Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours 6)

“Come here.” 

I rushed to him, and I couldn’t stop. He caught me and folded his arms round me. I lifted my head up and he kissed me. I kissed him. He had a strong face, with the stubble coming through. His breath smelled of mint. It felt so good. How long we stayed like that I don’t know, but then he stepped back just a little.

He started to undo the buttons on my shirt. I just look at him, longing, while he undressed me, took off my tie, and then the shirt. I was naked, except for my shoes and socks, and my bra.  

“Now turn round, Maddie.”

I did, and I felt him undo the bra and take it off.

Then he took my hands in his and pulled them together, behind my back. “Don’t move,” he said, and he tied my hands together, behind my back, with my own school tie. I gasped, wide-eyed with the wonder of that. I’d been helpless before anyway, but to be tied was a whole new level. He didn’t need me to choose to obey him, now. I was at his mercy. My cunt felt … empty, wanting. I needed his fingers back, or better yet his thing.

Then he smacked my bottom. I gasped. I was so tender there, and the smack re-awakened all that soreness. He spanked me another five times, without speaking. I trembled, trying to hold myself still for him. 

“Now get down on your knees, Maddie. You know why, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, sir!” So, he was going to let me suck his cock. I’d heard girls talk about feeling a boy get more and more excited and then spurting their salty stuff into their mouths. Then they’d swallow it. I wondered what he’d taste of. 

I crouched as low as I could, then fell forward onto my knees. It was awkward with my hands tied. My face was level with his …

I watched him unzip. I’d hoped he was going to take his pants off, but it seemed that I was only going to be allowed to touch his cock. I leaned forward, to kiss it through the material of his pants. 

He let me for a few seconds. Then he pulled my head back, with his hand in my hair. He made an adjustment to his pants with his other hand and suddenly there was his cock. It was the first I’d seen. Except for my brothers after a shower, when we were very young. 

But his cock was very different. It seemed huge, and it pointed straight at me. It wanted me. It needed me. I leaned forward to take it, and my hair pulled, because he’d neither let go nor moved his hand. I had to push forward, hurting my own scalp, so I could kiss the end. 

 

Sponsor me! For Smutathon! For Rape Crisis and Internet Freedom!

The Smutathon Writathon is on 1 July! So – please – get your donating fingers limbered up.

Smutathon is a group of erotica authors, sex bloggers, sex educators and friends who have decided to raise some money for organisations we believe in.

On 1 July, we’re going to have a joint, international session, each writer writing for a solid 12 hours, producing the best steamy writing they possibly can. We’ll share some of our writing on our blogs as we go, and we may even publish an e-book anthology at the end.

We’re splitting the money equally between two amazing organisations:

1) Backlash

For internet freedom, and freedom for kinksters to write and produce images!

Backlash campaigns for sexual freedom for consenting adults and provides legal support for sexual minorities who are unfairly targeted by outdated and nonsensical “obscenity” laws. Among other things, they have been responsible for getting the ridiculous ‘tiger porn case’ (look it up) struck down, and for campaigning to get amendments added to the Digital Economy Bill to make it less harmful to consenting adults engaging in safe and victimless fringe sexual practices.

2) Rape Crisis England & Wales
Rape Crisis is a feminist organisation that exists to promote the needs and rights of women and girls who have experienced sexual violence, to improve services to them and to work towards the elimination of sexual violence. Rape Crisis Centres are women-led and offer a range of support, advocacy, counselling and information, and also have separate services for male survivors.

Please support us in helping these two brilliant causes. Sexual freedom for consenting adults and freedom from sexual violence are human rights.

To donate, go here

Sinful Sunday: Away from the light

Everything had been impact and flurried movement and cries while her Master spanked her. He’d used the hairbrush, because he liked the uncontrolled way she responded when the brush landed. But he’d put the brush down at last, when all she knew was sex and pain and heat. Now there was peace, of a kind. 

Her Master had said she had two minutes to come, or she’d get the hairbrush again. This time he would go a little harder. 

She could feel the sun on her left thigh, but she squirmed out of the light. Her fingers worked, her arm under her tummy, fingertips wet with her own arousal. Her body tensed, and she lost awareness of time, and space: she couldn’t have said where she was.

She pushed forward, her body riding her own fingers onward. Would she come before her time was up? She didn’t know. Or care. Only that sweetness, in her skin and in her cunt, driving her on, burrowing into that quiet and soothing dark.  

