Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan 3

I’d slid easily into Megan, standing behind her, while she was still bent over the bench. I occasionally struck her flanks, the side of her buttocks and her upper thighs, while I rode her ass. I still held the belt, firmly in my hand. Whipping her was my duty, and my pleasure, and mine. 

When Megan submitted, she gave me continuous guidance about what she wanted.

For example, I knew that she could come within seconds if I told her to, but that otherwise she’d wait until I gave her permission.

I knew that I should delay that permission, because she didn’t want to be allowed release till she’d begged and reached an agony of tension.

She hadn’t said a word of that to me,  and I don’t how she’d let me know these fine and intricate things. But she had told me, somehow.

We fucked, still slowly, knowing we could stay slow for much longer, and I strapped her right side six times with my belt. In answer Magan made a harsh, sex noise: “Harrgh, harr, harrrgh…” Because my cock was no longer obstructing her mouth. 

I smiled, for simple happiness, and then applied the belt, just as hard on the left side, while she pushed back at me, possessing and riding my cock, and sang that low, harsh pleasure song again. Only then could I speed up. And though she wanted me to, she wouldn’t until I’d set the new pace. 

It had been a long time since I’d engaged with these complexities, and I loved returning to them. The intuitive link between dominants and submissives, the way we know each other, was where a part of me was most alive. The same would be true of her. We made happiness, if not love.

Megan lifted her legs off the ground, to hold me while I fucked her, and pressed her feet just below my buttocks, moving together with me, her temporary master, her cock and pain-giver. She sighed, and tightened the pressure on my buttocks. 

She said things (“fuck me fuck me sir please come in me”, and so on) that I won’t quote too closely here because they’d seem silly, while in that context they didn’t seem silly at all. She wanted my come, even in a condom; it meant so much. 

I smiled at her, since she couldn’t see me. Megan liked to beg. I said, as if grudgingly, “That’s better.”

And it was. Our carefully passionate meetings weren’t everything I wanted. We kept a certain kind of emotional distance because of the ban on falling in love, and that never quite felt right to me. But having this in my life was better. It truly was.

Sinful Sunday: Glowing

After a really long, hard, spanking, the only thing a girl can reasonably do is stand in the corner, with her arse on display, radiating colour and heat, until it cools down a little. 

Or until her spanker says, “Come here.”

And, being a sensible dom (sometimes), he devotes himself to proving that life is better when she does as she’s told. 

Hyenas that look like Donald Trump

This isn’t a political blog. And this isn’t an argument, just an expression of disgust. The trough-snuffling corruption, the ridiculous lying, the cruelty, the bullying, just piss me off.

I’m busy. I’ve got a book to finish, and the smell of the end in my nostrils. So I’m not going to write politics. But yeah: we have to stop voting hyenas into positions of power. It’s a really dumb thing to do. 

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop 6

The previous episode is here.


The party was in the countryside. Only women attended. Some wore dark, severe clothes. Others wore little outfits that emphasised powerlessness and accessibility. Others, like Janie, were naked.

Monica introduced her as “coquette”.

Janie found herself demonstrating her new skills, while Mistresses stood, skirts lifted. She wasn’t expected to make them come, just show obedience. But a blonde, plump woman, obviously a friend of Monica’s, whispered in Monica’s ear.

Monica replied so Janie could hear. “Certainly! We’ll take coquette upstairs. She’s new, and not very enthusiastic unless encouraged. I use a paddle.”

The woman took a hairbrush from her purse. Wooden. Janie knew the hairbrush well. Paul had one himself, and it was heavy and hard. It hurt. The woman said, “This works.”

“Stand, coquette.” Janie scrambled to her feet, redly aware of their gaze.

“She’s under protection, Maria, so I’ll be there too. But I won’t get in your way.”

The two women made Janie walk ahead of them, up the stairs.

Coming downstairs, Janie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her bottom and thighs blazed red from Maria’s hairbrush, and her face wore two angry red patches, where Maria’s thighs had gripped her fiercely for the second and third orgasms.

