Wicked Wednesday: In Lucy’s hands…

His cock still deep in my mouth, Sir kissed Lucy. She leaned against him, breasts pressed against his chest, and so of course it became a long, lovers’ kiss. Was I jealous of Lucy? I don’t think so, or not exactly. I liked that we both belonged to Sir now. And I liked that, below that fact, Lucy also belonged to me.

And I liked that they wanted each other, and they were kissing. Even though I had Sir’s cock just then, I think I was just jealous that she was getting so much attention.

Sir must have felt something, because he pulled out, cock still pointing hard in the air. He said, “Maddie. Feet apart, bend over. Fingertips touching the floor.”

“Yes, Sir.” And I obeyed quickly, showing him I was a good girl too.

Sir still had had arms round Lucy and his hands on her pink little bottom, but he looked at me and smiled. “Can you touch your palms to the floor, Maddie?”

“Oh, yes, Sir.” And I demonstrated. God, I was a supple girl then.

Lucy looked at me, and his hand cracked hard against her bottom. “Eyes to me, Lucy.” She didn’t answer, just made a happy noise and wriggled her body in even closer. “That’s good, Maddie. I liked what that does to your bottom. But while you’re waiting, you can just touch your fingertips to the floor. Oh, and eyes to the floor girl. Looking at your hands.”

“Sir.”

So I stayed in place, bent sharply at the waist, head down and bottom presented, too afraid to look up. There were flustered sounds from Lucy, then the sound of Sir’s chair scraping on the floor.

Lucy was giggling, then a hard smack on her bottom made her gasp. Then another, and another. She made a sort of moaning noise, now her spanking was proceeding in earnest. Her moans got louder as the spanks got louder.

It was harder, I think, than he’d ever spanked me.

And it went on. I counted twelve strokes, then twenty, then two dozen. Then three dozen. Lucy probably hadn’t thought to count, but her moans had turned to little cries of pain. He was hurting her.

At the fiftieth smack there was a pause. Lucy probably thought it was over, but I guessed differently. I was right. The next smacks were slow and hard, and each got a high-pitched yell from poor Lucy. She was snuffling now, trying not to bawl like a baby.  Finally, at sixty, Sir stopped.

“That’s a good girl, Lucy. Brave girl. Obedient girl.” He’d be stroking her bottom, caressing, making her feel better. Lucy still snuffled, and moaned when his hands touched an especially sensitive place. Then there was silence. He’d be stroking her pussy, and Lucy would be trying to be ladylike in front of her Mistress. That attempt lasted perhaps a minute, and then she whispered, “Oh, Sir…”

A few seconds later, as I guess her whole consciousness narrowed down to the fire in her bottom and the sweet sensations in her pussy, she started murmuring, “ohsirohsirohsirohsirohsir…”

Then there was another loud smack, and Lucy made a surprised sound.

“Up you get, girl. Fetch me the cane, and stand close beside me while I cane your Mistress.”

Then I heard him thank her, and the cane swish through the air, hissing, as he tested it. He was letting me know that this was going to be harder than this morning’s caning.

“Now, Lucy, I want you to take my cock in your hand. Can you– Ah! Good girl.” There was another pause.

I dared not move, but I strained to hear them. Then there was a sigh from Lucy. I assumed he’d kissed her again.

“I want you to keep on stroking me, just gently, while I cane Maddie here. Maddie wants to be caned hard, doesn’t she?”

He left a silence. Then I thought, Oh: that wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Yes, Sir. I do hope it’s hard. I think I want that.”

“You certainly need it, little one. Now, Lucy, a thing you’ll learn is that the more excited a man is, or a man like me, the harder he’s going to cane. So I want you to pleasure me with your hand, while I deliver Maddie’s caning.”

“Like this, Sir?”

For once Sir sounded strained. “Ah, yes. Uh! Pretty much exactly like that. Good girl, Lucy. Have your fingers mainly running along the underside, and of course the head. Ah. Good girl. You keep that up, till I tell you to stop.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right, Maddie. We begin.”

