A slave girl can too get a moment’s peace. And when she’s tired because you made her tired, and she sleeps because you made her calm and safe, a Dom’s heart gets all warm and gooey. It’s just how it is.
But there’s something about those socks with the horizontal stripes. I’m not sure why this is so strongly true, but sideways socks are sinfully sexy. On… Sunday.
Claire is in Will’s office to discuss the punishment, in front of the whole school, of her daughter for shoplifting. She begins to reveal things about herself, her loneliness and guilt, and the kind of relationship she needs.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
Ngaire lay naked on her own bed. She had her thighs wide, and her own fingers, no toys, in her cunt. Her thigh muscles and her stomach muscles were taut. She was getting close. Her mouth opened, though she didn’t want to risk waking Melinda, her daughter, asleep – she hoped – in the next room. But she moaned, and then, when a fresh wave of pleasure took her, hard like a punch in her stomach, she grunted.
Freddie had been lying beside her, but now he sat in her chair at the end of the bed, watching her.
An hour ago they’d lain together, having fucked more less continuously through their evening, and then, some time in the early morning, they’d lain, happy and relaxed with the other. Ngaire had stroked his cock lightly. It was down to semi-hard, and wet with her own fluids. She ran a finger nail along the underside of his cock and he’d grunted. His cock had jumped, and it stayed lifted, free of his body. Not erect yet, but on the way back.
She’d said, lazily, “I like to wank boys. I did it a lot when I was a kid.”
“To avoid getting pregnant?”
“Partly. That was the reason at first, I guess. Then I got to like it.”
“A man with his cock in your hand is a bit like a bull with a ring in his nose. So long as you hold that, you’re in control.”
“No! Well, all right, yeah, that’s true. And as an teenage girl, it’s always nice to feel safe around boys. But I got to enjoy it in its own right. I like the way men respond, how their cock takes them over, when you give them pleasure. I guess I still do like that. Would you like me to wank you off?”
“Ahh. Look, while I can still get it up, I mean this morning, I’d much rather fuck you. I love your cunt. And I’ve got designs on your ass.”
“Daphne said you like to leave marks on her arse.”
“Yeah, I do. But I meant I plan to fuck your ass. My cock. In your rectum. Me in control, you out of control. Out of your control, anyway.”
“Yeah, I think you might be allowed to manage that. Hmm. No wanking you off. Would you like to watch me wank?”
“Actually, yes. I’m still going to fuck you up the ass, if that gives you something to think about while you’re wanking. But yes, I’d like to see you get yourself off.”
“It’s funny, there aren’t many women who want to watch men wanking. But all men want to watch women wank.”
“You’re more beautiful. I think, anyway. And there’s not much mystery about men wanking. The cock’s sort of out there. But cunts are more inwards -“
“So profound, this man.”
Freddie put his hand on her left inner thigh, and smacked her, just missing her cunt.
Ngaire knew that wasn’t the last time he was going to smack her, though he was hiding the side of himself that Daphne had told him about. “Ok. Freud: Off! But I think men generally all wank much the same. But women do different things. I’ve had girlfriends who wank lying on their front, others who lie on their backs. Which are you?”
“I’m an on-my-back girl. And I’m going to wank while you watch. Do you want to see me actually working to get myself off, or do you want me to put on a show?”
And he’d said the right thing. Ngaire had made herself a pile of pillow to lean back against, and began to stroke her inner thighs, not touching her cunt at first. As if she was teasing herself.
This is a nice image of a girl, Arethusa, well paddled, her ass and thighs glowing, warm and buzzing, bending over the bed, about to be fucked. It’s clear, and warm, and it’s the out-take. Why?
Because the one I used, a fuck-up from a photographer’s point of view, better captured the sense of movement, the rush of heated red sex. Here it is again.
I liked the “mistake” much more. So the well-taken photo became the out-take.
If you’re going to attempt to provide a History of BDSM literature, you’d best begin by defining your terms.
There are a number of definitions available, but I think they are mostly flawed by the assumptions the writer has made before trying to say clearly what they mean.
Definitions by older psychological writers and practitioners, not to mention pseudoscientists like psychoanalysts, tend to build in the idea that bdsm is pathological. On the other hand, some more recent writers have assumed that bdsm is necessarily Safe, Sane and Consensual, so that activities that don’t fit into that ethical frame can simply be excluded and discounted.
This is my definition, and I think it’s the most accurate, with the fewest unstated assumptions, on the intellectual market. So it’s the definition I’m using when I discuss writing that expresses bdsm desires.
Claire is in Will’s office to discuss the punishment of her daughter Tara for shoplifting. She begins to hint that there are things in her own life that have gone astray, where she could use some external … control.
It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.
