Dialog in a delicatessen: sometimes there are no sexual secrets

Coffee

Ana guarded the last table while Svitlana brought over coffees and bagels. Svitlana put Ana’s coffee in front of her, and sat down. She looked at Ana over her glasses. “No, I’m not a lesbian because my husband used to punch me around. He started punching me when he found out I’m a lesbian.” A few heads turned, at the word ‘lesbian” loudly and cheerfully spoken.

Ana had wanted to go for lunch with Svitlana – she’d swapped her lunch hour with one of the salesmen to make it possible – because she’d thought they both had sexual secrets, and she’d wanted to talk about hers. She’d just learned that Svitlana didn’t actually have any sexual secrets. Svitlana still seemed the best person to talk to, about being a girl who liked obeying, and who liked it when her boyfriend bruised her, so long as he did it carefully.

Ana said, “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t mean, ‘How could your life have gone so wrong that you became a lesbian?’ But I must have sounded like that. And that must be annoying.”

Bagel

Svitlana smiled and put her hand on Ana’s wrist. Ana made herself not move her arm. Her discomfort came from the things she’d been taught at home, from her own mother and then Senemelia, and from the First Samoan Church. She knew those lessons were wrong, but she’d never had to confront them before. If there were lesbians in the First Samoan Church they were careful to hide it. But she had no right to inflict her upbringing on Svitlana.

“No, honey. You’re not a hater. There are things you don’t know and you asked me. That’s the right thing to do. I’m not going to beat you for it.” Ana looked at her, astonished. Svitlana grinned, and looked much younger for a second. Mischievous. “Not like your boyfriend.”

“Ah. yeah You saw my bruises. Don’t you think I’m weird? For liking that… sort of thing?”

Not very secret lesbians

“Heavens no. If it comes from a sexy, loving place…” Ana nodded. “The day you waltzed in with those marks on your legs, I saw your face. And the way you were walking. You really enjoyed earning those bruises. And getting them. So he’s doing what you want.”

Ana frowned. “No. I have to do what he wants. That’s how it works.”

“You think? The only thing about you that’s weird, Ana sweetie, is that you take men far too seriously. But that’s not very weird. Statistically. Everybody does that.”

Note

I’m happily being busy with my girl at the moment. But this is an extract from the novel I’m writing at the moment. 

In the air tonight (my girl is)

 

Suggestive pose! She’s been working on choreography for a moose movie

My girl is flying towards me. So life is good. 

In fact, she’s just now cleared the Arctic and arrived in Kiruna. If I were a road, I’d end in Kiruna. If I were a person, I’d end it all, in Kiruna. Unless I had a ticket on, up and out. Which my girl, fortunately for all of us, does.

Next stop is somewhere in the damn world, then it’s me!

So: you want to know about my problems?

Somewhere – damned if I know where – I put my pussy-whip down and didn’t put it away.

Where the fuck is it?

Generally I’m a cunt-sayer, when I refer to lovely ladyparts, so I should logically say “cuntwhip”. But there’s a misogynist expression, “pussywhipped”, referring to a man who takes women’s needs seriously, that’s meant to discourage men from doing that. So I like to pervert the term, to refer to a real whip. I suppose it could also be used as a cockwhip, though not by my hands.

Anyway, it’s short, it’s cute, but unlike my girl it’s multi-thonged. I’m afraid I don’t know where it is, though.

So I’ll have to tidy my office, until I find it. Then, I shall use my pussywhip to whip my girl’s cunt. And her nipples. In particular.

I’ve got bigger worries than that, though. I hope she still loves me, in the flesh. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t, having managed to love me in the first place, I guess. But we’re anxious little creatures, we humans. I have no doubts about whether I love her, or how much. 

And where in the fuck is this?

Beyond that, I intend to collar her. But I haven’t found a good collar yet. I’m after a day collar, not some leather dog collar thing with bolts, spikes and tether points. I’m looking for something more subtle, full of meaning but not too obvious to others.

So she can wear it in the vicinity of her mother, say, without setting her off. 

Can I get a good collar, in time to collar my girl? This is on-going, with no guarantee of the good, happy ending. Stay tuned!

I’m also hoping to introduce her to the joys of anal sex. And myself to the joy (I have no doubt) of having my cock in her rectum. But I’ll desist if she’s not enjoying, or is hurting more than is fun. So… can I manage that difficult… passage? I hope so, but I don’t know. 

And keeping her happy. My girl deserves a good break and a good time. Regular fuckings and spankings will help, obviously. But her energy reserves are low, and food intake needs to be regular though usually small. She is very low and miserable if she runs out of fuel, so I need to be always ready to provide something small and just right. Can I manage? I intend to, that’s for certain. 

And then, within all the parameters, there has to be room for joy.  Girl bound, and joy unbound!

Wicked Wednesday: Do I smell like that?

The previous episode is here.

