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.

Throat wank

With my arms restrained beside me, Master C tilts my head back. I dutifully open my mouth. The head of His cock slips between my lips, followed by the shaft. Master C pushes slowly and firmly into me, inch by thick, delicious inch of Him. And then that wonderful moment when His balls rest against my nose, His shortly trimmed pubic hair tickles my lips, and the swollen head of His cock lodges deep in my throat.

He stops; not because I can’t take any more, but because there is no more of Him to take. Every inch, every last fraction has been fed to me.

I am well trained, but I still gag slightly, choking around the thickness of His cock as it restricts my airway. Saliva fills my mouth and it is impossible to swallow. It trickles from the corners of my mouth, down my up-turned cheeks. Some of it dribbles into my nostrils, making it still harder to breath.

Master C’s cock begins to move; long, slow, deliberate and forceful strokes. I gasp for air each time He pulls back, filling my lungs, not knowing when my next breath will be allowed.

He pushes in. His hands go around my neck. His thumbs press down firmly, squeezing my neck between them and His cock. Master C holds me there for long breathless moments, each one seeming like an eternity, until He finally relents and pulls back.

I have mere seconds to exhale and refill my lungs before Master C repeats the process, each time starving me that little bit longer, each time making me more desperate, making each breath being sweeter than the one that preceded it.

And then, something new.

As Master C holds me at the deepest point of He traces the outline of His cock with His thumb and finger. I can feel every ridge, every contour of His cock as He runs His thumb along the shape of the shaft and over the head. I hear him groan. I feel His cock twitch. He works His thumb up and down my neck, rubbing His cock through my skin. He is wanking himself, wanking His cock inside my throat by pressing it through my neck.

Master C’s breathing deepens. His hips rock slightly, moving His cock in short thrusts as He presses down. His thumb concentrates on the ridge where the head joins the shaft; that spot that gives him so much pleasure when He takes himself in hand, or when I stroke him.

Those involuntary movements of His hips tell me Master C is getting close. His grip around my neck tightens as He tries to increase the pressure on His cock. My throat is raw. My jaw aches. He is so close.

I feel it first in His balls as they contract and tighten against my face. I can almost feel His cum surge through Him. A strangled gasp escapes from between Master C’s lips. His hands fall from my neck as He braces himself. He erupts, deep in my throat, far beyond my tastebuds.

I begin to choke. Mercifully He pulls out. I let my tongue trail over His shaft as Master C extracts himself from my throat.

Sobbing and gasping in air, I let him move me; lifting my head, placing a cushion beneath it, stroking my hair, making me comfortable and telling me I am His “good girl”.

I would smile at His words, but my jaw is too stiff.

He kisses me.

He holds me.

He restores me again.

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.

Quality, not quantity…

I am a big fan of cocks. I have been intimately acquainted with a fair number of them over the years. Long ones, short ones, thick ones, thin ones, straight ones, bendy ones; all shapes and sizes. The one thing I have discovered is that the size of the package has no bearing at all on the proficiency with which it is used. If anything, the reverse seems more likely to be true; in that guys with larger cocks have a tendency to rely on the size of what they have, thinking that that alone will satisfy us.

Now, I realise that is a gross generalisation, and I have known a few guys with bigger than average penises to be very proficient in the way they have used them but, experience has shown that I’m more likely to be disappointed with an above average partner than with one who is less “heroically” endowed.

The thing is though, much as I love cock (which is lots), and much as I love feeling myself being filled by one, unless all I really want is a thorough fucking, what a guy does to me with his cock is only part of the story. I want a guy to turn me on with his hands, I want him to tease me with his fingers, I want his lips to explore me, I want his tongue to drive me wild, and I want his cock to take me over the edge.

Call me greedy, but I want a guy to do all those things to me and more. Yes, I love his cock, but it’s not all about the cock (except sometimes when it is).

I used to laugh at some of the profiles on sites like fabswingers, where the woman stated she only wanted to meet Very Well Endowed men with at least 8″. I mean, do these women actually take tape measures to bed with them? Do they actually require evidence before they will meet someone. Will they actually pass someone up just because they only measure 7.9″, like that 0.1″ is actually going to make any difference? Don’t get me wrong, I like to feel as full as the next woman but, unless someone is at the extreme of either end of the penile length/girth spectrum, once it’s inside me, I couldn’t honestly tell you how long/thick it is.

Like a lot of women, it seems that if I have a size related preference, it’s for thicker rather than longer, but since I’ve never had a penis that didn’t stretch me in some way as it entered me, I’ve never had an experience where the guy wasn’t “thick enough”.

