Wicked Wednesday: The long wait 4

“Not for trusting me. For disobeying me, and for being silly about safety calls. This is the last time I’ll repeat this order: come here.”

Come here, Ellie thought. Here. I’m going to come, with you, here on my couch, for the first time. She felt light-headed. “This is when you tell me to bend over?”

“Just lower yourself over my thighs. Use your fingers and toes to keep yourself steady. Make sure you’re comfortable. I’m going to spank you. But you’ll be ok. I’ll look after you.”

That made no sense. But Ellie put her hand on his shoulder and leaned forward. He helped her down. She wriggled, exploring her new position, amazed that she might become used to it. He pushed the robe to her shoulders. She felt the air on her body. “One more thing. When I give you an order, I want you to say, Yes, sir. Just before you obey me. Can you do that?”

“Uh.” Ellie felt his hand, stroking her bottom. Then the lightest warning pat. “Yes, sir,” she said quickly. 

“Feet apart.”

“Yes, sir.” Ellie shuffled, opening for him. His cock was hard, under her belly. He wanted her. Well, that made them even.

His hand landed. The impacts moved from left to right, lower and higher, in a steady, unchanging rhythm. Slowly the smacks got harder, and Ellie could feel the heat. She must be red by now. There was pain, then more. Why was this heaven? She began to rock herself on his lap, pressing against his cock.

He spanked her hard now, so that it hurt, really hurt. It was still heaven. She made a throaty noise. At last he stopped. She felt his fingers trailing down into the cooler skin between her buttocks, and slid her feet a little further apart. He said, “Beautiful girl. Good girl.”

His fingers entered her, reaching deep, then pressing downwards. Oh god. He stroked her, pressing his thumb against her cunt, his fingers fucking her. Reaching deep inside her.

“Oh,” Ellie said, then, much later, “Ohf!” The sweetness surged and took her. Her orgasm cry reminded her of a wolf under the moon.

She gasped, head up, savage, then let her head fall forward and down, while he stroked her. Ge was pleased with her, she knew.

He kept her on his lap, praising her, stroking her. Finally he let her go, and she sank onto her knees before him, looking up at his eyes.

He smiled down at her. 

“I seem to remember, when we were talking. On the phone. You mentioned amazing fellatio skills.”


Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s Tale 4

Emilia lived at the end of a long climb up narrow streets to a row of old wooden houses. I stopped at her door, far above the city, taking in the view while I got my breath back. I’d decided to make at least some of my intentions obvious, so I’d brought wine and chocolate and flowers. I knocked at the door.

But it was a man who opened the door, who enjoyed my disappointment before introducing himself. Vijay was another doctor, with long glossy black hair, a chiselled face and startlingly white teeth. He was alarmingly handsome and charming. Fortunately, it was soon clear that Vijay preferred his lovers paler and maler than Emilia. Emilia let herself be found in the kitchen. I appreciated the effort, and also her dress, which was simple and satin, black with large red flowers, and low-cut. 

I put my arms around her, holding her ass to keep us… steady. She kissed me. Once again she had my cock hard, seeking her, this time through cotton, denim, satin and silk.

Dinner was enjoyable enough, but the conversation seemed mainly to be between Vijay and me. I’d hoped to talk with Emilia, but there was no opportunity. Still, soon after dinner Vijay left us, heading for the clubs. But at the door he directed a broad wink at me. So I’d been vetted and approved, which was something.

I started my planned conversation with Emilia, but before I’d said much she led me out to the balcony. She excused herself while I gazed down at the night-lit city, and returned with what she said was Vijay’s hash pipe. She filled, lit and inhaled, and passed the pipe to me. For years I’d seldom bothered with marijuana. I especially avoided it around women, because a man who isn’t handsome or physically impressive has to keep his wits.

My best feature is conversation, and drugs reduce me to tongue-tied idiocy. What I wanted to say to Emilia would be complicated even if my mind were clear. But the pipe was lit and a woman I wanted to please was offering it to me. I took it and inhaled as little as I felt I could get away with.

