Wicked Wednesday: The Yellow Room

Your author is too busy to auth today. But here’s something from an anonymous Victorian filthmonger. The lovely Alice has been sent to stay with her uncle, who wastes no time in making her accept corporal punishment and the mild humiliation of being chronically underdressed. Probably not “mild” humiliation, really, for a Victorian miss.

Here Alice is being birched by her uncle, while her cousin Maud, already fully submitted to him, counts the strokes, and strokes her uncle’s cock under his kilt, to encourage him to keep the strokes hard. 

Alice’s birching (excerpt)

Maud’s even voice continued to number the strokes, and she herself seemed aflame; the sight of the agony her uncle was inflicting seemed to excite her sensuality to an extraordinary degree. Her lips were moist, her eyes swam; the eyelids dropped and all the indications of a very lovesick girl appeared in her.

Alice’s bottom, now bleeding, her tightly strapped limbs, her piercing cries, and the relentlessly inflicted punishment excited her strongest passions. She could have torn Alice limb from limb, and she encouraged her uncle, by rolling his balls and pulling squeezing his prick, to continue the punishment in the severest manner.

She gloated over the numbers as she called them out. 

Sir Edward, too, seemed beside himself. His eyes as two flames, he watched every motion of Alice’s body glossed upon all she displayed, and lacerated her flesh with the rod yet more severely as his organ, already excited to an enormous size, was still further enlarged by Maud’s hand.

At length, Alice’s lower bottom having been well waled from left to right, as well as from right to left, there remained but the nine strokes to be given lengthwise. 

For these, Sir Edward took the third birch from Maud, who by this time was standing with her legs wide apart, uttering little sounds and breathing little sighs of almost uncontrollable desire. 

The unhappy Alice’s cries had somewhat lessened, as the birching had been so severe that her sensitiveness to it had been much diminished. But now, feeling the birch rod curling round her cunt, which being all open and wet, was more than ever exposed, she yelled in a perfectly delirious manner. 

[To be continued next week.]

Product buying guide: Floggers on parade!

Doms/Dommes make house calls. Sometimes. Conditions apply. The submissive has to have been exceptionally bad. Or good.

But when we come visiting we can’t take all our paraphernalia with us. Generally the whipping bench and the leather sling attachable to the ceiling have to stay at home. Forlorn.

We have to choose just a few treasured items to take with us.

Some Dom/mes have a basic house call bag. There’s mine, above. As well as those implements it contains the usual stuff: padded cuffs, a collar and leash, nipple clamps, condoms, lubes and so on.

But if I was only going to bring one implement to a scene, it would be a flogger.


In this post “implements” means “things used in impact play, usually on the buttocks and upper thighs.” 

There are two kinds of implements, broadly speaking. Some are rigid or nearly so, like a hairbrush, wooden paddle, ruler, cane and so on. Others are pliable, like a belt or strap, a whip or a flogger.

The difference between a whip and a flogger can get a little hazy, but essentially, a whip has a single tail, or anything up to around five. From the recipients’ point of view, whips are generally thought to deliver a stingy sort of sensation.

Floggers generally start around nine tails (the cat’o’nine tails used in the Navy was essentially a flogger). And from the recipients’ point of view, they deliver a thudding sensation. As most submissives prefer thud to sting, that makes floggers more popular than whips.

Kinds of flogger

There are two basic kinds of flogger. Some have hard lashes, whether of leather or whipcord, rubber or silicon. Others have soft lashes, of soft leather, often suede, or rubber or silicon. 

There’s one more distinction to make. Most floggers have lashes about half to a third of a metre long, and are fairly substantial implements. They can be used while the partners are in bed together, but also for a more formal flogging, in which the submissive is bound, standing up or lying across the bed, while their disciplinarian stands a short way aside from them to deliver the strokes. 

There’s another class of flogger that is much smaller, almost always has soft lashes, of about 10 to 20 centimetres long. These can’t really be used for whole body flogging: they are designed for nipples, cunts, cocks, the sensitive skin between the buttocks, and other areas that couples, or threesomes or whatever, considers to be especially erogenous and sensitive.

