Masturbation Monday: Meet in the middle

In the last episode, which is here  

Stephanie and I had just fucked fairly vigorously on the carpet. I’d picked Stephanie up, carrying her in my arms, to my bed. But Maires, my girlfriend, had just had sex, or something, with a man with half his face painted red and a wooden toucan on his shoulder. Who, I’m afraid, doesn’t appear again in this story, although he did seem to be fascinating to women. Maires came into our room and congratulated us, which in practice meant mainly Stephanie, on the beauty of our orgasm noises. 

Stephanie remembered that she’d agreed with me that Maires could join us when she, Maires, was ready. But now she was embarrassed. So Maires asked her personally for her permission to join us. 

Stephanie looked up at me. I smiled at her, then had to clear my throat. “You don’t have to agree to anything you don’t want. I mentioned that it gets incredibly cuddly, if you have both me and Maires here. But all the options are good, whatever you want.” 

Stephanie’s “ernnnn” was a growl. Maires looked disappointed, and was ready to leave, but I recognised it: it was the sound my mom made, when she was about to agree to something but wanted me to know it was a big concession on her part. So I lifted her a little and kissed her. 

Stephanie laughed, with the absurdity and promise of the moment, and Maires finally relaxed. “All right,” Stephanie said. “You two fucking weirdos. Do your worst.”

I lowered Stephanie to the bed. She put her hands over her breasts and clamped her legs together. I figured she was joking. I said, “Promise it’ll be a good worst. Maires, I think you’re overdressed.” 

Stephanie slowly spread her legs, which had a hypnotic effect on me. Then she raised her knees, still spread, and pointed her toes at the ceiling. Maires said, “Holy fuck. Fuck, Stephanie. That’s fucking…” Then she shut up, and pulled her shirt over her head, and dropped it on the floor, then dropped her jeans to join the shirt. 

I joined Stephanie, with my cock poking at her hip, and smacked her bottom. She dropped her legs to the bed and looked at me, trying to be indignant. I kissed her left, nearer knee, which was red and rough and painfully abraded by our carpet fuck. “These need treatment. Maires, go and get anti-septic cream.” 

Maires hesitated. She was supposed to do as she was told when we were together. But it was the first time I’d given her a direct order in front of someone else. On the other hand, I’d just smacked Stephanie’s bottom in front of her. So she decided: she said, “Sir, then.” And she left for the bathroom, naked as she was.

Stephanie grinned at me. “You’re a bad man. Someone should spank you.” 

I kissed her. “It just doesn’t work like that. Life is unfair. And do you think I’m going to spank you, even for suggesting that?” 

Stephanie rolled over, poked her arse up, and wiggled. “Go on, then.”

I felt the invitation, and the urge to act on it.

But instead I kissed her bottom, and then her thighs. Stephanie sighed, and spread her thighs wider. I said, “All in good time. Now roll over, girl. On your back, knees up.”

Maires arrived then with Savlon and gauze. She climbed on the bed too, on Stephanie’s right side, and kissed her knee. “Poor little limb. Injured in the cause of love.” She took two pieces of gauze, squeezed out a dollop of Savlon onto each, and handed me one.

I dabbed at Stephanie’s left knee, while Maires cooed and did the same on her side. She leaned down and kissed Stephanie’s inner thigh. So I did the same.

“Obviously,” I said to Stephanie, “we intend to offer the total burns recovery care package.” It was an incredibly lame thing to say, but it did give her information.

Stephanie let her head sink back onto the pillow. She didn’t need to watch us any more. After we’d cleaned her knees, and soothed them as best we could, we gave our attention to Stephanie’s inner thighs, working our way, very, very slowly closer to her cunt.

Stephanie made a sound that was half sigh and half grunt. She was enjoying our worst. Maires bit very lightly on the inner side of Stephanie’s thigh. She looked up at me. Her eyes were bright. “Meet you in the middle.”

 

The next episode is here.

 

 

One last post on #cockygate

The patent Faleena Hopkins took out on the word “cocky”, as used in a book title, is now marked as “Cancellation pending”. 

I understand that Hopkins is now trying to find someone prepared to say that they love her “the Ball-Cocky Plumber” series, and they accidentally bought a book called something like “the Cocky Spaniel”, thinking it was one of hers. Without looking at the author’s name.

