Masturbation Monday: The slippery slide

So Stephanie waited, bent over the apex of the slide, naked now, face pressed down against the cold metal of the chute, ass prettily presented for me. I slipped my fingers between wet, petalled folds, and began to stroke her again. 

Stephanie said, “Oh, I don’t think I got anything more.” But I just smacked her bottom again, because I wanted to make it clear that all sorts of things weren’t really up to her for the time being, and that a second orgasm was one of those things. She laughed, for reasons of her own, and then sighed when I resumed working my fingers against sweet soft wetness. 

I put my thumb against her asshole and pressed a little, and got another sigh. So I kept that pressure, and kept the rhythm of my fingers in her absolutely steady, neither fast now slow, neither speeding up or slowing down.

In time, ina few minutes, her buttocks had clenched, and she was rolling with my hand,, and her vocal noises were still sighs, but higher pitched, enthusiastic sighs.

I said, “I have. More, I mean. I’m going to fuck you so hard, little Stephanie, when we get back.”

Her foot twitched. She was no longer standing on the steps, letting her tummy take all of her weight. She made a nasal sound, and carolled, “fuuuuuuck!”, partly in answer to what I’d said, and partly for other very good reasons. 

The sound she made when she came, that second time, was like the greatest expression of fear and grief you could imagine, except that it was clearly loudly and absolutely joyous. Her feet and thighs lifted clear, so that I had to grab her and hold her while she came, or else she’d have slid remorselessly down. 

Eventually she breathed a kind of laugh. “I didn’t see that coming. Jesus!” 

I said, “It’s an unpredictable world, Stephanie.” And, because I had her legs in my hands, and she had no more orgasm for now, I pushed her, like a double javelin, down the slide. Stephanie said, “Yiiiii!” And there were whioops of indignation and laughter, while she hurtled facedown and naked, on that chilly metal chute. 

I didn’t follow, though I wanted to. I climbed back down and picked up her discarded shorts and panties. Stephanie, now getting up from the level bit at the slide’s end, called out to me, “You utter, utter, utter, utter bastard!” 

And then a light went on, from the house nearest to the playground. People were stirring. We’d stirred them. 


Wicked Wednesday: Maddie and her girl


The previous episode is here. Maddie and her new friend Lucy have been making out in the little room beyond the school library. And Lucy, post-orgamically, has agreed that she’ll do whatever Maddie tells her. And that Maddie should spank her if she doesn’t. So those have become the terms of their relationship. 

Also, this is the 300th Wicked Wednesday prompt. And time to thank and congratulate Marie Rebelle for her running this meme! She gives a lot to the community!

Thank you, Marie!

Maddie and her girl

So I hugged my girl. Lucy: my property. It felt so beautiful: there was magic between us, and around us. She was more hesitant than me but after a pause she put her arms around me too. I realised that I had to do what Sir would do, and think about what she was feeling, and try to look after her. 

I said, “Sir’s going to cane us both, after school. In three hours. Are you scared?” 

Lucy nodded, looking at the floor. I said, “I’ll look after you. And he’s… Not as strict as he pretends. Oh, the cane will hurt, both of us. But he doesn’t want you to be too scared. Or for it to hurt more than you can take. If you pay attention, you’ll notice he’ll be looking after you too. He’ll make sure that you leave with a nice stripey bottom, but you’ll have reasons to smile, too.” 

“I… guess. The spanking…” She stopped. She was embarrassed by what she had to say.

Then she said it. “Over his knee. When his hand was on my bare bottom, it did feel good. It was so hot. I knew I was turning him on. And he knew I was gushing. But the cane, that’s a whole different thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s more dramatic. But it can be sexy too. Once you’re rreally turned on it doesn’t feel like pain at all. Or it does, but it’s good. It feels… right.”

“Is that how it is for you? When he canes you?”

I kissed her again. I couldn’t not kiss her: she was so pretty when she blushed. And she knew it. “Yes, little lovely.” To shock her, I said, And… he’s not the only one who’s going to cane you. I’ll be caning you too.”

Lucy looked at me, horrified. “What? This afternoon?”

