Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s Drop 4

The previous episode is here.


Janie spent Friday night, after her punishment, being taught to pleasure a woman. Monica kept the terrible leather paddle in her hand while Janie served her, and Janie felt it often.

There were so many things in cunnilingus that she could do wrong, she discovered. She had to discover, focus on and follow the rhythms of Monica’s desire, serving her, pleasuring her, responsive to her every change in timing or intensity.

When she was mistaken Monica used the paddle on her bottom, harshly and frequently.

She never showed Monica any lack of enthusiasm. That terrible session when she bent over the trestle while Monica paddled her: that was enough to make her forget any scruple, any distaste, any lack of pleasure in applying her tongue, her lips and nose to Monica’s cunt. Paul had sometimes punished her more painfully, but never so coldly. She was terrified of being so ruthlessly and painfully thrashed again.

In the meantime Monica lounged under her, sometimes holding Janie’s hair and pushing her head down, sometimes squeezing her face between her strong thighs. Sometimes Monica gasped with pleasure, and there was a respite from that agonising paddle.

But only for a few seconds, and never with a word of praise. 

Janie served her Mistress’s pleasure, every muscle in her body, and all of her concentration, directed at pleasing her Mistress and avoiding punishment. She would do nothing that incited Monica to punish her.  

At last Monica announced she was satisfied. (She’d come four times, Janie thought rebelliously: she bloody well ought to be satisfied. Then she turned white with terror, just for having that thought. Somehow, she feared that Mistress might know.)

Monica ordered her onto her bed, on her hands and knees, thighs widely spread, bottom arched up. Her Mistress put a blindfold round her eyes. She was aware of rustling sounds and then a click behind her.

And then a presence, cocklike, pressing at her cunt, and pushing forward. Monica was riding her, fucking her, with a strap-on. At first she wondered what could be in it for her Mistress, since she could receive no sensation from a silicon cylinder. 

But then there was a tiny sound, and the cylinder inside her began to buzz, slowly at first and then insistently. The cylinder began to drive into her, and nearly out again, and in. Her Mistress was fucking her, her hips swinging, the device in her cunt driving Janie higher and higher. Janie made a joyous sound: so much pleasure she wanted to sing.

Then there was a flash of pain: a riding crop striking hard on her left flank, then again on her right. 

“No, Janie, you haven’t earned an orgasm. I could feel you getting near, little slut. But you’re to control yourself. You’re here to serve, not to get off, little slavegirl. You may not come, is that clear?”

Her cunt clasped that strap-on. It still pushed her, relentlessly, to pleasure and release. Please, she wanted to say: oh, please, I want it so much. Please let me come. Please. But she said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“You have a lot to learn, Janie. Still, a little fear seems to improve you. At least you’re likely to be trying.”

The next episode is here.

Masturbation Monday: Stephanie the Sir-sayer

“Stephanie, my sweetlove, put your knees under Maires’s shoulders. And get your cunt nice and comfortable.”

Stephanie considered. She said, for the first time, “Yes, sir.” She was just trying it out, to see how it felt to say it. But hearing from her it was powerful magic.

Sincere or not, I felt it right through my body. I took her hand and put it on my cock. She squeezed. “Oh! It’s not quite dead!”

“Say, ‘sir’ again.”

Stephanie looked at me, eyes unnaturally wide, then dropped her gaze submissively. She breathed, “Oh, yes, sir.”

I knew she was taking the piss, but that didn’t seem to matter. She tightened her grip on my cock, which answered her. “Oh my god, it’s not dead at all. It’s just like ET! Sir.”

I grinned. I said, “You can play all the games you like. But the truth is, you already half mean it, Stephanie.” She looked away for a second.

“You might be right. Sir.” 

I tried so hard not to look smug. Really I did. “Now, I gave you an order. It’s an order that gets your cunt licked. So…”

“Yes! Sir!”

