We are spending the weekend away to celebrate both Master’s birthday and mother’s day. This morning we enjoyed a relaxing naked birthday breakfast in our room. Later, we’ll throw some clothes on and have lunch with my mum.
I’m not a vocal person when I’m having sex. But just because I don’t scream with pleasure, doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it. Nor does it mean that I am not aroused or not about to come. Given the choice I would internalise all of the feelings I have about what I am doing and just allow them to wash over me. But I don’t really have the choice, since Master demands a reaction from me. During sex he will be talking dirty and when he does, I do too.
Master likes to tell me exactly what he is doing to me and how it is making him feel. If his cock is deep inside me he will let me know how deep it is and how wet I am. These tend to be things I already know, but the fact he is telling me concentrates my mind. He loves to talk about breeding me, which is something I would have liked too, if we had met sooner. This is one of his fantasies and I actually find it reassuring, it shows he loves me that much.
Much of what he says though could be described as both dirty and degrading, if you were of that mind. He call’s me a bitch and a slut and asks me who I am and if I am his. He derives enormous power from the things I say to him, that I am his slave, his pleasing bitch, his slut. You see I am not just any bitch or slut, but HIS and that is what is important. His dominance over me is confirmed for him when I am talking dirty to him, especially as my natural stat is not to speak at all. This confirms his power and authority and in that moment he is not only my Master, but my Lord too.
How talking dirty feels to me
When I tell Master that I am his pleasing bitch it reaffirms my submission. Reminds me of the slave I agreed to be and am. It helps me to focus on him and on nothing else and to remember who is the boss here. I am a consenting and willing participant, but he is in charge and calls the shots. I am there to please him, to be the slut he wants and needs. Uttering those words puts me into a space I don’t tend to inhabit all of the time.
That means that while most of our dirty talk takes place in the bedroom, or perhaps playroom there are other times. He might come up behind me, hold me and whisper in my ear: “who’s bitch are you” and of course I will answer that I am his. He rarely calls me Julie, but instead girl. This is all part of his belief that I remember my submission better if I am constantly reminded of it. Knowing that I am this girl really does focus me. And when he calls me bitch or slut instead of girl, my cunt clenches and submission becomes sexual arousal. Which I guess is all part of what I am and who I am. Master’s Pleasing Bitch, sex slave to her Master.
Collars have been a feature of our relationship from the beginning. A sign of ownership, even before he truly owned me. They were a symbol of his power and control over me. To begin with though, the collars Master gave me to wear were meant for play. I would put one on at the beginning of a session and take it off after. Now, I wear a titanium collar all of the time and would only remove it to wear a play collar or jewellery. With permission. One of the worst things about my recent surgery was the need to go without my collar for over a week.
Collars for play and show
I encounter many people at Munches and events that don’t wear a collar every day. Instead they wear them as part of their outfit for that day. And there are some great leather and metal collars to be seen. People’s acceptance and willingness to wear say a dog collar is partly due to them being such a fashion accessory. But also because so many people in the BDSM community like to wear some kind of neck attire.
I have two types of leather collars and have never worn them out of the house. In a previous relationship, I wore a dog collar a couple of times when out, but felt very self conscious. I love the idea of the posture collar and they are great to wear, for a while. They don’t look great, when like me you have a double chin. But those collars are good at helping me into some kind of sub space.
Collars as a sign of Ownership
In July 2015 Master presented me with a metal collar and I have worn it most days since. Made of titanium, it is locked onto my neck with an allen key. While many people I know, like to wear something more discreet, like a necklace, I am happy with my collar. Very few people have asked me about it and after 3 years everyone is used to me wearing it. If they know the meaning or significance they aren’t letting on. I suspect they don’t. Anyway, I have a theory that people aren’t particularly observant of others and instead are often wrapped in their own lives.
For us, my collar is an important symbol of our relationship as Master and slave. For him, it signifies that I have given myself, body and soul to him. While wearing it I am his property to do with as he wishes. It provides me with security and the knowledge that he will care for me.
Taking it off for surgery and recovery period didn’t mean that I stopped being owned or being his slave. But there was something very special for us both when I put it back on after my wound drain was removed. I expect to have to take my collar off for radiotherapy, but hopefully that will just be a daily ritual to have the treatment.
