Wicked Wednesday: Repair work for spanked Jennifers

Jennifer had just taken a dozen smacks with the slipper. It seems like a cosy, domestic implement, but in fact a firm slippering hurts much as the cane or paddle. She had another eighteen strokes to go, and I’d offered her a break, if she wanted to come back and finish her slippering tomorrow. 

It was always a dilemma. One the one hand she felt she couldn’t take any more. On the other, it’d mean she had more of the slipper to look forward to and twenty-four hours to think about it.

At last she said, “Oh sir, I wanted to take it all today. I was trying to be brave.”

“Of course you were brave, Jennifer.”

“But the slipper… it doesn’t care what I try to do. I don’t think I could stand more, sir. Not now. Can I come back tomorrow? For the rest? Please?”

I paused, as though it were a hard decision, though I’d offered her the choice just a few seconds earlier. At last I said, “Yes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I said, “Can you stand?”

“I think so, sir.” Jennifer slid to her knees on the floor. Her hands hovered near her bottom, but she thought better of touching it. She put her hands on her head, instead. She wanted to be good, and for me to see that.

“Oh my god, sir. I’ll never. Ever. Do that again. Oh my god.”

I stood up, my cock still tenting my trousers. I felt sorry for her, but I also desired her. I imagined the heat of her bottom blaring into me, while she knelt on the carpet and I took her from behind. I held out my hand.

Jennifer saw my erection, but made no comment. She’d seldom known me not to be hard, when she was in my presence; it was a fact of life. She took my hand, and I helped her to rise, shakily, onto her feet. Then I held her.

“Here,” I said. “Just lean on me. You can cry, little one. And you were very brave. The slipper is a much fiercer implement than most people think. It’s ok not to be able to take two dozen in one go. You did well.”

“Thank you, sir.” She leaned in against me. She sniffled, once, but the tears did not resume. “I tried so hard. But it hurt so much. I don’t think I’ll sit down for a week.”

“You’ll be surprised how fast you recover, Jennifer. Which reminds me. I want you to bend over my desk now.”

“Oh sir! You said–“

“Silly girl. This isn’t punishment. This is repair work, for spanked Jennifers. Like yesterday. I’m going to put some lotion on your skin, to reduce the pain, and cool it down and reduce the swelling. So: are you going to bend over so I can cool you down, or do you want a touch of the cane first?”

“Sir!” Jennifer moved at light speed, it seemed. She was over my desk, legs apart in what seemed like no time at all.

I took the lotion from the cupboard. “I should say that this is rather… personal, Jennifer. When I apply the lotion I’m going to have to touch you in a very intimate way. As you recollect. You can have Maddie in to supervise, or I’m sure she’d be delighted to do it for you.” 

“No! Please sir, I’d rather it was you. Only you.” I knew, as she did, that with those words she was giving me a lot more than either of us were saying. Aloud.

“As you wish. Then turn your head, so your cheek rests on the table. Arms out, over your shoulders. Good.” I uncapped the lotion.

Masturbation Monday: The right thing

I’d just used moral blackmail, talking about how she’d hurt me, to ensure she agreed to being punished. This was new territory for both us – I’d never punished a submissive before – but I was sure that talking about how she’d hurt me was wrong. So I’d apologised. 

But Emily shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I really am. I’m so sorry. And … you should do it. Punish me. I want you to. Well.” So I held her again. Emily buried her head in my shoulder while I stroked her neck, feeling that I was, on the whole, a shit.

Eventually we stood apart, and I took the cane from her. We’d been here countless times. But never like with this meaning. I said, “All right, Emily, you’ve asked for this, and now you’re going to get it.” That was true. “I’m going to beat you. As you deserve.”

‘Deserve’ was weak; I wasn’t sure what it meant. But I bet Emily had liked ‘I’m going to beat you’; that had sounded ruthless. I added, “Take off your clothes. Everything, including your watch. Quickly.” 

Emily undid and shed yesterday’s party clothes. I knew she’d prefer to be bending over the bed, tied down so she didn’t have to hold still. She wouldn’t have that. When she was naked I pointed the cane at her feet. “Put your feet apart. Wider.”

Emily obeyed solemnly, hands at her sides. I touched the cane to her belly, then touched it to her mouth. “Kiss.”

Emily bestowed a blessing on the rattan, easily. It seemed that I’d hoped for more reluctance.

“Thank you. Now turn around, please, Emily, bend over and touch your toes.”

