Wicked Wednesday: With a breadknife?

Jennifer had just responded to my warning on language by asking me to fuck her up the arse. It hadn’t been an entirely ladylike way to speak. Heartfelt, though.

I couldn’t help laughing, though she’d also shocked me. “May as well get the strap for a sheep as for a lamb, huh? All right, you’re coming here, not tomorrow but the next day, and you’re going to get the strap hard across your hands, and your bottom.”  

“Thank you, sir.”

“My god. I had no idea you were such a handful. And yes, Jennifer, I would love to teach you to… suck my cock. Among other things. Many other things. But how about we wait a bit, girl? Get to know each other better. And then we’ll decide, all right?”

“I’ve decided, sir. I’m not going to change my mind. I know what I want.”

“All right. You’re coming here to get the strap, after school in two days’ time. You will bring with you an essay on today’s punishment. Think of it as creative writing, but you have to tell the truth. I expect two thousand words. You’ve got two days.” I smacked her bottom again, and then kissed her pouting mouth.

She kissed me back. “I just wish you’d…” But she decided she was in enough trouble.

“We’ll see, Jennifer. To have any chance, you’d best be a good girl. Well, for a while. As much as you can.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I was teasing you. You are a very good girl, and I know you try hard.”

“You’re giving me the strap, just for saying I want you.” I smacked her bottom again, but she added, “Want you in me, nice and slow, sir. Then hard and rough and fast.”

“Jennifer, sometimes your steak of mischief will get you into trouble. Another time I might cane you for saying something like that.” She nodded, wide-eyed. “But don’t ever think I don’t like your cheekiness. It’s part of you: I’ll punish you when you go too far, but I’d never want you to lose your mischief. I think it’s very charming.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“That said, your strapping is going to include four across the backs of your thighs, now.” 

“I must be what they call blissed out, sir. I’m sure I’ll be scared when I come to you, to get the strap. But right now, in your arms, sir, everything just feels lovely. You could say you’re going to saw my arm off with a breadknife, and I’d think, oh, that sounds nice.”

I smacked her again, and kissed her. But it was a goodbye kiss. “Off with you, girl. You can get dressed now. And remember, you’ve got two days to write a two-thousand word essay, so you’d best get started as soon as you get home.”

“Can I include this discussion, sir? And what I’m feeling now?”

“Whatever you like. I’ll be marking it for clear, grammatically correct writing. You get points for style. I punish for typos, grammatical errors, and untruth. So… get writing!”

“Sir!” That was an acknowledgement of the order, not the beginning of fresh mischief. She almost fell, getting off my knee, and Maddie darted forward to steady her and lead her over to the clothes rack. 

Two minutes later Jennifer was gone. Maddie looked at me questioningly.

Wicked Wednesday: So do you

Jennifer said nothing, but she raised her bottom further for me. She wanted more stroking and soothing, but more than that as well. Her thighs were as far apart as she could manage, her pussy wet and undeniably wanting.

She’d been close to orgasm for most of her punishment, and though those six last strokes had been challenging they hadn’t overridden the sex, the need of it. So I coated and rubbed her bottom, not gently but firmly, and she gave herself into my hands, sometimes sighing with the sensations she was processing.

At last I touched her pussy again, thumb inside a wet, sopping girl, and my palm against her clitoris. It took her a minute to find her place, where she’d been before the last six strokes, and another thirty seconds of writhing on my hand before she stopped suddenly. I said, “Jennifer, it’s all right, you can come now.”

Her scream was louder than the loudest noise she’d made while being punished. I kept working my thumb and palm. In another minute she came again, at the same intensity. Then her head dropped, hitting the table audibly.

I kept on stroking her, but she was done for now, and exhausted. I let her lie across my desk for a minute, then patted her bottom. Jennifer was extremely sensitive, after eighteen of the best with the slipper, but she was unable to feel any touch as pain. Everything, it seemed, was dreamily erotic.

I said, “Jennifer, I’m going to pick you up. So I have to roll you over.” That was to let her know what I was doing. She was incapable of helping, for the time being. So I rolled her onto her back, and put my arms under her shoulders and the backs of her thighs, and lifted.

I carried her to the leather arm chair and sat down, holding her cradled in my arms. She looked at me with a slight smile, so I kissed her. I hadn’t expected her to respond but she did, not urgently but lovingly. I said, “Maddie, bring a blanket.”

Maddie nodded and opened the door into the storeroom. While she was gone I looked down at Jennifer, naked, dreamy, and beautiful in my arms. “How’s your bottom?”

She pulled a face and then smiled. “It’s weird. I know it’s sore, and very hot. But it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the slippering you gave me yesterday. In fact I’m not even sure that it hurt at all. It’s warm. And it sort of buzzes. But it’s like it’s got a hotline to my cunt. Oh! I shouldn’t say that word! Sorry, sir.”

I smiled. “I don’t think you’ve got room for any more smacks just at the moment. But use language like that again, and I’ll punish you.”

“Can I say pussy? Because I stroke it sometimes.” She looked at me, suddenly pretending to be shy. “And so do you.”

Sinful Sunday: A severe lesson, but not the right one

Six, thank you, Master!

Now! Girl, I am sick of these last-minute panics! Are you going to get your next essay in on time?

Well, maybe, Master. I can only see what happens… 

Ah fuck! You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? 

Mmmm maybe a bit…

All right. [Picks up cane again.] I think we can fix that. Don’t move. 

[But pleasure persists, the way grass can break concrete. He tried, but he didn’t fix that. Not at all.]

E[lust] 115: Hot reads! From the warm, pink heart of the net!

Elust 115 Header Image of Kaetteroo in a steamy mirror nude

Photo courtesy of Katteroo

Welcome to Elust 115

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 #116? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Your Loss

Ask for It

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Two Explorers

Sweet Child of Mine

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

{Na}Scent Traces

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

The Long Shadow
Asleep on the job
Self-care: am I dating myself?
Love, Lust & Living with the Man of my Dreams

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Space Between
Australia Day Bukakke
In Her Panties
Sensuality and the senses
Happy New Year
Technical Sex: Control
Give and take

Erotic Fiction

Worth the Trouble
Panty Thief
Twisted Fairy Tale #4 Hans & Greta
PJ’s Horseshoe
I Lay Beside You


The Rider

Body Talk and Sexual Health

What is normal?
Less Sex, Less Drive

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Not Micromanaging My Pleasure
The bdsm baby blues
Meeting a sub… or not

Writing About Writing

5 Things to Do When You Feel Overwhelmed

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

UK law removes anti-bdsm rules


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) ~



~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

Our Dynamic
Collar me kinky

Erotic Fiction

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

Writing About Writing

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

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

#SoSS – Sharing Taboo Topics!


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





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.