Skip navigation

tumblr_p5hpubYOzU1wlpxw8o1_1280 copyFive weeks in, I can say that being Master L’s slave has definitely been a hot and sexy experience. Here’s why.

Much of what my Master wants from me taps right into what I enjoy as a sub: nipple torture, edging, and, above all chastity. He wants me locked as much as possible (allowing for that fact that I also have a non-kinky domestic partner). Surrendering my right to orgasm (my Master’s phrase) is for me the defining element of my slavehood – and hot as fuck.

He can be hornily demanding. Two things have taken me outside of my normal comfort zone. One, I mostly serve him on my knees – both in and out of his presence. As part of my training he makes me kneel, hands behind my head, in ‘slave mode’: naked, caged, collared, clamped and plugged. At first this was for 20 minutes a day, now it’s 30, and I suspect the target will gradually rise. This is strenuous! Made to keep my legs well apart, I’ve found them shaking at times, and my whole torso sweating. As Master L says, it’s not all meant to be fun. But I gladly submit to his desire.

Two: my ass is his main target. If you’ve followed my blog, you’ll have twigged that I’ve never been big on ass play. While getting fucked has been a part of my sex life I’ve found enjoyable, it’s never been too essential (I think I have an aversion to lube and shit in combination!). But I’m having to get over that. A core goal of my training is to have my ass plugged for 30 mins. a day and to fuck myself with the plug for another 20 minutes.

So my Master likes to fuck me. OK, he’s not physically present, but doing exactly what he tells me with the plug has something like the same effect, especially when I can see him on cam. Somehow, it’s more than just following orders. After he’s fucked me hard, it’s like he’s really been there thrusting his quite sizeable cock up me.

Even though we’re only five weeks into our relationship, it’s morphing. This is partly because my Master’s circumstances have changed. He was between jobs at the start, and I’ve been having a slightly lazy Summer. So for the first couple of weeks I was serving him and he was abusing me (to use his favourite phrase) most days. But now he’s started a new job in a different part of China, and we’ve cammed at best weekly, though we exchange messages one or more times every day.


Importantly, the training continues. And that’s evolving too. I now do this publicly on Chaturbate. Presenting myself to the world as my Master’s slave in a state of submission is a huge turn on – powerfully affirming of my slave identity. And interestingly this seems to have made it possible to settle into chastity with far greater equanimity than I’ve ever experienced. Sure, as ever, I’m perpetually horny; but serving my Master actively and visibly has been a way to channel all that erotic energy. And for around the last couple of weeks I’ve been allowed no edging or pleasure from my penis. The focus is on my ass and nips. My Master’s goal is for me to cum just through anal stimulation. We could be some time with that!

What also makes the chastity comfortable – paradoxically – is that I don’t know when it’s going to end. My Master agreed that it would be best (and highly horny!) for me not to know how long he is thinking it will be before I next cum. So there’s no count down to cum day. I treat every day (and every tomorrow) as a non-cum day. I’m just happy to be in the horny present of my slavery to my young, sexy, intelligent, considerate, strict Master.



Well, what do you know? Without really intending to, I’ve become an owned online slave again!

If you follow this blog (or if you read back through the archive), you’ll know I’ve had this experience before. Master69, my former online master, was very imaginative and taught me a lot, not least that online ownership needn’t be a pale shadow of an in-person sub-dom relationship. Despite that, I had more or less persuaded myself lately that if I’m going to be someone’s slave it has to be in the flesh or not at all.

And then, while I was away about a month ago I spent a bit of time on Chaturbate (despite my resolve to keep off that web-cam site), and was visited in my chatroom by the guy who was soon to become my new online owner – let’s call him Master L. I was in the middle of quite a steamy edging session and engaging him in chat at the same time (well it is Chaturbate!) and – not untypically for me – suddenly lost it and came. Ha, he said, if you were one of my slaves, I’d punish you hard for that. Lucky I’m not, then, I replied.

When I was back in there the next day, the guy fetched up in my chatroom again – he’s from China, by the way. We chatted some more while I edged. He invited me to chat privately, and we quickly moved over to Skype, chatted some more there, and then went onto cam. He kept me on edge for quite some time, as well as getting me to inflict onto myself the kind of things that masters like to see their slaves endure. This time (if I recall correctly) I managed to hold back from cumming.

