Elust 114! Collected works of hotness!

Elust 114 Headr image Rebels Notes naked bottom
Photo courtesy of Rebel’s Notes

Welcome to Elust 114

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #115? Start with the rules, come back February1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Painful Truth…

As Wet As I Get

Three, in the end

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Pachelbel

Window

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

FemDom {T}ropes

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Mx Nillin Fucks… Socks!
Knight Attire
Seven years of comments
Erotic Massage

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Gifts?
Our Dynamic
Switch!
Collar me kinky

Erotic Fiction

Marking Time
Coffee-shops and painsluts
The Storm
This belongs to me
Backstage Girl
floral

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon ~ My Journey
3 Downloadable Tools to Track Your Income

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

#SoSS – Sharing Taboo Topics!

Blogging

End of Year Round Up
Caring too much about the wrong thing.

Erotic Non-Fiction

On Fucking and Being Fucked
Vignette – Pictures of Us
Lunch with a caned girl

 

 

 

Elust

Masturbation Monday: Going easy

Sometimes Emily, who’d been caned hard, two nights in a row, moved against me in a way that usually meant she wanted sex. Sometimes my cock was hard, pressed against her belly. But long after midnight she turned on her side and slept with her back to me. I curled up behind her, careful not to touch her bottom, and slept too. I’d forgiven her ages ago. I knew she’d forgiven me.

I’d promised her a third caning, and I delivered it. But this time I gave her less pain and more ceremony.

I tied her to the bed, but when her caning began I made sure the strokes were a little lighter than they had been for her first two punishments. I’d lost the feeling of righteousness that had powered her first two canings.

Afterwards, Emily knew that I’d gone easy on her. She was grateful in a way, but also disappointed.

So I stroked her until she wept and squeaked, expecting to be stroked to orgasm, and then stopped and warned her not to come. I left her on the edge, and still tied fast across the bed. She could assure herself that this was punishment.

I sat with a book, where I could watch her and she couldn’t watch me. If you tie your partner, you stay and watch, for their safety. Anyway, watching Emily was no hardship. It was starting to feel real. Emily really had given herself to me, as a possession, an owned woman, who was accountable to me.

I thought, while trying to read, about our future. We couldn’t just spend all our time with Emily being tied to our bed. Or me spanking and caning her. I’d have to find other ways of letting her feel herself owned and submissive, while giving us room and time to get on with our lives and careers.  I had no idea how to achieve this. Was there a submissive way of watching a movie? Or doing the dishes? Was there a dominant way? I didn’t know.

I shut the book and joined Emily on the bed, and used a buzzy thing to help her to pick up the threads of that dropped, stopped, orgasm. Then I undid her bonds and fucked her again. Emily came again, clamorously, and she was giggly talkative afterwards.

But I fell asleep, most of my weight on her back .Emily woke me an hour or so later, in ghostly night, asking me to move so she could get to the toilet. She came straight back. After all, she no longer smoked.

{The end]

Heloise and Abelard: A bdsm Love Story

The story of Héloïse and Abélard is one of the most famous love stories of Western culture.

They met when he became her tutor, and fell in love. Later, they married. When her family found out about the marriage, they attacked and castrated Abélard and shoved Héloïse into a convent. 

Heloise, after – ooh, that looks like it was the theology lesson

But it’s seldom admitted that this is a bdsm love story. When he appointed Abélard as his daughter’s tutor, her father told Abelard to punish Heloïse physically, in any way he wanted, if he was dissatisfied with her work. If I ever write a parenting manual, I’ll advise against that. 

It seems to have been the spankings and small whippings, with her clothing partly removed, that sparked the sexual relationship. Abélard hints as much in his first letter, written after the lovers were separated.

There’s no doubt at all that Heloïse enjoyed her sexual submission to Abélard. When she writes to him after his castration she’s clearly disappointed that he won’t return to his dominant role with her. 

