Another FREE novel segment! Get it HERE!

Note:

I’m at the point in the novel where the heroine is in the bathroom with an enema kit “making herself nice” for the hero to buttfuck her. The hero thinks that’s charmingly shy, though he doesn’t think it’s necessary. I hope I don’t get so far into their respective states of mind that I forget to make it sexy. 

So I’m a bit busy just now. (Though there will be a Wicked Wednesday episode this week.) In the meantime, here’s another slice of this novel thing.

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I pushed Shar’s feet further apart, and, distracted, she accommodated me. She was still standing, being pleasured, her cunt moving on my slick-wet hand, trying to get my cock into her. 

Shar was still muttering her mantra: “Yer. Yer. Yeh. Yeh. Ye. Ye. Y’. Y’.”

I can’t transcribe her from about that point. But Shar likes to be vocal when she’s excited.

“Hang on. Condom. Fucking condom. Hang on.” I stepped back so my cock was free, then pressed her cunt with my hand, gently, in farewell.

“K.”

“And Shar, you keep your ass up, and keep your damn hands on the bed.” Sometimes when I’m very aroused I forget who is a submissive woman and who isn’t. But Shar kept her place.

She said, “you mean, you want me bent over?”

I stopped for a second and stared at her. She was still in position, looking down at her hands, bottom arched up. She was teasing me, of course, but it was the fifth time she’d said a variant of ‘bend over’. I decided that if she said it a sixth time, I really was going to spank her. Not hard, but she’d experience a real spanking, just the same. Over my knee and enough to color her skin.

I smacked her sweetly presented ass. “Minx. But yeah, you’ve got my tastes worked out.” 

My jeans were in a pile on the floor and there were condoms in the back pocket. I opened the packet with my teeth, and put the bloody thing on.

Shar spoke very slowly and deliberately. “Neeknhi, by the way, means fuck me. Please.”

I stood behind Shar and pressed forward, my thighs pressed against her presented buttocks. She reached back and guided my cock into her, and we joined, focused on sensation.  

There was warmth and wet, and there was hardness in softness.

Then I slid deeper, and Shar held herself completely still, also silent, letting me move for both of us. Time was slow, or I was. Sensitive centimeters. I was buried in Shar. I heard her take in a breath, her first in a while. It took an effort to remember to breathe too. 

We moved together. Time passed.

Sinful Sunday: Castle stairs

“Go to your room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her mount the stairs, the beautiful, compact strength of her as she climbed. Framed in stone, as the woman in the painting behind her is framed in wood. 

Strength is sexy, he thought, as is submission. How lucky he is that they go together so well.    

What can doms say about submission?

The legendary and wonderful Molly was a bit irritated by my saying that, in one sense, submission is simple. See  here.

This isn’t another instalment in an argument. Peace has broken out. I love and admire Molly, and she thinks I’m sort of ok.

I meant that obeying an order is usually simple physically (psychologically is a whole different question). Therefore a dom may say his or her order is “simple” to obey. While deliberately ignoring how far from simple it is, in psychological or political terms, or in any way other than physically.

That is, a submissive doesn’t need to be an Olympic athlete to bend over a desk. But there are many other reasons why that may be difficult for the submissive. When the dom says it’s “simple”, he or she is deliberately ignoring a lot of complicated things,

What’s worse, the dom is ignoring those psychological truths for fun and sexual pleasure.

But doms, even twoo-doms, often don’t tell the absolute truth, in a scene. For example, a dom might say the submissive is a silly girl, or silly boy, when the dom knows perfectly well that the submissive is anything but silly.

But being put down a little can make the scene hotter for some submissives, so things like “you silly girl” get said. Sometimes what a dom says, in the heat of the moment, is intended to create a scene and make it sexier. When we’re doing that, we are not on oath.

 

Anyway, I want to explain why the stories in this blog are written the way they are. 

The first issue is that almost all of what I write in this blog is based on things that actually happened. I’m only one of the people who took part in that experience, so there’s a whole story or side of a story that isn’t told.

There’s always at least one woman involved in the story. Sometimes there might be two or three perspectives on my actions as a male dom. But I can only write as me, and what I did and what I saw, heard and felt.

An observant dom learns a lot by paying attention in a scene, but it’s still not telepathy. The submissive is another person, with their own thoughts and feelings. 

