Sinful Sunday: Quite well flogged, thank you

There’s nothing more relaxing, I’m told, than lying over a pile of pillows after a good flogging. 

And nothing more relaxed than that submissive, if the Dom has done her or his work right: not too heavy, but above all not too light. 

What stayed in my mind most, though giving this flogging was a pleasure, was remembering having growled “you stay in place” a couple of times, and being obeyed. 

In those moments we know who and how we are. The gift of pain, and the gifts of authority and submission. 

I did well, I think, and she had done well too. I told her so. No wonder she’s blushing. 

Model and star: The lovely Zoë.



Research: A history of BDSM literature

This is the first of a longish series, based on my Eroticon 2019 presentation. 


It is a history of BDSM literature, taking in nearly 50,000 years of human art and history. One of my key points is that BDSM didn’t come down with Sade (who I don’t rate highly), and nor did it arrive with 50 Shades of Grey.

BDSM has been a part of human culture across an enormous time span, and our traces can be found amongst other strands, in an enormous range of cultures. 

These posts are going to be coming on Fridays, so stay tuned!

Wicked Wednesday: Her breath is at my discretion

“Good girl,” I said, when Maddie had come, and calmed.

I smacked her bottom affectionately as I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. When I returned I tipped her back onto her ass, so her head was the highest part of her body, and she shuffled forward to take up her position between my knees.

I removed her gag, and turned her vibrator off for the time being. Still hogtied, she lowered her mouth onto my cock. Once I was held wetly, warmly in Maddie’s mouth, and she had closed her eyes to concentrate on following my movements, I edged forward a little to make her take me deeper. 

I pulled my belt out of its loops, running it behind her neck, holding the ends in my hands. Then I pulled her in close so my cock filled her and there was no gasping for breath, only the build-up of saliva that spilled wen I relaxed the tension and she could move her head back and gasp a breath.

She was never really uncomfortable, because I generally allowed her a breath every thirty seconds or so, but she felt the loss of control deeply, throughout her body. It moved her that the moments when she could snatch a breath were at my discretion and not hers. Details always affected her.

The relationship between master and slave hangs on the details, a long sequence of details, and the Master had best pay close attention to them, because his slave will.

Eventually she brought me to orgasm, swallowing as I came. I finished my glass while Maddie, who would have no wine, licked and sucked at my cock. When I was soft, and cleaned by her tongue, I removed the vibrator and untied her.

I pulled Maddie over my lap and spanked her long and hard, as a reward, until she wriggled in the way that said she was close to coming, and she wanted me to know that. I let my hand stray between her buttocks and stroke her cunt, until she gurgled, struggled and then came again. 

Usually Maddie had things to say after a spanking-and-orgasm, but that night she was simply affectionate and silent, as I helped her turn around so she sat on my lap, held in my arms, having her hair and brow kissed.  

At last we showered together, and afterwards I knelt and put soothing lotion on her knees. And we went to bed. Maddie lay on her side, her ass pressed against me, in case I woke up wanting it. I expected I would. I put my arm over her and cupped a breast in my hand. She muttered something incoherent, sometimes, while she slept.



Masturbation Monday: Watch while we drink your champagne

Jayavardhini looked down at him. “You’re a good man. You bruised my arse. And you’re sweet anyway.”

Philip looked at Chetana. He seemed unsure of himself, now he was spent. “My love, are you ok?”

“My sweetheart, sweet silly man, I wouldn’t know how to be unhappy. The two people I love most finding each other too. And all of us in bed together. And you fucked me so nicely. And then you made sure I got off even though you were fucking my Jayavardhini. Don’t you dare feel bad. I feel… wonderful. My heart feels so good. Full.”

“Well, I love you. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Chetana kissed his nose, but he turned to Jayaverdhini, “But you, I think I’ll keep your ass bruised from now on. Permanently.”

“You’re on. Can I call you my man now? Can you call me your girl? Like Chetana?”

Philip looked again at Chetana, and Jayavardhini didn’t see the answer that passed between them, but he said, “If you want me, then I’m your man.”

“What did you say before? That you’re obtuse? Of course I want you. It’s not just that I loved fucking you, though I did. It’s that you’re decent. And loving. And you bruise my arse.”

“Your ass looks too good, bruised. Of course I’ll keep it that way.”

She rubbed her current bruises appreciatively.

But Philip had turned serious. “Jayavardhini, I love Chetana. I’m completely in love with Chetana. I would live and die for her. Kill for her, given no choice.”

Jayavardhini said, “Well, of course I know that. But-“

“But you’re loveable too. It’s a bit early for me to make more declarations than that. Give me time. But yes, you’re my girl too. You’re… mine. I’m sure of that.”

Chetana drew them closer. “Then we’re some sort of family. Worth celebrating. I’m so going to miss champagne.”

Jayavardhini grinned, a woman who knew a trick they didn’t. “Not quite yet you’re not. You two were all idealistic about taking only things we can replicate when we arrive. I love that. Respect it, anyway. But me, I have bottles in my luggage.”

