Pics for a woman who may deserve the cane

 

 

If I were to cane, say, you, I’d try to look stern while I was doing it. Of course, I’d also be very turned on, and very happy with your submission and trust for my judgment.

My experience is that a lot of submissives don’t enjoy that microsecond when the cane actually lands on their bare and presented bottom or thighs. But a few seconds later they like the pain and the warmth. A few minutes later, they like the spreading warmth and delicious soreness. Later still, they love the feeling that they’re in a relationship where being caned for misbehaviour is part of life. Because they have someone in charge of them who cares about their behaviour and welfare.

Book covers, one censored and one – I hope – not

I’ve just tried to get an erotic book published. It uses some material taken from this blog, but goes on to turn a short story into a whoie novel.

Anyway, it’s just been rejected for publication, because the cover is too sexy. Here’s the original cover I provided.

So I got rid of the bumcrack, and that nice blush on her bottom where I’d spanked her, and came up with this more demure image.

So wish me luck!

“Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 1: Jennifer’s First Spanking” is steamy hot and now on sale!

Jennifer’s Pleats and Please 1: Jennifer’s First Spanking is available through a range of suppliers, including Amazon, here.

What’s it about?

Beautiful young Jennifer Perch has been acting out, and when her Headmaster, Will Beecham, offers her a course of loving discipline, she accepts his offer with caution that soon becomes enthusiasm.

In this volume of Jennifer’s adventures she receives her first spanking, and discovers the sweeter sensations and emotions that discipline can lead to.

We also meet Maddie, Beecham’s secretary, a woman with her own erotic agenda.  

An exciting adventure begins…

 

Review

Note: I’ve had many enthusiastic reader comments on this story. I’ve selected this one, but there are many more:

“This is a-grade erotica in a traditional style and setting, but told by an author with an eye for the telling erotic detail. And character details. These are three-dimensional people. I loved it!” – V Sevigne, reviewer.

 

From: Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 1: Jennifer’s First Spanking

“Skipping classes is foolish and childish, so you’ll be punished like a little child. Like a fool of a girl. I’m going to give you a spanking.”

Jennifer stared at me, her mouth dropped open, her eyes wide. 

“I mean now, Jennifer. Stand up.”

I stood and brought forward the companion chair to the one Jennifer was sitting on. It too was wooden, with a high straight back. Jennifer hadn’t moved yet. I gave her another order, so she had a sense of orders backing up, of things slipping out of her control. “Take off your blazer, Jennifer.”

Still nothing, except furious blushing, her hands clasped between her knees. I spoke sharply. “Or would you rather have the paddle? Naked over my desk like your two friends on Friday?”

It seemed she didn’t want that. She stood up suddenly and took off the blazer. She folded it and draped it over the back of her chair.

I sat in the chair I’d brought out from the wall and placed in the center of the room. “Wise choice. Come here now, girl.”

She did. She stood in front of me. Her knees were shaking. “Please don’t spank me, sir. I’ll do extra work. I’ll … write an essay. Or clean all the blackboards. Anything. I’ll be good, I promise! I – I’ve never been spanked. Never! Please, sir.”

I smiled at her and shook my head. I patted my right thigh. “Bend over my knee, Jennifer.”

 

Will that girl do as she’s told? And if she does, will she find she’s enjoying herself? To find out the answers to these and many other questions, get your copy of Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 1: Jennifer’s First Spanking 

 

Jennifer’s Pleats and Please 1: Jennifer’s First Spanking is available through a range of suppliers, including Amazon, here.

Special price! US$3.50.

 

 

On monetarising this blog

I started this blog in 2012. Since then I’ve published an average of 4-5 times a week. I tend to write in serial form, building up sagas as I go. Most of my segments, or individual blog posts, are intended to contain arousing, erotic scenes. So each of those posts is part of a longer story, which often goes on for something like the length of a novel.  

Occasionally I put up something that isn’t meant to be sexy. I’ve presented research on this blog, and occasionally posted on issues that come up and affect the bids community in particular. Though I’ve been widening my brief, especially in the last year or so, to take in issues that affect people, but aren’5t necessarily linked to bdsm in particular.

