Sinful Sunday: Glory

This was just after Arethusa’s first spanking. I can’t remember what it was for. It was a micro-second of hesitation when I’d given her an order, or forgetting to call me Sir (I wasn’t her Master yet). But it was something.

We wanted that first spanking to happen ASAP, and for it to be “for” something, to have a reason, so that her accepting it was an act of submission.

And afterwards, dumped shockingly fast off my knee and onto the carpet, it was her first Corner Time. 

“Stand there, hands on your head,” I said. “You’re in disgrace.” 

Of course she knew she wasn’t in any disgrace at all. Just thinking about her, just being in the same room, turned me on. I’d told her that, and then she’d witnessed and felt it.

On display there, in that penitent pose, bottom and thighs freshly spanked, watched by a man already smitten, she wasn’t in disgrace.

She was in Glory. And she knew it. 


Wicked Wednesday: Truth to Declare

After we’d finished the sex that began in our last exciting episode, I lay beached between Monica’s thighs. Not beached like a whale; maybe a sea lion. Monica had made louder and more appreciative noises than she’d awarded my cunnilingus. So I was happy. She was playing with my hair again.

Eventually she said, “We’ve known each other for hours, now. I know you’re a PR hack. I know you’re a depraved bastard who’s come in my mouth, my arse and my cunt, and whipped my arse in a taxi. Not to mention, whipped my arse in my kitchen and in this bed. And you think that you own me. Master. And you’re probably right. Here I am, anyway. What don’t I know about you?”

I said, “I don’t know. What I know about you is that you’re clever and beautiful, with superior fellatio skills.” She smiled, smugly. “And a perfect arse and a yummy cunt. And you seem to like getting whipped, which is lucky because I can’t imagine stopping. Not now I’ve started. But I don’t know where you got your evil cat, or whether you can play saxophone, or…. I guess we’ll find out more as we go along.”

She squeezed me with her thighs. My cock, slowly softening in her, felt that. There was a pause in the softening, though I was spent. I figured I’d need at least an hour before my cock would be able to stagger upright again.

She saw something in my face and squeezed me again. “Yeah. But I want to know more now. I’m not a girl you can keep waiting. You’re in this bed because you didn’t. But I want top know more right now. And to test what I think I do know.” 

I said, “Ahem. The life story of Jaime. Well, I was born at a very young age … “

She put her hand on my mouth. “No, we’re playing a game. Master. You’re going to tell me three things about yourself. Two of them true, and one lie. I have to guess which one is the lie. Go.” 

I thought. I shouldn’t keep her waiting, so I’d need to answer quickly. I said, “First, I lost my virginity at fourteen, to a girl who was a moll for the Gypsy Rogues. That means I’m at one sexual remove from every bikie in Parramatta.”  

Then I said, “Scuse me,” and withdrew from her, holding the condom in place with one finger. Thinking makes cocks smaller. 

Monica said, “Supplementary question: was it good?”

“Amazing. I was very keen. And very grateful;.” I bit her nipple. Monica purred, which was knowledge too, of a kind.

“Second, when I was nine I wrote a poem about a dead koala, which my teacher liked so much she sent it to the UN, who published it in a book about threats to the world’s wildlife. That teacher was very hot, and I used to watch her arse whenever she wrote on the blackboard.

“She kissed me when I got published, and that was the basis of all my masturbation fantasies for the next year. I had to imagine what she looked like naked. But in my mind she was very, very beautiful. And she was, in my dreams every night, my first sex slave.”

Monica raised her head to kiss my shoulder, then let herself back so she could watch my face. She said, “Hmm. Both plausible so far.” 

“Third, the first time I became someone’s Master, we were already having lots of spanking and role-play commands and obedience in our sex, but only as sex. But Sue spent the night with a psycho because she thought he was sexy, but he turned out to be violent and impotent. When she got back she said she’d been at a friend’s place, but that friend had already called to ask to speak to Sue. So I told her I knew she was lying. She confessed, and thought we’d break up.

