Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap 4

I said, “Maddie’s quite right. You do have beautiful breasts.”

And I raised the strap while Claire watched me like a mouse watches a snake, and brought it down on her right palm. She hissed in a breath, and then stood there, feet slightly apart, not reacting. As though it hadn’t hurt, which it clearly had. I admired her self-discipline. She said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Good girl. Brave girl. Hold your left hand out now, Claire. The penalty stroke will be the last one, so long as you behave.”

Claire offered her palm. Her breasts trembled and there was a muscle all a-tremor in her belly, and her slightly plump thighs shook. Fear, I guessed, and excitement. She would need my cock – anyone’s cock, in a sense, but mine at this moment – seconds after I’d finished her caning.

I looked her in her eyes, and she stared back at me. She knew what she was asking from me, the unspoken things, and she knew she was going to get them. She had had a long sexual drought, and it was bout to break. Eventually, though the moment between us was very deep, and utterly serious, I smiled, and she did too, with relief.

I swung the strap down, hard, and it smacked on her hand, which she kept in place. This time she made the pain faces, hissing in her breath, without closing her eyes. She gazed at me while the pain sank in, and eventually said, “Thank you, sir.”

I said, as courteously and ceremonially as I could, “Thank you, Claire. Your strapping is over.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

“From now on, Claire, you listen carefully to the orders I give you, and you obey them. Obey them quickly. But we’re done with that now. You can put your hands at your sides.”

“Sir. Thank you sir.” Claire relaxed, putting her weight on her right leg and bending the other slightly, like a Greek sculpture.

“Take your panties off, Claire.”

“Yes, sir.” She reached her poor strapped hands down, to tuck her thumbs under the hems of her panties, and shucked them swiftly down to her knees. She put her feet closer together so the panties fell to the floor, and then bent forward, breasts swinging, to pick them up. They joined the rest of her clothes on the chair.

I put the strap on the desk, so she knew it wasn’t necessarily gone. She could still feel it again if she disobeyed. But I said, “Good girl. Oh, and Maddie, that will be all.”

Maddie nodded, whispered a “Thank you, sir” at me, and left.

Claire waited, beautiful, naked, knees trembling slightly, about to be caned. She’d begged for the cane, but now it was coming it was still fearsome.

I held my arms out to her. “Come here.”

Lasshole fucker 4

Freddie’s cock pressed against Ngaire’s asshole. That was not a position any other man had been permitted before, let alone the privilege he was about to take. Ngaire had reached back to hold herself open for him, both to signal her acceptance and, she hoped, to make this first entry less painful. 

Freddie said, “You’re ok?” 

Ngaire shook her head into the pillow. That meant yes. She remembered she had to speak. “Go on. Freddie. Please. Fuck me.” Then she spoiled it a little by saying, “I think.”

He put his hands on her hips, to hold her steady, or to let her feel that he was in control. And pressed forward. Ngaire felt the pressure build then, then suddenly it was gone.Her little muscled ring suddenly opened for him, without the pain she’d expected. Then there was a slight twinge, nothing more, as he moved further forward, so all of the head of his cock was in her.

She took several deep breaths, willing herself to relax. 

For a time he did not move, except for a slight trembling. He was holding himself back, with just the head of his cock inside her. There, her muscles were stretched further than they ever had been before. But there was no hurt, now it was done and she allowed herself to get used to his intrusion. He said, “I’m going to fuck you now. Ngaire, you’re to tell me if it hurts, or you need me to stop, or to withdraw. Is that clear?”

Ngaire considered. Being fucked sounded like a good idea. Her face and breasts pressed against her mattress. And her knees and feet. Her ass was up, and now partly full of cock. She smiled at that thought. Then she felt a sharp impact, his hand on the side of her hip. The smack rang in the room, in her ears. “Ngaire.” There was warning in his voice. “I need you to speak. You tell me if it hurts. Clear?” 

You just smacked me! Now you say you don’t want to hurt me? Ngaire thought that, but didn’t say it. Anyway, the smack had got her attention, and it hadn’t actually hurt. She said, “Clear.”

“That’s better, Ngaire. Good girl. So don’t forget. If it doesn’t feel right, at any stage I can stop and I will.” He held her hips firmly again, and pressed forward. Ngaire breathed out while the cock entered her. It was strange, and new, and not sore. The magic of lube, she supposed.