1   Flogger with hard lashes

This implement comes closest to being a whip. That’s partly because the lashes are hard like a whip’s tail or tails.

So this implement is best in a relationship where the submissive partner likes more pain than most, and where there is a D/s or M/s relationship. 

The advantage is that it’s easy to use and aim, and though it delivers the right kind of pain, very effectively, it’s unlikely to draw blood or do any harm unless the person wielding it behaves like an absolute maniac. 

The disadvantage of the flogger with hard lashes is simply that it may hurt the submissive more than she or he likes. The Dom/me has to take care and make sure the submissive is feeling sexy and happy. And that may be easier with a soft lashed flogger.

The feedback I’ve had from submissive I’ve flogged using this kind of instrument is that it hurts, of course. A hard flogging will leave redness and sometimes small welts that will last a few days. 

Other submissive reported that the impacts were too intense to be enjoyable as they happened, but that the glowing heat and the sense of having been genuinely punished was worth it. In short, they didn’t enjoy the flogging, but they loved having been flogged.

This implement definitely has its place, but it should be used carefully.

2.  Flogger with soft lashes

The soft lashed flogger is probably the flogger I would take with me on a one-implement mission. It tends to be popular with submissives. It delivers thud much more than sting, and that seems to be the ideal mix in impact play. For most people.

Like the hard-lashed flogger, it’s easy to use and aim. It delivers warm, good-painful sensation, and the blush from a good flogging can last a couple of days. It has to be used extremely hard to get more. That’s a useful fact, for submissives who go swimming, gymming and other activities where they have to change in public or leave their upper thighs or lower buttocks exposed. 

Everybody has different tastes, and that includes submissives. However, I’ve yet to play with a submissive who likes impact play who doesn’t openly or “secretly” love the soft-lashed flogger. It’s relatively gentle, with a kind of warm comfort mixed with the pain. It can safely be used for a long, long flogging while the submissive drifts off to that floaty space where submissives may go.

Though if the Dom/me wants it can be used harder and more punishingly. I like to give a “reminder” stroke every so often, in the middle of a flogging, so the submissive doesn’t feel that their flogging is predictable or within their control.

Disadvantages? At the moment I can’t think of one. I suppose you’d choose something else if you were going for an intense “real punishment” scenario.  

So if I were going to visit a submissive, especially one who is new to “discipline”, and I could bring only one implement, the soft-lashed flogger is the one I’d bring. 

3.   The cute little flogger

This small flogger isn’t one you can usefully use for whole body punishment, unless you have a lot of time on your hands. It’s for flogging erogenous zones, essentially.

Its big advantage is sexual intimacy: you use it at close quarters, to flog your partner’s cock or cunt, their perineum and the sensitive skin between the lower buttocks. And you use it on nipples.

Many small floggers come with a dildo handle, so that when the submit is aroused, the Dom/me can insert the dildo into cunts or anuses, and stimulate their submissive another way. I recommend one of those, so long as you can find one that you think looks stylish.

Generally I like natural fibres best, and my choice for the two larger floggers reviewed above is leather. (I’m leaving vegetarian and vegan issues out of this, for the time being.) However, I’ve found that for this smaller implement silicon lashes are better.

They can be heavier than leather, so that a small implement with short lashes can deliver a satisfactory thud. Silicon also allows for finer lashes than you can usefully get with leather strips. And finally, it’s easier to clean. Do these little floggers have a place in a Dom/mes toolkit? Yes.

General notes

When shopping you should look carefully at the way it’s made. Personally I’ve never had or handled a flogger that wasn’t well made. Standards are high. Still, check before you buy. The handle should be solid, and reasonably weighty.

Some makers produce floggers with quite wide lashes. It’s a matter of taste, but I prefer lashes to be fairly narrow. Maybe a little over a centimetre for a soft lash, a little under a centimetre for a hard lash. But your taste may vary. A shop should allow you to have a practice swing or two, so you get the one that feels right to you. 

Colour is up to you. I prefer the traditional black, though I once bought a pink one, because the intended recipient was a very girlie girl, and though she liked discipline she liked to feel it came with sparkles and a bow. Anyway, colour is up to you. 

