Looking back on this blog in 2016

2016 ends in a few hours, at least for me.

This is the 1,072th post on this blog. Here’s what I know about you, my readers.

Growth in readership

The stats show that the blog has been growing at a great rate. In my first year, 2012, I doubt if I had any readers at all. Well, I got comments, but my guess is that I only got a couple of 100 views.

I didn’t get a Statistics app until 2014, when I got about 10,000 views. In 2015 I got 32,000, and in 2016 I’ve had about 59,000.

I hope that trend continues: thank you to all readers!

Oh, and if you want to say hello, I’m always pleased, and always reply. Click on Contact us (“us”? It’s just me) and have your say, ask any question, or whatever you feel like!

Who reads this blog?

All I know about my readers is that most of you are in the US, followed by the UK, then Canada, then Australia. That’s not surprising, as it’s an English-language blog. But I also get a lot of hits from Germany and France, followed by the Netherlands.

I’d had readers from almost every country in the world, except for some of the small states in the middle of Africa, who may be short on internet connections and time to worry about middle-class first world people pursuing their pleasures.

And then there’s Greenland. This blog has never once had a single view from Greenland. I vow that in 2017 I will shamelessly pander to Greenland perverts! Siissisoq! Simon Lynge! Handball!

What do my readers like to read?

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake that damn stuff off.

The most popular post I’ve ever put up was about toothpasting a girl’s clitoris and waiting to see if she can stand still. (She can’t, and it’s only right that unfair penalties should apply when she moves.)

There were two follow up posts, also popular, here and here.

That was posted way back in 2013, and it’s still going strong. I hope one day to get a cheque from toothpaste companies, for encouraging extra sales.

The most popular post I put up in 2016 is this one, about sexual tension in Raylene’s bedroom.

The next most popular post put up in 2016 is this thought piece about the emotional connections between dom and submissive.

What that tells me is that how-to information is popular, and so is sexual material about different situations I’ve been in, over the years.

The school skirt she bought mail order. But finding a desk that looked school-y, at about the right height: that took serious shopping

The other thing I know is that schoolgirl spanking stories are very popular. I’ve done two series, both times because it was suggested or requested by a woman I was with at the time. The comments make me think that the schoolgirl fantasy is more popular with women readers than with male readers.

Though that’s just a feeling, without enough evidence to make a reliable conclusion.

Men and women readers

I also suspect, without knowing it, that a higher proportion of this blog’s readers are women than men. It’s a truism that women like wordy erotica with a lot of focus on the character’s feelings, while men go for the pictorial. So this blog’s sheer wordiness, and focus on feelings, skews its audience female.

A girl who knows better than that. (Possibly my favourite image, of all I’ve posted.)

I run pictures that mostly seem to me to be hot, but they’re not usually the point of the post. They illustrate the words rather than replacing them. So maybe sex bloggers get more female readers, while sex tumblrs attract more male eyes.

Anyway, I’m grateful to everybody of whatever gender and orientation who has ever dropped by to read me.

I hope your 2017 is far, far better than your 2016!

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 136: Ambiguity and the cane

Lynette had watched Lynette’s struggles, now with extra red stripes across the tops of her thighs, and Dorabella’s breasts while she fought to keep Raylene in place across her desk.

She stepped closer to me so we watched together, breathing in unison. Lynette whispered to me, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah. They’re hot.”

“But you’re not doing that to me. You’re not going to cane me.” 

I kissed her. She put her hands on the back of my head and kissed back. She meant it, as did I. So we were engrossed for a time.

Lynette did nothing to keep her body away from my erection, even when I slipped my free hand under her skirt, to cup and then squeeze her ass. Eventually I took a breath and smiled. “Well, that’s up to you.” 

William “Neckbeard” Empson, of Seven Types of Ambiguity fame. I’d used Type 3: the same word or phrase expressing two conflicting ideas

“Ah. That’s one of the types of ambiguity.” She was right.