And she scrambled, straddling Maires, and lowered her body slowly until a little gasp told me she’d made contact with Maires’s tongue. I imagined Maires smiling, buried as she was in beautiful woman, tongue working hard to please her new sister.

Stephanie trembled slightly as Maires licked up at her cunt. This was completely new, for her, and wonderful.

Her ass was sweetly poised, in one of the classic spank-me positions. It trembled a little, too. 

That ass seemed so intensely inviting to me, even if Stephanie had probably forgotten, for the moment, that I existed.

But there was her gorgeous arse, jiggling up and down in response to Maire’s tongue. There were no games, now: I was simply hard.

Yes, I decided, this was a very good time to introduce something else new. New for Stephanie, at least. I rolled off the bed onto the floor, and took the belt from my jeans.






WHO drops “diseases” BDSM, fetishism and transvestism off the sick list! Part 3

The World Health Organisation (WHO) produces an International Classification of Diseases and Associated Health Problems (ICD). This is a diagnostic manual for the medical profession, internationally, and it also has a lot of impact on people making laws and social policy in countries around the world. 

Recently, a new version of the ICD was released, that, for the first time, dropped bdsm, fetishism and transvestism from its list of “paraphilic disorders”. The word “paraphilic” essentially means “it’s sexual but they’re doing it wrong.” 


Why the change? There’s been pressure on WHO from assorted advocacy groups representing LGBTQ people, and bdsm activists, to get their ICD changed, so it doesn’t enable and encourage legal discrimination against people in any of those categories. So WHO knew they should take a look at the issue. 

But what made the change possible, or inevitable, was the research. Most of the “bdsm, fetishism and transvestism is bad” came from religious and other prejudice against people who are different, and that side of it had no intellectual content at all.

Really, Freud just wanted to look like Hemingway

A lot of the “theory” that supported the view that bdsm, in particular, but also fetishism and transvestism, were bad came from the Freudian tradition, for reasons I explained in my previous post. 

It’s not that the Freudians of today are especially likely to be bigots, or that people who aren’t Freudians now take Freudian writing very seriously. However, for historical reasons the vast bulk of academic writing on bdsm, at least until around 2004, was Freudian and hostile to bdsm in particular.

Naturally, a committee reviewing that literature may not take any one essay seriously, but they have to note that the majority academic stance has been one of hostility to sexual “deviance”.  

The Australian nation-wide studies

But more recent research was starting to contradict that view. There are studies showing that men who took part in bdsm were less likely to accept “rape myths” than men who weren’t into bdsm, for example. 

Australians are much like the rest of the world. Except that they get their orgies and their sports events confused.

But the single most important piece of research was from Australia: The Australian Study of Sexual Health and Attitudes. That’s because they didn’t do qualitative research, or get your sample from a small bdsm community.

That kind of research is valuable if your goal is to increase understanding, but it doesn’t have much political impact. 

The Australian surveys in 2002 and 2014 were nation-wide random sampling surveys, each with a sample size of 20,000 people. There was simply no room for making any suggestion of selection bias. The surveys found that about 5% of the population, or 1 in 20 people, had taken part in bdsm, or bdsm-lite bedroom games like “teacher and naughty schoolgirl”, in the last year. 

When the survey result were analysed to compare the people who said they’d taken part in bdsm with the people who hadn’t, every single prediction based on the Freudian “explanation” of bdsm went crashing down in flames. 

People who’d taken part in bdsm in the last year (from here on I’m going to call them “bdsm people”, or “us”) were no more likely to have spent any time in prison. Their education and income level was simply normal, no better or worse than average. Their reported enjoyment of sex was slightly higher than average. (They were probably reporting that enjoyment accurately, because they did tend to have sex slightly more often than average.)

In other news, bdsm people were no more likely than the rest of the population to have been sexually coerced, either in the last year, or ever in their life, including when under-age. (There goes the “bdsm is caused by childhood sexual abuse” theory.) 