 

 

E[lust] 95: Hothouse flowers

Elust 95 Header
Photo courtesy of A to Sub Bee

Welcome to Elust 95

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

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Size Matters

Driven to Distraction

Under the Sea

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

My London Bridge

A Kind Touch

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Organised Orgasms

 

Thoughts and Advice on Kink and Fetish

The Story of O (4) – Tears
Emotions and negotiations
Jeans genie

Erotic Fiction

crawling
Displayed & Defeated
Hangover Hunger
Broken to Be.
A Tarot Reading
Maddie’s virginity (last hours)

Erotic Non-Fiction

Spanking Miss S
Greedy Girls
Meet “Richard”
PHOTOGRAPHIC STIMULATION

Poetry

-02.06.17_21:10-

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

When you know “I’m in love”

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Cocks ‘n’ cunts

 

 

Elust 88

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours 5)

I lay over the headmaster’s lap [said Maddie]. My bottom was still sore, really sore, from my spanking, and yet I was blissed out.

I’d come twice while he stroked my cunt. He’d had his fingers inside me!

I kept telling myself that, over and over, because it was such a strange thing, and so wonderful.

It meant he’d wanted me as much as I wanted him. He’d looked after my pleasure. No one had ever done that for me before. 

I was his. If he’d told me he wanted to cane me I’d have taken off the rest of my clothes and bent over for him. If he wanted to fuck me I’d have aid on my back or own my front, on the carpet or on the desk, whatever he wanted. If he wanted me to suck his cock I’d have knelt for him, and let him into my mouth. I’d never sucked a cock before, but I’d heard other girls talk about it. I knew he’d teach me the rest and make sure I pleased him. That thought made my rock myself across his lap. I moaned. 

He put his hand back on the bare skin of my bottom. His touch was so cool against my burning skin. “Maddie? Are you all right?”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you for my spanking. I needed -” I thought about how to say what I’d needed, and I chickened out a bit. “I needed you to make me behave.” 

“Yes, you did.” But he sounded amused. He knew I’d started to say something much more personal. “Well, we should make sure you get what you need, shouldn’t we?”

His hand started to rub little circles on my left cheek. I sighed. It was so lovely. 

“I hope you do, sir. And …” I lost my nerve. 

“And what, Maddie?” His hand pressed down on my bottom: a warning. He could repeat my spanking easily enough. 

“And is there, is there anything I can do for you, sir?” My heart beat hard, once I’d said it. I was offering myself to him. What if he didn’t want me?

His hand slipped down again, and he caressed my cunt. Just along the lips, over and over, getting his fingers wet with me. I’d spread my legs for him as far as I could, and now I crawled forward a couple of inches and lifted my bottom so he could watch my cunt as he stroked me. I could feel his cock pressing against my hip. It seemed to be trembling. He was throbbing, with desire for me. 

I said, “We’ve already broken all the rules, sir. And I want to.” It was the bravest thing I’ve ever said. 

“Yes,” he said, after a pause. A long pause while my world hung in the balance. “You can close the curtains for me.” 

I felt a second’s disappointment. He wanted me to re-organize his office? Then I realised what he meant, and I could have sung. I got up, making no attempt to cover myself, and closed the curtains. There were people out there, playing basketball, but no-one was looking at the offices. 

Then I turned to him, naked from the waist down and knowing that he liked everything he saw. I said, “Sir?” 

Note

This is one seriously unethical headmaster. Both headmasters in this story belong in the bar-y place, the stripey hole, the jewel-case of infamy.

I found the scenario incredibly hard to write at first. It originally started as an agreement to write the male perspective on a story that appeared in the Sex is my New Hobby blog. 

But Zoe stopped writing her story, and this has gone off in other directions since then. 

But I don’t feel quite as uncomfortable with the wicked teacher/naughty schoolgirl scenario any more.

Like Christian Grey, the man in this story has no idea of what ethical consent might be, or why you shouldn’t do anything without it. (He has her consent, but there’s no way it’s ethical.) So the events in this story should not happen in the real world, just like Christian Grey shouldn’t strap his girlfriend without informed consent,

I won’t talk about the obvious fact that the 50 Shades books are badly written. I’ve mocked them before. Now I’m only saying that Grey is a a lust object for some women, and he’s not a role model. for anyone  

Mr Grey’s Amazing Shades. He has another 49 pairs.

But during some discussions about Mr Grey and his Amazing Shades, I came to agree with the women who skipped most of those books but read the spankings and fuckings.

If he’s a character in an erotic story, a fictional character isn’t obliged to be ethical. He’s just obliged to be sexy. Taboo or no taboo. 

There is a sense in which the headmaster, rather than Maddie, hot girl though she may be, is the object of desire in this part of the story. 

