Hidden In Plain Sight

“Can I masturbate please, Sir?”

‘If you plug yourself, come in here, get under the desk, and worship my balls while I have a wank to porn.’

My heart sank. For some reason this annoyed me. I was super horny, and had already mapped out my plan… getting into the shower and using the jet stream of the shower head to find that blissful yumminess of water stimulation… a definite favourite for me.

I sat there as I contemplated that not only had that whole plan just flown out the window, it was now unlikely I would cum at all because I would be focused on Him. I got more annoyed. Dragged my feet. Got up slowly and went to put my plug in. I was so horny dammit! I just wanted to cum! I just wanted a private moment to myself for my own pleasure!

But… no.

I went into His study, crawled under the desk (rather unenthusiastically), spread my legs, began touching myself, and licking His balls. I knew straight away that I wasn’t going to cum. And I knew straight away that He was going to cum quickly. As I was licking, He began stroking His cock, and said casually, ‘you will never masturbate alone again. It will either be with Me or with another slave when we have one… but never alone again.’

There are usually always two internal responses for me. A part that finds things super hot, and a part that hates it (but finds that super hot also). This time however, there was also a little bit of anger. He touched on something. Something very deep, and something very personal.

When He came, I cleaned up His yummy goodness (for some reason He tastes soooooo good), and asked if I could go and shower. I then got in the shower and masturbated. This is the first time I have directly defied my Master. It was such a “fuck you.” It brought such curiosity because a) I pride myself on being a good girl, and b) since my first wanderings into this way of life my orgasms have basically been “owned” by someone or other. I’ve been asking permission to masturbate for so long now it seems odd when I don’t have anyone to ask. And yet I realised something this morning. I had never really truly given my orgasms away. Or perhaps I should say, I have never truly shared the privacy of my orgasms. I have never invited or allowed anyone to share that aspect of my sexuality. Everything else, yes. But my orgasms, no. For me they’ve always been super private and for me only. I don’t know why. Perhaps because I grew up in a family that allowed me no privacy whatsoever, so that is the one thing I kept just for me. But for some reason, this order felt so intrusive. It’s the first time I’ve experienced anything that has truly challenged me. Truly challenged a deep part of me. And I still don’t know how I feel about it. I’m scared I guess. I don’t like the thought of giving Him that level of power. I can’t believe He found it. My kryptonite. I’m angry. I’m scared that I’ll never get to orgasm again. I’m annoyed that He has now made everything I have, completely about Him. I wanted to keep that selfish little part just for me, and He has ruined that… and I didn’t even realise I felt that way until now. I’m angry that He has permeated every part of me… without me controlling it. Such a swift card to play. And some part of me thinks He knows. That He’s been holding onto that one. That all this time He has seen me better than I expected. Bastard.

The irony is that I have craved to be seen authentically, my entire life. I have craved handing over that power and vulnerability. I crave enthusiastic subservience. And now, feeling so exposed, I don’t like it. I don’t like having nowhere to hide. It makes me feel so fragile.

The problem also is that it really, really turns me on…

We were willing to see each other as our future. 
Would we still hold on this tight?

Or would we let go?

In less than 15 minutes,

He made me love Him again. 

After so long!

He plays my heart like a Maestro.

It is truly stunning to behold.

How does He know His power over me?

ahhhh

Because He placed it there.

‘Slave.’

‘Come here.’

I walk into His study. “Yes, Sir?”

‘Get under the desk.’

Instantly aroused, I get down and crawl under the desk. Snapshots of our last “moment” with me under the desk flash through my mind. His foot on the side of my face as He masturbated to porn. His other foot in my mouth. My tongue flicking softly against His toe. Panting breaths. Drool. The dripping wetness between my thighs that I so desperately wanted to touch but didn’t dare. Scooping His cum with my fingers, from a cup that He had deposited it in. The conversation afterwards asking if I was allowed to play with myself in moments like those… and Him saying, yes…

As soon as I’m under the desk He tells me to spread my legs open and begin playing with myself. There’s that feeling that wells up in my belly. That one that leads me to do filthy things… and love it. I smile as my fingers slide down to confirm what I already knew, and begin to work their magic. When His foot slides between my legs I can’t help but stare at it,  ever so slightly touching my cunt. Taunting. I imagine humping it… the humiliation… the degradation, of rubbing myself on His leg like a dog. I desperately want to ask if I can, but instead lean my face against His thigh.

Sometimes I feel like I’m so turned on it’s overwhelming… too much. Like I go beyond the possibility of orgasm. This is one of those moments. Finally faced with a fantasy I didn’t realise I had or would ever actually experience, a part of me is unable to believe it’s actually happening. How could He have known? It’s moments like these that I see glimpses of how alike we are in our depravity. Yin and Yang.