I think that’s going to be her argument against trademark cancellation. So for that and other reasons that I’m not going into here, trademark cancellation is a certainty. 

I’m pleased about this. I’m never likely to use the word “cocky” in a title or, except when I’m talking about #cockygate, in a sentence. But bullying does annoy me. 

 

Here’s Faleena Hopkins’s threatening letter to the romance writer Jamilla Jasper.

Hi Jamilla, 

My name is Faleena Hopkins, author of Cocker Brothers, the Cocky® Series. 

The Federal Trademark Commission has granted me the official registered trademark of the workmark “Cocky” in relation to romance books, no matter the font. 

Trademark Registration Number: 5447836

This is romance writer Jamilla Jasper. I know it’s irrelevant, but I think she’s quite good-looking. Update: It’s a stock photo, the rights licensed by 123RF. Oh well.

I am writing to you out of professional respect so that you may rename your book “Cocky Cowboy” which shares the same title as my book, and republish all the versions (ebook, paperback and audible) on Amazon to keep your ratings and money earned. 

My attorney at Morris Yom Entertainment Law has advised me that if I sue you, I will win all the monies you have earned on this title, plus lawyer fees will be paid by you as well.

I will do that – but I’d rather give you the option. 

[…]

Thank you,

Faleena Hopkins.

There’s real evocation of character in that letter. The mix of pious, I’m only doing this for your own good,  and the threatening, I will take all the money you earned on your book, would be good character-drawing, if she were a competent fiction writer.

In her fiction, she writes like this:

I toss the phone onto my dresser, I strip naked glancing to the mirror positioned across from my bed as I check out my body. […] I like my body looking this good, and that takes work– just like anything else worth having. 

Reflexively, my gaze flicks up next to where my favorite mirror is– the ceiling. 

As I pull boxer briefs down my thighs and my freed cock bounces out, I begrudgingly mutter to its sleepy head, “Been way too long since I’ve made use of you, buddy.” 

Leaping on my bed I stretch naked limbs over the goose down and enjoy my yawning muscles.

So, as a character, this guy likes run-on sentences, and he’s naked. He also seems a little narcissistic, so I don’t know why he doesn’t look at his ceiling mirror, only next to it. Astigmatism, possibly. 

But her threatening letters are definitely better writing than her books. I’m sure there’s some sort of living to be made from that fact.

Anyway, the actual cancellation of the “cocky” trademark may take weeks, because of the dazzling speed of bureaucracy, but the issue, it seems to me, is over and done with. Which is to be celebrated.  

 I’m off to exercise my yawning muscles. Guess they must be in my face, somewhere.

By the way, Jamilla Jaspers reacts to threats real well. Her  book, The Cocky Cowboy is now called, “The Cockiest Cowboy who Ever Cocked“. It’s on Amazon!  

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s elegant caning

The previous episode is here

 

I don’t mean that last cane stroke didn’t hurt. It burned like fire. I felt like I was being branded. It was just that… that felt right. There was something sweet there. Something deeply sexual, like it was below my human brain. Something atavistic, like an animal. An animal in love and lust. 

The next two strokes climbed up my thighs. “Nine, Sir. Ten, Sir,” counted Lucy.

I squealed and sobbed again, continuously, no longer trying to control it. But now the sobs celebrated what was happening as much as they protested it. The tenth stroke burned just under the crease of my bottom. I dreaded the moment the cane would land directly of my crease. I knew it would be too much for me.

And I yearned for it, for exactly the same reason.

The next two strokes whipped across my bottom, as low as they could go, just above the crease. I moaned. How could this feel good? How could I take the fear of what was coming? I was learning something, something that changed my life, but I didn’t understand it yet. That need for discipline in my life, to give myself and lower myself to a Master. And to the pain he might give me: I needed that too. But I hadn’t processed that, just yet. It was my first inkling.

“Eleven, Sir. Twelve, Sir.” Was there discomfort in Lucy’s voice now? She knew she was next. She was a softer girl than me. 

“Good girl, Maddie. Now, I want you to keep your legs straight. And bend a littlke tighter for these last two strokes”

“Yes, Sir.”I obeyed, quickly.

“Good girl.You look so neat, so very elegant, my darling.”