The sensation changed when he had entered her fully, and her ass pressed back against his lower belly and thighs. She’d thought this would be good for him, and do nothing much for her.

But when he was deep in her asshole, it was as if she could feel it in her cunt. it felt dark and strong.

They stayed pressed against each other, and by the time he started to move, to withdraw and then drive his cock forward into her, she had been desperate for him to begin. After a time she began to respond, to move with him.   

They were still moving excruciatingly slowly, It was Ngaire who sped up. She found that each withdrawal needed a returning thrust, and she needed that to happen over and over, and always faster. She was roused now, and, impaled on his cock, she rode it and him. At some stage she lifted her head from the pillow and moaned. Freddie smacked her again, but lightly, encouragingly, and sped up some more. “Good girl,” he said. 

She hoped he’d smack her again, but harder. She couldn’t find or speak the words to ask for that. She was not, in any sophicated or elegant sense, herself. She just wanted this fuck to end in the climax she was struggling for, and for it to last forever. 

 

Sinful Sunday: Fixed

naked slave girl tied to table waiting for punishmentIn last week’s Sinful Sunday, Arethusa stood in disgrace, waiting, holding the cane between her buttocks, not allowed to move.

She’d missed two doctor’s appointments. That broke Master’s first and second rules for her: obedience, and taking proper care of herself. Master said he was going to help her, but first he had to punish her. The wait had helped her to accept both of those facts. 

Her Master took the cane from her at last, and led her to the kitchen table. He attached her wrists and ankles to spreader bars, and tied those bars, and therefore her, to the table. 

Then he took up the cane again. She heard him give it several practice swishes through the air, and she knew that he needed no practice. He just wanted her to hear that ominous sound. Her caning was going to be severe.

The skin of her buttocks and back was alive, glowing with a kind of anticipation. Some of it was fear, but not all of it. At least, and at last, things were about to start being made right.

Food for Thought Friday: Mistake

The morning after the party,

A bedroom door opened and Cassie emerged, in a manga tee-shirt that hung almost to her knees. Cassie was a doctor, a glowing light-brown woman with large, almost black eyes and an extraordinarily sweet face framed by medium-length black hair. She was small but contoured. She lifted weights.

Cassie was embarrassed to find me, and uncertain of her welcome. Last night she’d performed the party’s most spectacular piece of bad behaviour, launching a screaming attack on her best friend, accusing her of fucking her last boyfriend, of pretending to be sweet but always undermining her and other feminine offences.

It’d been the least fun part of the evening, but I’d already forgiven her because the outburst had been so out of character, and because, only a few minutes later, Cassie had fallen asleep in that same friend’s arms. Wine sometimes solves the problems that it creates.

But Cassie was hung over, embarrassed and ashamed, so I hugged her. I let her go when she winced. But she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, having dealt with her bladder and her head, and wrestled her way back into the hug. “I’m really sorry, Jaime. I don’t know what … Well, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, love, it’s okay. You’d had a bit of wine. And … you probably had reasons.” I found myself hugging Cassie with one arm while reaching down to squeeze her ass with my other hand.

Cassie rubbed my chest with her forehead. “No, I didn’t have reasons. Not good ones.”

“Well, okay, but I still know you’re a wee love. You’ve got years of credit with me; you can’t blow it in one evening.”

Cassie smiled up at me. “And I still don’t think it came from nowhere.” More smiles.

A nice man was being nice to her. And the ass-squeezing was probably a great comfort in her time of self-recrimination. Then information from that bottom-squeezing hand swamped my brain. I added, “Though … if you ever do anything like that again, Cassie, I’ll put you over my knee.”

It took me a moment to hear what I’d just said. I sounded like a roué in an ancient sex comedy, something black and white and British, on television at three in the morning, starring Terry-Thomas and Syd James. I’d kept bdsm hidden for years. I played bdsm with strangers, or I masturbated to dark fantasies, but I didn’t offer to spank my women friends. Or I hadn’t until just then.

It was the stupidest thing I’d ever said. I wanted to slap my forehead, but I was patting Cassie’s ass and in the absence of complaint from her I’d keep doing that. Still, I’d just threatened her with assault: low-level violence, some sexual content. We still hugged, but she was no longer holding an honourable gentleman.

