Masturbation Monday: Spurning my arse?

Teresa posed, hands and knees on his bed, ass up. Sher knew what would have to hen next: Roland would reach for her, get up onto his knees behind her. Then he said, “No.”

Teresa made a protesting noise. “Whuh?”

“Get up, girl. Off the bed. On your feet.” 

Teresa looked at him, frowning. “I am dealing with a madman, who appears to be spurning my arse.”

But she rolled over and put her feet on the floor. Roland rolled off the bed too, stood in front of her and held her so that she had to look up into his eyes. “Go to my desk, Teresa.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

“And turn to face it.”

“Interesting.” But she did as she was told. It occurred to her that he was easy to obey because he wanted her and he focussed on her. He never made her feel like she was on her own. If he did, she expected that he’d find that obedience, in a sexual content, is a fragile thing. He hadn’t told her to, but to show him where she stood on matters of command and compliance, she put her hands back on her head.

Roland stepped behind her now, and cupped her breasts, lifting them a little while squeezing her nipples between the forefinger and middle finger of each hand. Teresa pursed her lips, and hissed almost silently. The pressure on her nipples was just hard enough that she could be certain that he meant to hurt her, though not too much. 

She arched back so her arse found and pressed against his cock. He grunted, and she felt his cock growing at that contact, from semi-hard to absolutely, fully committed. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and stepped back. Debbie stayed where she was.

“Good girl,” he said. It was the first time he’d called her that. She knew, from reading books like Tessa’s Task, with the attractively domineering billionaire Julian and his submissive and virginal secretary Tessa, that those two words are more important than they might seem. Julian, in Tessa’s Task, had called Tessa a good girl after he’d spanked and buttfucked her.

People who get dominant when they’re turned on, like Julian and, it was now obvious, like Roland say that to submissive partners they approve of. If she didn’t want to be praised for submissiveness, “good girl” would only be offensively patronising. They’d be offensive words addressed to her or to any female person over the age of twelve, she thought, except in exactly this context.

SoTeresa froze for a moment, frowning. She considered whether to object, or deflect it with a joke. But part of her was simply pleased that he thought she was good. She felt Roland, behind her, freeze too. He’d be nervous, of course. It was as though saying ‘good girl’ was his job application, and he was waiting to see if he had the job. At last she smiled and nodded. She heard Roland breathe out, and he kissed her shoulder. She was still sceptical, despite the concessions she’d made on their previous night together. He might be more relieved than he should be. Still, he could have a trial period. Provisionally, he had the job.

He didn’t know about her reservations. He said, “Now put your feet well apart and bend over, Reresa. Nipples and nose touching that desktop. Stretch your arms out sideways, and don’t move them. Now, Teresa.”

This time the pause only lasted a second. Then Teresa obeyed, putting her hands on the desktop and lowering her body into that unmistakably submissive position. Obedience to that order was likely to turn out to be rewarding in multiple ways. She would be fucked, and fed. Now bent over, obedient and at risk of being called “good girl” again, she frowned, evaluating the position she found herself in.

She improved it, straightening her legs without being told, to present her uplifted arse for him.

So he stepped forward and put his hand on her bottom, caressing her left cheek fondly, then made claws of his hands, dragging his fingernails gently up from the crease of her thighs to the small of her back, and then returning to her thighs. Her skin goosebumped under that light touch. He rubbed her more firmly, then smacked her arse. 

“Are you – Are you going to spank me?”

“Of course. Would you try to tell me you haven’t been asking for it, little minx?” 

Sinful Sunday: Filled, flogged and…







The butt plug was introduced quite recently, and it still feels strange. 

The cane still feels ouchie. 

As always, punishment is followed by a period for refection, before it’s time for comforting. It’s odd how a butt plug, together with Master’s penis, should equal “comforting”.

But that is how it is. 

