Sinful Sunday: The blush and the rush

When I spanked and paddled Rose, in diaper position, every moment flashed past at lightning speed and intensity. It was like we were falling through trees. I tried to take photos while it was happening. 

But lust likes speed. Or it causes speed. I took many photos, and this is one of the few that are actually clear, and make sense. 

So this is a document of passion. And lust.


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Masturbation Monday: Denna and her convenient pervert

Denna made an interrogative noise, but let me lead her to the mat and pillow. I took her shoulders, and pressed downwards, very lightly. She glanced down, then looked back at me. “You really need me to suck your cock, don’t you?”

I whispered, “Well, that’ll be hot, of course. But I really need you to experience doing as you’re told.” She frowned and made the interrogative noise again. I put my mouth close to her ear. “You’ve got a pervert handy. You may as well make use of him. Remember?”

“Well, maybe.” She said that into my ear, then bit it. Hard. “But you can’t spank me if I don’t, can you?”

I managed not to rub my ear, though it hurt. And she was right: a spanking for Denna would bring the whole household running. Quite apart from the bratty fuss she’d make, spanking is loud

“Getting your ass spanked is hot, for lots of people. And in your case it’s incredibly, absolutely fucking deserved. You’d probably like it. And I’d love it.” She put her tongue out and made a disrespectful noise, very quietly.

I held her ear, pinching her very lightly, a warning only, and whispered into it. “But that’s not the reason why people sometimes do as they’re told. In sex, I mean. It’s that doing as you’re told can be hot. It’s a mind thing. Try it.”


I put my hands on her shoulders again, and pushed down more firmly. “By doing as you’re told. Because I said so. Now get down on your knees and suck my cock. That’s not a request, Denna.”

“That’s the silliest…” And then she dropped to her knees. She kissed the end of my cock, letting it jolt upwards each time her lips touched the head. Then she licked the underside, and was rewarded by the sight of my fingers, toes and buttocks, all clenching. I gulped in air. She licked the underside some more, while I fought to keep still. At last she opened her mouth and took me in.

I stood silent and still while Denna moved forward on her knees, then leaned forward a little to take my cock deeper into her mouth. At last she began to suck me hard, cheeks concave, lips moving firmly back and forth on the shaft. She raised her right hand to hold the base of my cock.

“No,” I said. “No hands.” I have a command voice, that I use when I’m domming someone. It’s supposed to be warm, and communicate certainty that the person addressed will want to do what the voice says. It doesn’t work so well when you have to whisper because her parents weren’t far away, but I did my best.

Anyway Denna took her hand away immediately. She’d entered into the spirit of the thing enough to want to keep me pleased with her. But a second later she realized that she always used her hands when sucking cock. Now they hung vaguely by her thighs. She didn’t know what else to do with them.

I touched the top of her head. “Put your hands on my feet.”

I hadn’t thought about it in advance, but on that cold floor having the warmth of her hands on top of my feet was very welcome. I let her work, head rising and falling on my cock. I stroked her head, and sometimes took handfuls of her hair, so she had to pull to keep her head properly on me. I made occasional quiet pleasure noises, partly because I couldn’t have stopped myself for all the world and partly because I wanted her to feel she was doing well.

She sucked harder, speeding up, her hands rising to my ankles as she became more focused. I started to move in response, trying to avoid giving her the idea that I was fucking her mouth. She could feel that she was doing as she was told, but she should also feel that she was leading.

It was only when my whole body was shaking and I could barely stand that I head the back of her head firmly and pushed her forward.

And about a minute later I felt that a gentleman should give fair warning. “Uh, Denna. I’m, ah – ”

But that was as far as I got. I froze for a second, as if my body had locked, and spurted into her.

And with that release I could move again and I thrust into her, while Daphne licked and swallowed. It took incredible effort for me to stay silent. It was almost painful.

At last, when I was spent and she still sucked me, cleaning my cock, I could whisper, “good. So good. You are so good.” She seemed happy, so I risked saying something that can be dangerous, said to a woman who isn’t in exactly the right mood.

“Good girl. You are such a good, wonderful girl.”


Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s Tale 5

Towards morning, the hash sweated out of me and my mind and tongue working again, I hoisted Emilia on top of me and, when I judged she was concentrating fiercely, riding me to her orgasm, I gave her bottom a series of encouraging slaps.

She made a lust sound, an animal sound from somewhere deep in her throat, and held my shoulders tight, so that was clearly right. As she got closer to coming I slapped her shuttling arse and thighs hard, then very hard, and that was right too.

