Sinful Sunday: Wait for me!

When he became her Master, he’d told her she’d be subject to discipline, of course. She expected that, and would have been disappointed if he’d said anything else. She liked the ritual, the way her obedience felt so very real and significant when he told her to position herself to make her body available for him to hurt her. 

And it was hot. The cane no longer scared her as much as it used to, but it still hurt her more than she could turn into sex, in the second of it landing across her bottom and thighs. It was a few seconds later that the pain would recede a little and turn into the right kind of warmth. He always fucked her after he’d punished her, because the dance of obedience and pain excited them both, and he wanted to show her that the punishment was over: she was his, and his good girl, again. 

But he’d told her that there were two things he could never accept, and would punish her hard for: disobedience, and things that caused her harm.

That evening he’d asked about orders he’d given her, and she’d had to tell him that she didn’t have the outline of her university course essay, and she hadn’t made a doctor’s appointment – about an intermittent pain in her side – he’d told her to arrange. So that was two counts each, of disobedience and acting against her own interests.

She knew she’d disappointed him. He’d lectured her, and though he’d made himself sound calm she knew he was very displeased. Then he’d made her lie down on their bed, and he’d strapped her long and hard with his belt. It went on for a long time, long enough for her to burrow into it, that living, sexual cave of pain he made for her. And when he stopped at last she’d thought it was over.

Instead he’d taken the cane from its place beside their bed, where it lived, and told her to get up. He took her by the ear and led her into the living room. He stood her facing the wall, and told her to put her hands on her head. And he’d lubricated her anus thoroughly, and put the cane between her buttocks.  

He said he’d be with her again, later, and take that cane, and she would bend over and touch her toes. And he would continue the punishment, until he felt she’d paid in full. In the meantime, she should think about obedience, about caring for her health, and not failing her course. 

And, he’d said, don’t you dare let that cane fall.

Then he’d sat down to read a book, while she stood there. In disgrace. Waiting for the cane. Hoping he’d let her come when he took her afterwards. Wanting it to be over. And wanting it to begin.


A good man, with a belt 8



This is the near the end of this story. If you missed earlier episodes, the jist is that I had girl-scratches all over my back that my current girlfriend, the extremely assertive submissive Fliss, hadn’t put there.

She was likely to resent these when she became aware of them. I’d managed to start having sex with her without her noticing them, but I expected exposure as a Bad Boyfriend at any second. 

Now Read On

So Fliss, eyes closed, had squirmed her way deliciously down to her mammal brain. I liked that state myself when fucking. I tend to go bear-like when she goes there, carnivorous and very grunty, and not at all analytical. But I couldn’t go that way this time. I had too much to think about.

And then I smiled down at Fliss, kissed her, which she accepted, purring pleasurably, but without opening her eyes. And I brought my hands in under her back, made the best claws I could with my blunt nails, and dragged them down her back, scratching as hard as I could.

Fliss’s eyes opened wide. She grunted, “Ubf!”, tightened her thighs on mine and let fly with her nails, scrabbling and flaying at my back while she writhed determinedly beneath me. She continued shredding, my excited minx, until I felt she’d done enough.

I grabbed her hands and held them together over her head, trapped in one hand of mine, and increased our speed. And Fliss made the noise she made when she was going to come, a sort of gurgling, close to laughter but more musical, that rose and fell in cascades and made me think of fountains, and aspens.

And she came and I came, and afterwards I accepted loving words that I didn’t entirely deserve, and gave loving words that she did deserve. And later still we lay side by side, on our backs, legs and arms twined, well pleased with each other.

Eventually I got up to get us both water and wine. There was a slight gasp as I walked, naked, out of the bedroom. When I returned Fliss took her drink, and then looked contrite.

“Jesus, Jaime, your back’s a mess. Wow. Sorry. I didn’t realise I’d got so carried away.”

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie in the headmaster’s bath

Out of Maddie’s story: Back in the storeroom with me

Back in the storeroom beside my office, where Maddie was telling me this story, I looked over at her. We were lying side by side on a mattress that would eventually find its way to the school sickroom. Maddie wasn’t so tense in my arms now, and her eyes, staring at the ceiling, seemed more relaxed. We’d passed the hard part of her story. 