He pulls out His cock and begins working it. Fast. He’s turned on. I love when He’s so horny. He reaches down and grabs my hair, hard, and pulls me through the space between Himself and the desk.

‘Suck My Cock. And keep playing with yourself.’

Worshipping His cock is so easy for me, because it is glorious. It truly does feel like a privilege every time He allows me to suck it. I never expected to hear myself say that. I’ve always loved men’s cocks, and worship had been a part of my subservience from the moment I discovered it. However, I had never experienced that feeling of it being a privilege before… this has developed in recent times. 

At this angle it’s difficult for me to get air because it automatically restricts my airway despite not even being that deep in my throat. Over time I have come to choose His cock over air, so I simply don’t breathe, until I have to, which of course heightens my sensitivity and arousal. Eventually I find a rhythm that allows for small gasps and expulsions. 
Pushing me back under the desk, He tells me to lick His balls. Letting go into the moment, I lick and suck His balls like life itself depended on it.

‘Cum for me, slave.’ ‘Cum while you’re licking my fucking balls.’ ‘Cum while you lick your Master’s balls, slave.’ His tone of voice tells me everything I need to know, and I feel that knowledge shoot through my whole body like electricity. I lick, I suck, my fingers have taken on a life of their own. I’m panting. Moaning. So close.

I don’t cum. There is a small amount of resistance still there I notice… remnants of my experience with being trained to cum on command… something I had told myself I wouldn’t allow again. But there’s that part of me that wants to, that finds it so fucking hot, and I find myself getting closer. But I’m waiting. For what? I think to myself, “do I cum first?” A part of me couldn’t reconcile that, but I knew I desperately wanted to succumb.

“Stop thinking.”

He grabs my hair and pulls me up, shoving His cock in my mouth as He cums. This I see now, is what I was waiting for. I feel my own orgasm explode through me. Gasping and moaning as I’m collecting what He’s feeding into my mouth. Savouring His cum as my body shudders with pleasure.

There are so few moments where I’ve felt truly satisfied. All I could do, kneeling there, a sweaty, spent mess, was place my face back against His thigh, smile up at Him with the biggest shy grin, and say, “Thank You, Sir.”

Nothing like a little bit of breath play on your Sunday drive 😊

‘When she arrives, you will be kneeling over the coffee table, hooded, with your ass cheeks spread open,’ He said. ‘She is going to enter the house and I will prepare her, then she will kneel behind you and lick your ass, and then your cunt.’

“Yes, Sir.”

I had been eagerly awaiting this moment all day… or all week… or all my life. At least since He told me she was coming. The thought of never seeing her face nor knowing who she is, excited me in a way that felt like going on an adventure down the rabbit hole of curiosity. My favourite adventure.

‘This isn’t about you,’ He said. ‘You’re an accessory. Here to simply do as you’re told.’

I nod. I understand.

Observing Him as they negotiated, I couldn’t help but be in awe. Curating a scene is something I had never seen the behind the scenes of before, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t find it fascinating to witness. How much thought and preparation, both internal and external, went into the process! Thinking about how He would not only find His enjoyment, but meet the needs of everyone involved. I gained a very new level of respect for Dominants, and for Him… which only grew more and more.

He had told me little snippets about her and her past, however nothing too private or personal. They had a history together of having met and played and had maintained a connection over time. His soft spot for her was obvious. So I was curious about this creature who had suddenly popped up back into His life, and now into mine. Who is she? What is her life like? What will she be like? Will she like me?

Having never really been with a woman, I was both excited and nervous. I know how much women scrutinise other women, so it was odd to find myself preparing for her more meticulously than I had ever prepared for a man. I shaved perfectly. Made sure my hair was conditioned perfectly. Scrutinised everything I could to remove any possibility of there being anything that was within my control to be perfect, missed. How strange. Women scare me, because they can be so emotionally harmful. For some reason their scrutiny cuts so deep. They notice things men don’t notice or even care about. Thankfully though, He was controlling everything, so I knew I was safe. This allowed the excitement to be the more prevalent feeling. I was nervous about being used in this way though. I don’t particularly like being licked out, nor is it a comfortable position for me to be in to be “above” someone else… especially sexually. But that is what they had negotiated. And I was the accessory, to be used however needed. And that’s how I was needed. There was also a spark of curiosity. How strange to witness “my role” from an outside perspective. A part of me, of course, wanted to know how it seemed.

*******

She arrived earlier than expected. We had just gotten out of the shower and were still drying ourselves when there was a knock at the door.

