E{lust} list: 97 ways to do your lover!

Elust 97

Modesty Ablaze Elust 97
Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze

Welcome to Elust 97

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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Confessional

A MISTRESS UNSEEN

Wrapped around his finger

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Counting

The Storyteller’s Conundrum

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Rainy Day Lover

 

Erotic Fiction

The Sleeping Beauty
Longing
Broken to Be ~ Part 7 – Conclusion
A good man, with a belt

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

The Scene That Almost Never Happened
Sticky fingers

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Art Class Model
Bondage Alfresco Style ~ Collared & tied.
Welcome Home Lazy Vanilla Lovemaking
The Happiest Place On Earth?

Poetry

Burn Together

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon 2.0

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Sometimes I feel this is all I’m good for

Elust 88

Birched in the library

Bending over, in punishment pose, in the place she thinks of as The Library of Depravity. Waiting for Sir.

She’s already been spanked, but she’s about to feel the birch for the first time. 

She knows it won’t be the last. 

It’s comfortable, bent over the rolled arm of a leather armchair. But she knows she won’t be comfortable for long. In the meantime she waits, presented for him, hoping she’ll please him when he comes for her. 

She hears footsteps, approaching the library. She has a lot to learn, she knows. But some new information, and new sensations, are about to touch her.

Psyche whipped

When a Greek myth has someone being whipped, is it sexual? 

Well, if the whipping is ordered by Aphrodite, goddess of sexual love, then it generally is. The drawing is of Psyche being whipped while her lover’s mother, Aphrodite, watches. Aphrodite is the goddess of sexual love, and her son, Eros, is the god of lust, from whom we get the word “erotic”. And Eros is living with, and in love with, a very nice human girl called Psyche. 

There’s a lot of symbolism going on in this “myth”, which like a lot of myths may have been invented relatively recently as a literary concoction. That is, it dates back to Apuleius’s novel The Golden Ass, written in the second century CE, rather than from time immemorial like, say, the myth of the great war between the Olympian gods and the Titans.  

The reason I think the whipping is sexual, in its place in the book, is that Apuleius is very aware of different strands of sexuality, including “sadism”.

By making Aphrodite the spectator of Psyche’s whipping, Auileius is allowed to present it for the reader’s enjoyment and entertainment. As for the artist, he is definitely portraying the event as erotic.

 I guess the central thread of the symbolism is that we all hope that Psyche, or “mind”, has some effect on our lusts and loves. 

At other times, some of us want to be whipped and hurt and to sacrifice ourselves and suffer physically for our love. Which Psyche manages to do. And survive and find happiness.  

The artist, François Boucher, was rumoured to be an admirer of whipped female skin, and his wife to be a participant in his pleasures. There are questions we ask about relationships and consent these days that simply weren’t asked in the eighteenth century, so we don’t know if Mme Boucher enjoyed those sessions. We can only hope she did. 

 

Maddie’s virginity: Post-mortem

“It’s nice that you’re holding me,” Maddie said. “I appreciate that you do care about me. You sadistic bastard.” I pinched her nipple, hard. “Ow! No, seriously, I do like it that you care about me. May I rub, sir?”

“No. I meant to hurt you. Stay where you are and hurt, Maddie.”I resumed the pressure on her nipple, a little harder.

She nodded. “Thank you, sir. And I do love that you’re cruel, and that you care about me. But I didn’t tell you that story so you’d sympathise with me.”

I let go of her nipple then, getting a gasp of pain from her. Then I rubbed and pressed it soothingly, since someone had to. “It’s a parable?”

“Yes. I don’t mean, watch out or someone will rape Jennifer. I’m not being that exact. It’s just that I think it’d be a pity for you and a tragedy for her if you both missed out on having each other.” She laughed. “Together! For the first time!”

I tweaked that nipple again, in warning, and cupped her breast with my hand. 

“Mmm. But I worry that you and she will miss out on something that would be very special.I don’t know.”

