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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My “reality”


The current teaser on the No True Way site is:

“Real D/s dynamics are 24/7.”

Not surprisingly, this got me thinking about my life, my relationship with Master C and or particular D/s dynamic.

First of, who am I and what is my “reality”?

Well, my name, perhaps un surprisingly, is Morag. I am a white, cis, bisexual, submissive woman, who is ginger, Scottish and, at the time of writing, in her mid(ish) 40s. I’m 5’7″/1.77m tall, my boobs measure 36/91C and weight is my own business. I live with Master C and have done so for 12+ years (we’ve been together for just over 15) and he is both my life partner and my Master. I am not His wife, nor am I His, girlfriend; I am His submissive and I am His slut, and very happily so.

Our D/s dynamic has evolved over over the years to it’s present form. What we have, doesn’t really fit any of the more “common” D/s labels; it isn’t a Master/slave arrangement, nor is it a Daddy/babygirl one or a Teacher/student one. If any descriptor comes close it would be that Master C  is my patient, if long-suffering, protector and guide, and I am His unrepentant, bratty, slut.

So that is who I am and a very quick “definition” of the relationship and dynamic I share with Master C.

So, is it real?

Well, it is our lives, so it’s is as “real” as any perceived experience. Of course, since no two people perceive the same thing in precisely the same way, my “reality” will no doubt have difference from “Master C’s” reality; we have, after all, our own sensory interpretations to the world around us, and our brains will interpret those differently, but there are degrees of overlap. Even when we are at our most intimate, these things will have different perspectives.  We will both be aware of the fact that He is fucking my cunt or arse, or that He is eating me out, or that I am giving Him a blow-job, but we will perceive these differently by virtue of the fact that we are experiencing the same thing from the perspective of the giver or received; how He feels His cock feels inside my mouth, cunt or arse will be different from how I feel His cock in my moth, cunt or arse, even though we are both feeling His cock in my mouth, cunt or arse. We are experiencing the same thing, but we are feeling and experiencing it differently according to our own roles.

Is it 24/7?

Well, life is 24/7, but does our dynamic exist 24/7? Am I still His bratty slut when we are both asleep, are we “living our dynamic” when we are both going about our individual jobs/tasks/activities? If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?

Subconsciously, I would say that the answer is “yes”. We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t in each other’s presence. I am still in a relationship with Him when I am at work, or the gym (remember those) or in the supermarket. Master C is still in a relationship with me when He is working, or out with His friends for an after work drink (again, remember those?). We don’t stop being in a relationship just because we aren’t physically in each other’s presence, so what about our dynamic? Am I still His slut when I’m not being fucked, or misbehaving in a way that will earn correction from Him? Am I still His slut when I’m sat at my desk, listening to people discuss their lives and their problems? Is Master C still my Dominant when He is on call, when He is treating patients, when He’s driving to/from work?

I suspect, the answer, again subconsciously, is “yes”. Our D/s dynamic is part of our relationship, and if our relationship is always there, then it sort of follows that our dynamic is there too. We might not be actively participating in our dynamic, but it’s still there. I may not be sitting in my Counsellor’s chair listening to people’s concerns, squirming as my favourite butt-plug fills me, or my nipples scream in protest at the claps they are squeezed between, but I have been know to go shopping or to the pub, or cinema, or some other “in public” occasion plugged and clamped. My clothing may mean that it isn’t appropriate to wear my collar in every circumstance, but again, I have worn it suitably concealed in a number of locations where it would raise a few eyebrows if it were noticed.

My collar, the butt-plugs, the ben-wa balls, the nipple-clamps, the bruises on my arse, they are all expressions of our D/s dynamic, but they aren’t the totality of it. When Master C rubs my shoulders, or runs me a bath after a long, tough day, He is still being my supportive, nurturing Dominant just as much as when He is thrashing me with His belt to provide me with a necessary rebalancing. When I listen to Him describe the stresses of His day at work, fetch Him a beer from the fridge, I am still being Hs caring, supportive submissive, just as much as when I’m relieving His stress with a blow-job. We are still Dominant and submissive when we are snuggling comfortably on the sofa just as much as when we fucking vigorously on it.