‘Put your hood on and get into position,’ He said.

I did so.

I heard Him speak softly, and heard a soft reply. She seemed so timid.

I lay across the coffee table, my hands holding my ass cheeks apart, feeling the coolness against my body, waiting… anticipating…

There were gentle whispers as I knew He was hooding her also. We were both to be hooded, and I was to be plugged… after she had licked my ass.

His tone changed and I heard Him give her a command. There was a little squeak of compliance and suddenly a tongue plunged into my ass. It felt… weird. Did I like it? It’s not something I’d ask someone to do for me, however, I didn’t dislike it.

‘Take notice, slave,’ He said to me. ‘This cunt knows how to lick ass.’ Something He has been trying to teach me to do better.

He then told her to move, and shuffled between us, making her lick His ass, while He entered me. After a moment, this shifted as He pulled out, told her to clean His cock and then to lay on her back on the floor, instructing me to lean back over her so she could lick my pussy. As He inserted my plug, He made her pause, telling her how this is what a real slave is, degrading and humiliating her with names and words… managing to degrade and humiliate us both in different ways, on opposite sides of the same coin. Me, by pushing me “up” into a position I’m uncomfortable with, and her, by tearing her down as far as she had asked to go.

She began to cry. My heart gave way and everything changed for me in that moment. It was no longer simply a sexual adventure. There was such intimacy. A tenderness. An overwhelming urge came over me to want to make her feel good. To help her get what she wanted from this. To be the softness she needed as He took her to the place she wanted Him to take her.

He told me to kiss her, and I cradled her face in my hands and tenderly kissed her lips. So soft. Her skin was like velvet. And she smelled amazing. I’ve never felt so comfortable kissing someone so quickly before. But it was beautiful. I wanted her to feel good, but I also didn’t want to feel like I was trying to control where we went. I could feel a bond forming between us, as she gently kissed me back, tracing my arms with her fingertips… a sisterhood. He ordered her back to His ass, and me to sucking His cock. We moved to the bedroom, where I then truly witnessed the magic of what was occurring. Whilst I sucked His cock and licked His balls, the agreed terms of what they had negotiated began to come to light. Her sounds, and His gentle demeanour as He whispered cruel things into her ear. There was such an intimacy between them that there was a moment where I felt like an intruder. I wanted to crawl away, move out of the space and the moment and leave them to share it alone. He felt my shift and gruffly told me to focus on my part. So I did.

As He was about to cum, He asked her if she was ready. I heard a soft whimper that I had come to learn suggested she was. ‘Remember, if you swallow, I will beat you,’ He said firmly. Did I hear that correctly, I wondered? Surely not. Perhaps He had said that He would beat her if she didn’t swallow, and I had simply misheard?

Shifting away, I heard the sounds of Him cumming, and her moans of desire and satisfaction and pleasure.

‘Do Not swallow!’ He said as He came, and as her mouth collected everything He had for her. ‘Pass it to the slave.’ Ok… I felt that stir between my legs. How hot!

I leaned over and we kissed again as she slipped His cum into my mouth. I gently licked her lips and her chin, collecting all of what was being shared, and swallowed it down.

‘Clean my cock. Both of you,’ He said.

She held and gently stroked, as we licked and cleaned what was left.

Pulling me up into His armpit, I snuggled in while he spoke softly with her asking if she needed anything. She had declined aftercare in their negotiations and had decided she simply wanted to leave afterwards. I had asked Him to make sure she didn’t need anything that maybe I could even prepare for her… a cup of coffee or a snack.

She declined and left.

I’ll never know how that was for her, but I hope it was what she was seeking. Upon reflection I saw that it was so much beyond what I had expected an experience like this could be. It wasn’t “just” kinky sex. It was an agreed arrangement to create an experience of love and connection and intimacy and healing from a very traumatic past. I will not share her story, and I don’t know a lot of it, but I came to see just how magical it was. And I became so honoured to have been a part of that. My respect for Him shifted to new levels as I realised the gift He had given her. How much He had given of Himself to give her that gift. How much she had given Him in return. And how special a moment it was between them. Perhaps there was a little bit of magic for all of us that night. 

Standing in your own way:

Sometimes our struggle can make things look bad in the eyes of others. And when we try to explain our struggle, it can make things look worse. More often than not, our friends and family will band together with us in support and tell us it’s not us, it’s the Other.

But… what if it’s not? Or what if it is more that it’s both of you breaking it together?