Cassie didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t a gentleman. Her eyes widened, but she said, almost without a pause, “Yes, yeah, I know. You should.”

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap 3

Now she was standing before me, wearing only her silver-and-black panties, I realized even more powerfully what her clothes had hidden: Claire really was a very  beautiful, very desirable voluptuous woman.

For reasons that were half guilt and, I realized, half desire, she thought that she needed to be caned. I was starting to think I needed, or at least wanted, her.  I  also wanted to give her a compliment, but it would break the mood.

The silence between us reminded her. I’d said six strokes, and she’d had three. She looked into my eyes, and put her hands out again.

I raised the strap and swung it down on her left hand. After the clap of leather on flesh she raised her head and called like a wolf: “Hooooo!” I watched her breasts shake. “Thank you, sir.” She held out her right hand.

I strapped her again, and she jumped, and swore and took her hand away. I raised my eyebrows, and Claire offered up her palm again. “Sorry, sir. I’m just not very brave. Not really.”

I had wanted to praise her for her bravery. But I said, ”No, you’re not. You’re getting that stroke again, plus a penalty stroke. Keep your hand out, Claire, without any more fuss, or you’ll get the same on the backs of your legs.”

Oddly, that was the right thing to say. Claire relaxed a little, and said, “Thank you, sir.”

I gave her the fourth stroke again, and this time she took it in silence, except for a small, nasal sound of pain before she thanked me. Then I swung the strap down on her right hand, making the fifth stroke harder than any of the strokes she’d had till then. Claire suppressed a cry, through gritted teeth, closed her eyes and pulled her pain faces again, but she held her palm steady, and after a while she was able to breathe, “Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve got two strokes to go, Claire. The sixth stroke and one penalty stroke. Then we’ll be done. You can rub your hands for a moment, if you like.”

“Thank you, sir. Ahhh.” She rubbed her palms together, turning them as if she were trying to wash the pain off. 

Maddie knocked once while Claire was still rubbing, and immediately entered. Claire grabbed for her breasts, covering them with her hands. I said, “Claire. Get your hands away. Put those hands at your sides: now!”

Claire swallowed and stood there, almost naked, waiting for my next instruction. She was blushing a little. I had to work hard not to smile. “Maddie?”

I’ve called the two shops. Yes, they’ve had stock shrinkage. If we can stop that, and return the clothes in good condition, they’ll be happy not to prosecute.”

Claire made a sound through her nose. She’d have thanked Maddie imperiously, a while ago, but now her punishment had started, she was in a very humbled state of mind. 

I said, “Thank you very much, Maddie. You’re a good … secretary. Now, Claire, we’re not quite finished dealing with you, are we? Hold your right hand out.”

Claire obeyed. The world was doing too many strange things. But obedience was safe. Maddie stared at her, openly. She said, “You really do have beautiful breasts, Mrs. O’Donnell.” I raised the strap. Maddie did not leave.  

Lasshole fucker 3

Freddie handed Ngaire the bottle of lube. Ngaire took off the top, watching as he raised himself to his knees and straightened his back so she could reach his cock. He was hard again, the penis pointing at her. She was surprised. He wasn’t twenty and she’d lost count of the number of times they’d fucked that evening.

Steve, her ex-husband, would have been asleep after the first. She hadn’t liked the sexual enthusiasm of boys, when she was growing up. Maybe that was why she’d married Steve. It was hard, in retrospect, to think of reasons why. But there was Freddie’s hard cock in front of her, and he’d put a condom on it.

Ngaire blew it a kiss, and poured out a handful of lube, and took his cock in her hand, slowly stroking it up, from tip to base, then back again. Freddie grunted, and his cock moved in her hand. It was somehow harder, a little bigger in her hand. “Is that slippery enough for you? I suppose I should say, for me.”

“Bit more on the head. That’s the bit that’s going to open you. You can’t have too much lube there.” 

Ngaire got up to her knees too, and poured more lube onto her hand. She took his cock in her hand again, and pressed her body against his. She kissed him.

He responded, putting his hands on her arse and pulling her close. His cock, slippery as an eel, though firmer, pressed between her thighs.She gripped it tight, and he gasped. 

Eventually he whispered, “I’ll take you slow, and you’re to tell me if it hurts. Is that understood?”

That, Ngaire thought, would be the voice he gave orders to Daphne and Shar. “I’m all right. I’m not a princess.”