But even a tiny amount of marijuana is enough to send me spinning. In no time the city was a great velvet shawl studded with multi-coloured lights, cellos played at random, heaven’s ebon vault was unutterably bright, and Emilia’s face, near mine, was enormous, and glowing with some joke that I didn’t know, a joke that might worry me if I did know it.

But when she smiled there were dimples, and it was the most beautiful face that could possibly be. Still marijuana-spun, I tried to think of something to say.

After some time I thought of a conversation-starter. “The city”, I could say to her, indicating which city I meant with a casual wave over the balcony, “it’s nice, isn’t it?” I did not say this, but nothing better came to mind. Panicked, I finally said, “you”, and kissed her face.

Later Emilia’s hands were under my shirt, and I’d pulled down her dress to kiss her breasts, warm and round and, from her time in the kitchen, smelling of flour and chilli. I had my mouth and my mind full of her hard, soft and slippery flesh, until Emilia pinched my nose so I had to lift my mouth and stare up at stars and her eyes.

She touched her forehead to mine and said I’d have to go home now, or take her to bed. That seemed an odd way to put it. I said, “bed better”, the first words I’d managed in some time. I thought they were rather good.

E{lust} is here again; so get that lust in to your brain

May more Elust 109 Header image swiming naked in a pool
Photo courtesy of Sex Matters ~ May More

Welcome to Elust 109

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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A Picture Is Worth a 1000 Words
House Sitting
Shackles & showers

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Comfort Girl
A Pain in the Neck

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

An idea that didn’t slap me in the face

Erotic Fiction

The Key to Room 237: Freya – Part 1
Masked Woman

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Mad World
Be afraid…
“Good For Disabled People”
Why I Take Sexy Selfies

Erotic Non-Fiction

Mating Megan
Face Slapping ~ a controversial issue?
Fuck toy
Lost Pleasure, Found

Thoughts & Advice on Kink and Fetish

Sometimes love don’t feel like it should

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Why Couldn’t I Just Ask for Lube?
I panicked.
Coming in handy
P is for Polyamory
Racy Red




Wicked Wednesday: The Long Wait 3


The door opened. Ellie looked up at him. He was taller than she’d expected, blond, with a ridiculously fashionable haircut. He wore jeans and a good jacket. He’d sent pictures, but you never know until you actually meet someone. He smelled of walnuts, she thought. Walnuts and oiled wood.

He smiled at her, and her heart lifted. She’d been afraid of what he’d think of her. He said, as if he were surprised, “God, Ellie, you’re beautiful! And you’ve done as you’re told. You’re lovely. And good.”

She gaped at him, embarrassed, happy. She had nothing to say back. She couldn’t think.

He reached for her head. Ellie opened her mouth, expectantly, but he grabbed a handful of her hair. “Stand,” he said. She fumbled, trying to obey but clumsy, and he eventually pulled her up himself. His eyes were still kind, but there was something about his mouth. He said, “Put your hands by your sides. Now, please.”

She obeyed, frowning. Should she obey? Then she felt his hand land on her bottom.

The skin buzzed where he’d made contact. She’d let a man smack her. Now he smiled. “When I tell you to do something …”

“I do it, quickly?

He smacked her again. Her bottom … No, her cunt felt it. She’d imagined this many times, using both hands as she thought of it, till she came. The reality was as confusing and as arousing as she’d hoped. She felt the sex of it, the heat, the need it brought her, deep inside. 

His arms held her. He was warm. He stroked her, where he’d spanked. Then he let his finger slip between her buttocks, to stroke her cunt gently. Ellie gasped, and straightened, still in his arms. He was testing how wet she was, she thought. Then: No, he knows that I’m wet.

He’s showing me he isn’t going to ask for my permission to touch me. She leant her head against his shirt, kissed his chest.

He said, “That’s right. Obedience means obeying quickly. Which reminds me: are you expecting your safety call?”

Oh, shit! He’d stressed it, but she’d already decided he was ok.“No. I–No, I forgot.”

He nodded, as if resigned. He let her go—she wanted his body back—and sat on the couch.

He looked up, and indicated his knees. “Ellie, I’m glad you trust me, but… First, I told you to have a safety call. You agreed that you do as you’re told. That’s how this works. Second, not having one is stupid and irresponsible. Come here.”