Janie thought, I don’t think I’ve ever looked so … violated. She hadn’t desired Maria, but yes, she acknowledged, she’d been aroused by what she’d done.

Later, another Mistress took her upstairs, and made Janie serve her, again and again.

But when she was satiated, the Mistress demanded a taste of “little coquette’s cunt”. She put her hands under Janie’s sore buttocks and raised her a little before tasting her delicately.

Then not delicately. At last Monica said it was time that she came, and Janie screamed and writhed, as if her body were suddenly flooded with joy. She came gloriously, if not entirely willingly.

Afterwards she wept. But not unhappily.

The next episode is here.

Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan 2

The previous episode is here.

I put my hand in her hair and Megan made a low, harsh sound of appreciation, so I tangled more hair in my fingers and pulled, hard. I moved a little faster, and stepped up the pace of her strapping. Megan tried to say something, but my cock obstructed her.

I paused. “What was that?” 


Oh. I knew what she’d said, but I said, “You’ll have to be clearer than that.”  I swung the belt down again, hard, across her back and buttocks. She jerked forward.

There was a brief wet second in which she had almost all of my cock. Then she had to draw back again.

Megan said, with what should have been extreme clarity, “Har-weh. Deh! Deh.” There was urgency in that voice. I was charmed by her enunciation, given that I blocked her tongue and mouth. I decided I should get a gag for her, so long as it was only partly effective.

“Oh, do you mean, ‘harder’?”   

“Ess. Ess ease. Puh. Puh ease.”

“Good girl.” I strapped her harder, six times, while her cries rose in pitch and she sounded very close to coming. I withdrew entirely from her mouth and walked round the table. I touched the soft skin just below her left buttock.

Megan trembled, but the tension was not fear. I asked, as if I was offering a glass of milk, “Megan, would you like to be fucked now?”

I put on a condom, and then grasped her hips tight, fingers pressing as hard as I could. She said, in sexual rage, “Yes! Yes please.” 

“That’s right.” I stood behind her, between her feet, and leaned forward, cock disappearing into her. Megan was wet, and her bottom warm from the belt.


Elust 108 Steeled Snake Header
Photo courtesy of Steeled Snake

Welcome to Elust 108

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Feeling Compersion


To baldly go


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Cut Throat
The City I Love To Hate

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Legend Told

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Reader Q&A: Dating Advice ~ Autism Spectrum
Consent to proceed…
I fall in love everyday (kinda)
I don’t feel safe

Erotic Fiction

The Key to Room 237 – Calypso
fleur friday no 1 – release
The Forbidden Beach
Natalie in the Cold
Power and Addiction
The Curse, Part One – Black Spots
Legend Told
The Adventures of Stephanie’s Ass
Dear Mortimer

Erotic Non-Fiction

When I get down on my knees it is not to pray
The Importance of a Blowjob
Last night he made me dinner
Recall, Recollect, Recreate

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Oral: Fetish, pleasure, something else?



Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop #5

The previous episode is here.

Monica had said that Janie was better, when she was afraid. There was a pause. Then Janie said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“So. Here’s why you shouldn’t come, little Janie, unless I tell you to. Have you ever spent a night hanging from the ceiling by your ankle cuffs, getting a whipping every hour, on the hour?”

Janie thought about what that might be like. She had no doubt that Monica would do it. “No, Mistress, never.” Her voice was awed.

“I’m half tempted to give you the experience, then. You’d never disobey me or your Master again. Would you?”

Janie shook her head, eyes wide. “No, Mistress!”

“But if you come, Janie, that is what will happen to you. So control yourself, little slut.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Monica fucked her for perhaps an hour, sometimes excruciatingly slow, while the little vibrator worked inside her, sometimes fast, pounding Janie’s bottom with her belly and thighs, the artificial cock bigger and longer than Paul’s. Janie had to fight the urge to release, sometimes gritting her teeth and crying with the fight to keep her orgasm at bay. 

At last she begged, nearly exhausted, “Please. Please, Mistress.” 