Emily obeyed the traditional instruction, jack-knifing her body and reaching down to assume that simplest and most submissive of postures, beloved by bonobos, actors pretending to be teachers in bad porn videos, and me. It’s a hard pose to sustain for ten strokes, but she’d managed before. The position is emotionally as well as physically exposed. That seemed right.

“Thank you, Emily.” Still polite. I pressed the cane to the undercurve of her bottom, so she knew where the first stroke was coming.  

I was enjoying Emily’s submission display – would I fuck her after I’d caned her? Of course I would – but I was aware of softer emotions that I hadn’t expected. I’d lost my anger. Emily was giving me an extraordinary amount of trust, and that meant I had to be loving and protective. I had to be worthy of her.

There seemed to be something I hadn’t expected in this, something loving. It wasn’t “parental” because Emily wasn’t at all childlike and anyway I don’t think adults should hit children. But I was calmer than I’d expected, and oddly certain that I was acting from love. I suspected that I might be doing the right thing. I raised the cane.

Emily closed her eyes tight. I let her wait while I considered how hard to strike. I knew this had to hurt her. I put some speed and force into the swing.

 

Masturbation Monday: Just desserts

Punishing Emily seemed to be a hot idea. It was also terrifying. I’d no longer be able to rely on the politics that I’d put together to allow me to accept my sexual desires. I’d have to fly without a map, immediately, and work out something new.

She was less fussed about the politics than I was, because we both knew that in any discussion over sexism the woman is always right. I might have to flounder round, trying to come up with reasons, but she didn’t. And she had no reason to worry about getting the cane. She liked getting caned. If she didn’t get caned for this reason, there’d be another reason coming along soon enough.

It came down to this, for both of us: we could carry on being awkward with each other, or we could do something new and scary that meant we’d fuck and forgive. There were arguments for and against this, but the lust of it led in only one direction.

My face was cold, pale and sweaty as a slice of picnic chicken. Emily was as pale as she ever gets, a speckled brown egg. “Yeah, well. Suppose you punish me. Okay. What happens?”

I was used to pretending to be a disciplinarian. Actually being a disciplinarian, the real thing, was stranger and more emotional than I’d imagined. “I suppose … Well, I’d tell you to go and fetch the cane. You’d do as you’re told. And then I’d cane you. And … No, that’s it, really.”

A day ago, Emily might have said something like, “Oh no, sir, pleeease not the cane,” and we’d have taken the game from there. Instead she said, “Okay then.” She stared at a point on the floor, just before my feet.

“Emily, look at me.” Emily looked up, then cast her eyes down. I realised, relieved, that part of her was still play-acting. Sure, she was ashamed, and afraid of the cane, but she was also enjoying her humiliation, and hoping I’d make it worse. I could talk to both Emilys. “I’m giving you one last chance to decide, okay? This is the chance, right now. If you say, ‘Yes, I deserve the cane’, then we’ll start. But if you can say, ‘No, I don’t deserve to be caned,’ then we don’t start. Nothing happens.”

“Um. Well, what happens if I say I deserve it, but I still don’t want you to cane me?”

I hadn’t thought of that. “I’d be pissed off with you.” I shook my head. That was bullying. I’d feel better about this if I managed not to be a bully. “I mean, truthfully, I would be pissed off with you. I’m pissed off now. But I’d forgive and forget. It’d take a while but it wouldn’t take forever. So if you say nothing happens, then nothing happens.” 

“You wouldn’t leave me?” 

“Jesus, Emily! No, I won’t leave you. Absolutely not. Not matter what. I love you.” It was true, though I didn’t sound very loving.      

“Okay. I love you too. Um, what was I supposed to say?”

“Well, whatever the hell you’ve decided should happen. It’s your choice. Oh. Right, the words were: ‘Yes, I deserve the cane.’” 

“Ok. Yes, I, Emily Maria Viviani, deserve the cane. No, really; I totally fucked up. You absolutely should punish me. With the cane. I really deserve it. I need you to punish me. I know I do.”

Once she’d said that our world changed. I pretended not to feel the vertigo. 

E[lust] 111: The number for erotic emergencies!

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Demonised

9 Things New Sex Bloggers Need to Know

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Tales

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After the Party : Cleaner Close #7
Denna and her convenient pervert
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Slut Escritoire ||| back to school
Key to Room 237: Freya – Darker Side of Love
sexy maid
Playing God
Liminal State

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Give me a break
Getting Off on Post Orgasm Torture
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PLEASE – wanting it
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Tell me how it feels.
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Lusty Limerick: Dress for Success<
 

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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: 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.