“II didn’t want to break up. So instead I took my belt off and told her to undress and bend over the kitchen table. I strapped her till she was crying, and her arse and thighs were very, very red and hot, and she was very, very sorry. The sex we had afterwards, still over the table, was mind-blowing. Hotter than anything we’d had before.

“So she became mine, under my command and discipline for real, not for games. So: Master Jaime, his birth.”

Monica compressed her lips, thinking. She said, “Yes, that sounds like you, too. Opportunist. Disgraceful. Three stories, one of them a lie. Hmm.”


[I think I’ll leave it there. The exciting solution is next week!]


Sinful Sunday: Submissive positions

With Gala the difference between a caning for the sex of it and a punishment caning was clear. When sex was the motive I’d hand-spank her first, then use the leather paddle, making her a warm, wet and enthusiastic girl by the time she caught the first stroke of the cane. 

When she was due for punishment, I delivered the caning cold, so the change from nothing to very sharp, shocking sensation was steep and fast.

Gala still caught up quickly, so that the longer a caning lasted the more, paradoxically, she enjoyed it.

But the submissive posture she had to adopt turned her on, in either case. By the time I’d lectured her and raised the cane for the first stroke, Gala would be more than ready.

The position itself was a turn-on, for her as well as me. That posture told her she was submissive, in a position she would only adopt for a man because she was submitting to him, and that things not in her control were about to happen.

The body likes what it knows, and she always liked that. The submissive position was body knowledge.


Wicked Wednesday: Laid-back Monica

Eventually Monica gave a sigh and a couple of squeaks. It wasn’t a big orgasm, just a comfortable one. Comfortable for Monica, at least.

I was pretty sure she’d drawn blood on my shoulders when she’d tighten her nails on me. But her thighs pressed against my ears, like cool, shapely silk, and that is one of my favourite things, way ahead on raindrops on noses and mittens on kittens. 

I looked up at her, past her belly and breasts, to see if she was smiling. She was. She looked down at me, and tried to pull me up her body by my hair. I smacked her flank for that, twice so she knew it was punishment, then came forward so my mouth was in kissing range of her nipples. pink and – I tested with my tongue – hard. My cock was between her upper thighs, not far from its natural home.

Monica smiled. “Master. I meet a man and call him Master. Must be all that patriarchal bullshit in The Magic Flute.” We’d met at the opera that evening, and we’d come a long way, fast.

I said, “This isn’t about patriarchy. It’s you, and me.” I thought about it, then smacked her flank again, simply because it was unfair.

“I think I know how your argument would go. And it’s right. But I’m still calling a man Master, the same evening I meet him.” 

So I was serious. “Monica, you know the politics of this. It’s choices that suit us, as people. And you can change your choice any time. I think it’s hot, you calling me Master, but you could stop.”

“Yes, Master. I could stop. Master.” Then she grinned. “Is this how you treat your slavegirls?” 

“I don’t have slavegirls. If you commit yourself, then you’re my harem, all one of you.” I remembered what we were talking about. “But, when you said, ‘is this how I treat slavegirls’, did you mean the spanking? Or the oral sex?”

She frowned. “Was that a Holy Grail reference? ‘After the spanking … the oral sex!'” 

“Oh hell! It was accidental. But yeah, I guess it was.”

“Anyway, I meant the oral sex. The cunnilingus, Sir Jaime. And maybe the spanking too. Though I prefer you smacking my arse than my sides.”

“Then don’t misbehave when I can’t get at your arse.” I smacked her again, to show that she didn’t make those decisions.

“Ouch,” Monica said, with utter insincerity.

“And … we have to talk, before you really become mine. And even then, you can revoke my status as Master at any time.”

“I can’t imagine you getting a Court to uphold my slavery contract. So you’ll just have to keep me happy.”

“I’ll do my best. And yes, slavegirls get lots of oral sex.”

Monica reached down to hold my cock, and found it hard. “Good,” she said. “Though it’s not oral sex I’m after right -“

I edged further up my body so my cock., still held and hard in her hand, touched wet, soft cunt.

“Get your thighs up, girl. I want your toes pointing at the ceiling. Later you can rest them on my arse.” 