A D/s relationship is, first and foremost, a relationship; it is still a partnership. It has forms and protocols but it exists whether those are being actively participated in or not.

So while we might not be actively and visibly D/s in our behaviour all day and every day, our D/s dynamic is real to us and, when you boil it right down, that is the only “reality” that matters.

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Cadged, benched and the sweet release of subspace


I’ve mentioned the cage before; about how it can be a place of punishment, and how it can be a place of retreat where I communicate my need of support. Last night, for reasons I won’t bore you with, it was most definitely the latter.

The process is simple: I finished work, logged off from my PC, undressed, closed myself into the cage, curled up and waited for Master C to discover me there.

I don’t know how long I was confined; time within the cage has its own special duration, it’s a kind of limbo where time has no meaning until I’m released.

“Is my little one feeling delicate?” Master C enquired softly on finding me confined.

I nodded. “Yes Sir,” I replied meekly, eyes downcast.

He left momentarily before returning; my collar and lead in one hand and a pair of cuffs on the other. “I think I know exactly what might help,” He said as He opened the cage and helped me out.

“Turn around!” a gentle command. I did as Master C bid me. The cuffs fastened around my wrists behind my back. The collar went around my neck and he fastened it tight. Attaching the lead. He turned me around, kissed me tenderly on the lips. “You know where to go,” He said.

I did. I know how this goes, but I still get a thrill of anticipation. “Yes Sir!” I replied.

“Well, lead the way then,” He said, giving my arse a playful swat.

I walked slowly thought to our playroom. In the middle of the room stood the bench. I glanced a coy look back of my shoulder. He nodded.

I walked up to the bench then bent over, my legs spread. Master C fastened the leather restraints around my ankles and then the side restraints went over my arms and fastened between my shoulder blades, holding me tightly in place. and then, I waited.

I waited while he pondered what implement to use. I flinched each time I heard a swoosh of air, only for flogger, or His belt, or the cane to land on the desk. I didn’t care which He used on me; any of them would hurt, any of them would begin my journey. I waited.

I waited, and the anticipation grew. I waited as he walked around me, scrutinising me, flexing the cane, or snapping the folds of his belt together in front of my face. I waited.

Again, that state of limbo, the passage of time meaningless. I waited.

SMACK! his belt struck across my arse. I cried out, as the stinging heat spread across my buttocks. SMACK! harder this time, or so it seemed. SMACK! harder still. His belt crisscrossed my buttocks; the intensity of each kiss adding to the fire of those that preceded it.

Hot tears fell from my eyes. Cries of pain were torn from my throat. His belt was merciless, His belt was harsh, His belt was unrelenting, His belt was just what I needed.

I didn’t count the lashes. This wasn’t a punishment where I needed to keep track, this was a centring, a rebalancing. My tears, my cries and my reddening skin were all that Master C needed to determine when I had reached the next stage.

Mt restraints were briefly undone. Master C repositioned me on my back, my head tilted back over the edge of the bench. The restraints were refastened, tighter; the one around my chest squashing my boobs and constricting my breathing. Slowly, Master C buckled his belt around my neck between my chin and my collar.

Tears still stung in my eyes, but I could see his lovely thick cock was hard. He slapped my face. “Open your mouth, slut! I’m going to fuck your throat.”

The words were what I needed to hear, and His cock was what I wanted to have. This wasn’t a blow-job, this wasn’t me worshiping His cock, lavishing attention on it; this was Master C fucking my throat, treating my mouth like just another hole.

He fucked me hard, rough, without mercy. I chocked and spluttered as He drove His cock down my neck; gasping for breath as He tightened His belt around neck. In… Out… In… Out… Again and again, over and over. The pressure around my neck making it almost impossible to breath around his cock.