Wicked Wednesday: Punishment robe

I’d just ordered Claire back to her position, nose to the wall, striped ass displayed. She’d hurried to obey, but was slower to remember what she had to say, if she didn’t want more of the cane. “Yes Master!”

“Just in time, girl.”

Claire would need to wear something while she came home with me, and making her put her panties and dress back on would be cruel, now her ass was so sore and sensitive. I turned to Maddie.

“Maddie, this school has had five years without corporal punishment, before I arrived. But when a student is going to punished in front of the school, it seems that they would have had something loose they could wear when they first arrive in front of the assembly. Until they have to take it off and bend over the bench.  I know it’s been a while since that happened, but there must be a robe or something, somewhere, that we can use?”

Maddie didn’t answer immediately. She was staring at Claire, naked, hands on head, nose to the wall, with thirty-six fresh cane stripes across her bottom and upper thighs, red across delectable lightly tanned skin.

I said, “Maddie.”

Maddie was having trouble focusing on important matters. She closed her eyes for a second. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry. That girl there, Claire, those welts are so sexy on her. She looks so beautiful, standing there in disgrace. I see why you like to look at me when I’m like that. Claire, you’re a sight that attracts the eye.”

Claire said nothing, and didn’t move a muscle. I said, “Maddie, you’re about five seconds away from getting the same.”

“Sorry, Master. I think there’s a sort of robe in the storeroom, I think it’s satin, that must have been used for that. Should I bring it now, Master?”

I nodded. “Of course, Maddie.”

“Just a moment, Master.”

Sounds of shuffling and thumping of boxes came from the storeroom.  Maddie emerged, triumphantly, holding a slinky beige robe. “This is probably it, Master. They must have had the naughty students come out in this! For public punishments.” She held it up.

It seemed to be a garment designed for humiliation. It was sleeveless, and it would come about halfway down the thighs of most people who wore it. The hang of the fabric meant it would hug the figure of the wearer. The beige colour was neutral, neither flattering nor ugly. I nodded. “Put that robe on the hook on the clothes rack, Maddie. And take all Claire’s clothing and put it into a bag, would you?”

Claire, nose to the wall, straightened up when she heard that, but she already knew better than to protest. Three dozen cane strokes, and the two extra strokes to come, that meant that three dozen is not the limit, will teach any submissive that lesson.

Maddie gathered the clothes Claire had shed, panties, pantyhose, shoes, skirt, blouse and jacket, and put them in a blue velvet bag, which she left on my desk. She hung the flimsy robe on a hook near Claire. She looked at me. “She looks perfectly delightful, Master. And she’s being a good girl, now. But may I smack her one more time, Master?”



Masturbation Monday: Arguments for anal sex

Teresa kissed Roland, post-coitally lazy. “You know, if you fed your vampire girl, regularly, with your come, into my body and not into little bags that you throw away, I don’t think I’d have the urge to bite you. And then you could fuck me, face to face, without pushing my face away or tying me down.” 

“I like you tied down.” That was a compliment, one of the odder ones she’d ever been given, but she knew he meant it.

He bit her breast lightly. “And I think you like being tied down, too.”

“Yes, I do. But maybe not every time? You can tie me whenever you like, but it’d be nice to think you trusted me. That you don’t trust me – and I know you’re not completely wrong, given my record – but that’s still … kind of hurtful. ”

“Ok. Then get on the pill tomorrow. And the deal seems to be, at the moment, that we neither of us fuck anyone else. Except with the other’s permission, and then with a condom. All right?”

“Sir!” She said it like a soldier acknowledging an order. Teresa realised she only called Roland sir when she was asking for something, or she was happy with something he’d said. She knew he liked hearing it. In her own way, she thought, she was training him.

“So will you fuck me now? Without you wearing a stupid bag on your cock? I want just your skin and mine together, nothing between us, and your seed when you come in me. Sinking into me. Letting me absorb it. Feeding me. I mean, I’d kind of like that right now, sir.”