Respectable couple. Payin their taxes and lovin their bdsm

So bdsm people were as healthy, as sane, as optimistic, and so on, as the rest of the population. We’re upstanding citizens. We don’t commit crimes, or wind up in hospital, any more than the rest of the population.

Only two differences emerged: we tended to skew slightly younger than the population who hadn’t done bdsm in the last year, and we were noticeably randier. 

(The 2013 survey came up with essentially the same result.) 

So there is simply no factual basis, or social interest, in treating bdsm as a disease or disorder.

It simply wasn’t a sustainable position, intellectually, economically or politically. Once there was political pressure on it, and research, it had to change.

There hasn’t been a similar study that’s asked about fetishism or transvestism. But that Australian research project shifted the WHO committee more than anything else.

Couldn’t find a pic of Freud pulling something out of his arse. But have you noticed that guys with cigars tend to look like assholes?

It had been demonstrated that virtually the entire academic literature on sexual “problems” was essentially bullshit, utterly discredited by empirical research, and based largely on ideas that Freud had (excuse the slightly Freudian expression) pulled out of his arse.  

So the WHO committee had both the political will and the intellectual weaponry to make the change and stand by it. 


I have a contact who’s in contact with the people reviewing the World Health Organisation’s (WHO) International Classification of Diseases and Associated Health Problems (ICD).

This account is drawn from what that person told me, with some other sources.

There’s one more post about this to come. 

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop #3

The previous episode in this story in here.

Monica said, “Janie, I’m going to a party tomorrow. I’m bringing you.”

Janie blinked. “Uh?” 

“It’s a party you’re dressed for, just as you are.”

Janie nodded. To see how the words felt, she said, “Yes, Mistress.” They felt alien.

Monica didn’t react. “When I told you to to undress, Janie, did you obey immediately?”

Her heart sank. “No, Mistress.”

“Did your Master instruct you that you were to obey me as if I were he?”

She knew this woman was going to punish her. She so hoped this woman, her temporary Mistress, wouldn’t punish her. But it would do no good to beg.

“Yes, Mistress, he did. In the moment I forgot. I’m very sorry, Mistress.”

“Indeed. You knew better. I don’t want you embarrassing me with behaviour like that tomorrow. What would Paul do?”

Janie thought. She’d disobeyed, though only briefly. “Cane me, Mistress. Six strokes.”

“Appropriate. I’ll use the leather paddle. But ten strokes.”

Silence stretched on. Then Janie remembered: “Thank you, Mistress!” She sounded squeaky.

“Just in time, Janie. Bring the trestle to the middle of the room.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Janie hurried.

Then there were words, the beginning of a ritual. She’d never expected to hear a woman speak them to her “Bend over, Janie.”

Janie turned to face the trestle. She placed her feet apart, so they touched the trestle’s back legs, exposing herself to her punisher. There were grips, low on the legs on the other side. She lowered the upper half of her body, and held on tight. 

“I’m not going to call you a good girl for obeying me, Janie. That’s a given from you, the bare minimum.” The paddle cracked across her buttocks, and she cried out. Paul would have said something loving, to help her get through her punishment. And she always knew she’d be given an orgasm afterwards,  

But the paddle landed again. It was so hard and hot, nearly as bad as a hard stroke from Paul’s cane. Janie cried out again, abandoning herself to punishment, holding on tight. “You will learn to obey me, Janie.” 

On the third stroke, which landed low and hard, Janie began to sob. There were tears running from her eyes, down and into her eyebrows. “Without expecting praise or reward.” 

There was a pause. Janie knew Mistress would be watching the colour rise and deepen on her bottom. Enjoying it, like a connoisseur.

Janie wondered if she were a connoisseur of being punished. Paul was warm and loving, even when he hurt her. This was colder, and more impersonal. Still – she hated to admit it – there was something hot in that.

Then the paddle cracked down again, loud, and burning like fire. “If I have to teach you this lesson again, Janie, you’ll get ten with the cane as well.”

