Sinful Sunday: Fast Lust

 

Lust is good. It’s especially good when things move so fast, for both of you, that you feel like you’re skating on time, downhill racing.

We thought we were just going to do spanking-merges-into-sex. But we got caught up in a tidal wave, a lusty one, and everything had to be fast and sudden.  

Bodies move, when they’re having fun. And lust is in the driver’s seat.

Wicked Wednesday: Monica – Stirred with the Wooden Spoon

When a Dom has a naked girl bouncing on his lap, because he is naked too, and turned on, and he is spanking that naked girl hard with her own wooden spoon … Ah, I think I’ve lost my train of thought.

Oh yes, if she seems to be enjoying herself and getting into the spirit of the thing, it can be helpful if he lectures her, telling her she’s the sort of bad girl who deserves this terrible punishment. That terrible punishment she’s arching her bottom up for, mouth open and happy, eyes sparkling. 

So I said, “From now on, you do as you’re told, Monica. What do you do?” The wooden spoon spanked nice rounded girl, keeping her arse in motion.

“Uh. UH. As I’m told! Sir!” I took her arse in my hand and squeezed fondly. Warm, she was, and burning hot in places. She sighed when I squeezed her again. “That hurts, Sir.” 

“Is that a complaint?” 

“No! Definitely not, Sir!” That arse wriggled under my hand. “Actually it really isn’t.”

That was probably submission, I decided, and rewarded her by slipping my hand down between her buttocks and stroking her cunt. She shivered when I touched her folds, a wet girl, then froze when I slipped three fingers into her, and began her finger-fucking. Her head fell, forehead touching the sheet, her body abandoned to me. She said, “Duh.”

I continued the lecture. “Whenever you don’t obey me, Monica, you can expect to be over my lap again. And I’m going to bring a cane next time, and leave it in your wardrobe.”

“I’ve heard about canes. Yes, Sir!” I continued her spanking with my hand until her head was up again, and her whole body moved with those three snugly held, wet fingers.

She was in plateau, high, happy, and ready to come. I let her edge closer, and at what may have been the last possible second pulled my fingers out of her, took up the spoon and resumed her spanking.

The strokes were hard, and she yowled as I landed them on that round, red, moving target. It was happy, sexual yowling. She’d been expelled from paradise into another kind of paradise.

By then she’d had about fifty of the promised hundred strokes. I slowed the pace, and spanked harder still, so that she felt each one individually. She rode and rolled on my cock. She was receiving this as strong stimulation, but definitely not as pain. After fifteen very fierce spanks, I said to her, “Sixty-five.” 

“Oh. I wasn’t counting. That’s a lot. And there’s so many to come!” 

Actually, I hadn’t been counting very carefully either. Sixty-five was an estimate. I rolled her off me, onto the bed. “Hands and knees, Monica. Arch that arse up!” 

She obeyed quickly, though I smacked her with my hand for not acknowledging the order. But I didn’t bother to explain why, so it wasn’t good Domming.

But I was busy extracting condoms and a sachet of lube from my wallet. I knelt behind her, my knees between her calves, and admired her anus and cunt, perfectly presented for me. I tore a condom wrapper with my teeth and put it on, then, more carefully, opened a tear in the lube. 

Monica, tensely waiting for my cock, instead felt my thumb, slippery, pressing her anus and then entering. I added more lube there and to my condom. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Sir.”

I edged forward so my cock touched against that little orifice. 

Sinful Sunday: A tanning

Elena liked her day at the beach. I’m more of a moon tan guy myself, but she tanned more than she swam, and then she headed to the bar. Where she met me.

She drank champagne with me, and agreed to come over and …

Anyway, I do tanning too, with spank-curious girls. And she colours beautifully.

Then I dimmed the lights, like Bryan Ferry would’ve, back in the day. Yeah, you can guess the rest.

PS: I’ve written this as though it was easy. Yes, actually  it was, but of course life’s not often that way. Sometimes I’m a mouse and don’t offer the champagne or make the invitation. Sometimes I do try, and my charm, such as it is, doesn’t seem to work. But when everything goes right, it’s wonderful.

 

Sinful Sunday: There’s no justice

There was no reason for caning poor Arethusa that day. She was innocent and good! 

At least, there was no disciplinary reason. She was doing well at university, with health, money and all the other things I watched. 

But it was Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t been caned in too long. We both knew that. So … What else can a Master and his slavegirl do? 

The score:

I loved caning Arethusa. The impact, the little shiver and gasp she gave each time the cane landed.   Each stripe appearing and forming under me.

She didn’t enjoy getting the cane as much as I enjoyed caning her. 