The lovers are discovered

Two things always strike me when I read the letters of Abélard and Heloïse to each other, aside from the wretched sadness of the story, are:

(1) the utterly despicable role played by the Catholic Church throughout the whole disaster; and

(2) that Heloïse is worth a dozen of Peter Abélard. He’s a famous male intellectual and she isn’t because patriarchy, but she seems … smarter and a lot more emotionally and intellectually honest. 

Perhaps I’m biassed towards submissives, but I actually think it’s her directness and honesty that makes her still seem radiant and wonderful, while he (forgivably: he’s in a terrible situation, but still…) comes across as a pompous egotist. 

Masturbation Monday: Emily’s second caning

So Emily had become mine. She’d once tried to get me to make her stop smoking, by taking charge, commanding her and punishing her if I smelled tobacco on her breath, her hair, or her clothes. Though one kiss will reveal that a girl has had a sneaky cigarette. I’d refused, because spanking or caning her because she had a sexy ass, and because she enjoyed submission, was one thing; presuming the right to give her orders and enforce those orders was another step, and I hadn’t been ready to take it. 

She became one of those black and white kneeling girls

So she’d done something that put herself in danger, and hurt me, and I caned her for it. A real world offence. She still had two more canings to go.

After her first caning, she’d told me that it was up to me to stop her smoking. I realised something I’d thought was a one-off event – in three instalments – was not that, in her mind. This was how she wanted to live.

So, finally, I stepped up and claimed her. We’d agreed: Emily was my property now, for me to reward or punish, and she was to do as I told her. 

We fucked again to celebrate.

When we rose, it was only three hours before Emily was due for her second caning, the one I’d promised her for lying to me.

She went to her room to work, though I doubt that she got much done. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading.

After dinner, Emily left while I cleared the table. She came back, naked, with the cane in her right hand. This time I had her bend over the table, holding on to the far edge. She was still brightly marked from yesterday’s caning, but I decided that didn’t matter. Or rather, it did matter. The fact that I was prepared to be merciless when she was already sore would make it hotter.

Even monochrome girls get the cane

I’ve described what caning Emily is like, so I’ll only say that this second time was noisier, because Emily made no effort to restrain her cries. She was lusty and loud, and she rocked, spectacularly, with the impacts, but she took her eight strokes across already marked skin, and didn’t let go of the table.

I felt sorry for her, but her punishment felt natural within the new terms of our relationship. It was amazing how fast I got used to having this right.

But underneath the rhetoric about justice and guidance I enjoyed the sight and sounds of her submission and her reactions, and Emily took her own pleasures from me. I knew she was floating in lust.

It was odd that she both enjoyed it and felt it as punishment. We were running on two emotional tracks at once. One was about punishing Emily for her behaviour and the expiation of her fault, and the other track was about her enjoyment of submission, and sex. One made her feel sorry and small, and the other made her wet and happy. Both tracks were true.  

Afterwards, in bed, I lay back so Emily could lie on her stomach, on mine. She cried onto my shoulder, eventually subsiding to snuffles. She said she was sorry, she’d been stupid, and she loved me. I held her, stroked her hair, kissed her over and over, and told her that it was done now, for tonight, and she was forgiven.

Generally, Emily dreamed in black and white

When she fell asleep I thought about her love and whether I deserved it. I decided she was in a life that excited her sexually and that committed me to keeping her from harm.

And while it hadn’t been a perfect negotiation, involving calm people, we’d both agreed to it, and the respective duties that imposed on us. So perhaps I was on reasonable moral ground.

It wasn’t about men and women or patriarchy. It was personal: she had a right to submit to me. She was one person, getting what she wanted from her lover. 

That’s where I felt that the ethics, the politics and the sex were lined up again.

I had another unsettling thought: was this why she’d fucked Marty? Had she staged a crisis to push me into taking control? It was something she’d asked for before, and  I’d refused her. So it made a kind of psychological sense. On the other hand, Emily wasn’t really devious. Our new arrangement suited her, and I’d resisted it for a long time. But she wouldn’t be that manipulative.  But… Emily slept beside me and I lay awake, wide-eyed.

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.

 

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Wicked Wednesday: In Lucy’s hands…

The previous episode is here.