Roland shook his head. “I’m still not going to risk you getting pregnant, little Teresa. We’ll still have to wait.”

Teresa kissed Roland’s collarbone, still not quite healed from her bite. “Sir, I can suck your cock. I can swallow your come, taking it all down into me, and it goes through my body. I extract its energy while it’s in my stomach, and what I can’t use passes on into my alimentary canal. And out.”

“You want to suck me off? So that I come in your mouth? And that would feed you? All right.”

“No. I mean, yes, but not right now. That’s not what I want us to do. I’m just pointing out that you don’t have to think only of my cunt. You can fuck me hard, come in me and not get me pregnant. I’m amazed you haven’t taken my arse so far. You obviously like it.”

“I like your arse a lot.”

“So we’ve got the answer, sir, haven’t we? Fuck me up the arse, and I won’t feel I have to feed on your blood. And I won’t keep biting you. Your seed, my lover and my sir’s seed, that’s got to be even stronger than blood.”

Roland stared at her, as if she’d said something strange. Perhaps she had. She could see him waking up from his post-orgasmic stupor.

He said, at last, “You know, you’re right. I come in your perfect arse, and you won’t bite me. So that’s how it’ll be, the very next time.”

“No. Idiot.”

He said, “Idiot?” She glanced at his cock. It was still mostly down, but it was becoming engaged again, starting to take notice and thicken. He noticed her glance.

Teresa still looked at him as if he were a slow child. “Roland, I’m not talking about the future. I’m saying, fuck me up the arse. And come in me. I mean now, sir.” She rolled over and lifted herself onto her hands and knees. As she’d expected, the sight of her, presented, her arse up, inviting and demanding his desire, made the difference she wanted. He woke up.

“Your arse,” he said, “is perfect. And perfectly poised. And you’ve just made the weirdest argument for buttsex I’ve ever heard. But I endorse the no-biting project. Also, your arse has the sexual pull of about a thousand ships, I’d say.”

“So?” Teresa shook that arse at him.

Sinful Sunday: Good girl, bad girl, trick or treat

She’s been a perfectly good girl. And yet, she is there, and stage one has just ended. 

But good girl, bad girl, trickster or treat: who cares? She’s got a gorgeous arse, and she colours beautifully.

Is this a trick or a treat? If you could hear the squeaks while we built up the heat for this photo, you’d probably guess. 

Either way, trick or treat always starts here. Never where it ends, though.

Wicked Wednesday: Pretty stripes on display

Claire had agreed that she would forgive herself, now she had been punished. And I had agreed to take on the role of her Master, at least in the shortish term, while she sorted her life out.

I said, “You’re a good girl, Claire. I’m sure I won’t have to repeat this.”

She looked oddly cheerful. “Oh, you won’t, Master. I don’t think I’m ready for a repeat of all that. Not just yet.”

“But if I do hear you guilt-tripping again, then you’ll be back here.”

“I do understand, Master.”

“Or I’ll deal with you at my home. I don’t make empty threats.” But I held her tight against me. I was hard for her now.

“Will you fuck me, Master? Please. I need your cock in me. Including where … that glass thing is.”

 “Yes, Claire, I think I can safely promise that. I want you very much.” I checked my watch. It was only ten to three. So very much had happened, so very quickly. “Claire.”

“Yes sir?”

“You’ll go and stand facing the wall. Nose touching the wall, hands on head. Naked. You’re not to put your clothes on.”

“Yes, Master.” But Claire didn’t leave. She sank to her knees in front of me.

I held her gently, stroking her hair. 

At last I said, “Sweet little Claire, when does your shift start?”

“Four in the morning, Master. I work at the hospital. Not a nurse. Just an orderly.”

“Right. I have some work I have to do. You can stay, with your very pretty new stripes on display, until three-thirty.”

“May I take the buttplug out?”

“No. And don’t ask that again. Ever.”

