Wicked Wednesday: A bright and rising weal

Claire bent naked over my desk, holding on to the further edge of the desktop, legs wide apart. I’d tapped the cane against Claire’s bottom, and asked her if she was ready for her caning.

She shook her head. “God, I don’t know. Sir! But… I guess I have to be. Yes. Yes sir.”

“Hold on tight.” And I swung the cane medium hard, catching her across the middle of her buttocks. Claire’s head rose from the table, and she made a pained grunt. But she kept her bottom presented for me.

I added the second stroke, exactly as hard, just three centimetres lower. Her grunt of pain was no louder. 

Her ass waggled from side to side, but she settled, perfectly presented within five seconds. When it took her twenty seconds to be back in position after va stroke, she would get that stroke again. 

I resisted the urge to strike her harder. This was to be a cumulative thing. The third stroke, lower still, caused a short frenzy of stamping feet, and this time she moaned, high and musical. The muscles in her legs tautened as she struggled to keep her ass still. I nodded, but said nothing, raising the cane again.

The fourth stroke caused her first real grief, and a howl of pain and woe. Her feet left the carpet and kicked, and her ass dropped, her lower belly pressed against the desk.

I counted the seconds. Within seven seconds she was back in place, her bottom carrying four new raised welts, each a twin track of red with a paler line in the middle. I gave her the fifth stroke, and her vocal response was louder, and higher pitched. It took her twelve seconds to have her body back in the abjectly inviting position I’d instructed her to assume.

She must have sensed me raising the cane for the sixth stroke, because she gave one short groan before I delivered it.

When it landed, on the crease of her buttocks and thighs, she cried, “Fuuuuck! Oh! OH! Oh fuck!” Her legs lifted nearly level with the table and she rolled in pain, kicking.

Maddie pressed Claire’s shoulders down, and murmured something into her ear, I don’t know what, to comfort her and remind her to get back in position. Claire’s bottom, now marked with a new bright and rising weal, wouldn’t keep still. At last Claire presented her ass again, up and arched for me, and groaned, “Oh sir, oh sir, please, please, oh god.”

I tapped her left inner thigh with the cane. “That was your first six, Claire. We’ll take a short break now, but the best thing you can do is stay in position while you wait. We’ve got a long way to go together, you and I.”

Masturbation Monday: Holding something back

Teresa knew that this must be what he’d been holding in check, on their first evening together. She grinned. “You’re a pervert. You smack my arse. Now you want to tie me up. My pervy man. But, yeah, I suppose that’s ok.”

Teresa thought of herself, despite her favourite erotica, as a bitey vampire girl, sexually, not a submissive girl. She enjoyed submissive fantasies, but they didn’t define her. Still, she was curious. She’d enjoyed getting her bottom smacked as much as Tessa had, or perhaps more. So it was worth exploring a little further.

Roland pulled the belt out of her non-sexy robe, since she didn’t have bondage ropes in the house. She’d never had her wrists tied to her bedposts, or anywhere else, before. Till now her lovers had been too impressed with her vampirey self to suggest something like that.

She liked Roland’s complete failure to be afraid of her. She rolled onto her front when he asked, and let him hold her wrists.

He knelt on her with his thighs straddling her arse, his cock sometimes touching her, while he set her wrists wide apart, her arms outstretched, before securing them to her bedposts. She had to admit that it felt enjoyably perverse. It was definitely compensation for losing the corset.

Once she was tied, he put two pillows under her hips, and slipped three of his fingers into her cunt, and his thumb in her tight little hole, up to the first knuckle. He stroked her so that she rocked her bottom up and down like a rubber duck in choppy waters. He said, “Beautiful. You look incredibly hot, little vampire girl.”

“And fuckable? You might fuck me, then.”

Roland ignored her and kept stroking her, until Teresa could only make incoherent noises, to demand to be fucked and not fingered. Fucked, right now.

At last she felt his hands on her hips, holding her then sliding down to lift her, raising her arse so he could slide easily into her from behind. She felt him place his knees between hers.

She expelled a breath, hard, when his cock entered, so hard, and so fat.

Teresa said, “About time”, and he said nothing back, but withdrew a little before pushing back into her. They moved very slowly, the vampire girl and her chosen male victim, and deep, and she didn’t notice for a while what was wrong. 

Sinful Sunday: Comfort and the cane

Arethusa got this caning for missing a doctor’s appointment. But the first thing I did was put down not one but two pillows for her to rest on, so she didn’t hurt herself, bending over my table.

It didn’t strike me, until I looked at the photos I took, what an odd mix it was: caring so much about her comfort, and then taking the cane and making her as uncomfortable as I possibly could. 

Mild discouragement: A personal note

I’ve been working quite hard to get literary agent representation for two novels. There’re non-erotic novels, of all things, and they’re not written by Jerusalem Mortimer. Or they are, but under another name. 