Her eyes were so wide, her mouth open. I smiled and held her tighter. I kissed her again. She sighed and leaned against me. 

“No, silly girl. Not tonight. Unless Sir tells me to. I belong to him, remember, so what I do or don’t do isn’t entirely up to me. But I won’t ask for permission to cane you this afternoon. Or tonight. I meant, when we’re together, and you don’t please me. I suppose I’d have to ask his permission, once you become his too. I guess we’d use his office, when I need to cane you, pretty Lucy.” 

“He’d watch, wouldn’t he?” The idea didn’t seem to displease her. 

“I suppose he would. You have a lovely body, my pretty girl. I don’t think he’d want to miss it.”

Lucy smiled her little secretive smile again. “This afternoon I’m going to see you naked again. You’ll be seeing all of me, for the first time.” 

“I already know your body is beautiful, little Lucy.” I put my hand on her pussy, and squeezed her lips lightly, then harder. The way I’d like it. 

The bell rang. I smacked her pussy. “We’ve got five minutes to get to class. He’ll hear about it, if we’re late. And…” 

Lucy opened her legs, hoping I’d finger her some more. But she was being naughty and she knew it.

I raised her skirt at the back again, and for a moment admired her pinkness, from that morning’s spanking. Then I smacked her, once, hard, so she hissed her breath in. I hoped there was no one in the library yet, to hear us. I’d have to leave it at one smack. 

“I can’t punish you properly for that now. But I’ll spank you properly, tonight. When we’re at his place. For that.” 

Lucy squirmed against me. I so wanted her. I wanted her breasts, bare, pressed to mine. I squeezed her bottom where I’d smacked her. Then I broke the hug. 

“That’s it for now, Lucy. Straight to class for you. Now!” 

“Yes, Maddie.” And she tugged her skirt into place, and opened the door. She looked back at me. And smiled, a little dazed. I was dazed too. But I made myself look stern. She was due at Math. I was due at French. I left her time to clear the library and maybe twenty yards of corridor. Then I followed her. 


Masturbation Monday: Swinging 4


This story starts here

Stephanie and I are in the children’s playground across the road. And Stephanie is bending over the top of the slide, so that her breasts and tummy are pressed across the cold, hard metal. She’s only wearing sandals and a little pair of shorts. I’m only wearing a shirt and my underpants. In the spirit of fairness. Less fairly, I’m standing on the slide steps behind her, tugging those shorts down. 

Swinging 4

Stephanie reached her right hand back when she felt her shorts halfway down her ass, and the cold air breathing on new skin. I took her wrist in mine and pulled her arm a little to the left, so that she could feel helpless. Then I kissed her hand.

Stephanie said, “Ah-huh.”

“Put your hands back on the slide. Below your head. Low as you can reach.”

“And you’ll spank me if I let go?” She wasn’t asking for information. She knew that. She just wanted to say it aloud. I wanted to kiss her. But I couldn’t reach. So I tugged the shorts, and her knickers down till they were bunched at the top of her thighs.

“Lift up for a second.”

She did. I pushed the little bundle of shorts and panties down to her knees, then used my foot, on the gusset, to drop them to her feet. I did what any gentleman would and pressed myself her, cock hard, yearning, desperate to be in her, between the tops of her thighs, that sweet gap known to all as the inter-gracile, sub-pudendal fossa. We both sighed at the same moment. That felt good, and we wanted more of that, please.

There was just one problem. My condoms were in my wallet, and my wallet was in my jeans, and my jeans were, at Stephanie’s demand, stuffed into the post-box back at my place. So the thing we both wanted most was temporarily not on.

We were both more than likely to be STD-free (small provincial university, general condom use, and the fucking Stephanie and I did involved a relatively small social circle), and under some circumstances lust would have led to us taking the risk. We were horny humans after midnight, not role models. But aside from the STD issue, I knew that while I could pull out before I actually came, at that moment there was no way I could guarantee not to leak seminal fluid into her.

Stephanie said, “Are you going to fuck me?” In the tone that meant: what in hell is keeping you? 