Monica stopped lecturing now and calmly, unhurriedly, completed Janie’s paddling. Janie sobbed throughout, lost in pain and humiliation. 

At last it was over, and Mistress commanded her to stand up. Janie struggled up, weeping, her bottom sore and, somehow, heavy. Monica held the paddle to her lips. Janie knew what she had to do. She sniffed, wishing she dared to wipe her eyes. She kissed it.


Masturbation Monday: Stephanie among the burning beasts

The previous episode is here.


I lay on Stephanie’s back, cock slowly softening inside her. Even though I’d reach under her to hold her breasts, cupping, squeezing and pinching her nipples, not too hard. Even though that was something I’d been wanting to do for eight years. 

I kissed her shoulder and then her neck, and she waggled her arse under me. That was welcome too, but I was spent. For the time being. I said, “Scuse me a sec. Sorry.” And I wthdrew from her while I was still hard enough to be sure the condom would stay with my cock.

I dropped the condom out of sight under the bed and rolled onto my side, so Stephanie and I lay facing each other, our heads each resting on one of Maires’s thighs. Maires reached down and stroked our hair, and we kissed. Stephanie put her hand on my soft, wet cock. “You’re all fucked out. I’ve drained you.” 

There was an odd mix of pride and disappointment in her expression. For no good reason except that I was enthusiastic about her arse, I smacked it, first lightly, then hard, a proper spank.

“Oh, I’ll probably be back in a bit. And in the meantime… tongues on men are like strap-ons on women. They never get exhausted.” 

“Jesus, Jaime,” Maires said. “That’s absolutely fucking Wildean.” 

So I smacked the outer side of her thigh, twice. That, for some reason, helped me work out what we should do next. “Come down the bed, Maires. Right down, so your feet can touch the floor. No, on your back.” 

Stephanie rolled onto her back, to give Maires room, and watch her. I said, “Good girl. Now stop there.”

“Yes, Sir.” Maires usually didn’t acknowledge orders she was already obeying. But she wanted to show off her status to Stephanie. And to suggest that it could be fun. She liked games, the fun kind, and she played well.

I kissed her, and took a pillow. “I’m going to put this under your shoulders. Up a bit for a moment, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.” She smiled at Stephanie. And frowned at me: what in fuck was I up to?

I got the pillow into place. “Now drop your head back. You’re an accessory.”

She looked at me, still frowning, before obeying. “After the fact?”

“You’re a cunt-licking accessory.”

“Ah. A very, um, willing cunt-licker, sir.”

I said, “Not that it matters.”

I took Stephanie’s hand. She’d been watching us, fascinated. She’d blushed, just lightly, when I called Maires a cunt-licking accessory: that was rude. No one talks to a woman like that, she’d have said two hours ago, and yet it was hot. We were animals now, fiery like Blake’s tiger, in the night. And the cunt in question was hers. 

WHO drops “diseases” BDSM, fetishism and transvestism off the sick list! Part 2

The previous post is here.

The World Health Organisation has declared that bdsm, fetishism and transvestism are not “diseases” or disorders. Its latest issue of the publication “International Classification of Diseases”, or ICD-11, has dropped these categories from its list of “paraphilic disorders”. This represents an end to years of struggle by bdsm advocates, LGBTIQ activists, also academics who pay attention to actual evidence.

This post looks at what those sexual tastes and orientations were doing there in the first place. 

The Freudian hangover

They were in the ICD in the first place for two entirely spurious reasons. The first is simply  bigotry and social disapproval, often but not always religiously based. The second was non-empirical theorising by pre-scientific writers on sex and psychology.

Freud is perhaps the most important culprit, because he managed to found a cult around himself and his musings, so that his influence lingered far longer than, really, it should have.

Also, Freud’s ideas about bdsm were so alarming, to those who took them seriously, that his followers had to give the “problem” of bdsm close attention. 