But she liked my pleasure. She liked the transgression of it. And she loved the warm/hot fuzziness that comes when it’s over. She loved Just Having Been Caned. 

And there’s something about immediate post-caning sex. Arethusa tended to be feeling very surrendered while I tended towards the savage. We fucked like she was a town being sacked and I was the Roman army. 

And afterwards … the marks. We loved those marks.

 

Monica meets the wooden spoon

So we lay in Monica’s bed. Danny the cat had looked death at me as my foot blocked the way just before the door closed. But I was happy with his absence even if he wasn’t. Monica might have lost a smidgeon of protection but she didn’t seem to mind.

Monica had already been nearly naked before I tipped her onto her bed, but I had to pull off my shoes and socks, jacket and shirt, and pants before I joined her. While I was undressing Monica turned over onto her hands and knees and waggled her arse at me. She was right: I was hard again, wanting her, only about ten minutes after I’d come in her mouth.

So I lay down beside her, on my back, and pulled her over my lap, her hard little arse jutting gloriously upwards, Monica looked up at me.

“I know what this is! I’ve never actually been in it before. But this is the Famous Spanking Position!” I could hear the capital letters.

“Yeah.” I slapped her bottom lightly, then caressed her. She felt wonderful, firm and soft.

She said, “And you’re happy.” She meant she could feel my cock, hard, under her belly. I reached my fingers into the crevice between her lower buttocks and ran them further down, spider-walking with my fingertips until I touched her cunt. She jerked at the contact, my fingertips now a little wet and slippery, and then relaxed as I stroked her, very lightly. Her knees and her forehead dipped and rested on the sheet, all her consciousness, I expected, focussed on her cunt and my fingers.

Then, without warning I suddenly smacked her left cheek, hard. She sang, “Yiii!” But she looked alarmed only for a microsecond, then she grinned. It hadn’t hurt. Far from it.

I said, “‘Thank you, Sir; may I have another?'”

She looked at me, again with only a microsecond of disbelief before she nodded. “Thank you, sir. May I have another one? Just like that?”

She got another, and asked for more. And we continued, Monica learning that the Famous Spanking Position works, until her lower bottom, where I’d concentrated the smacks, glowed red and nicely warm. After the twelfth smack I stroked her cunt again, finding her comfortably relaxed and even wetter.

She sighed under my hand, and raised and turned her head to look at me. “Why is that so fucking hot?”

I considered not answering, because the explanation I knew wasn’t as sexy as it should be. Not as sexy as getting her even hornier and then beginning the promised hundred strokes from her wooden spoon. But it had been a serious question, so I said, “Have you ever manually tuned a radio? Or a TV?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, just before you reach the station, you get a loud burst of white noise, right?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That’s the carrier wave. It carries and boosts the signal.” 

“OK.”

“Inside the carrier wave, when you tune the receiver closer, you get the signal, all the creative stuff, the words and music, plus vision if it’s a TV. That’s the content. But without the carrier wave the content isn’t very powerful. I mean it probably wouldn’t reach your set, or only very weakly.”

“OK.” 

“Arousal works the same way. I smack your arse. Stimulation, right? Your body reacts, strongly. That’s the carrier wave: arousal. But on its own the arousal is just loud white noise. It’s the signal that gives it meaning. So if you’re already turned on, and the context is sexy, then each smack boosts your arousal and boosts the signal, makes it sexier. You’re creative too: you create a lot of the sexiness of it.”

Monica reached for and kissed the hand that had just spanked her. “Yeah, I see that. If I was at work and you were my supervisor and you slapped me on the arse: same stimulation but the meaning would be different, and it’d make me fucking angry.”

“Exactly. Of course it helps that every smack on your arse, your cunt feels it too. And, um, some people, they like to let go sometimes and have things just happen to them. They like to issue a good, helpless, sexual surrender. Not that you’re like that,” I lied, politely. 

“It’s not hypnosis,” Monica said, “but it’s still a mind game. And you still need the subject’s cooperation, just like I do.” She nodded. “I have to be turned on. And feeling a bit surrendered.” 

I pressed two fingertips into her cunt. She moved, trying for more, and captured my fingers to the first knuckle. I pressed further then withdrew a little, hoping it was good but still frustrating. Monica flopped up and down on my cock, in response, like a fish on the bottom of a boat.

I said, “Yeah.” I took the wooden spoon. “Now we’re going to make the signal … stronger.”  

I let the convex side of the spoon land, hard, on the crown of her right buttock, where – so far – I hadn’t warmed her with my hand. Monica yelped.

I struck her again, on her left cheek, so she knew this was going to be hard. And relentless.

Monica yelped and sighed, not at all unhappy. She said nothing more, but began to rock as the blows fell, using my cock as her fulcrum.