Crazy monkey attack woman!

This, apparently, is a Sexy Monkey costume. I'm not sure that real monkeys would recognise it.

This, apparently, is a Sexy Monkey costume. I’m not sure that real monkeys would recognise it.

Someone just found this blog by typing this into a search engine: نساء سس مع قرود.

So I put that Arabic phrase into Google, and it took me to a whole lot of sites about monkeys sexually attacking women. Hey, there’s porn of it! “Crazy monkey attack hot women!” “Two girls, one monkey!” And so on and suchlike. 

Which led me to wondering how the guy (we’ll assume it’s a guy, shall we?) who typed that got directed to my blog.

I’ve never posted anything that catered for his taste. I’m not into humans having sex with animals. Not just “not interested”;  I hate disapproving of things, but I disapprove of people fucking animals, or setting things up so the animal has to fuck a human.

If I was arguing the case against bestiality I’d say it’s wrong because it’s non-consensual, since animals can’t consent. (Ah-hah! Someone could say: you reckon animals consent to be killed and eaten?)

Then I’d say it tends to be cruel. (And someone could work out some arrangement in which the animal was neither hurt nor frightened, and the human was consenting.)

And then I’d fall back on the yuck factor. Bestiality squicks me. That’s no basis for making law and policy (plenty of people are still squicked by sex between men), so I don’t have a very strong case. Still, I can do what I like, and not do what I don’t like, on my own blog.

Anyway, I guess he found one of my posts about bonobos, which would have included the words “monkeys”, at least as in “bonobos are not monkeys”, “sex” and “woman”. And I hope he also found complete satisfaction. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 48: Beating time

Raylene’s hips fell, and began to writhe, with each of her next four strokes. The impact of the razor strop across her buttocks would set her whole body in motion while she tried to shake off some of the heat. Eventually she’d be able to keep still, back under her own control. That meant being under my control, as we both understood.

She’d arch her ass back up, now well striped and mostly a bright red, waiting for and inviting the next stroke. It was a primitive, immensely sexual dance. I was the dancing master, and with the razor strop in my hand I could make her writhe harder, or longer, as I chose. Raylene, getting the strap, was my beautiful puppet. 

She said, “Six, thank you, sir!” Her voice had been getting higher as she’d called out each stroke. This last count was little more than a breathy squeak. Raylene had shut her eyes tight, all her concentration on riding the pain, and forcing herself to keep still for me. 

I put the strop down and stepped behind her, putting my hands on her hips. I drew her back so that her ass was against my groin. She could feel the hardness of my cock, and then pressed herself closer. I leaned forward. She breathed out: “Hahhhhh.”

fingers in cuntI leaned down and licked her spine and then kissed it. “Yeah.” I pushed my hips forward slightly, and Raylene rode that movement, then pushed back. We could have done this for a few more seconds, and I’d unzip, and we’d be fucking. But I said, “How do you feel?”

“God, that’s hot. I mean, my arse is hot, it’s burning. But, yes, I mean this is hot. You really, really have to fuck me. Sir. Soon.”

“Chances are.” I reached round her right thigh and lightly smacked her lower belly, then slid two fingers inside her cunt. She was wet indeed. She made a stricken noise as though I’d hurt her and jerked her ass forward, trying to get my fingers deeper inside her.

I stroked her while her cunt roiled, sweetly soaked, on my fingers. “You aren’t allowed to come, Raylene. Not yet.” There was a protest sound from her, and I smacked the side of her ass, left-handed. But I’d have to move on, if I didn’t want her to come. “Now that’s your first six, Raylene. There’s four more to go, four lots of six. Yeah? We’re going to stop after each six to make sure you’re okay. Can you manage?”

“It hurts, Jaime. Ooohh fuck it hurts. But I think I can. Er, manage.”

“Then that’s a good girl.” I stepped back and picked up the strop again. “Now keep still.”

E[lust] 70: More lust than you can shake a stick at!

 

e[lust] – your source for lust in the electronic form

Elust #70

exposing 40
Photo courtesy of Exposing 40

Welcome to Elust #70

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #71? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposed! My Mom Knows!

Flash Fiction: “A Taste”

I am a Sex Blogger & I Reject Pseudonymity

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

‘X’ is for X…
Give my guilt an erotic payoff? Tell me more.

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dis-moi…

Blogging

Hidden

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

The Great Outdoors (Or Why I Trust Him)
I’m Reminded You Can’t Force an Orgasm
Yes I am Sexy
Why Choose Monogamy When You Can Choose Every
Would you? Could you?
On Being Haunted

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

A Horse Among Unicorns: Embracing my Straight
Being a Disabled Top in Kink Community
And here I thought kink was all about consent
10 Signs You Don’t Understand Submission
The Answer

Writing About Writing

Sex in Real Life vs Fiction
Terms of Use

Poetry

Six Nine – A Happy Horny Haiku

Erotic Fiction

One Saturday Evening
Cerulean
Stolen Minutes
Taste
Haunting you
Woken
Q is for Quenched
A schoolgirl spanking story 10
Sit Here Please
My Prize

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Fat-Shaming
Spanking, Brits, and what if we didn’t?
“V” is for Virgin

Erotic Non-Fiction

My first date with Lexy – Part 2
Goodnight kiss
How To Kiss Me Like You Mean It
running cold and hot
His cum came out my nose.
Going Down. Honey, Coconut Oil and Cum.

 

 

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Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 47: Raylene’s back!

