Friday Flash: “I vant to drink your blood”

Helen Chandler felt hands cupping her ass and knew it was him. He whispered in her ear, “I vant to drink your blood.” 

She put her hands on his, but didn’t remove his hands from her ass. But she said, “Oh, cut it out, Bela. Mildly funny the first time, but…” 

Bela Lugosi sighed. “But we half been waiting for ze director now for… three hours. Are you not unott?”

She nodded. “My trailer. Smaller than yours, but less… public.”

“I will giff you fife minutes.” His Hungarian account got thicker when he wanted sex. She wondered if it was deliberate.  

In her trailer Helen rook off her silken robe, all she was wearing. She lowered herself to her knees. She wondered if she found it so easy to submit to Bela because her character, Minna Seward, was so submissive to the Count. They made their scenes together as sexual as they dared. 

The door opened, and Bela stepped in, using his cloak to prevent the film crew from seeing her naked, kneeling form before he closed the door.

He said nothing, but took her hair and pressed her towards him. Her mouth opened, and she took in his engorged cock, the head touching the back of her mouth, finding its way into her throat. She closed her eyes and sucked fervently, wanting to hear the tribute of his gasp.

There was something perverse about this, his cock engorged with blood, within the cage of her teeth. He was supposed to be the one with fangs, the one who fed on blood. But the urge to bite that delicious blood-hard cock, to taste that blood: that was getting stronger every day.

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap

“Yes. Can I call you ‘sir’, like your assistant does? I know I called you that before anyway. That was accidental.”

“I think, given what’s coming, Claire, you’d better. Now, close the blinds. Then take that skirt off. Put it on the desk, beside your blouse and bra.”

“Yes. Sir.” She went to the window, still holding her skirt, and fiddled with the blinds until we had privacy. Then she returned to her place beside the armchair, where she realised she still had her skirt, and put it down. She turned to face me and reached down to slide her thumbs into the hem of her panties. 

I wasn’t at all sure I was doing the right thing by punishing Claire, but if I was going to do it at all I would do it properly. “I said put that skirt on the desk, Claire.”

“Oh! Sorry, sir.” She hurriedly picked it up, folded it and put it on the desk. Then she brought her hands back to her panties. She hesitated. When they were gone she would be completely naked. 

I said, “Just a moment, Claire. I gave you an order. You disobeyed it. I want you to listen carefully to what you’re told, and to do as you’re told.”

She smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, sir. I think I just may be a little flustered.”

“It’s time you had a reminder, Claire. When you’re being told what to do, you focus. Hold out your hands. Now!”

“Ah. Palm upwards?”

“Of course.” She put out her hands, straight in front of her, while I looked in the cupboard for the school strap.     

When I retrieved it I looked at her. Her face was pale. She had once had a taut, beach girl’s stomach, but now there was a thin layer of womanly flesh, which had a different kind of sexual power. She had full breasts, still firm. I could not see them, presented for me, without thinking of kisses, little bites, and endearments. I had not realised, before she took off most of her clothes, just how desirable Claire was.

Her hands were held out, proffered for punishment. They trembled a little, but not more than other girls, or boys, who’d held out their hands for me to punish. I touched her right hand then, and pushed her fingers down so the surface was completely flat for the strap.

“Look me in the eyes while I strap you, Claire. And thank me after each stroke. You’re going to get six. That’s if you behave yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was something in her eyes, as she gazed at the eyes of the man who was about to hurt her. There was fear, but also a kind of anticipation. I’d seen that look before.

Masturbation Monday: Lasshole Fucker

Ngaire had lifted her ass, to give Freddie access. She supposed that felt like submission. Daphne had talked to her a lot, about submission. Ngaire thought it had sounded like surrendering in order to work your way round and become assertive again. It seemed like a long way to go to back to where you were before. 

But she’d obeyed when Freddie had said to get her arse up and spread her legs. Now she could feel his gaze. The male gaze. It liked the look of her arse. She wiggled a little, to show him she knew he was staring. He muttered something that probably wasn’t a word, then, “Holy fuck, that’s hot. But now you keep still, Ngaire.”

She his hands on her buttocks, spreading them gently, and then his thumb, slightly gooey, pressing lightly against her asshole. She couldn’t help it; she tensed. Freddie put his hand on her left cheek. He said, “Relax, Ngaire. It’s easier if you’re relaxed.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You’re not about to get a whacking great cock up your arse.”

“I’ve had enough girls up the ass, though, to have a fair idea of what helps and what doesn’t.”  

“Hah! Lasshole fucker.” 

“Did you just say, ‘lasshole’?” 

“Yeah. You don’t fuck guy’s arses, do you?” 