She shouted the only command I’d ever let her get away with – “Harder!” – and I smacked her till her ass and, it seemed, her mind were burning hot. She fell forward onto me, screaming into my ear as she came. 

Emilia had dodged the talk I thought we should have, so that served as our discussion. She didn’t need words quite as much as I did.

So we were lovers, then, who knew about each other from the first night. Carefully, we expanded our range.

So we were together the next night as well, and I held her down and wrapped rope around her wrists to see what would happen, and what happened is that Emilia sighed and wriggled, content to be bound. So I took the poor helpless girl over my knee and spanked her long and hard, and that brought forth stronger pleasured sounds.

And then she roilled onto her back, still tied, and pointed her toes at the ceiling. Different corners of the ceiling. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. We fucked: strong, committed fucking.

So it went by increments until we’d established that, for example, if I tied her ankles and wrists to the bed-ends and strapped her bottom and thighs with my belt till they were deeply, hotly red, she’d respond with even noisier lust.

Emilia could not only tolerate pain that would have me screaming and whimpering, she could ride that pain and turn it to sex. 

Two months later I broke my rules about emotional safety and declared wonderstruck love for Emilia under another starry sky. Because her mother had advised her never to believe anything a man said outside the legal hours of daylight, I repeated the declaration in the morning, sober, straight and still wonderstruck.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s Tale 4

Emilia lived at the end of a long climb up narrow streets to a row of old wooden houses. I stopped at her door, far above the city, taking in the view while I got my breath back. I’d decided to make at least some of my intentions obvious, so I’d brought wine and chocolate and flowers. I knocked at the door.

But it was a man who opened the door, who enjoyed my disappointment before introducing himself. Vijay was another doctor, with long glossy black hair, a chiselled face and startlingly white teeth. He was alarmingly handsome and charming. Fortunately, it was soon clear that Vijay preferred his lovers paler and maler than Emilia. Emilia let herself be found in the kitchen. I appreciated the effort, and also her dress, which was simple and satin, black with large red flowers, and low-cut. 

I put my arms around her, holding her ass to keep us… steady. She kissed me. Once again she had my cock hard, seeking her, this time through cotton, denim, satin and silk.

Dinner was enjoyable enough, but the conversation seemed mainly to be between Vijay and me. I’d hoped to talk with Emilia, but there was no opportunity. Still, soon after dinner Vijay left us, heading for the clubs. But at the door he directed a broad wink at me. So I’d been vetted and approved, which was something.

I started my planned conversation with Emilia, but before I’d said much she led me out to the balcony. She excused herself while I gazed down at the night-lit city, and returned with what she said was Vijay’s hash pipe. She filled, lit and inhaled, and passed the pipe to me. For years I’d seldom bothered with marijuana. I especially avoided it around women, because a man who isn’t handsome or physically impressive has to keep his wits.

My best feature is conversation, and drugs reduce me to tongue-tied idiocy. What I wanted to say to Emilia would be complicated even if my mind were clear. But the pipe was lit and a woman I wanted to please was offering it to me. I took it and inhaled as little as I felt I could get away with.

But even a tiny amount of marijuana is enough to send me spinning. In no time the city was a great velvet shawl studded with multi-coloured lights, cellos played at random, heaven’s ebon vault was unutterably bright, and Emilia’s face, near mine, was enormous, and glowing with some joke that I didn’t know, a joke that might worry me if I did know it.

But when she smiled there were dimples, and it was the most beautiful face that could possibly be. Still marijuana-spun, I tried to think of something to say.

After some time I thought of a conversation-starter. “The city”, I could say to her, indicating which city I meant with a casual wave over the balcony, “it’s nice, isn’t it?” I did not say this, but nothing better came to mind. Panicked, I finally said, “you”, and kissed her face.

Later Emilia’s hands were under my shirt, and I’d pulled down her dress to kiss her breasts, warm and round and, from her time in the kitchen, smelling of flour and chilli. I had my mouth and my mind full of her hard, soft and slippery flesh, until Emilia pinched my nose so I had to lift my mouth and stare up at stars and her eyes.

She touched her forehead to mine and said I’d have to go home now, or take her to bed. That seemed an odd way to put it. I said, “bed better”, the first words I’d managed in some time. I thought they were rather good.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 3

I’d just threatened to spank Emilia for misbehaviour. And Emilia had agreed that I should. So I said, “But I’d still be doing it for your own good, Emma.”

