Sinful Sunday: The comforts of being good

Sometimes a good girl needs a spanking. She just does. Her skin and her soul crave it. Not too hard, not too light. Just sensual. With lots of appreciation of her beauty. 

And sometimes a good girl gets what she needs.

 

Note:

The castle again. A couple of weeks ago I published an “aftermath” picture, showing my girl sleeping afterwards. But this was taken during the enwarmening process itself.  

Writing and money

I’m a reasonably good writer working hard on becoming better. Sometimes I’m sexy, sometimes I’m funny, and sometimes I get the human stuff about thoughts and emotions right. And when I read stuff I wrote, say five years ago, I usually think it’s good, but I can also see ways in which it could be a bit better. That means I’m getting better.

I have a non-fiction book on the historical, psychological and political issues raised by bdsm’s existence, and by the forming of a bdsm community right now.

I also have a bdsm novel, which is a literary novel with rom-com elements, set in the real world. That novel’s currently with beta readers. Once I get their feedback, and adapt and amend where necessary, those two books are off to agents and publishers, so they’d better watch out.   

When I said, “set in the real world”, I mean I don’t do vampires, werewolves or secret islands or dungeons, and, using the words “real world” in a different sense, I don’t do billionaires either. 

I’m currently working on a second novel, which is harder edged, though the bdsm incidents take place between adults who know what they’re doing and are doing it because they want to. The non-consensual aspect is where ordinary people get hammered by violence, racism and corruption. I’m working hard on that novel now, and I expect to have it finished by October. 

Butterflies are free. Unfortunately, good as butterflies are, they’re not the best things in life. If given money, I promise not to blow it on butterflies or cocaine.

With this blog, I guarantee to have four posts a week. Though I’m counting this post as one of them, which is cheating a little. My blog posts are mostly true stories of bdsm life, though the disgraceful long story that continues every Wednesday is most definitely not true.

Truth or fiction, my goal is to have it real, sexy, and funny, as life can be. When you find yourself doing life right.

I’m serious and passionate about some issues, but I think writers are entertainers first, and moralists and philosophers second, if at all. That’s one of the things I believe passionately

On this blog I’ve been writing a long story with the comically click-baity title, Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive, and that has many more episodes to go. However, I’m taking a break from it at the moment, because writing it takes a lot of mental focus. Right now I’m putting everything I have of that capacity into the novel I’m writing.

Fortunately, there are two stories I’ve been meaning to tell for a long time, which aren’t quite as demanding, and should be shorter. The first of those starts on Monday. Tune in! I think you’ll like it.  

 

Help me build one of these!

The reason I’m writing this is that I’m setting up a Hat-Tip Jar. I need money, to pay for the running of this blog, and to get to Eroticon in London in 2018. 

I don’t think I’ll put any content behind a pay-wall. I don’t want to run ads. But if you like what I’m writing, then please, chuck us some money. 

This hat-tip jar will exist soon. I’m a techno-klutz, and right now it’s late at night. But it’ll be here in the morning! 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (not long now)

Kate Winslet’s robe goes down, on the Titanic

“But,” Maddie said, “I collected every bit of courage that I had. And I said it. I said, ‘Sir, please cane me, and then afterwards, please fuck me.’

“And he smiled at me, so that I felt like the most blessed girl in the world, and said, ‘Thank you, Maddie. You asked very prettily. And yes, yes, girl, I will.'” 

I said, “That sounds good.” Maddie and I were lying together on the mattress in the store room. Oddly, I’d just caned her and fucked her myself, not so long before.

We were both lying on our backs. I leaned back on a collection of pillows, and Maddie lay back on me, her head nestled in the crook of my arm. 

Maddie turned her head and kissed my chest, not so far below my nipple. “It did. It sounded so wonderful. I was in heaven. But don’t forget, sir. This is a cautionary tale. It’s why you should take Jennifer soon. She wants you to. And if you hold her off for too long, there’s a real risk it’ll all go sideways. Or down, like the Titanic. Jennifer should have her fairy-tale. I’m afraid I didn’t.”

Leo takes down Kate’s particulars, on the Titanic

I said, “Oh?” I’d forgotten that Maddie was telling me this story so that Jennifer wouldn’t have the same fate Maddie had had, at Jennifer’s age. Therefore this story didn’t have a happy ending.

“Yes. Oh. As in Uh-oh. So I danced out of his office, so happy. And although I knew I was going to get the cane straight after school, I was looking forward to it.

