Wicked Wednesday: Moral support

The previous episode is here.

Sir’s cock was inside my mouth, but he wasn’t moving any more. His hands released my hair and stroked my head gently. At last he said, “Good girl, Maddie.”

I moved my lips along his shaft, and kissed the head, all velvet even when it was hard. He said, “Good girl,” again, so I was doing the right thing. “Suck me clean, girl.” I slid my tongue around his cock, to show I’d been reading, but mostly I used my lips. Eventually I nodded, mouth still on his cock, which wasn’t quite as hard as it had been.

He pulled out at last. He put his cock back into his underpants and zipped up his fly. “All right, little Maddie. You’ve been a very naughty, manipulative little brat, haven’t you?”

I should have been terrified, but he was smiling. I hung my head, pretending to be ashamed, and said, “Yes, Sir, I’ve been a very naughty and manipulative little brat. I bet I deserve… anything, Sir.”

“Ha. Well, I bet you deserve everything. But there’s plenty of time for that. Now, you heard me tell Lucy she’s going to get her first caning in this office at four o’clock.”

“Yes, Sir.” I was still on my knees.

“And you’re going to be here too. And I’ll either cane you both side by side, alternating strokes, or we’ll have it that you hold her down with her head between your thighs while I cane her, and then she holds you down. Lucy seemed to quite enjoy that. So did you, of course. Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know, Sir. I suppose side by side. We could hold hands.”

He gave me the look that said, Maybe.

He wasn’t asking me what to do; he’d never do that. He was just getting my preference, for information. “Well, we’ll see. And after I’ve caned both of you, I’m going to take you home. To fuck you.”

“Oh yes, Sir.”

“You two seem to have become friends. I’m not going to fuck Lucy. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight is yours.”

“Yes, Sir. But I might like to have Lucy with me. She could watch me getting fucked?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. I suppose she could fetch things for us. Help out, do as she’s told, give you moral support. And yes, if she wanted she could be there when I fucked you. If that’s what you want. She’d have to want that too.”

I thought. In one way I wanted him all to myself. Especially tonight. But I was going to have exclusive use of his cock tonight, and that was the important thing. “This sounds weird, Sir, even to me. But yes, I’d like her to be with us.”

“All right. Then sound her out, without giving her too much information. Just to sat you’re getting special lessons, tonight. If she sounds positive about that, then you can see if she’s agreeable. But if you both want then she can come too. Except she won’t come. Well, not by my doing, anyway.”

“Does this mean, Sir, I can watch when you fuck her? Later?” I took it for granted that he would, not tonight but soon. It felt like forming a family, in a way. I felt that I was being warm and generous.

Though I wanted to hear Lucy’s orgasm cry. I really desired that.

I’d never felt anything for a girl before, but there was something about Lucy. I wanted to worship her body. And I wanted to cane her till she screamed, and to force her to lick my cunt while the tears ran down her face. It felt so strange wanting that. And it felt good knowing that it was now a real possibility.

Sir watched me, then nodded. He took a handful of my hair and pulled me to my feet. “Time you went to class, Maddie. I’ll give you a note saying you’re late because you’ve been caned. But…” He held out his hands, and I rushed forward, pressing my body against his. We cuddled, holding each other so tight. I kissed him, though my mouth still tasted of his come, to me, but he didn’t seem to mind.

At last he smacked my bottom. “Put your clothes on now, girl. And go to class. You’ll talk to Lucy at lunch. And you’ll see me after school. Now: Go!”

 

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: The joy of being used

The previous episode is here.

Sir pushed his cock into my mouth and put his hands on the back of my head, grabbing a handful of my hair in each hand so I couldn’t move my head back. I’d been reading up on techniques for driving a man crazy while I’m sucking his cock, but Sir wasn’t interested in me being clever.

His cock pushed into my mouth and into my throat, iron and insistent. He held me still while his hips pumped, driving into my mouth, into my throat. I’d read about this: he was fucking my throat, hard, for his own pleasure.

I felt utterly helpless, used, my mouth battered. It seemed to go well with the burning cane stripes across my bottom. I was still naked. He could see my stripes when he pulled me forward. The thought that I didn’t matter except to give him pleasure was so hot.