“Liar.”

“Heh. Then I mean I’m not made of glass.”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts. I need to know how you are.”

“What will you do if I don’t tell you it’s hurting? Spank me?”

“Heh. At least I’ll know that that’s hurting you, and how much. Also, I’d enjoy that, but in buttsex I’d hate to be hurting you. The goal is very much not to hurt you. But you, beautiful girl, should get back on your hands and knees, with that yummy ass up. Knees well apart.”

Ngaire felt the urge to say “yes, sir”. But she fought it down. Still, she did do as she was told. After all, they seemed like sensible instructions.  

She watched over her shoulder as he shuffled closer, until his knees were between hers. The head of his cock pressed against her perineum, and he put his hand on it to guide it to her little hole, about to have its first sexual experience.   

She remembered something she’d read somewhere, either in porn or some women’s magazine with twelve hot butt-fucking tips, and reached back with both hands. She held her own buttocks, and spread herself for him. 

He said, “Good girl.” She supposed those were the last words she would hear, as an anal virgin.

 

Sinful Sunday: Waiting, holding the cane

She stands up straight, as she’s been told. Master sits behind her. She thinks he’s reading a book. She’s to have the second instalment of her punishment for twice missing a doctor’s appointment. He knows that she was afraid that the doctor would find cancer, and though she knew it was stupid to delay finding out, she couldn’t face it. 

Master had said he was going to punish her for disobedience and for failing to look after herself, which were the two most serious offences under his rules. She’d already had a hand spanking and a session with his belt. But they’d felt good, apart from his disappointment in her: that had hurt.

But the real punishment was yet to come. He’d put the cane between her buttocks and told her to make sure she held it while she waited. She wouldn’t enjoy what would happen if she let it fall. 

So she waits, with the cold, hard instrument pressing into her. Until she is called. 

 

Post-script: They made another appointment, and he took her to the doctor himself, and came into the appointment with her. So he was with her to hear that her tests had come back negative. She was spanked (but not caned) again that night, but warmly and lovingly, out of relief. 

 

Friday Flash: Unwound

Carola had just told James Cerise, owner and director of Cerice Corp, to stick his job up his arse and fuck himself with it. Then she’d slapped the lecherous old gargoyle’s face, and taken the lift to the ground floor. But on the ground she saw young Frank Cerise clear security. She smiled radiantly at him and waved him over.

His face cleared. He knew his father’s secretary, and his eyes followed her like Mary’s lamb whenever they were in the same room. She’d never invited him to anything before. So he smiled and came over. 

Frank joined her. “Hi, Carola. How’s Dad?”

She kissed him passionately. “Shut up.”

He said, “Whuh?’ Carola took a thin strip from her purse.

“Hands out. Wrists together!”

He looked at her, frowning in disbelief.

She slapped him, not quite as she’d hit his father. “As you’re TOLD!”

“My god.” He held out his arms, and Carola quickly wound the plastic round his wrists, ending with a graceless but effective tie. She used her card to take the lift back up to his father’s floor, where it opened directly into his office. She was in luck; it hadn’t yet been cancelled.

“No gods involved. Now fuck me.” Carola pulled her skirt up and bent over, shoving her ass against his quickly stiffening cock.

He said, “Yes. Mistress?” There was a questioning tone to that last word.

Carola straightened, turned and slapped him again. “Mistress. You should know that.” She undid his pants, letting his cock free. She turned and bent again, and guided it between soft firm thighs.

He grunted with pleasure. “Oh, Mistress.”

She took his wallet and used his security card to stop the lift between floors. She dropped the wallet on the floor, but tucked his card into her bra. She didn’t want him to have it. Frank was rutting against her ass, trying to get his cock inside.

Carola stood. “No, boy. On second thoughts, get down on your knees. Get your tongue out for me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” When he was in place she used another thin strip to tie two of his belt loops to his shoelaces, so he couldn’t rise.

His cock poked out between the tails of his shirt. 

He was about  learn something about fantasies. Carola re-started the lift and sent it up to the next floor. She stepped out quickly, allowing it to continue its journey, up to James Cerise’s office. 

 

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap 2

I raised the strap over my shoulder, and then swung it down, so it impacted on Claire’s proffered palm, with a loud crack.

“Jesus!” Claire gasped, and gripped her sore right hand in her left, then shook it.