“I figured it would hurt like his spanking hurt, in a lovely exciting way. And then his cock – I’d liked it so much when it’d been in my mouth. I knew I was going to love it when he took me. Not just my cunt, but my whole body. I was going to be his.

“I squirmed all afternoon. God, I remember it. I was so wet and so wanting. I was hotter and hornier than I’d ever felt. If I’d even got a breath of wind on my cunt I’d have exploded. I would’ve screamed the whole classroom down. Shattered the windows.”

Kate enjoys a good lie-down, on the Titanic

I reached down idly and tickled Maddie’s belly, then a little further down and stroked her cunt. She was eleven years older now than she’d been during the events she was describing to me, and soon to turn thirty.

She was every bit as wet as her younger self. Maddie sighed comfortably as my fingers sank into her. I pushed my fingers a little deeper, and she rolled her hips, nuzzling her cunt greedily against my hand.

I had an idea that Maddie was going to need comfort after she’d finished her story. I kissed her. She kissed me back, but she broke the kiss first and turned her head away. “So, after school I went back to his office.” 

 

Note

I tell stories at a leisurely pace. If a thing’s worth doing it’s worth doing slowly, say I. So it’s easy to forget how Maddie’s story started.

In a deleted scene, after the Titanic has sunk, Kate learns to walk on water and saves herself, Leo, and the wooden panel. Certainly, it was a night to remember

Maddie’s lover, our narrator, has admitted that he has the desire and the duty to initiate his student Jennifer Perch into certain adult pleasures. Maddie tells him her story to advise him that he should make sure he looks after Jennifer properly and make sure her first sex is happier than Maddie’s had been.

So I’m foreshadowing that the next episode (or more, given the speed at which I tell stories) will be realistic rather than pornotopian.  

But don’t worry too much. I can say, without giving too much in the way of Spoilers, that there are happy endings all round, in the past and in the present.

Bdsm guilt, and doing good works

Being into bdsm means knowing that you’re different from most of the people around you. I learned that early. I was with my older brothers and sisters – who didn’t want a 4-year old’s company, but my parents hadn’t given them any choice – and they went to an abandoned forest workers’ hut, that happened to be in the neighbourhood.

For generations, children and adolescents had been going there to play sex games.

Bottles got spun and boys kissed girls, girls cuddled boys, and the penalty for losing a round of any game they played was taking off an item of clothing. And so on.

Anyway, I was much younger so I didn’t take part. I mostly climbed up the shelves on the wall, and found a place where I could look down if I wanted to. A lot of the time I just day-dreamed. But one day they played a game of “school”, where, at the end of each round, someone got spanked. A girl called Donna getting spanked caught my attention, very strongly.

With my little four-year-old hard-on. 

That’s not “why” I’m into bdsm, of course. I was already into bdsm before I entered that shed; I just didn’t know about it. Rather, it was the first time I realised that this was something I was into. It was going to be important to me. And it wasn’t important, it seemed, to anyone else who’d been in that shed. 

But it didn’t take very long to find out some other things. The first is that this is a minority sexuality. My friends weren’t interested. It was just me.

The second thing I learned was even less welcome: people who had this sexual interest weren’t admired and respected, to put it mildly. 

People like me were the villains in movies and TV shows. We were evil. We were sick. I was a priggish little bastard when I was a kid, so I wasn’t happy about being evil. I wanted a moral pass-mark, at least.  

So I devoted most of my life to Good Works. My first job was as a psychiatric nurse. Then I did a social work degree. I helped set up the first domestic violence women’s refuge in my part of the world. I set up the first union for unemployed people that’d existed, in my part of the world, since the 1930s. I helped set up Shelter in my part of the world.

I campaigned for, and won, changes to landlord-tenant laws that meant landlords couldn’t just go round to tenants and throw them out of the property and change the locks any more.

I went on anti-racism events and got clubbed by cops. Though ridiculously straight, I’d put on my pink triangle and go on gay rights marches and vigils. You get the picture. 

One thing that strikes me, looking back on this period, is that I hardly ever hung round with political people when I wasn’t doing politics. I didn’t actually like them very much.

I didn’t like their jockeying for power, and I didn’t want power for myself. The social changes I worked for all had the effect of sharing out power, not concentrating it. Especially not into my hands.

(The people I hung round with were more drug-oriented artist types. Much more fun, and much sexier.)

You can’t get more evil than Frank Thring. The thing simply can’t be done.