I kissed her. I had nothing to say. But she did need to know she was held, and loved. She relaxed into my arms this time, and there was a moment when it seemed she would roll back, pulling me down on top of her. But she drew her head away, and looked into my eyes. 

“I just want to say there are a whole lot of things that can go wrong in the universe. Jennifer’s eighteen. And she’s very horny. Horny for you, sure, but she’s also just horny in general.”

“What makes you say that? I mean, horny for me, specifically?”

“I watched her leave, the last time you spanked her. She was absolutely … blissed out. I know we’re not the same person, Jennifer and I, but I do know, close enough, what she’s feeling. Because I’ve watched her and heard her, and I’ve been exactly in her place.”

“True enough.”

“I promise you, from experience as well as observation, she wants you to show her how sex works, to make her undress for you so you can hurt her. She wants to be disciplined. It’s sexy and hot, and it makes her feel singled out. It make her know she’s special.”

“Well, she is.”

“So she should be. Sir. She wants you to spank her again, soon. Tomorrow would be good. And she wants the cane. Well, it’s more that she wants to experience the cane. To be a girl under your discipline. And, a little later but not too much later, for you to take her and teach her.”

I said, “So. I want you to make an appointment for Miss Perch to see me after school tomorrow. That should help her to feel singled out. And special.” 

“After school tomorrow, for Jennifer. Spanking or the cane?”

“Don’t know. I’ll ask her teachers how she’s been behaving. That will decide it. Probably a spanking. With a warning that it’s the cane next time.””

“Watch her make sure there’s a next time. And soon. And after that you should definitely fuck her. She’s longing for that to happen. She’s impatient.”

I nodded. I’d felt that too, about Jennifer’s reactions over my knee. “And I should make it happen.”

“Yes. Soon. And you should make sure its special.”

“Um, Maddie. What happened to you, when you knocked on the door? And he let you in and saw you? All messed up, my poor girl?” 

Maddie drew in a breath.

A good man, with a belt 4

Maureen didn’t know she’d shredded my back until I turned away from her to check the time. She saw the blood on my back and on the sheet where I’d been lying. “Oh god, sorry, Jaime.”

Blood-letting commences in 3, 2, 1…

When Maureen got excited, and a well-strapped bottom followed by a hard pounding was guaranteed to achieve that, she tended to reach up and dig her nails into her lover’s back.

It seemed to be more or less instinctual; she didn’t decide to do it, and I don’t think she really knew, at a conscious level, when she was doing it.

It had been one of the things she did when I’d pushed her down into her animal brain.

I was some way into my own animal brain, because all I could see was that Maureen, contrite and sorry, was too good a thing to pass up. I growled, “Oh. So you think ‘sorry’ is good enough? Maires?” 

Maires was my lover’s name for her. When we’d been a couple I hadn’t really minded her nails. It never hurt, because when I’m sexually excited I don’t seem to feel pain.

I discovered that inability to feel pain when I was 18 and a girl accidentally slid a shower door shut on my erect penis. For a tenth of a second or thereabouts I could see it about to happen, with not enough moving room or time to get out of the way. I’d been horrified. But when it hit I was astonished to find that it didn’t  hurt.

When my cock was pumped hard with blood, and I was intent on following that girl who’d just left the shower, the pain seemed to come from a very little, far-away place, and to be completely irrelevant. But if I hadn’t been so turned on I’d have been dancing in agony and howling at the moon.

This is different from what submissives do. When I’d been warming up Maureen’s ass and thighs with my belt, I was certain that she felt it and that it hurt her: but she could take that pain and turn it into arousal.

And that’s why she said, “Oh. No, Jaime, I don’t think my saying sorry is enough at all.” She waited, horrified and delighted, for me to pronounce sentence. 

Tied and from behind: the only safe way to fuck Maureen

The really important thing for a species is to keep reproducing, and that means that fucking should override almost everything else.

Still, I wonder if that is a Dom/sub divide; for doms, sexual arousal cancels or overrides pain, while for subs the right kind of pain builds sexual arousal.

That’s my half-arsed theory #213.