Happy flogging! Or being flogged!





Portrait of the author


I said I’d get rid of this picture, which I put up for temporary reasons. It was for some computer technology that would guess your parents (on the assumption that your parent were famous). So they checked out this pic, and their program said that I was the love-child of John Lennon and Christina Hendricks.

That seemed unreasonably flattering, but then that sort of program is intended to be flattering.

But actually that’d be bad news for me, since I can’t play guitar, so me and Dad wouldn’t have that thing in common. And Mum: well, I’d keep trying to shag her, if she’s Christina Hendricks. So it’d only lead to trouble.

Also, this is one of the last free images I’ll post on this blog, though I’ll continue with Sinful Sunday.

But I’m going to need to make this site more commercial soon. It goes against my grain, but it’s costing me money, this site. When actually I need to be making money, if I’m to pay the gas, electricity and rates.

I just need someone to do some software work for me, and then there will be books for sale and much else. Watch the hell out of this space!


The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second, Part 2

Ojastara, hands tied behind her back, leash around her neck, followed her young captor. He was wearing a brown t-shirt, with German words on it. The forest equivalent of a Hi-Vis jacket. His shorts were small, and tight.

She watched him walking ahead of her, her leash in one hand. Ojastara wasn’t worried by her captivity, or concerned that he was, perhaps, not a good man. He wasn’t, but she liked watching him walk. A nice ass and good legs went a long way, in her mind.

So after a time she she risked stopping, and pulling back on the leash, The movement tightening the bowstring round her neck, but it also made him turn. He smiled, not nicely. Such a lot of contempt for such a young man, thought Ojastara. He said, “Did you trip?” 

Ostajara fell forward, as if she’d tripped. The movement brought her knees between his feet, her head against his crotch. She said, “No, not really, but I beg you: not the Landgraf! Couldn’t you look after me?” She stared at the bulge of his cock.

He stared down at her head. She let her shoulders slump, which displayed her breasts as she guessed he would want: weighty, not proud. He considered her and at last said, “And how would you like to be looked after?” 

She looked up at him, without leaning forward yet, so he could consider her breasts fully. “I think a woman is happiest serving a man’s pleasure, don’t you? So you have… with you” – she looked at his shorts – “a means to my happiness.” She opened her mouth, then, and made an O of her lips.

The young man looked at her, ideas and possibilities finally dawning on his face.

“Ah. Well, the Landgraf is more… complicated in his pleasures than I am. But if it’s hard cock you want, I am your man.” 

Ojastara leaned forward. “Then I could care for your cock. Though I’ll need my hands.” 

He slapped her, hard. “You think I was born yesterday, cow? You can suck my cock. Doesn’t need hands. Not even yours.”

The was a low, vulpine growl when the sound of that slap filled the clearing. Ojastara shook her head then, and the foxes subsided. The young man hadn’t noticed the foxes following them, and so her headshake meant nothing to him. She looked at him, as if imploring, and he pushed his shorts down, and his cock sprang free. 

Ojastara lowered her head and kissed the tip, and then, sucking him so he could not think, took him into her mouth.

The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second

Ojastara spent the night in the swamp. The swamp was affectionate but, by four in the morning, a little colder than was strictly comfortable. 

In the morning, when the sun had warmed and woken it, she let the swamp feel her gratitude and affection, but told it she had to go. The swamp was reluctant for a few seconds, and Ojastara worried momentarily that it intended to hold her by force. But it relented and she sensed it returning her affection. A section of the mud beneath her swelled and then carried her, bouyant, back to the point where she’d stepped in.

The foxes – those miscreants who had fought over and shredded her dress – were waiting for her. Ojastara considered picking up a stick to beat them off, but the alpha female whined and then licked her hand, so she knew she had nothing to fear. 

She resumed her walk, naked, the foxes forming a guard of honour behind her. At last she came to a wall. It was brick and stucco, and higher than she could climb. Ojastara pursed her lips (one of the foxes swooned at this sight and had to be re-awakened by its mother), and decided to follow the wall until she found a collapsed section or an entrance.  