“Got a cage?” he asked.

“Erm, yes”, I replied.

“Well put it on, boy!”

I complied. And somehow, without really realising it until it was too late – I had consented to become one of his slaves.

That was over four weeks ago now, and my relationship with him is developing pretty fast and in some interesting ways. But more of that in my next post.


MmmIt’s been two months since I encountered him. He was in the showers in a London sauna, the spray splashing down his smooth dark skin, through his short black hair, over his chiselled face. Fucking hot guy, but out of my league to be sure. Even so, I moved in under the neighbouring shower head. Caught his eye and smiled slightly. Hmm, he’s not looking away. I finish my shower and stroke his beautiful lithe torso as I strut past.

My God, he’s following me.

Ah, I’ve lost him. But then I go into the steam complex. There are maybe a dozen other guys in the space.  And there he is, standing near the back. Surely he’s not really interested though. But, what the hey. I move towards him; close; put my hand on his bum. He pulls me into his space. Oh fuck, wow – he is interested!

Before I know it, his hand is on the back of my neck and he’s pushing me down onto his cock – and onto my knees. I work his cock with my mouth. He pushes me down still further. Makes me worship his feet. I kiss one foot; the other one is on the back of my neck – fuck, after barely a couple of minutes we’re fully into Dom/sub mode.

We didn’t finish the business there and then. We didn’t finish it at all in fact. (As I write, I’m still anticipating finishing it – or the next phase.) But half an hour later we chanced upon each other in another of the sauna’s corridors. The guy pulls me into a cabin and we pick up from where we left off. Within minutes Omar (yay, he’s introduced himself) has me on my knees again, his cock thrusting into my mouth, his hand steering my head between his thighs as he makes me worship them (no onerous job!).

Then a mean look passes over his face, and he spits into mine. Mmmm. ‘Thank you’, I say, looking him in the eyes. Now he knows what I am. I open my mouth – he spits again – I swallow. I look him in the face again. He knows I want more. He gives it. ‘Say thank you to your Master’. And I do. I guide his hand towards my cheek. He gets the message. He slaps me hard across the face. Fuck! And again. Fuck! And again harder. Fuck! He is so raunchy. I am so raunchy. Fuck, we’re fucking raunchy together, he and I. We seem to have connected in our dirty raunchy slutty way, Master and slave in the making maybe (dare I think)?

He turns me round on my knees, and positions himself ready to fuck me. His cock rubbing against my arse crack. This is difficult.

‘I can’t’, I say.’


‘Because I only fuck with my boyfriend’

‘Why is that?’

‘It’s just part of the deal of our open relationship’.

‘But why?’

‘Because it’s such an intimate thing.’

He’s puzzled. ‘But why not? You only have one life.’ His words cut me through to core. It’s the day before a significant birthday; I’m not getting any younger.

Right here and now, though, I persuade him to respect this limit. If he’s regretful then so am I a little.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Unlike most sauna encounters, which terminate as you leave, here Omar – the hot, horny, sexy, raunchy Omar – asks me for my mobile number. ‘Next time you’re in London you come to my house’.

Even so, I don’t believe he really means it – that he’s really that fussed about meeting again. But two or three times a week, and for the last week or so, every day, there’s been a text from him or a message on Whatsapp. ‘Where are you my slave?’

The truth is I’m in a different city some 250 miles away; in a long-term committed relationship. But the whole time, I’ve thought about Omar every day. And, as I get closer to a trip back to London this weekend, I think about him all day and night. I wake up thinking about him, my cock getting hard and oozing. I edge myself (as a slave I don’t cum unless it’s at someone else’s command) on my knees, looking at his photo, softly calling out his name like he’s there. Fuck, he has got me. He has got me.

Will all this come to nothing? Or, if it doesn’t, what does it mean for my ‘muggle’ life? Either way, it makes me afraid.

Sub-O’s away next week, with at least some opportunities for naughtiness. What a shame he doesn’t have a master at the moment, he thinks. Could be kinda fun to be owned for the week.

