She is a possession. Beautiful, well disciplined and well loved.
She lies on her bed, comfortable, relaxed and happy.
But she hears her Master enter the room. She turns, wondering what he wants with her. But she has a pretty good idea.
I withdrew and returned, still moving slow, while Claire shuddered under me, pain and heat changed into heat and need. Sexual alchemy. We fucked excruciatingly slowly, until I heard something in her breathing, and her hands had clenched on the bedclothes again.
I sped up, still maintaining a medium pace, grinding luxuriously against her heated, presented bottom, then withdrawing to ram into her again. Claire moaned openly under me. I heard her breath quickening. She’d been ready to come, almost at a touch, before we started fucking.
“Claire, girls like you don’t get to come without permission. But you can beg for permission when you need.”
“Master! Uh!” Claire’s mouth and eyes were wide open. The bedspread by her mouth was dark with her drool. Her hands worked. She answered my thrusts with her own movements, trying to keep her ass pressed against me and my cock buried deep.
We sped up again. I knew she was close. It didn’t take her long. “Please, please. Master! Please Master!”
Some gifts are better if they have to be worked for. “Then ask me properly.”
“May I come Master? Please.”
Waiting makes a gift seem bigger, too. “No.”
“No? Please please please…”
I said, “Hmm…”
After a while of knowing nothing except the feel of Roland’s body and the need to be as closely pressed against him as possible, Teresa slowly became aware again of where she was. They were together on his desk, Teresa tightly bent over and Roland covering her.
They were still gasping like sprinters who’d breasted the ribbon and crossed the hundred-metre mark. He reached under her to hold and cup her breasts, his body still pressed tight against her arse, his cock slowly shrinking inside her.
His face was beside hers, over her shoulder after he’d collapsed onto her back. He looked at her with something soft, some form of adoration, in his eyes. His mouth opened, then closed. He had nothing to say.
But eventually Teresa said, “I felt that! You coming! Like a little splash in me. Little splash of you! It was lovely. I felt you come in me.”
Roland kissed her. “That was… amazing. You can have as much of my come as you like. Whenever you like. And wherever.”
She chuckled. That didn’t need an answer, but it was good to hear. He said, “How’s your arse?”
“You mean the spanking or the buttsex?”
“Let’s start with the spanking.”
“The proper spanking? I feel not sore. Very not sore. Warm. Lovely and toasty. And I felt all floaty, for a while. Not long enough. And while I was floating, nothing hurt. Is that supposed to happen?”
“Then proper spankings are great! But… you’d give a girl that for being bad? How’s that supposed to discourage her? I want another one of those. Lots of them. I mean, once I’ve recovered a bit. But soon.”
”That was a good-girl spanking. A proper one. But there are bad-girl spankings, too, and I think if I ever have to give you one of those, you’d, um, modify your behaviour. To avoid me giving you another one. It’s not just that it hurts more, when I spank to punish. It’s the knowing I’m cross with you. It feels very different.”
“’If you ever have to give me one of those.’ You’re assuming a lot, aren’t you?”
When she confessed it was hanging over her, I sat her down in the library and made her work on it, while I wrote the appendices as best I could. Though even they needed more specialised knowledge than I had. But the only way of getting the essay in before the cut-off time was if I did them. So we both worked until the early hours, and got the essay in with minutes to spare.
I was concerned about why this was happening. But I was also certain that as soon as the essay was sent, and she’d slept, there was a reckoning due.
So we have this picture of Arethusa about halfway through that reckoning, and the collection of implements I used in that reckoning. And, because every loving Master should look after the messes he creates, a box of tissues.
But there were always two tracks of thought and feeling with Arethusa’s punishments. She is submissive, and I’m a Dom. That means I was in charge, and responsible for making sure things went well for her, using guidance, assistance and discipline. It also meant, it’d be silly to deny, that some scenes were hot as fuck.