“No. But ‘lasshole’. I like that. I’m going to use it.” 

“You’re going to use mine. If you can even get your thumb in.”

The hand on her left cheek squeezed her. It felt good, and she knew it was a warning. “If you don’t relax, in five seconds, I’m going to smack you. Hard.”

Ngaire said, “But you said-”

“Yes, unless you specifically ask me not to smack you. If you do ask me not to smack you then I won’t. But I’m relying on your sense of justice.”

“Hah!” said Ngaire. Then “Oh!” He’d used the distraction to press his thumb inside her. He paused, allowing her to consider the sensation. It wasn’t something she’d ever let another man do; not so much as a finger had been in her ass before. The idea had always disgusted Steve, her husband, now living in New York State, and she supposed she’d picked up some of his aversion.

But Freddie’s frank enthusiasm for her ass was charming. So was his tricksiness. He’d eased his thumb all the way in, in tiny, slow increments. She had to admit it didn’t hurt. Or feel wrong. Though his thumb was nowhere near as thick as his cock. She could feel herself trembling, very slightly, so she raised her ass a little higher. Just for him. The trembling stopped.

She felt him lean down, then his lips on her ass. He murmured, “Good girl.” Then he kissed her ass – the thought made her smile – then moved his face forward and sideways so that he could lick her cunt. His tongue pressed against her lips and they opened for him. She was so wet.

She heard him make an appreciative noise, low in his throat, and his tongue worked her, until she was slowly moving her hips, pressed against this face. 

Then his face was gone. There was a short pause, no doubt involving the lube. Then his thumb was back, pressing lightly against her little entrance. He tapped her lightly, as if politely knocking on a door.

Ngaire made herself relax. She whispered, “Come in.” 


Wicked Wednesday: The State of Claire’s Conscience (and her Ass)

Claire, the mother of one of my students, a girl who was going to get a public caning for shoplifting, had asked me to punish her too. Her offence, she felt, was that she’d had sex with her husband’s friend, after her husband had left her, and that had led to her husband abandoning his family and in particular his daughter. And that, in turn, was why Tara, her daughter, had got herself into trouble. 

I believed that Claire had committed no fault, and that her husband had no say in who she had sex with after he’d left her. His dereliction was his own doing. So I’d refused to punish her.

But Claire was anguished, and wracked with guilt. She said, again, “Please.”


“I feel so guilty. It hurts. You’re the one who’s going to cane Tara, aren’t you?”

“Yes. The offence is that serious. It falls to me.”

“I want you to cane me too. Please. It’s the only way I can cope with my daughter’s punishment. And with my own guilt. I know I deserve it. I want to pay.”


There was silence. Claire had stopped crying and looked at me, almost angry. She was determined, now. I did not believe that an adult woman has committed an offence by having sex with someone. Including her husband’s friend, since her husband had already left her.

Her husband was a deadbeat. Even if he had a grievance against his wife, he had no right to take it out on his daughter. He’d simply found an excuse to run away and to stop paying for his daughter’s upkeep. Claire’s affair, after he’d left, was an excuse, not a cause.

But Claire stood up. She unbuttoned her blouse, and took it off. I had no words to say while she did that. She had full, firm breasts, in a black bra. She reached behind her back to unhook the catch.

At that moment, Maddie opened the door. She had the bag of clothes that Tara had stolen. She looked at Claire. Claire looked at her. Maddie said, “The clothes, sir. I know the two shops she took them from.” To Claire she said, “You have beautiful breasts.”

Claire blushed. I said, “You were taking that bra off, Claire. Continue.”

Claire fumbled behind her back, releasing the catch. She pulled the bra straps down her arms and off, holding the bra in one hand. Her breasts were beautiful: not large but full, and firm, not dropping when the bra was gone. She stood, silent, as if awaiting judgment. And she smiled a little.

She was invoking and beginning a ritual, in which I had a role, and so did she. Now that the ritual of humiliation, punishment and forgiveness had started, she would get what she wanted.

I said, “Put the bra on my desk. And put your hands on your head. I’ll speak to you soon. Maddie, thank you for identifying the shops. I think you can go, for now.”  

Maddie looked at me with some amusement, and left the room. I was a little shaken, and probably for that reason I was committed to continuing this ritual of punishment with Claire. It was a refuge from my own uncertainty. And that bode well, for the state of Claire’s conscience.

And badly for the state of her ass.

“She’s right, Claire. Your breasts are beautiful. And yes, I’m going to cane you. Right now, in this office. And it will be hard. I expect you to do as you’re told until I’ve finished with you. Do you think you can do that?”