Ellie came to him. She looked at him, not sure whether she was afraid or if she was teasing him. “You’re going to spank me for trusting you?” 


Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 3

I’d just threatened to spank Emilia for misbehaviour. And Emilia had agreed that I should. So I said, “But I’d still be doing it for your own good, Emma.”

That sounded stupid to me, but I thought that if she’d liked my first line, she might like that too. Or it might be ridiculous. Emilia considered and then nodded, gazing at the carpet. then she looked up at me. That “dropping her eyes” thing: was that calculated?

I had no idea. She said, “Yes, I know. It would be.” I wondered if she believed it. We’d been maudlinly sincere together so often that what we told each other was usually true. “So yes, you should.”

I believed it, myself. I said, “Ah…”

But more importantly I squeezed her ass that little bit harder. And patted her. And then smacked her. She put her arms round me, and our bodies pressed together. Hard cock to her belly. I lifted her t-shirt at the back, and let her feel the cold morning’s air before I smacked her again. A little harder, my hand on bare skin. Her mouth opened, but she wasn’t looking at me. I smacked her again. This time it was audible.

A little too audible; there were people sleeping in every room in the house. 

So here was an armful of warm girl, and a most complaisant and consenting girl she was turning out to be. I suppose I was something of a surprise to her too. We’d never talked about this.

But there was nothing we could do before other guests started waking up. Except for removing my erection from Emilia’s belly. So I kissed her with meaning, desire and emphasis and then – since it had to be done – released her. “We’re going to talk, aren’t we?”

Emilia agreed that we’d talk. In fact I should come to her place on Wednesday and she’d give me dinner. And then we’d… talk. I think that neither of us expected that we’d say many words during that… talk. But in the meantime we gathered the party detritus, taking glasses and plates back to the kitchen.

I set myself a sexless word puzzle. How to turn COCK to SOFT? COCK, CORK, um, WORK, WORT, SORT, SOFT. By the time I’d worked that out the front of my dressing gown was flat enough to be socially acceptable. After pushing herself back into another hug, and accepting one last squeeze, Emilia went back to the room she’d slept in, to wake her friend. We had no more time. People were stirring.

Anecdote: Dom life, and being a “good” man

A while back I was running a law project. It helped get representation for people who were being fucked over by cops, generally because they were black, or young, female and blue-haired, or gay, or poor, and so on. It meant getting into confrontation with cops a lot. Sometimes it meant having to confront them physically, because they’re used to being able to beat people up without much risk of their victims being believed or having the power to do anything about it.

So although I hate confrontation, let alone violence, I found myself getting into violent confrontations on a fairly regular basis. I wasn’t an adrenalin junky at all; but I was a justice junky.

The big thing was to have people with cameras, and people who looked useful in a fight and not scared of cops. That meant that cops wouldn’t do the violence they’d intended when they set out. So there’d be stand-offs. A quick anonymous bashing, with their number badges off, wasn’t an option. So it usually ended peacefully.

But it was risky. I’d do macho posturing during the head-to-heads, and afterwards if there were girls watching, but it always scared the shit out of me.

Anyway, there was a girl whose landlord wanted her out. The landlord had cop friends who were prepared to act, illegally, as eviction agents. I defended her, and was both virtuous and heroic. I put myself in harm’s way for her because that was my job, and in the end I won, and the cops backed off and left her alone.

Talking afterwards, at her place, we were kind of attracted. Which means I fancied the arse off her and she thought I might be all right: I’m just declaring the average.

But because we’d met in a context where I was a sort of heroic community activist, and I thought she fancied the virtuous version of myself, I gave her a lot of feminist posing. It was real, I mean, they were things that I really thought, but the result was that she decided she didn’t fancy me.

I did eventually see her naked, though.

It was eight months later. I was visiting a friend of mine, who I hadn’t seen in a while. Someone had tried to burn down the apartment he was living in, but he was an artist and he thought the charred beams improved the place. So he was still living there.  

Anyway, there came some unmistakeable sounds from one of the bedrooms: Thwap! followed by a hard breath.