Anyway, fucking Maureen, at least in missionary position so she had access to my back, meant coming away with wounds. Overall, when I was her boyfriend I was kind of proud of the wounds on my back, because I felt that they showed how much passion I’d roused in her. 

I said, “No, Maires. It’s definitely not enough. I want to see and hear that you’re sorry. Tomorrow I’m coming back. You’re to have a cane ready for me. Ok?”

“You’re going to make me wait? Can’t you cane me now?” 

“I have to go now. But the waiting will do you good, Maires. Make sure you’re in the kitchen waiting for me, same time as I arrived today. Alone, naked, facing the table, holding the cane between your thighs. You’ll get at least a dozen. Whether you get a second dozen depends how well you behave.”

Hard to pass off as a motorbike accident

“Jaime!” She was wide-eyed. Whiny and thrilled, at once.

I wanted to push her down again then and there, down onto the sheet and down into her animal brain. Make her rest her feet on my arse while I rode her to the end.

But I really had run out of time. My problem was that I was due home in a bit over an hour.

I was due home because my new girlfriend, Fliss, was coming over for dinner. She expected to be fed and fucked, of course. Fucking involves nudity. 

And Fliss was not going to be pleased with the state of my back.

Sinful Sunday: It’s that skin feeling

He hadn’t put the cane down, but he paused. She stayed in position, bottom and thighs stung, deep and warm.

He ran his hand, the one not holding that thick cane, lightly down her skin, grazing the blossoming welts with his nails. Her skin woke up, aroused. She felt the goosebumps blossoming, where he’d stroked her. 

He sighed with pleasure and admiration. And then his hand was gone. He’d raised the cane again.

Gay marriage and becoming an Australian

I’m living in Australia at the moment, but I’m not an Australian. There’s always been too much about the country that makes me feel like I don’t want to join it, or identify with it. 

There’s the racism, in particular.

I’m not talking about the stuff where someone is making conversation and asks a person who is black or Asian, “Where are you from?” Because there’s a possible sub-text of, “If you’re not white, you’re not from here” about it. But it can also be a well-meaning but under-informed person who means, “I think you look fantastic! Where do they make more people like you?”

My point is, it’s always a clueless question to ask, and sometimes there might be a negative racist meaning to it, and sometimes there might not be. But my sympathies aren’t always with the person taking offence. A little bit of polite person-to-person education goes a lot further, and does more good, than all the offence-taking in the world.

Anyway, when I say Australia is a racist country I’m not talking about that kind of thing.

Rather, it’s about the deliberatively, knowingly genocidal history of what has been done to the Aboriginal people. And the incredible, shockingly callous endorsement of that genocide by a fuck of a lot of Australians, once you get them in private. They don’t even need to have a drink in their hand. The day after I arrived in Australia, some quite wealthy, educated guy said to me, “oh, Abos: they should have put out more poisoned flour sacks.” 

Then I was in a Post Office and I saw a police notice. They wanted to know if the public had seen some offender. The ad said, “non-Australian appearance”. What that meant was that he wasn’t white. Then I was talking to a cop, who said it was a pity we’d moved out of the old days when they’d just take Aboriginal young men down to the station and “give them a bit of a flogging”. He was a young cop. By “the old days”, he’d mean “about five years ago”. 

It’s about the fact that life expectancy for Aboriginal people in their own country is fifteen years less than any other statistical group. Fifteen fucking years. 

And so on. And their media is run almost entirely by Rupert Murdoch, and leans so far to the right it’s lying on its side. And “lying” is the word. “Bullying of people who dare to speak out” are also the right words to describe Australia’s craven, contemptible media. 

So I don’t love Australia. I love many Australians, and like a lot of others. But the vibe of the place: No, I don’t love that. 

Now a group of right-wing nutters and church-ridden homophobes are trying to stop marriage equality from coming to Australia. They’d decided to put the issue to a postal survey, which is calculated to favour the group most opposed to gay marriage, that is, the over-65s, while cutting out the group – just about everyone 30 and under – who most favour gay marriage. 