I gagged sometimes, when he went as deep as he could, cock down into my throat, but I couldn’t feel anything but the hotness of what he was doing to me.

I wasn’t doing anything: I was being done to, being fucked in the mouth. I liked that feeling. It said that I was his and it seemed so right.

It was only later that I realised that when I gagged he’d carry on pumping his cock into me, like a piston, for a few more strokes while I gasped for air.

But then he’d take his cock out a little further to let me catch my breath, and though he’d push back into my throat as deeply as ever, he’d be slower for one or two strokes before going back to his usual speed.

At last he smacked my face, once, twice, hard enough to echo in the room, and I felt his stomach muscles harden. Then his cock moved in me faster than I’d thought possible, and with one more smack – I was sure my right cheek must be as red as my bottom, or Lucy’s – he spurted a great gush of his come into me.

I swallowed as fast as I could because I already knew that’s what good girls do. He growled like an animal, and I was exhilarated by how happy and content with me he sounded.

His cock was still hard in my mouth, but no longer moving. His hands released my hair and stroked my head gently.

His cock felt so heavy in my mouth now he’d relaxed a bit. So fat, and happy. At last he whispered, “Good girl, Maddie. My good girl.”

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 9 (final!)

The previous episode is here.

 

I got up and checked my back in the mirror. It did look dramatic. More importantly, I couldn’t tell Fliss’s scratches from the ones Maureen had inflicted.

“It’s all right, love, I didn’t even feel it. Hot blood, and all. And it doesn’t hurt now, either.” This was true.

“And you can get as carried away as you like.” I got back in bed, and kissed her. “My fiery little slut.”

Fliss smiled now, rather proud of herself. “Fiery little slut. Yes, I suppose.”

She looked over my shoulder. She said, “Can I see?”

I rolled onto my stomach, and let Fliss run her fingertips gently over her and Maureen’s handwork. “Wow,” she said again. “I have been a bad girl.”

I said, “Oh. Not really. I mean … ” And there was nothing further that I could say about that.

“Haven’t I?”

My belt was still in bed with us where I’d dropped it, when I pulled her mouth off my cock and hauled her forward, to get her cunt against my mouth. Usually I spanked her with it when she was sucking me, but this time I hadn’t. Dominance requires a certain purity of self-belief, which I had not felt, for very sound reasons.

Still, what Fliss knew was that she had not been spanked. It had been a good fuck, but it had been an egg without salt.

So I picked up the belt, and the powers, rights and duties that it implies. “Well. Now you mention it…” And Fliss slid over my lap, hard little bottom arched in mock-repentance and sexual greed.

“Yes,” I said. “You have been a very bad girl.”


The end.

A good man, with a belt 8

The previous episode is here

Note

This is the near the end of this story. If you missed earlier episodes, the jist is that I had girl-scratches all over my back that my current girlfriend, the extremely assertive submissive Fliss, hadn’t put there.

She was likely to resent these when she became aware of them. I’d managed to start having sex with her without her noticing them, but I expected exposure as a Bad Boyfriend at any second. 

Now Read On

So Fliss, eyes closed, had squirmed her way deliciously down to her mammal brain. I liked that state myself when fucking. I tend to go bear-like when she goes there, carnivorous and very grunty, and not at all analytical. But I couldn’t go that way this time. I had too much to think about.

And then I smiled down at Fliss, kissed her, which she accepted, purring pleasurably, but without opening her eyes. And I brought my hands in under her back, made the best claws I could with my blunt nails, and dragged them down her back, scratching as hard as I could.

Fliss’s eyes opened wide. She grunted, “Ubf!”, tightened her thighs on mine and let fly with her nails, scrabbling and flaying at my back while she writhed determinedly beneath me. She continued shredding, my excited minx, until I felt she’d done enough.

I grabbed her hands and held them together over her head, trapped in one hand of mine, and increased our speed. And Fliss made the noise she made when she was going to come, a sort of gurgling, close to laughter but more musical, that rose and fell in cascades and made me think of fountains, and aspens.

