Masochist Mistress #MasturbationMonday

It’s not a surprise to anyone that I’m a masochist, but the second part of the title might raise an eyebrow or two. I’m not mistress for just anyone, I’m not mistress very often, but I am mistress sometimes.  Let me tell you about the experience that started me thinking about this.

Last weekend was packed and it ended with a visit to the BBB aftermath.  Hubby and I were both rather knackered after getting no sleep whatsoever because of attending Club Lash with our tombola and then doing a day at the BBB market with said tombola too.  But I was excited to be attending  Aftermath with fantastic friends we know from the Manchester scene.

Masochist me was very ready for a beating and was thrilled to get two. Starting out with my wonderful husband  beating me with lots of fun things from our kitbag and also a borrowed venator. (thanks Maenad of Dionysus& RicJH!)  I especially enjoyed the venator, it was gloriously thuddy.

It’s been a while since we’ve played like that, so it was good to connect in a kink way. It was maybe not the most satisfying play, as we were both tired and a bit self-conscious as the aftermath play space is very open and at the time there were many people standing around the edges watching. Also, it was very loud, so it was a little difficult to communicate. I waved manically if I needed to get hubby’s attention.  But we got some good rhythm going, hubs hit me with some of his favourite things (though there wasn’t enough room to swing Smaug the dragontail safely) and my bottom got lovely and warm.

Something like buses, 2 beatings often come at once, or at least shortly after each other. So whilst the others covered Maenad in wax (which sounds like it was much fun to be fair) I got my second beating this time at the hands of the wonderfully evil Avalon Isle.

The crowds had thinned a bit, so although I was on a platform, on a high spanking bench, I wasn’t aware of anyone else. Just AI.

I don’t know if I was noisy because AI was particularly mean-and dear reader, he was definitely extra mean- or because it was so loud anyway, but I let rip. I’m not the quietest person in the world, to be fair but when I’m self-conscious I try to hold back the noises as I’m never quite sure what might come out of my mouth.

I did try hard not to be loud. When I was in the hotel room later I was confused by the big red circles of lipstick on the fleshy bit of my hand just beside the thumb. It took me a while to realise it was from where I’d been biting myself to try and keep quiet.

Squeaks, squeals, screams and howls escaped my lips as the beating progressed.  I have no idea if AI could hear over the cacophony of other noises or if I was just serenading myself. But I just couldn’t hold back. He used lots of heavy, hitty paddles and 2 (yes 2 ) different evil canes. One thick, one thin. Both evil in different, long lasting ways.

It was the hardest he’s beaten me, so far, (yes, that might be a challenge. I am a bit of a brat after all) and I really was all consumed with holding on for the ride. Caught in that beautifully brutal space between happy endurance and it being just too much.

When there was a break to change implement, I panted hard, drawing in lungfuls of air. Recovering from taking the onslaught of pain and waiting, always waiting for more.  Always wanting more.

Pain slut, that’s me.

I was a little disappointed when the beating stopped, I always am, but after head strokes and hugs, I felt content. Masochist me was sated, at least for a while.

It was a few hours later, in a dingy hotel room with twin beds (hubby had ordered a double but lacked the energy to complain) after food had been consumed and feet had been rested that mistress came out to play.

Hubby has had a desire to be pegged for quite some time. It has been played out in fantasies and dirty talk since we first met with a little play to accompany all the sexy words. We even got a fabulous orange peg from Godemeiche a couple of years ago and a pretty harness to put it in. Life got in the way, though and we never got round to using it. Even though we wanted to.

On Sunday night, my husband’s fantasy came true

It started slow with lots and lots of lube (system Jo, water based, fab stuff) as all good anal stories should start. Then a finger, just one. Gently applied until he moaned and gasped and pushed back for more. Once it was obvious he was ready for more I used the peg. Long, thin with a large flared base. It’s not much thicker than one of my fingers but it is much longer.  I didn’t use it in the harness at first, aware that this was his first time and my first time. I wanted it to be special. So I was cautious, I didn’t want to rush.

It was a thrill to see the peg pushing inside him, I loved feeling the resistance fall away as I fucked it to and fro and adored the whimpers from my sexy hubby as he wiggled joyfully on the bed. His butt beckoning me to fuck it. I couldn’t want a moment longer.

Now sliding the red satin harness up my legs, my peg like cock attached, was pretty damn sexy as it was. However, my bum was red, hot and hard and sliding the harness up that tender flesh was ecstatic. I loved that when the harness was in place, the straps dug in to cup my bottom, where it was most painful.

I held hubby’s hips as I fucked him hard, kissed his back as I fucked him slow. I was consumed by the need to pleasure him, to give him everything he dreamed of. Serving him even as I topped him.

There was a wonderful juxtaposition between the power and control of fucking my husband, sliding in deep enough to bang my body off his, and the stinging bruises, a reminder of me submissively taking earlier beatings.

It was hot as fuck.

He called me mistress, I didn’t ask him to but he did. He begged me to fuck him. I called him my butt slut. And when we moved position, there was a wet spot on the duvet. I was so proud of that. I rode his face then, so incredibly turned on. Mistress me took my hard, intense orgasm from his lips. The throbbing pain of marks encouraging me to move more frantically against his face.

I’m a merciful mistress, so when I could once again see straight, I took hubby’s erection in hand. I talked dirty as I stroked his cock, the control of him and his pleasure surging through my veins, mixing with the intoxicating ecstasy of agony, as I sat ,rocking against my marks until he came and we collapsed, exhaustion taking over.

It shouldn’t work, marks of submission pushing me on to greater heights of domination. But it did work, it worked very well.

I couldn’t be mistress for just anyone, in fact, I honestly don’t know if I could be mistress for anyone other than my husband. Feeling his joy, his ecstasy and knowing it was all in my control was heady. Fulfilling his long held fantasy pleased me deep down to my soul.

Masochist Mistress.

A paradox maybe, but definitely me.



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