One day, there may be a ring. But it would never have more significance to us than my collar.
He pushed his cock in slowly, stretching the entrance to my tight hole. Once he had slid in a little, he withdrew allowing the tip to run across my piercing. The feeling as the hard cock slid back inside me was delicious, a little easier this time.
For a few moments we were both silent as his penis slid in and out, each time brushing across my clit. “I love to do this” he said, stating something very obvious. “I love to use you like this, your cunt, my cunt.
By way of a reply I wrapped my legs tightly around him just as he slid his cock back inside and held him there. “Squeeze me” he grinned. I obliged by tightening my pelvic floor muscles. “Mmm that is so good”.
“My party piece” I agreed.
I slid my legs down the bed a little and he adjusted position and got himself into a fine rhythm, moving between them. Deeper with each movement until his balls were close to my vulva. “You’ve got a wide on” he exclaimed. No longer tight then, now fully open for him, while he in turn filled me to the brim.
“You need this don’t you? You need me to use you like this, to control you”
“Yes Master, this girl does”
And I do.
I have written before about how vanilla our sex could look to a fly on the wall. So long as it was deaf. We are often in the missionary position and our sex is more often PIV. But we both get off on knowing he is in control, that he is using my body as he wishes. He tells me I am his cunt and it sends endorphins flooding to my clit, telling it to swell and throb. Then he puts a finger there and exclaims how turned on I am and of course immediately I could orgasm.
Even when I get on top of him, he retains control. Of my movements, of the rest of my body and of course my orgasms. He tells me when to release and I do. No matter how many times I think I won’t come when he tells me, I still do. It is mighty weird, but I suppose I am as conditioned as Pavlov’s dog. His woman, his slave, his cunt. His bitch – MPB.
Apparently Master had an odd dream. This is nothing unusual, only last week he has travelled to China having been abducted on an underground train. In this dream though he was describing the different ways in which he and I fuck. Nothing odd about that, though he didn’t expand on the context. However it led him to thinking about the ways we have sex. This post is a reflection of the conversation we had.
For him, there are two kinds of sex firstly where he has the power and is a dominant force and secondly where he feels the desire to breed me. For the purpose of this post I am calling glory.
I would estimate that 70-80% of the time our sex life resolves around the power dynamic of our relationship. His role as Master and mine as slave is most evident in the bedroom, or playroom. It is always an undercurrent the rest of the time but is subtle. During sex though he says and does things that increase his feelings of power and that in turn brings out my submissive side. He might use humiliating words to describe me – bitch for example, or he may instruct me to kneel and suck his cock.
The more that I conform to his words, the fact that I ask and even beg for an orgasm, the way he can make me wait all make him feel more powerful. In this context I can feel myself drift into submission, how that feels is difficult to describe. It feels almost trance like, hypnotic. When he sees that slightly glazed look on my face, especially after several orgasms, his voice chances in tone. There is no doubt he is in control, has the power over me.
If he orgasms he will often do so on my body somewhere; breasts or tummy. He will wipe his cock over my pubic hair as a final sign of his power. This will have been my prize.
The sex described in my post yesterday falls into the second category. While some of the words spoken may be the same and there will be an overt power dynamic. But this will be about him burying his cock deep inside me, with the intention of breeding me. This of course is a fantasy. I am in my mid 50s and can’t be bred, I am post menopausal. But for him it feels real, a sign of his love for me. To me, it is ok, because if I had known him earlier in my life, there is a good chance I would have wanted a baby with him.
This isn’t all about him though, he will still make me orgasm. His fingers will still be caressing me and his cock will rub against my piercing. But he will want his orgasm to occur with his cock deep in my vagina. I love when that happens, partly because it is less common. But also it feels like sex that is born of love not just dominance and submission. There is glory for both in that moment
Yesterday, we had sex. Spur of the moment, lustful afternoon sex.
In the morning we woke in a large, but slightly chilly hotel room. Breakfast was served till 10, so even though we were both randy as hell, we deferred. We showered together, he lathered my body with soap and caressed my breasts. He held me and kissed me and bent forward to take my right nipple in his mouth.