Mmm, just maybe, he thinks, he’ll fish out his chastity device anyway. After all, a slave oughtn’t to be let out with an unlocked cock!

tumblr_odi3rdpZfl1sq9cs6o1_500So I’m in the pool changing room, and I look over and there’s a guy I’ve seen a few times before. Big, muscly, completely shaved head, tattooed and not in a tasteful way. Kind of good looking, but in a mean-looking, raunchy kind of way. Fuck, I find him hot. I don’t think he’s gay – surely not. But there’s a vibe somehow. He looks back over at me a time or two, or three. But his look is completely inscrutable. Maybe he knows what I’m thinking. Fuck, he’s hot. Alpha male. And suddenly I find I’ve gone off on a Men-and-fags fantasy – like I was reading about on Tumblr the other night. What if … what if I were just to drop him a little note (like I read about on there), saying had he thought about having a fag serve him a straight alpha dom. What if we went into the changing room toilet right there and them, and he just face fucked me, or pissed down my throat, slapped me across the face. Then just walked off leaving me to wipe away his piss and jizz. Till the next time ….

5a44f29bf5035003da386030For the last couple of days, I’ve been strutting my stuff on Chaturbate and Cam4 a lot, edging myself repeatedly until finally letting go with a satisfying orgasm earlier this morning. Looking back over the past year – where, admittedly, I haven’t been blogging much on here, it’s clear to me that much of my sexual life, including my kinkster side, has been played out on cam in this way. In 2017 I’ve really had only two or three live BDSM meets, very little sex with my partner (a state of affairs we seem OK-ish about), but lots of time getting horny by webcam where anyone who wants to can see. So, at the end of the year, it seems appropriate to ask, what’s with all this?

Well, clearly it’s satisfying a certain exhibitionist urge. And when I ask what that means the answer is something to do with nakedness, vulnerability, openness, showing myself, being myself. And as ever, it’s also something to do with connection. The cam sessions where I’ve had the most fun are the ones that have been the most interactive – usually with me naked and doing my stuff, and whoever else texting in their comments or requests or orders. Although I’ve also enjoyed sessions where the the guy/s on the other end is/are also on cam, the sub in me also gets off, I have to admit, on the power asymmetry of the whole CMNM thing.

And then there’s the fact that that the guys at the other often seem to be getting a lot of pleasure out of watching. In the last couple of days, I’ve experienced moments of connection where guys seem geniuinely turned on by, and appreciative of what they see. That’s kind of flattering of course, but also touching. Maybe it may not be a bad thing to bring someone a bit of joy this way.

Obviously, none of this is quite the same experience as an in-the-flesh encounter, but it has its merits for all that. Meanwhile – perhaps because of having had some down time over the holiday period – I’ve got to the end of this year feeling as horny as fuck, and putting out again on Recon and wherever else for the possibility of a live meet. The slave boi in me refuses to die!

There’s a form of master-slave relationship that has long lurked at the back of my pervy mind, which has – until not so long ago – taken form only as fantasy or curiosity. But recently I got a taste of it for real, and since then I’ve just not been able to get it out of my mind.

1-240x180The fantasy master in question is strict, sadistic, centred in his own being as a master and detached towards his slave – clear that the slave is there purely for his (the master’s) pleasure. I once read a Recon profile of a master from Malaysia who claimed to practice an Eastern version of the master-slave tradition, and while it would be dodgy to see this as a characteristic of all – or only – East Asian doms, I have noticed it as a trait in some. (I remember once being on my knees in a backstreet bar, looking up into the cool blue eyes of such a guy, as his fingers inflicted the most searing pain on my nipples. He had just the faintest hint of a smile on his very handsome face. Man, that was hot!)

So, while away a couple of weeks ago I get a message from a guy on Grindr who’s clearly interested in the fact I’m wearing a chastity device. We chat on and off throughout the day. It’s clear that English is not his first language, and that, despite being young (only 28), he’s pretty experienced as a master. As it turned out, he was Japanese; and if you were looking for a bit more evidence of a different kind of master-slave mindset, you could argue he provided it.

To cut a long story short, by the end of the afternoon, I had fetched up at his place for an hour of play. Play was maybe – definitely – not quite the right word: though not unplayful, this guy was clearly a tough master.

“You would quiver before my punishments”, I remember him writing in one of his earlier messages. And on my knees, being lashed hard by his belt (it took the best part of a week for the marks to disappear), I could believe it. Even so, as this was a first meet, he  was probably breaking me in relatively gently by his standards.

I’ve had thrashings like this before, but here was also something different: an emphasis on strict discipline. “You need properly training”, he said. The correct position to receive his belt was on all fours, my head up, looking forward. In addition – get this – he popped an egg, still cold from the fridge, into my mouth.