“Yes, Master.”

“At three-thirty we’re leaving together. I’ll drive you to your place. You’re going to put that bag of shoplifted clothes back under Tara’s bed where you found it.”


“When I confront Tara, and especially once I’ve punished her, I don’t want her to know you were the one who drew her shoplifting to our attention. She’ll need her mother when she’s been dealt with, and I don’t want her feelings towards you to be complicated.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Of course, if it feels right you can tell her later, once she’s settled down again and she’s doing well.”

“Um, that makes sense, Master. And thank you.”

“You’ll put the bag back under Tara’s bed, and you’ll get your work clothes for tomorrow. Leave a note for Tara, because then you’re coming home with me. To get thoroughly fucked. Understood, Claire?”

Claire swallowed. “Yes, Master. That sounds like a wonderful plan. All of it.”


I thought of telling Claire that she was the perfect office decoration, and I’d have her back in that place, and that condition, often.

But the moment was better without words. Especially words that inane.

Food for Thought Friday: The road not taken

I don’t like saying this, because it’s so unlikeable, but I am scarily intelligent. When I was 11, I was top of the school at Maths by a sufficiently terrifying margin, I’d read all of the surviving dialogues of Plato, and the books attributed to Aristotle, and I’d worked my way through Principia Mathematica and found the joke at theorem 110.643. I’d read more English literature than my English Lit teacher. I’d decided that I was going to be either a poet or a philosopher.

But the girls around weren’t exactly interested in any of that. And I realised, looking at the underside of Debbie Brown’s thigh when she crossed her legs, that I was really, intensely, focussedly interested in girls. So I tried to talk to them more and make friends. And I hoped I’d get a girlfriend, and we could kiss and hug and stuff.   Maybe I could stroke her thighs. 

But I had no small talk at all. I only knew how to talk seriously about big topics. I didn’t watch TV, and barely knew anything about pop music, except that the Beatles had been good, and kind of unusual. I was a Beethoven, Mozart and Wagner guy. I couldn’t dance.  

So I bought a stack of albums so I knew Bowie from Beck, and both from a hole in the ground. I bought some magazines that talked about people on TV as if they were real people, and studied them. I learned to gossip. I had my hair plaited. I learned to say mildly amusing things, without trying to be Oscar Wilde.

It took about a year, because the girls at my school remembered the little professor, and he wasn’t boyfriend material. Also, I still couldn’t manage to pretend interest in sports or belief in any religion, and I sometimes let it slip that I thought both were boring and stupid.

So my first girlfriend was a new girl, who’d just transferred from another school. I made some missteps, like taking her to a film society screening, but next time we went to the beach. And she, bless her soul, taught me to kiss, which was a head-spinning sexual revelation.

And she taught me how to be interested in everything she thought and felt. So I was 13, with a girlfriend.

I should say that it’s not that I thought girls were dumber than me. It was that my IQ was off the charts. At that school, everyone was dumber than me. But I didn’t care about the guys. I know that saying so is not very likeable. 

So I had transformed myself from an intellectual who was never going to get laid, or at least not for years, into some sort of would-be hipster, who was obviously faking it but who could usually more or less pass. There were rewards, obviously. Sexual desire has always been the most important motivation in my life, and the new version of me, the new guy, got laid.

But there were costs, too. I had to hide, or at least tuck away, quite a lot of who I was and what interested me. At university I had a lot of wonderful sexual adventures, but not marks that identified me as all that smart. 

I don’t think I regret the self-transformation. But who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t done it?

I think I’d have spiralled further away from people, becoming more and more eccentric. And maybe become famous for solving some abstruse intellectual problem. I can’t imagine which one, now. I’m not that man. 


Wicked Wednesday: Message received

Maddie hissed something into her ear, and for a moment Claire stopped her wailing and poised herself to receive punishment. But the next five strokes all focused on her upper thighs, and she lost that control immediately. I waited while she writhed, legs rising and falling, and I timed the strokes to make contact while her legs rose. We were dancing, together.

