The arm of an over-stuffed leather armchair is such a comfortable place to be.
What it isn’t, so much, is safe.
Still, I think leather armchairs are my favourite sex toys.
So the four of us swayed together, Arethusa and Cash, Delores and me. Arethusa was my current slave, Cash had never been a slave, but I’d introduced her to bdsm, in a relationship that lasted one night. We’d both wanted more, but circumstances were against us. It seemed we were about to have more. And Arethusa and Cash were new to each other, and fancied each other with all the power that comes from newness.
Delores was my ex too, but she didn’t fancy girls at all. So she wasn’t for threesomes, or foursomes. Anyway, she wouldn’t fuck a man who wasn’t single, and I clearly wasn’t that. So our kiss was more affectionate. I had lots of things to ask her about how she’d been since we’d last met, which was a few months ago now.
But it was Cash who broke the foursome. The dj had put on Daft Punk’s Get Lucky, and her ass needed to bop to it. She tried to drag Arethusa and me onto the floor, but Arethusa didn’t like electronica much, and I liked staying with Arethusa. So Cash raced back into the mix of dancers.
So we watched Cash go, until she was on the dance floor, moving to a rhythm exactly twice as fast as Daft Punk, and I bought champagne for Arethusa, Delores and me. They keep the area around the bar in near pitch-darkness so you can’t see your change. You measure it by weight. They didn’t leave me much to carry, apart from the champagne.
We talked for a while, the three of us. Delores and Arethusa were very different people, and they didn’t find much in common. Except me, I guess. I got the latest news from Delores, about her family, and whether she’d found a good dom yet. She hadn’t. I made encouraging remarks, but I didn’t have any dom friends I could recommend.
She told Arethusa an anecdote about the time I’d punished her for losing her purse, and how she’d finally stopped being careless after that.
Arethusa smiled. “He’s good at that.” But I could tell she was finding Delores a little boring. That was a pity.
Delores hugged me, and shook Arethusa’s hand. “Lovely to meet you. But I’m going to get fucked and bruised tonight. So I’d better do some circulating. See you soon.”
She went into the darker areas on the far side of the dance floor. I looked at Arethusa. “That was rude.”
“I’m sorry, Master.” She looked down. “There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s a nice person. I just wanted time with you. On your own.”
“Don’t you want Cash?”
“Um.” She smiled. “Oh yes. She’ll be an ornament to our bed.”
“So what you just said, about just wanting me was bullshit, wasn’t it?”
“Um. Yes. I’m sorry, Master. I suppose I was being a snob.”
“I suppose that too. Hold out your hand.”
“Here?” Then she thought better of protesting. She held out her hand, palm flat upward, while I fished a narrow strip of leather, about a centimetre across, from my pocket. I gave her four strokes on her right hand. It’s a bdsm club. She had quite an audience by the time she got her fourth stroke. Her face clearly showed they’d hurt.
Arethusa isn’t an exhibitionist, but she liked being held in strict control. I said, “Other hand.”
This time she obeyed quickly and properly, holding out her left hand palm up with a “Yes, Master.” I watched her eyes, and she watched mine while I gave her the next four strokes.
She waited for permission. I nodded, and she shook her hands, as if she could waggle the pain into the air. Finally she gasped and said, “Thank you, Master.”
“That’s better. Good girl. Now come with me.”
I led her into the seats and tables in the dark. There was a space by the slavegirl who’d been surreptitiously sucking her Master’s cock. She was sitting up now, her task completed. She was immensely proud of herself, and introduced herself cheerfully, and mentioned that she’d caught the last few seconds of Arethusa’s punishment. So they were two good girls together.
They seemed to get on better than she had with Delores. I’d have to ask her later what that had been about. I didn’t think it was jealousy.
Her Master and I congratulated each other on the excellence of our good girls, so that they could hear it. And we talked about where we were from, and he made the joke about the lights around the bar that I used above. After a while, he sent his girl to get more champagne, and we sat back. Arethusa climbed onto my lap. I kissed her. She kissed me. She was happy again.
In the meantime, Delores about to have a complicated night. So I’m going to leave Arethusa and me in comfort, and follow Delores’s adventures for the next episode or two.
The Share Our Shit concept, at least in relation to sex bloggers, was suggested by the wonderful Girl on the Net.
It’s a way of responding to the insidious ways we are being squeezed by various internet services. For example, Twirtter is quietly blocking some people’s posts without telling them. Patreon has introduced new and stifling rules for sex bloggers.
One thing we can do, though, is Share Our Shit. We can help ex other by sharing our audience and our exposure.
Each week (or possibly fortnight) I’m going to steer my readers in the direction of five good things written by other sex bloggers, that week. (Or maybe fortnight.)
That way they get exposure, and you might decide to follow them, or buy their products or their books.
The third S is SOSS stands for Saturday: Share Our Shit Saturday. This, to be honest, is not Saturday.