“We’re going to have that stroke over, Claire.”

Her face fell.

“And this time, when I’ve strapped your hand, you hold it in place. Keep your palm upwards, and don’t take your hand away again. That’s a warning. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry sir.”

I raised the strap again. Claire suddenly said, “Thank you, sir. Even if I messed it up. Thank you, sir.”

“That’s better.” I swung the strap down again, landing firmly across that right palm. Claire shut her eyes tight and pulled faces, unhappy, painful faces, but she made no protest and her hand stayed held out for me, in place. She took three deep breaths and said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Good. Other hand. Hold it steady.”

Claire held her left arm straight out, her palm flat and uppermost. She gazed into my eyes. I swung the strap down, on her left hand. After the ringing impact she shook her head but managed to keep her palm out. “Oooh. Ow! Oh! Fuck! Thank you sir!”

I smiled at her. “Keep that left hand in place, girl. But you’re doing well, Claire. When were you last punished?”

“At school, sir. My husband … he thought of it as punishing me, but he wouldn’t do it like that. I like authority, like you’re giving me, but he didn’t understand how it works. He’d never be fair. Not careful like this. And certainly not when I wanted. He’d just hit me. With his fists.”

I shook my head. “Claire, we’ll talk about this.” She nodded. “Skirt now. Off!”

She’d already undone the clasp. Now she unzipped and stepped out of it. She wore pantyhose underneath, and below them panties, with a black and silver pattern. I said, “”Pantyhose, too.”

Claire smiled. I supposed she hadn’t stripped for a man since her husband’s friend. She tugged the hose down over her bottom and hips, and then slid them down her thighs, bunching them below her knees, and then pulling them off by the feet. She stood facing me in just her panties, her hands – no doubt very hot and sore – at her sides.

Masturbation Monday: Lasshole fucker 2

Ngaire had just said, “Come in,” to Freddie, or more specifically to his thumb, well coated in lubricant and tapping lightly at her asshole. 

He said, “Thank you,” gravely, and pushed forward. Because she was already slippery from his first insertion, and his thumb hadn’t hurt her even a little bit, she could keep herself relaxed. He slipped inside, the length of his thumb, so that the edge of his palm pressed against soft skin between her buttocks and her thighs. 

She held still, her ass in the air, slightly penetrated. He held still as well. He said, “Are you ok? How does it feel?”

She considered her sensations. “It doesn’t hurt at all. That kind of surprised me. It feels kind of strange, though. I was taught this is really unnatural, what we’re doing. I guess I’m getting used to it. Could you … move your thumb back and forth, like you’re fucking me? Please?”

“As you wish.” He was quoting some film, she knew, though she couldn’t remember which. But his thumb seemed to press deeper – she hadn’t thought it was possible – then withdrew a little, and moved back. The movements were tiny at first, maybe a centimetre forwards and back, but slowly each withdrawal was a little further.

She realised she missed that thumb when it was absent, and was relieved when, slowly, easily, it was back. She sighed, pleasured.

Then she felt herself blushing. That sigh had told him she was enjoying this. He must know she’s a pervert. She thought, Shut up, Mum. Fuck off, Steve. Anyway, Freddie obviously liked perverted girls. And he wasn’t exactly unkinky himself.

The thumb stopped moving then. “Now you,” Freddie said. “When it’s my cock, I’ll expect you to move. So. Now it’s your turn: fuck my thumb.”

She knew that if he were with Daphne, or the mysterious, missing, Shar, he’d have reinforced that order with a hard slap across her ass. Well, she thought, he’ll just have to make do with obedience. She raised her ass a little higher, and carefully moved forward, tightening her muscle on the thumb.

Then she rocked back, still slowly, letting her muscle relax as he entered deeper. She sighed again, but did not blush.

Then she moved again, taking him and almost-releasing him, and taking him again, fucking him. She knew, almost if she had a cock herself, how good that would feel for him. And then that the pleasure she felt wasn’t just in her imagination. That thumb, and her movements on it, felt good.

She said, “So, are you going to fuck my ass, or what?” 

She looked back over her shoulder, to catch delight – there was no other word – in his eyes. But he tried to look serious. “You can never have too much lube. So you have to lube my cock, too.”

He hadn’t moved. Ngaire waited. She said, “Well?”

“No, I mean you have to lube my cock.”