Masturbation Monday: Making herself available

Freddie kissed Ngaire’s cunt. It felt, to Ngaire, that he was infinitely fond of her. One of those slightly careful things people say instead of declaring love.

His tongue pressed against her lips a little harder and she felt herself open for him under that pressure. She was wet as a ripe peach.

She could actually feel his smile with her cunt, as he cocked his head slightly, to taste and explore from different angles.

Her hand, still wet with her own fluids, from masturbating while he’d watched her, tightened in his hair. She pressed his head down, into her.

But after a while, despite his enthusiastic tonguing, she became clearer about what she wanted. “You’ve just fucked me all night. So I’d understand if… But do you think you could fuck me?”

“I seem to be committed to fucking your ass, don’t I?” 

“I liked the story you told me about it. Will it hurt?”

He looked up, surprised. Ngaire thought, that was a giveaway, wasn’t it? He said, “Ah. Am I about to take a virginity?”

Ngaire tugged at his head, and he came up the bed, and she kissed him. “I sort of thought I wasn’t going to tell you. Because I thought you’d get all smug. Are you feeling smug?” 

“Don’t think so. Honoured, though. I feel really honoured that you trust me. And I’ll do my best to make sure it doesn’t hurt. It’s a personal thing.”

“Personal? Really? You amaze me.” 

“I mean, people are different. Some women just loved it, and came the first time. Others – I mean two girls, in my experience –  found that it hurt and only hurt and that was that. So your reaction is is… well, I don’t think you’ll know until we start. Though you liked my story, so that’s promising.”

“I’ve got some lube.”

“Good. That’s essential.” 

Ngaire smiled, drily. “It’s from when Steve – my husband – used to fuck me when I wasn’t really into it.”

“Oh yay. Well, let’s give it some happier associations. Turn over.”


“No. Not ‘please’. Turn over, Ngaire, and get your ass up. Do as you’re told.”

“Daphne told me about this side of you. I thought you were going to keep it hidden. From me.”

“Then you know that even good girls can get spanked.” 

“If they ask nicely. And, note, I haven’t asked.” 

Freddie grinned. “You did tell me all kiwis are bush lawyers. Seems to be true. Of you, anyway. Anyway, ass up, Ngaire.”

Ngaire passed him the plastic bottle of lube. Then after a moment’s consideration, she turned over onto her stomach and lifted her ass.

She spread her legs. There was something hot about this, and she could feel it. She was utterly… available to him.


Sinful Sunday: Nude in the Sun

One of my favourite paintings is Renoir’s “Nude in the Sun”. I love this image, with the lovely model’s skin dappled by the shade of trees, and glowing in the sun, for some of the same reasons.(Though in most respects except for the light and shade on the model’s body they’re nothing alike.)

It’s not just that Zoë’s a beautiful woman, it’s that she makes the whole place, the setting, beautiful.


E{lust} 118: The bonds of love

Elust 118 Header of My controlled ascent

Photo courtesy of My Controlled Ascent

Welcome to Elust 118

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

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I have daddy issues

Processing Emotions about Polyamory

Mirror Masturbation

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

V is for view

Not Alone

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Negotiating “NO”


Body Talk and Sexual Health


Erotic Non-Fiction

BDSM for Beginners
My first time being co-topped
The power of touch

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Hear My Confession
Avengers Assemble
#30DayOrgasmFun: Tapping Out

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How I Started Moving Past Old Hurts
#AtoZChallenge -X is for XXX
Vanilla date #1: Incompatible-Awesome
Confessions of an unruly slave

Writing About Writing

Relying on Email More Than Social Media

Erotic Fiction

His turn in the shower
Sharp Beauty
Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun
Oxana, With Love
Sixty Nine Steps
Glorious garden fuck
Actually, that’s what the dog-whip is for

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Don’t ask us to watch you wank for free.



Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother 3

Claire was sobbing, overcome by guilt because her husband had abandoned her and her daughter. I got up, and walked over to take her hand. “Claire. Mrs O’Donnell, I doubt very much that you did anything wrong. He walked out on his family. He found a new, more gullible woman. Or he just ran away from his responsibilities. Please know this: it isn’t your fault.”

“But it is! I fucked– I fucked– His friend. I was lonely. I just wanted to be touched, and held. I wanted, well, a man. And he found out about it! Of course he disappeared!”

I took a guess. “But … hadn’t he already left you, when that happened?”

“Yes, of course. But I shouldn’t have! I ruined everything.”

“Claire. If he left you, he has no say on your life. That includes whether you have sex, and who you have sex with. He had no say in that at all. And if he disappeared when he found out you were having sex, that’s absolutely not your fault. It’s not your doing at all”

Claire shook her head. She was still sobbing. “Yes, he’d left me. But he disappeared completely when he found out!”