I’m slow. Still I have a habit of getting there in the end. So: here are my five recommended Sex Blog pieces this week!
1 Cara Sutra sings the praises (and considers the relationship benefits) of Selfish Sex!
2 Marie Rebelle writes about reading sex blogs (or looking at the pictures), in circumstances that would certainly suit me…
3 Cousin Pons writes an oddly moving story about anonymous commercial sex
4 May More begins a hot new story
5 Scanderella writes about the sexual tension of visiting an ex-lover…
God! That swan wants a cigarette, doesn’t he?
Anyway, we were telling the story of Elsa of Brabant, in February of the year 932.
I mentioned that the King of Frankreich, Henry the Fowler, was in Brabant to persuade their cavalry to support him in the Battle of Merseburg: Frankreich (defending), versus the Magyars. That’s how we know when the story is set. The battle was in March 932, and it’d take an army, even with horses, about three weeks to get from Brabant to Merseburg.
Elsa was accused of her brother’s murder, but was proclaimed innocent after a stranger arrived and won her case, in a trial by combat. He then offered to marry Elsa, and, starstruck, she accepted.
Now read on.
The trouble is, this man that she’s called here, or created, insists that she not ask his name, or where he comes from. So she’s in love, and so is he, but he’s carrying on like a married man on Fetlife.
Eventually, on their wedding night, Elsa can’t stand it any more. He tries to stop her, but she directly asks him who he is, and who are his forebears.
He is distraught. Once he is asked that, he’s not allowed to stay. He’s a bit like a creature from Faerie, immensely strong and powerful, but if you so much as nick their finger – or make any puncture – they collapse.
Elsa hears the call of the Swan that drew his boat. It’s coming to take her lover, her husband, away.
At the river, the knightly stranger explains that he is a knight of the Holy Grail, which is in the mountains of northern Spain. His name is Lohengrin, and he is the son of Parzifal, the ruler of the Grail kingdom.
Lohengrin is distraught as well. If she’d managed to hold on for a year, he’d have been able not only to stay but to tell her who he is. And she would have got her brother back.
Maybe I can do one thing, he says. He kneels down by the river and prays. The Swan transforms, losing its swan form, and turning back into her missing brother Gottfried!
He had been turned into a swan by the wife of Telramund, the knight who’d accused Elsa of murdering her brother. He was rescued by the Grail: if he spend a year serving the Grail, he’d have been able to return, in human form. But Lohengrin has used the last of his earthly powers to bring Gottfried back early.
He, Lohengrin, was going to lead the cavalry into battle, but he can no longer do that. But, he says, Gottfried can.
But even though Elsa got her brother back, the Grail is forcing Lohengrin to return. He can’t stay. He steps into his boat, which speeds off, even without a swan to pull it.
Elsa watches her lover, rescuer and husband disappear, and she cries out in agony. Then she faints, or dies, of her grief
What’s this story about?
In an odd way, it’s about adultery, or at least it exists because of adultery. Elsa and Gottfried’s family are real, and in 100 years or so Gottfried’s descendent, another Gottfried, would lead Christian forces in the First Crusade, and took back Jerusalem.
But about this time there was an embarrassing break in the family line. They explained it by coming up with this story about swans.
So Lohengrin, a figure out of myth, steps briefly into the real, historical world. And Gottfried, a figure out of history, steps briefly into the world of myth.
Each, as they must, ultimately returns to the world, or realm of reality, that they came from.
It’s also, in a way, about the weakness of the supernatural. It can seem strong and powerful, but it always shrivels and disappears if you look at it too closely.
That’s the end of the swan series. There’s much more to say (sexual customs involving humans fucking swans up the cloaca, for example) and many more stories, but all good series have to come to a
Cassie put her finger on his nose. “I’m just saying,” she said, “if you want to spank some girl, you ask her, or you let her ask you. Because if she’s into it she probably will ask. One way or another. But remember there’s lots of people who aren’t into it. I just don’t want you to make an idiot of yourself.”
Gavan’s erection still existed, but in a pliable, squishy way. Cassie’s waggle had reminded him of things he’d rather be doing. “So, would you mind then, if I smacked your ass, oh, right about now, probably a little harder?
“Well, not too hard. But sure.”
Though Gavan’s cock had slowly shrunk during this conversation, he was still inside her, just. He reached down and smacked her, six times, slowly, with a lot of caressing and kneading that balled, muscled flesh.
Cassie began to move on him. He would be getting hard in those circumstances in any case. But while his hand on her ass, impacting her, wasn’t as incandescent as the desire he’d felt for Ana, he had to admit it was one of the reasons he was getting harder.
That complicates a lot of things, he thought, like life. Did this mean he’d have to choose his girlfriends by their spankability from now on? But he was ready to thrust hard into Cassie, who seemed happy about that, and he smacked her bottom again. It felt good.
For science! he thought, and then stopped thinking.