POV

By the way, this is a story within a story. The main narrator runs the school where Maddie works as a secretary. Maddie is telling him the story of how she came to lose her virginity, back at the school she attended. And he is reporting to the readers the story that she told him.

So although it appears to be female POV, it’s filtered somewhat by the version of what she said that her employer is giving. 

(And all of them are characters made up by me. Though I’ve known people similar to Maddie, and bits of them keep getting incorporated into her. I have a sense of who Maddie is, and she’s started to feel somewhat real, to me. So I’m trying to be true to her, as best I can.)

Triumph and the fountains of Rome!

I’m keeping to four posts a week, at the moment. I looked back a couple of years, back in this blog, and found I was doing seven posts a week.

They tended to be shorter, because I’d write something, get carried away as I always do, and it would turn out longer than I’d expected. So I’d chop it into two or three parts, and run them on three successive days. 

But now I’m writing a novel, and I’m keeping at it because I want to finish it soon. There are five parts, and the final part is expected to be relatively short. I’m on Part 5 now, and I can smell the finish line. I feel triumphant!

I’d like to do more discussion pieces, think pieces, for this blog.

But at the moment I can’t think of anything but Rome and a rich Scots girl, who paints but seems only able to sell her art to men who fancy her, and how she breaks through to a wider audience. I can’t afford to do any thinking except about how to make that sexier and funnier.

I just wrote a scene (for Part 4) in which the hero fetches his beautiful but mildly drunk girlfriend out of Trevi Fountain. It adds absolutely nothing to the plot, I think, but it belongs in the book just the same. 

In honour of that scene, here are some photos of girls in Roman fountains.

The top two are from a news story that said Romans were “outraged” to  find pretty underdressed girls in a fountain. Bullshit, I have to say. Possibly a couple of lemon-sucking Romans somewhere went all crinkly-mouthed about it, but Romans in general are overwhelmingly pro-pretty girl.They even seem to like underdressed, wet girls. Go figure.

Don’t let the Murdoch press (or Dacre press in this instance) tell you otherwise. In fact, don’t let them tell you anything. 

Here’s one I prepared earlier.

Random bit of novel: What “assume the position” means

In our room we both stripped off our clothes, and showered together for warmth. Once we were out, I dried her roughly with the towel, and then told her to fetch the tawse.

“Fetch” is such a sexy word, in these circumstances.

She got it from the bedside drawer, on her side of the bed. It was on its side, being too thick to be coiled, or even folded. She held it out to me with both hands. “Sir.”

I took it from her gravely, and held it, in my right hand. It’s odd how something that small changes the emotional and sexual dynamic in a room. “If I told you to assume the position, Shar, what position would you assume?”

“Um. You’re a traditionalist. Sometimes. So I’d bend over, very tight, with my legs together but my bottom arched up so you can watch my cunt. And I’d put the palms of my hands on the floor. Since I’m so bendy, and you like a bendy girl.”

“Um. Fuck.” She did indeed know me. “Then I suppose you’d better assume the position. Shar.”

“Sir.” And she did as she said she would.

It was easier than it sounds, for Shar to place her palms on the floor in that position. There are times when short girls have an advantage. I watched her, awed. Sexual presentation has power, of course. It works on bonobos. It works on me.

I raised the tawse. I wanted to hear her scream tonight. The first time from pain. Probably not the second time.

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours) 3

So I was lying over his knees, bottom bare, waiting for his next touch. I knew it wouldn’t be him stroking me between my thighs again. He wanted to hurt me. It was his duty to punish me. I knew I’d been a brat to my teacher, really, and I couldn’t say that I didn’t deserve it. But with the headmaster instead of my teacher, it was a whole different experience.

He’d said, “you’ll come over my lap”. It hadn’t been what he meant, but I knew that I would. And that he wouldn’t be shocked. I could feel his thing hard and pressing up under me. He’d know, and he’d like it.

[Maddie and I were lying side by side on the mattress in the storeroom, her head nestled under my arm, while she told me this story. She’d started idly stroking my cock while she talked.]

I wriggled a little until his thing was between my thighs. I was sure it got bigger. Anyway, I know this was how we both wanted it. For now. We wanted more, too. My throat was so dry. We were nearly doing it right now, and I was sure that when he made me strip completely, to get the paddle, we couldn’t resist. He’d take me.

He was so handsome, and so dominant, and so good to me. I wanted him to take me. He should be my first. Someone who knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t hesitate. It was only right. 