My point is that I wouldn’t have done all this, I don’t think, if I hadn’t felt guilty about being into bdsm. I wanted to be a good person. You know, not a saint, but at least not as floridly evil as a James Bond villain. Or Frank Thring.

They were all good causes, and I’m still proud of the work I did. But in part it was compensation.

It meant that in the self-critical darkness of the night I could argue to myself that I couldn’t be all bad. I might be one sick fuck, but at least I was a useful one.

Has anyone else had their life course shaped in this way, by social attitudes to bdsm?

Held prisoner in an SS Castle!

She was a prisoner in an SS castle!

But, brave lass, she didn’t tell the evil, gloating von Mortimer anything. Course, it’s easier when SS stands for Sinful Sunday.

Note

The text is kinda schlocky, I know. Though the model is anything but schlocky. It’s taken in the castle, of course. The light is just beautiful, as always. As is she.  

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!

 

Cunt as “a nasty word for a nasty thing”: a thought

The Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Captain Francis Grose.

In 1785 Captain Francis Grose published the first edition of his “Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue”. The book’s a useful collection of old, outdated slang. Gross claims he got most of the words by hanging out with soldiers.

The Dictionary is best remembered these days for Grose’s listing of “Cunt” and his definition: “a nasty word for a nasty thing”. 

That looks horrifically misogynist, and it’s always quoted as an example of Grose’s, or more generally of male, misogyny.

 

I’ve started to wonder, though. The first issue, for me, is that the Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue doesn’t really have anything else that comes close to the level of fear and hate of women, or at least their genitals, that definition seems to demonstrate. And it gives more space to thieves’ cant (language used by criminals) than to sexual words, So could Grose have been saying something else?

Nasty as she wants it to be.
(Drawing: Betty Dodson)

We know the word “nasty” has a strand of sexual meanings. It’s everywhere in rap. “Do the nasty”, meaning, “have sexual intercourse”, anyone? But “nasty” has sexual meanings in blues, too. Which takes it back to the 20th century, and maybe the 19th, in US black culture.

But it’s older than that. The sexual use of “nasty” may have re-entered non-black English from its preservation among black culture. It’s not uncommon for words to survive in one cultural group while they disappear elsewhere.

So we go back in time looking for early uses, and we don’t find much, because sexual words seldom made it into print, before the 19th century.

But it turns out that “nasty” meant “lewd” from the 17th century.

Francis Grose: Geddit? Just kidding, folks!

“Lewd” means something like “overtly sexy”, with a connotation of “slightly more overtly sexual than the speaker is comfortable with.” But the sexual meaning is clear. “Lewd” is always a compliment, in my book. 

So, remembering that this meaning of “nasty” was in use from the 1600’s, and that Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue was published in 1785, it’s possible to see his definition in another way. 

Was Grose making a sort of joke? “Cunt:  a sexy name for a sexy thing”?

If so, he was Winding Up The Straights. And We Fell For It.  

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours 9)

Maddie lay beside me on our mattress in the storeroom. Her head in my shoulder, staring at the ceiling, she told me the story of the end of her virginity.

She’d just told me that after being spanked by her headmaster, she’d sucked him off. Once he had his cock back in his pants, he’d said “Good. Now, stand up, Maddie.” 

I’ll let Maddie tell it, from here. 

Maddie’s story

I said, “Yes, sir.” I had to put my hand on the floor to steady myself. But I stood in front of him, my eyes at his chest. He was so close to me, and I wanted to hold him. But I waited for orders. He smiled at me. 

“You’re such a very good girl. You know you have to come back here after school.” 

It was a statement, but I said, “Yes, sir.” 

“And why do you have to come back?” 

“I was late, sir. And you’re going to punish me.” 

“How am I going to punish you, Maddie?” 

“You’re going to cane me, sir. Cane my bare bottom. Like that boy.” 

“That’s right, Maddie. Or nearly right. I didn’t undress him, not completely. You, on the other hand …” 

I’d hoped that. It seemed so daring to think I’d be naked in front of him.

I’d already been more daring than that, but being naked for him would be a new thing too. My legs trembled. It wasn’t fear. “Oh, sir…” 

“And you just made me feel extremely good, Maddie. Would you like to feel good after I’ve caned you?”

“Oh, please. Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Then ask me. Say: Please cane me. And then please fuck me.” 

I opened my mouth. Then I hesitated. It felt like he could already see me naked. I felt so shy.

E[lust] 96: What’s 69 backwards?