 

 

 

His cock still deep in my mouth, Sir kissed Lucy. She leaned against him, breasts pressed against his chest, and so of course it became a long, lovers’ kiss. Was I jealous of Lucy? I don’t think so, or not exactly. I liked that we both belonged to Sir now. And I liked that, below that fact, Lucy also belonged to me.

And I liked that they wanted each other, and they were kissing. Even though I had Sir’s cock just then, I think I was just jealous that she was getting so much attention.

Sir must have felt something, because he pulled out, cock still pointing hard in the air. He said, “Maddie. Feet apart, bend over. Fingertips touching the floor.”

“Yes, Sir.” And I obeyed quickly, showing him I was a good girl too.

Sir still had had arms round Lucy and his hands on her pink little bottom, but he looked at me and smiled. “Can you touch your palms to the floor, Maddie?”

“Oh, yes, Sir.” And I demonstrated. God, I was a supple girl then.

Lucy looked at me, and his hand cracked hard against her bottom. “Eyes to me, Lucy.” She didn’t answer, just made a happy noise and wriggled her body in even closer. “That’s good, Maddie. I liked what that does to your bottom. But while you’re waiting, you can just touch your fingertips to the floor. Oh, and eyes to the floor girl. Looking at your hands.”

“Sir.”

So I stayed in place, bent sharply at the waist, head down and bottom presented, too afraid to look up. There were flustered sounds from Lucy, then the sound of Sir’s chair scraping on the floor.

Lucy was giggling, then a hard smack on her bottom made her gasp. Then another, and another. She made a sort of moaning noise, now her spanking was proceeding in earnest. Her moans got louder as the spanks got louder.

It was harder, I think, than he’d ever spanked me.

And it went on. I counted twelve strokes, then twenty, then two dozen. Then three dozen. Lucy probably hadn’t thought to count, but her moans had turned to little cries of pain. He was hurting her.

At the fiftieth smack there was a pause. Lucy probably thought it was over, but I guessed differently. I was right. The next smacks were slow and hard, and each got a high-pitched yell from poor Lucy. She was snuffling now, trying not to bawl like a baby.  Finally, at sixty, Sir stopped.

“That’s a good girl, Lucy. Brave girl. Obedient girl.” He’d be stroking her bottom, caressing, making her feel better. Lucy still snuffled, and moaned when his hands touched an especially sensitive place. Then there was silence. He’d be stroking her pussy, and Lucy would be trying to be ladylike in front of her Mistress. That attempt lasted perhaps a minute, and then she whispered, “Oh, Sir…”

A few seconds later, as I guess her whole consciousness narrowed down to the fire in her bottom and the sweet sensations in her pussy, she started murmuring, “ohsirohsirohsirohsirohsir…”

Then there was another loud smack, and Lucy made a surprised sound.

“Up you get, girl. Fetch me the cane, and stand close beside me while I cane your Mistress.”

Then I heard him thank her, and the cane swish through the air, hissing, as he tested it. He was letting me know that this was going to be harder than this morning’s caning.

“Now, Lucy, I want you to take my cock in your hand. Can you– Ah! Good girl.” There was another pause.

I dared not move, but I strained to hear them. Then there was a sigh from Lucy. I assumed he’d kissed her again.

“I want you to keep on stroking me, just gently, while I cane Maddie here. Maddie wants to be caned hard, doesn’t she?”

He left a silence. Then I thought, Oh: that wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Yes, Sir. I do hope it’s hard. I think I want that.”

“You certainly need it, little one. Now, Lucy, a thing you’ll learn is that the more excited a man is, or a man like me, the harder he’s going to cane. So I want you to pleasure me with your hand, while I deliver Maddie’s caning.”

“Like this, Sir?”

For once Sir sounded strained. “Ah, yes. Uh! Pretty much exactly like that. Good girl, Lucy. Have your fingers mainly running along the underside, and of course the head. Ah. Good girl. You keep that up, till I tell you to stop.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right, Maddie. We begin.”

And I felt the cane touch my bottom, lining up across the lower slopes, where it was bound to hurt most.

I felt passionate. I wanted this. I knew he did too. 

The next episode is here.