And I felt the cane touch my bottom, lining up across the lower slopes, where it was bound to hurt most.

I felt passionate. I wanted this. I knew he did too. 

Masturbation Monday: “But that’s embarrassing!”

I’d told Stephanie she was coming to my room still naked, but on her hands and knees. She looked at me. If she did as I said it’d be humiliating. On the other hand, it’d be hot. Worse, or better, it’d be hot because it was humiliating. 

She chose a form of resistance that was calculated to be futile. “‘Walk to heel’? I’m not your dog.”

Eventually I said, “No. You’re my girl. Tonight, anyway. And you’re going to do as you’re told.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Stephanie. Because you want to. Because you and I both really want you to. And…  because if you don’t I’ll take my belt to this gorgeous arse.”

“Oh!” She looked shocked for a second, then amused by me.

“And you’d say that’s not a threat it’s a promise?”

“Neither. It’s just information.”

I stepped back, because I needed space to move one hand from her bottom, to stroke her cunt.

Stephanie, sweetly, wetly stroked, moved her feet apart a little, and put her arms round me while I pleasured her.

I was holding almost all of her weight now.

But it was important to have her wanting more. I took my fingers from her cunt, and held them to her mouth for her to lick and suck clean.

“Good girl, Stephanie,” I said. “Now: hands and knees. Drop.”

And Stephanie looked at my eyes. Sh swallowed. She’d committed herself. She lowered herself to her knees, kissing the bulge in my jeans her way down, and assumed her new position.

On all fours. On the concrete doorstep.

I opened the door. 

Sinful Sunday: Flog her?

A lazy afternoon. A dom, looking under the bed, the chair, in the tools drawer, muttering. 

A girl with a smug, quiet smile. 

“Where’s my damn flogger?” he shouted.

She said nothing at all.

 

Note

The body in this image, and the idea for this picture, is that of the lovely model, whose blog is here.

 

 

 

I begin my new novel (again)

I’ve relaxed, in the middle of Ireland. 

I’m in a town called Roscrea. I chose it because it’s as close as I could find any accommodation to tiny Dunkerrin, where my ancestors, Jeremiah and Mary Mortimer, died and are buried.

I know: Jeremiah Mortimer sounds like an old codger in The Simpsons. I can’t help that.

His son, who came to the South Pacific and sired a hell of a lot of people, was called Darby. By the way, the name “Darby” is a fairly common Irish first name. Sean Connery plays a Darby in his first film, Darby and the Little People. You should see it because there’s a bit where Connery has to sing: comedy gold! Anyway, the name Darby is a sort of slang version of Jeremiah, like Jack is a slang version of John.

House of Mortimer (somewhere here, about six feet under this ground)

Anyway, Jeremiah and Mary couldn’t have afforded a headstone, so they’d have had a wooden cross at best. That’s long gone. I’d hoped to buy a mess of poitin, and pour some on the grave, one way or the other. But that was not to be. 

But here’s a picture of the last resting place of the Mortimers who didn’t go to the South Pacific and become my ancestors. 

There’s not much in Dunkerrin, though the churchyard is pretty. But I’ve been looking about the town of Roscrea, which unexpectedly turns out to have structures that were built in the tenth century, to keep Vikings away, and in the twelfth century when the Normans, having conquered England, decided to invade and occupy Ireland too. So: history! It’s all over the place here. 

For example, this is literally the view from the window of my hotel room. It’s a Norman castle, twelfth century, That house in the middle, clashing with everything around it, was built in the eighteenth century by a family who got rich occupying Ireland when Oliver Cromwell went over and did his bit.

Cromwell’s bit for Ireland consisted of burning, murdering, raping, smashing and looting. Ah well, it’s a lovely house, truth to tell, but on style grounds, if nothing else, it really, really doesn’t belong in the middle of the ruins of a Norman castle. 

Anyway, I’ve got peace of mind at the moment, and there’s a historical novel I finished a few years ago. Then I realised it has too many characters, and its climactic scene is in the middle, and it should be at the end. It needs serious repair. But I got taken up by other, more immediate, projects, including two other novels and a non-fiction book, and I shelved the flawed historical novel. Now I’m taking it off the shelf, with a fresh mind. 