The wall seemed to be ancient, but it also turned out to be well maintained. There was no tree that she could climb and drop down to the other side, no ivy to clamber up, and no gaps. At last she came to a gate. A young man stepped out as she approached, with a longbow and arrows. He said, “Welcome, naked lady, to Waldenbereich.” 

Ojastara said, “The name means as little to me as if I were a tree. Or swamp. But thank you for your welcome. May I pass through your gate?” 

The young man smiled contemptuously. “You now have the right to do as you’re told, no more than that. Step forward, please, with your hands together behind your back. I can’t add you to my family, but it will do me no harm to give the Landgraf a gift.”

One of the foxes growled, and the young man nocked an arrow to his bow. “If you don’t want your pet to die, tell it to relax.” 

Ojastara signalled to the fox to stay back. She stepped forward, unafraid, with her hands behind her back as ordered. Swiftly, skilfully, the young man tied her hands, and used a spare bowstring to make a slip-knotted leash on her neck.

He tugged, wordlessly, and she followed. Befhind her, foxes growled.


The Ojastara Tales: Tale the First

Once upon a time there was a girl called Ojastara…

[Ojastara wailed, “Oh, I like stories about me!” 

“I’m giving you a dozen with the riding crop before you go to work. Would you like me to double that?”

She had one hand on her cunt, the other squeezing her left nipple, so she couldn’t look sorry, but she said,”Sorry Master.”

“Shut up and don’t interrupt again.” She had the sense not to say anything in answer. She closed her eyes and listened.]

And Ojastara so loved the world that she tried to fuck everything in it. One day she was walking down a beautiful wooded lane, followed by a string of dogs, male and female, all attracted by the wonderful heat smells she was giving off, when she saw through the trees beside the path the most beautiful swamp there had ever been.

The bottom was soft mud with a layer, perhaps 30 centimetres deep of clear, warmish water above. The leaves floating in it were brown, like her own eyes; it seemed that she and the swamp stared at each other. She took off her red and blue polka-dot dress and laid it on the ground. She was naked, beautifully curved, and somehow blacker than coal, shining radiantly. Some of the more intelligent dogs simply sat and gazed at her, while she showed herself in all her sexual perfection and glory.

She waded in. Behind her the dogs began fighting over her dress, and it was clear that she would spend the rest of this walk naked. But she wasn’t thinking about that.

Her feet descended through the mud, and only stopped when they found a firmer surface perhaps a metre below. The water reached just under her breasts, and the mud reached her cunt. Ojastara wasn’t alarmed, because she could feel sentience from the swamp. Benevolence.

Then the mud at her cunt began to move, to stroke her, even penetrate her.The mud pressed her backwards a little, and then supported her, lying back, her breasts now caressed by the water, her hair floating around her.

Ojastara thought, “This is a lover, I guess. It’s the biggest, weirdest lover I’ve ever fucked.”

She heard the swamp, in her head, “No. I am fucking you.” It was more male than female, though both were there, and it sounded amused.

Ojastara didn’t reply, because the swamp pressed her legs apart, and took her, the mud quite manlike and determined, in her cunt and then – she felt it parting her buttocks first – in her asshole. The two protuberances inside her were firm, cocklike, and they pistoned her, the one in her ass alternating thrusts with the one in her cunt. She relaxed, perhaps a little too much, and her lover raised her a little so her head was mostly out of the water.

Then the mud held her breasts, squeezing hard, pinching her nipples with pain that sang in her cunt like a blessing, and the two cock-like projections began to ram her in unison, fucking her hard, now, and fast.

The voice in her head growled hungrily, but she was quite unafraid. Her cunt and ass were both aflame, it felt, but a sweet, gentle kind of flame, and she felt something build up inside her, demanding release. She came, hard, and screamed, so loud the dogs all ran away, each with a fragment of her dress in its teeth.

The swamp was infinitely pleased with her. “That’s a lovely sound, my little one. I think I’ll hear it again.” And it resumed fucking her, hard and quickly now with no build-up. Within a couple of minutes, feeling no longer completely in her body, she heard herself scream again. And wonderfully filled and held, she came again, screaming and wailing.