When I write about a woman (or women if it was a threesome or some other complicated arrangement), I think I have three duties. 

1 I have to preserve their privacy. She (or they) shouldn’t be identifiable, not even by people who know who I am. I change things, cunningly, to make sure that people, sexual partners in particular, preserve their anonymity. I can’t give an example of what I do, for obvious reasons, but sometimes I’m pretty damn clever about that. 

2 I should write about the information the woman or the women gave me about what she/they thought and felt about what was going on.

In writing that, I should always respect those women as people, sexual human beings, and never write about them as male fantasy figures. Though I should write about how sexy they were/are, and the pleasure they gave me and (though it sounds immodest even to mention it) the pleasure I gave them.

3 I should not presume to speak for them. If a woman came, I can say that she came. If she said something nice to me, or critical, I can tell you that. But I can’t presume to get into her mind and tell you what she thought.

I can report responses, actions, things said by the submissive. i try to do that in a way that gives a real sense of both her and me, and makes it reasonably clear what she thought, in general terms. That includes when she was thinking I’m being an idiot, which i try to be honest about.

So I’ll write about her words and sounds and movements of her body, which say a lot, but I ain’t no ventriloquist. And she ain’t no sock puppet.  

So in this blog you get bits of my inner monologue, but not of hers. To me, that silence is an act, or omission, of respect. 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity 3

So I’ve got my tits out in front of this guy. First man to see them. [Maddie lay beside me. She was telling me a story that contained a bad memory. But at this moment it was turning me on. So I kissed her, holding and stroking her face. That reflected both of the feelings her story was bringing out in me.]  

And I knew I’ve got good tits, though god knows I didn’t like much about my body. [Thank you. I like it much better now.]

I was hoping he was impressed, though he was keeping his face blank. as though this was something impersonal. He’d just made me strip for him, and he was about to hurt me. You can’t get more personal than that. But there were no choices.

Well, I had no choices that wouldn’t make things worse. Or better, in some way I wasn’t quite sure about. But I couldn’t have handled “better”. Not just then. So I put my hand out for him. My heart banging, and my cunt still wanting so hard it hurt. I watched him raise the strap, over his shoulder. “Keep your eyes on mine, Maddie, until we’re finished here.”

I said, “yes, sir.” He had such kind eyes, too. And he arced the strap over and down, so it seemed to move almost slowly until the impact on my palm. I cried out. It felt so fierce, and also, down deep, it felt so good. Like sugar and fire. And I said, “One, thank you, sir.” 

It felt so easy to humble myself like that. He hadn’t asked me to count or thank him. But it felt right. And made it sexier. He looked incredibly surprised, almost shocked. He’d expected me to take my hand away and burst into tears. Like most girls do.

[“Jennifer won’t,” I said.

Maddie had settled on her back beside me. She reached over and gave my cock a squeeze. “No, she’ll thank you. And she’ll mean it.”] 

But though he looked at me with real interest after that he didn’t say anything. He just raised the strap over his shoulder and swung it. That impact, the leather against my palm, made my hand, then my whole body feel like it was glowing. Hot, yes, but also flying. In a new world. I said, “Two, thank you, sir.” 

He grunted then, as if we’d been doing thing physical between us. But he swung the strap again, a little harder, I think, but it didn’t matter. I thanked him again, and, oh god, how I meant it. I must have sounded so earnest. So heartfelt. I cried then. Not because of pain.

He knew what was happening, I’m sure of it now. I didn’t look at his cock, but I’ll bet it was hard. When he told me to hold out my other hand, he had the same constriction in his voice that boys had, when they tried to get up the nerve to ask me out. But he made it sound different: it sounded like intensity.

So we we stared at each eyes while he gave me the next three strokes. And we stood there, staring at each other, after I’d said, “Six, thank you, sir!”

His mouth opened. I thought he was going to tell me to put my clothes back on again. But he didn’t. He stepped forward, with his hands out to me, in invitation. So I rushed him, hung my arms around his neck, and pressed my breasts against him. And rubbed, as though I was trying to bore a hole through him. Two holes. Eventually he touched me. I felt his hands on my bare back. The small of my back, then sinking to hold my hips. 

I wanted his hands under my skirt. I was still on fire, though my hands didn’t hurt at all, though he’d strapped them pretty hard. I wanted more. I looked at him. “Sir? Please?”

