The world looks different in a dungeon. The colours and the sensations.
Doing as you’re told is always a good idea.. But if you’re looking hot, it’s not going to protect your bottom anyway.
(And that, as fate would have it, keeps the blues away.)
“So we stopped in a brick house, two-storied, in Remmers. That was a good neighbourhood in my town. My parents didn’t know anyone who lived there, and neither did I. He let me walk, this time, and took me up to the door, and unlocked.
He put his hand on the small of my back to steady me. I’d started to get the shakes, from reaction. So he led me in. I looked around. I was impressed: he was rich, by my standards, and he had good taste, by my parents’. I guess almost any house owned by an adult would have impressed me, at the time. Now, looking back, I see that he really did have good taste.
One thing I remember is that he had some Renoir nudes. Just pencil drawings, and quite small. You could buy them in those days for only a few hundred dollars. He had three. He’d framed them, but they were kind of discreet, on the wall by his bedroom door. They weren’t in pride of place. He’d bought them because he liked them.
Anyway, he saw me shaking, and he came over quickly and hugged me. Just held me. Told me I was good, I’d done nothing wrong, and I had every right to be angry but I shouldn’t be ashamed. Then he held me until I settled, stopped shaking and just went limp in his arms.
He sat me down then, and got me a drink. He said I needed an adult drink. An ‘adult drink’, by the way, turned out to be Kahlua and coke. It seemed very adult to me, especially since he’d said so. But now I realise that it meant I wasn’t the first schoolgirl he taken home.
I chugged it down while he ran a hot bath. When I was finished he went to his room and came back with a huge bathrobe. He said, “Bathtime, Maddie.”
“What do I need a bath for?” I thought he just wanted to see me naked. Though he already had, so that was nonsense, of course. But I wasn’t thinking well.
“You… I think you feel that you’ve been made dirty. You haven’t, Maddie, not at all. But I think you’d feel better if you scrubbed every last touch of that bastard off of you. So, off you go. Into the bath. Up!”
I stood up. I took the bathrobe, and walked to the bathroom door. There was hot steam rising, and it smelled of eucalyptus. It did seem good. “Thank you, sir.”
“Just a moment, Maddie. I’m going to turn my back. But you’re to take everything off, and leave it in a little pile outside the door.”
“But I can’t go home in different clothes!”
“You won’t. I’ll have them washed and dried. They’ll be ready in a couple of hours, no more. And you can wear the robe in the meantime.”
“But… I don’t know… Can’t I just put my clothes back on?” They did stink. I knew that. I just felt suddenly shy.
“Maddie.” I’d heard that tone from him before. “I said I won’t cane you tonight. But if you try for a spanking, you’ll get one.” I realised that a spanking was exactly what I wanted just then, so long as he made it last a long time, and stroked me, and cuddled me afterwards. I wanted that so much. But I didn’t know how to say so.
He was still using the do-as-you’re-told voice. “Leave all of your clothes on the carpet, right now. And go in and have your bath. I’m counting to five.”
He turned his back.
I squealed, and i’d stripped before he got to four. And pulled the bathroom door almost closed once I was naked. He never had to say Five.
So, home alone, with a few minutes to spare before Fliss arrived, I dropped my blood streaked shirt in a bucket, with oxygen bleach. It was safe there. My older brothers had had girlfriends who would come round and do their washing for them, but somehow those didn’t seem to be the women I was interested in. Unless they were doing it for pervy sexual reasons.
Certainly Fliss was not a woman to show any interest in doing my laundry, so there was no chance my bloody and incriminating shirt would be discovered. I took a shower. Afterwards I checked the mirror, hoping that the clawmarks Maureen had left on my back would have faded. But though I could see that they had stopped bleeding, they were still raw and very bright. There was no way of disguising them.
It occurred to me that I could come up with a story about how I’d acquired my wounds while saving a sad-eyed little child from an enraged grizzly bear. Except that the nearest grizzly was thousands of miles away. And I didn’t think she’d buy werewolves.
Maybe I’d fallen asleep in long grass and someone had run a lawnmower over my back. Maybe I’d run backwards through a thorn bush, though I couldn’t think of any reason why I might do that.
Maybe I’d been juggling cats, and had flubbed the triple-tabby behind the back parabola, so they’d taken their hissing, screeching revenge.
Maybe I could just explain that Maureen had been nostalgic, horny and very fuckable.
I considered this again, and came to the same conclusion I’d reached when I’d been riding home: there’d be unhappiness all over the place, and we’d possibly break-up. I knew I was in the wrong, and I might deserve bad things, but these weren’t remotely good outcomes. I heard Fliss’s car outside. I put on a fresh shirt and pants and went out to meet her.