I kissed her cheek, near her nose, since that was where I could reach. She turned to face me, and we cuddled, full length, Maddie pushing a leg between mine so we were intertwined. We were in that pleasant emotional valley between affection and sex, and not inclined to make any definite swing in one direction or the other. 

I was still soft-cocked. It hadn’t been long since we’d fucked, and since then she’d told me about getting raped in the boy’s toilets at her school. That was about the most antierotic thing I’d ever heard. So there’d be no more fucking, at least not  involving penises, until I’d got that out of my head. I think Maddie was happier with comfort than with lust just at that moment too.

But affection: I guessed that was what she wanted most, and I could do that. 

I held her and said, “You’re in his bath, the lucky bastard. So then what happened?” 

Back in Maddie’s story, and in her headmaster’s bath

I put my toes in the bath. It was just short of being too hot, so it was just right. I could hear him just outside the door, picking up my clothes. I imagined him coming in, to see me, and I hurried into the bath. 

My view

It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to see me. It was that I’d seen movies where the woman lets the man into her bathroom, and she’s all covered up in soap bubbles, and all you got was the odd glimpse of golden, pink skin, and no nipples and no thighs. And I wanted him to see me like that. Looking all grand and sexy.

I didn’t want sex with him, not then. My cunt hurt, and I still felt terrible. Something that was going to be so lovely, between us, had got fucked up, and and it was my fault. I know. I’m talking about how I felt then. 

I was a little bit angry with men, too. I wasn’t angry with him, my headmaster, sir, but there was still some free-floating anger. How could this have happened? It just wasn’t fair. And it happens to girls like me, and it never happens to men like him. 

Still, though I didn’t feel like getting fucked that night, sex was still something between us and I needed to know it had survived.

His view

I still wanted him to cane me, and make me do whatever he wanted and punish me if I didn’t do it right. And I wanted him to fuck me, in all the ways a woman can be fucked, and for him to teach me everything he knew. And then I could serve him.

And I knew that was what he wanted too. So I liked that. I didn’t want it to happen that night. But I needed to know he still wanted me, and that made me feel a little flirtatious, even a little sexy. Do you see that?

I heard a washing machine going. I thought about him taking the clothes out of the drier, in an hour or so, all crumpled and needing ironing. And I thought of watching him iron my clothes, and something about that made me giggle. And then I thought about ironing my clothes in front of him. I’d have to drop the robe so he could see me lean forward. And wiggle. That, my darling, was the Kahlua talking. Or at least doing my thinking for me. 

So I poured some more water, and added more soap bubbles everywhere, so I was almost modest. Though I left a nipple poking out. I thought it looked accidental. And I called out, “Sir? Sir?

“Maddie?” He was back in the living room. And he wasn’t coming in to see me. 

So I said, “Sir, I’m feeling shaky still. Can I have … another adult drink, please?”

There was a pause. Eventually he decided he had to believe me. I was pretty sure those were the rules. So he said, “All right, Maddie. But just one. That’s it.” 

So I ran more bubbly stuff and churned it up, till I had dabs of bubble in my hair and like icecream cones on my knees, but still with one nipple peeking out. I thought if he liked me at all, he’d find that irresistible.

He came in, with another glass for me, and a glass of something clear in his other hand. And he stopped and looked down at me. All ready for him, like a sophisticated New York socialite in a movie. He saw me, a naked girl all bubbled up, looking about ten years old, I suppose, and thinking I looked thirty. He smiled. 

“Maddie. You said you were feeling shaky. I want you to look in my eyes.” 

And I did. His were kind, at that moment, but they could be hard, too. Blue eyes, he had. And the lines around them were kind. He was going to cane me and fuck me, but he cared and worried about people. And we looked at each other, on and on, for ages. 

“Were you just feeling shaky, girl, or did you just want me to come in here?”

He was still looking at me, and I was still gazing into his eyes. I couldn’t lie, and I didn’t want to. “I wanted you to come in, sir. I felt lonely. And … now I really do feel shaky.”

He smiled, and gave me the glass. I leaned forward to take it, and there were my breasts, a little soapy, but basically bare. I leaned back quickly, retreating behind the bath foam. 