 

 

My novel: Three parts written, two to go! Free excerpt!

My novel has been taking up a lot of my blogging time and energy. It’s a bdsm comic romance novel, which is not the commonest genre in the world.

Anyway, I finished Part 3 about an hour ago. It’s survived two critical re-readings so far, and it seems to be good.

So to celebrate here’s a special offer. An excerpt from my novel, ABSOLUTELY FREE!

(Hah! Like I charge for anything.)

From The Tawse’s Tale

We kissed, mouth to mouth, my hands in her hair at last. Then, while her tongue ran along my top teeth, and I smelt breath of green herbs, I lowered my hands to unclasp that bra. In some ways I’m a disappointment to women who really like lingerie. I always prefer bare skin. And though I have kinks enough, I’ve never really been a bra and stocking-tops fetishist. The sexiest thing about Shar dressed as she was just then, to me, was knowing that she wanted me to think she was sexy. That’s the hot part.

Anyway, I wanted to hold her breasts and take as much as possible of each breast into my mouth, and then kiss and suck on each nipple in turn, perhaps grazing each lightly with my teeth. So I had honorable intentions and projects involving her breasts, all of which needed the bra to go.

But Shar reached back and put her hand on mine, blocking the hand that was trying to undo the bra. “No, darling, not the bra. I’m – The bra stays, darling.”

She chuckled happily when my face fell, and kissed my nose by way of compensation.

I thought perhaps she was shy about her breasts, which would certainly have drawn male attention when she was still young, and not all men are nice to adolescent girls. So I ran my hands lightly down her body, watching and loving the trembling as I held her hips. I edged my fingertips under the cami-knickers. Shar looked happy at my attentions and intentions, then infinitely sad. “No, I can’t. Freddie.”

So I stopped, but kissed her. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. She said, “This is like a date, yes?”

“Yes.” I frowned, puzzled.

“I’m not going to fuck you on the second date.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t look so stricken, Freddie darling. I quite like your chances for the third date.”

“Um. Then why -?”

“Darling, this isn’t something you can argue about. I was taught things about sex and not to be a slut.”

“I’m a slut,” I said. “It’s not so bad.”

“Yes, but you’re a man. It’s different for men. Freddie, I know you don’t believe in these rules, and neither do I. But … I still can’t fuck you on the second date.”

“That’s a pity.” My voice sounded shaky, to me. “Because I really want you. I really, really want to fuck you, Shar. Girl.”

She kissed me again. “But don’t feel too bad. On a second date, a girl is allowed to do things that’ll keep her man interested.”

I said, “Whuh?” Shar undid the button of my jeans and tugged the zipper down. “Oh.” I raised my ass off the carpet for a few seconds so she could wrest my jeans down, and then off. She put her hand on my cock, still trapped in cotton, running her fingertips along its length, then clasping it firmly, feeling it throb against her palm. “Oh. Well, indeed. This seems kind of historical. But obviously it’s very fine .”

Shar glanced up at my face for an instant. “I really don’t think you need to talk.”  

Sinful Sunday: Training her Master

She knew she wasn’t allowed to masturbate without his permission. And she knew he was making breakfast and he’d be back any second. 

She didn’t often disobey just for the sake of being punished. But although she could still feel last night’s marks, his hand and his cane on her flesh, this morning’s fucking had been gentle, loving. That was good, but she wanted something different now.

She heard his steps in the corridor. She arched her ass. 

She imagined him gasping. Happily: he loved the way she lay on her front, ass up, to wank. Then he’d remember he was supposed to be angry. Then the sound of his belt. Then he would be fast and loud, and hot and sweet, and there would be no more gentleness between them until they were both exhausted.

Note:

Natural light. Not in the castle

 

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity story 2

Note:

I tried to work a wedding into this week’s effort. But it wouldn’t fit. I compensated by adding steam. 

Maddie’s virginity story 2

I was half excited [Maddie said], and half afraid. The Headmaster, his name was Mr Hunter, was a fox. Cool, sculpted smiling face, And he was sort of skinny, but in a cool way. You know, I thought he was older than he was – like Jennifer probably thinks of you – but I fancied him anyway. 

I knew he was going to punish me much harder than my silly teacher. That scared me, but I could feel that thought in my belly and in my cunt too. I imagined him reading the note: then he’d look at me, just the two of us in his room. And he’d tell me how he was going to punish me, and what I had to do to make my body available for him.

