Wicked Wednesday: Claire, paid in full

Claire stood up, and I held her. She put her arms round me and pressed her body tight.I kissed her forehead, and she let her head hang over my shoulder, weeping silently. Or mostly silent. 

I put my hands on her poor, welted bottom and she hissed in her breath. But I pressed harder, then began to knead that flesh, knowing that it would hurt but that she would experience it as a kind of relief. 

At last she left her face and looked up at me. “Do you think I’ve paid yet? Have I had enough? It hurts soooo much.” 

I had never felt that she had done anything wrong. But we were doing this to work out her guilt for fucking her husband’s friend.

My instinct said she needed more, before she would definitely forgive herself.

She needed to remember this as the time she’d been driven to the edge of what she could stand, and then taken further. So I said, “Your arse is likely to hurt for about a week and a half. Then the marks will be gone, and this will be a memory. You’ll need to rely on that memory to feel you’ve paid. So… what do you think, Claire. Have you paid, or do you need more?”

“Oh god, sir. It really hurts. I never got the cane like that when I was a girl. But… I think I need another dozen, at least.”

So I kissed her mouth, and we held each other like lovers. She could feel me hardening for her. Because the sexiest thing, between her and I, as the punisher and the punished, was not her beautiful naked body.

Nor her helpless presentation over my desk, or her gasps and stripes as the cane did its work, wonderfully hot though those things all were, but her acceptance and submission. We were going to fuck as soon as possible after this had finished. I knew she felt that desire too, that powerful sexual heat from her own submission, though we didn’t speak about it.

Instead I patted her poor, ridged and welted bottom. Her eyes told me she didn’t feel that as pain. “Then go back to the desk, Claire. And bend over.”

Claire nodded, then looked up to kiss me one last time. “Yes, Sir.” I released her and she turned back to the desk, where Maddie was waiting for her. Maddie kissed her mouth too, then helped her down.

I did not believe Claire deserved this punishment. And I knew she needed it. She had to forgive herself, and have that forgiveness stay securely with her. So I raised the cane again, and whipped it down, biting into the backs of her legs, at the softest, best padded part of her upper thighs. Claire screamed, all of her former dignity and self-restraint gone in one stroke, while Maddie held her firmly down.

 

Masturbation Monday: Gentlemen take iPhotos

Roland had just told Teresa that he wasn’t going to let her into his flat any more, or not with clothes on. She wasn’t sure he really meant that. There were practical objections; she was sure she could think of several. But there was only one sexy answer, and just then the sexy answer was the only one possible. Teresa said, “Yes, sir.”

He knew, his grin said, that he was being silly. But at the same time, he’d meant what he said. He said, “My bedroom’s down that corridor. First on the left. Bed, Teresa. Now.”

Teresa turned to obey. She took a step, then stopped. “You should take photos of my arse.”

“I suppose so. This is your first spanking, at least from me­–”

“No, that makes it the first. At all. Don’t forget that you’re a weirdo. Statistically speaking.”

“But it’s not going to be the last, is it?”

Teresa looked back at him. “I’ve got a feeling it might not be.”

“So, hold still. You’re right: you should have a photo of your first. Put your hands on your head.”

“Yeah? Why?” 

Roland looked surprised. “In all honesty, I don’t actually know. It just makes you look sexy.”

Looking sexy was no bad thing. Teresa obeyed, and watched him gawk at her. Then he took her in with his phone camera. “Yeah. First photo. Teresa spanked. The day your life changed, and you became accountable to me.”

She turned back to face him. “Oh?”

“Don’t you think?” Then he suddenly looked much, much less cheerful. “Sorry, I should have said that better. I wasn’t really thinking, and I just blurted out what I feel. I’m sorry. So this is a question: do you feel that you’d like to be accountable to me?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You mean you’ll beat my ass if I don’t do as I’m told?” She tried to make that sound absurd. She knew that in this room, with just the two of them, it didn’t sound absurd at all. It didn’t even sound wrong.

“That’s exactly what I mean. And more. Well?”

“Then yes, ok. I do. And more.” She thought for several long moments about what she felt like saying, and then said it. “Sir.”

“Also, I should take more photos of your arse right now because you look incredibly sexy. Now stand in the corner.”

Teresa moved to the corner, glancing facing back at him. “This better?”

“You look spectacular. Just … debauched.”

“Heh. I’m ‘debauched’. You’re the pervert. Can I move now?”

“No. Stay there. And look pretty. And… hold.”

She heard him taking photos, from different angles.

Eventually he smacked her bottom, lightly, with his phone. “Off you go, spank-victim. Bedroom on the left.”