“Oh, Sir.” I felt so exposed, so completely his. 

“Good girl. You always look perfect for me, my little one.”

I wanted to break and cover him with kisses. I turned my toes inwards, just to expose myself a little more.

I hope he thought my pussy was elegant, too. There was silence, while he looked at me.

At last he said, “Brace yourself, Maddie. I want you to take these two in silence, because they’re not part of the twelve strokes. You know where they’re going, and you know they’ll hurt you. So be a good, brave girl for me. I rely on you, to show Lucy an example, You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes Sir. I’ll be…” I was going to say ‘good’. I said, “quiet.”

“Good girl.” I smiled, despite myself. The next two strokes came hard and fast, only about five seconds between them. That crease is some of my softest skin. I wanted to wail, and jump across the floor holding my arse. But somehow I could stand it, though part of me knew they were the worst strokes of all. Another part of me felt so good, that I was so strong, so controlled and so much his. 

“Thirteen, Sir. Forteen, Sir.” 

“Good girl, Lucy. And Maddie, you’ve been a brave, beautiful good girl. I’m very proud of you. But don’t move, little Maddie.” 

I said, “Ohh, Sir.” It wasn’t a protest. I felt so His. I was His property. And that made me feel so floaty. 

“Lucy, put two fingers in your Mistress’s pussy, girl.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

A moment later I felt her touch me, then enter and explore. This was more intimate touch that we’d ever had. But we both wanted it; Sir had made it happen. I sighed as Lucy probed and stroked inside me, and my whole body shook a little, with the emotion of it.

“Now withdraw, Lucy. Hold your hand up.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

There was a pause. Sir said, “Nicely sopping. Good girl, Maddie.” He sounded so happy with me. “Lucy, clean your fingers now. With your mouth, girl. It’s time you tasted your Mistress.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A second later Sir was holding me by my shoulders. He helped me up. I turned and embraced him. God, I wanted him to fuck me then and there. But he just cuddled me.

He kissed my forehead, and when I dared look at him, my mouth. I was held in his arms, my ass burning, I heard him say, “Good girl. My girl. You deserved that, but you were very brave, and the slate’s wiped clean. You’re my very good girl again.”

There were tears streaming down my cheeks, now I was upright. I didn’t ask for his permission; I kissed him, and I looked at Lucy, warning her to stay back, and I took his cock in my hand. He kissed me back, and we rocked together for a while. 

But at last Sir put his hands on my shoulders and set me back a pace. “Now, I’m going to need your help, Maddie, while I give Lucy her first caning. I think you’re going to enjoy the way you help.”  

 

The next episode is here

E[lust] 106: Hotter than the fires of Kilimanjaro!

Elust 106 submiss34f Header image
Photo courtesy of submiss34f

Welcome to Elust 106

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 #107? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Orgasms Save Me From Myself

Charlie’s Bar

I’m Not Ready to Love My Body

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Letters and Lonely Hearts

I Want to Curve and Ache

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Don’t fear the smear

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Transitioning Sexual Health
Don’t fear the smear
How do you make sex toys accessible?
Having a IUD fitted

Erotic Non-Fiction

Xebec
Do You Still Know How?
Old Style Porn
From behind
These Feet
Trust

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

You, Me, Her

Erotic Fiction

Orinoco Flow
Bastinado
Shivers
Spanking (A Vignette)
An Evening Out
Face To Face
In Lucy’s hands
More than Friends: Pushing Limits

Writing About Writing

The Importance of a Muse to This Writer

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Pegging and Prostate
Dating: Hope vs Delusion
Going Deeper
Conviction

Poetry

-05.05.18_17:52-

Blogging

My secret identity: a sex-blogging superhero

Elust

Masturbation Monday: The lovers joined

  • Note: The previous episode is here.

If you’d like to go back to the beginning and read the whole thing, it starts here. I’ve linked all the episodes so it’s easy to click backwards or forwards to the previous, or the next, episode. 

Stephanie was on her knees, her face and breasts pressed on the carpet, getting fucked. I was on my knees, losing skin on the carpet, fucking her. Neither of us cared about knees, or any skin, except where we merged, my cock in her cunt, slick wet skin sliding together, hard and fast.