Raylene waited, feet well apart on the step above me, her body in lunge position, her forehead taking most of her weight on the fifth step above me. She had her hands behind her neck, fingers interlaced, and three stripes from the razor strop in my hand glowed stop-sign red across her bottom. Her face was almost as red, it seemed to me.

She was trembling slightly, not, I guessed, because of the pain but because of her fear that she wouldn’t make it through this. Thirty strokes were a lot. She’d only had one that counted towards that total. I watched her, enjoying the tremors in her breasts and the backs of her thighs. But I couldn’t just be a spectator for long, beautiful as the sight of her pain was. She needed some help.

I put my hand on her right hip, and held her till she was still. Leaning down so she could see my face, I said, “You’re doing well, Raylene. You’re going to get through this. You want to, don’t you?”

Our faces were upside down, to each other. But Raylene smiled up at me. She liked being asked, so she could show me she was good. “Oh, yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” I rubbed her bottom, then squeezed, and she groaned and then sighed when she realised it felt better than she expected. “You will get through it. I’m on your side, and I’ll help. It’ll hurt you, but you’ll find that it hurts less when you know I want you to make it. And you want to make me proud.”

“Yes. Yeah, I do know that. Sir.”

If she’d been a little more experienced she’d have known I was talking nonsense, at least about it hurting less if I said nice things to her. There was a different reason why it would hurt less for a while, but I didn’t want her to suspect that I’d be going easy on her. Well, after the first six strokes. 

“Good. This one will hurt. Get ready.” 

strop ass1Raylene took a deep breath, so that her breasts jounced, spectacularly. She arched her bottom up, inviting the strop, and I swung again, aiming low across the undercurve of her ass.  

The impact, loud and solid, echoed in that stairwell, that sweet intersection of hard leather and soft girl skin.

Raylene’s hips danced for me, and again I watched her, penis hard and constricted by my clothes. I wanted to be in her.

Eventually Raylene was still again, with her ass arched obediently up and her breath back under control. “Two, thank you, sir.”

I put my hand on her new stripe, to savour the heat while it still blazed at its fiercest. Raylene sighed again, and I patted her lightly and took my hand away. I didn’t need to speak. I raised the strop.

Apologia pro vita sua (my lousy excuse for a life)

Sorry about the lack of posts.

I’ve been unreasonably busy on life stuff, organising and hosting a munch, taking a half a ton of iron and wood to the tip, dismantling someone else’s carpentry (an old workbench) and doing some of my own (posts for a trellis, for growing loganberries, passionfruit and kiwifruit). Plus all that sordid earning a living stuff. The worst thing about work is that you have to do things you don’t especially feel like. 

And there’s something else that may make this a blog written by a more cheerful man, but it’d be, oh, you know, inappropriate to talk about that. 

I’ll get on with the Raylene story soon, so that she finally gets off the stairs, after getting off on the stairs, but I’ll only have time to write that in the next couple of days. 

So to prove this is still a live blog, and it’s about bdsm here’s … 

Nuns aren't my thing, so I'm never going to write about them. So if you like bdsm nuns, this is just for you.

Nuns aren’t my thing, so I’m never going to write about them. So if you like bdsm nuns, this is just for you.

Complete obedience to loving authority. Ah, it must be Wonder Woman.

Complete obedience to loving authority. Ah, it must be Wonder Woman.

Missing “Story of O” scene discovered!

An episode from the later life of O has been discovered in the pocket of an overcoat in the Department of Lost Documents. It takes place shortly before O’s notorious entry into Celebrity Rehab. The manuscript appears to be in Harold Pinter’s hand-writing.

bouncy!(First Bouncer, a man in a too-tight tuxedo, stands in a doorway under a discreet sign that reads: “Sir Stephen’s: All-nite Bdsm Club”.)  

First Bouncer: Quiet tonight.

(The club door opens and the Second Bouncer appears, pushing a naked woman, with “I Heart Sir Stephen” branded on her left buttock, out the door and down the steps.)

Second Bouncer: You shouldn’t be coming back, ma’am.

First Bouncer: I was saying, quiet tonight.

Second Bouncer: Mmf.

O (for the naked woman is she): Lemme back inside, you Nazi bastard!

Second Bouncer: You were bothering the proprietor, ma’am.

O: Look, all I said was, ‘Dominate me, Steve, you know, like in the old days?’ So what’s wrong with a girl asking for a bit of attention?

Second Bouncer: Sir Stephen says you’ve been stalking him.

First Bouncer: He said he can’t look out his window without you on his lawn, screaming for a flogging.

O: I belong to him! He must punish me.

070-02314_TFirst Bouncer: Rattling your pussy rings at him.

Second Bouncer: Most upsetting.

O: He put them on my body when he made me his!

First Bouncer: They’re not bloody castanets, you know.

Second Bouncer: Anyway, you were upsetting the patrons.

O: Patrons! I was upsetting his new slaveboi, more like. But, oh well… [Sighs.] You know, you’re kinda cute yourself, aren’t you? And you were pretty masterful, back there. A girl likes that.

Second bouncer: I’m gay, ma’am.

O: Oh. Well, how about…

First Bouncer: I’m submissive.

O: Men! You’re useless, the lot of you. I’m off to Anne-Marie’s. [O stomps off.]

Second Bouncer: Yeah. Pretty quiet.

[He holds the door for the proprietor, who leads another man on a leash.]

Sir Stephen: Coming, René?

René: No, Master, it’s just the way I’m standing.

[Tish-boom! Black-out.]