Wicked Wednesday: Owned like a table. Or car.

Claire had gone inside, in her house, to return the bag of shoplifted clothes to under her daughter’s bed. If she returned to the car, then she would get extra strokes of the cane, and be fucked. I didn’t know which she would choose, but I waited without fretting.

And in about eight minutes she was back, running in her little robe lest the neighbours might see her. She’d hurried. I held open the passenger door, and kissed her once she scrambled inside.   

While we drove to my house I said, “Have you ever had a butt-plug in you before, Claire?”

Her face was already red. She knew she’d chosen whatever happened from this point, and believed that only a shameless woman would do that. “No, Master. It feels strange.”

I smiled. “It makes you very aware of yourself. As a possession, not an independent person, all alone.”

Claire considered that. “I don’t think I can say how I feel, Master.  But…. I’m very happy so far. Even though my ass hurts terribly.”

“There’ll be a time, some time tonight, when I ask you to say whether you belong to me. I know what you’ll say. Don’t you?”

“Yes Master. You’ll own me. Like you own a table. Or this car. I look forward to you asking me, sir.”

“Right.” There was a bone-gag in the glove box. I passed it to her. “I’ll tell you when I need to hear from you again.”

She accepted the gag. “Yes, Master.” She sounded puzzled. But she put the plastic bone between her teeth, and tightened the clasp behind her head.

Then we drove on to my place in silence, my passenger butt-plugged, nearly naked, and unable to speak. I squeezed her thigh reassuringly.  

At last I pulled in at my house, the garage door opening for us so I could park under the house. Claire was relieved, I think, to have privacy when she got out of my car. When she scrambled out and waited I took the cane from the back seat, where I’d thrown it.

“Turn around and face the door, Claire.”

She tried to say, “Yes, Masster,” through the gag. It came out as, “Eff affer.” When she had her back to me I unbuckled her gag and removed it, slipping it into my pocket. She worked her mouth. “Thank you, sir.”

I put the cane to her mouth. “Open, and hold the cane for me, Claire.” She obeyed, silently since the cane had replaced the gag, and she guessed that there’d be consequences if she allowed it to fall from her mouth.

Then I pulled the robe back from her shoulders, down until her breasts bounced free, and then let it drop to her feet.

“Pick that up. From now on, whenever you come to this house, this is where you remove your clothing. You’re not allowed to wear clothes in my house. Is that understood, girl?”

Girl. I don’t think it occurred to Claire, at that moment, that she was a couple of years older than me. She bobbed to collect the discarded robe.

Sinful Sunday: The razor strop has work to do

 

 

There’s a story behind that razor strop, and I once started to tell it on this blog. I’m going to get back to it soon. 

But every implement should have more than one story. Here it is in my library, having travelled with me for a couple of thousand kilometres, 

And finding itself with warm, sensual work to do. It helps to create and enhance beauty, among its many other talents. 

 

 

(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: The call of desire

Claire, naked, shamed and caned, butt-plug winking crimson between her striped buttocks, stayed in position, hands on head. We were going through a ceremony together, the shaming of the committed submissive before the next stage, when discipline continues but becomes less painful and more openly and overtly sexual. 

I was pretending to ignore her, though she was beautiful, and her submission and the welts across her ass made her a vibrant sexual presence.

At the same time the clicking of my keyboard was a sign to her that she was not important, just a shamed woman waiting for the next part of her sentence to be pronounced.

Eventually I opened a new document and scrawled in it irrelevantly, just to make the sound of a keyboard while I studied her.

Her head was proud and high at first, but as the minutes passed, feeling the warm pain in her buttocks, and her own apparently ignored nudity, her head dropped, her pride gone. She knew that I thought she’d done no wrong, and had only punished her so she could forgive herself.

She knew that was beautiful and desirable to me. But the physical sensations, and her position have a message that reaches deeper than the conscious mind. 

I approved, though she had plenty to be proud of. Her chubby but muscled ass and upper thighs, showing off her new stripes, some raised, some red and some black, and the butt-plug firmly in place, her raised arms and her breasts and nose touching the wall: they were all powerful sexual signals.

It was ten past three. Her daughter, Tara, would be let out of school in twenty minutes.

I said, “Claire.”