Monica withdrew. She rolled from the bed onto the floor. “You do not beg! Stay in place, Janie. Bottom arched up, just a little more.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Janie did her best to comply. The first stroke of the riding crop landed across her thighs, about two inches below the crease of her buttocks. It felt like pleasure, like the missing, vibrating cylinder. Janie huffed air through her nose. The next stroke landed an inch higher. Janie fought for control while Monica whipped her. She never been in danger of coming from the ministrations of the riding crop before.

Janie lost count of the strokes. Monica was panting lightly when she’d finished with her. Her body burned while Mistress warned her again about what would happen if she came, and allowed her, at last, into bed. Monica’s bed. It was after midnight, and Janie was exhausted.  

Before she slept she reflected that there was nothing terrible about how Monica tasted, or anything bad about the feel of her wet pussy in her face. It was ok. But it hadn’t done anything for her, sexually. So why was she so wet? Why did she need, so hard and so desperately, to come?

The next episode is here.

Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan

Megan, who’d written to me, was pretty, clever and real. So I contacted her back. She insisted on a picture of me with my shirt off. I starved myself for a couple of days, which made no difference, and managed my own phone camera and bathroom mirror picture. It took nearly forty pictures to get one in which I wasn’t too obviously sucking my stomach in. But it passed.

She called me and made a speech she’d probably made before: she didn’t want a relationship; she wanted hard bdsm sex. In her bedroom, she wanted a man to take what he wanted from her and do what he wanted to her. But I wasn’t to think that I had rights over her when I wasn’t in her bedroom. Okay?

I said all that was fine with me. “By the way, you don’t like Dobermans, do you? I mean, romantically?”

“Dobermans?” I’d made her laugh. “You’ve been on this site, and now you ask all your girls if they’re into dobermans? Like that’s something you have to be wary of? You’ve had a time!”

“I could a tale unfold…”

She, fortunately, didn’t want to hear it. “Anyway I hate dogs. Do you want to, um, stick pins in me?” I said something crass about things I did want to stick in her, but not pins, and so she agreed to meet me in what was becoming my favorite bar.

Megan looked as good as her photos, and I looked no worse than mine. I knew I wanted her once she’d walked through the door. She took longer to decide about me, I think, because she was much prettier than me. But I clinched my case when she knocked our table, spilling wine, and I promised to leather the front of her thighs for that.

If I’d said “thighs”, or “the back of your thighs”, I might not have won her. But “the front of your thighs” showed ambition and attention to detail. She considered that, and said we had a date.

The date was for Friday night, at her apartment. Some time that night Megan was tied to a table, face down, with her knees spread and drawn up like a frog’s. I’d roped her knees to the tops of the table legs. Her thighs blushed front and back, since I’d over-delivered on my promise.

We were in a classic dominant-submissive configuration, Megan naked, bound and bent, and I standing clothed before her, my cock in her mouth. She suckled, slowly nodding, while I drew back and pushed forward, unhurried, as if absent-mindedly.   

About twice a minute, I would swing my belt down her back so the end cracked and curled around her bottom and the insides of her thighs. Megan rewarded each stroke by taking my cock deeper for a second or two. She’d said it was safe to strap her hard because she never bit when she was strapped. Her mouth always opened, in response to pain.

I was impressed: it’s not something that most people know about themselves. She was more experienced and skilled than me. She was a technician of pleasure. She was also quite wise and cheerfully sensible, and though we were nearly strangers I liked her.

We’d never be lovers. But we gave each other truth. Accepting Megans measured submission let me expand to fill more of myself. It was like re-opening the disused wing of a house. 

The next episode is here.


I don’t have time to write another instalment of the Maires, Stephanie and me story. I’m writing a non-erotic novel, and dealing with crazed bureaucrats. So this is a story I prepared earlier. 

Sinful Sunday: That colour (and that ass)


Discipline is an energy transfer. Giving a spanking takes power and force. Receiving a spanking takes control and endurance, and alchemy: transferring pain into pleasure.

(Even when some dom insists it’s a punishment and it’s not supposed to feel good. There’s a kind of internal dissent that neither a submissive nor a dom can suppress: pleasure will out.)

But when the spanking’s done, and her ass glows, radiating red heat, she lights her dom’s heart. And she lights the room.