Sinful Sunday: The prie-dieu

A beautiful girl bends over a prie-dieu. Waiting for the riding crop.

The prie-dieu was once a religious tool, for waiting humbly while addressing a god: why is life so hard? Why are you punishing me? How can I serve you better? 

I saw this one in an antique shop somewhere in the Australian outback, and immediately knew that I had to have it, for depraved, kinky purposes. The overlap between religion and bdsm is deep and emotionally complex. But it’s not today’s topic.

Today’s topic is peace. There’s always great calm before the storm, and there’s a different kind of calm afterwards. So here she is: beautiful, calm, conscious of the future.

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Back to Claire in the headmaster’s office

I raised the cane. I said, “Ready?”

Claire made only nasal noises in response. She was still getting used to the plug. I swung the cane a little harder than for her first six, and she wailed, and the seventh line rose and filled with fluid and color on her perfect bottom. The jewel in her ass began to dance, weaving and bobbing, while I delivered the next five strokes.

I said, “That’s your first dozen, Claire.”

Claire only groaned, despairing. If there was a ‘first dozen’ there must be a second one. I felt sympathetic for her about that. I’d caned her hard.

But before Claire could forgive herself, she needed to feel she’d done something genuinely challenging. And she couldn’t be a good mother to Tara, I also suspected, until that self-forgiveness came.

So I took no break. I only said, “Hold Claire down, Maddie. She is not to get up until I say.”

“Yes sir.”

“Claire.”

“Sir?” She raised her head. She was still weeping, her cheeks streaked with mascara.

“The next dozen is going to be hard and fast. I won’t be concerned with how you feel about it, only with punishing you. But I want you to think about Tara. And being a better, stronger mother for your daughter. She’s going to need you.”

Claire nodded, then let her head drop, gazing onto the desk. I said, “What do you say?”

“Oh! I say Yes Sir! I’m sorry!”

“That’s two extra strokes, Claire. Forget again and the penalty will go up.”

“I won’t forget. Sorry, Sir!”

“Here’s your dozen, Claire.” I raised the cane and swung it hard and fast, striking across the soft undercurve of her bottom, just above her thighs. Claire shouted and her legs left the floor. I didn’t wait for her to resume self-control, but swung again, keeping the strokes coming hard and fast, striping her from that undercurve up to a little way past the crown of her buttocks. Claire screamed and rocked under the cane, continuously.

Until we were finished her second dozen. Claire still moaned, bent over my desk. She said, at last, “Oh god, my ass hurts so bad. This is so hard. But it has to be hard, I understand that. I know I’m doing this for Tara. And for me. I want you to make sure, Sir. I don’t feel you’re finished yet. I don’t think you should be.”  

I put the cane to Claire’s mouth for her to kiss. She did. I said, “Claire. you’ve got another dozen to come. At least that.”

“God. That’s right, I mean I need that. But it’s so hard.”

“We’ll look after you, Claire. But we’ll give you a little break first. Stand up, Claire. Maddie, help her up.”  

Masturbation Monday: Dazed and bizarrely comfortable

Back in the taxi Roland had promised Teresa, into her ear so the driver wouldn’t hear, that her spanking would be the “can’t sit down” kind.

That was probably true, not because of pain but because sitting down would be the last thing she’d want to do when this spanking stopped. If it ever was going to stop. For now she was content to lie over his legs, tightly held, his hand landing over and over on her bare ass.

His hand was warm, comforting as well as mildly painful. Her arse felt glorious: warm, sexy, teased. She was in no hurry for this to stop. Neither was he, it seemed. 

But at last he rested his hand on her arse, and she could feel her own heat, and his. She expected her skin was the brightest red colour it had ever been. She’d never felt quite so confident that a man liked what he saw, as she did just then.

He said, “All right, Teresa. That was your lesson: once you’ve started calling a man sir, it’s not safe to brat him. Not without consequences. But you’re done now. Up you get.”

But Teresa was too dazed and too bizarrely comfortable to want to move.

She watched her hair brushing on his carpet, and wondered again what colour her ass was – scarlet? crimson? somewhere around that part of the spectrum – and what it would take to get him to start again. And then, suddenly and treacherously, he pushed her and she tumbled onto that carpet.

She slid her hands under her bottom and squeezed tight, glaring up at him. He only smiled down at her. “Stand up, Teresa, and take your clothes off. All of them.”

Teresa considered defiance. But the spanking part of the evening, though it had been hot, and fun, was over. And undressing was something she’d been meaning to do anyway. So she removed silks and velvet, finally dropping the long skirt he’d pushed up to her waist, and stood facing him in just her corset, feet slightly apart, hands at her sides.

