Sinful Sunday: Wait for me!

When he became her Master, he’d told her she’d be subject to discipline, of course. She expected that, and would have been disappointed if he’d said anything else. She liked the ritual, the way her obedience felt so very real and significant when he told her to position herself to make her body available for him to hurt her. 

And it was hot. The cane no longer scared her as much as it used to, but it still hurt her more than she could turn into sex, in the second of it landing across her bottom and thighs. It was a few seconds later that the pain would recede a little and turn into the right kind of warmth. He always fucked her after he’d punished her, because the dance of obedience and pain excited them both, and he wanted to show her that the punishment was over: she was his, and his good girl, again. 

But he’d told her that there were two things he could never accept, and would punish her hard for: disobedience, and things that caused her harm.

That evening he’d asked about orders he’d given her, and she’d had to tell him that she didn’t have the outline of her university course essay, and she hadn’t made a doctor’s appointment – about an intermittent pain in her side – he’d told her to arrange. So that was two counts each, of disobedience and acting against her own interests.

She knew she’d disappointed him. He’d lectured her, and though he’d made himself sound calm she knew he was very displeased. Then he’d made her lie down on their bed, and he’d strapped her long and hard with his belt. It went on for a long time, long enough for her to burrow into it, that living, sexual cave of pain he made for her. And when he stopped at last she’d thought it was over.

Instead he’d taken the cane from its place beside their bed, where it lived, and told her to get up. He took her by the ear and led her into the living room. He stood her facing the wall, and told her to put her hands on her head. And he’d lubricated her anus thoroughly, and put the cane between her buttocks.  

He said he’d be with her again, later, and take that cane, and she would bend over and touch her toes. And he would continue the punishment, until he felt she’d paid in full. In the meantime, she should think about obedience, about caring for her health, and not failing her course. 

And, he’d said, don’t you dare let that cane fall.

Then he’d sat down to read a book, while she stood there. In disgrace. Waiting for the cane. Hoping he’d let her come when he took her afterwards. Wanting it to be over. And wanting it to begin.

 

Sinful Sunday: A work of art

 

 

 

I like the light in this picture. The light likes her. 

An upstairs bedroom in the castle. The ladder is for getting up on top of the turret. I think. There must be a safe place to rest the ladder on and make the climb, but all of the places I could see out the window looked obviously unsafe. There must have been one safe route, but it’s a long, long way above the cobblestones below. I wasn’t game to try it by guesswork. Let alone by trial and error, given the consequences of error.

On the other hand, ladders are for placing girls on. Everyone knows that. 

Note:

Fans of my beautiful model may think this photo is too modest. But if you look carefully, this picture does contain nipples. So all is as it should be. 

Birched in the library

Bending over, in punishment pose, in the place she thinks of as The Library of Depravity. Waiting for Sir.

She’s already been spanked, but she’s about to feel the birch for the first time. 

She knows it won’t be the last. 

It’s comfortable, bent over the rolled arm of a leather armchair. But she knows she won’t be comfortable for long. In the meantime she waits, presented for him, hoping she’ll please him when he comes for her. 

She hears footsteps, approaching the library. She has a lot to learn, she knows. But some new information, and new sensations, are about to touch her.

Sinful Sunday: It’s that skin feeling

He hadn’t put the cane down, but he paused. She stayed in position, bottom and thighs stung, deep and warm.

He ran his hand, the one not holding that thick cane, lightly down her skin, grazing the blossoming welts with his nails. Her skin woke up, aroused. She felt the goosebumps blossoming, where he’d stroked her. 

He sighed with pleasure and admiration. And then his hand was gone. He’d raised the cane again.

Sinful Sunday: The comforts of being good

Sometimes a good girl needs a spanking. She just does. Her skin and her soul crave it. Not too hard, not too light. Just sensual. With lots of appreciation of her beauty. 

And sometimes a good girl gets what she needs.

 

Note:

The castle again. A couple of weeks ago I published an “aftermath” picture, showing my girl sleeping afterwards. But this was taken during the enwarmening process itself.  

Held prisoner in an SS Castle!

She was a prisoner in an SS castle!

But, brave lass, she didn’t tell the evil, gloating von Mortimer anything. Course, it’s easier when SS stands for Sinful Sunday.

Note

The text is kinda schlocky, I know. Though the model is anything but schlocky. It’s taken in the castle, of course. The light is just beautiful, as always. As is she.  

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!

 

Sinful Sunday: A moment’s peace

There’s a moment of peace after her Master puts the cane down, and tells her that it’s over and she’s been a good, brave girl. 

Her mind is at peace. She was caned for her Master’s pleasure, and hers. There was nothing for her to forgive herself for, nothing for him to forgive. He’d just woken up needing her submission, urgently, and he’d cuffed her to their bed, and reached for the cane.

His strokes hurt as they fell on her, of course. But how quickly those individual flashes of pain turn to warmth, to a kind of sensual glow, and then to sexual longing. She watched him as he raised the cane. His cock lifted with that movement: caning her turned him on. 

He takes photos for her to admire later, and then puts on a condom. And he leaves her cuffed, wrists and ankles spread for him, while he poises his body above hers, ready to take her. And then that moment of peace is over. 

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!