Then THWAP, followed by a low, female moan. Then THWAP! followed by a high-pitched pain/pleasure noise. Some girl was getting the cane, and she was enjoying herself.

Anyway, a bit later the door opened, and it was my blue-haired girl, the dye gone so she was back to her natural red, skipping naked out the door with fresh cane stripes across her arse, to make a cup of tea for her mistress. She was utterly, exuberantly happy.

So, I’d hidden my dom side from her, because I’d thought she didn’t want that. What I got for my carefulness was a teary vista of her naked, freshly caned body. I mean that about “teary”: she was so beautiful and sexy that I cried that night.

I mean, when I got home.  

Oh. But she made me a cup of tea.  

Wicked Wednesday: The long wait 2

Ellie and Sir (his name was Richard, but she’d starting thinking of him, in her own mind, as Sir) had been talking for weeks since he’d replied to her ad. She felt she knew him quite well.

He could be professorial, but he didn’t take himself too seriously. He made jokes about his own absurdities. They weren’t very funny, but only a sane man would make them. He laughed at her jokes. He’d told her his name and address and where he worked. Those details had checked out. Some men’s hadn’t. He’d lectured her about having a safety call in place before she met anyone, including him.

But she’d told him her address only an hour ago. They lived just a few miles apart. He’d asked her if she’d like a visitor, but then before she could answer, he’d apologised for moving too fast. She’d said, “Yes”, interrupting him.

She’d heard the surprise and relief in his voice. But it was gone a few seconds later. He’d told her how she was to meet him, and that he’d punish her if she hadn’t complied exactly.

When she took her place, on her knees for him, she’d felt, for the first time in her life, that she was obeying.

She was submitting. Even that knowledge of her own mental state was pleasurable.

When he arrived she’d be looking up at him, her body presented for him. As if it was responding to that thought her fell open. She could move her hands and close it. But that’d be cheating; that would be no way to begin.

She heard someone’s steps near her door. Her heart thumped with anticipation, and just a little fear.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 2

So I’d just threatened to put Emilia over my knee, for disciplinary purposes. It took me a moment to hear what I’d just said. I thought I’d sounded like a roué in an ancient sex comedy, something black and white and British, on television at three in the morning, starring Terry-Thomas and Syd James.

At that time I’d kept bdsm hidden for seven years. I played bdsm with strangers, or I masturbated to dark fantasies, but I didn’t offer to spank my women friends. Or I hadn’t until just then. I wanted to slap my forehead, but my hand was busy patting and squeezing Emilia’s ass. In the absence of complaint from her I’d keep on doing that.

Still, I’d just threatened her with assault: low-level violence, some sexual content. We still hugged, but she was no longer holding an honourable gentleman.

Emilia didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t a gentleman. Her eyes widened, but she said, almost without a pause, “Yes, yeah, I know. You should.”

Oh? Relief was followed a second later by the thought that, if that was the case, then it was a pity I’d said, “if you ever do that again”. How long would it take for Emilia to do something like that again? What was wrong with now?

I thought about whether there were any private spaces in my apartment where Emilia could be suitably disciplined, as we both obviously wanted, and realised that the thing simply couldn’t be done. There were people sleeping everywhere, since they weren’t fit to drive home after my party. They probably wouldn’t stay asleep during any of the noisier pleasures.

That train of thought led to other speculations. I imagined Emilia, a vista of muscular but soft woman draped over my knee, her tee-shirt pulled over her head and her panties on the floor. I’d smack her gorgeous bottom a few times because I couldn’t resist, but surely I should start with reassuring and mood-setting stroking. Yes, that is what I’d do.

My hand told me there was just Emilia under that cotton t-shirt, so there were just two layers of material between our bodies, her tee and my dressing gown, a silk one with dragons that I’d bought in Vietnam.

The middle of one of the dragons pressed, roused, into Emilia’s lower belly. She looked up at me, eyebrows raised.

Some explanation seemed called for. “Yeah. Oddly enough, spanking you is something that I’d enjoy very much. In a, ah, rather pervy way.”

 She laughed, evaluating what she had here. “Yes, you would. You would, wouldn’t you?” But her belly stayed in contact with the hardening, stretching sign of pervy enjoyment.