Roland regarded her gravely. He was still seated, still fully dressed. Finally he said, “You are amazingly beautiful. And completely, utterly desirable. I’m going to take that corset off before I fuck you. Because it’s more comfortable for me that way.” He looked her in the eyes.

Debbie decided not to fight on the corset issue. For now. Because when he’d claimed to want it off solely for his own comfort he’d been winding her up, and, she guessed, hoping she’d rise to the challenge. “Yes, sir.” But she didn’t take it off.

So he raised the stakes. “I don’t think I’m going to let you wear clothes in this flat again. From now on, you strip when you get in the door. Understood?”

Sinful Sunday: Her in doors

Arethusa has been spanked long and hard over his knee, on her bottom and the backs of her thighs. Not for any fault; just for the sensuality and the emotion of it. Now she waits obediently while her Master takes a break. She stands as he told her, between the two doors that emphasise the different ways they can go, now.

The next stage will bring sharper pain than his hand; she knows that. But she doesn’t know which implement she should be preparing herself for. It will hurt, heat and mark her: that’s all she knows. In the last stage he will take her, but she doesn’t know which part of her body he will use. She’s not even sure which she hopes for. There’s something sweet about it not being her choice.

Doors are choices. They open into the future. But a submissive doesn’t choose which door opens. Arethusa waits.   

Wicked Wednesday: House of Pleasure 3

Ruxana lay quieter than Nana had when I tongued her, and didn’t block my ears with her thighs. So I heard an amused feminine murmur and a stifled laugh. I frowned, though since my face was between her long, slender thighs, no one saw or noticed.

I guessed that Nana, Ruxana and I were making a show for some of the whores who I hadn’t chosen. There would be, must be, a peep hole somewhere that allowed them to watch. Then I decided that I didn’t care. I continued to pleasure Ruxana, who finally lost her relaxed posture, held my head tightly as if trying to wrench it off, and screamed to fill the room.

By the time she completed her climax, or series of climaxes, my manhood was once again standing in women’s honour and service. I rolled Ruxana over, and with gestures and a slap to her bottom encouraged her to present herself for me on her hands and knees. I admired once more that perfect bottom she had shown me when she posed naked with Nana, at the beginning of this encounter. I put my knees between hers and entered her, until that deliciously round and firm bottom pressed back firmly against me. 

As I took Ruxana Nana came to stare into my eyes and press my nose between her breasts while I rode her friend. Ruxana and I were both well pleasured and well pleased with each other, and we moved slowly, unhurried, lost in the sweetness of skin against skin.

Nana sometimes pressed her breasts against my face and sometimes lowered herself to kiss my mouth. Though I was riding Ruxana, I couldn’t help wishing there was some way of taking Nana with me into Persia.   

But Ruxana suddenly released her breath hard and then held her next breath, working her bottom hard against me. I only had to keep still, presenting, while she worked her way to her third climax. Her arms had collapsed and her face and breasts rested on the bed. She looked up at me, eyes half closed, smiling. She said, “Yavrucuq.” 

Of course I did not know the word, but I said, “Yavrucuq” back to her, and then to Nana, and we all three laughed delightedly, pleased with ourselves for having one word in common, and that an endearment. 

Nana took Ruxana’s place, and I soon found that although I was exhausted she demanded a rougher and more energetic ride than Ruxana. But when we had both spent I knew I really was exhausted beyond recovery.

I told them they were most beautiful, and if it were possible I’d take them both with me to Persia, and they listened and kissed me at random moments since nothing I said made any sense to them. Except in my tone of voice, which is part of that universal language that cannot be translated and needs no translation.

So when I rose from the bed they scrubbed me again, and kissed my manhood again, addressing me and it as yavrucuq before letting it be clothed.

They said other things to me that I no more understood that they had understood what I had said to them. But it was clear that I’d be welcome, should I ever return to Baku.

We embraced each other, and they withdrew through a door I hadn’t even noticed at the rear of the room, leaving me to return to the ante-room, where Sorouf sat with his girl, conversing and drinking something green.

(I’m afraid that’s all there is, of orientalist erotica. For now, anyway.)

Masturbation Monday: Another one just like it

Teresa sprawled over Roland’s knee. He’d promised her a spanking when they arrived at his home, and they’d been there for all of quarter of an hour. He was delivering. His hand landed on her bottom and sometimes, more painfully, on the backs of her thighs.

Teresa held on tight to his right leg for balance and sometimes kicked her legs, though that was mostly for his benefit. She knew he was roused by this, only partly because of the hard mass pressed against her right thigh.    

Her long velvet skirt was pulled up and piled at her waist. His hand held her firmly, keeping the skirt out of the way, and her ass in harm’s way.