At surface level it meant I wouldn’t cane her unless she asked me too. But I’d also meant that I wouldn’t cane her if she behaved herself, but I might if she didn’t: and how she behaved was up to her. 

“Can’t have play if you don’t have ambiguity,” I said, which can’t possibly be true, so I distracted her, reaching my fingers under her ass to stroke damp, soft, perineal skin. Lynette closed her eyes, still kissing me.

So there was no more discussion, even though the topic was interesting and all. 

Dorabella made an unconvincing cough noise. She hadn’t let Raylene get her body off the desk, so she’d been good. And Raylene was back under her own control, her body still and expectant, her feet well parted and her bottom posed and poised for the cane.

So I gave Lynette the look that means duty calls, and she nodded. But my fingertips reached, and pressed against, the outer folds of her cunt, and she made a sweet, soft sound. But I withdrew my hand after a few seconds, shaking my head. “We’ll want you here one minute past twelve, Lynette. Don’t you be a second late.”

“Is that a threat?” But she was bright-eyed, amused by me again.

“Well, it could be. But mainly it was desire. Um, extreme desire.” 

“Ok.” We looked each other in the eyes. We were both going to fuck Raylene after midnight, and then each other. And so the night would pass. But right now… 

I picked up the cane, looked into Dorabella’s eyes for a few seconds, and said, “That was well done.” She glanced for a second at the cane in my hand, but said nothing. Silence is another type of ambiguity.

I tapped the bamboo across Raylene’s upper thighs. She’d already taken a few strokes on that most sensitive flesh, but now I was going to mark them properly.

She said, “Oh fuck…” She knew what those taps meant.  

Those stripes would still be burning when I fucked her, whether I put her on her back or took her from behind. And I was certain that Raylene wanted that pain as much as I did. 

I said, “Ready?” She laughed. I raised the cane. 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 12: She’ll be coming when she comes

Maddie was on her knees before me, skirt round her waist and her panties on the floor near the photocopier. She had her hands on my shoes, the taste of my come in her mouth, and a fresh, vertical cane stroke running down her left buttock. 

And she had a plan to tell me. She said, “You know Jennifer wants to give herself to you.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“It’s silly to pretend you don’t know that. She wants you to take her under your wing. She wants to be disciplined, so long as it’s by you, and she wants you to steer her to achieve what she’s capable of. And she wants you to steer her sexually. Learn from you, but also give you pleasure.”

“You know this just by listening to her getting spanked?”

“I know where she is, sir. I was a girl like her, once. Come of age, but no idea what to do. I was doing a lot of acting out, sexually. But I wanted an adult man to teach me. Not schoolboys. So does she. She nearly came when she was over your knee. And she was giddy afterwards. Happy. Wanting you. God, the things that men don’t notice.”

I knew that Maddie was talking about herself at 18 as much as she was talking about Jennifer. Still, calling me obtuse, and her earlier use of the word ‘silly’, had pushed her over the line. I raised the cane and brought it down on her pale and round right cheek. “Ahhh!”

She wriggled and breathed through the pain, keeping her eyes on mine, the way she did when she sucked my cock. Because she was watching, I raised the cane again, and – when the alarm was clear in her eyes – slashed it down again, onto the reddening, slightly raised trail of the previous stroke.

Maddie waggled her delicious bottom harder, like a duck leaving the water, fighting to stay in her position while the pain ran through her. “Ahhh-Hooo! Oh, sir!” 

“Insolence, Maddie. Try to keep it to a minimum. Even when you’re telling me what you think I should do.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect, sir. First, I think you need to let her wait for a bit, and want you. She’ll give you a reason to punish her again soon. She’ll make sure of that. But let her wait till she’s feeling brave, and horny, again. It won’t be long.”

“All right.”

Who doesn’t enjoy aftercare?

“And when she does misbehave, you should punish her, certainly. Over your knee. Nice and slow. Let her enjoy herself. But this time you should let her come.”

“And then punish her for being a filthy girl?”