The consequence was that from 1930 to 2000, most academic writing on bdsm was by Freudians. (I’ve used academic databases, and counted.) To most psychologists, bdsm was simply a sexual taste, that some people have and some people don’t, and they didn’t look much further than that. But if the head of a cult declared it was a threat to all life, cult followers need to spend a lot of time writing about it. To a man and woman, what they wrote was evidence-free word-spinning.

Freud believed a lot of fairly odd things about bdsm, but one of the most dangerous things he wrote was that “masochists” seek to avoid pleasure, and since all life seeks pleasure, then “masochists” must be in the service of some sort of death force. This death force is fundamentally opposed to the life force.

The less sexy meaning of “please don’t spank me, Daddy.” Anna Freud walking  with her father, spanker and psychoanalyst Sigmund.

It seems likely that the only “masochist” Freud ever actually talked to (though he claimed otherwise) was his own daughter, Anna, who he used to spank over his knee when she was a little girl. Later, she went into analysis with her father, and they talked about the erotic feelings he’d aroused in his own daughter, in a “therapist/client relationship”.

Any modern therapist belonging to a professional association who did something as unethical (for multiple reasons) as that would get struck off so fast it’d make their ears spin.

Anyway, the one piece of evidence Freud had was that spankings can bring out an erotic, pleasured response. Ignoring that one piece of evidence, he built up an apocalyptic theory that “masochists”, as haters of pleasure and life, are trying to bring about the end of all life. Later, he decided that “sadists” are also part of the death force, as well as being the cause of Nazism. So bdsm is of tremendous importance, and it is disastrous. 

Apocalypse now! Zombie “sadists” and “masochists” celebrating their victory over the life force

(However bdsm people shouldn’t feel singled out. Freud also claimed that the Eqyptian king Akhenaten escaped his death, scrambled across the desert, converted to Judaism and became Moses. The fall-back position was that Moses was a priest of Akhenaten. Either position has to ignore the 500 year gap between Akhenaten and the rise of Judaic monotheism.

Have I digressed yet? And, Freud wrote, the Earl of Oxford wrote Shakespeare.)

However, if Freud was right about bdsm, then you can make some empirical predictions. For example:

  • people who practice bdsm are more likely to have spent time in jail, because of their anti-life, antisocial sexuality and their propensity for death and violence; 
  • people who practice bdsm should be earning less money, because their anti-life, anti-social sexuality would stop them from holding down a good job;
  • people who practice bdsm should have less education, because their anti-life and anti-social tendencies would stop them from staying in school, let alone going on to higher education;
  • people who practice bdsm should enjoy sex less than most people, since all the masochists are seeking to avoid sexual pleasure.

These and other predictions were eventually tested. Not, it goes without saying, by Freudians.

For the results, tune in the same time and place next week.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop Part 2

[I’m taking a break from the Maddie saga, because I’m flat out working. Here’s something I prepared earlier.]


Janie’s Drop #2

The previous episode is here


Monica was tall, dark-haired and slender, in a tight black dress. She’d kissed Paul at the door, ignoring Janie. They talked quietly. Janie looked around an ordinary room. Ordinary except for the trestle in the corner. She had to admit she knew what that was for.

Paul and Monica were watching her. Monica nodded. “Strip, dear. Completely. Kneel beside your Master.”

Janie looked at Paul, beseeching. He said, “I told you to obey her as you do me. You’re being insolent, Janie.”

Janie removed her shirt, then wriggled out of her skirt. She took off her sandals and knelt, body upright, hands by her knees. She stayed close to Paul. She was afraid of Monique.

Monica looked at her the way Paul did, as if she were the most fascinating thing in the universe. She didn’t think she liked it from Monica. She loved Paul. Anyway, she didn’t like women. Not sexually. Monica smiled at her, but addressed Paul. “She has lovely breasts, and a perfectly adorable little bottom. I’m sure you make her serve you often.”

Serve, thought Janie. She pleased Paul any way he ordered, but they made love. But Paul only said, “Yes. She’ll serve you too, of course.”

