Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 15

This is episode 7 of the series that became the ebook Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 2: The Chime of the Bellbird.

In this episode, Jennifer comes to understand that sometimes her pleasures will come in a painful package. But she is a brave girl, and more than ready to submit, to please her Headmaster, and above all to please herself.

I’ve had to remove the actual text, because this excellent and very sexy book has this has been published and is on sale at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, 24symbols, Angus and Robinson, tolino, Rakuten Kobo and Vivlio.

A link that allows you to choose your favoured book supplier is here.

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 137: Strokes get in her thighs

Jack tells Zeliie, Rayleen’s sister, to hold her down during her caning. He warns that if Rayleen manages to rise from the desk, she’d get extra strokes. And, he added, Zellie would get the same number.

Zellie didn’t actually acquiesce. But she didn’t argue, either.

This is a hot scene but it’s to be published, and publishers don’t like their books to be available on line for free. So I have to take it down from here. I’ll put up a link saying where you can buy this quality erotica when that’s all sorted.

Skinful Sundae and Early Minimalism: One stroke

Time passed. The wooden tabletop was warmer under her body. Her wrists and ankles were still cuffed and tied to the table. She was helpless. In every sense at his mercy. His … woman who had a master. As much his property as the table he’d tied her to. That felt strong. It felt right. 

Time passed, long and longing. At some time she became aware of him behind her, though he’d moved quietly and he said nothing. 



Then she felt his finger, just inside her cunt. She gasped at the surprise and pleasure of it. He stroked along her left side, just inside. Then his finger was gone. Her cunt, her whole body, screamed silently for more. At least another stroke along her right labium, so she had balance. It was only fair. To both labia. To her. God, one more touch. 

Please … 

Shhh. Later.

He was gone.

Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!

Safewords: is “stop, I’m not enjoying this” a safeword?

In my time as a dom, I’ve accidentally caused emotional distress or excessive pain because:

  • I spanked a girl with my hand instead of a hairbrush, and she thought that meant I was genuinely angry with her and not just playing. That made her emotionally desolate, and triggered some bad stuff that had happened between her and her mother, which she’d never told me about before; 
  • I used a riding crop on another girl’s inner thighs, because the week before she’d loved it when I used my belt there. But this time she was having her period and for her that meant her pain threshold was much lower. The intensity was the same, but this time she experienced it as excessive and a complete sexual turn-off;
  • I had my cock in a girl’s throat, and she started to panic because she couldn’t breathe.

None of those submissive women used a safe word to communicate their distress. The first girl had floated into a bad psychological space, and couldn’t speak. The second couldn’t remember her safe word, and anyway the pain meant she stepped completely out of her submissive headspace. She didn’t care about safe words: she just wanted this to stop. The third girl couldn’t speak, but fortunately she was still keeping her eyes on mine, as I’d ordered, and so I saw submission change to panic.

I stopped, and didn’t start again till I’d found out the problem and dealt with it, the submissive was ok, and was ready to go on. 

Each of those events was unpredictable. The girl who spun into a bad mental state because I’d hand spanked her hadn’t known that was going to be her reaction. There was no way I could reasonably have expected it either. It’s the mildest impact play that there is.

Only up to a point, Lord Copper

Each situation turned out ok and happy because I didn’t wait for a safeword. If I had insisted on the safeword, the first girl would have had a psychologically damaging experience, and lost her trust in me. The second girl would never have continued, or played with me again. The third girl could have have been asphyxiated. 

One more safeword story. I valued the first girl’s trust, because it gave her a safe place to do bdsm. Never mind altruism, she was hot. One reason why she trusted me was that she’d last been with a dom who got a lot of his rules and practices from the internet rather than reality. He tended to dole out physical punishments that were tenuously justified and extremely severe, because he liked to give very severe pain. He’d tied her to a cross, and was whipping her when she broke up with him.

She told him to stop. He kept on whipping her. She told him they were through and she wasn’t taking any more. He kept on whipping her. She was bleeding. She started screaming, by now half angry and half terrified, for him to fucking well stop. But you haven’t safeworded me, he said. He’d sounded smug: that meant he was winning. All you have to do is safe word me. He kept on whipping her.

Um, Rumpelstiltskin? Armidillo? Let me loose NOW, or I’m going to the cops? Mercy? Um, red?…

She couldn’t remember what her safeword was. He’d given it to her, which made it harder. It was Armadillo or Rumpelstilskin or something. She’d blanked on it. She was in an angry, fearful state and she couldn’t calmly ransack through her mind to find it.

Eventually he untied her and said her punishment was over, and to get on her knees and suck his cock.

She left without a word and never went back. I made her tell the story, with the guy’s name, to other submissives. Strictly speaking and technically, he could argue that he’d followed the rules. But he was a dangerous idiot, and a criminal from the instant she’d said they were through. 