“Good girls don’t tell lies.” But he didn’t seem at all angry with me. “Do you think you’ve just deserved a spanking, Maddie?” 

I didn’t have to think about that. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re right, provoking little girl. All right, that robe I gave you to wear.”

“Yes, sir?”

Doris Day hadn’t always been a virgin. She took it up later in life.

“You can carry it out of the bath, and I’ll let you wear it later. But when you’ve finished here, you’re just going to have a towel round your body, and you’ll take it off when I tell you, and put yourself over my knee.”

“Yes, sir.”  And I smiled at him. The idea that he wanted to be in charge of me made me feel so relieved. 

“Good girl. Up to a point. Now drink your drink.” 

He put the lid down and sat on the toilet, to watch me. “And clear those ridiculous soap bubbles away. Who do you think you are, Doris Day?” 


“Never mind. You’ve got a lot to learn. Now wash yourself.”

So I cleared away the bubbles and obeyed. He watched, but even when I spread my thighs and washed my cunt, and scrubbed at it with the flannel, he watched my eyes. 


A good man, with a belt 7

Once I’d hauled off Fliss’s jeans and panties, and smacked her bottom because it was too adorable not to (could this be the last time, I wondered?) I lay back against a stack of pillows like a pasha, took my belt off and kept it in my hand.

Dab dab dab, dib dib dib

Fliss got up on her knees, leaned forward, and extracted my cock with her hand, and began dabbing at it head with her pink little tongue.

I was aware that I wasn’t being a good boyfriend at that moment. But Fliss didn’t know that, so she was happily serving.

I wasn’t quite comfortable, ethically, but my cock wasn’t interested in that kind of issue. Fliss was smaller, more compact than Maureen, slender, with small breasts and a little hard arse like a pair of apples. Cock, once it’s excited and being pleasured, has as much conscience as cunt, or, for that matter, as a brick.

After a time Fliss stopped playing, and took me deep in her mouth. And I held her head with the hand that held the belt, and she started to mouthfuck me, rather fiercely, while I held her head. I let the belt press against her face so she could feel the leather and imagine she would be punished if she didn’t serve me properly.

Usually I would smack the belt down her back, letting it impact and curl around her arse, usually not hard enough to hurt, but with occasional harder lashes, while she sucked my cock. But on that occasion I didn’t quite feel that I had the moral authority. She went unleathered. 

But I was in danger of coming, and I wasn’t sure what my recovery time would be like, after having already come in Maureen that evening. So I hauled Fliss off my cock, and pulled her up the bed and forward until her cunt was pressed down against my mouth.

I dropped the belt to get both hands on her buttocks, holding her against me while she leaned forward to rest her face and arms against the wall. Fliss tasted of cinnamon, for some reason, also soap and faint urine tangs, but her basic cunt taste was bland, a little sweet and salty.

The was also a faint hazelnut taste. Fliss’s older sister made oils and unguents as a sort of household industry for her and her kids, and it was probably some sort of hippie-ish health thing. Anyway I liked her tastes, and worked at her cunt until Fliss was squirming and squeaking and demanding to be let down.

Eventually I released her, and she scrambled down to drag my pants off, while I pulled my shirt off over my head, keeping my back and its collection of Maureen’s clawtrails against the pillows.

So we were both naked, and I held Fliss’s hands while she straddled me and lowered herself, very quick and greedy, onto my cock. Usually there was a long, slow section at the beginning of our fucks, but we skipped that. The thought occured to me, pounding up into her, watching her little tits bounce, that it was probably a good thing that I’d already come in Maureen, because otherwise I wouldn’t have lasted long. Though I didn’t expect that I could introduce that as any sort of argument.

Anyway, after a while I pulled Fliss down against me, and rolled us over so she was on her back and I was on top of her, holding her, slowly pumping in her sweet wet cunt, while she held her breath and spread for me. The scratches on my back were in the open air, though Fliss couldn’t see them. 

And it was in that moment, staring down at Fliss, her eyes closed, intently working on her pleasure and utterly carried away with getting fucked, that I realised that there was a way out. I might just get away with this.