“You’re a rule-breaking brat,” Philip said. “You really do need me to keep your ass bruised.”

“I do,” Jayavardhini said, complacently. “I can’t get the champagne below room temperature, but the next time we’re in this bed together, we will toast each other. And darling,” she leaned across Philip to kiss Chetana’s right breast, “Thank you, for the use of your man.”

Philip smacked her arse, as she’d hoped he would. “I think, when you bring the champagne, I’m going to tie your wrists to the roof. While Chetana and I fuck. And drink all your champagne.”

Jayavardhini looked, in mock appeal, to Chetana, who ignored her and said to Philip, “Quite right, my love.” 

Jayavardhini didn’t bother to pretend to believe them. She kissed both of them, accepting their caresses. She rubbed her ass against Philip’s cock, hoping for renewed signs of life. 

But he was sated for a time, and so were they. They rolled over in a bed that rocked gently under them, and piled sweatily together, lying on their backs, their arms and legs mingled.

[The end]



I’m leaving them there and happy for now. Next week I’m on to The Tale of the Tawse, Volume 2.


Sinful Sunday: Wild justice

Revenge is a kind of wild justice, but not all wild justice is revenge.

Generally, when I’m laying on the cane for disciplinary purposes, I like to make the cane stripes straight, close but not overlapping, and neat. That seems to go with the word, “discipline”. 

But on this occasion the girl Arethusa was being punished for chaotic behaviour. I won’t say what it was, but it was the general equivalent of getting drunk at a party and screaming abuse at her best friend, before kissing said friend and insisting that she loved her, then throwing up on her. It was that level of public chaos. 

So I deliberately laid on the strokes from many different directions. It wasn’t really chaotic, but it was as chaotic as I get. I never caned her in quite that way again, because chaos wasn’t really something she perpetrated often. But I just love the marks that caning left.

Share our Shit Saturday: Eroticon special!

This post is several weeks overdue. But I’ve been travelling, and up to now I haven’t really had any time to write anything about Eroticon. 

Also, it was kind of overwhelming, not only because I was presenting one session, but because there was just so much happening and so many lovely warm people to meet. It takes me a while to incorporate new experience. Usually about five years, but I can see that I’ll have to be a bit more timely for Eroticon 2019.

Also, bits of it went in a blur, because I was getting ready for, or recovering from, my session, and there are meetings I must have had that I don’t remember. For example, I wanted to meet LittleSwitchBitch, and I find it hard to believe that I missed that, but the fact is that if I did I managed to lose the memory of it. So I’m just going to have to plead strung-out-ness, for managing not to get that meeting, or for blurring it in my mind. 

I really am sorry! 

Anyway, I want to highlight some people I know I met, and some people I know I must have, or else I’m an idiot for failing to rush across the room and say, “Hi!”

So… on that basis, my Share our shit Saturday, Eroticon edition, looks like this: 


Here’s the eminently civilised Molly, unleashing her inner wildness: 


Here’s the unspeakably sexy Girl on the Net writing about a topic I’ve long been interested in: how do we kinky people know, when we meet another kinky person? Mostly we’re keeping it out of sight, so what are the signs we recognise?

How did you know I was kinky?

And sub-bee, writing about good times of day to have sex:

Asleep on the job

And Marie Rebelle, on practical bedroom arrangements:


I was always going to include a picture of LittleSwitchBitch’s ass, because we should make the world as good as we can: 

Crave – SinfulSunday/FebPhotoFest


And Bibulous One, a thoughtful chap, writes here about what we know of other people’s orgasms:


And that will have to do, for today. But check these out!

Wicked Wednesday: Actually, that’s what the dog whip is for

Late that night Maddie struggled on my carpet. She was gagged, and a vibrator buzzed happily in her pussy. She was a pyramid, with her buttocks high, her knees, face and breasts pressed onto the carpet. Her wrists were bound, firmly, to her ankles.

I watched her from my seat, pretending to read a book. Every so often, and unpredictably, I adjusted the intensity of her vibrator, using the box that lay on the table beside me. Maddie was in constant movement. She would have been restless even if it weren’t for that pleasuring, tormenting vibrator: there is simply no comfortable position when you are hog-tied in that fashion.

She shifted, endlessly, her weight from one knee to the other, sometimes taking more weight on her upper body to give her knees a rest. Her inner thighs shone wetly from the fluids from her aroused pussy, and the carpet below her face was wet from the drool escaping from her gapped mouth.

I said, “Come for me, Maddie.”

She sobbed with relief. Then I said, “You have thirty seconds.”

Her buttocks clenched, and her whole body shook, desperate to obey within the deadline. But Maddie is always aware of deadlines, of the seconds passing, and the distraction means she almost never makes it in time.

At thirty seconds I said, “Stop!”

A muffled sound of despair emerged around the gag. She watched my feet as I stood up and went to get my belt, which lay on the table after earlier use that evening. “Oh, Maddie,” I said.