The rarest kind of post has been the posts about my personal life.

There’s another category: “meta” posts, which are about this blog, and issues facing the blog.This one concerns the “Jerusalem Mortimer wants a word” blog’s survival. Because the reality iOS that this blog costs me money, to keep it up on the net. It also costs me time, as I work on pieces, and I do work for money.

So I’m going to monetarise this blog, and put in new features that are accessible for small payments. Generosity with my time and cash is still my basic assumption and approach.       

There’s an enormous amount of material here, and most of it will remain accessible for free. But I’m about to launch jerusalemmortimer.com as partially a pay site. 

This involves two things. First, I’ve opened a bookshop featuring my work. It sells erotic sagas, because sagas tend to be what I write. Each saga is divided up to make a book of about 26-30 pages.

Each volume is self-contained as well as being part of a larger story. They’re very affordable at $4.99 each, with the first volume in each series serving as a sample, available for $3.50.

The first saga is Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas. It’s set in a slightly strange high school in an alternative universe.

The students are initiated in a range of disciplinary and sexual practices, and a very steamy and surprisingly kind time is had by all. 

It will soon be followed by volume 1 of a new saga, set in Japan and Vietnam in the 1980s. Historical literature! With ripped bodices!

Second, from 1 May 2020, this blog’s updates will be available only to subscribers who have taken out a Premium Membership.

As well as access to all posts a month before they’re available to general readers, Premium Members also get audio recordings of dramatic and steamy highlights from my work. These remain exclusive to members only.

Members also get a monthly newsletter, letting them further into their author’s world, and giving advance notice and samples of Things to Come.  

You’ll also get the satisfaction of helping a poor starving author keep his site on-line. So, thank you!  

The third thing I try to do, with my writing

The third thing is: clarity. 

Sex can be rough and tumble, with one person on top then the other, with their arms and legs entangled. That’s good when that happens, and sometimes you’re too busy feeling and doing to really keep track.

But as a writer, keeping track is your job. You have to know where your people are, and write it realistically and clearly. For example, if your characters are having rear-entry sex, the man cannot kiss his lover’s eyes. At best he can kiss one of her eyes, but you should mention, first, that she has turned her head. He will have to lean right down to manage it. 

If either of them has a tool in their hand, whether it’s a vibrator or a cane, it should be where it must be. If it’s in his hand, and the writer hasn’t mentioned him putting it down, then it’s still in his hand. If he has put it down to stroke his lover, then he has to pick it up again before he can use it. 

And the writer has to record that. And so on. 

I once read a book in which the hero has sex with the heroine at last. In the morning, the writer told me, he woke up naked, his withered hand resting on his thigh. So I leafed all the way back to the beginning, to see if he had a disfigurement to his hand. It turned out that the writer meant that his cock and balls, resting on his thigh, looked a little like a withered hand. Well, I thought, if you say so.

People often get metaphorical when writing about sex: waves crash, fires light, and trains even go into tunnels. Most of the best known metaphors are dead, really. Overuse has killed them, and they communicate a writer’s lazy boredom rather than sexual intensity. 

My preference is for saying what’s happening, in direct language that tells about the state and the action of penises, vulvas and mouths.

A note on metaphors and similes

Only after I’ve done that will I try to think of a good metaphor. Part of a metaphor being a good one is that it shouldn’t have been worked to death by other writers. The other part is that it should make sense, and communicate something specific to the reader.

For example, I once said a masturbating woman’s orgasm noise seemed “high and lonely, like a seagull’s cry.” Almost everyone knows what a seagull cry sounds like, so the simile communicates something about how it sounded, and also something about her emotional state.

Another kind of orgasm could be said to be like the sound a cat makes if someone rides a bike over its tail. That is arguably an accurate simile, for some orgasm sounds, but it’s a bad one because its too outlandish, too far removed from a sexual context.

Metaphorts and similes should be accurate, appropriate to the emotion of the situation, and not too outlandish, or too commonly used.

 

The fourth thing I try to achieve is… humanity.

