes you happy, go ahead and fuck them (she didn’t use those exact words, but they convey her meaning). That, essentially, since the earliest days of sexual awakening has been central to my self-image and approach to my sex life.

So, that’s the first line of the quote dealt with, now on to the second…

At no time in our relationship have Master C or I been exclusive. When we first met, we were essentially fuck-buddies/friends-with-benefits and both of us had other arrangements in addition to what we shared with each other. When we became a couple, we agreed at the outset that, given our history, and the nature of our personalities (mine, I suspect, more so than Master C’s) that even attempting to be exclusive would be pointless. We both knew that even if we could do it, it almost certainly wouldn’t satisfy either of us , and, in the worst case scenario, could possibly drive an irreparable wedge between us.  The solution was, quite simply, total honesty. Even before we became what would now be recognised as D/s, there was still the requirement that we were both free to fuck anyone else, so long as we were always honest about it.

This isn’t to say that there weren’t jealousies and insecurities, because we are both human, but it allowed us to find something that worked and what would, ultimately, lay the foundation of our D/s dynamic. In a way, Master C telling me how much pleasure another woman had given Him would become a kind of punishment or a form of humiliation for me. Me admitting to my indiscretions and having to be disciplined in order to atone for them, would, of course bring corporal punishment into the mix. In a very real sense, our particular D/s dynamic evolved out of a recognition that, so long as we were emotionally “faithful” to each other by being open and honest, the “need” for monogamy disappeared.

This sin’t to say that other emotional attachments aren’t allowed. There is obviously a very strong emotional (as well as sexual) bond between “The Girl” and me that extends back more than a decade before I’d even met Master C. There is also a lesser, but still strong emotional attachment between “The Other Guy” and me as well. For His part, Master C  is very closely attached to one of the other women in our poly circle. The point is, that we know about this, and we are honest about these things, both with ourselves and with each other. While some of them may be friends, or perhaps a little more, the various sexual others in our lives are simply people we have sex with, either on our own, or together. None of those others, however, share a bond with us that is anything like the bond that Master C and I share. We are partners in every sense. If I’m allowed to be vomit-inducingly cringe-worthy for a second, we complete each other. Yes, we love, we fuck and sometimes we fight but, most importantly, we share, we confide, we support, we occasionally drive each other nuts, we argue and then we make up (and there’s almost always fucking involved). All of those are foundations of not just our D/s dynamic, but our relationship and our lives together, and they are all built on the bedrock of openess, honesty and trust.

Say “please”


I must confess, the current prompt on the ‘No True Way‘ site made me chuckle:

A Dom doesn’t need to ever use the word
PLEASE

I suspect, like many couples, whether their relationship be D/s or vanilla (or anywhere in between), use of “please” in everyday discourse is taken as implied. I don’t ask Master C if He would please pop out to the shop for milk/eggs, etc. or if He would please pick up such and such when He is in town. The same is also true in reverse; Master C won’t ask me to please take a letter to the post office, or please pick up a bottle of wine on my way home. In these instances, the “please” is understood without ever being spoken. About the only time, outside of a sex/kink context, you will ever here either of us, and by which I mean Master C, use the word please, is when it’s done in exasperation, e.g. “For fuck sake, Mo, would you please stop leaving things on the stairs for me to trip over, are you trying to kill me?” or “please can you not leave piles of newspaper absolutely everywhere?” You may, quite correctly, assume from this that I can be quite an untidy person and it does, on occasion, drive Master C to despair and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, to drive Him to put me over His knee; but I digress…

When it comes to sex/kink, however, it is usually down to me to say “please”. Master C may instruct me to bend over, or  get undressed, or suck His cock; He may tell me that He intends to thrash me, or fuck my arse. His wants are almost always expressed as commands or instructions. My needs and wants are, however, almost always expressed as a form of question, e.g. “please may I suck Sir’s cock?” or “please can Sir fuck me?”