Knowing that no one in that group uses postal mail, or checks their letter box, any more. It’s a “survey” where the homophobes get to have their thumb on one side of the scales. 

So … I’m going to have to become an Australian citizen. Not because I love a sun-burned country. The truth is that I don’t. But I approve of love, and if people want to marry the person they love, I’m not going to let a bunch of heartless bigots keep them from having that right. 

The end of Maddie’s virginity

“So, when school was finally over I walked back to the headmaster’s office. I wasn’t exactly skipping along, because getting the cane for the first time, and then having my first fuck: those things are too serious for skipping. But I was certainly happy. I remember that, for sure. And I was so incredibly aroused.”

Maddie lay beside me, on the mattress in the storeroom. She was telling me about how she’d lost her virginity. She’d been cheerfully turning me on, stroking my cock during the sexier parts of her tale. But that was over. She still lay beside me, her body pressing against mine, but her hands had crossed over her belly. They were still. She had something bad to tell me.

“And I got to his office. Or nearly there. I was wondering, I think, whether he’d make me strip of my clothes for him, or if he’d undress me. I wasn’t sure which I’d prefer. And then there was Rob. I nearly screamed.”

“Rob?” I looked puzzled. I’d lost track of the dramatis personae in Maddie’s tale. 

“He’s the boy the head was caning, when I went to see him at lunchtime. And he’d been terribly humiliated.”

“Ah, yeah. And he hated you for seeing him. I remember.”  

“Hate is right. But he stepped out from the little side passage to the boys’ cloakrooms. He’d been waiting for me, I know now. I don’t think I realised it then. He said, ‘Hey, pretty bird. Going to see the head?’ He made it sound like it was the most disgusting, the most slutty thing in the world.” 

I had my arm around Maddie’s shoulders. I held her tighter.

“But then… He’d called me pretty. And no one ever had before. I knew the headmaster thought I was beautiful. But he’d never said so. So I was confused. I didn’t know what to feel. And that was my first mistake. I should have screamed, and run towards the head’s office. But I let Rob come closer.”

I said, “Maddie, love, you don’t have to – ”

“No. Shut up. Sir. I’m going to tell you. I want to tell you.”

“Ok. I’m here. And just in case you need the reminder: I think you’re wonderful. I beat your ass and I’m on your side.”

“I know you are. It’s all right. I hate him; I don’t hate you.”

I shut up. I’d made it about me. Male insecurity. I’m far, far from being a role model (I’m a fictional character, an ethically challenged one, in a sexual fantasy that’s briefly swerved into the real), but I always feel guilty when I hear about another man doing something horrible to a woman: we may know better, but we feel complicit.

As if the Y chromosome had rape and violence against the less powerful built into it. But it doesn’t. It’s not the chromosome, which we can’t do anything about. It’s patriarchy. And patriarchy sucks, and we can do something about that. I shut up and let Maddie talk. 

“So he got close, and he put his hand on my cunt. And this is the thing: it took me years to forgive myself for this: I was so turned on that it didn’t matter. I could have banged my cunt with the door, or walked into a desk. And it would’ve felt good. And so did being touched. It was creepy, but I moaned.”

“He heard me. He laughed. I’d given him some fantastic victory, in his mind. He said, ‘Horny little bitch, aren’t you. I know what horny bitches need.’ And he pulled me back deeper into the cloakroom, and pushed me through the door at the back, into the boy’s toilets. 

“He pushed me down to the floor. And then, well, he raped me. He stuck his cock into me, and he lasted, I don’t know, about a minute before he came. And this is the awful thing: I came too. It was all horrible, but I’d been so close anyway, so even though I didn’t want him, and it felt so wrong, well: the body takes over, I know that now. I didn’t know it then.”

“Oh Jesus. That poor little girl.” I held her, feeling inadequate. What else can you do?

“So he pulled out of me and stood up. I couldn’t get up. I stared up at him: it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, I think even now, the utter contempt and hate in his eyes. I didn’t understand it. Then. Well, he laughed and he was gone. 