“You may, sir, but I hope you don’t. I hope you pretend not to notice, to spare her any embarrassment. But you should give her a lot of affection afterwards.”

“Rub her. Kiss her. Stroke her. Praise her?”

“Absolutely. A lot. She’ll need it. She’ll be dazed. It’ll be her first orgasm with a man. It should be happy.”

I thought about that. All advice is autobiography. Something bad had happened to Maddie in her transition from girl to woman. She was telling me to do what she thought would have been best for her. But I had no better map for how to lead Jennifer. I said, again, “All right.” 

Maddie kissed my cock, through my trousers. “And she’d love you to fuck her. and to teach her how to please you. Eventually you will. But in the meantime you should wait, and make her wait. Spank her, make her undress completely and bend over your desk naked for the cane: whatever you think she deserves. Then comfort her until she comes. But don’t take her yet. Let her make the move when she’s ready. She will.”

“Hmmm.” If Jennifer had come, there’d have been no stopping us. I’d have tipped her onto her back, on the floor of my office, and taken that virginity. That was why I’d had to stop so suddenly. On the other hand, Maddie’s approach seemed likely to introduce Jennifer to some of the wilder pleasures, while imposing frustration on me.

Maddie applied her tongue to where the tip of my cock was. “And then when you’ve shown her out the door you can take that nice hard cock of yours into the photocopier room. I’ll look after it.”

“Ah, I see. Motives. I’m sure you will.”

“May I suck your cock, sir?”

Sinful Sunday: Tying up a gift

This is a gift. A beautiful girl, recently striped (I can’t abide lateness), now tied immobile and made to wait. Until her owner requires her. 

Truth is, she won’t have to wait long. Her master is a greedier man (for her) than he is patient.

But the question is, who is the gift for? Is it her master, or is her immobile, bound state a gift for herself? 

Either way, or both ways, it’s the perfect solstice exchange. And power exchange. 

Note:

My bondage tends to be effective, in that it achieves compulsory stillness, however she might struggle and wriggle and strive against it. But it isn’t as elegant as it should be. I know this.

Still, the feeling is right. 

Happy holidays!

Touch these lips for more Sinful Sunday submissions.

 

Join the war on Christmas! (but have a wonderful, loving time)

This picture illustrates some of the unease I’m feeling about Christmas. 

The people are having a good time, or they would be if the picture wasn’t so obviously posed. The woman has a luscious body, and a pretty, rather sweet, face. 

But it is posed, and the fact is, no picture with a guy dressed as Santa Claus in it can possibly be sexy. Not even if he’s wearing shades. (Though if I were wearing a Santa Claus outfit I wouldn’t want anyone to recognise me either.)

So it’s meant to be cheerful and sexy, and really, it’s just tacky.

I had to go shopping yesterday, and “tacky” is definitely the word for the village during the run-up to Christmas. The trees looked better without baubles in them, and I’m confident the shop assistants would look better if they didn’t have to wear foam rubber reindeer antlers.

I part reindeer, 1 part tycoon: mix well, then throw away

And, speaking of tack, there’s Christmas music. I was in a bookshop when they put a jazz version of “God rest you, merry gentlemen” on their PA, and words can’t describe what a skin-clenchingly vile experience that was. It was a pity, because I was looking for a book. But once that music started happening I had to get the fuck out of there, toot sweet.

Any version of “The Little Drummer Boy” has the same effect. As for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I wish him the same blood-gurgling fate that I wish on Rupert Murdoch, and it ain’t pretty.

And behind all that, there’s the deeper meaning of Christmas: monotheism, patriarchy, the often murderous alliance between the big churches and authoritarian governments, hatred of people who believe differently, hatred of sex and the body, and of gays, lesbians and, also and to a lesser extent, of perverts like me. I like all of the Jews, Christians and Muslims I know personally, but if belief in Judaism, Christianity and Islam could just go away, immediately, that wouldn’t be a moment too soon.  