“Yes, Master?” She spoke straight ahead, to the wall. She learned fast. Or she’d thought about giving herself in submission before.

“Put the robe on. We’re going to your place first. Then I’ll take you to mine. You need more, Claire. Isn’t that right?”

“I know you owe me two more strokes, Master.” Then she thought about that answer. “Yes! Of course I need more, Master!” She broke position, and stepped to the clothes rack, taking the robe from its hook.

She realized how little protection it offered, looked at me for a second, aware of my regard for her naked body, and shrugged herself into it. “And… I believe I need fucking, Master?”

I pressed my fingers against her butt plug, getting it a little deeper.

“Good girl. That’s right. Carry these.” I passed her the bags with her clothing, and the clothing her daughter Tara had shoplifted. She took them. They were, in different ways, heavy and meaningful burdens. I picked up the medium cane. She was due two more strokes, though I doubted she could keep it down to just two. 

She was a responsible adult. A mother with a child. A working woman. So I took her by her ear, twisted it till it hurt, and led her, cringing in my grasp, through corridors to the car park where my car waited.

I drove her to her home first, following her directions. I let her get out of the car and didn’t follow her while she put the bag of stolen clothes back under Tara’s bed. If she stayed inside there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing to make her come back to me. Except desire. I waited.

Lewis Carroll’s Re-Joycings!

 I wrote a series of stories, in which the punchline was always a deeply stupid re-working of the celebratory chortle from Jabberwocky: “Oh frabjous day! Calloo callay!” 

I promised to collect them. 

I thought there were five or six of them, but tragically I can only find four. But here we go! And here they are:

  1. HP Lovecraft rang his friend Lewis Carroll. “My doom is upon me! The Great Dead Old One moved into the Alpine house next door! He’s tentacular, and his Doomed House keeps getting nearer and – AAARRRGH!” Silence. Carroll hung up. He breathed, “Oh frabjous day! Cthulu Chalet!”
  2. Lewis Carroll was concerned that moorland drainage and increased forest growth was leading to the extinction of a species of long-billed, wading birds.  But John Ruskin told him there were still plenty in France. “Oh frabjous day,” breathed Carroll. “Curlews in Calais!”
  3. After Lewis Carroll left the dentist, his fillings started picking a strange radio signal from the future: the B-52s singing “Love Shack”, through a fracture in time. He listened, appalled, and said, “O fractious day! Canoodle chalet?”
  4. Lewis Carroll fell asleep while he was out in his inflatable canoe. It got caught by the wind and blown across the channel. Eventually he saw a guy sunbathing on a beach. He called out, “Where am I?” The Frenchman realised this must be a lost Englishman. He said, “O frabjous day! Canoe to Calais!”

And, just for Jabberwocky re-working fans, here’s one more: 

5.    Lewis Carroll was talking to Dickens, after his triumphant American tour. Dickens told him one of the odder sights was what the Americans called, “eckdysiasts”. “What is that?” asked Carroll. “Essentially, they dance and take their clothes off. After they’ve undressed they still dance, but use balloons to cover certain bits of their bodies.” “Oh frabjous day!” said Carroll. “Balloon ballet!”

 

Masturbation Monday: Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream

Something clicked in Teresa’s mind as she bent over her desk. She opened her eyes and mouth. In the book beside her bed, Tessa’s Duties, by Cerise Nates, the dominant billionaire Julian had called virginal secretary Tessa ‘little minx’, just like Roland had called her now. And that phrase, ‘Stretch your arms out sideways, and don’t move them’: that was word for word from her favourite passage.

She glared back at him, but without rising from his desk. “Hey! You bastard, you did read my books! You read Tessa’s Task! Are you being Julian?”

“I haven’t read Tessa’s Task.” She suspected that’d be true, though misleading. He’d only had have time to read a page and a half of it.

But it was her favourite page and a half. She guessed that Roland wanted her to have the experience of something she’d thought of, magically coming true. So she was generous to him, and didn’t call him on it. He smacked her again, harder. “It’s time you had a proper spanking, girl.”

“I’ve already had one! You just spanked me, remember?” It was odd having this defiant conversation with her nipples and nose obediently pressed against the wooden desktop. “And that was on the most tenuous excuse I’ve ever heard.” 