I am feeling mighty odd about my right breast. The bruise from the biopsy has faded, but is just visible. The hardness inside, the cancer, remains for the moment. I look at my breasts in the mirror and think that the right one has changed shape. Perhaps, maybe. I am scared that after the operation I won’t feel like me any more. worse that he won’t want this new me. These are stupid and crazy thoughts, but they are real.
He loves my breasts
He calls them jugs, they belong to him, along with the rest of me and he loves them. Over 4 years ago, while our relationship was still new, I had my nipples pierced, for him. Also though for me, and we both love those piercings. Yesterday he took some photos, in the hotel room. He said what I was thinking, that we need to take photos now, just in case. In case I need a mastectomy and it doesn’t look the same. We have lots of photos of my breasts, many of them are on this blog, but knowing what is about to happen means we want more.
After breakfast we set off to a nearby city and wandered around the cathedral. As I wandered around, looking at the beautiful architecture, the stained glass, the tombs of clerics from centuries ago. I was struck by the peace of the place and could see how people might turn to the church and religion in times of need. I don’t have that feeling myself, but found the environment some how reassuring. A place where the fog can clear and the future, whatever it brings be faced.
When we got home we had sex
Not straight away. He went off into his office to attend to some admin and sort through photos. I sat reading blogs, catching up on Twitter and responding to comments on here. Suddenly, he appeared in front of me. He asked what I was doing and without really waiting for an answer he unzipped his trousers. Moments later I had his cock in his mouth, it tasted very good. Slightly salty, warm and hard. My cunt throbbed a little. His cock filled my mouth.
We went upstairs and stripped off. On the bed, he ran his fingers over my slick vulva and proclaimed that I was turned on too. Damn right I was. He pushed slowly but surely inside and my body welcomed him. I needed this, wanted to feel him, to know that he wanted me. He moved in and out with ease, my body opening up like magic. My head cleared as it had in the church and I concentrated on him, his cock and his fingers.
This wasn’t an epic sex session. A couple of orgasms for me, a change of position and he was coming inside me. But it was pure in the moment, carnal desire. I needed to know he still fancied me and he does. And what is more, I fancy him too and I don’t think that will change. I just need to remember that when things get tough.
It had been perhaps 2 weeks since my last orgasm. There hadn’t been much in the opportunity or indeed desire during our week apart. For one, it was too hot in a bedroom where the air conditioning wasn’t used. A preference of the other occupant. For another I didn’t feel the need and for another my orgasms really don’t belong to me.
His fingers explored my damp folds and he leaned down to inspect his property. As he placed his mouth over my clit I felt my excitement build and my cunt grow wetter. I took his hard cock in my hand and worked it a little. His tongue still moving over my piercing, he slipped a finger into my vagina. I was moist but a little tight after the abstinence, so he moved his finger in and out, then inserted another. Suddenly the need to orgasm was at the forefront of my mind; an urgent need. Thankfully the countdown was only 5, else I might not have been able to hold back. This was a clitoral orgasm of the finest order.
As he pushed his cock inside me, a feeling of relief overwhelmed. Master is reclaiming his slave, he told me and that is how it felt. He told me to cum again, and this time I felt a gush from inside my cunt and I began to float. He asked me who I was, the answer flowed easily from my lips – “this girl is Master’s slave”.
Pulling away he instructed me to mount him, so I got off the bed while he rolled onto his back. I climbed aboard and his cock slid into my now wide and slick hole. I tightened my hips and moved up and down on his throbbing dick as he rubbed my clit. More orgasms flowed from me and he pulled me forward arching his hips from underneath. my inner slut was now in full force and I became an orgasm producing machine. Spent, I lay beside him and he took me one last time, releasing his seed into my throbbing body.
I had been reclaimed.
It is a while since I followed one of the sccwriting prompts. They can be found here.
Submission and sex
There is no doubt in my mind, or indeed Master’s that my submission and sexuality go hand in hand. I am at my most submissive when we are having sex. This is, I think, because when we are having sex I am able to let go of everything else in my mind and just be. I can live in the moment, and when I do that my submission comes to the fore. At the same time, Master’s dominance is most pronounced when he is aroused. That is not to say that our M/s relationship is confined to the bedroom, or indeed playroom. Since that is the other place when my submission is in profound evidence. There are undercurrents all of the time, but they are subtle and not overt.