And you, Ojastara in my bed, have been told a moral tale, that all good things will come, and sometimes that includes you, if you’re a good girl. 

The end.

(Those were that words that told Ojastara that she had fifteen seconds to come. She – the Ojastara in bed with me – shut her eyes tight, blowing air hard from her mouth, and, palm clamped against her cunt, fingers still working busily, her other hand torturing her breasts, she opened her eyes and her mouth, and screamed.

She kept her eyes on mine right through her orgasm, and I realised that was something some previous Master had trained her to do. I decided that I liked it. In fact there was nothing about Ojastara, slavegirl, that I didn’t like. I kissed her. “Good girl. You did well.”

“Master? Am I still in that swamp?”

“Of course you are, darling. The next story will start from there.”  

“Will I be whipped, in some of your stories?”

“You’ll be whipped before you go to work this morning. But you don’t get to say what happens in these stories, love. Who’s that up too?”

She nodded, resigned. “You, Master.” 

“Now go back to sleep, little one. And don’t you dare wake me again till seven.” 

“Yes, Master. Thank you!” And she rolled over, pressing her ass against my cock, in case I woke up and needed to awaken her.)

The Ojastara Tales: Prologue 3

Some time after two in the morning, when I was blissfully sleeping it off, my cock feeling well-used and slightly sore, in a good way, from all the hard work I’d done, beating, eating and fucking Ojastara, I felt a hand shaking my shoulder.

Usually I wake up quickly, and pretend I was awake all the time. But this time I really needed the sleep, and I was reluctant to re-enter the waking world. But Ojastara pushed my shoulder again, and said, “More? Once more?” 

So I groaned and finally sat up. “Now I can see why that guy broke a riding crop on your arse. You are getting a dozen, hard, before you go to work. That’s a promise.”

“Excellent! I can’t see my marks. But I like to feel they’re there.”

Ojastara didn’t just mean that she couldn’t see her own arse without a mirror. I’d discovered that evening that you could raise welts on her bottom, and admire those, but her skin didn’t change colour under my hand, or my belt or any other implement. She wasn’t black in the American sense, where even a faint coffee tan is called “black”. She was simply black like coal is black.

I smacked her left breast, quite hard. “Glad to be of service. What do you want?” 

“Fuck me again, Master? Please?” 

I thought about it.”I’d like to, little one. But there’s no way I’m going to get a hard-on again until morning. Real morning. This is the middle of the night. And my recovery time.”

“Please, Master?”

A master’s job is to make his slavegirl happy, and keep her in that state. So I smacked her right breast. She was a big-breasted woman, and the sway was a gorgeous sight. I made a note to do that again, and then fuck her between her breasts, when I was horny again. Then I slapped her face. (I have some internal resistance to doing that, but with Ojastara I knew it would be right.) “All right. On your back. Sitting up a bit.”

So she made a pile of pillows and leaned back on them. “Like this, Master? Are you going to lick me?”

“You woke me. You’re doing all the work. You’re to stroke yourself until you’re ready to come. And you’re going to stay there, on the edge. But you’re not allowed to come until I tell you.”

“Yes, Master. Of course. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell you a story. While you wank. You’ve got fifteen seconds to come, after I’ve said the works, The End. If it takes you longer, then you weren’t edging.”

“Fifteen seconds!” She managed to sound outraged. I was the unfairest, meanest Master of them all.

“Fifteen seconds. I won’t let you after fifteen seconds, and I’ll find a way to really punish you. Understand?”


Ojastara had already begun obeying, thighs wide, fingers buried, working fast. I smiled at her, though she didn’t notice. “That’s a good girl. Now, once upon a time…”


[End of prologue.] 

Sinful Sunday: When will you learn to behave?

I do a good headmaster, when I’m punishing a girl. So after the first four strokes, I roared, “I can’t believe I have to do this again! When will you learn to behave?”

There was a pause, while Arethusa composed herself. She sniffed and swallowed, then said, “I bet you hope, I never do.”

Reader, I kissed that girl. But cane stripes look like kisses, too. I picked up the cane again.