Then I concentrated the strokes on the middle of her bottom, not worried if the cane crossed earlier tracks  Claire was in constant motion and voice, while I silently counted down: Three. Two. One. Then I put the cane down.

I stepped next to the weeping, blubbering Claire, and said, “Maddie. Good girl. You did very well. Now clean this cane, and put it away.” 

“Yes sir.” Maddie accepted the cane and left the room.

I stroked Claire’s hair while she wept. Her face worked, her mouth contorted with grief and pain. I said, “You’re done for now.You earned yourself two penalty strokes, but I’ll deliver them later. For now, Claire darling, all debts are paid. Forever. All gone.”

Claire heard me, and rolled onto her side. Her face a mask of tragedy, she held out an arm to me. I hugged her, and lifted her from my desk. She fell against me, still sobbing, as though heart-broken. I held her and told her she was brave and good. And forgiven. It was over. Paid for in full.

I still didn’t think she had done anything wrong when she turned to her husband’s friend for sex and comfort, after her husband had left her. But she did, so it was the right thing to say. It was true even if I didn’t quite understand it.

I held Claire firmly while she sobbed, until she slowly quieted. At last she looked at me. “You understood.” She said it with wonder in her voice, tears still steaming down her face.

“Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much my ass hurts. But I – I do feel better. Thank you.”

I said, “I always tell students I cane that they’ve been brave. But you … I’m awed by your courage. You really are a good girl.” I inclined my face closer to hers and we kissed, slowly becoming passionate.

“You’re Maddie’s master, aren’t you?”


“I wish… I wish you’d be mine. I mean my Master. Even if only for a while. But I need someone guiding me at the moment. Standing behind me. For me. I’ve gone so wrong.”

I said, “Then you’re under me, until further notice. You may call me Master. And your first order is to remember that your past is paid for. In full. If I hear you express any guilt about fucking that guy, ever again, we’ll go through this once more. Understood?”

She closed her eyes. At last she said, “Understood. Master.”

Masturbation Monday: Taking his full weight

In Roland’s bed, Teresa rested her bottom on the sheets, finding the heat and slight soreness from her spanking unexpectedly pleasant, and lay back. Roland was only seconds behind her, and he said nothing. He lifted her knees and then parted them, his body pressing urgent between her thighs.

He still said nothing as he entered her, not slowly or gently. He fucked her energetically though warily, pushing her head to the side whenever she got her teeth too close to his chest.

Pleasure built within her, steadily and then suddenly, so she felt as if she’d been caught by a huge wave and she knew no way of getting down safely before it crested.

She opened her eyes, head resting back on the pillow, and gazed at him almost in terror.

Something gave in her, then, with Roland still riding her hard, held firmly by her thighs, his hand on her mouth to stop her from biting. Teresa struggled against him, making frantic, incoherent noises. He grazed her nipples with his teeth, and when that sensation reached her cunt and her brain she came. Her mouth wrenched open and she cried her orgasm syllables, “Tard ah! Ahh! Kit too!”

Roland grunted, as if he were pleased with her and himself, and sped up, while Teresa still felt aftershocks, a series of smaller orgasms. He tensed, making his own high-pitched sound through his nose when he came. They lay together, Teresa taking his full weight on her body, looking up at him tenderly and hoping to find that tenderness reflected back at her.

But Roland still had his hands under her arse, holding her tight and still moving in her. He was spent but not yet tender. At last he slipped them out and used them to support himself. Teresa took a deep breath, now that she could.

He smiled down at her. There it was: tenderness. Her heart was still pounding.

At last he rolled off her and lay on his back. Teresa took another hard breath, to celebrate, and let it out slowly. She kissed his shoulder. They were peaceful, and they had nothing to say. She turned onto her side and curled towards him, her leg over his, for comfort and possession.