It wouldn’t be the same as making my body available for him the way I wanted most, the way I wanted him to want me. But it was still sexy. Unimaginably hot. I remember I was shaking, just from the desire I felt. It was like nothing I’d known before. 

I don’t know how long I waited after I’d knocked. It felt like forever, and then I heard him call, “Come in.” He had a lovely, deep voice, a take-no-nonsense voice. 

So I came in. He looked at me, then at my thighs. The way I’d hitched my skirt they were mostly on show, and they were shaking. I hope he liked them. I hope he liked me. Even if I’d been bad. 

He said, “Maddie, isn’t it? What are you doing here?” 

I said my teacher had sent me. I collected all the bravado I could manage and said, “I expects she wants you to punish me.”

I passed him the note she’d written. He read it while I watched his face, hoping to see anything like a smile or a twitch of humour. But he only frowned. He looked at me for ages – it was probably only a few seconds, but it seemed forever. 

Eventually he stood up. He said, “What are you expecting to happen now, Maddie?” 

I was meshing my fingers. I was still massively turned on, but I was getting scared too. “You’re going to punish me, Mr Hunter.”

“Sir will do for now, Maddie. All right. It’s clear to me that you like trying to make your teacher look silly. So I think I know where we’ll start. Take off your jacket and shirt, Maddie-”

“Sir! You can’t make me -“

“- So I can strap your hands. Ah, Maddie? You want to tell me what I can’t make you do? You’ve been given your copy of the school’s rules, I trust, Maddie?”

“Yes, sir, but -”

“Good. Because I hope you remember that not knowing the rules is a paddling offence. So, do you know your school rules?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” I was terrified that he’d question me on them. I’d read them once, and I don’t think I could have told him any of them.

He’d scared me into lying to him. He knew I was lying, too. But he just said, “so, according to the rules, who gets to decide what clothing a student removes, to prepare herself for discipline, Maddie? Me, or you?” 

“You, sir.” 

“That’s right. Now, because you objected, I’m going to add more strokes, of course. And – I trust that you’re wearing a regulation school bra, Maddie, and not some skimpy thing of your own?”

I was so lucky. My bras were in the wash, so I’d worn the school one that morning. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m astonished. But good girl, for that at least. So, you’ll take off the jacket, and the shirt, and the bra, Maddie.” 

I said nothing. I thought he was waiting for me to protest. Eventually I realised and said, “Yes, sir.” And I began to undo my buttons. I could see I had goosebumps on my breasts. then I put my clothes on the chair. The chair that was for girls who weren’t in trouble. (That was what I thought then. Yeah, I soon learned what chairs are for.)

So I stood facing facing him. He could get an eyeful of my goosebumps, I thought. But I was naked from the waist up and I knew that wasn’t really what he was looking at.

He looked at me, my belly and my bare breasts for ages, again. I wanted him to be pleased, but he showed no sign. 

I was so aware of my body. No man had seen my breasts before. My thighs were shaking again. And my cunt flowed.I could feel it, you know, spillage, running down my inner thighs.

“Good girl. Now hold your left hand out towards me. Palm upwards, and keep it flat, Maddie.” 

My mouth fell open. Oh god, I’d dreaded and wanted this. And here it was. 

 

What do you mean, ‘submission is simple’?

On Sinful Sunday I wrote the words, “submission is simple”. 

Those words aren’t entirely true, to put it mildly. I put them in the post because they are, or can be, part of the dialogue between dominant and submissive. The dom may say, “It’s simple. You just have to do as you’re told. I’ll look after the rest.” 

It’s only a limited sense in which submission is simple. If you are the submissive, and your session is going well, and the dom and sub are in synch with each other, then the submissive’s choices are indeed simple. If the dom says, “bend over the table”, or “onto your knees,” or simply, “stay there, don’t speak and don’t move”, the submissive knows what he or she has to do, and does it. 

Simples! 

But the process of acknowledging one’s own submissive desires, as you become sexually active, or at least thinking and desiring sexually, is not simple. That can be a long and hard process, as my acknowledging my own domness was.

The process of going from ordinary head space to a submissive head space, in the interaction between dominant and submissive: that’s not simple at all.