This hadn’t quite what she’d intended when she’d saved him the bother of removing her panties, by not wearing any.

She’d decided to wear nothing under her skirt several hours earlier, because she’d hoped they might go out after the Real Vampire social. She’d planned to walk him to a taxi stand through the nearby cemetery afterwards and suddenly demand to be fucked. That’d be splendidly goth, and it’d disconcert him a little, she was sure. And he’s still rise to the occasion. But there’d happened to be a taxi outside the pub and he’d hailed it.

Anyway, now she was getting that promised spanking, it made no difference; it would have taken him at most a few seconds to pull them down and off.

He took his time, his land landing every ten seconds, not too hard. The heat and the soreness were cumulative things. Both had built up slowly but surely as her spanking continued. She knew that she was colouring for him; he’d said more than once how very prettily red her arse and legs were turning.

He’d have to do this a lot in the future, he’d claimed.  

TTeresa had said nothing, but she thought he was probably right. Not all fantasies turn out well, when realized, but this one was. She yelped suddenly, not because he’d smacked her but because he’d stopped and slid his hand into the damp valley between her buttocks and his fingers into her cunt

Roland wasn’t gentle, but she made a quiet moaning sound, riding his lap as he pleasured her. She made a deeper, louder, moan a few minutes later when the movements of her hips were becoming emphatic and he stopped stroking her and resumed her spanking, a little harder.

This happened twice more, and eventually she knew, objectively, that she was being spanked hard now, but there was not the slightest sense of pain. Only arousal, and the desire that each smack should be followed by another one just like it.

Sinful Sunday: Untidy

Arethusa would smile at her marks when she saw them in the bedroom mirror, ruled straight and neat across her bottom. 

This was a punishment for untidiness, that had meant she’d lost all her university assignment materials, so that she was already late with an essay before she’d started it. So we searched her bedroom, and finally found the papers among stacks of paper concerning other things.

So she did the essay first, with me helping on the appendices. Then she tidied her room, with her Master watching her, cane in hand.

Then, and only then, she could bend over and receive the punishment that had been hanging over her for about a day and a half. 

It was one of her more severe lessons. I’d worked up a steam of righteous masterly wrath. But the harshest thing, in a way, was my making the marks deliberately messy. No tidy collection of lines. When she looked at them in the mirror, they reminded her of the consequences of messiness. 

(But when you have a Master, loving but with a taste for giving her stripes and tears, and a masochistic slavegirl, can you stop her caning from being sexy? No, it turned out we couldn’t. Worthy experiment, though.)

Wicked Wednesday: House of Pleasure 2

When I was scrubbed pink and clean, and patted dry, Nana led me to the bed, her hand holding me by my manhood.

The previous time I’d been with two women at once they had desired each other as well as men and, I suspect, they had hunted together before, choosing a man they both wanted. So in bed they had entertained each other with cunnilingus at times I was recovering my powers.

But Ruxana and Nana seemed to have no interest in each other, though they made each other laugh and were on sisterly terms despite their slightly competitive approach to me a little earlier. So I took Nana first. She was an energetic and comfortable ride, once we got to grips with each other.

Ruxana kissed me while I rode Nana. And unavoidably, though I was trying to save myself, I came in her, and that was sweeter than sugar. Nana kissed me like a lover, and then pressed my head down, gently encouraging, and trying to suffocate me, pleasurably, between her breasts. 

Then, with only a little encouragement from Nana’s tongue and mouth to get hard again I did the same, mutatis mutandum, for Ruxana. But when I was spent for the second time, and both girls were also happy, I knew that I didn’t want to quit them, and they showed a flattering disinclination to let me go.

So I pushed Nana down and put my hands under her splendid bottom and applied my tongue to her.

She seemed astonished at first, but she was soon happy to lie back, holding my head and writhing under me, to be pleasured. I wondered at that, because it seemed unlikely that a woman in her profession would not have encountered cunnilingus before.

But then, I expect that not a lot of women got their private parts kissed and licked in Kentucky, where I came of age. I had not been taught the skill till I first reached Paris a few years later.

Perhaps Nana had not yet encountered it, or she hadn’t expected it from a man. When Nana had raised her legs in the air and squealed triumphantly, I kissed her, my face still wet with her, and rolled over, pulling Ruxana into her place.

I kissed Ruxana’s breasts while Nana stroked me, keeping her breasts pressed firmly against my side and in my awareness. Ruxana looked at me, eyebrows raised. She wanted to say something, but neither of us knew a word of the other’s language. Still, the happy sound she made when I kissed her navel, and lowered my head further confirmed that I had read her right.