That sounded stupid to me, but I thought that if she’d liked my first line, she might like that too. Or it might be ridiculous. Emilia considered and then nodded, gazing at the carpet. then she looked up at me. That “dropping her eyes” thing: was that calculated?

I had no idea. She said, “Yes, I know. It would be.” I wondered if she believed it. We’d been maudlinly sincere together so often that what we told each other was usually true. “So yes, you should.”

I believed it, myself. I said, “Ah…”

But more importantly I squeezed her ass that little bit harder. And patted her. And then smacked her. She put her arms round me, and our bodies pressed together. Hard cock to her belly. I lifted her t-shirt at the back, and let her feel the cold morning’s air before I smacked her again. A little harder, my hand on bare skin. Her mouth opened, but she wasn’t looking at me. I smacked her again. This time it was audible.

A little too audible; there were people sleeping in every room in the house. 

So here was an armful of warm girl, and a most complaisant and consenting girl she was turning out to be. I suppose I was something of a surprise to her too. We’d never talked about this.

But there was nothing we could do before other guests started waking up. Except for removing my erection from Emilia’s belly. So I kissed her with meaning, desire and emphasis and then – since it had to be done – released her. “We’re going to talk, aren’t we?”

Emilia agreed that we’d talk. In fact I should come to her place on Wednesday and she’d give me dinner. And then we’d… talk. I think that neither of us expected that we’d say many words during that… talk. But in the meantime we gathered the party detritus, taking glasses and plates back to the kitchen.

I set myself a sexless word puzzle. How to turn COCK to SOFT? COCK, CORK, um, WORK, WORT, SORT, SOFT. By the time I’d worked that out the front of my dressing gown was flat enough to be socially acceptable. After pushing herself back into another hug, and accepting one last squeeze, Emilia went back to the room she’d slept in, to wake her friend. We had no more time. People were stirring.

Anecdote: Dom life, and being a “good” man

A while back I was running a law project. It helped get representation for people who were being fucked over by cops, generally because they were black, or young, female and blue-haired, or gay, or poor, and so on. It meant getting into confrontation with cops a lot. Sometimes it meant having to confront them physically, because they’re used to being able to beat people up without much risk of their victims being believed or having the power to do anything about it.

So although I hate confrontation, let alone violence, I found myself getting into violent confrontations on a fairly regular basis. I wasn’t an adrenalin junky at all; but I was a justice junky.

The big thing was to have people with cameras, and people who looked useful in a fight and not scared of cops. That meant that cops wouldn’t do the violence they’d intended when they set out. So there’d be stand-offs. A quick anonymous bashing, with their number badges off, wasn’t an option. So it usually ended peacefully.

But it was risky. I’d do macho posturing during the head-to-heads, and afterwards if there were girls watching, but it always scared the shit out of me.

Anyway, there was a girl whose landlord wanted her out. The landlord had cop friends who were prepared to act, illegally, as eviction agents. I defended her, and was both virtuous and heroic. I put myself in harm’s way for her because that was my job, and in the end I won, and the cops backed off and left her alone.

Talking afterwards, at her place, we were kind of attracted. Which means I fancied the arse off her and she thought I might be all right: I’m just declaring the average.

But because we’d met in a context where I was a sort of heroic community activist, and I thought she fancied the virtuous version of myself, I gave her a lot of feminist posing. It was real, I mean, they were things that I really thought, but the result was that she decided she didn’t fancy me.

I did eventually see her naked, though.

It was eight months later. I was visiting a friend of mine, who I hadn’t seen in a while. Someone had tried to burn down the apartment he was living in, but he was an artist and he thought the charred beams improved the place. So he was still living there.  

Anyway, there came some unmistakeable sounds from one of the bedrooms: Thwap! followed by a hard breath.

Then THWAP, followed by a low, female moan. Then THWAP! followed by a high-pitched pain/pleasure noise. Some girl was getting the cane, and she was enjoying herself.

Anyway, a bit later the door opened, and it was my blue-haired girl, the dye gone so she was back to her natural red, skipping naked out the door with fresh cane stripes across her arse, to make a cup of tea for her mistress. She was utterly, exuberantly happy.

So, I’d hidden my dom side from her, because I’d thought she didn’t want that. What I got for my carefulness was a teary vista of her naked, freshly caned body. I mean that about “teary”: she was so beautiful and sexy that I cried that night.

I mean, when I got home.  

Oh. But she made me a cup of tea.