Master's plaything

This would have been a great image for this objectification post from last week. But I wanted to save it for February Photofest. I’m not really sure why this hasn’t been featured before, but really happy to include it now. This was also taken at the secret Dungeon

As you can see my nipples are clamped, plus there is the hood and lead. I was definitely Master’s plaything that night!

Collars

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. 

Control through sex

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.

Masturbation Monday

On display

As the red velvet curtains opened, the stage  slowly revolved.  The slave’s limbs were firmly secured to a St Andrew’s Cross by fur lined leather cuffs. Her mouth filled with a ball gag secured behind her head. With wide eyes focused on her audience, her mind flashed back an hour.

Master had led her on a leash, naked into the small empty theatre. This place reminiscent of a venue they had visited on her birthday.  A circular stage surrounded by 20-30 seats they had sat in the midst of the action. The actors had weaved in and out of the audience making it an intimate, immersive experience. This was how the idea had formed in Master’s mind.

Now though, the seats were filled with smartly dressed men and women, the Dominants. At their feet an equal number of naked submissive people. As the stage slowly rotated and slave realised she knew everyone. Some were mere acquaintances and others true special friends to them both.

Master stepped up to the applause of the group and approached his slave. Tears filled her eyes as he began to stroke her with the fingers of both hands. Starting at her shoulders, moving down her arms, onto her tummy, up to her breasts, circling the nipples. Finally he placed the fingers of his left hand between her legs and stroked the wet, throbbing pussy then leant down to suck her right nipple. She squirmed, bucking her hips towards his fingers. The stage stopped moving.

Standing up he leaned towards her left ear and whispered.

“Darling slave girl, your fantasies are about to be realised” Spit filled her mouth as she tried to speak, to ask what he meant. He grinned and took a vibrating wand in his hand and pushed it into her throbbing pussy and beckoned to a man in the audience. He in turn nodded to the girl at his feet and she stood up, walked purposefully to the stage, stepped up and as previously instructed dropped to her knees.

Master removed the wand and the girl crawled close to the slave. She leaned up and her tongue circled the clitoris of her subject. Slave’s juices began to gush forth, only to be lapped up.

Slave focused on her grinning Master and nodded. Whatever her resovations, Master knew just what she needed.  On display, secured to the cross, her previously identified boundaries pushed to the limit. Safe in the knowledge that they shared a secret safe code she nodded again.

Master turned away and invited their friend Ross to take up a flogger and begin the show.
Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

The days go by

If thinking about writing blog posts made them happen then I would be a prolific blogger. Instead I am someone who has had very little to say over the past couple of months. Pretty much every day I have thought about writing something. Sometimes I have even had something profound to say. But still I have struggled. But why?

Generally life exists in a pattern; Monday to Thursday work happens. Sometimes it is busy and sometimes I work hard at appearing busy and am very good at that. On Fridays I usually have some mother related activity to manage. Then the rest of the weekend is devoted to Master. Sometimes the Master part overlaps into Thursday evening or even Monday. 
Most weekends something kinky happens and when it does then it gives us immense pleasure. Master gets off on the power involved in controlling His slave and she gets off on being controlled. But there is only so many times you can discuss the activities involved without the person writing about them feeling that they have exhausting all possible literary avenues. Our lives are far from boring, but to be frank they are probably not interesting enough to repeat here week after week. 
Having said that last week I received a wonderful gift, a late birthday present. 
For this slave, it shows that just when you begin to believe that life has slipped into some kind of day by day normality, Master has a way of showing her that this life can be different. Never mundane and always owned. She remains His property 
In case you are wondering, the initials are MPB
This is the slave number of this girl
This is how it looks on