Occasionally he would pull out fully, allowing me a few gasping breaths down my tortured throat before beginning again.

I was losing myself. I was become nothing more than something for Him to use.

Time stopped. The pain in my buttocks seemed to melt away, my jaw no longer ached. Tears still streamed from my eyes, but I barely noticed. This was it. This was that transcendent moment where nothing mattered, I just let myself go and get carried along on the current.

He came. Not down my throat, but across my boobs. I barely felt it, the fire burning in my veins was all consuming.

And then… And then… and then His tongue on my clit, His hands rubbing His cim into my boobs as He feasted on me.

My back tried to arch as I came for the first time. The restraints holding me firmly in place seemed to intensify the power of my climax. I cried a long, silent scream of release, my raw throat unable to produce sound. His fingers inside my cunt, His tongue on my clit, the pain, the power of my release. I was lost, powerless to respond. My consciousness seemed to float outside my body; I was a disembodied observer, watching on with fascination as Master C’s tongue and fingers relentlessly pushed my body beyond any last remaining iota of endurance.

Again, that timeless limbo, accompanied this time by a detachment from reality. How long had He kept me there? I’ve no idea.

The restraints were gone, soothing balm applied to my buttocks numbed the sensation of the soft sheets beneath me, the soft pillow beneath my head as Master C stroked my hair from my face, kissed me tenderly on the lips and slid into me.

He took me, slowly, languidly, but thoroughly. Never losing control, never allowing Himself to surrender to His inner primal animal self. This fuck was for me, to restore me, to bring me back to myself. I found my body responding to His, increasingly moving in harmony. I found the strength to raise my arms, to lift my hands to his buttocks, to slowly squeeze my fingers into his taut, firm flesh to let Him know that He didn’t need to be quite so considerate. I managed a very hoarse whisper. “Fuck me Sir! Your little slut needs to be fucked.”

He smiled down at me and thrust harder. I smiled back then closed my eyes, savouring His firmness inside me, His body on mine. Firm, yet gentle, strong, yet sensual, considerate, but always Dominant, He took me, He fucked me, He rebuilt me and made me whole again.

I came, feeling sore but secure beneath Him. And then, at last Master C came inside me and my worries and cares were banished again.

We had another slow, leisurely fuck this morning and, sore arse and slightly raw throat not withstanding, I’m feeling much more positive today.

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Impulsively bad behaviour


I think I may have mentioned that I am, quite unashamedly, a slut. Promiscuity has pretty much always been second nature to me and monogamy almost unthinkable. Even within the confines and context of my relationship, much of my submission to Him comes from the fact that He allows me to channel my impulsive sluttiness in ways that allow me freedom to indulge that aspect of my personality, albeit in a framework of control and discipline and a need to accept responsibility for my actions.

I’m not sure if engaging in casual sex is necessarily “bad” but in my younger days, it did have a lot of negative connotations. Yes, I enjoyed sex then just as much as I do now. I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and I particularly enjoyed being caught (and sometimes being the one doing the catching). And while, in the main, the sex was primarily and mainly for the enjoyment of a good fuck, it had a darker side too.

Yes, I enjoyed the anticipation, the teasing, the flirting, the seduction and, ultimately, the gratification (whether it be a drunken blow-job in the pub car park or an all night one-nighter at their place – I almost never took my victims/conquests back to mine). The sex was absolutely about all those things. If, upon a night out, I saw a guy or woman I fancied, the chances are I’d have had some form of sexual liaison with them before my night was finished. Many a quick drink after class/work ended with a “walk of shame” in the early hours for a shower, a couple of hours sleep and a change of clothes before heading back to lectures/work.