“Teresa, I said a proper spanking. You’ve had the first half. When you’ve had the second half, then you can say you’ve had a proper spanking.”

But he followed that nonsense by putting his hands back on her bottom, and dug his thumbs into the balled muscles, reaching and pressing into tension spots.

Teresa said, “Oof”, then moaned softly. The nonsense he sometimes spoke was only nonsense, but his touch was real and it felt good.

After a couple of minutes of firm massage he stroked in the deep valley between her buttocks, very lightly touching her cunt. Teresa closed her eyes and moaned while he ran his fingertips along her lips, getting them wet. She was wetter. She asked, “Is this the proper spanking?” She tried, for comedy purposes, to make it sound as if she hoped so.  

Roland only smacked her, hard, making that pistol-shot sound of palm on flesh. “This is a proper spanking.” He smacked her again, still hard, on the other side. “Now keep your arse up, Teresa. You look hot like that, and you know it. Also, you want to give me a perfect target.”

“Please don’t hurt me. Not … too much. Sir.” Her voice was little. Her voice sounded little to her, and she was surprising herself. Teresa didn’t know, just then, whether she was play-acting or if the spanks she’d already had, and the commands she’d already obeyed, with the promise of many more of both to come, had let her drift into a smaller, less powerful state of mind. There are pleasures in helplessness. Teresa decided to let go, turn off her mind and float, discovering and exploring downstream.

Elust 123

Elust 123

Photo courtesy of Deviant Succubus

Welcome to Elust 123

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

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Bittersweet Symphony

Breast cancer awareness – check your boobs

The devil is in the detail…

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Metamorphosis: Fat, Fit and In Between

Contraception- life without birth control

Erotic Non-Fiction

Take It To The Limit
Marshmallows
Spank me Red
Custom Made Cuckold Porn

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Control
The Image (1975): The Celluloid Dungeon
Return to CMnf
Latex for the Curious – Catsuits
Negotiating a stunt cock
Ruby Ring Piece
13 reasons why I love play parties
You Got a Piercing Where?

Erotic Fiction

Alice’s Minotaur: A Ravishment Tale
Shadow of You
Punished
The Jealous Wife
What we both want
Rugby world cup I only care about the fucking
The Red Thread
Frigid

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Loosing My Virginity
5 things that encourage Dominance
My Happy Place is an 80s (Sex) Mansion

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex Work – How My Views Have Changed
Golden Brown

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Paradise Lost – Vale Sir Lust
My Nexplanon Implant Story: The Procedure
Elust

Wicked Wednesday: A Vibrant, Silent, Presence

Maddie had just asked me for permission to give Claire another spanking. I considered asking Claire her opinion on that. I expected Claire would be beautifully, blushingly confused about whether that would be a wonderful thing or a terrible thing. But there was plenty of time to explore Maddie’s obvious attraction to Claire.

Claire’s attitude was less obvious. She found Maddie’s interest flattering, and flustering. Time would tell. I said, “Sorry, Maddie, Claire’s been a good girl for, oh, minutes at a time now. So no, you can’t. But if that changes, of course I’ll allow you.”

 “Sir.” Maddie straightened up. She wanted to be obedient and winsome. And she wanted to compete, sexually, with poor Claire.

I said, “You’re a good girl, Maddie. And I know… Maddie, I know how good you’ve just been, for Claire and for me, and I’m very grateful. And I will reward you for that. But later. For now, girl, off you go. You can give Claire a kiss. But then back to your office, Maddie.”

Maddie’s kiss included a comforting squeeze to Claire’s poor caned bottom, and the two women looked at each other for a moment.

Then Maddie kissed Claire’s forehead and was gone, back into her office.

I said, “Claire. Nose to the wall. I’m working now.”

“Yes, Master.” It was always a safe thing to say, she’d learned.

“If I hear a peep out of you, or your nose leaves the wall, I’ll cane you again. Hard. Understood, girl?”

“I understand, Master.”

I grunted, as if her acquiescence meant nothing. It meant the world, of course, but she wasn’t to be allowed to think that. I busied myself with an appeal to school alumni, for repairs to the swimming pool and a new high-dive pool. And an extra couple of rooms to the library.