And she came and I came, and afterwards I accepted loving words that I didn’t entirely deserve, and gave loving words that she did deserve. And later still we lay side by side, on our backs, legs and arms twined, well pleased with each other.

Eventually I got up to get us both water and wine. There was a slight gasp as I walked, naked, out of the bedroom. When I returned Fliss took her drink, and then looked contrite.

“Jesus, Jaime, your back’s a mess. Wow. Sorry. I didn’t realise I’d got so carried away.”

 

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 7

The previous episode is here.

 

Once I’d hauled off Fliss’s jeans and panties, and smacked her bottom because it was too adorable not to (could this be the last time, I wondered?) I lay back against a stack of pillows like a pasha, took my belt off and kept it in my hand.

Dab dab dab, dib dib dib

Fliss got up on her knees, leaned forward, and extracted my cock with her hand, and began dabbing at it head with her pink little tongue.

I was aware that I wasn’t being a good boyfriend at that moment. But Fliss didn’t know that, so she was happily serving.

I wasn’t quite comfortable, ethically, but my cock wasn’t interested in that kind of issue. Fliss was smaller, more compact than Maureen, slender, with small breasts and a little hard arse like a pair of apples. Cock, once it’s excited and being pleasured, has as much conscience as cunt, or, for that matter, as a brick.

After a time Fliss stopped playing, and took me deep in her mouth. And I held her head with the hand that held the belt, and she started to mouthfuck me, rather fiercely, while I held her head. I let the belt press against her face so she could feel the leather and imagine she would be punished if she didn’t serve me properly.

Usually I would smack the belt down her back, letting it impact and curl around her arse, usually not hard enough to hurt, but with occasional harder lashes, while she sucked my cock. But on that occasion I didn’t quite feel that I had the moral authority. She went unleathered. 

But I was in danger of coming, and I wasn’t sure what my recovery time would be like, after having already come in Maureen that evening. So I hauled Fliss off my cock, and pulled her up the bed and forward until her cunt was pressed down against my mouth.

I dropped the belt to get both hands on her buttocks, holding her against me while she leaned forward to rest her face and arms against the wall. Fliss tasted of cinnamon, for some reason, also soap and faint urine tangs, but her basic cunt taste was bland, a little sweet and salty.

The was also a faint hazelnut taste. Fliss’s older sister made oils and unguents as a sort of household industry for her and her kids, and it was probably some sort of hippie-ish health thing. Anyway I liked her tastes, and worked at her cunt until Fliss was squirming and squeaking and demanding to be let down.

Eventually I released her, and she scrambled down to drag my pants off, while I pulled my shirt off over my head, keeping my back and its collection of Maureen’s clawtrails against the pillows.

So we were both naked, and I held Fliss’s hands while she straddled me and lowered herself, very quick and greedy, onto my cock. Usually there was a long, slow section at the beginning of our fucks, but we skipped that. The thought occured to me, pounding up into her, watching her little tits bounce, that it was probably a good thing that I’d already come in Maureen, because otherwise I wouldn’t have lasted long. Though I didn’t expect that I could introduce that as any sort of argument.

Anyway, after a while I pulled Fliss down against me, and rolled us over so she was on her back and I was on top of her, holding her, slowly pumping in her sweet wet cunt, while she held her breath and spread for me. The scratches on my back were in the open air, though Fliss couldn’t see them. 

And it was in that moment, staring down at Fliss, her eyes closed, intently working on her pleasure and utterly carried away with getting fucked, that I realised that there was a way out. I might just get away with this.

 

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 6

The previous episode is here.

 

So, home alone, with a few minutes to spare before Fliss arrived, I dropped my blood streaked shirt in a bucket, with oxygen bleach. It was safe there. My older brothers had had girlfriends who would come round and do their washing for them, but somehow those didn’t seem to be the women I was interested in. Unless they were doing it for pervy sexual reasons.

 Certainly Fliss was not a woman to show any interest in doing my laundry, so there was no chance my bloody and incriminating shirt would be discovered. I took a shower. Afterwards I checked the mirror, hoping that the clawmarks Maureen had left on my back would have faded. But though I could see that they had stopped bleeding, they were still raw and very bright. There was no way of disguising them.