You know what?
Hang In There Cat can fuck right off

I have sent them to about forty agents now. The pitch is pretty good, I think. And when I check them, even in discouragement, I have to admit that they’re good books. Beta readers have likewise liked them. They’re funny, scary, sexy, dark novels, the kind I like reading.

Still, I’m getting no love. 

Many literary agents don’t even write back. A writer just has to assume, after hearing nothing for three to four months, that that agent must have rejected their books.

I must admit that the level of disrespect that comes with not even bothering to fire off a standard rejection notice just amazes me.

It’s a kind of arrogant, lazy contempt that makes me wonder why those agents are even in a business that has anything remotely to do with books. 

So… I’m still plugging away. I’m writing a third non-erotic novel right now. But just at this moment, a certain amount of joy and hope has run out, like sand out of a toy octopus. I will send the sample chapter, pitch and synopsis off to a new agent today. 

But right now, my life is not joyous or triumphant. It’s an endurance event. 

Wicked Wednesday: That fierce grip

I’d told Claire to arch her ass up, as though she was begging for the cane.

“Yes sir!” Claire’s bottom rose off the desk, round, sweetly curved and decorated with five glowing bands from the ruler in Maddie’s hands. Bent over, her legs straight and widely parted, ass poised, she was in one of the most sexually abject and inviting positions a woman can assume.

But I gave her no praise, instead tapping her bottom with the cane, not softly. I growled, “Keep your ass right there, girl. You’ve go twenty seconds after each stroke to get back in this position. Or you’ll get extra strokes.”

“Yes… S-sir.” Claire was having trouble speaking.

I wondered whether to make her count and thank me for each stroke, but I guessed that she’d lose what remained of her ability to speak in the first four strokes. Maddie could do the counting.

That raised another question: how many strokes to give her? On the one hand, I considered she’d done nothing wrong; but she felt intense guilt, and her caning had to be impressive enough to end that guilt. Not less than two dozen, I decided, and possibly three dozen. More if she wasn’t sobbing.



“You’re in charge of looking after Claire while I cane her. Comfort her, give her tissues, say nice things. Look after her. Sister to sister.”  

Maddie crossed to Claire’s side. She bent forward and kissed Claire’s bare shoulder, then her neck. And she put her hand on one of Claire’s hands, which were fiercely gripping the edge of my desk.

Maddie whispered, “It’s going to hurt, little darling. But you’ll get through it. I’ve been in your place, on this very desk, and I can promise you you’ll be all right. There.” 

I tapped the cane on Claire’s bottom again. “Ready, Claire?” It was a ridiculous question, but a traditional one.

Food for Thought Not-Exactly-Friday: Ritual of enslavement

On accepting a woman as my slave.

I’m dressed in all the Dom gear, which in my case consists of black jeans and a black tee-shirt, and the only actually bdsm-y thing is knee-high black boots with buckles all over them. I’m standing.

She is naked, and kneeling, leaning forward so her forehead touches the carpet. She’s not allowed to speak.

Me: Kiss my boots. Use your tongue. 

While she obeys, I say: You walk with me, following me and beside me. I promise to lead you. 

I raise one boot: Good girl. Now kiss the underside. 

While she obeys, one boot at a time due to my inability to levitate, I say: You come into this new relationship between us as my slave. You are always beneath me. You obey, you show respect, and you never forget your enslaved status.

Me: Good girl. Now kiss my hands.

While she obeys, I say: You are in my hands now, as my property. My hands are for your punishment when you need it, and for pleasuring you, too.

Me: Good girl. Now, using only your mouth, unzip me, kiss my cock, and take it in your mouth.

While she obeys, I say: We’re together now, for your pleasure and for mine. You will please my cock in any way I tell you, and I will please you. We’re together for love and pleasure.

Me: Good girl. Now kiss my mouth.

After she’s obeyed, I say: You listen to me, as your master, and you do as you’re told. I will praise you often, and sometimes tell you to prepare for punishment. And I’ll kiss you often, and lick your perfect cunt.

Me: Good girl. My girl. My property, little slavegirl. Now get back on your knees. Bow your head.

While she kneels, I fit her collar.


That’s the ritual of formal enslavement. I’ve done it three times in my life. It marks the transition from one kind of relationship, even if it was already a bdsm relationship, to another. So it’s very formal.

I thought about how to mark it, they first time I entered a master/slave relationship. I felt that it should be very formal, and ritualistic, with each step and each aspect (like the fact that only I speak) having a clear meaning. It may seem flat, on the screen, but live, in the moment, it has power.

When it’s done the next step follows from the ritual, but isn’t defined by it. She’s allowed to speak again. What she wants might be a glass of wine, or a fuck. Or something fierce and harsh. When the ritual’s over, the moment dictates. 