“Claire, he might have used it as an excuse, but he went missing because he didn’t care enough about his daughter. Or about his other responsibilities. One sexual incident, I mean one fuck, doesn’t cancel that out.”

Though she shook with emotion, she spoke firmly. “I ruined my daughter’s relationship with her father. I ruined everything. She was doing these stupid things because she was upset. She loved her Daddy. I deserve that public caning more than she does.”

“No. She might be upset, but that’s not a license to steal. I’m sorry, but if we find she shoplifted, we’ll cane her. That’s decided. Not you.”

“I was thoughtless.”

“Claire, you were lonely. You’re human.”

“You should punish me.”

“I’m sorry, but if Tara shoplifted she’ll have to pay for that, and she will. You have done nothing wrong. At all. You’re absolutely not at fault, and I’m not going to punish you.”

Claire sniffed, loudly. When she looked up at me, her face streamed with tears.


Masturbation Monday: Masturbation, on a Monday 2

Ngaire’s fingers touched the grooves between her plump labial lips and her inner thighs, and she gasped. 

She said, spitting out the words in short bursts as she squeezed her lips, lightly hen hard, with her fingers and thumbs. “Tell me. About fucking me. Up the arse.” 

She pressed one finger between her lips, now soft and puffy, and pressed downwards. Inwards. Freddie said, “Uh.” He was reacting to her actions, or trying to think of a story.

Ngaire didn’t care which. She put a second finger into her cunt, her two middle fingers, and let them enter all the way. Her palm pressed hard against her cunt. Freddie said, “I walk into your room. You look like you’re asleep. On your stomach. Your ass is up. You are so beautiful. I smack your ass lightly, because I can’t not, and anyway I know you’re only pretending to be asleep.” 

The fingers inside her hooked, to press upwards at spongy skin. She’d once fucked a doctor, who’d told her that spongelike skin was called the anterior vaginal wall. 

It had seemed incongruous; such a technical name for something so live and blooming. She grunted, raising her arse slightly from the bed. Still, men who know words like “anterior vaginal wall” make better lovers. Probably. She wanted to ask Freddie if he knew. But she couldn’t form or speak the necessary words now. 

“I take lube, that lube right there in fact, from beside your bed, and I pour some into the cleft of your ass, so it starts to run down to your little opening. I press my hand against your cunt while you feel the lube running down, and the first drops find your asshole, and gather there. It feels so innocent, but you know it’s to make it easier for you to take my cock.”  

The words reached her. She imagined that, that first entry, not by him but by oil. He probably wouldn’t guess she hadn’t had a cock in her arse before. She’d have to tell him. He’d be all blokey and proud about it, which would be annoying, but he needed to know: “be gentle with me!” She felt the muscles in her legs tautening, and she pressed her palm harder against her sweet, god, so alive, clitoris. She fucked herself harder and faster with her fingers. 

“I lube my forefinger so it’s nice and slippery, and then I slip it into your ass. You’re so tight, and I love thinking about how you’ll feel, those muscles round my cock. We’ll fit so well, my honey, beautiful Ngaire, you on your hands and knees, me covering you, my cock sliding slowly into your asshole.”

Ngaire grunted. Her mouth had opened, though she couldn’t speak, and she felt her stomach muscles tighten. Something was building. Inside her. She brought in her left hand, to rub against her clitoris while her right hand finger-fucked herself. She felt herself slowly fall back to the bed.  

“But you admit me easily, no qualm, no pain, all the way to the first knuckle. Then I press deeper, to the second knuckle. I move my finger inside you, to let you strip lube off it, and slowly withdraw. I put more lube onto my fingers. And I lean down and kiss your sweet ass. I can’t help that, any more than I can help smacking it. Then you feel two fingers at your entrance, slowly pressing, and you suddenly give, you give yourself to me, letting me in. And -“

But Ngaire had rediscovered the power of speech. She said, “Jofff! Ah! Fuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck me!” And that power that had been building inside her burst, from somewhere between her belly and the small of her back. A wave of pleasure and power took her. Shook her. Her face and throat in rictus. She screamed. Oh fuck.

She didn’t stop working at herself, her cunt. She screamed again. And then, a few frantic seconds later, again. She looked up at last, almost embarrassed, to see what Freddie thought.

He was still in his seat, but leaning forward. His face seemed fierce and gentle, at once. He’d been moved. Then he came forward, onto the bed, his body between her thighs, now fallen, spread and relaxed. He kissed her cunt. As though he was in love with it. He babbled, “Good girl, good girl, good girl, oh good girl…”  

Ngaire put her hand, smeared and wet with her own fluids, on the back of his head.