Werewolves: no market these days She wouldn’t believe vampires, either

It occurred to me that I could come up with a story about how I’d acquired my wounds while saving a sad-eyed little child from an enraged grizzly bear. Except that the nearest grizzly was thousands of miles away. And I didn’t think she’d buy werewolves.

Maybe I’d fallen asleep in long grass and someone had run a lawnmower over my back. Maybe I’d run backwards through a thorn bush, though I couldn’t think of any reason why I might do that.

Maybe I’d been juggling cats, and had flubbed the triple-tabby behind the back parabola, so they’d taken their hissing, screeching revenge.

Maybe I could just explain that Maureen had been nostalgic, horny and very fuckable.

I considered this again, and came to the same conclusion I’d reached when I’d been riding home: there’d be unhappiness all over the place, and we’d possibly break-up. I knew I was in the wrong, and I might deserve bad things, but these weren’t remotely good outcomes. I heard Fliss’s car outside. I put on a fresh shirt and pants and went out to meet her.

Not usually a strategic mistake.

She slipped her hands inside my shirt to embrace me, which made me wonder if the gouges would be noticeable to the touch. The best defence was distraction, so I put my own hands inside her jeans, and lifted her up. Fliss wrapped her legs round my waist. I realised I’d made a slight strategic mistake.

We were in the beginning of twilight, and I had thought I’d be better off if I gave her a glass of wine and we talked about our day, and so on, so that it would be dark when we took our clothes off. We’d still turn the light on, during or afterwards, and there I’d be. But at least it would have delayed things and I could have thought of something.

Instead I had Fliss wrapped round my waist, rubbing herself against my cock and riding me cowgirl, and under those conditions, pilgrim, there is only one direction you can go.

So I took her to my bedroom, held her high while she laughed and licked my nose, and dropped her onto the bed. As I’d done with Maureen not two hours earlier. I pulled the curtains, explaining that I’d seen the old woman who lived next door out in her backyard. There was still too much light. Then I joined Fliss on the bed, and we kissed and rolled around, over and over each other, rubbing our faces into each other while I took her clothes off. 

But not mine.

So far so good

It wasn’t so odd that I pulled Fliss’s shirt off without undressing myslf, because she liked to kneel, naked, take my cock into her mouth and pleasure me while I was still clothed.

It helped her to move herself from her outside world persona into her bedroom self, to feel that she was serving and submitting. It was how I’d first suspected – something neither of us had known before – that Fliss was submissive.

But being submissive didn’t matter. When there was hell to pay, she could raise hell.

 

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 5

The previous episode is here.

 

Lying in Maureen’s arms, and cunt, fucking her delicious self, had earned me the tribute of lost blood, from her nails digging into and raking down my back. 

The stigmata of the Blessed St Jaime

It occurred to me in that moment that I’d been an unsatisfactory boyfriend for Maureen in various ways, like unreliability and a general lack of cash, shift and feck. So I was trying to do better by Fliss, my new girlfriend. But Fliss would turn up at my house in about 80 minutes, and she’d be expecting to see me naked. And fresh claw marks down my back would be an indication that I wasn’t being completely satisfactory, as boyfriends go.

We weren’t doing polyamory.

Ah well, the damage is done, I decided, and carried on, getting my hands under Maureen’s arse, hauling her tight against me, pumping and pounding her hard, and earning fresh clawmarks. Maureen was a luscious and energetic girl, and a fuck with her merited full and undivided attention, regardless of the consequences.

But we came, and said loving things, and time ran out. I kissed her goodbye and put my clothes on – blood streaks soaked through my shirt instantly, reported Maureen proudly – hopped on my motorbike, kicked it into life and rode home.

I was happy with Fliss. There were a lot of important reasons for this, that she was gorgeous, and flamboyant, and clever, and assertive in ways that scared a lot of guys, and someone I could watch and listen to with admiration. And, for another thing, we’d discovered within only a couple of weeks into our sexual career together that she was a submissive.