At the same time, last night there was duck with cherry sauce, and wine, fruit and ice-cream, and a pretty girl showing me the ladders in her pantyhose. Friends announced that they’re going to make a baby in 2017. I volunteered for baby-sitting duty. Everything flowed, beautifully.

First thing tomorrow morning (it’s Christmas eve here) I’ll call my dad and tell him I love him. (He’s deaf, and he doesn’t live in the world any more. So even if he hears and understands me over the phone, he’ll have forgotten five minutes later. But that doesn’t matter at all.) And I’ll call the rest of my family.

Then I’ll talk with my girl, who has the audacity to be spending the day in a different country. Once we’re in the same room, I’ll be severely reprimanding her for that. And maybe that’s when my Christmas will come, and her, and me.  

Personally, I had a good 2016, with love and writing and other good things, but I appreciate that for most people 2016 has been a shit-rain of monumental proportions. So that colours my perception about the year’s end as well.

But there’s still life and love, and friends, and excellent things including duck and pinot noir, and thighs bursting out of the rips in their pantyhose (and/or whatever turns you, reader, on). 

I wish you all a wonderful few days, with people you love. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 135: Raylene’s second dozen

Note:

This is a story about something that happened relatively early in my bdsm career. But I’d been doing wicked things long enough to learn that submissive women, though wonderful, aren’t made of porcelain, and that it’s not necessarily bad if I made a submissive woman cry. In the right way, not because of emotional hurt.

Also, I was about half-way out about bdsm, not through my own choice but because I had ex-girlfriends who gossiped with their friends that – with their consent – I spanked them and told them what to do. That meant that some women avoided going to bed with me, while others would pop round to see me, precisely because of that.

It was Raylene, heroine of our story, who made me realise that my interest in bdsm wasn’t so much a secret as a reputation, at least in the circle of women I knew, and that there was a good side to being a safe, non-scary bad boy.

(I could’ve been the centrefold for Lisa Simpson’s guilty subscription: “Non-threatening Bad Boys”.)

The last episode of this story was posted back in October. We left Raylene naked, with a sore ass, bent over her bedroom desk and about to get her second dozen, enjoying the sexual admiration of two girls (one of them her half-sister, so that didn’t entirely count, except that in complicated ways it did count) and the intense sexual appreciation of one man: me.

A lot of things had happened very quickly between Raylene and me, once I recognised who and what she was. It helped that Raylene already knew about me, and steered things in the direction she wanted to go. I was following, while thinking I was leading.

Anyway, she liked submission, and she was no end of an exhibitionist, so she was brightly striped and giddily happy. If you want to see where we are and how we got here, that post is here.

 Episode 135

We were all in position. Lynette taking video with my cellphone, Dorabella pushing Raylene’s shoulders down, under threat of getting a share of Raylene’s extra strokes if she let Raylene get up, and me, holding the heavier cane and visibly pleased about the while situation.

I’d tapped the cane against the tops of Raylene’s thighs, to let her know that was going to be a target area. Still, it was a new cane, a bit thicker than the one I’d given the first dozen with, so I swung it medium-hard, against the most excellenty padded part of her bottom.

Raylene jerked under the impact, so that Dorabella tensed, ready to wrestle her down. She grunted, than arched her ass up for the next stroke. 

There was nothing Raylene could do that wouldn’t have the effect of turning me on, but I realised I missed the soprano pain-sounds she’d been making during the first dozen strokes. To get those sounds I could go a little harder, and I would, but there was another option. 

“Open your mouth, Raylene.”

“Yes, master.” I couldn’t see her face, but she was being a good girl now. An ostentatiously good girl. So I was sure she’d be looking as if she was at the dentist. 

“Good. You’re not to close your mouth again until I say you can.”

It’s hard to speak without closing your mouth at all. I heard something like “Ess, ‘aster.”

Then I applied the second stroke, a little lower and a little harder. Her whole body jerked under the impact, with a flurry of blue-green hair. Her breath hissed out, then she drew a fresh breath. She said, “Uh, uh, ahhhh…” before she had herself back under control.