Essentially, I want to feel nicely full whichever hole his cock is in. Ideally, it should be long enough to fill the back of my throat, but not so long that it bruises my cervix. In terms of thickness, I want to feel stretched, but not as if I’m being split in two or having my jaw dislocated (I am not a python after all).

Mostly though, I want a guy who knows how to turn me on, how to use my body for his pleasure and to give me pleasure. He has to be able to use his cock, whatever size it is, and he needs to be able to use it in conjunction with his fingers, hands, lips and tongue. If, like Master C does, he can turn me into a gibbering, trembling, orgasmic wreck before his cock gets anywhere near being inside me, then frankly I won’t have a care in the world.

Throat fucked

I’m naked, restrained, blindfolded, my head bent backwards over the edge of the bed. My arse still stings from the lashing of Master C’s belt. My nipples throb painfully as the pegs dig into them, holding them erect.

The head of Master C’s cock presses against my lips. “Open wide, slut, I’m going to fuck your throat now,” He commands.

Barely waiting for me to comply, He forces His cock between my lips, into my mouth until the head lodges in my throat; His balls slap against the bridge of my nose. Without a pause to allow me to accustom myself to his presence, Master C begins to move.

He fucks my mouth with deep, hard thrusts, driving His wonderful cock as far as it will go. I choke around it. Master C laughs, telling me that a well trained slut like me should be able to do much better before fucking my mouth harder.

My cunt is growing increasingly wet with every stroke of His cock. Master C reaches forward to squeeze the pegs on my nipples, increasing the pressure, increasing the pain. I try to cry out, opening my mouth wider, but He simply takes this as an invitation to  push in harder.

His hands move up from my nipples to my neck. His thumbs press down; gently but firmly; pushing down against the thickness of His cock through my skin.

My throat is raw. My nipples ache. My clit throbs. The cloth around my eyes grows increasingly damp as my tears soak into it.

Again I choke. Again Master C chides me. His balls slap against me as He stabs His cock between my lips. He feels so thick, so hard; His cock goes so deep.

I struggle for breath as Master C increases the pressure on my neck. The extra tightness makes His cock feel even thicker in my throat. It feels so good, knowing that He is using me for His pleasure, that He is treating my mouth simply as a hole to be fucked.

“Filthy slut!” Master C moans. “You are my filthy little slut!” Each word is punctuated by a sharp thrust of His gorgeous cock filling my airway. I feel myself becoming increasingly lightheaded through lack of air.

And then, suddenly He is gone. As I gulp for breath I feel the warm, stickiness of His cum on my skin as Master C unloads over my neck and boobs.

His cock returns to my lips as He feeds me the last drops of His cum; my reward for being His slut.

Master C removes the pegs from my nipples. I sob with relief and then, as He begins to rub His cum over them, I feel my climax ignite.

Arching my back as much as my restraints will let me, I shiver convulsively as my cunt contracts, my womb pulses, and waves of pleasure wash over and through me.

I know it won’t be my only orgasm.  I know that once Master C is hard again, He will fuck my cunt and possibly my arse just as hard as He fucked my throat.

For now, however, I am happy to wait.

Force feeding

Master C tilts my head back, grips my neck and forces His cock down my throat. This isn’t a blow-job, I am not in control; Master C is fucking my throat and using me for His pleasure.

It is rough, it is hard, it hurts my throat, it makes my jaw ache, I choke, tears well up in my eyes, I am being used and I fucking love every second, every thrust; from the first moment when Master C pushes his cock between my lips until the moment when I am choking down His cum.

I love being helpless. I love being utterly at His mercy. I love how uncomfortably wet my count becomes as Master C takes me as He pleases, using my mouth and throat as simply another hole to fuck and take His pleasure from. I am powerless, restrained, unable to resist Him, even if I wanted to; and I don’t. I am His to be owned; used as Master C chooses.

The head of His cock plugs my throat. His hand tightens around my neck. Breathing is almost impossible. Master C tells me that I am “a filthy slut” and He slaps my face hard as He fucks it.

I can taste Him… I can read the tell-tale signs…

“Filthy slut!”

“Dirty whore!”

Each word accompanied by a slap to my face; a thrust of His lovely cock in my throat. Each word reminding me of my place; a confirmation of my belonging to Him.

My cunt aches almost as much as my mouth.

Master C pulls out abruptly, and then I feel it; His warmth exploding over my skin. His cum trickles over my face, down my neck, over my boobs. I long to be able to rub it into my skin, to gather it in my fingers and taste it.

Master C unties my hands, strokes my hair. “Good girl” He whispers as He kisses me softly on the lips that, mere seconds before, were being abused by His cock.

I am His slut, and I am content in the knowledge that I have served Him well.