That discovery, about Fliss, had been a turning point in my life. I’d met submissive women before, but those encounters had been rare. But when two girlfriends in a row had turned out to be submissive, without my having suspected or chosen them on that basis, I saw that “people like me” were not as scarce as I’d thought when I was growing up, and that my life might turn out to be a lot more fun than I’d come to expect.

Of course, lions sorted out the lioness-claws problem millennia ago

Still, submission didn’t make her any less stroppy, and Fliss was not going to like this evidence of my faithlessness. And that evidence that would clearly still be only minutes old, when I next took off my shirt in front of her. 

She might break up with me. That would be very sad. Or else, a lesser sentence, I’d have to live through days of “discussing our relationship”, before I next got to grips with her.

Days of eggshell-walking time with an angry woman. I’d rather scrub wet batshit out of a washing machine, for the same length of time, than go through that.

I considered simply giving Fliss a good beating and roaring at her that I would fuck whoever I wanted and be damned to you, girl. But no. The Brian Blessed approach (I mean the roaring; I don’t know what Brian Blessed does in bed) might work for some things, but not when I was so obviously, and so very recently, at fault.

When I got home, Fliss’s car wasn’t in my drive. I’d beaten her home. I had time to have a shower and hide my shirt; that was something.

 

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 4

The previous episode is here.

 

Maureen didn’t know she’d shredded my back until I turned away from her to check the time. She saw the blood on my back and on the sheet where I’d been lying. “Oh god, sorry, Jaime.”

Blood-letting commences in 3, 2, 1…

When Maureen got excited, and a well-strapped bottom followed by a hard pounding was guaranteed to achieve that, she tended to reach up and dig her nails into her lover’s back.

It seemed to be more or less instinctual; she didn’t decide to do it, and I don’t think she really knew, at a conscious level, when she was doing it.

It had been one of the things she did when I’d pushed her down into her animal brain.

I was some way into my own animal brain, because all I could see was that Maureen, contrite and sorry, was too good a thing to pass up. I growled, “Oh. So you think ‘sorry’ is good enough? Maires?” 

Maires was my lover’s name for her. When we’d been a couple I hadn’t really minded her nails. It never hurt, because when I’m sexually excited I don’t seem to feel pain.

I discovered that inability to feel pain when I was 18 and a girl accidentally slid a shower door shut on my erect penis. For a tenth of a second or thereabouts I could see it about to happen, with not enough moving room or time to get out of the way. I’d been horrified. But when it hit I was astonished to find that it didn’t  hurt.

When my cock was pumped hard with blood, and I was intent on following that girl who’d just left the shower, the pain seemed to come from a very little, far-away place, and to be completely irrelevant. But if I hadn’t been so turned on I’d have been dancing in agony and howling at the moon.

This is different from what submissives do. When I’d been warming up Maureen’s ass and thighs with my belt, I was certain that she felt it and that it hurt her: but she could take that pain and turn it into arousal.

And that’s why she said, “Oh. No, Jaime, I don’t think my saying sorry is enough at all.” She waited, horrified and delighted, for me to pronounce sentence. 

Tied and from behind: the only safe way to fuck Maureen

The really important thing for a species is to keep reproducing, and that means that fucking should override almost everything else.

Still, I wonder if that is a Dom/sub divide; for doms, sexual arousal cancels or overrides pain, while for subs the right kind of pain builds sexual arousal.

That’s my half-arsed theory #213.

Anyway, fucking Maureen, at least in missionary position so she had access to my back, meant coming away with wounds. Overall, when I was her boyfriend I was kind of proud of the wounds on my back, because I felt that they showed how much passion I’d roused in her. 

I said, “No, Maires. It’s definitely not enough. I want to see and hear that you’re sorry. Tomorrow I’m coming back. You’re to have a cane ready for me. Ok?”

“You’re going to make me wait? Can’t you cane me now?” 

“I have to go now. But the waiting will do you good, Maires. Make sure you’re in the kitchen waiting for me, same time as I arrived today. Alone, naked, facing the table, holding the cane between your thighs. You’ll get at least a dozen. Whether you get a second dozen depends how well you behave.”

