I stood up and stripped off my clothes. He sat up straighter, unfastened his belt and began to unzip his trousers. We were both a  little drunk, but there was no harm in that since this was about sex and submission.

Master’s cock was hard, not really surprising since his slave was now kneeling naked before him. As I took the full shaft in my mouth, not even gagging. I took a moment to wonder if alcohol helps suppress the gag reflex. His cock tasted amazing as I coated it with my gin infused saliva.

He took my hair in his hands and kept my head still making me savour the taste and feel. With such a full mouth I could do little more. His hand gripped my breasts, caressing  the nipples as they hardened to his touch.

Following his request, I pulled my mouth free and climbed up onto his lap. I sat down on the hard cock and it slid easily inside. No tightness, no pain; if only it were always this easy. But, never mind. As I rode him, his hands moved over my body which was sensitised to every touch.

As is his way in these situations, he asked me to tell him who I am- Master’s Bitch, his slut his slave  – the response. And he, my Lord and Master.

It is in situations like this that my submission comes to the fore. There is no longer space to think and to wonder. Just a place to be His slave, His slut, His property.

My reward? The granting of orgasms; lots and lots of orgasms. Each one rolling in, starting deep inside my cunt, a wave of emotions throbbing through my body bringing his gift. Submission.

Because the link between the power he has over me, the orgasms he permits and my submission are absolute. In those moments there is nothing else in my world other than Lord and slave.

slave stuff

There was a time when pretty much all posts on this blog were written in the third person. Each sentence that might have used the pronoun ‘I’ began instead with ‘this girl’ or ‘she’. This blog was about a personal journey, about being trained and about learning how to please and serve Master. Somewhere along the line, that part has been lost from this place.Never writing in the first person became challenging. There were occasions that I seemed more appropriate and gradually I replaced she. This girl, the slave was lost from the conversation.

But perhaps it is time to bring her back. Perhaps she needs that aspect of her life to get back to the slave she wants and needs to be. There is, deep within this slave a yearning to reclaim the structure and the rules. To focus back on what was agreed at the beginning of our relationship and part of that is acknowledging that this slave has no specific name. That she should refer to herself not as I but to recognise her status as an object or possession.

This girl

He always refers to her as girl. She is without a name, she is His slave. She is good at complying with the requirement to refer to herself in this way during sex or a scene. Less so at other times. The blasé way in which this girl approaches her slavery has led to other lapses in behaviour and often in forgetting her place and role.

These include wearing underwear (it is often cold and anyway the middle-aged body needs support), not wearing the butt plug, not asking if clothing is required. This list could go on.

But there is no chance that this girl has completely forgotten that she is His slave.

Being His slave always

He is Master. She rarely thinks or refers to him as anything else. This girl thinks about Him constantly and does consider whether the actions she takes are something he would be happy with. This happens most often at work, a place where he is never with her. She often takes time to reflect and wonder what he would say if He had been present.

There are times each day when she touches the tangible symbols of slavery. The collar, the nipple jewellery and sometimes even the clitoral hood piercing. They serve as a constant physical reminder a way of grounding one’s self.

When Master and slave are out together there are rules that are always followed. He keeps control of any tickets or passes. He takes total control in restaurants, though there is often discussion about choices. Plus at any time there is ambiguity, or the potential for disagreement it is His word that is final.

Master is Master and slave is the slave. But this slave feels that now is the time to back to basics. Back to what was agreed at the beginning and back to blogging for its original purpose.

Going forward there will be more posts where the pronoun ‘I’ is not used.

2 Responses to slave stuff

  1. Slut says:

    This is a beautiful post that brought goosebumps to the skin of THIS slave. You are such an inspiration.

  2. Julie says:

    Thank you so much. This something that has been in the thoughts of this slave for a while. It has been too easy to drift along.

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Blogging A-Z Challenge: M

There are times when I feel that our relationship together is just the same as everyone else’s. We have our ups and downs, we bicker and argue. But there are times when we need to make up, make love have a kind of loving sex and apologise for things that were said. We are good friends, we laugh and we play. We travel to lots of interesting places and spend as much time as we can together.

This is a different relationship to the one I had before. The power dynamic for one thing. The control he exerts over me only become apparent when there is a disagreement of if I need to defer to him. During our weekdays apart it is difficult to recognise his influence as I go about my working day. His influence over my actions is implicit rather than explicit, unnoticeable to others. But at the weekends and when we are on holiday together the dynamic changes and I find myself deferring to his decision-making more and more.

Our relationship is not one where he micromanages me. I don’t ask to spend money, since it is mine to spend. But I do ask what he thinks we should do, where we should go, what we should eat. I rarely take a decision these days without some level of consultation.

Sometimes my position as slave means that I do something I would rather not. This morning I was a little hung over; a little too much local wine passed my lips last night. While I showered and dressed he was reading my blog and getting aroused by my words and the picture. So he demanded I kneel before him, suck him off and provide relief. In my past life, I would have turned him down, but since I am the slave I now on I sank down to my knees. I knelt on the cushion he so helpfully provided and took my prize.

I am the slave, he is the Master.

Blogging A-Z Challenge: C

C is for Control

when we are out together our M/s dynamic is only likely to be noticed by those who know what to look for. Subtle signs of my submission exist in the way I check his preferences. He often chooses and orders food, he always picks the wine. He phrases his questions in such a way that for me they are statements I am compelled to follow. But I doubt others notice.

Control during sex for us is at another level. He is always in charge, even if I take the initiative, or am on top. This is the time and place when I am stripped to my very core, whether naked or clothed. He is my Master, my Lord. I am his slut, slave, bitch. Something comes over us during foreplay and sex that I can’t quite put my finger on. It is as if my anxieties slip away, I lose the need to be someone I am not and can just focus on him. To be the real me, his slave.

Orgasm Control

From the very beginning of our relationship he took control of my ability to choose when, where and how I experienced an orgasm. He has never prohibited me from having orgasms when I am along, but I do have to thank him. Even when he is absent. This is a rule that I have never broken.

When we are together I am not allowed to cum until he tells me I can. Last weekend it became apparent that even during immense amounts of stimulation I am able to control my orgasms until he allows me to cum. For Master’s birthday we went to stay in a house that has been converted into a dungeon. I have always wanted to try mechanical sex machines, and last Friday I got the chance. Vibrating, whirling and moving dildos provided an amazing amount of stimulation to my body. But it wasn’t until afterwards that  he remarked that I didn’t orgasm until he granted permission.

This has me thinking about control in a different way. He does control me, but surely I must have developed control over my own body so that he can control it?

Or is it just conditioning?

365 Questions – Day 37; Torture

If you could do today over, would you change anything? 

Maybe I wouldn’t wake up at 4am having a night sweat – the misery of the menopause – then I wouldn’t have struggled to get out of bed this morning. On the other hand, maybe I would change the day from one that I had to work, to one where I was tortured like this………
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