“Right masterly,” she murmured. And made me welcome. I pressed forward.

Sinful Sunday: The Valley of Kings


She asked me once why I always had an erection when I spanked her. Did she turn me on, when she misbehaved? 

Actually she did, but not as much as giving her the corrective spankings did. I said I’d show her why. 

In this pic I’ve started with her lower buttocks and upper thighs, and haven’t begun the more serious part of her spanking yet. But I took this photo. The Dom’s-eye view while he’s delivering a spanking, naked girl over his knee. I held the phone, with the pic showing, to her face so she could look. “This,” I said.


[I used this shot last week, in the Surrealism prompt. But here it is without the peaches, and in its original context.]


Wicked Wednesday: Mouthing Monica

We lay together, Monica facedown on the bed and I facedown mostly on Monica. My cock was still in her ass, just. Eventually I had to withdraw while I was still hard enough to take the condom with me. 

Then, like tired little mammals, we rolled over and slept, with Monica partly snuggled against my chest. I don’t know how long we slept, or whether it was Monica’s stirring or hunger that woke me. But when I opened my eyes and took in the world properly I saw that Monica had lifted herself onto her elbow and was looking down at me.

I said, “Hello, you.”

Monica smiled. “You’ll have to work out what to call me, won’t you? Hello, sir.”

“Hah. Monica will do. Or would you like a slavename?”

“What’s that? And I don’t think I’m a slave. I haven’t said so, and I think it’s up to me.”

“If you become my slavegirl, I think I’ll name you after your cunt. So … maybe oyster. Or no, pipi. That’s a New Zealand bi-valve mollusc, isn’t that interesting? But very vulva-looking shell, and delicious soft centre.”

“Pipi.” She considered. With every passing moment, I could tell, the idea of being a slavegirl was becoming incrementally less strange. “Pipi might be nice.”

“And also ‘Monica’. See, that’s a good name for a slave too.”

“Ha! I saw what you just did.” But we kissed then, and that was at least partly her doing.

“Pipi Monica Jaimeslave.”

“Well, we’ll see.” She squirmed in my direction, so her leg was between mine and her breasts pressed onto my chest. She said, “We’ve been awake for hours.”

“No we haven’t.”

“Ages, then. And you still haven’t put your cock in … “

I pushed her onto her back, and settled down, my face between her legs. I kissed that cunt. “Pipi,” I said. “We haven’t done lots of things. And there’s plenty of time.”


The wooden spoon was sticking out from under a pillow, and I reached for it. I said, “I promised you a hundred with this, and you’ve only had sixty-five. So … ?”

“So you think I need another thirty-five.”

“You do. And you know it.”

“Umm” But she lay back. That was OK with her. I kissed her cunt again, this time with more tongue, and she stroked the back of my head. Then I lifted my head, and smacked her cunt firmly, hard enough, with the spoon.

Monica said, “Didn’t hurt!”

But that wasn’t the game I wanted to play. I said, “Say, ‘Thank you, sir.'”

She whispered it. “Thank you, sir.”

I spanked her again, and she was louder, but still grateful. Her cries of ‘Thank you, sir’ got louder and higher pitched as the spoon got wetter. She was a very squishy girl now. Something about this spanking was working very well.

Somewhere after the twentieth stroke, not that I was counting, I said, “‘Thank you, Master.”


“You heard. Do as you’re told, Monica. ‘Thank you, Master.'” ” I brought the spoon down on squishy, wet and sensitive girl.

A girl who cried out, “Thank you, Master.” Lust is magic.

“That’s right, girl.” I gave her the last dozen spanks while she yowled, writhed, and proclaimed her gratitude and her acceptance of her owned status.

Eventually I put the spoon down, so she knew it was over for now. I kissed her cunt again, then licked, hard, with my tongue, slowly lapping up till I touched her clitoris. “Pipi Monica Jaimeslave.” 

“That isn’t fair.” 

“Are you my slavegirl?”

“I’ve said so. So there is that.”

“Lift you thighs, Pipi.”

“Yes, sir.” I bit her lightly, just as a warning. “Yes, Master!”