She slipped her hands inside my shirt to embrace me, which made me wonder if the gouges would be noticeable to the touch. The best defence was distraction, so I put my own hands inside her jeans, and lifted her up. Fliss wrapped her legs round my waist. I realised I’d made a slight strategic mistake.
We were in the beginning of twilight, and I had thought I’d be better off if I gave her a glass of wine and we talked about our day, and so on, so that it would be dark when we took our clothes off. We’d still turn the light on, during or afterwards, and there I’d be. But at least it would have delayed things and I could have thought of something.
Instead I had Fliss wrapped round my waist, rubbing herself against my cock and riding me cowgirl, and under those conditions, pilgrim, there is only one direction you can go.
So I took her to my bedroom, held her high while she laughed and licked my nose, and dropped her onto the bed. As I’d done with Maureen not two hours earlier. I pulled the curtains, explaining that I’d seen the old woman who lived next door out in her backyard. There was still too much light. Then I joined Fliss on the bed, and we kissed and rolled around, over and over each other, rubbing our faces into each other while I took her clothes off.
But not mine.
It wasn’t so odd that I pulled Fliss’s shirt off without undressing myslf, because she liked to kneel, naked, take my cock into her mouth and pleasure me while I was still clothed.
It helped her to move herself from her outside world persona into her bedroom self, to feel that she was serving and submitting. It was how I’d first suspected – something neither of us had known before – that Fliss was submissive.
But being submissive didn’t matter. When there was hell to pay, she could raise hell.
I like the light in this picture. The light likes her.
An upstairs bedroom in the castle. The ladder is for getting up on top of the turret. I think. There must be a safe place to rest the ladder on and make the climb, but all of the places I could see out the window looked obviously unsafe. There must have been one safe route, but it’s a long, long way above the cobblestones below. I wasn’t game to try it by guesswork. Let alone by trial and error, given the consequences of error.
On the other hand, ladders are for placing girls on. Everyone knows that.
Fans of my beautiful model may think this photo is too modest. But if you look carefully, this picture does contain nipples. So all is as it should be.
Lying in Maureen’s arms, and cunt, fucking her delicious self, had earned me the tribute of lost blood, from her nails digging into and raking down my back.
It occurred to me in that moment that I’d been an unsatisfactory boyfriend for Maureen in various ways, like unreliability and a general lack of cash, shift and feck. So I was trying to do better by Fliss, my new girlfriend. But Fliss would turn up at my house in about 80 minutes, and she’d be expecting to see me naked. And fresh claw marks down my back would be an indication that I wasn’t being completely satisfactory, as boyfriends go.
We weren’t doing polyamory.
Ah well, the damage is done, I decided, and carried on, getting my hands under Maureen’s arse, hauling her tight against me, pumping and pounding her hard, and earning fresh clawmarks. Maureen was a luscious and energetic girl, and a fuck with her merited full and undivided attention, regardless of the consequences.
But we came, and said loving things, and time ran out. I kissed her goodbye and put my clothes on – blood streaks soaked through my shirt instantly, reported Maureen proudly – hopped on my motorbike, kicked it into life and rode home.
I was happy with Fliss. There were a lot of important reasons for this, that she was gorgeous, and flamboyant, and clever, and assertive in ways that scared a lot of guys, and someone I could watch and listen to with admiration. And, for another thing, we’d discovered within only a couple of weeks into our sexual career together that she was a submissive.
That discovery, about Fliss, had been a turning point in my life. I’d met submissive women before, but those encounters had been rare. But when two girlfriends in a row had turned out to be submissive, without my having suspected or chosen them on that basis, I saw that “people like me” were not as scarce as I’d thought when I was growing up, and that my life might turn out to be a lot more fun than I’d come to expect.
Still, submission didn’t make her any less stroppy, and Fliss was not going to like this evidence of my faithlessness. And that evidence that would clearly still be only minutes old, when I next took off my shirt in front of her.
She might break up with me. That would be very sad. Or else, a lesser sentence, I’d have to live through days of “discussing our relationship”, before I next got to grips with her.
Days of eggshell-walking time with an angry woman. I’d rather scrub wet batshit out of a washing machine, for the same length of time, than go through that.
I considered simply giving Fliss a good beating and roaring at her that I would fuck whoever I wanted and be damned to you, girl. But no. The Brian Blessed approach (I mean the roaring; I don’t know what Brian Blessed does in bed) might work for some things, but not when I was so obviously, and so very recently, at fault.