I applied the belt six times to the backs of her legs, taking my time. The leather was loud across her flesh, but she took it is near-silence. She fought to keep herself still and presented for the strokes. Then I strapped her harder across her bottom, and suddenly she was all motion and muffled yelps.

I said, “Now! Thirty seconds, or I’ll use the dogwhip.”

The dogwhip is a small, single-tail lash. Maddie had seen it but not yet experienced it. She’d been extraordinarily good, and careful, whenever I mentioned it. 

I knew from her face when I’d allowed her to touch the slender, pleated-leather whip that it was the implement she most feared.

But she’d been close to orgasm before, and her pain, her helpless, bound status, the vibrator and her humiliation all worked their sexual magic: her eyes closed tightly, then opened wide, at twenty seconds, and her body shook convulsively.

Commencing at twenty-two seconds. I said, “Oh Maddie love. See, you can be a good girl.”

For tonight the dogwhip would stay coiled on its satin pillow.


Masturbation Monday: Offering her neck

Chetana reached between Philip and Jayavardhini and took Jayavardhini’s nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She exerted pressure then, pulled her nipples and twisted them slightly. Jayavardhini gasped again. “Yes. Yes!” She was surprised by how high and needy her own voice sounded. She spread her thighs wide and lifted them to allow him easy access as his cock inched forward, very slowly, their intimate skin sliding together, infinitely sensitive as his cock delved.

At last he’d filled her, their pelvic bones touching. Jayavardhini was moved by him, and surprised at how moved she felt. She said, “Oh fuck.”

He kissed her, their bodies pressed together as closely as they could. He smiled. “Oh fuck, indeed.” He started his slow withdrawal, moving back as excruciatingly slowly as he’d entered her. When she was worried that he might slip out he pressed forward again. Still slowly. Time had almost stopped.

Chetana pinched Jayavardhini’s nipples hard and she moaned. Philip seemed to take it as a signal to increase the pace slightly, though his cock still moved in her slowly,  unhurried still.

Jayavardhini hifted her feet from the bed, pointing her toes at the ceiling. Chetana kissed her again, then Philip lowered his head and kissed Jayadhini, too, then both of them. He slid his hands under Jayavardhini’s ass and held her firmly to him.

They sped up again, their fucking no longer slow, with more of need in their movements. Jayavardhini turned her head away, offering her neck. He bit her, then kissed. She made a noise of comfort and encouragement, and they sped up again.

Chetana held them both in her arms, as the tidal wave took Jayavardhini. It was so strong, in a way frightening, with so far to fall. She moaned when the pleasure burst, carried her and filled her.

Philip growled into her ear while she made her orgasm noises. But he said, “Good girl. My good girl.” He dropped his head again, his mouth beside her ear, and he encouraged her, still fucking, not stopping, until she came a second time, more quietly a minute later. Philip made a animal noise with Jayavardhini’s second orgasm, and held her in place while he fucked her fast and ruthless, until he came in her, gasping for more air, about a minute later.

They collapsed. Eventually Chetana said, “Darlings…”

“Oh! Sorry.” Philip still held Jayavardhini tight, and he rolled onto his side and off Chetana, who took a deep, relieved breath. Philip completed his roll, finishing on his back with Jayavardhini on him, the two of them still connected, and the three of them embraced.

Sinful Sunday: Grapes!


They’ve been a symbol of plenty, of things being happy and joyous and in profusion, throughout the art of so many cultures, for millennia.

Sometimes, as in the Graeco-Roman myth of the Cornocopia, the Horn of Plenty, they are associated with pink, conch-like tubal structures, from the hollows of which all manner off good things flow.

These grapes make me happy.


My model and collaborator is the lovely Zoe, on loan from the vast wilderness of Canada. Her choice of image, from the same session, is here. Warning: legs!



What I find particularly lovely, and particularly Indian, about this work of art, one of hundreds on the walls on the temples at Khajuraho, is the expression of happiness and pleasure on the elephant’s face. He just happened to find these two people, a woman and a priest of Shiva, I think, taking pleasure with each other. Their happiness made him happy too. 

Dante talked of the love that moved the stars and the worlds in their orbit. But I always found that thin and inadequate because he meant “divine” love, or humans wasting love on an imaginary and rather nasty entity. 

In this Indian world-view, love is between living things, where it belongs, and it unites all species and all people and all the world. 

Dawn breaks over the Ganges.

(I got up at 5.30AM to get this photo, which is not my favourite time of day, and this worked. It was magical.)

It got even more magical a few seconds later, when the dawn was greeted with bells and chanting from this side of the river. It was other-worldly, an utterly different world. 

I can’t pretend I didn’t notice that Indian women are beautiful. I didn’t take many pictures because of consent issues, but I asked these girls if I could, since they were sharing my Ganges boat with me. 

They’re just women, I know. Not supermodels. But they affected me enough that when I took this photo I paid them a gauche compliment (“this is the most beautiful photo I’ve taken in India”) and then felt felt stupid immediately after. So they were good-looking enough enough to make me feel like an idiot of about 18, all over again. 

India! Yes, I’m going back.