So in general I treat, “No”, “Stop” and “This isn’t working for me”, also certain kinds of non-responsiveness, as safewords even though they’re not the agreed safeword. Yes, there are rules in bdsm, but they should never get in the way of a submissive’s health and safety. 

Sometimes, though, I will ignore “No, please stop” because it isn’t the safeword. But that’s only where the submissive and I are in a relationship that includes consensual non-consent, and where she (this applies to male and female submissives, but I’m saying “she” because my experience involves women submissives) has explicitly told me that sometimes she wants to be able to beg and shout and protest, and have me ignore that and continue.

Stop! Ha ha, just kidding!

I enjoy that, but that’s for when you know someone well, and you know you can read between the lines, and tell pleasure from real distress in her body language or her voice, or her silence. So that you know she’s safe and in a good mental state, even as you gleefully ignore her pleas for you to stop.   

Even then, truth be told, if I believed that I detected real harm or distress I’d stop even without the safeword.

You can think you’ve worked out everything in advance, and that the rules you’ve agreed to will cover everything. But humans are unpredictable creatures, and emotionally driven and changeable, whether they acknowledge that or not.

Both parties have to be flexible enough to take that into account, and to respond to the person’s needs (and their own needs) in the moment, and not just stick to a set of rules. 

Except one rule: the dom’s duty of care, to do no harm to a submissive, comes before everything else, including “I’ll stop if you safeword me but not otherwise”. Even when they’re not, “no” and “stop!” are still safewords, if the submissive really means it. Whatever the agreed protocol might be.

Klick on the kiss for more Kink of the Week posts!

Wicked Wednesday: Juniper’s Adventures 14

This is episode 6 of the series that became the ebook Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas 2: The Chime of the Bellbird.

In this episode Jennifer returns to the Headmaster’s office. She had a wonderful time being spanked over his knee, the last time she was in that room, and she is not expecting this visit to be any less enjoyable. Perhaps, she thinks as he tells her to undress, she may enjoy herself more.

I’ve had to remove the actual text, because this excellent and very sexy book has Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, 24symbols, Angus and Robinson, tolino, Rakuten Kobo and Vivlio.

A link that allows you to choose your favoured book supplier is here.

Jerusalem Mortimer soon to be on sale!

Er, not actually a real book. But it you want it, I’ll write it. For food.

I used to place stories in magazines and anthologies. I had one in Playboy, once. I’ve never actually seen it because they forgot to send me a copy. (Also, they chopped out 1,000-odd words, and I sulked.) But the money was real, generous and much appreciated.  

Then I got involved in political activism, and it became a bad idea to keep publishing. I don’t care much about political parties. I put my energy into campaigns for political and legal changes about unemployment, homelessness and domestic violence, for example. It’s what government does that matters.

But it wasn’t a good idea to have a guy who worked with the male children of women victims of family violence write stuff about tying up and spanking girls who enjoyed being “bad” and its consequences. There’s a huge difference between a pink bottom acquired willingly and joyously, and a black eye acquired in out-of-control terror.

But anyone working for Rupert Murdoch (spit) and his media empire, for example, would pretend to be confused by that difference and use it to discredit any cause I was associated with. And when I wasn’t writing about sex I was writing about a world in which everybody broke the law – especially but not only about drugs – routinely, and the cops were experienced as violent, corrupt thugs.

So I worked on what I thought was important and I shut up. I’ve achieved some social reforms, one major one and a few minor ones, and people are better off because I did that.  But I’ve served my time now. I’m back to writing and, more importantly, publishing, for money. 

This, on the other hand, is absolutely real

My big and serious book, Between the Lines: A biography of BDSM has to come out in paper form, from a mainstream publisher. That’s important, for it to get to the audience it needs to reach.

But I have other work that can emerge in e-form. So I’ve registered on Smashword. There’ll be a story available for sale in a couple of days. Look in if you feel like it. Even buy it! 

Yeah, I know. As a salesman I absolutely suck.

My Smashwords page, for what it’s worth, is here.


Sinful Sunday 302: Helpless helpless

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, tied over the table. The last thing he’d said before he left her had been to wait. Not that she had any choice about that.

Her wrists and ankles were cuffed and tied. Her thighs were widely parted, tied to the table legs. She could raise her head. She could buck under the impact of whatever he chose to hurt her with. She could buck under the force of his cock, deep inside her. 

He’d do nothing to stop those movements. He liked her to jerk and flop under him while he disciplined her, or rode her. So that was the only movement he’d allowed her to make. 

She wished she could press her cunt against the table edge. Just a little relief until he returned. But her position didn’t allow that. She could only try to fuck the air: he’d made that choice for her.

He’d taken off his belt, folded it and laid it on the table on her left side. The cane lay beside her on her right.