When I got home, Stella’s car wasn’t in my drive. I’d beaten her home. I had time to have a shower and hide my shirt; that was something.
“So he let me in. Once I was inside, I just stood there and howled. Absolutely grief-stricken. I wanted to hold onto him but I couldn’t. I felt I’d let him down so badly and it was all my fault. And I felt… unclean. He wouldn’t want to touch me, if he knew what I’d done.”
I said, “You didn’t -”
“I know. I know that now. But I’m talking about what I felt at the time. I felt so worthless. Anyway, thank god he stopped asking me what was wrong, and just held me. He told me I was a good girl and a beautiful girl, and nothing can happen that you can’t live through. And then he shut up and held me. I just bawled, big wracking sobs from all the way inside me. I dunno; it may be the worst I’ve ever felt in my life. And I felt my life was over. Hah! I must have made such a mess of his shirt.”
I held her. Maddie made light of it, but talking about it brought some of that pain back.
I said, eventually, “Well, he was right, you know. You are a good girl. And a beautiful girl.”
“Hah. Sweet talker. Anyway, I eventually subsided, enough to tell him what had happened. I accused myself of wanting it, and it was my fault. And he should whip me. I was too worthless for him. I tried to break out of his arms. I wanted to run out of his room, and… I have no idea. Maybe go back to Plan A and jump in front of a car.
“But he didn’t let me go. And he stroked my back, without touching my ass. And brushed away my hair from my face – it was all wet! And he started to soothe me again. A vicious manboy had sone something evil, but I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was good, I was clever, I was special, I was beyond pretty. Like that. I don’t remember what he said specifically. But it was sweet, and he obviously didn’t think I was worthless or my life was over. So I couldn’t see far ahead, but I tried to think maybe he was right.
“Anyway, he said he was going to call the police. And I refused. I refused for all the wrong reasons: shame, not understanding what rape was. I thought it had to be at gunpoint or something. So if it didn’t take two guys with guns, then it was my fault. My doing. And I didn’t want to talk about it.
“So he said at least he’d have to call my parents. And I just begged him. And… I’ve got mixed feelings now, about not wanting the police called. Because they’d have put me on trial, and so would the courts. But, you know, you have to make sure the bastard gets a record. For the sake of other women. But I wasn’t ready to carry that. Not telling my parents: I don’t think I was wrong there at all. They’d have been no help. The opposite of help.”
Maddie had talked to me about her parents before. They’d have followed the rules punctiliously, and probably would have called the cops without Maddie’s consent. And they’d have been no emotional support at all. They meant well, and that was the best you could say for them.
“So, he sighed, my headmaster. His name was Conal Wright, by the way. I just never thought of him as that. He was ‘Sir’ to me. Always.
“And he said to text my parents, then, and say I’d be home late. I could say I was getting extra history tuition from the headmaster, he said. So I texted and said I’d be chilling with my friend Rosemary for a while.”
When I said I’d told my parents I’d be late, he told me to sit down and wait for him. He was going to get his car, and park it just outside his office. So I wouldn’t have to walk far. And he’d take me home. To his home. And you know, I was still distraught, and I wasn’t being a hypocrite, but I liked the way he looked at me.
So I sat down, while he left. I’d never been alone in a teacher’s office before. He’d been expecting to cane me, and the cane was still on the table. So once he was safely gone, I got out of my seat and went and picked it up. It was so hard. I imagined how it would feel it he brought it down on my hands. It was an object that only existed to hurt me. To mark my bare bottom and thighs. And maybe other places.
“Iit’s funny, but that cane in my hands made something in me drop. I didn’t want sex just then. But I remembered what it had been like, wanting to be caned, and then wanting him to fuck me.
“And that cane made me feel like there was a sort of echo, like it was far away but coming home again, from my cunt. Anyway, I put the cane back where he’d left it.
“I was sure he wasn’t going to cane me, or fuck me, tonight. But I didn’t want him to see I’d touched his cane. I still didn’t want him angry with me.
“Anyway, in a few minutes I heard his car pull up, just outside. And he came back in. With a blanket, the kind you have in a first aid kit. For car crashes. Car crash: that was me!”
I hugged her, with feeling. “You’re my lovely car crash, you are.”
“You’re my cruel bastard. Master darling. Anyway, he wrapped me in the blanket. He told me there was no-one still around. And he picked my up! In his arms! And he carried me out to his car.”
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Bending over, in punishment pose, in the place she thinks of as The Library of Depravity. Waiting for Sir.
She’s already been spanked, but she’s about to feel the birch for the first time.
She knows it won’t be the last.