That took up most of our awareness. We’d both wanted this for eight years: it was worth savouring, though we’d passed the point at which we could take things slowly. Stephanie mewed, her head turning from side to side, as we fucked. My stomach and hips pounded her upturned, submissively presented ass.

Not that Stephanie was submissive in any full time sense. She and I had fallen into a dom/sub pattern because sexual dominance comes naturally to me, and she was in the mood to go along with me. I smacked her arse again, with that thought, and she yelped, pleasured, and sighed. But she was not quiet after that spank: she was approaching her orgasm, and that pleasured yelp repeated, and then became a long, continuous wail. 

She said, “Harder! Harder!” I smacked her again, hard, across the sides of her buttocks, and then again, though I knew that wasn’t what she meant. I also rode her harder, pushing her ass down to the floor with the weight and pressure of my body against her.

Eventually she collapsed forward, her body at full stretch on the carpet, my cock still in her, pushing and pumping as hard as I could. She made one, brief, very high-pitched noise and then was silent: her whole body shuddered. 

My girl had come. I could have come in her, at that moment, but I decided I needed to hold myself in reserve. I slowly rode her, while she gasped for air, post-orgasmic and blissed, and tried to push her ass up again. I put my hand in her hair, and turned her face so she could see me. I leaned down and kissed her neck, and cheek. 

Stephanie smiled. “That took us a while, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah. Should have happened eight years ago. We were just always busy with someone else. Or at least one of us always was.” I moved my cock in her, as it was too good and sweet not to, and I loved the feel of her soft but very muscular ass under me. 

Stephanie’s belting would be hot, and, for the moment, completely hypothetical…

Stephanie nodded. This was true. It was good we’d found the time. And that Maires, my current girlfriend, had allowed it to happen. But she said, “Would you really have taken your belt to my arse? If I’d pushed back, and taken your cock into me?”

“Oh god, yes. Hard, girl.” That wasn’t really true. I’d made the threat because it had seemed sexy in the moment, and then been relieved not to have to carry it out.

But once you’ve started down that path, you follow through, if tested in what you judge is a consenting way. Like Stephanie’s. She laughed briefly. “Heh. Thought so. You’ve got a… reputation, you know. Pervert.”

“I can’t deny it. But you don’t get to feel the belt, sweetiepie, unless you don’t do as you’re told.”

“What if I said, no?”

“Yeah well, that goes without saying. Er, I mean, if you say no, there’s no go. Anyway, I’d like very much to warm your arse up with my belt, before I fuck you. Some time. If you feel like it.”

I said that because my cock, still inside her, was likely to shrink if we talked too much about careful things. But saying the equivalent of, “I want to whip you”; and thinking about her perfect ass presented for that, as well as for the fucking that always follows any application of the belt: that got me hardening again. She noticed, and waggled her hips.

“Yeah. I can tell you’d like it.”

“I think you’ll like it too. But you do get a veto. Obviously.”

“Well, we’ll see.” 

“Sweet Stephanie-girl, I don’t really want to pull out of you. Ever, really. But I would like to carry you to bed. And put something on your knees.” Mine were starting to protest, red, scratched and possibly close to blistering. Hers had taken an even harder assault than mine. 

“Uh huh. That’s reasonable. So long as you’re back in me, once we’re in bed.” 

So, slowly, and with a certain amount of panting, because it really can be a hard thing to do, I withdrew. I rolled Stephanie onto her back, and reached under her shoulders and knees. She’s a strong girl, but not heavy. So I had an armful of warm, laughing, naked Stephanie, when the door opened. 

It was Maires. She had her jeans on, but the bra she’d been wearing under her tshirt was gone. She looked radiant, glowing: I guess the guy with the wooden toucan on his shoulder had done well by her.

She said, “Hello, beautiful lovers. I heard the end of that; it sounded lovely.”

Stephanie said nothing. She looked at me, not Maires. She’d agreed to have Maires join us, but in the moment what mattered was that it was so far outside her experience.

So Maires spoke to her: “Stephanie, darling, would you mind if I join you two?” 

The next episode is here.

 

Novels? We got ’em: Probation

Probation

Gavan Dymun runs out of money while completing a UCLA law degree, and gets a job as a probation officer in Carson, LA.