So I was at Club Bento, with my slavegirl Arethusa, with whom I was madly, passionately, in love. I was holding a tiny platinum blonde Chinese girl who’d jumped up on me with her legs round my waist and, because she wasn’t taking much care while she rocked against me, I’d put my hands on her ass to support her. She’d realised by then that I hadn’t recognised her, and that seemed to be hilarious as well. She was still beaming at me.
I looked her. It was her eyes and her mouth that did it. I said, “Qing!”
She kissed me. “Where’ve you been, stranger?”
“I’ve been here. I kept trying to call you, at your house. And I kept getting through to your housemates. Who were grumpy as fuck. And I left messages. Did they get through?”
“Not to me. They were stupid bastards, those people I lived with. And they thought you were that other guy, your asshole friend. So they probably thought they were doing me a good… Anyway, that’s a pity, but… Here we are!”
She fell forward, and we kissed. Eventually, because it seemed like a good idea I pulled her tiny skirt up, and tugged her knickers as far down as they’d go, on a girl who was straddling me. That provided a space of bare bottom that was tempting in every possible way, and in easy reach. I spanked her, hard, six times, while she squealed and hung on.
It seemed like a good idea to set the mood. Before she’d been my possession, Arethusa had been in a relationship with a lucky guy and another girl, and she liked threesomes.
I hadn’t delivered one for us yet. But it seemed likely that this would work out.
Finally I dropped the girl to her feet. “How come you’re calling yourself Cash?”
Cash, as I was getting used to calling her, tugged at her skirt. I smacked her bottom again, and said, “Leave it.”
She dropped her hand, skirt still round her waist, half her bottom bare. “Nickname, darling. Too many people couldn’t pronounce Qing. So they started calling me K-Ching, like a cash register. Then I changed it to Cash. I liked it, so it’s my name.”
“I like it too. Cash, this is Arethusa.”
The two girls looked at each other. Cash pointed her head at me. “You’re with him?”
Arethusa said, neutrally, “Yes. I’m his property.”
So Cash hugged her, and said, “Cool! Lovely to meet you! How long have you been together?”
“About a year. When did you..?”
“When I was an accountancy student. We’d known each other for about an hour, and by then he’d tied me up, whipped me, fucked me, and then taken my anal, uh, girlhood. So it was just one night, but it was memorable.”
Arethusa looked at me. Our first night had been roughly similar, except that she’d preserved her anal virginity for another month. I’d taken it with more ceremony than I’d allowed Qing. Arethusa said, “That’s Master, all right.”
I looked at her. She smiled at me, thank fuck. I pointed at Cash. She nodded.
Strictly, we’d agreed that she was property, and it wasn’t her decision who came to bed with us, or what she did with her body. There was a piece of paper that said that, among other outrageous things, signed by both of us. In reality, of course, a slavegirl is the most wonderful person in the universe to her owner, and no master with a clue wants to make his girl unhappy.
I said to Cash, “Do you have, um, an owner of any sort?”
She was still looking at Arethusa. They’d reached some sort of understanding. But she shook her head. “I’m more of a top these days. So…”
I considered that, disappointed for a second. On the other hand, Cash still hadn’t pulled her skirt down, after I’d told her not to. So I pulled her and Arethusa into a hug. And then, though I didn’t expect her to come to bed with us, I reeled in Delores as well. And we held each other, swaying together, and Arethusa and Cash kissed, and, because Delores didn’t kiss girls, I kissed her.
It was one of the most blessed moments of my life. But I’m going to disappear from this story soon, for a while, anyway.
[To be continued]
This is the sequel to a story I told a couple of years ago. You can find Qing’s and my first encounter, when she was a very different sort of girl, here. Or you can look for it, under its title, “Mouth to Mouth: Qing’s story”.
Gavain thought. What had he learned about himself, from smacking Cassie’s bottom? “Spanking you felt good, I mean as a sensual experience. There’s that.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gawain. That’s so appalling I can’t even tell whether you’re trying to talk your way out of trouble. I tell you what, though.”
“I know you. We’re friends. I know you’re not a psycho or a misogynist. But that pat on the ass thing, that gets harder when I’m getting closer to coming: I noticed that.”
“Didn’t feel subtle, then?”
“No woman wouldn’t notice. Thing is,not everyone knows you’re not a nutcase. So there are a lot of girls, probably the majority, who aren’t going to all that delighted when a man offers to hit them. Even if he means it in a nice sexy way. Cause they don’t think there is a nice way or a sexy way. So your chances of getting them back into your bed are close to zero.”
Gavain nodded, considering that. It seemed likely to be true. He said, “Yeah.”
“You know, even for girls who aren’t shocked, maybe even girls who’d like to be spanked more than me, it still feels like you’re trying to be sneaky. No one likes that.”
“You’re an ok person, and you pay attention when you’re fucking. I like the way you fuck. I bet lots of girls like fucking you. Or they would. So I’m not getting at you.”
“No! You don’t get to sulk! You’re the one who smacked my ass.”