“Good girl.” My heart was full, then. I loved her. I loved my slavegirl. Not that she’d really become that: not yet. I slid my hands under her arse and lifted her a little. And licked her cunt exactly as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Monica settled back, thighs wide, and let my mouth and tongue do what it would. There were still things to talk about, but first I had to show her that losing her independence can have its compensations. 



Wicked Wednesday: Monica and the road less travelled

I’d just lubed Monica’s tight little asshole, putting the rest on my condommed cock. There’s a speech I usually make at that moment, at least the first time, where I check consent and make it clear that she’s in control. 

But Monica reached back and put her hands on the sides of her buttocks, parting them to give me better access. So I decided that consent was given, and that the rest of the speech wouldn’t be right: she liked the idea of me being ruthless, taking what I wanted. The whole point of Domming, and of hypnosis, is not to break the illusion.

So I growled, “Keep that ass up, girl, if you know what’s good for you.” 

Monica made a little vocal noise. It didn’t have words in it, but I took it that I’d said one of the possible right things. So I put my hands at the top of her thighs, squeezing hard enough to hurt a little, I hoped, and pushed forward. There was an instant’s resistance, and then she opened and I was inside, the head of my cock tightly held in slippery, lubed muscle.

I said, “Yes.” That was just pleasure. Then, for her, I said, “Good girl.”

Monica made another sound, a sort of gurgle. I looked down, feeling enormously fond of her. Her face was slightly turned to the left, and there was drool on her pillow. For some reason I found that utterly, absolutely hot, and I pushed further forward. Monica wailed. There was discomfort in that sound, but also celebration.

We moved together then, so I was fully in her, and my belly and thighs pushed against her bottom, still blazing hot from her wooden spoon spanking. We held still, both of us trembling, trying to savour the sensations and not move.

Eventually Monica said, “Ah, fuck … “

I said nothing, but took that as a request, and pushed forward to take one last centimetre, then withdrew a little. And then returned. Monica kept still at first, hands still holding her buttocks for me, but then she put her elbows back on the bed to support herself while she moved with me.

I smacked the sides of her ass, and then her thighs, while we fucked, and she made a sound, not in response to each blow but of gritty appreciation. So that was right too, but I soon lost the ability to coordinate the smacks and fuck at the same time, and simp[ly held her by her hips and fucked her. Time passed, with us focussed on movements, bodies and sensations.

Eventually Monica wanted to speed up, and I let her, keeping up, until she made a series of low, guttural grunts, and her anal ring tightened on the shaft of my cock. Then she screamed once, briefly, and then, panting hard, slowed to a stop.

I gasped, “Good girl. Very good girl.”

“You’re going to say that every time I come, aren’t you?”

“Probably. I like your sounds. And how you feel.”

“Heh. Then that’s good. You’ll just have to make me come often.”

“Dib dib dib,” I said.


“Oh. You’ve never been a Boy Scout.”

“Idiot. No one has ever called my bum boyish.”

I was still hard inside her. I hadn’t come yet. But the break was good. “Don’t care about boys’ arses. Yours is perfect.”

She gave a little chuckle. Then she said, “I’ve never done that before. I mean yes, of course I’ve had anal sex before. But never as the first fuck. It was … Why did you do that?”

“Well, it’s very intimate. And to me it feels like it demands a kind of surrender from you. I wanted you to know that I want your, well, your submission. And it means that as far as I’m concerned normal rules don’t apply between us.”

She nodded. “Yes. They don’t. I feel that. I mean, as an emotional feeling.”

“Good. And it means to me, and I hope to you, that I, uh. I uh want this to be an important relationship. I mean I feel that it is. Going to be. No, already is.” I grimaced. I hadn’t expected to say that so clumsily.

“Yeah. I thought that’s what you meant. Glad I wasn’t wrong. You haven’t come yet, have you?”


“Good. Fuck me now. Hard as you can, rough as you want. I want to feel you splash in me.”

“Yeah.”I could have made an issue of her giving me commands, but I just smacked her ass again, to preserve that whole Who/whom thing. Then I did as I was told.