It’ll be about 350 pages, and it doesn’t contain a single spanking or other bdsm scene whatsoever. I think there’ll only be two significant sex scenes of any kind, so I’m afraid my readers will have to settle for a good story, some historical scandal (accidentally discovered by me, when researching something completely different!) that will still create some uproar, some scenes of horror of the human, not supernatural, kind, and some laughs. 

So if anyone needs me, I’ll be tapping my keyboard in the bar of The White House, Roscrea. I’ll be drinkin’ Guinness, and if you pop by I’ll be buyin’.

Wicked Wednesday: I perform for Lucy

So I went to the cupboard in his office. I saw more than I’d expected or even imagined, when I opened it. He had three canes of varying sizes,  including one comically short one that I expected was for use on girls who were over his knee. I imagined what that would be like, and then I felt that vision in my cunt. I hoped he’d do that to me.

There were strips of leather in varying thickness and widths, straps and hawses, and paddles, two leather and one thick wooden one with holes drilled in it. I thought I’d try to avoid the wooden one. Once he knew me, he’d know that was the only implement that would really punish me.

There were leather strips, with buckles, for securing a boy or girl who wouldn’t stay in place for punishment, and there were other things whose use I couldn’t even guess.

But Sir was a man to obey exactly and quickly, so I selected the longest and thickest cane and turned to hold it out to him, offering it out to him with my arms outstretched in front of me, and my palms open.

He looked at me, letting me know I had to do more, so I lowered myself as elegantly as I could, without dropping the cane, to one knee, then the other.

Kneeling naked in front of him, stripes from my caning this morning still warm across my arse, I didn’t think I could feel any more lowered, more submissive to him. I was wrong.

He stepped forward, so his feet were between my spread knees, unzipped quickly and took out his cock. He was hard. I opened my mouth quickly, and he thrust into me, not gently, as far as he could. I choked and fought back the urge to cough. It was easier when I made myself relax, his cock thrusting into me. I kept still, allowing him to fuck me. My drool ran down to my chin while he used me. If he’d touched my cunt with his shoe he’d find the leather gleaming with my juices. I could feel I was about to leak onto the upper slopes of my inner thighs.

Without breaking his stroke, fucking my mouth, he said, “Come here, Lucy.”

“Yes, Sir.” She stepped forward. I was focussed on Sir, but I could see her cunt and thighs. She was standing beside Sir and me.

“Are you good at this, Lucy?” His cock in and out of my mouth, fucking me casually while talking to my girl.

“I don’t know, Sir. I’ve never–“

“Never? You’re a virgin? I mean, your mouth?”

“Yes, Sir. My everything. But I know I’d be good. For you.”

“You would be, little Lucy. I wouldn’t even have to cane you, I don’t think. And Maddie can help teach you. She’s good.”

Still working on his cock I made a little pleased throaty noise, so he knew I’d heard and liked that. I still had the cane in my hands, pressed lightly against his shins. “The cane, Maddie.” I reached up and he took it from me. He pressed his left hand firmly against the back of my head, so his cock was deep in my throat. Then he raised the cane over his shoulder and whipped it down my back, catching my right cheek. “If I want to hear from you, girl, I’ll ask you.”

I would have cried in pain, but his cock gagged me. A few seconds later, his cock still moving in my throat, he whipped the cane down my left buttock. I wanted to moan. But somehow that second stroke felt good. And the third, and then the fourth, one side then the other while he fucked my mouth, deep, unhurried. It balanced the hurt, and I knew it was right that I hurt.

I could see Lucy watching, her mouth open too.

Share our Shit Tuesday!

I’ve been away from the internet for a while. 

But now I’m back, and looking at what we sex bloggers have been up to. And here are five things I liked best!