His caseload includes Ana Matutumua, a girl who’s being harassed by Frank Curnow, a cop who’d worked with her father, a drug importer, who thinks that Ana’s father owes him a lot of money, and that Ana knows where he is. He provokes Ana into pushing him, and arrests her for assault on a police officer.

Her legal trouble infuriates her, and so does the fact that at her sentencing Gavan did something she didn’t understand to keep her out of jail, and that her father didn’t help her.

As a kind of protest she shoplifts a broach, and is again arrested.

Gavan becomes her probation officer, and realizes what’s happening with Curnow. While trying to keep Ana out of legal trouble he becomes more attracted to her. He falls in love.

Ana is aware of his desire, and is both flattered and amused by it, and by the fact that he’s not allowed to do anything about it. She loves him too, but since he refuses to act, winding him up is fun, too.

Sa’afia, Ana’s cousin, goes to a party with Ana and meets Gavan. She sees him throw another boy at Ana, and mistakenly assumes he’s heart-broken. They talk, but it’s only when Sa’afia realizes Gavan is the probation officer Ana has been teasing that she really likes him. They take a taxi to his place.

Over succeeding chapters they are drawn into sexual experimentation, based on desires Sa’afia knew she had but never expected to practice, and that Gavan had not suspected in himself. She starts addressing him as “Sir”. He adjusts to his new responsibilities with a troubled conscience but remarkably easily.

Ana is somewhat jealous of her cousin for having Gavan, but still flirts with him mercilessly, and relies on him for help with the police.

Curnow assaults her, to show he can, and steps up his campaign to get her to tell him where her father is. She does not know, and in any case wouldn’t tell him.

Gavan, with help from policewoman June Sevigny, discovers that Curnow intends to frame Ana for possession of a dealing quantity of cocaine. He ruins the attempt to plant drugs at her apartment, with help from former almost-girlfriend Jane Seidel, a lawyer with the Community Law Centre.

Curnow is suspended. Charges against Ana are dropped. An associate of Curnow’s, who’d attempted to rape Ana, is gruesomely killed by a brain-damaged man who worships Ana, who has been giving him food.

Sa’afia and Gavan, now a couple, arrive at Ana’s to take her out to dinner to celebrate her release from legal troubles.

 

(Is there a sequel? Why, yes! There are two. The first of them is mostly written. But you’ll just have to wait.)

Introducing another novel: The Tale of the Tawse

The Tale of the Tawse is in five parts, and contains 83,706 words.

Plot

Freddie Underwood is a New York-based public relations writer and event organizer. He’s at a conference in Glasgow, after which he plans to meet his lover Sharzad Malouf in Rome. He meets Daphne Rintoull, an artist who’s been dumped by her lover, and beds him on the rebound. So he has two women in his life.

The story follows his relationship with Shar from first meeting in New York, their time together in French Guyana, to Rome. He helps her confront a teacher who put her in hospital, when she was a four-year staying in an English boarding-school because her parents had unwisely involved themselves in mid-East politics.  

With Freddie’s support, she confronts the man, and is able to see him as small and fearful; a ghost is laid. She celebrates that, and Freddie saying he loves her, by walking into Trevi’s pool. She does the Anita Ekberg walk from La Dolce Vita, until she slips and falls in. Freddie performs an unnecessary rescue and realises they are similarly foolish.

They have to part when Shar has to go back to work. They are in love, though they can’t see how they can be together, in the US or her country.

Meanwhile Daphne has told a Roman gallery she has enough work for an exhibition, which is not true. She begs Freddie’s help and support. He keeps her brave while she creates the extra work needed. He writes her an exhibition category full of the most ferocious art-wank.

At the opening, he thinks she’s seducing a critic (who she’s actually trying to escape), and drags her off to have jealous sex with her in a broom closet. They disturb a tin of paint thinner stored above them, and fall out in front of the Minister for the Arts, an actual Fascist, and the media. So Daphne’s exhibition is a tremendous success, making the news and not just the arts pages. 

They also part, but not before they have admitted that they love each other.

Freddie returns to New York. Both women, for different reasons, invite him to be with them in a couple of months, at a climate change conference in Wellington, New Zealand.

Freddie has to admit he’s out of competence. He no longer knows what to do.

 

(Is there a sequel? Of course there is.)