Claire, naked, shamed and caned, butt-plug winking crimson between her striped buttocks, stayed in position, hands on head.

I pretended to ignore her, though she was beautiful, and her submission and the welts across her ass meant she was a vibrant sexual presence. The clicking of my keyboard was a sign that she was not important, just a shamed submissive waiting for the next part of her sentence to be pronounced.

Eventually I opened a new document and scrawled in it irrelevantly, just to make the sound of a keyboard while I studied her.

Masturbation Monday: Spurning my arse?

Teresa posed, hands and knees on his bed, ass up. Sher knew what would have to hen next: Roland would reach for her, get up onto his knees behind her. Then he said, “No.”

Teresa made a protesting noise. “Whuh?”

“Get up, girl. Off the bed. On your feet.” 

Teresa looked at him, frowning. “I am dealing with a madman, who appears to be spurning my arse.”

But she rolled over and put her feet on the floor. Roland rolled off the bed too, stood in front of her and held her so that she had to look up into his eyes. “Go to my desk, Teresa.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

“And turn to face it.”

“Interesting.” But she did as she was told. It occurred to her that he was easy to obey because he wanted her and he focussed on her. He never made her feel like she was on her own. If he did, she expected that he’d find that obedience, in a sexual content, is a fragile thing. He hadn’t told her to, but to show him where she stood on matters of command and compliance, she put her hands back on her head.

Roland stepped behind her now, and cupped her breasts, lifting them a little while squeezing her nipples between the forefinger and middle finger of each hand. Teresa pursed her lips, and hissed almost silently. The pressure on her nipples was just hard enough that she could be certain that he meant to hurt her, though not too much. 

She arched back so her arse found and pressed against his cock. He grunted, and she felt his cock growing at that contact, from semi-hard to absolutely, fully committed. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and stepped back. Debbie stayed where she was.

“Good girl,” he said. It was the first time he’d called her that. She knew, from reading books like Tessa’s Task, with the attractively domineering billionaire Julian and his submissive and virginal secretary Tessa, that those two words are more important than they might seem. Julian, in Tessa’s Task, had called Tessa a good girl after he’d spanked and buttfucked her.

People who get dominant when they’re turned on, like Julian and, it was now obvious, like Roland say that to submissive partners they approve of. If she didn’t want to be praised for submissiveness, “good girl” would only be offensively patronising. They’d be offensive words addressed to her or to any female person over the age of twelve, she thought, except in exactly this context.

SoTeresa froze for a moment, frowning. She considered whether to object, or deflect it with a joke. But part of her was simply pleased that he thought she was good. She felt Roland, behind her, freeze too. He’d be nervous, of course. It was as though saying ‘good girl’ was his job application, and he was waiting to see if he had the job. At last she smiled and nodded. She heard Roland breathe out, and he kissed her shoulder. She was still sceptical, despite the concessions she’d made on their previous night together. He might be more relieved than he should be. Still, he could have a trial period. Provisionally, he had the job.

He didn’t know about her reservations. He said, “Now put your feet well apart and bend over, Reresa. Nipples and nose touching that desktop. Stretch your arms out sideways, and don’t move them. Now, Teresa.”

This time the pause only lasted a second. Then Teresa obeyed, putting her hands on the desktop and lowering her body into that unmistakably submissive position. Obedience to that order was likely to turn out to be rewarding in multiple ways. She would be fucked, and fed. Now bent over, obedient and at risk of being called “good girl” again, she frowned, evaluating the position she found herself in.

She improved it, straightening her legs without being told, to present her uplifted arse for him.

So he stepped forward and put his hand on her bottom, caressing her left cheek fondly, then made claws of his hands, dragging his fingernails gently up from the crease of her thighs to the small of her back, and then returning to her thighs. Her skin goosebumped under that light touch. He rubbed her more firmly, then smacked her arse. 

“Are you – Are you going to spank me?”

“Of course. Would you try to tell me you haven’t been asking for it, little minx?” 

Sinful Sunday: Filled, flogged and…

 

 

 

 

 

 

The butt plug was introduced quite recently, and it still feels strange. 

The cane still feels ouchie. 

As always, punishment is followed by a period for refection, before it’s time for comforting. It’s odd how a butt plug, together with Master’s penis, should equal “comforting”.

But that is how it is.