So I pulled back, and put my hand where my cock had been. And pressed up against soft, wet, girl-folds. I stroked her, fingertips just inside. Stephanie sighed, and turned her head, so her cheek rested on the slide. She was smiling.

I slipped two fingers along, not quite inside her, fingertips touching her clitoris, thumb pressing her asshole. I stroked, and Stephanie started to move against my hand. There were goosebumps on her buttocks and inner thighs. 

She moved her feet further apart, giving me better access. Her shorts fell to the ground; she was a naked girl on a slide, and nothing to be done about it if anyone happened along. I pressed against her as close as I could with my hand working on her cunt. Stephanie blew a lungful of breath out, and breathed in more quietly; breathing was something she’d forgotten about. She murmured, “Yeah…”

I stroked, my world or my awareness of it shrinking to my hand and her cunt, moving not quite in unison, sliding together, skin to wet, yearning skin. And speeding up.

After a time Stephanie pressed down on my hand, hard, and said, “Oh.” I pressed a my thumb little harder on her asshole, and she opened. I moved my fingers in her, as hard and fast as I could as I could. Her feet left the slide, so she was supported only by her tummy balanced on the top of the slide. She shook her head, and grunted, deep and low. Her thighs clasped my waist.

I kept my hand in her, and with my other hand smacked her bottom. Hard. Four times. Stephanie lay still, relaxed. It seemed that I had the right to spank her. Provided I used sound judgement. And kept her warm. I said, “Warmth.”

And I set about stroking her, slowly again. I wondered how long it would take for her to come for a second time. We’d find out.

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I’m a writer. For money I mostly write about things like water distribution rights, health policy, social housing and other things for organisations who pay me for the research and writing work.

This is what happens to starving writers. Thomas Chatterton, dying in his garret. The model, oddly enough, is George Meredith, who was also a starving poet when he posed for this.
You don’t want me to die in a garret, in my snazzy blue pants, do you?

But I’d like to complete the shift to being a purely creative writer, who makes a living by selling stories I want to tell.

I’ve written a non-fiction book on bdsm, and two novels. I’ve put off the actual selling part of the writer’s job, because although I’ve sold many other products for paying customers, self-promotion doesn’t come naturally to me.

But you can help me, and it won’t cost you a cent. Please subscribe to this blog!

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Fill in your email, click subscribe, and, well, that’s it. That’s all you need to do. 

I know that about 2,300 people visit my blog each week. The value of subscribing, for you, is that you get notified by email of my posts as they come out. I post four times a week, and the posts tend to tell stories, sometimes sexy, sometimes funny, sometimes both. I also write occasional information and opinion pieces, though mostly I’m a story-teller.

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Don’t do that again! 2


This is Episode 2 of a short story. Well, it’s short by my standards: I expect it to take only three or four episodes. Episode 1 is here. Read it if you haven’t and you feel like it, then come back. 

Don’t Do That! 2

Gavain groaned. He had, indeed, spanked Cassie without her permission. He said, “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I mean, truly: I apologize.”

“God, you’re fish in a barrel. I was teasing you. You’re easy. Truth?”


“It was mildly pleasant. It’s not one of my turn-ons, particularly, but I didn’t hate it. How, um, I suppose I should ask, how was it for you?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, your ass always feels good to me.” She looked irritated, so he corrected course.

“I don’t know,” he said. “When I had the thought about my, uh, client, I mean, when it occurred to me to spank her, I had a kind of flash, like a vision of what it’d be like. It was hot as fuck. I went, full on, this-is-awkward, unwanted erection. In about five seconds. Took ages to get it down again.”

“Did she notice?”

“Oh yeah. She laughed at me. A lot.”

“Oh, poor you.”

“God no. I was relieved. Could have been much worse.”

“I suppose. Anyway, what’s that got to do with how hot it was to spank me? Or not?”

“Because when I imagined it she was really into it. That’s what made it so hot.”

“So my reaction was… disappointing?” Cassie didn’t look sorry.

“I wasn’t sure if you hadn’t noticed, or you were putting up with it, or it was sort of okay but nothing special. So that wasn’t so hot.”

“On behalf of all womanhood, I apologize for not being a porn star. You’ll just have to put up with real girls.”

