Wicked Wednesday: In the Realm of the Sensei 10

Seamus put a condom on, and put the head of his cock against that little dilated orifice, and then, holding her hips tightly, pushed forward.

Asuka hissed again, and said, “Oh!” Then her rectal muscle suddenly gave way and let him in. “Oh.” She breathed slowly, getting used to this intrusion, while Seamus trembled, holding himself just inside her, her muscle just admitting him. At last she said, “Aaah. Yes. But slowly. Please, sensei.”

Seamus smacked her with his right hand, so she could feel she was still being disciplined, and pushed further forward. He took her slowly, feeling that virgin muscle clasp him tight, letting her pause and get used to him each time he made progress. He’d wait until she was again breathing normally before he’d move to take more.

At last they closed with each other, until he was fully in her, belly pressed to her buttocks, cock fully lodged inside her. They stayed together, perfectly still, for a long time.

Eventually it was Asuka who moved, just a very little, and he held himself still while she began to fuck him, in millimeters, then centimeters, always slowly. At last he couldn’t stop himself and moved forward into her as she pressed back at him. She exhaled savagely in response and they fucked hard and fast, forgetting about care or pain.

Seamus could feel his orgasm building until, as orgasms will, it suddenly became urgent. He stopped still, and Asuka swore at him. But in a few seconds he had himself under enough control so he could move again without instantly coming, so long as he moved slowly. That turned out to be good, from Asuka’s point of view.

She began making little noises as he took her, squeaks and little gibbers that he knew as her pre-orgasm cries, her head shaking. So he continued, just a little faster, but pressing as deep into her as he could go, and tightening his grip on her hips so that, he hoped, it hurt her. just enough.

Her little sounds rose in pitch and stopped being little, and Asuka came, wailing and loud. Seamus thought he should really try for more, for her, but he had his own urgencies and his own orgasm was just seconds after hers. Time passed, or stopped, he wasn’t sure which.

When they were more or less conscious and able to speak again he smacked her again, on her right hip, and said, “Good Asuka. Asuka is a good girl, my good girl.” She made a happy sound, though at any other time she’d have laughed at him for saying something like that. They rocked together, vastly pleased with each other, until he started to soften inside her and he had to withdraw, holding the ring of the condom so it didn’t slip off inside her.

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: The Dream

There were once, in ancient Thebes, two lovers. They met infrequently and cautiously, because both families were opposed to their love. Hylas’s family were citizens, and they farmed their land and served in the army, but never conducted business. Their land and their service brought them wealth and power. 

Phyrne’s family made lanterns, oils and candles, so that those who wanted to stay awake past the natural hours of darkness could do so. The family had become wealthy, and it too was powerful in its way, but to the citizens of Thebes it was a disgrace to be in trade, no matter how successfully. 

So Hylas’s parents heartily despised Phyrne’s parents, and in return her parents gave hatred, ridicule and contempt. Hylas and Phyrne met when they could, but they had little pleasure, and no sex. Instead they held each other, unhappy, spoke of their love and bemoaned their fate. 

Sometimes he allowed himself to hold one of Phyrne’s plump breasts in his hand, and afterwards, alone in his own bed, pleasured himself with that sensual memory.

Fortunately, there was, in Thebes at that time, a beautiful witch, dark of skin and beautiful, from some far and unknown land. Her name was Ojastara, and she was always followed by a cloud of foxes.

One night Hylas was in his family home. His parents and his sister were in their rooms, asleep, and so had he been. But he got up to get a cup of water. But as he was pouring water from the pitcher the servant girl in the kitchen suddenly froze. She stopped. Still. The house had stopped. Even the wind had suddenly stilled.

That was odd, and a feathertop of apprehension seemed to run down his spine. He shivered. Then he shrugged and turned to go back to his room.   

Then he cried out, very lightly, in fear, because a dark corner of the wall had wide, white eyes. Then he saw there was a woman, darker than the night, in the room with him. He stared. She smiled, and she was beautiful beyond anyone he had ever seen, except perhaps Phyrne. But his fear did not diminish. “What … are you?” 

“I’m your rescuer. My name is Ojastara, but you will call me Teacher.” 


She selected, from an indoor pot that held orchids, a length of bamboo and swished it in the air. “Yes. And I suggest that you pay attention to your lessons. Come here.” 

Hylas wasn’t sure why, but he obeyed. The woman took him by his penis, which grew, incredibly fast and hard, in her hand. She whipped the cane, hard enough to hurt and leave a mark, just a micron below the hang of his balls. Hylas found, to his consternation, his cock hardening even more.

She smiled at him, the smile not entirely reassuring, and said, “You need many lessons, Hylas. Before you’re worthy of Phyrne. Now.” She turned her back on him, her hand still firmly holding his cock, and began to walk.

Hylas guessed that she was taking him to his bedroom. But he had eyes only for her rolling bottom and the firm femininity of her thighs.

He had never had a woman. He and Phyrne had never had the opportunity, and perhaps he had not had the courage to make it possible. It seemed, he realised, that a woman was about to have him. But her hand on his cock seemed to drive all other thoughts and considerations out of his mind. He followed, close. 

Sinful Sunday: What you see, what you get

When you’re taking a photo, and especially when you have your mind on other matters you may also be engaged in, you’re like Van Gogh. In one sense, anyway: you don’t see the clutter. 

With this photo, I’d want very much to lose all that stuff on the bedside drawers, and that power point visible in the mirror, under the bed. 

But at the time I was entirely too focussed on the lovely Zoë. So here’s the pic without all the editing I’d like to do with it. I bet you don’t really notice the clutter either!

By the way that implement, the leather swat, was made in Oxford and given me by Zoë. She could see at once that it could have a higher purpose than swatting flies. (Though at Oxford even the flies are kinky, and wear tiny leather vests.)