And then his hand landed, on my left cheek. It felt so hard, and made me feel so soft, under him. I suppose it should have hurt, but it didn’t. It was like the strap on my hands, only a thousand times more. It felt like fire. It felt like sex, not that I knew that then. 

But I wiggled, part from reaction, and partly to keep his attention. I knew I was going to leak soon. I’m a juicy girl. 

[“I can confirm this”, I said, and she kissed me. She said, “Shhh. For now.”]

And his hand landed again on the same place. It sounded louder, so it must have been harder. But it just felt like a caress.

My skin tingled, and so did my cunt. I went wiggling again, and he grunted. His moved, while I lay across his knees. He couldn’t help himself.

His cock needed the release. I knew it. He was mine. I was so happy I could have sung while he spanked me.

He spanked me again on the same spot, his hand so hard, so firm above me; his cock just as hard and firm below me. It was fire and sweetness. And I could feel myself running, juices running down my inner thighs. He’d been right when he’d said he’d need a towel when he spanked me. But I was glad he hadn’t. I didn’t want anything at all between us. I moaned, and he couldn’t possibly have thought it was from pain.

He switched to my right cheek at last, his hand landing, hard. I worked myself on his thing, hips rolling up and down, while he added two more hard smacks. I loved the feel of his hand. I suppose it did hurt, in a way, but there were so many other things it made me feel that I barely noticed the pain. It just wasn’t what was important.

After the third smack on my right cheek he stopped. I suppose he was looking at me. Then I felt him again. My touched my cunt! Directly, with no pretence that he was doing it accidentally. I nearly screamed. I said, “Please…” Though I’m not sure what it was that I was begging for.

He said, “good girl.” And then his fingertips pushed into me. 

My mouth and my eyes were as wide as they can go. It felt so incredibly sweet, and right. My own fingers had been there before, but no one else’s. He knew what I wanted, and he pushed further inside. I moaned from pure pleasure, though I was trying to keep myself quiet.

His fingers pushed hard into me, and withdrew slowly. I stopped moving, my bottom up, splayed for him as wide as my thighs would go. I could do the splits, then. He grunted. “Wet girls need spanking, don’t they?” 

 I could hear the smile in his voice, but my answer still mattered. The cane and the paddle weren’t so far away. “Yes, sir! Wet girls deserve anything you want to give me. I mean, them.” 

He laughed, and this time he withdrew his fingers all the way. My cunt felt bereaved. Bereft. But he rested his hand on my bottom. “You’re right,” he said. And then the spanking started again. 

This time it was harder, and I understood that before he’d been going easy on me. These smacks were hard, and fast, and absolutely relentless. I lost count early, and they just kept coming. The pain was there. I still felt that sweetness, but now I had to admit that he was hurting me. And that I wanted him to. 

Sometimes he’d stop suddenly and hold me still. just for a few seconds. I knew he was having trouble stopping himself from coming. I wanted him in me when he came, so that suited us both. Each time he stopped, he spanked harder when he could move again. Something strange was happened. It felt so glorious, but I found myself crying. Just a couple of tears running down my cheeks at first. But soon, his hand still regularly smacking onto my flesh, my tears flooded, My mouth opened and I cried like a baby. 

I think he liked that. He stopped and stroked my poor needy cunt again. From the inside. Very firmly, but very slow. Something was happening in my body. My toes curled, inside my shoes, and my stomach muscles tightened. Then this wave of sweetness, of absolutely joy hit me, and I – well, I dissolved in it. I came, and I screamed and wailed, and I couldn’t help it or make myself quiet. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever felt.

I lay drooping across his lap, hands and feet resting on the carpet. He held me in place, and kept stroking me. I thought I was spent, but in less than a minute I felt a second wave. Not quite as big or terrifying, but warm and satisfying. He stroked a little longer, but I was done for now.

I knew there’d be more of that feeling after he’d paddled me. I wondered how his thing would feel, inside me. Or would he just use his fingers? I didn’t mind what he did. I felt utterly blissful. For now I was content to wait. I was content in every way, come to that.

Laci Green shout-out

Eight years ago (i.e. 2009), when she was 18  Laci Green was making valuable, educational and funny youtube videos on sex issues, and occasionally on why she thinks religion is (a) nonsense, and (b) not so terribly good to and for women. 

She’s largely dropped making references to her atheism, which I think is a pity, but understandable if your main concern is issues affecting young women and sex-positivity. 

Laci Green. Her smile takes up a bigger proportion of her face than with normal human beings.