“I’ll be back to deal with you later,” he’d said. And he’d left, leaving the door open. How long ago had that been? How long would he make her wait? 

Wait for him, helpless. She smiled when that word crossed her mind. She liked being helpless. And he wouldn’t accept anything less from her, just now, than helplessness. 

She knew she’d been good. He wasn’t punishing her. But he’d been in a mood she knew well. She didn’t know when, but things were going to happen. And they were going to happen to her.

Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!

Good to be home

I’m back from the funeral and wake. I’d like to thank everybody who sent supportive and really nice messages. I’m touched. There really is a community out there, and it’s extraordinary that an anti-social bastard like me has been welcomed in and become part of it.

I’ve been neglecting a few things while I’ve been away. This blog, for one thing.

And there are so many physical projects I’m behind with, like chainsawing down a row of trees. They provide a good visual block between the neighbours and me, on that side. But now they’re grown so high they’re occluding the solar panels. 

It’s a horrible job, because you have to stand on the stop step of a step-ladder, on very steeply sloping ground.

Has anyone seen my damn lawnmower? Turned my back for an instant, can’t find it again.

I came down a while ago, when the stepladder spilled over, releasing me and my chainsaw to fall about three metres to the ground.

Fortunately, the chainsaw cut off the instant I took my hand off the charmingly-named dead man’s switch.

I left skin on the branches as I crashed through them, but I landed on my arse, still with the chainsaw in my hand. So I said some words, and then made bigger chocks for the ladder. 

And then there’s the lawn. It turned into jungle while I was away. 

Anyway, I’m back to this blog. Things will be happening, from tomorrow. Tune in!

E[lust] 90: Wild, wet, whimsical

Photo courtesy of Rebel’s Notes

Welcome to Elust 90

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

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Conflicted part 1


Happy Endings

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Please You to Please Me

How to suck my cock – part 1 (attitude)

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Visions of Sugarplums


Writing About Writing

The Curious Case of Trigger Warnings
Writing About It All

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Reader Q&A: Dominant women struggle, turn-ons
Chastity Questions
Not every hole is a goal

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Picture is Worth…
Morning Stretch
Lovemaking Almost Too Brilliant To Describe
The GP
I Want
Indescribable Pleasure
Humiliating an ex-Nazi: Raylene’s 2nd dozen
I love big, fat dicks

Erotic Fiction

Dude, You’re Wet!
When Love Becomes a Weakness
On a Silver Platter
The Silent Treatment
A Seasonal Affair
Three in a Stall
Schoolgirl Uniform
The New Principal 4: Escape

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Anal Retentive Or Just OCD?

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

BuzzFeed Femdom


Mistletoe: A Lusty Limerick


Elust 88

Wicked Wednesday: Death is not life

I’ve spoken my eulogy. My father has been cremated. His descendants and their lovers had the wake. A very Irish wake. I’ve recovered from emotion, also alcohol poisoning. And now I’m home, and dead tired. 

I drank most of a bottle of Cointreau with a brother I used to be close to. He was twelve years older than me, and when I was a boy he was easy with people, and especially with women, in ways that I’ve never quite managed. I hero-worshipped him.

I borrowed from him and got better at talking with women. That was at least partly because of sex, though sex with women wasn’t the only reason I’ve always preferred women to men. What they say just tends to be more interesting, at least to me. 

They seem more likely to talk about what’s really going on. And to be less hidden, and less competitive. Though I suppose women compete with each other and not so much with me. 

That thing about competitive speech may be the reason I know a fair number of women who prefer the company of men to that of women. Even some lesbians. 

I still haven’t got all that good at talking to most men, partly because a hell of a lot of men talk about sports, real estate and other stuff that bores the shit out of me. No doubt it’s also partly because I don’t fancy men, so I have less incentive to be close to many of them.

Anyway, my brother and I managed to get our closeness back. That was good.

I never understood why he stopped communicating with me. It wasn’t a quarrel, and nothing dramatic happened. He just withdrew, and when I tried to reach out he’d let it fall flat.

I mostly blame myself when things get weird inter-personally, but it must have been something going on with him. He withdrew from a lot of people outside of his own family at that time. 

But we’re men. We enjoyed talking again. But we never talked about that. Anyway it’s good that’s over and we’ve started again. 

I’ve spent a while with death.

I feel a great need to follow my heart and be involved in sex. My girl is still a long way away. But the time when we will close in on each other – in an Italian castle! – is getting closer.

I want to be naked and in her arms and in her. I want to feel her arms and her cunt around me. As well as other parts of her body. I want us to melt and dissolve and merge. While still pumping and pulling and wresting for each other.

The life force may not be exactly the same thing as sex, but sex is its avatar. It’s how it shows itself to the world.