In this sense, it is I, as the submissive that “has” to say “please”; Master C merely needs to make His particular need/want known to me and that is sufficient. In this context, there is no need for Him to ask, He simply tells me how He intends me to be used or what He requires me to do.

There is an exception to this, however, that I find particularly hot. Sometimes Master C will phrase His instructions in the form of a question, e.g. “Will you please assume the position so I can thrash you?”, or “Please brace yourself against the worktop so I can fuck you hard from behind,” or “Please behave yourself appropriately if you want to be allowed to come tonight.” There is something about the way that when Master C phrases His instructions/demands in this way that makes me powerless to resist; the use of “please” in this context, rather than making them weak, makes them more formal and enforces the need for compliance on my part.

So, from my perspective, there is never any need for Master C to say please. Within the context of our dynamic, He always has the freedom to take whatever pleasure He wants from me and to use me in whatever way He sees fit. Having said that, judicious use of “please” adds an extra something, an air of gentlemanly formality that makes me want to obey Him and please Him, even more than I already always do.

Used sparingly, “please” is a very powerful weapon in Master C’s arsenal.

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Focus


The current teaser on the ‘No True Way‘ site is:

Stop “trying” to be a good sub… because that’s focusing on “you”…
Focus on Him…
His needs, His wants, His desires…
And everything will fall into place

I must admit, that I have conflicting feelings on this subject.

On the one hand, I agree that part of submission, for me at least, is focussing on Master C and his needs, wants and desires. With this, there is an expectation that I will strive to be and do the best that I can in whatever I do, whether that involves a task He has set me, accepting His discipline or sucking His cock. I’ve alluded to this many times, but a major part of my submission to Master C is that He provides me with the instruction and guidance to be a better me. My submission to Master C isn’t just about serving Him and attending to His needs, it is about my own personal growth. When Master C encourages me, He is building me up, letting me know that I have done well. When Master C disciplines me, He is letting me know that I have, in some way, performed beneath myself and that He expects me to learn from this and do better.

The upshot is, that not only am I trying to be a good submissive, I am striving to be the best submissive I can be. And the reason I do this is because that is what Master C expects of me and, in doing so, I am addressing a need and desire in Him to help me.

The flip side of this is that my submission to Master C is centred around Him. In this sense, being a “good” submissive is all about focussing on His needs, wants and desires. It’s about providing Him with support, comfort and companionship. It’s about providing Him with forms of intimacy: the physical, emotional, intellectual, creative, experiential and, of course sexual. It’s about being someone for Him to love, but also someone to use and fuck; providing Him with outlets for that duality that resides in all of us, the tender, caring, unselfish love and the primal, primitive animal. It’s about giving Him reasons to discipline me and accepting such punishments in a way that He knows He is providing me with opportunities to grow. A lot of it is about sucking His cock.

For me, the primary focus of being a “good” submissive will always be about Master C, however that always reflects back on me. The ego cannot be switched off. I want to “serve” Master C and the ultimate reward for my “service” is for Him to call me His “good girl”.

In a way, for me at least, D/s is a kind of symbiotic relationship; I crave Master C’s  recognition of my “service” and that will always mean that I strive even harder to please Him and make Him proud of me. I need to attend to His needs, I want to be the outlet for His wants, I desire to provide for His desires. I am not directly focussing on me, but my sense of self-worth is inextricably bound up in my submission to Master C. That is a bond that cannot be severed and, even if it could, I wouldn’t want to.

Ultimately, both Master C and I expect me to not only be a good submissive, but to be the best version of myself that, with his guidance, support and direction, I can be.

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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At His mercy


I’m on my back. My wrists are bound and tied, above my head, to the rail of the headboard. My legs frog-tied with rough rope that digs simultaneously into my thighs, calves and shins, the knots pressing into my skin. My legs spread as wide as the can in that arrangement, my ankles cuffed the tied to the outsides of the bed.

I can’t move. I’m blindfolded. I’m forced to wait.

Master C runs a finger over then around the curve of each of my breasts. His fingers then butterfly caress the insides of my thighs. The cold, hardness of a well-lubed, brushed-steel plug presses against my arsehole and slowly pushes inside.