Hard to pass off as a motorbike accident

“Jaime!” She was wide-eyed. Whiny and thrilled, at once.

I wanted to push her down again then and there, down onto the sheet and down into her animal brain. Make her rest her feet on my arse while I rode her to the end.

But I really had run out of time. My problem was that I was due home in a bit over an hour.

I was due home because my new girlfriend, Fliss, was coming over for dinner. She expected to be fed and fucked, of course. Fucking involves nudity. 

And Fliss was not going to be pleased with the state of my back.

 

The next episode is here.

The end of Maddie’s virginity

The previous episode is here.

 

“So, when school was finally over I walked back to the headmaster’s office. I wasn’t exactly skipping along, because getting the cane for the first time, and then having my first fuck: those things are too serious for skipping. But I was certainly happy. I remember that, for sure. And I was so incredibly aroused.”

Maddie lay beside me, on the mattress in the storeroom. She was telling me about how she’d lost her virginity. She’d been cheerfully turning me on, stroking my cock during the sexier parts of her tale. But that was over. She still lay beside me, her body pressing against mine, but her hands had crossed over her belly. They were still. She had something bad to tell me.

“And I got to his office. Or nearly there. I was wondering, I think, whether he’d make me strip of my clothes for him, or if he’d undress me. I wasn’t sure which I’d prefer. And then there was Rob. I nearly screamed.”

“Rob?” I looked puzzled. I’d lost track of the dramatis personae in Maddie’s tale. 

“He’s the boy the head was caning, when I went to see him at lunchtime. And he’d been terribly humiliated.”

“Ah, yeah. And he hated you for seeing him. I remember.”  

“Hate is right. But he stepped out from the little side passage to the boys’ cloakrooms. He’d been waiting for me, I know now. I don’t think I realised it then. He said, ‘Hey, pretty bird. Going to see the head?’ He made it sound like it was the most disgusting, the most slutty thing in the world.” 

I had my arm around Maddie’s shoulders. I held her tighter.

“But then… He’d called me pretty. And no one ever had before. I knew the headmaster thought I was beautiful. But he’d never said so. So I was confused. I didn’t know what to feel. And that was my first mistake. I should have screamed, and run towards the head’s office. But I let Rob come closer.”

I said, “Maddie, love, you don’t have to – ”

“No. Shut up. Sir. I’m going to tell you. I want to tell you.”

“Ok. I’m here. And just in case you need the reminder: I think you’re wonderful. I beat your ass and I’m on your side.”

“I know you are. It’s all right. I hate him; I don’t hate you.”

I shut up. I’d made it about me. Male insecurity. I’m far, far from being a role model (I’m a fictional character, an ethically challenged one, in a sexual fantasy that’s briefly swerved into the real), but I always feel guilty when I hear about another man doing something horrible to a woman: we may know better, but we feel complicit.

As if the Y chromosome had rape and violence against the less powerful built into it. But it doesn’t. It’s not the chromosome, which we can’t do anything about. It’s patriarchy. And patriarchy sucks, and we can do something about that. I shut up and let Maddie talk. 

“So he got close, and he put his hand on my cunt. And this is the thing: it took me years to forgive myself for this: I was so turned on that it didn’t matter. I could have banged my cunt with the door, or walked into a desk. And it would’ve felt good. And so did being touched. It was creepy, but I moaned.”

“He heard me. He laughed. I’d given him some fantastic victory, in his mind. He said, ‘Horny little bitch, aren’t you. I know what horny bitches need.’ And he pulled me back deeper into the cloakroom, and pushed me through the door at the back, into the boy’s toilets. 

“He pushed me down to the floor. And then, well, he raped me. He stuck his cock into me, and he lasted, I don’t know, about a minute before he came. And this is the awful thing: I came too. It was all horrible, but I’d been so close anyway, so even though I didn’t want him, and it felt so wrong, well: the body takes over, I know that now. I didn’t know it then.”

“Oh Jesus. That poor little girl.” I held her, feeling inadequate. What else can you do?