So in the midst of punishment I was always thinking about how hard it was reasonable to go, and what she needed to change her behaviour. But there was also simple sexual appreciation: she looked beautiful. And the more I marked her, the more beautiful she looked.
It’s an odd kind intimacy if you aren’t wired for it, as giver or receiver. But for us, it was an act of love and care. Her gift of submission, and mine of control and care. And then of lust and joy.
Teresa paused. Jack had just asked her –told her – to ask him to fuck her ass.She paused. It turned out to be a hard thing to ask for. It made her feel shy. Also, it might hurt. But she felt committed, and more: she wanted this. It wasn’t so much that she wanted his cock in her ass, as that she wanted him in charge.
At last she nodded. “Yes, sir. Would you please fuck my – Ohff!”
Jack had run out of willpower, or won’t-power, it seemed, and with her demand half-stated he’d pushed forward and into her. Teresa opened her mouth, savouring the sensation. He put his hands on her hips, clutching hard to hold her still while he slowly took her.
The last time she’d had a cock in her arse the boy had worked his way in with a series of small advances and even smaller withdrawals, until he was all the way in her.
But Jack relied on the lube, and perhaps her assurance that he could be rougher, and he took her, slowly but in one long, continuous thrust. She felt him firmly taking her, his lubed cock hard and slick against the inside of her anal tube, nosing its way deeper and deeper until the cool of his stomach and thighs pressed tight against her blazing hot skin. She sighed then, satisfied. She was thoroughly filled.
They both breathed out audibly then, tightly joined, and slowly moved together. He reached under her to press his hand hard against her cunt. Eventually, she pushed her arse back at him, and squeezed to hold him tight. He was deliciously hard and just the right amount of painful in her, her spanked skin still blazing heat back at him. She said, “Ah. Ah, fuck.”
She could hear her own desperation. She could already feel her need gathering at the base of her spine. He moved his hands to hold the fronts of her thighs, and sped up a little, chasing for his own orgasm.
Debbie could feel a familiar hunger and need building in herself, while their bodies rutted, each pushing into the other, and they had no more sense of time.
A few minutes or an hour later she felt the wave she was riding break. Her eyes wide, she made her orgasm cry: “Tard! Tard-ah! Tard ah ben kit tol! Ah!”
His own sounds, just a few seconds later, made no more sense. Just a series of low animal growls, bear-like, and then he came, deep in her. She yowled with him as he spurted within her. She felt that, his liquid released in her. She was moved by it. And yes, she decided, she felt fed.
“Well? Sir? Am I a good girl yet?”
“You’re not looking very sorry, are you?”
“I don’t see how that’s ever going to make me sorry. I could possibly suck your cock. That counts as good, doesn’t it?”
“After the spanking, the oral sex? Good idea. But I think I’ll do you, first. You’re looking very yummy.”
“I’ll be beaten then eaten?”
“Hah. But I think you need the cane, first.”
“You always think I need the cane.”
“Well, I’m never wrong. Get that arse up, girl.”
And she still didn’t look sorry. But she did do as she was told.
Claire knelt, hands and knees, at my feet. “I need you to fuck me, now, Master. If you want.” That was a silly thing to say; of course I wanted. But I guessed she wanted to say something submissive. Then she said, “Thoroughly.”
I took the cane, lodged between her buttocks, and removed the little butt plug. I stroked her, two fingers and then three slishing between wet lips, and pressed the cane between her labia. I said, “Thoroughly.” Claire caught her breath, then moaned quietly when I put a little upwards pressure to the cane so it lodged against her most sensitive skin, her cunt warmly and wetly clasping that length of rattan. Then I added, because it suddenly occurred to me, “That’s an anagram of ‘hot’ and ‘roughly’.”
That cane I stroked her with had caused her pain, and she knew it was soon going to bring her more, but for now all was forgiven between them, that cane and her. I turned the cane so it rolled in her, and her moans became a little louder. She was very ready for… something. Anything. She was prepared to let anythng happen. Anything that had her in iit and was hard would be good.