From HannahLockhart: 

Game Face

A familiar longing from ConfessHannah: http://www.confesshannah.com/your-canvas/

To show that I read people who aren’t called Hannah, here’s titsandtesttubes, with a gorgeous pic and words: http://www.titsandtesttubes.com/snapshot/

Kinky and Perky on some of the joys of (male) submission: https://kinkyandperky49318560.wordpress.com

And, from exposing40, some fascinating thoughts of nudity and political protest. https://exposing40.wordpress.com/2018/03/09/the-nude-in-political-protest/

Enjoy!

Masturbation Monday: A home coming

Stephanie had just sucked me off, sitting prettily and naked on one of the park swings. She’d just announced that that had been fun, and she wanted to do it again. I don’t know about other men, but that wasn’t an option for me. Not for a while. But even if it had been, I was pretty sure we should be leaving the park.

“There’s a fifty-fifty chance that bastard called the cops,” I said. “We should get gone now. If they do show up, this’ll involve more explanation than I feel like doing. So, girl, home.” I pulled her up out of her seat and smacked her bottom. Every time I’d smacked her arse so far I’d had a positive response, so I wasn’t being careful any more. It was a lusty smack, loud enough to be heard across the park.

I liked the effect it had on her arse, and her eyes. She looked at me as if I were a marvel. I didn’t think I was, but her gaze still felt good. And it made me want to try to be a marvel.

We walked to the road, till we were one step out of the light. Stephanie was naked. I had underpants and a shirt. And Stephanie’s shorts in my hand. She said, “Er, can I have..?”

“Of course not. You run when– What’s the signal?”

“You. You smack my bottom?”

I smacked her hard, then, and let her start first, so I could follow and watch her. There were no lights in the street on except at my place. The party was still going but it was quieter. I don’t think anyone saw us.

When we got inside my gate I held her tight, rubbing her back and thighs briskly to get her warm. Her arse was already warm, but I couldn’t help giving it plenty of attention too. We kissed, long, and deep. Stephanie sighed. She was having a strange, fun night.

I let her stand there, though, while I put my jeans on, and held her clothes in my left hand. I kissed her again, smiling wolfishly to let her know something terrible was coming. Then I smacked her again and led her to the back door. Someone had seized control of the sound system, and was playing old Cure songs. I reached for the door handle. 

Stephanie said, “I can’t walk naked to your room! People will see!”

“Oh, you won’t be walking. Naked girl, well spanked, on her hands and knees, crawling to heel. No one’s even going to notice. Well, they won’t notice who you are.”

Stephanie drew in a breath. Her face was already red, though not unhappy. I kissed her again. “Just do as you’re told. You’ll see.”

 

 

 

Travelling Riverside Blues

I’m still travelling. I just had breakfast in the halls of one of the colleges of Oxford. The river I’m beside at the moment is the Thames, which is a rather gentler river while it’s up in Oxford.

I’d like to take a girl punting on the river, but she’s not having any of that. It could be the way I emphasise the word and waggle my eyebrows when I say, “I want to punt you.” 

That’s probably it. 

Here’s a pic, by the way, of the lane in Oxford that was in Medieval Times called “Gropecunt Lane”. Sadly it’s been renamed into the more decorous “Magpie Lane.” 

I had a half-arsed theory that maybe “magpie” was a Medieval way of referring to sex workers, so that the new name isn’t quite as decorous as people think. My reasoning, such as it is, was that the “mag” in magpie was a reference to the character Magdalene, also known as “the other Mary”, in the New Testament.

I was right about that, but my theory went on to speculate that since in Medieval times Mary or Magdalene was thought to be a prostitute, then maybe the word “magpie” was slang for a sex worker. So that the name “Magpie Lane” is still, in a sense about groping cunts. 

However, there doesn’t seem to be any example of “magpies” ever having been a slang term for sex workers, so my brilliant theory seems to be utter crap. Oh well. 

Anyway, I want to apologise for the relative lack of posts on this blog lately. I seem to be producing only one or two posts a week, and I’d hoped to keep up my usual rate of four a week while I was travelling. But I’m in England, at the moment, which isn’t my usual home, and I’ve got a girl with me who, even if she doesn’t want to be punted on a cold river with plenty of passers-by, does require a fair bit of maintenance and general looking after. And that’s fun to provide, so I’m busy at the moment. 