Tasks when in the mood for sex
Tasks and rules come more easily to me when I am in the mood for sex, that is definitely true. Calling him Master and myself this girl come automatically and I feel I am pretty much under his spell. During sex and play, I could easily comply with any thing asked of me. As a slave, I have no specific limits, I implicitly trust him to keep me safe and I willingly submit to him.
Interestingly, since we have been living together, I have begun to regain the ability to relax and allow him to take control much more of the time. In the past I always had to retain responsibility for a large proportion of my life. Recently the need for this has receded and it is now only things to do with my family that I retain control. I see that in the future, my submission will grow and develop and become more evident outside of the bedroom.
Not feeling it
There are plenty of times when one or other of us doesn’t feel the M/s side of our lives. Sometimes that happens at the same time. Since our relationship is strong, I don’t see this as a problem. We are not robots, we are living human beings with feelings and needs. Together we can always work through them.
This afternoon, given the cool and wet weather we decided to sort out some of my clothes. Since I moved in with Master a month ago, the weather has generally been pretty warm and dry. Over the past week there has been a gradual deterioration until today it is dull, cool and very wet. With the change in seasons waiting around the corner there was a need to unpack more clothes. Plus a couple of trips away in the next few weeks mean that I will need to free up some luggage.
The first bag I unpacked contained underwear. As I sorted through the bras, Master picked out this lovely black number. He was interested to understand when I bought it, and if I had ever worn it, since it is padded. To be honest, it fits him better than me. And to answer his questions, I don’t know and probably never.
He looks amazing and what’s more he loved wearing it and put his shirt back on, over the top. Next we found a couple of leather bras Master bought me, but which I have rarely worn. Of course I slipped into one of them and also the fetching collar you can see me wearing below.
That’s pretty much all the unpacking we did today, since one thing led to another and we retired to bed. I am not sure that some of the other unpacking we still need to do will be quite so much fun, but you never know.
Master reminded me on Friday night that we have hardly used my birthday present from last year. For various reasons I have ridden this beautiful toy only once or twice. It’s purchase dates back to my experiences at the Secret Dungeon a few months before for his birthday. I could never have imagined just how much fun you could have fucking a machine. While the one at the secret dungeon was a sybian, more sophisticated, not to mention automated, this one relies on the user to do the work.
The fucking machine
Back to Friday night. I hadn’t realised quite how turned on I was just discussing the fact that we hadn’t used this fucking machine for several months. But by the time I had put the dildo in place, applied the condom and slid onboard I was pretty aroused. The dildo slid easily in and out of my wet cunt as I moved backwards and forwards. As Master stood over me, playing with my nipples, sucking me and pinching I knew an orgasm wasn’t far away.
He stroked my clit and counted down and I came to his demand. Sliding a finger into may arse, he demanded another and more. “Whose slut are you?”
“This girl is Master’s slut”
The magic words came easily to my mouth. After months of me and I suddenly it was about ‘this girl’ about ‘His pleasing bitch’, ‘slave’. He became Lord and Master, the words falling from easily my tongue During sex I never have problems remembering who I am, of saying what is expected, but somehow this was different. It was as if for months ‘this girl’ had been sitting outside of my body, watching as I went about my crazy life. All at once she crashed into Julie and a submissive was awoken. All of a sudden I was telling Master that more control was needed, that I was proud to be his slave and wanted more of this. More sex, more orgasms, more time on the sex machine. But also rules. More, much more time remembering I am a slave. His slave.
This girl going forward
Today, sober (we had drunk quite a bit of wine) but also not high on the endorphins of recent orgasms I have had time to reflect. After 4 years as Master’s slave it feels as if I am starting from scratch. Learning again what it means to be his property, not just in bed or on a fucking machine, but in everything.
The machine seems a good leveller. I defy anyone to strip naked, sit on the dildo and begin to rock while their Dominant watches and not feel the need to concentrate. I remember looking up at him as he stood naked in front of me, stroking his cock. I remember him asking me over and over again to repeat who I am, who he is. I remember the feeling of submission sweeping over me and I remember asking for the magic wand. For a different kind of orgasm.
Life is not all about sex and fucking machines. It isn’t all about Dominance and submission but in this relationship those things are important. Very likely increasingly so. For us, this toy may enable us to get back to being the people we need to be and on a daily basis. Please.