“I got up, and grabbed handfulls of tissues and tried to clean myself up, and get his come out of me. It wasn’t about pregnancy. I just felt defiled. And then I looked at myself in the mirror. And I knew – I mean I thought I knew – that it wasn’t rape. I’d never said No. And I’d come.”

I said, “Of course it was rape. That shitbag raped you.” 

“I know. I mean that’s what I thought then. What I thought I knew. And I started bawling, like I hadn’t since I was a baby, I think. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to die.    The first thing I could think of was, I could run in front of a car. And then I thought that wouldn’t be fair. To the driver.”

I couldn’t not smile. That was very her, the woman I held beside me. “You’re a good girl. Always. And you wouldn’t know how to be inconsiderate.”

“Huh. Splat! Well, they talk about schoolgirl crushes.”  She laughed. A second later, so did I. 

“So there was only one place I could go. So I went to the headmaster’s office. Howling with sorrow. I hoped he’d – I don’t know – whip me. I felt so worthless. But I knocked on his door.”

 

Note

I’m sorry this episode’s so heavy.

It’s kind of essential to the story, even though this bit’s horrible and the story mostly takes place in Sexual Fantasyland, the happiest kingdom of them all. I wondered if the story has sufficient heft to take this dark section, but it’s where the structure took me.

When I came to the bit where it has to happen, last week I couldn’t write it. Hence the beginning of another story, last week. I didn’t realise how much I liked Maddie and how hard I’d find this. Anyway, we leave the Valley of Death and the Slough of Despond here. Starting with the next episode we begin to crawl out.  

And last week’s story about the violinist in Ravenna will continue. Watch this space. 

A good man, with a belt 3

So I watched that first broad stripe form across Maureen’s bottom. She arched that ass up, making it clear that more of the same was required.

So I aimed the loop of belt across the crowns of her buttocks and made leather hit skin. I got a much louder smack this time.

Maureen sighed, and performed a rather neat, dancer-like, roll of her hips, first dipping towards the bed, then arching up again for the next smack.

I provided more smacks while Maureen squirmed about and made encouraging noises, until her bottom had achieved a good strong tomato-coloured glow.

Maureen’s complaint about her current boyfriends was that they didn’t understand about this kind of thing. Even if they tried to deliver a spanking, or something more ambitious, they were uncomfortable with the idea and generally clueless about how to do it.

In practice, she’d found, the main pain she suffered from was embarrassment. Alternatively they really hurt her, but not in the sexy way. When I’d been Maureen’s boyfriend I’d been unsatisfactory in a lot of ways, but not that one.

Then I aimed my belt a little lower, and started colouring in the tops of her thighs, slowly turning that deliciously soft skin from pink to crimson.

Maureen wriggled and bopped about, or at least her arse did. We had moved into a sort of rhythm, with the belt landing steadily though not fast across her bottom and the backs of her thighs.

Maureen’s hips performed her roll-and-present dance exactly in time to meet the belt as it came down, and her breath gasped out at every second stroke.

A lot of time passed like that, Maureen getting whipped, hotter and hotter. Though we had no idea how much time.

But Maureen eventually grabbed my belt, which was her right since she was not mine, and pulled me down while she turned, so that I fell onto her side, kicking and flailing about trying to get my own clothes off quickly.

But we sorted it out, and eventually I joined her, naked, supporting my weight like a gentleman, with her thighs – pleasantly heated by the belt – wrapped around me with her old enthusiasm. And I plunged my cock into the melony sweetness of her cunt.

And after a while Maureen closed her eyes and held her breath until her face turned red. That was something that she did and I remembered it fondly. It happened when I was doing the right thing and she was concentrating to enjoy it.

And then she put her hands on my shoulders, dug her fingernails in and clawed through my skin, drawing eight long lines of blood. And then she did it again. There was no pain. I was too turned on to feel pain. But I knew there was blood. 

Oh yeah, I remembered. There was that, too.