It’s comfortable, bent over the rolled arm of a leather armchair. But she knows she won’t be comfortable for long. In the meantime she waits, presented for him, hoping she’ll please him when he comes for her.
She hears footsteps, approaching the library. She has a lot to learn, she knows. But some new information, and new sensations, are about to touch her.
Well, if the whipping is ordered by Aphrodite, goddess of sexual love, then it generally is. The drawing is of Psyche being whipped while her lover’s mother, Aphrodite, watches. Aphrodite is the goddess of sexual love, and her son, Eros, is the god of lust, from whom we get the word “erotic”. And Eros is living with, and in love with, a very nice human girl called Psyche.
There’s a lot of symbolism going on in this “myth”, which like a lot of myths may have been invented relatively recently as a literary concoction. That is, it dates back to Apuleius’s novel The Golden Ass, written in the second century CE, rather than from time immemorial like, say, the myth of the great war between the Olympian gods and the Titans.
The reason I think the whipping is sexual, in its place in the book, is that Apuleius is very aware of different strands of sexuality, including “sadism”.
By making Aphrodite the spectator of Psyche’s whipping, Auileius is allowed to present it for the reader’s enjoyment and entertainment. As for the artist, he is definitely portraying the event as erotic.
I guess the central thread of the symbolism is that we all hope that Psyche, or “mind”, has some effect on our lusts and loves.
At other times, some of us want to be whipped and hurt and to sacrifice ourselves and suffer physically for our love. Which Psyche manages to do. And survive and find happiness.
The artist, François Boucher, was rumoured to be an admirer of whipped female skin, and his wife to be a participant in his pleasures. There are questions we ask about relationships and consent these days that simply weren’t asked in the eighteenth century, so we don’t know if Mme Boucher enjoyed those sessions. We can only hope she did.
“It’s nice that you’re holding me,” Maddie said. “I appreciate that you do care about me. You sadistic bastard.” I pinched her nipple, hard. “Ow! No, seriously, I do like it that you care about me. May I rub, sir?”
“No. I meant to hurt you. Stay where you are and hurt, Maddie.”I resumed the pressure on her nipple, a little harder.
She nodded. “Thank you, sir. And I do love that you’re cruel, and that you care about me. But I didn’t tell you that story so you’d sympathise with me.”
“Yes. I don’t mean, watch out or someone will rape Jennifer. I’m not being that exact. It’s just that I think it’d be a pity for you and a tragedy for her if you both missed out on having each other.” She laughed. “Together! For the first time!”
I tweaked that nipple again, in warning, and cupped her breast with my hand.
“Mmm. But I worry that you and she will miss out on something that would be very special.I don’t know.”
I kissed her. I had nothing to say. But she did need to know she was held, and loved. She relaxed into my arms this time, and there was a moment when it seemed she would roll back, pulling me down on top of her. But she drew her head away, and looked into my eyes.
“I just want to say there are a whole lot of things that can go wrong in the universe. Jennifer’s eighteen. And she’s very horny. Horny for you, sure, but she’s also just horny in general.”
“What makes you say that? I mean, horny for me, specifically?”
“I watched her leave, the last time you spanked her. She was absolutely … blissed out. I know we’re not the same person, Jennifer and I, but I do know, close enough, what she’s feeling. Because I’ve watched her and heard her, and I’ve been exactly in her place.”
“I promise you, from experience as well as observation, she wants you to show her how sex works, to make her undress for you so you can hurt her. She wants to be disciplined. It’s sexy and hot, and it makes her feel singled out. It make her know she’s special.”
“Well, she is.”
“So she should be. Sir. She wants you to spank her again, soon. Tomorrow would be good. And she wants the cane. Well, it’s more that she wants to experience the cane. To be a girl under your discipline. And, a little later but not too much later, for you to take her and teach her.”
I said, “So. I want you to make an appointment for Miss Perch to see me after school tomorrow. That should help her to feel singled out. And special.”
“After school tomorrow, for Jennifer. Spanking or the cane?”
“Don’t know. I’ll ask her teachers how she’s been behaving. That will decide it. Probably a spanking. With a warning that it’s the cane next time.””
“Watch her make sure there’s a next time. And soon. And after that you should definitely fuck her. She’s longing for that to happen. She’s impatient.”
I nodded. I’d felt that too, about Jennifer’s reactions over my knee. “And I should make it happen.”
“Yes. Soon. And you should make sure its special.”
“Um, Maddie. What happened to you, when you knocked on the door? And he let you in and saw you? All messed up, my poor girl?”
Maddie drew in a breath.