Doms do things that they think will help the submissive make that transition, which vary from person to person. Currently, I give lots of hugs and cuddles and the occasional smack on the bottom, and lots of praise and reassurance, slowly heading to the first use of the command voice. That’s with my lovely girl. If it were a different submissive the approach would be different. 

Like any dom, I can only provide an atmosphere in which it might feel both safe and sexy to submit. The mental work of shutting off the usual rush of thoughts, focussing on the moment and then “dropping”: that’s done by the submissive. 

As a non-switch I don’t have direct, personal access to what moving into the submissive headspace is like.

But just as submissives know things that help bring out the domness in their lover, doms know a certain amount about how submission works and even (imaginatively) what it feels like to enter it.

All lovers work out as much as they can about how and what their partner is feeling, drawing on lovers’ intuition, observation, sand listening.  

So when I said, “submission is simple”, I meant it as a piece of dom rhetoric, the sort of thing that I might (and do) say to the woman in that photo, at about that moment. It focusses only on the part of submission (being told what to do, and doing it) that is – in one sense – simple. 

After that it gets philosophical: nothing is simple, and yet everything is simple. 

Sinful Sunday: Submission is simple

Still in the dining room, over that enormous table. 

Marked, sore, knowing she is not to get up. That she must wait for whatever is to happen to her to happen. 

She makes no choices, except to endure and obey. Submission can be so simple.

 

Note

It’s the light. And in this case the framing. Such a lovely place. And a lovely girl.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 140: Raylene’s pain does not matter

Raylene looked at the bed. While her freshly-thrashed arse burned, she didn’t want anything to touch her bottom, not even the air. So a simple order like, “Bed,” presented her with challenges she didn’t know what to do with.

I kissed her. “I said ‘bed’, Raylene darling. Yes, you’ve had your ass caned. Looks nice and sore, too. Now you’re going to get your ass into bed.”

She grimaced. “If you don’t mind, Master, I think I’d prefer to stand for the next couple of years.”

I held her to me, her head pressed loving and trusting against my chest.

And I reached down and gave her ass an open-palmed spank, as hard as I could. Raylene cried out in pain and some indignation. If I wasn’t going to feel sorry for her under those circumstances, then … when?

“Darling, you’ve got a Master. What does that make you?”

“A slave, a slavegirl of some sort?”

“Yes. We won’t say so too often, but yes, that’s exactly what it makes you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But in the moment, sometimes I just say what I think will be hot.

“You’re property. I own you. I mentioned I’m falling in love with you, and I’ll look after you. But you don’t choose what you do, not anymore. Not once I’ve told you what to do.” 

Raylene said nothing. She put her arms around me and let her breasts weigh on my chest. She clung to me like a jasmine. 

“So you’re worried that the sheets are going to hurt your poor little ass, right?”

She looked at me, big-eyed. “Well, I can’t think of any way of being in bed where the sheets won’t hurt me. Even if I lie flat on my tummy.”

“Ok. Now, guess something. Does it matter, even a tiny bit, if the bed hurts your ass?”

“Oh.” That was a new thought. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“That’s right. You just got a hard lesson in behaviour. It’ll go on hurting a lot for an hour or two, I expect. But it’s over. And I don’t care that your ass still hurts. Understand that. You having a sore backside: it’ll happen to you whenever I see fit, and it does not matter if it hurts. Your pain does not matter. Not during. Not afterwards.”

Raylene had listened to this open-mouthed. She didn’t disagree. These were just things that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Oh. Ok.”

“So, get onto the bed. I’d going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. I think you need to be fucked. As if what you need matters.”

She looked solemn. Then nodded. “No, of course that wouldn’t matter.”

I kissed her. I suppose I don’t cane for irony. “Get up on the bed. Hands and knees. Get your ass up, and keep it up.”

“Yes, master.” And she scrambled up onto the bed, pulling the top sheet and blankets aside, and posing like a cat needing fucking.

A cat with the yummiest, reddest, striped ass in the universe. She looked so beautiful.

“Good girl. I’m going to fuck you, pressed against that nice hot ass. I’m going to enjoy your heat. And I’m going to hurt you while I fuck you. What do you know about that?”

Raylene arched her back, presenting herself as spectacularly as she could. “I know now that it doesn’t matter if it hurts, Master.”

“Good girl. I knew you’re a clever girl.” And I took my clothes off and climbed up onto the bed with her, wanting her more desperately than I was going to tell her, and put my hands on her hips.