But, on top of the thrill and the enjoyment, often I was searching for a form of validation. I wasn’t good at relationships, but I was good at sex, or at least I hoped I was. As much as I crave those times when Master C calls me His “good girl”, I needed to hear how good a fuck I was, how amazing it felt when I sucked a guy off, how much a woman enjoyed me going down on her, how much partners of either sex enjoyed my taste. The validation was almost as addictive as the anticipation and gratification, and the more I received, the more I craved it. I was an addict searching for their next fix.

The irony was that the more praise I received, the less it satisfied me, and the more I needed but, at the same time, the very act of seeking it out had an almost cancelling effect on my self worth. I wasn’t just a slut, I was a worthless slut. I didn’t deserve gratification or validation because I was cheap, an easy lay, the town bike. Of course I could have a relationship because, once they’d fucked me, who would actually want a relationship with someone like me who was emotionally incapable of being faithful.

I’ve come a long way since those days. I’m still impulsive, I still have sex with random men/women on nights out, I still love all the things about these encounters as I did then: the excitement, the recognition and appreciation of me as a sexual and sexy person. Obviously, I still enjoy being told how good I am (or how bad I am if I’m being honest), but now, largely down to Master C’s guidance, nurture and discipline, I fully appreciate my worth, I am good enough. There is no shame to having a high sex drive and in allowing myself to act upon such impulses as feel inclined to act upon. I know now that I am not cheapening myself, I am simply engaging in an enjoyable pastime. I know that such “punishment” as is required will be agreed with and administered by Master C and that any acts of “atonement” will be performed willingly.

And that’s the thing, I’ve alluded to this before but, when it comes to discipline, Master C does not decide unilaterally what form my chastisement will take. As part of the acceptance of responsibility I am required to consider my actions, the seriousness of them and to consider what would be the appropriate “tariff” for the transgression. It maybe six lashes of his belt, it may be a form of humiliation in front of members of our “Circle”, it may be that he denies me an orgasm for a number of days or chooses not to let me receive His load when He comes. It could be a combination of any of these, but we always discuss and consider and ultimately agree what form it takes so I never have any grounds to complain that it is unfair.

Sadly, at the moment, my opportunities to engage in my bad habits are extremely limited and I look forward to a time when I can be impulsive again. Until then, when it comes to incurring Master C’s correction, I just need to be creative.

Responsibility


The current teaser on the No True Way site is:

“The Dom is the responsible one.”

My very simple response to this is that I couldn’t disagree more with this if I tried.

Why?

Because, ultimately, a D/s relationship is still one that is built on a basis of fairness and equity. Yes, I rely on Master C to give me direction and to provide guidance. I rely on Him to provide me with support and comfort, and I definitely need Him to administer discipline and correction where it is required. It also goes without saying that I absolutely need Him to fuck my subby little brain out on a regular basis to keep me centred and connected.

Yes, in that respect, those things are His “responsibilities”.

But subs also have responsibilities too.

It is my role and my responsibility to look after Master C, both physically and emotionally. I wrote in a recent post about how we express our wants, needs and desires and we are jointly responsible for ensuring that those are articulated and for addressing them.

I discharge my responsibilities by being there to listen to His problems, to provide a sounding board for His ideals, to cheer Him up when He is feeling low and to provide Him with a collection of willing orifices into which he can insert His penis with whatever level of force He feels is appropriate for the circumstances.

I realise that possibly makes it sound a bit one sided, but the simple truth is, when Master C fucks me, He is actually doing it for me just as much as He is doing it for Himself. It is an important part of us maintaining our emotional wellbeing, both as a couple and as individuals. Great sex requires the willing participation of all parties engaging in it to do so fully, to give themselves to their own pleasure and that of the person they are having sex with. Of course there are times when we are concentrating mainly on our own needs; that is a natural part of being a sexual human, but we also need to spend time giving back to those who give to us.

The basic responsibility to provide both partners to support and comfort each other and generally make each other’s lives (and their own) worth living is no different in a D/s relationship than it is in any other relationship. We both have responsibilities to each other, and to ourselves. In these particularly trying times, that support, nurture and comfort is almost certainly the greatest responsibility of all.

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