I wait again.

Kisses on the inside of my thighs.

A gentle tickle of the ends of the flogger over my nipples.

Each action followed by more agonising nothing.

Hot breath on my labia. Fingers running up the insides of my legs. Master C’s mouth is so close, but so far away, and then it is gone.

Clamps applied to my nipples. The sweet exquisite pain makes me cry out, makes my cunt contract. Master C tightens them with a deft twist. My cunt grows wetter.

Again, the warmth o f His breath is so close. If I could just move, I’d push my mound against His lips, The licks and kisses to my thighs torment me. So close, so close, and then they are gone.

More waiting; each second an eternity.

My head is turned to one side. Master C pushes the head of His cock into my mouth. I accept it gratefully, something to distract me from His torment.

As I tease the tip with my tongue, His finger slides between my legs, parts my labia and slips easily inside me. I gasp. Master C’s cock slips from my mouth. His finger is withdrawn from my cunt and he puts it in my mouth. I taste myself as I have done so many times before.

His finger returns to my cunt and he feeds me my juices again. I accept them willingly, grateful to be required to do something more than just passively await His next action. His fingers then His cock each take it in turns in my mouth. I want to suck Him properly. I want to feel Him erupt in my mouth so I can savour His cum before swallowing it, but it’s not to be.

More waiting.

Again, His mouth approaches. He kisses my left thigh, then right; left, then right, each time getting inexorably closer. Seconds pass, minutes, an eternity of agonising anticipation.

And then, contact. Master C’s tongue touches me. “You taste divine, little one,” He says as He begins to slowly lick and tease.

I want to writhe, but all I can to is wriggle my bum against the bed. I want to reach down and press His face to my cunt, forcing Him to eat me more firmly,

I am at His mercy, He licks and nibbles, fingers and flicks in a way that He knows will take me to the edge and then holds me there. Each lap of his tongue on my clit increases the pressure inside me. Each thrust of His fingers inside my cunt makes its walls contract and has me begging for release.

Master C’s tongue is relentless. His stubble is rough against my labia, increasing the sensations. His fingers twist inside me. The onslaught is unending.

Again an eternity of agony, not of anticipation, but for the need for release. I screw my eyes shut beneath the blindfold, lights flash beneath my eyelids. Fire burns along my nerves. My clit throbs, my cunt pulses, but still Master C denies me.

I have no idea how long He holds me in this state; time is meaningless on the edge of the abyss. The cloth over my eyes is soaked with tears of frustration. The sheet beneath my bottom is soaked with my juices and His saliva. The scent of my frustration hangs over the bed, filling the room. My throat raw as I plead and beg for release.

“Soon, little one, soon,” Master C’s  are anything but soothing “Endure it for just a little longer.”

Resigned to my fate, I accept it. His tongue laps with a slightly greater intensity; His fingers fuck me with increased force. Pressure builds, mounting rapidly.

“Now, little one! Come for me now!” Master C gently commands.

A firm lick of His tongue, and I am undone. The dam breaks and I cry out. Waves of pleasure coarse through me. I sense Master C move above me. His cock slides inside me. My orgasm reignites as He fucks me with deep, powerful, forceful strokes.

“Please fuck me harder! Please fuck me harder! Please…” I moan, still carried on the crest of my climax.

Master C’s thrusts become faster, harder. His hands around my upper arms, farcing them into the mattress as He takes me.

His body collides with mine. The slap of skin on skin reverberates around the room. Master C moans my name as His climax approaches, “Morag! Morag! Morag!”

“Come for me Master,” I plead, “Release yourself inside me.”

Thrusts increase with urgency, His breathing deepens. I sense rather than feel the increased tension in His body.

In… Out… In… Out… In… A groan… A pause… He erupts inside me; the warmth of His essence flooding into me.

Some time later, Master C unties me, up around us and lets me snuggle into Him as He holds me close and secure in His arms and I feel the heat of His body against mine. Once again, Master C has restored me and made me His.

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