Oh god no, please, Janie thought. She could feel the heat in her face.

Monica walked behind her. “Oh! And she’s been punished!”

Janie wanted the floor to swallow her. She wore the trace of Paul’s cane. Twelve strokes, for not calling her mother. Three days ago:  the marks had barely faded.

Paul smiled. “You can discipline her, for your pleasure or as punishment. But tell me if you have to punish her.”


“Why’s that, Janie?” The sharpness in his voice helped her guess.

“So you can give me the same when you return. Master.”

 “Good girl. Clever girl.” She liked his praise. Janie relaxed a little.

Paul said, “The airport’s waiting. Janie, kiss my feet.”

Janie dropped to her elbows and knees and lowered her face, touching her lips and tongue to his shoe. Her cunt felt it hard, as always: it was something loving she did for him, and it made her feel utterly and deliciously submissive.

While she moved to his other shoe, Paul said, “I expect her back in good condition. Stripes and bruises, fine, but no damage.”


Paul shook Monica’s hand. It was a transfer, thought Janie. He looked at her, hand on the door, and she knew that, harsh as he was trying to be, he’d miss her too. Then he was gone.


The next episode is here.

Masturbation Monday: The adventures of Stephanie’s ass

The previous episode is here.

I‘d told Stephanie that I’d fuck her again when, and possibly if, she could make Maires moan. Since I wanted her very much, I was intending to interpret any sexual comfort noises that Maires might make as moans. But Maires had a strong mischievous streak, and I expected that she’d be silent for a while, making Stephanie work and keeping me from entering her.

I knew that Stephanie minded my cock not being in her, which was in itself a powerfully erotic thought. She was on her knees, her ass up and her head down between Maires’s thighs, mouth and tongue on Maires’s cunt, her hands under Maires’s thighs. Maires wriggled under Stephanie, to give her better access. She let her hands rest lightly on Stephanie’s head, caressing rather than directing. 

I watched them, two beautiful women, both of whom I loved in different ways, in loving embrace. Stephanie was having a new experience. I wondered how she was feeling. But as far as I could tell she was pixified, enchanted, happily exploring Maires’s cunt and her own responses.

I was still dangerously close to coming. When I entered Stephanie, I hoped to last at least until Maires came. But just then simply entering the soft paradise of her cunt again, feeling her ass pressed against me, would bring me to release.

I tried to relax, and despite the eroticism of their mutually moving bodies, I thought for a moment about all the species of dog I could name, that began with the letter L: labrador, lowchen, wasn’t there a Lhasa something?

But Maires grunted, a pleasured sound, and then made a low groan through her nose. I said, “Labradoodle,” which fortunately they ignored, and positioned myself behind Stephanie, holding her hips.

We moved together, in time with the rhythm of Stephanie’s head between Maires’s thighs, slowly joining.

Then Stephanie gasped, like Maires had, as I pushed deeper into her, sometimes withdrawing a little then moving forward, skin sliding wetly along sensitive skin.   

I wanted to praise them both, for being beautiful, and good and loving, but just then I couldn’t do words. Maires made another pleasure noise, under Stephanie’s mouth, and I sped up, fucking Stephanie harder, faster. I knew that sound, though Stephanie hadn’t heard it before. Maires was close.

Maires lifted her knees then, thighs tightly clasping Stephanie’s head. Her hands that had rested on the back of Stephanie’s head clenched, seizing her by the hair, and pulling. Her body worked, pushing up at Stephanie’s face. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth opened, a silent scream, and then her ass rose from the bed while she clawed at Stephanie’s back and growled.

Lioness, I thought. My love is like a lioness. And I leaned down to kiss the back of Stephanie’s neck, reached under her to hold her breasts, and came in her. Also growling.

Stephanie laughed, triumphant, having made us both come. But, I noted, she hadn’t come herself.

We two growling animals would have to pleasure her, next. Stephanie had fallen amongst the burning beasts.


The next episode is here.