Anyway, one day in 2009 Laci Green made a video saying that people should be accepting of and nice towards transgender people. They shouldn’t be haters: in fact, “haters” was the name for that video episode. Unluckily for her, she had a transgender person as her guest, and he used the word “tranny” of himself and others.

Not knowing that other transgender persons hate the word, she copied him and used the word too.

I have a bit of a “there but for the grace of god go I” feeling about this, because at the time I would have given the very same offence while trying to say something supportive. That’s because a girlfriend of mine worked as a cleaner at the Gender Centre in Sydney, and I’d often help her clean because I wanted to play squash with her when she was done. (“Play squash” sounds like a euphemism, but it isn’t.)

That meant I knew about a dozen politically aware transgender people at the time, and they all used the word “tranny” of themselves and others. So, when I was in conversation with them and it was relevant, I did too. I’m sure I’ve used it in other contexts, thinking I was being supportive. If I’d made videos, they’d still be preserved, of course.  

There’s also the fact that she and apparently other family members have had death threats. I relate to that, because I was once an organiser and media spokesperson for a tenants’ union, and some people didn’t like me getting in the way of certain landlords. Initially I was genuinely flattered and amused when I started to get death threats on the landline. Problem was, my roommates sometimes answered the phone too, and they’d cop the threats intended for me. So I learned that when this shit is directed at one person, it also affects a lot of other people around them. 

Anyway, this began in 2012, when someone saw Laci Green’s “haters” video, which was then three years old, and wrote to her asking why she’d used the word “tranny”. 

She replied: “You are totally right and I sincerely apologize for my mistake. Before I educated myself about trans issues I had not the slightest inkling of how the word is used to dehumanize nor its place in the cycle of violence against transfolk. Now I have seen people hurt by it and seen it used as a nasty slur. Words have power, and “tranny” is not a word for anybody but transfolk themselves to use because only they can reclaim it.”

As a result of the apology, a whole lot of people went berserk. They decided Laci Green was an anti-transgender person activist, who was leading the charge against rights and acceptance. This would have been news to the various Christian right activists who really were running an anti-transgender persons agenda, an agenda now being put into place in several US States. 

Anyway, she got a torrent of hate mail, demanding that she kill herself, along with threats of violence, and, to show they meant it, they posted pictures of Ms Green’s home on-line.

The police took the threats seriously, and suggested to Ms Green that for her own safety she should move. She disappeared off-line for a while. When she came back it was with Planned Parenthood and a MTV spot, which organizations are better at security than just one person. 

Anyway, she recently started arguing on her videos with anti-feminists, to see if communication can be helpful. This angered people who feel that giving anti-feminists a platform is wrong, even in a a dialogue intended to open them to feminist ideas. So that has offended many offended people.

My impression is that it is probably a bad idea, because some of the people she’s spoken to really have been assholes on the internet, and it may not be a good idea to give them yet another platform, even if the intent is to argue with them. On the other hand, it’s the kind of thing that sometimes works to change minds, and that’s always a good thing.

[Update:

Ms Green and Mr Ray-gun (artist’s impression)

Ms Green recently started shagging some guy called Chris Ray-gun. I know very little about him, but apparently he takes the piss out of people who called themselves SJW, or social justice warriors. I’m sure he’s said many dodgy things in his career, but I don’t know what they are. Some people calling themselves feminists have said this is why she’s less keen to be associated with “social justice warriors. As though your politics is determined by where you put your genitals. Me, I’ve sometimes agreed with a girlfriend’s politics, and sometimes not. Some people are like that.

Ms Green took pains to point out that she is still absolutely a feminist.]

Her other recent crime appears to be that she’s mentioned that she’d been accosted by a group of feminists who’d been heckling her at some event, who then made threats of violence against her. 

If you want to read a column saying that Laci Green was the problem there, and she should have apologised again to the people who were threatening her, you can read it here.

(I don’t know the columnist and I’m unlikely to read anything else they ever write, but that specific column offered an interesting use of the passive-aggressive voice used sanctimoniously. This is only a personal reaction, but I found it oddly creepy.)

As a result, there are signs that the Community of the Terminally Self-Righteous are building up for another bash at her for having, while still a minor, made a video that was supportive of trans-gender persons but used the word “tranny”.

My impression is that she’s a good thing, incredibly decent, harmless and well-meaning, who has done an enormous amount of work on issues like abortion, contraception, sex information, kink acceptance and so on.

I should point out that I’m a dom, so I’m a filthy sexual pervert, who has the goddam gall to call himself a feminist supporter. So what I say will ipso facto have no value for some people, but for what bugger-all it’s worth I salute and support Laci Green.