Elust 96

The other livvy header image Elust
Photo courtesy of The Other Livvy

Welcome to Elust 96

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #96 Start with the rules, come back August 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Loop

Yellow Cab Service

Pammy Corrigan Gets Her Wish

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Luring Him Back

Date Night

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

International Chocolate Day 2017 (it was fucking brill)

Erotic Fiction

Good Example – Part II
The Legend of Lyonesse
Broken to Be ~ Part 6
Star Talker: Part 1: Attack
Sex Magick

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

What gets me going
Top Ten Tips For Finding A Dominant Woman

Erotic Non-Fiction

BIG BOYS DON’T – Breaking down
Wank Bank Deposits
To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before – Thankyou
Erotic Transference. Falling For My Therapist
All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Go

Body Talk and Sexual Health

A change would do you good…
Well in Hand

Events

A Memory of Master Aryn

Poetry

-04.07.17_20:26-

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Good news for elderly: Sex robots in nursing
Reasons not to work for News Corpse

Thoughts &Advice on Sex & Relationships

Elegance


Elust 88

Sinful Sunday: A moment’s peace

There’s a moment of peace after her Master puts the cane down, and tells her that it’s over and she’s been a good, brave girl. 

Her mind is at peace. She was caned for her Master’s pleasure, and hers. There was nothing for her to forgive herself for, nothing for him to forgive. He’d just woken up needing her submission, urgently, and he’d cuffed her to their bed, and reached for the cane.

His strokes hurt as they fell on her, of course. But how quickly those individual flashes of pain turn to warmth, to a kind of sensual glow, and then to sexual longing. She watched him as he raised the cane. His cock lifted with that movement: caning her turned him on. 

He takes photos for her to admire later, and then puts on a condom. And he leaves her cuffed, wrists and ankles spread for him, while he poises his body above hers, ready to take her. And then that moment of peace is over. 

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!

Novel excerpt: Out of the closet 3

Amy, still in the broom closet, my cock still in her, said, again, “Idiot.” But her tone was affectionate. It was, apparently, cute to be a jealous dickhead. Conditions probably applied, but this time I was being allowed to get away with it.

She reached back and dislodged my cock from its immensely comfortable place. She bounced on her toes, getting her knickers back in place and her dress down to cover her ass. So I dropped the condom in the pail and put my cock back into my pants and zipped up. Amy straightened, grabbed at the shelf above us for balance, and turned to kiss me. There was a sound from above.

Bad advice, as always from these things. I’m here to tell you: you don’t need to have sex in a closet.

I kissed her. We kissed. She said, “You’re my idiot.” Something heavy wobbled on that shelf above our heads. I heard it fall on its side, then roll, then nothing more.

I pushed Amy against the back wall of the closet for safety, and tried to duck whatever was coming down.

My sudden movement pushed the closet door open, and I toppled, clutching Amy, and anything else I could grab hold of, trying to stop my fall. So my fall became our fall.

Suddenly we were on the gallery floor, in a confused pile with brooms and mops and coats and mobcaps, and Amy’s body and mine. And the rusted tin of paint thinner that had tried to brain me. I looked up, confused and aggrieved by life, and a second later light exploded.

Flawed, me. And floored.

Someone, no, several people, were taking photos. Amy was turned away, looking for her shoes.

So it was portrait of me, bewildered and resentful, with Amy’s hair and most of her legs visible. But I hadn’t thought about the media yet.

Instead I found I was staring up into the eyes of the gallery’s guest of honour, Rico, the Minister for the Arts. Rico was in the Lega Nord, and a fascist in the seldom-used literal sense of the word.

He looked down on us, aghast. He thought this was done deliberately to humiliate him. He shouted, “tu puttana!” He meant Amy was a whore. Sexual insults directed at women were always ready to hand.

It took a few seconds’ thought to come up with something for me. “Tu malvagio disgustoso! Morta cristo ebreo!” I was surprised. I didn’t think I looked especially Jewish. But I suppose anyone who made him angry gained honorary Jewish status.

Frankly, I’d rather fuck in Compton

So the cameras switched from me to Rico. He was still shouting at us. Although there was a moment when he paused, realizing that his bizarre antisemitism was going to be get him bad headlines. All the bad headlines.

Instead he shouted that we were foul, disgusting sexual degenerates, and how dare we fuck, fuck of all things, in this sacred place for the arts!

I looked up at him. Amy was still dazed by the fall. I shouted, “We weren’t fucking!” The lie absolute. I decided to go for the lie surreal. “This is art! Performance Art, you fucking moron