I smiled at her, not that she could see me, and took as condom from my bedside drawer. I said, “As for thoroughly, let’s see what happens. You’ve got six penalty strokes still to come. You’ve had one penalty stroke, so that will bring us to thirty-seven. While I’m deliver them I expect you to stay in place, and count each stroke out loud. And thank me. So, the next one is ‘Thirty-two, thank you, sir.’ Can you do that?”
“I don’t know how I’ll keep still, Master. Or quiet. But I’ll try.”
“You’ll do as you’re told, Claire. Unless you want to call out some higher numbers. You can count to fifty, can’t you?”
“I’ll keep still, Master!”
“That’s better. Brace yourself, Claire. These are going to sting.”
I raised the cane, counted silently and slowly to forty while she waited, then swung it down, to crack, loud and vicious, across the softer skin of her lower buttocks. Claire sucked in air, and her hands clenched, gathering up bedclothes as she fought to keep still and presented. She gasped, then sang out loud and clear, “Thirty-two! Thank you, sir!”
I’d wanted to remind her of her place, and bring back the mood we’d had in my office.
But after only that one stroke lust took over. I rolled the condom on and took Claire firmly by her hips, raising her ass a little further.
I pressed forward and my cock slipped easily into her cunt, till I was buried: wetly and tightly held. I took her in one long, slow movement. When I was pressed tight, finally, against the blazing heat of her ass, Claire groaned, low. “Fuuuck! Thank you, god thank you, Master.”
Roland said nothing to that, but slowly withdrew his fingers, leaving a generous amount of the lube inside her. This time he coated three fingers with the lube, liberally, and pushed them into her. Her anus made the briefest resistance to this new, more challenging intrusion, and Teresa wriggled briefly on the desk. Roland said, “You all right? Comfortable?”
She smiled, which he wouldn’t see, then nodded. “You take a lot more care than Julian, that’s for sure. He just whacked it in. Poor Tessa. Though there was a hot side to that… On paper, anyway. And the last boy who had his cock up my arse wasn’t all that much better. So I feel cared for. Sir. You can be rougher with me if you need to be.”
“You’ll know when I need to be.” He pushed his fingers further into her muscled tube, past the second knuckle, and held them there for several moments. Then he pushed the fingers all the way inside her, as far as they would go. Her hips moved, and began to churn, back and forth, fucking his fingers while he held them deep in her.
But he withdrew at last, pressing a thigh against hers to make up for that absence, and lubed his cock. He pressed the head against her lube-glistened entrance, then held still. Teresa, still bent over his desk, raised her arse for him and tightened her hands into fists. She knew she was shaking lightly, trembling under him. It wasn’t fear.
At last she made a questioning noise. Her anal muscles had accepted the head of his cock, and were holding it, tight but comfortably enough; but he wasn’t pressing forward. She wondered how much willpower that took. He said, “Would you like me to fuck your arse, Teresa?”
She made a gurgle of frustration and impatience. So he smacked her again. She was out of her floaty space, so the blow hurt and she yelped. She tried to push back, to impale herself on his cock, and he smacked her again, more firmly.
“Well? I asked you a question?”
The world is comfortable. Even the cuffs are padded.
And it is beautiful.
(Model: The lovely Zoë, whose blog is here.)
I gave her the robe to carry, and said, “Follow me.” I took her to the door that led into the living room. She looked around, still wide-eyed. It was a comfortable room, the furnishings and paintings old-fashioned, and not, apparently, having any sexual or disciplinary purpose. Two leather armchairs, with rolled arms, faced the fireplace. Mine was an innocent living room, and yet she knew she was not in here for any innocent purposes.
I smacked her ass again and turned her to face the corridor. “Drop to your hands and knees, Claire. Crawl. The bedroom’s second on the right.”