It took two more strokes, each lower and harder than the last, before Raylene resumed soprano voice, and her pain-song.

I wasn’t sure why I liked that sound so much, I mean liked it so very, very, much. But it was at once the hottest and most tender sound in the universe.

And once we’d reached that place, I gave Raylene two fast hard strokes across the tops of her thighs.

That made her all activity, legs kicking, arms waving, trying to get purchase on her desk, while she sang that sweet, incoherent song.

Dorabella had to push down with all her strength. Her robe fell open, and both Lynette and I watched their struggle. Lynette’s mouth fell open too.

I said, “That’s six, Raylene. You’ve been good, and brave. But there’s six to go, plus the one penalty stroke.”

Raylene moaned. You can do that with your mouth open.

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 11: Plans and preparations

“You have a plan. Enlighten me,” I’d said to Maddie. But she’d been smug. She thought she was taking a morsel of power. But she still had her skirt round her waist, and she’d pushed her knickers down and kicked them off while I’d bent her over the photocopier and fucked her.

Her inner thighs shone damply, from the glaze of her arousal fluids and a trickle of my come. 

I put my cock back in my pants. She’d cleaned me thoroughly. She’d need to clean herself up later.

She had been planning to take some control of whatever was happening with young Jennifer. And with that plan she’d step out of her subservient role, at least partly.

But I had preparations of my own to make. I’d hear Maddie’s plan soon, but I wanted her back in her place, first. I said, apparently irrelevantly, “This room’s a mess, Maddie. You’ll tidy it before you go home tonight.” She nodded. “And look at that surface. You’ll clean that properly, too. Before you clean yourself up.”

The photocopier tray held pictures of her writhing belly, my fingertips just in view, pressing her waist as I held her down. The images had got less clear as Maddie sweated and ground against the glass. “Report to me when you’ve finished. You hear me?”

Maddie frowned. I’d just given her a more subservient task than she expected. “Yes, sir,” she said. But then she smiled. She had some of my come my come in her mouth, and she knew she’d been a good girl. So I said, “Fetch the cane, Maddie.”

I made my voice sound reasonable. I wasn’t angry, just certain there were things she needed to be reminded of. Maddie paled: the opposite of blushing.

I’d caned her twice before, at this time, and she’d liked the heat, the pain and the sex once her punishment was over. But she feared it as well. And she knew my most reasonable tone of voice was the one that told her she was in the most trouble. But she nodded, white-faced, and muttered “Yes, sir.”

I watched her ass while she walked to my office. She didn’t dare tug down her skirt. I heard her open my cupboard door. I hadn’t pulled the curtains in my office, and I wondered if any of the students were watching. The fact that Maddie was also subject to discipline wasn’t common knowledge.

“Which cane, Sir?”

“You know perfectly well, Maddie. If you bring me the wrong cane you’ll feel it, and then you’ll go back and fetch the right one.” 

There was a resigned sigh, followed by rattling, and the closure of the cupboard door. Maddie reappeared, carrying the senior cane, holding it in the middle with both hands, as I’d taught her to do. Jennifer, it occurred to me, would be next to learn that piece of etiquette.

She was looking at the carpet, as Jennifer had, but the colour was returning to her face.

I took the cane from her. “Good girl.” She didn’t smile. She feared the cane, though in fact I’d only used it on her twice, so far. But I smiled. “Look at me, Maddie. That’s better. Now we know who we are again. A girl and her master.”

I let the silence stretch until she said, “Yes, sir.”

 “What do we know, Maddie?”

“We know our places. I know my place. I’m just a girl, I do what you say, and you’re the master. I’m sorry, sir.”

I lifted her chin with the cane, so she looked at me. “That’s better. Now kneel again. Lean forward so I can reach your bottom with the cane. Now.”

Maddie got down on her knees. She put her hands on my shoes, so there was contact between us.