“You got a porn star’s ass. Very superior ass.”

“Huh.” But she waggled her ass, just the same.

Protocols and the experience of time

Watch and chain

A protocol is, essentially, a standing order that a dom gives to his or her sub. The sub must always carry out those protocols, even if not reminded or instructed in the moment.

An example of a protocol (not one I’d impose, because I like eye contact too much) is: “The submissive will not make eye contact with the dominant, but will look straight ahead or down when they are speaking.”

The thing about protocols is that they increase awareness for both the dom and the sub, but especially the sub, of their relationship. They extend the emotional and sexual pleasures that come from simply being dom and sub, together. 

“Caution: bdsm time will end in 18 minutes”

In practice a dom/sub couple only do very active dominant and submissive things – flogging and tying and commanding and obeying – for a small proportion of their time together.

They also have to rest, and eat, and choose entertainments, and go to work, and worry about their parents or their children and so on. Life goes on, and a lot of it is mundane. 

So, if you look at it in one way, their experience of time is that there are short intense bdsm experiences followed by long stretches of vanilla time. 

Eternity, mother of many acts and hours

Protocols act to extend bdsm consciousness into more of that dom’s and sub’s consciousness and experience of time. They give a kind of immersion experience.

Bdsm, dominance and submission, isn’t a place you occasionally go, it’s where you live. Protocols help to keep the roles alive and active even when the couple is doing mundane things. 

So, the dom may be doing the dishes, but the sub will still address him or her by their title: Sir, Ma’am, Master or Mistress. 

The submissive may have to ask for permission to enter or leave the room, if the dom is in that room. Something like that takes only a couple of seconds, and yet it suddenly makes real and palpable the reality of their relationship, and what they’ve given each other, even in an otherwise unsexy moment. It’s a miniature flash of lightning, a reminder of the connection and the tension between dom and sub.

I’ve listed some protocols I’m thinking of imposing on someone who’s new to bdsm, and is in a fairly light regime, below.

Introductory protocols

The submissive will address the dom as “sir”. 

The submissive will wear the collar given him or her by the dom, plus any other given adornment.

The submissive will wear what the dom instructs. 

The submissive will kiss the dom in greeting if they’ve been apart for longer than, oh, five minutes.

The submissive will ask permission to enter or leave the room the dominant is in. 

The submissive will respectfully remind the dom of any matters needed to ensure the sub’s continued good health and well-being.

The submission will address the dom respectfully, no matter how egregiously he or she may have just fucked up.


Those are my suggestions, as starting points. Any thoughts or suggestions?

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer over the desk

Jennifer let her upper body rest on my desk, her arms reaching for the edge. She looked at me, helpless, fearful. The cane frightened her. I nodded at her. “Good girl.” 

So I got up, walked round my desk. I stood behind her, and put my hand on the desk, almost touching her hip. The school skirt had risen almost all the way to her coccyx. It barely covered the upper hem of her panties. “Feet apart, girl.”

Jennifer said, “Yes, sir.” So one part of her training had been achieved. I smiled and watched her shuffle till her thighs were open for me, feet about half a metre apart.

She knew what she was giving me. It was more than obedience. She wanted me to like what I saw. It was incoherent, but it was desire. For the first time, probably, she wanted to be make a man unable to resist her, and to be taken. 

I put my hand on her hip. Her head raised momentarily from the desk, then she subsided.

“This is the position you’ll be in where I cane you for the first time.” 

She coughed. It was hard for her to speak. She managed, “Yes, sir.” 

“So, how do you know you aren’t going to be caned now?” 

Her head shook. She hadn’t known that at all. Then she stared at my chair, thinking of what I’d said to her. “Because I’m not naked, sir?” 

“Good girl. That’s right. You’ll need to undress, before I cane you. Think of it as a formal occasion. Now, keep your head down, Jennifer. And keep still, if you don’t want to find out just how that feels.” 

Her face rested on the wooden tabletop, as fast as she could. “Yes, sir!” 

“I’m told the worst part is putting your clothes back on after you’ve been caned.”

“Ooh.” I let her think about that for a moment or two.  