So Lucy pulled her skirt up. She wasn’t wearing anything else, except a white, uniform bra. She sat on the edge of the desk. She looked at Sir, and then at me, and she opened her thighs. 

“A little bit further back, Lucy,” Sir said. “Just skootch your bottom back a bit, so Maddie’s got room to bent over and put her head between your thighs.” Lucy blushed – she was being so bold! – and moved back as she’d been told. 

“Good girl, Lucy. Maddie, you know what to do.” 

“Yes, Sir.” I stepped forward, and bent at the waist. It seemed a very formal thing to do, though I was naked and had six stripes blazing across my ass. And I was about to get six more. And another twelve if Sir could make me jump up without permission again. 

My face face pressed between Lucy’s plump thighs. She was such a sweet girl. I wasn’t into girls, but I liked her softness. As Sir liked mine.

Lucy put her hands on my head. She pressed me down so my face got closer to her pussy. 

“Lucy, you’d be safest if you pressed on her shoulders. Remember that I’ll cane you too, if she gets up. So I expect you to hold her tight. Firmly, girl.”

Lucy said, “Yes, Sir.” I felt her hands on my head one more time, pushing me lower so my cheeks pressed against the softness of her inner thighs. Her legs opened a little wider. She smelled like ice cream. Or maybe it was just that I liked the smell of ice cream. She smelled of sweat, really, and traces of piss, and something like almond. It was delicious.

Sir had taken me once already, with his mouth and his nose in my pussy, until I screamed. Did I smell like that? No wonder he liked it.

“Put your arms around her, Maddie. She’s looking after you. So hold her tight.”

“Yes, Sir.” I slipped my hands along her plump bare thighs, and clasped her bottom, one cheek in each hand. Her hands on my shoulders caressed me.

“Good girl. Good girls, both of you. Now, Maddie, be careful not to get up.” I felt the cane tap against my bottom. Once, twice. Lucy stopped carressing and pushed firmly down. I was helpless. But in such a beautiful, confusing, world.

Then the cane was gone. I braced myself.

The next episode is here.

Hail, pretty horrors, hail! Halloween and bdsm

I was never a fan of Halloween. Until this year. 

The first thing is that Halloween, in its current form, is pretty much an American thing. The country I come from isn’t very culturally similar to America, and people there just didn’t want it. Like a lot of non-Americans I first really became aware of it through the Halloween sequence in Spielberg’s film, ET.

So it’s something about kids dressing up in marketing outfits for various US franchises, and going door-to-door begging for sugar. So, I thought, it’s tacky and a bit greedy, And the voices of my parents, sounding in the back of my brain, told me that this was a dumb, kind of ugly festival. 

I had another objection. Halloween is probably (not certainly, but probably) the Celtic festival of Samhain, which took place at the same time in the year, and had a theme of death and the lost souls of the dead. In taking it over, Christians gave it a Christian veneer. In this case, it was a night of licence, for indulging the wicked flesh, before everybody goes to church in the morning and people are then supposed to reject the flesh and the devil, and return to Christian asceticism, anti-sex, anti-this world doctrines.

The “trick or treat” thing is focussed on mischief, rewards and punishments. So it turns to bdsm very easily

That idea, the wickedness of the human body and the natural world, is one of the things I most dislike about Christianity.   

But it’s been steadily losing its religious roots, both Celtic (believe me, ancient pagans mostly get a good press, but they really don’t deserve it) and Christian, and it’s steadily evolved into something much nicer.

Basically these days it’s a festival of geek, a cos-play extravaganza. And there are no threatened “tricks”. The slight blackmail element of the old festival has faded away.

So I got visited by a great horde of seven-year-old girls, a couple of moms standing a  carefully calculated distance away. They were all dressed as princesses, mostly Disney princesses but a few fairy princesses too, a sort of ballerina, and a couple of girls in home-made Wonder Women costumes. (So Yay to their moms!) They were far too charming to lecture about this dumb festival. I didn’t have anything prepared, so I gave them dried raisins and apricots, and chocolate.

So the transaction wasn’t, “Trick or treat”. It was, “don’t we look amazing? We dressed up for you adults, so pay us in sugar!”

The Halloween-bdsm links haven’t escaped the cartoonists

Later I went shopping for bread and milk and such, and there were Goth girls everywhere, and real estate saleswomen, shop assistants and a woman I always notice in the chemist all dressed up, as Goth girls and other fantasy costumes. Anything that brings out women in velvet corsets, black lippy and choker collars is ok with me. Plus there were witches, Wonder Women and an amazing Cat Girl or two.

Next year I’ll be in it. I’m going to find me a blind harpist, and dress as a bard, we’ll go door-to-door singing Welsh Death Ballads until they give us marijuana and ask us to go away. You have to be polite to a bard. We can immortalise you in poetry, and its up to us whether you look good or stupid.

Anyway, Halloween! Not Christian, not Pagan: it’s a festival of slightly kinky cosplay!