I’ll be alone again, on Monday evening, and I’ll be on a night bus or train to Liverpool. I might write something then. Then I’ll be in Ireland for a few days, chasing up some ancestors, but I may even get back to my usual schedule while I’m there.

I’ll be in France after that, then Switzerland, Germany and Italy. Then, in the middle of May, I’ll be back at home in my mountains. I’ll keep you posted!

Wicked Wednesday: Lucy changes hands

I turned and approached Sir. I wanted to explain, but also to show him I was good, by saying nothing without his permission. 

Sir said, “So, Maddie. Who gave you permission to spank little Lucy here?” 

I didn’t want to get Lucy into more trouble with Sr, so I said, “No one, Sir.”

But Sir smacked Lucy’s bottom again, still holding her across his knee. She really was quite red with his slaps, even though her formal spanking hadn’t begun yet. “No one, hmm? I’m thinking it might have been Lucy here.”

I said, “No Sir, she didn’t– It was my doing, Sir.” 

Lucy interrupted. “I gave her permission! I want to be under her control, the same way she is with you. Sir.” 

Sir spanked her again, but it was almost gentle. And his, “Speak when you’re spoken to, Lucy,” had no anger in it. Lucy looked at me, helplessly. She had some message for me, but I couldn’t read it.

I said, “Sir? Please Sir. I meant to tell you what we’d done, but I didn’t get time before Lucy arrived. I don’t think it’s bad, but… Well, you’re the judge of that, of course, Sir. But may I explain, Sir?”

Sir looked at me. I could see that he was trying not to smile, and I felt a wave of feeling: it wasn’t relief but lust.

I wanted to be fucked, as soon as possible. Not even the thought of being caned first worried me. I was still in his good books, whatever he pretended. That meant so much.

“All right, Maddie. I think you’d better explain, too. Begin.”

“Sir, it was at lunchtime. We were talking about coming here after school. And then to your place. And when Lucy wanted to watch me getting fucked, that turned me on so much. And, well, you know what Lucy’s like.” Sir put his hand on Lucy’s bottom and stroked her, dipping his finger between her buttocks. Lucy sighed and wriggled. Sir knew what she was like, all right. 

“And I couldn’t help myself. I told her she belonged to me. As my property, to command and reward and punish as I like. And to pleasure me whenever I tell her. But I also said that I belong to you, and that means that she belongs to you, too. In the same way.”

“So. So you bought me a gift? Are you happy with being a gift, little Lucy?” His finger delved deeper, and Lucy’s face suddenly burned red. I knew where he had her.  

Lucy writhed a little. She was showing off, but she was also enjoying his attentions. “Yes, Sir. With your permission, Sir. If you want me, then I belong to you too. I’d love to be your gift. From my Mistress.” 

Sir laughed. “Open your thighs, Lucy.”

When Lucy obeyed, he put three fingers into her little pussy, and pressed his thumb against that tighter hole, her little bud. She sighed while he stroked her. “All right, Lucy, You belong to me.”

“Th-thank you, Sir1” Lucy’s voice quavered on “Sir”. She was finding it hard to talk. 

Sir said, “Just one thing. You have a Master and a Mistress. So you’re a lucky girl. We’re all lucky, I think. Including you, Maddie.”

I swallowed. I was being allowed to keep my girl. I said, “Yes, Sir. I know I am.” I watched Lucy’s wriggles and little struggles. She was going to come soon. 

“But, Lucy, if your Mistress tells you to stand, and your Master tells you to sit, what do you do?” 

“Uh! I– I sit, Sir! Uh! You’re in charge, I know that!” Then her head dropped and her bottom rose. Rose-coloured it was, too. She closed her eyes and writhed against Sir’s hand, hands on the carpet and feet in the air, groaning and wailing.

At last she said, “Oh, oh god. Thank you, Sir. Thank you!”

Sir smacked her bottom, hard. “Good girl. Now we begin. Maddie?” 

“Yes, Sir?” 

“You know where I keep the canes.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Fetch the senior cane. Now.”