 

The second thing Jerusalem Mortimer likes in his writing

The second thing I like when I achieve it in my writing, and try to achieve is: “no inflatable darlings”.

2. No inflatable darlings

An inflatable darling is a character who doesn’t have needs and drives and desires, except perhaps for the desire to please the protagonist. She – it’s usually “she”, though some people write male characters in the same hollow vein – has nothing inside. No doubts, no worries, no insecurities, only lust. So the hero, Tex Turisedmeattube, says to his lover, “We’re going to have a threesome with Mona next door.” 

“Goody,” she cries, clapping her little hands in glee, “I love threesomes.”

So, as it happens, does Mona, who has been sitting at home, crocheting sleeping bags for mice, and waiting to be asked. For ages.

When the threesome happens they are jolly and jovial throughout.

In fact, they’re more committed to Tex’s pleasure than their own. Despite that, they both come noisily and often. Out of the blue, really. 

But I’m going to come back to one of my stories soon. I broke it off just as the threesome was about to happen. And at the time I just found it too hard to write.

There’s a man and two women, each of whom have their own desires and fantasies, and their own fears. He’s afraid of hurting his regular partner, or their guest. He’s afraid he won’t be able to keep them entertained. He’s worried about seeming selfish, or bossy in the wrong way.

One woman is worried about her body, and worries that the man will prefer the other woman. She’s worried about the other woman, and just how far she’s supposed to go with her, because she’s a little bi-curious but she’s basically straight.

The other woman is worried that she’ll cause trouble between the principal couple.

Perhaps she actually prefers the other woman, and is putting up with her mixed feelings about the man because the encounter will only happen if he’s present. 

And so on. There are three agenda. They’re all trying their best to please the other two, and to be decent, and to give pleasure and receive it.

But it’s complicated, because they’re real people. Erotic writing is still a kind of literature, and it should capture some of that complexity. In fact the more it does the realer it is, and the realer it is, the more more sexually powerful it is. 

Even when one of the characters is submitting, and dedicating themselves to serving the other’s pleasure, that person is still a person, and there are reasons why he or she chose their submission, and there’s usually a history to the pleasures they take from it. 

 

So, when I’m writing, I try to make sure I know what each character is wanting and thinking. Even if I don’t say all of it, there should be enough to make it clear to the reader than these people are real, feeling, wanting and alive. 

 

The third thing I aim for, and like when I get it, is clarity. So I’ll talk about that next week.

 

Jerusalem Mortimer is an erotic writer, and here’s the first thing he likes about his writing

There are three things I value in erotic writing, and I try to keep them in sight as goals, and work to achieve them. 

1. Details

There’s a sort of proverb among classical music conductors, “If you want a piece of music to sound faster, play it slower.” 

The proverb means that classical music orchestral scores, if they’re worth playing at all, are full of little details that are passed over, undetectable, when you play it quickly, but that emerge and become part of the line, a more ornate line, if the music is played slow enough for the details to emerge.

Erotica is like classical music, if it’s any good, too. It moves slowly, and in detail. In one example, I wrote about a man and woman meeting in a kitchen, where he intends to interview her about a violent gang she once belonged too. They realise that they are sexually interested in each other, and that they are both kinky in complementary ways. At that stage they know that eventually they’re going to go upstairs to her bedroom. 

But they spend at least 100 pages in the kitchen, discovering each other, slowly getting more and more excited, before they finally leave that room. 

That’s because I’m interested in the erotic details of his and her reactions to the other, and the decisions that they have to make before they are committed to do something. By then they know that if they act on their desire it’s going to change both of their lives. 

For example, at one moment she puts her jersey over his head – she’s wearing nothing underneath it – and he admires her breasts, of course, but he also becomes fascinated by the pattern made by the sunlight shining through the weave and dappling her skin.

Erotic writing is a kind of poetry. The words should carry more than their usual weight of meaning. At the same time, of course, it should never sound “poetic”. You try for the art that conceals art, but reveals truth. And hotness. Well, I don’t know what you do. I mean, “I try.” 

 

The second thing I like about my best erotic writing, and that I always aim for, is “no inflatable darlings”. I’ll talk about what I mean by that, this time next week.  