“Now.” I traced my finger along upper slopes of her bottom, through her panties. “That’s where you skirt reaches, if you bend over, girl. Did you realise that?”

Her face moved, though she didn’t dare lose contact with the tabletop. Of course she’d known that. She was torn between acknowledging just how provocative she’d been. Or lying. She said, “No, I didn’t know. Sir?”

I smiled and put my hand on her pantied bottom. “You didn’t sound very certain, Jennifer. I’m going to ask you again, and you’ve got one chance to answer truthfully.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, sir! I just – I was ashamed. I didn’t want to lie. I’m sorry. I did know. I did. You can punish me if you like.”

“That’s very generous of you, girl, but you’ll find that that’s up to me. And I said you had one chance, Jennifer. In fact I’m glad to hear you’re a bad liar. But don’t do it again. Ever.”

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. Thank you, thank you, sir.”

“Well, if you do, you know you’ll get a very sore bottom.” I flipped the skirt up, out of the way. “By the way, how’s your bottom now?”

“Oooh, sir! It’s so sore!”

I smiled. I wasn’t sure that would pass the lie test either, though I hoped there was still pink, and she could still feel it. But it didn’t matter just then. I could teach her truthfulness later.

“Hmmm. Poor girl. Would you like me to make it feel better?”


The threesome aftermath: standing to lose

I wrote about my first threesome here

It was one of the highlights of my life, and ever since I’ve been drawn to threesomes. But they can cost you. I know several relationships that broke up shortly after the threesome. 

When I told the story, I mentioned two clues I’d missed at the time, about what was going to happen next. The first was that Amanda had somehow developed impressive cunnilingus skills, and enthusiasm, though she was in a relationship with me, and we were supposed to be being faithful.

I’d held up my end of the deal. That doesn’t make me morally superior, by the way. It was just how it was. It’s maybe also a reason why I’ve since been less interested in sexual exclusivity. Though I’ll do that when it’s important to the girl I’m with and she’s important to me. 

The other clue I should have spotted was when Amanda kissed Miranda. I kissed Miranda like I was fond of her, and pleased she was there. Amanda kissed her as though she desperately in love with her. Which she was. 

So I organised the next night for the three of us. I’m not going to write about it, or not now, but it was every bit as hot as the first night. Hotter.

But the next time, after that second threesome, that I took Miranda to bed she was on her own, and she’d sneaked over to my place while Amanda was at a meeting.

She mentioned that she and Amanda had been fucking a lot, at Miranda’s place. She thought I knew. That hurt, not because they’d been fucking but because Amanda had been secretive. 

Anyway, we struggled along for another couple of weeks, and then Amanda moved out, into an all-women, no boys allowed, house. And Miranda slept with her most nights. 

Miranda, I think, would have preferred to be in the threesome, because she fancied both of us, and she wanted something warm and open-ended more than she wanted an obsessional love. But obsessional love has its power. I was her relief from Amanda’s intensity. Also, I had a cock, and no demands on exclusivity with her. She liked both of those things. 

But Amanda didn’t like Miranda fucking anyone but her. At the end of the year, she went to a feminist event in London. And paid for Miranda to come. I never saw Miranda again. That wasn’t so sad, I liked Miranda a lot, and I loved having sex with her, but I wasn’t in love with her. What was sad was that I only saw Amanda one more time, two years later.

I’d been in love with her, my first love, and my heart was broken. I still loved her when I saw her two years later. I passed over the things she’d left behind when she’d moved out, and stored with me when she went to London. 

And that was that. No-one was to blame. Amanda was in new love, and that made her ruthless. But that’s a human need.

Amanda had, I’m pretty sure, loved me until she switched to Miranda. I’d been the best boyfriend-of-a-feminist I knew how to be. And Miranda was just a sexy woman exploring and having fun. 

So I was left alone, with just some memories. Well, “left alone” doesn’t last long, for a guy who’d been a virtuous boyfriend, mildly and locally famous, and unattainable for the four years I was with Amanda. I learnt a lot about female sexual enthusiasm afterwards. But I stayed in love with Amanda for years. 

There’s no moral. Just, nothing is safe. Enter it with your eyes open.