“So he pulled out of me and stood up. I couldn’t get up. I stared up at him: it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, I think even now, the utter contempt and hate in his eyes. I didn’t understand it. Then. Well, he laughed and he was gone. 

“I got up, and grabbed handfulls of tissues and tried to clean myself up, and get his come out of me. It wasn’t about pregnancy. I just felt defiled. And then I looked at myself in the mirror. And I knew – I mean I thought I knew – that it wasn’t rape. I’d never said No. And I’d come.”

I said, “Of course it was rape. That shitbag raped you.” 

“I know. I mean that’s what I thought then. What I thought I knew. And I started bawling, like I hadn’t since I was a baby, I think. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to die.    The first thing I could think of was, I could run in front of a car. And then I thought that wouldn’t be fair. To the driver.”

I couldn’t not smile. That was very her, the woman I held beside me. “You’re a good girl. Always. And you wouldn’t know how to be inconsiderate.”

“Huh. Splat! Well, they talk about schoolgirl crushes.”  She laughed. A second later, so did I. 

“So there was only one place I could go. So I went to the headmaster’s office. Howling with sorrow. I hoped he’d – I don’t know – whip me. I felt so worthless. But I knocked on his door.”

 

Note

I’m sorry this episode’s so heavy.

It’s kind of essential to the story, even though this bit’s horrible and the story mostly takes place in Sexual Fantasyland, the happiest kingdom of them all. I wondered if the story has sufficient heft to take this dark section, but it’s where the structure took me.

When I came to the bit where it has to happen, last week I couldn’t write it. Hence the beginning of another story, last week. I didn’t realise how much I liked Maddie and how hard I’d find this. Anyway, we leave the Valley of Death and the Slough of Despond here. Starting with the next episode we begin to crawl out.  

And last week’s story about the violinist in Ravenna will continue. Watch this space. 

 

The next episode is here.

A good man, with a belt 3

The previous episode is here.

So I watched that first broad stripe form across Maureen’s bottom. She arched that ass up, making it clear that more of the same was required.

So I aimed the loop of belt across the crowns of her buttocks and made leather hit skin. I got a much louder smack this time.

Maureen sighed, and performed a rather neat, dancer-like, roll of her hips, first dipping towards the bed, then arching up again for the next smack.

I provided more smacks while Maureen squirmed about and made encouraging noises, until her bottom had achieved a good strong tomato-coloured glow.

Maureen’s complaint about her current boyfriends was that they didn’t understand about this kind of thing. Even if they tried to deliver a spanking, or something more ambitious, they were uncomfortable with the idea and generally clueless about how to do it.

In practice, she’d found, the main pain she suffered from was embarrassment. Alternatively they really hurt her, but not in the sexy way. When I’d been Maureen’s boyfriend I’d been unsatisfactory in a lot of ways, but not that one.

Then I aimed my belt a little lower, and started colouring in the tops of her thighs, slowly turning that deliciously soft skin from pink to crimson.

Maureen wriggled and bopped about, or at least her arse did. We had moved into a sort of rhythm, with the belt landing steadily though not fast across her bottom and the backs of her thighs.

Maureen’s hips performed her roll-and-present dance exactly in time to meet the belt as it came down, and her breath gasped out at every second stroke.

A lot of time passed like that, Maureen getting whipped, hotter and hotter. Though we had no idea how much time.

But Maureen eventually grabbed my belt, which was her right since she was not mine, and pulled me down while she turned, so that I fell onto her side, kicking and flailing about trying to get my own clothes off quickly.

But we sorted it out, and eventually I joined her, naked, supporting my weight like a gentleman, with her thighs – pleasantly heated by the belt – wrapped around me with her old enthusiasm. And I plunged my cock into the melony sweetness of her cunt.

And after a while Maureen closed her eyes and held her breath until her face turned red. That was something that she did and I remembered it fondly. It happened when I was doing the right thing and she was concentrating to enjoy it.

And then she put her hands on my shoulders, dug her fingernails in and clawed through my skin, drawing eight long lines of blood. And then she did it again. There was no pain. I was too turned on to feel pain. But I knew there was blood. 

Oh yeah, I remembered. There was that, too.

 

The next episode is here.