The Tale of the Tawse: Volume 2

Last year I wrote a very good book, The Tale of the Tawse. It’s funny, sexy as hell, romantic and exciting.

In it, a man with a name like a Wodehouse character (Freddie Underhill) meets two women, Daphne and Shar, and helps each of them deal with a life crisis, with occasional applications of his hand or a long leather strap, the tawse of the title, to their firm proud et cetera.

At the end of the book, he’s back on his own in New York, and he gets an invitation from each of the women to come to a global warming conference in Wellington, New Zealand. Daphne is having an art exhibition there, and Shar is the translator for the diplomatic team of a small mid-eastern country. Freddie ends the book wondering how he’s going to manage his way through that.

The Tale of the Tawse is currently with a publisher, under consideration, but it’ll be out soon. I have every confidence in that. And one thing the world will be demanding is the continuation of the story. What happens in New Zealand?

I think – just working this out as I go along – that he lets each woman know that the other woman will be there. They both already know of the other’s existence. On the day he arrives in Wellington he invites both women to dinner. 

They get on very well. However, Daphne’s up for a threesome, or even a twosome with just her and Shar. But Shar’s not having that. She’s a straight girl. 

In the meantime they decide that they’ll get a hotel suite together, the three of them, and they’ll each take turns to sleep with Freddie, while the other sleeps in the next room.

Then Shar hears that her younger cousin, Mahtab, who she hasn’t seen since she was three years old, is also in Wellington, to be married off to a Saudi aristocrat of striking physical and moral unattractiveness. She and Daphne go to meet the girl, and Shar gives Mahtab a card with their hotel room and phone number. Daphne tells the girl about  Freddie, and says they’ll get Freddie to help her. She writes down Freddie’s number and gives it to her. 

The next day, on the way to the global warming conference, Freddie is attacked and stabbed. He manages to break away and staggers into a butcher’s shop, bleeding a lot. The attackers follow him, but are attacked by the huge butcher, and they run. The butcher calls an ambulance for Freddie, and the hospital stitches and bandages Freddie and says he’s fine to go home.

Back at the hotel, Daphne and Shar are waiting. When they see him injured they realise it must be their fault for giving Mahtab written information, that has obviously fallen into the wrong hands. Shar begs him to punish both of them.

He does. Shar, now sore and weeping, begs him to help her cousin escape. Of course he agrees.

I’m thinking the escape takes place on the ferry running between the North and South Islands. But I’m a bit vague about the details.

 

That’s as far as I’ve got, so far. I’m making this plot up as I write this post, and I’m out of ideas now. Thank you for listening. 

Books, publishers and agents: and where are the under-the-desk blowjobs?

The writer, giving good type, and laying pipe.

I’m in the slightly unusual situation of having finished three novels in the last four months. 

One of those novels contains no bdsm and very little sex, but a lot of love and death, also violence and politics, set in an antiquarian bookshop, and I don’t think I can publish it as being by that disgraceful Jerusalem Mortimer.  

I’m sending it to an agent on Monday. And they can decide what to do with my split personality writing career. 

The writer’s reward. I mean, money is good, but mostly we write for the under-the-desk blow jobs. Ask Hemingway, ask JK Rowling. Ask anyone.

The other two novels contains lots and lots, also lots, of sex and submission, and the acceptance of submission. And lots of very committed fucking.

They are true novels, in the sense that they’re about people, and the changes they go through as a result of experience.

They are also, I think, filthy hot.

People discover the most intense desires, to own or to give themselves to their lover, and to mark them or be marked by them.

And today a publisher has been given the opportunity to enrich their company and myself beyond their and my wildest dreams, as my books fly off the shelves.

As they most certainly will! 

Balzac would have said, “There goes another novel.” But he was an idiot.

I’ve been busy most of this week, This process, the writing of blurbs, synopses, and histories of my writing career, and so forth, has kept me away from blogging for most of this week. I’m sorry about that.

I like to keep my readers entertained. I believe that writers are entertainers, or we’re nothing. I believe that very seriously.

Usual services restored next week!