Sinful Sunday: New experiences

I’d told Arethusa to wait for me naked at her front door on her knees, with her forehead on the carpet. 

It was melodramatic and a little cliched, but it was going to be the first time we met. I’d thought we should start with things she’d read about and wanked to. To show that I was going to bring them to life.

So within two minutes of our having met for the first time she’d demonstrated the formidable fellatio skills she’d mentioned in one of her emails. And, though duly pleased, I’d managed to find or manufacture some fault, and put her over my knee, sitting on her couch.

Then she had corner time, for the first but not last time in her adult life. She waited, wondering what I was going to do with her, or to her, next. To be honest, I was a little moonstruck myself, by the speed with which we’d found our places. So I was also wondering what next. 

I thought of something. 



E[{lust} 121: That Jerusalem Mortimer guy, he’s a top blogger this month!

Photo courtesy of Steeled Snake

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Wicked Wednesday: Moving fast when motivated

I used the strict-Headmaster voice. “Right, Claire. You’ve asked for the cane, and now you’re going to get it. Good and hard, girl.”

Claire looked solemn. It was apparently the first time she’d been in this ritual since she left school. But she remembered its power. “Yes, sir.”

“Bend over my desk, Claire. Hold onto the far edge of the desk. And don’t let go or get up, if you value your skin.”

Claire scrambled to obey, presenting herself over my desk, breasts flattening onto the leather patch. She reached forward until she could get her fingers holding the far edge.

The position kept her body tautly stretched.

“Good girl. Now put your feet right apart. You don’t need modesty, from a man who’s going to fuck you shortly. And it gives the cane full access to your body. Deeply.”

I meant that when I caned her lower buttocks, the cane would get very close to her pussy lips, possibly reach them. Claire nodded solemnly. She knew what I’d meant. She let her face fall to the desktop, and spread her legs for me, very slowly.  

I said, “Maddie.”

“Yes sir?”

“Two ruler strokes for Claire, please. Medium hard.”

Maddie brightened. Her good luck wasn’t necessarily going to be appreciated by Claire, but it was luck, for both of them.

Maddie can move fast when motivated, and in less than three seconds there was the sharp slap of wood on flesh, then another, while Claire gasped. A fourth and fifth band of pinkish red bloomed across Claire’s bottom.

“Claire, when I give you an order, you acknowledge it by saying ‘Yes, sir.’ Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I knew that, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Good. And you obey orders quickly. Immediately. That may have stung a bit, Claire, but it was only a warning. The next time you fail to acknowledge an order, or to jump to obey it, I’ll make the point with the cane.”

“Yes, sir! I am sorry, sir.”

“That’s better. Now arch your bottom right up. Like you’re a cat begging to be fucked. But in this case, like you’re begging for the cane. Which in fact you are.”



Masturbation Monday: Bed, I think

After Roland had stripped and Teresa had removed everything but her corset, he moved behind her to undo it. She said, “No, boy. I’m a vamp. The corset stays.”

To her surprise he simply smacked her bottom. The slap echoed in the room, and it also echoed faintly in her cunt, as sex. Teresa said, “Hey!”

But he smacked her bottom again. “I want you naked this time. Also, I want you.”

She relaxed. He’d already shown his enthusiasm for her corseted self, so it was reasonable. And on the one hand, she didn’t want him to smack her bottom again. And on the other hand, she didn’t want to tell him to stop smacking her bottom.

Which probably meant that in the meantime she should indulge him. So she turned her back and allowed him to undo and loosen the stays, and when the corset was loose enough she pulled it over her head and off.

She turned to face him, and his face when he was confronted with her naked self was rewarding enough. He said, “You are very, ridiculously, wonderfully beautiful.”

He took her left nipple in his mouth, kissing and tonguing it, and lightly grazing it with his teeth. Then he sucked, trying to get as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. Teresa let her mouth fall open. It felt comfortable and right and hot, and there was nothing to say about it.

Teresa put her hands on his arse and stepped close, so her thighs closed on his cock. It wasn’t going down, so it had to be somewhere. He repeated his kissing, tonguing and grazing ritual with her right nipple, and then looked at her, pushing a swatch of red-dyed hair out of her eyes. “Bed, I think.”

Teresa sat and lay back, and Roland lifted her thighs with his hands and kissed her cunt until she sighed. Then she felt him trail his tongue up to her right nipple, and then back to her cunt until she sighed again, and then up to her left nipple, and back to her cunt.

She squirmed under him while he focussed her attention close to but not quite touching her clitoris. He licked her, long and slow, and she put her hands on the back of his head.

Not to direct him but to show her approval. She enjoyed his attention to her cunt in silence. What corset? But at last he raised his head and stared up at her face. He said, “You should have your wrists tied to the bedheads. If I’m going to fuck you properly. That ok with you?”