Not long ago I met a Man. Things felt so right. Despite my years of preparing myself and creating a list of wants and needs and expectations and an image of how I thought everything would be, jumping in faster than anyone was happy with, I then also methodically let go of almost all of the “standards” I had put in place. Needless to say, this alarmed everyone around me. ‘What are you doing?!’ they kept asking. “To be honest, I don’t know,” I would reply. Yes… He wasn’t what I had said I wanted. He is far from perfect. He is messy and immoral and selfish. He smokes and drinks and is unfit and unhealthy. He knows nothing of protocol and isn’t particularly active within the BDSM community. To the naked eye, He is almost the complete opposite of everything I had put in place of what I wouldn’t accept less than. And yet, there was something my heart saw in Him enough to say, “Him… I choose Him.”

The things that aren’t so obvious is that He is loyal and He is kind and He is selfless in ways that matter to me. He fights for what He believes in. He protects what’s His, and what’s His is family. He is loved. And He is loved by amazing people. That tells me a lot. He accepts flaws… both in Himself and others. Mostly though? He makes me laugh. He makes me feel good… and bad. There is something natural about how His dominance… or more… His essence… reaches into me, and I simply can’t find the words to explain it. These things… these subtle things that can’t be seen unless one pays attention and looks beyond the obvious… those are the.things. Those are the things I love about Him. The things I couldn’t put words to. The things that despite our struggles, make me want to keep trying. He is worth fighting for. What I didn’t realise was that the war was within myself.

He triggers the shit out of me. This journey with Him has been so challenging, I can no longer count the times I’ve almost walked away. And vice versa for Him. In fact recently we did end things. But here I am, sitting on His lounge once again… this very lounge where not that long ago I felt I had found a home, contemplating everything. I was worried about Him being alone, and funnily enough He was worried about the very same for me. So we had a very real conversation. And then we had another one. And another one. We were finally honest about everything. Who knew there could be levels to honesty? And then we spent a day together as friends. And it was awesome. I realised what I had been missing by carrying this idea that my mind had created of what M/s and myself as a slave, and He as a Master, “should” look like. I was missing out on sharing the best parts of me with Him. And I was missing out on seeing the best parts of Him. Because there was a veil of “should” shrouding everything my eyes looked upon between us. It occurred to me that this whole time, the struggle has been Him trying to strip away an idea I had created and was fighting tooth and nail to keep. A plan that needed to be stuck to… no matter what. Even at the cost of us.

Being with Him has made me question everything. Everything. Especially myself as a slave. I realised that for me it’s not about the frills… it’s about the person. I realised that despite everything I have said here over the years, I will gladly let go of all of it to conform to what He asked of me. That is how I am as a slave. It doesn’t matter to me how it looks to others. I don’t care if we seem vanilla. If He is my Master, I will know it, deep in my bones. Deep in the places that matter to me, and hopefully to Him. The complete irony of it all is that all He has been asking of me is to be myself… my real self… not an idea of how I think I should be.

During this journey I have reached out to everyone I know and love and respect and cherish, seeking guidance. Because I knew this was what I really wanted, and I knew I was fucking it up. I could see it all slipping through my fingers, and had no idea how to stop that from happening. I even went to those I figured would tell me to pull my head in. That didn’t happen. Finally I went to a beloved friend. And she gave me precisely what I needed. Help. Help in the way I needed. She gave me guidance to look at what I needed to take responsibility for, and the kick in the butt to let go of what needed to be let go of. Her wisdom astounds me. And it has shown me the value of having the right support. Those who understand and know intimately what it’s like for your specific journey. Those who will hear that you don’t want to give up just yet, so will stand in your corner, even if it may be a mistake.

He and I are not back together. Officially. But we have something. We are trying to create our own something. We are letting go of how it “should” look. How we “should” be. And we are just being us. And I have to say, it feels great! In so many ways He has brought me back to life. Brought me back into the world. The “me” I had forgotten about, and thought I couldn’t bring on this journey. I hadn’t realised how small I had made myself… that I was disappearing. How can I not love Him for that?

I am letting go of expectations and a need for outcome. I’m just going to enjoy myself for a while and see where life takes me.

Yes, I see the hypocrisy in it all. Believe me I see it. I have turned my back on everything I have said over the years. The box I had created for myself. I’ve changed my mind. And to be honest, I’m trying to learn to no longer judge myself so harshly for changing my mind in life. I didn’t realise that what was making me so exhausted was trying to stick to a plan that I had created in my mind of how everything needed to be. Tending daily to the “story.” Even if things don’t work out between us, I feel more free than I have in a long time. Am I a slave? Many would now say, no. And to be perfectly honest… I’m ok with that. It is not a community that I kneel to. It is one Man. And I will kneel however He wants me to… if He wants that of me. Perhaps that makes me more of a free-range slave 😊