She arched her bottom for me and held her gaze on my eyes, as she did when she sucked my cock. “Like this, sir?”

I let the cane fall once, down her left buttock. She shook briefly and then froze, holding her position while a single vertical pink stripe formed. I nodded. “Yes, I like this very much.” 

Maddie said nothing, watching to see if I raised the cane again. But there was no need. “Now girl, clever little secretary, tell me your plan.”

 

E[lust} 89: Now with Extra Lust!


Photo courtesy of Sex is My New Hobby

Welcome to Elust 89

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 #90? Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

When the Tears Finally Came

The pure and simple truth

One Down

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabilities & Submission, Part 2: I Say No

UnRepentant Darkness

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Hoar Frost…

Sinful Sundae: Please may I come? 

Sinful Skinful: Don’t move till I’ve finished with you

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Hold me down
Keeping me chaste
Say My Name
The Little Things
Struggle…
Learning To Truss
A New Use
My Mania is My Drug
Life as a Laissez-Faire Domme

Erotic Fiction

Watching
Candy, Caned
Jax and Rickie’s First Kiss
New Collar

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why You Should Make a Sex Tape
And the winner is…doggy style!
Pleasantville: The Promise of Trump’s America
Bdsm reasons for not hitting children
An Open Letter to MrHankeysToys.com

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Fun Of Being Stripped Of Wet Running Kit!
I want to lick your pussy some more
KIDNAP – a story of fear, pain and sex
Sybian
Well, that’s new…
Objectionable Hair – A Lady’s Taboo

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

UnPartnered
The Cub
I still have hope
A Baker’s Dozen #fucketlist

Poetry

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Elust 88

Sinful Sunday: Don’t move till I’ve finished with you

No, girl, don’t you even think about getting up. 

There’s more? We’re not finished? 

Girl, I’ve hardly started.  

Good.

I want that ass nice and hot before I fuck you. 

Red hot?

Exactly. Blazing red, little girl. Like a firetruck, only fuckable. Now: get up on tiptoes. Good girl. And keep still. 

Even if it hurts? 

Of course it’ll hurt. And you’ll stay in place until I put the paddle down. Just do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine. 

Ummm, well..? Yes, sir.

Touch these lips for more Sinful Sunday submissions.

 

Wicked Wednesday: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 10: Maddie pleases

Maddie knelt on the floor before me, skirt still around her waist, my belt around her neck, cleaning me with her mouth. I luxuriated in the care of her lips and tongue, though I wished I had my tawse in my hand.

She smiled when my cock, still half-hard, twitched in her mouth at that thought. Signs of returning life are good.

She was quite rationally proud of her skills and enthusiasm, as an oral tender of my cock, but I supposed of cocks in general. I’d found that she loved to please me. No one had demanded so much pleasing from her before. The service, the pleasure she gave meant more to her than the comfort, the hurt and the orgasms I gave her.  

I dropped the end of my belt, took a handful of hair and dragged her off me, and to her feet. I said, “I still have to deal with you, for listening in on Jennifer and I.” 

“Yes, you do. And you will, I never doubted that. Perhaps after Jennifer’s visited you again.” 

“Well, I have no plans. It depends on how she behaves herself in the future.”

Maddie laughed. “Oh? You’ve asked her to come back if she thinks she deserves extra spankings. And you know she will. That’s not planning?”

“Well, in that sense ..”

“But it’s only half a plan. What are you going to do after you’ve made her come, all over your lap? And you know she’ll do that too.”

I made myself sound sardonic. “Do I?”

“That was her very first time, and she was only seconds away when you stopped.” 

“So you’re admitting you were listening?”

“You’re going to cane me for it, aren’t you? Whether I admitted it or not?” 

“Ok.” I tried not to smile. But it’s hard not to be indulgent with a woman who’s just taken on a full adult dose of my come. And who had to be dragged off my cock by main force. So we smiled at each other. Conspiratorially. A conspiracy in which she got caned and fucked. Seems fair.

“And you have a plan. Enlighten me.”