“You must not break the egg, or else I’ll punish you more”. But of course within just a few seconds one of my teeth had bitten into it making a hole. Further lashes of the belt followed. And, predictably, I let out a yell of pain.

1-240x180“Don’t make noise. Take it silently”. So this was the discipline. Taking the blows; controlling my response to the pain, trying to stay calm so as not to break the egg in my mouth. This was something new, something else. Going beyond submissiveness. The subjugation, the abjection of a slave.

At the time I questioned whether I was enjoying this. The guy gave little away, was detached, hard to read. Yet, he held my gaze when I looked him in the eyes while the back of his hand slapped my face. There was connection, and a faint smile which communicated an elusive hint of warmth behind the cool exterior.

At the end of it, I left with the taste of his cum still in my mouth. (None issued from me of course.) “Next time we’ll have a cup of tea”, he said. Ha! There’s humanity there, even as we experienced the frisson of going outside the (western?) liberal humanist way of things. And yes, I do want to go back.

In the end, the meet I was planing with Master Chris never came off – he couldn’t swap his day off to meet when I was free. But it’s still on the cards, so who knows? Well, he does. He’s adamant I’m going to serve him, and periodically we still check in with one another to keep the communication channels open. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt as a BDSMer it’s that you need patience.

Meantime, all has not been uneventful. During my last trip away I did have a couple of brief encounters – one of them with a pretty powerful young master (Grindr seems awash with 28-year old tops, who don’t seem to have any hesitation about hooking up with older guys). I hope to write about that soon.


The agreement I had with Master Chris last week would be that I would be his slave just until the weekend, for the last bit of my trip away. And that this brief, fixed-term arrangement would end once I was home.

But, as is abundantly clear from my last post, I haven’t been able to pull out of that slave space mentally. Funnily enough, he rumbled this in a message conversation we had last night.

We were looking to fix up a possible in-person meet next week. I mentioned to him that in the meantime I’d got another meet pencilled in for later this week with another top:

“He may want me to cum”

“Just tell him you’re under my control

“Ok, I’ll put that to him”

“Good boy. You sure you’re not my slave anymore?

“I’m not sure”

“Cause you seem to be doing as I want”

“You’re not technically my master again yet”

“No I know but as you pointed out you’re not sure you ever stopped being my slave”

He’s right of course. In my own mind I haven’t ever stopped being his slave – not for one  solitary moment. Every minute of the day I wait for a text from him, long to be under his power. Want to serve him.

We’re planning to meet next week. I cancelled my meet with the other guy.

For  three days last week I became the online slave of Master Chris. Just three days, yet it feels like three weeks. Probably because those days were part of a highly sexed-up week. that just added to their sheer intensity. Yet I can’t deny  there was also some kind of hot connection in its own right. And now that moment’s over I miss it. Miss him, if I’m honest.

This wasn’t the beginning, and it may not be the end of things either. It all started a few weeks ago, when I was away visiting family, and he found me on Grindr. Young top/dom aged 28, looking for a hook up, clearly turned on in his own fantasy by the profile image of me in my leather harness, and keen to get into a kinky, sub/Dom based relationship. We couldn’t meet then –  neither of us free at the same time, and nowhere to meet. But we chatted a lot, and he also checked in over the next couple of weeks on the odd occasions I’d uploaded Grindr again.

And then, when I was away last week, the whole thing took on a new dynamic. He’d looked in again on Grindr, and this time, to cut a long story short, I let him take charge. I offered him control of my cock for the rest of my time away, and it was immediately locked, the key sealed in a tamper-proof bag, and photographic evidence provided. And for the next few days he kept himself and me horned up by making me wear my rubber gear and send him photos, sometimes combined with WS activity. Fuck, the whole thing was so hot; the guy has a natural dom streak, which I seemed to bring out in him.

So we may yet do what he mooted when we first spoke: hook up in a hotel room on some future visit to my family, near where he lives. Originally I wasn’t sure about the idea, and I’m still a bit hesitant now: although some guys love hotel room sex, I can’t quite shake off the sleazy overtones. But right now I want to do it. Right now, I miss not getting texts from him, even though it’s not been 48 hours since we last communicated. Although the whole thing might blow over before too long, I feel a new story may have begun.