 

Potentially important aspects of my manuscript

1  It’s a funny book, with a hell of a lot of sex in it. Much of the sex is bdsm-flavored, though light and romantic, and neither scary nor impersonal.

2  It’s a rom/com set in the real world. For a book with bdsm elements, it’s refreshingly free of billionaires, werewolves and mysterious islands.

3  It’s told from a male point of view, but beta-testing drafts indicate that the text is woman-friendly. 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie learns a lesson about pain

The previous episode is here

Even while my pain was building, I could hear Sir’s breathing, with his mouth open, responding to Lucy’s hand on his cock.

“That’s lovely, Lucy,” Sir said. “Keep that up.” Lucy giggled, and there was a slap. Sir’s hand on her bottom.

“The next time we find ourselves doing this, Lucy, you’ll be using your mouth. Would you like to be taught how to please me best, when you’re sucking my cock?”

Lucy said, “Oh god yes, Sir. Sir–” She stopped, uncertain.

“Yes, Lucy?”

“I want you to teach me everything. All the things there are. Please Sir.”

“Ahhh, Lucy.” I didn’t dare look, but I knew he’d drawn her in close, holding her. They were kissing. Another time I might have wondered whether I felt jealous, but the burning pain iacross my bottom still held all of my attention. Lucy gasped: he must have touched her pussy, and then she made a little moan. He was stroking her. 

Then I heard Lucy stumble. He’d broken the cuddle and set her back in place. I imagined her hand, stroking the length of Sir’s cock. I’d sucked Sir off, but I hadn’t done that with my hands. Lucy got to do that first.

“Maddie.” That was all the warning I got. Then the cane landed, hard, across my thighs. Usually I minded that my thighs still held a little puppy-fat, though I did my best to work it off, But in that second I thanked the gods that tiny bit of extra padding was there. I screamed again. I couldn’t help myself.

Lucy said, “Two, Sir.” She must have done something with her hand, because I heard Sir gasp.

“Oh Sir,” I said. “It hurts soooo much.”

“Don’t speak again, Maddie. Now, I’ve marked out the top line and the bottom line of this caning. The rest of your strokes are going in between. It’s going to hurt.”

“Going to? Sir…”

“But I need you to be a good girl, Maddie. You’ve got an example to set for Lucy here. And I know you can do it. Bravely. Obediently. Like the best of good girls.”

I smiled and sniffed. He cared for me. I knew that, but that reached me through all the pain. A second later the third stroke landed, a little lower on my underbum, perhaps half an inch below the first stroke. God, it burned.

I screamed, and my hands left the floor. I wanted so strongly to clutch my arse, and rub it. But I managed to stay down, and I returned the palms of my hands to the floor.

Lucy said, “Three, Sir.”

Sir said, “I’ll pretend I didn’t see that, Maddie.”

I’d thought I was in trouble. I gasped, “Thank you, Sir.”

“But if you were to rub your bottom without permission, or even take your hands off the floor again, you know you’ll get extra. So,” and his voice was icy now, “be more careful, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He wasn’t warning me any more. The next stroke was a little higher on my thighs. I screamed again, as the pain built, and then started to sob. I couldn’t stop. Sir was punishing me, mercilessly. I also felt that he was making me his, when he marked me and hurt me, and some of the sobs were from that. It was emotion more than pain.

“Four, Sir.”

Two more strokes whipped in, hard and fast on my thighs, each line a little higher than the one before. I was in agony, all through my body, and we weren’t even halfway yet!

“Five, Sir. Six, Sir.” Lucy was a little short-breathed. She was turned on, watching her Mistress getting punished. 

Then, with two hard strokes across my bottom, working their way lower, I was past the halfway point.

“Seven, Sir. Eight, Sir.”

Just six strokes to go. But something had changed in me. I didn’t scream for that last stroke.

I felt as if that girl getting the cane, Maddie, was very small and far away. In one way I was in the worst pain I’d ever been in in my life. At another level, I was only aware of how completely I’d given myself to him, and how entirely he’d taken me. I belonged to him, for him to do with as he wanted.

There was a kind of sweetness with the pain, all the way through my body and my mind, that I hadn’t experienced before.And I knew we were going to continue, as my caning would continue, until I found my way entirely into that sweetness.

The next episode is here