Sinful Sunday: On Being the Main Course

Arethusa was, of course, no stranger to the cane. She was a good girl and she tried, but she’d blown her budget that week buying blankets and an eiderdown printed with Gibli Studio’s mysterious creature Totoro. She had something of a Totoro obsession. 

As a result she’d run out of money for the fortnight, and I had to tide her over. Her Totoro obsession wasn’t why I loved her, but I did think it was loveable. So I wasn’t at all angry, but I also knew my duty as Master.

So she found herself in my dining room again, bent over the table. The day’s main course.

She’d had her warm-up strapping, and knew there would be a short pause before I reached for the cane that perched on the table beside her. The table had two messages for her, as well as the presence of the cane.

The first was the cushion, that told her that I wanted her to suffer no discomfort except what I inflicted. And the box of tissues, that told her I intended that she would be crying before this lesson was finished.

But when it was finished, she would have her tears wiped away, and the tissues held so she could blow her nose, and them, without her being allowed to rise, we would set about making her feel better. Discipline isn’t cold: it’s intensely and overpoweringly intimate. 

Wicked Wednesday: When did Monica lie?

So Monica had told me three stories: 

1 The first man to spank her had let her down, bursting into tears and demanding that she spanked him instead;

2 She did have a submissive relationship with a woman who used to ride her like a pony, but never took the crop to her; 

3 Actually she had a dominant relationship with that woman, who she used to spank with a hairbrush if her cunnilingual tongue action wasn’t enthusiastic enough.

I said, “The first story is true. Because of mathematics. Though it’s plausible anyway.” 

“What do you mean, ‘because of mathematics’?”

“”Only one of your two stories about a woman lover can be true, because they contradict each other. So if there have to be two true stories, and only one of Stories Two and Three can be true, then Story One has to be true. Regardless”

“Ah yes. Your stories didn’t contradict each other. I’ll have to remember that next time.” 

“And you’re not the first woman I’ve heard complaining about a guy claiming to be a dom and then wimping out when he’s got permission. And you gave him his spanking when he begged for it, even though it didn’t turn you on at all. I believe that because you’re nice, and that was nice of you.”

“Actually it was really hard.” 

“I bet he was.” 

Monica bit me. “Idiot. I meant it was hard for me to spank him, but you knew that. I really had to force myself to do it. It felt so unnatural. Only as a thing for me to do, I mean. Other girls can spank guys to their heart’s content. And their cunt’s.”

“They sure can. It was brave of you, too. Going so far out of your own comfort zone. It’s a hard thing to do, and brave when it pushes you into a complicated role that you really don’t know and don’t want. Don’t think I didn’t notice that, too.”

“The second story is true too. And it’s really hot. I can’t ride on your back. But … I could take you to a park, wearing only blinkers and a pony-tail butt plug.”

Only, huh? In a park?”

“And hitch you up to a cart so you can pull me along. I’ll signal left or right turns with a whip. On your bum, which I’ll be watching very closely.”

She checked my cock for signs of returning life. They were there. “That’s really … perverted,” she said.

She rubbed my cock again, gently and slowly, and it started to fill and rise. I could tell that “perverted” did not mean “out of the question”. 

It’d never been a major fantasy of mine. And I wouldn’t do it in a park: a Master isn’t supposed to get his girl arrested.. But I had a friend who owned some land out past Lithgow. So maybe … 

I stroked her cunt lightly and she said, “Ump”, and turned on her side facing me, raising one thigh to give me better access.

I delved in wet girl, and said, “And the third story is a lie, and I fling the lie in your face.”

She had my cock in a circle made by her thumb and forefinger, and stroked it lightly. I was hard now. She said, “And why?”

“Because slavegirls who lie to their Masters should have their lies flung in their faces.” 

“I suppose so. But why is that story a lie?”

“You can barely bring yourself to spank a boy who begs you to. So I don’t see you domming anybody, male or female. The third story is the lie.” 

She cast her eyes down. It wasn’t especially good acting. “You win, Master.”

“Well, you won your round. So it’s a draw. We’re getting a feel for each other.” 

“But I still have to be punished for lying to you.” I kissed her, and put a third finger in her cunt. She closed her eyes and kissed. “I have a suggestion for how you punish me. Something I’ll really hate.”

She was grinning, her eyes sparkling. That “something I’ll really hate” was another lie. But I was curious to know what it was.

Sinful Sunday: Nymphs and a Tawse

Two nymphs in my garden. I felt very classical.

The warmer nymph was holding the tawse across the paler nymph’s bottom. That was the only time warm nymph was ever allowed to touch that tawse.

There are rules and etiquette about submissives and disciplinary implements. I followed those rules because they made psychological and sexual sense.

Normally she wasn’t allowed to touch it. it touched her.

Monica tells a lie

Monica was lying between my legs, sucking my cock while I leaned against my wall, occasionally flicking her bottom with my belt. But even when you’re young and dumb, no one’s completely full of come, and I was not going to come in her mouth.

So I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. She looked in my eyes for clues about what might happen next. Clues are always welcome. I said, “No. It’s your turn now. You have to tell me two truths and a lie. I need to know if you play saxophone.” 

“Ah. It’s trombone, actually. And skin flute.” I smacked the belt down on her arse again, a bit harder. “No! I haven’t started yet. But trombone was a lie. And I don’t make ‘bone’ jokes. So don’t you, either.” 

I kissed her. She tasted of me. I’m not actually my own favourite taste (where do male narcissists stand on that?), but I’ll put up with it if it means kissing Monica.

“I bet you don’t even play saxabone.” She pulled a disgusted face. She was not wrong. Then I smacked her arse again. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of that. “Two truths and a lie, Monica. Starting … NOW!”

Monica put on her frowning, thinking face. Then she said, “The only time a man ever spanked me, before today, he burst into tears about half way through and asked me to spank him. So I did, because I’m such a kind girl, but there was nothing in it for me. So I’ve always been a bit suspicious of male spankers.”

I thought about that, then said, “Yeah, OK, that’s reasonably believable.”

“The only woman Domme I’ve ever known, she rode me one night, with her on my back and silk ribbons in my cunt. If she pulled the right ribbon I had to turn right, or left if she pulled the left one. It was kind of hot, but she never followed through. I mean she never whacked me, and I kind of thought that might be … good. And I’m being rude about her, unfairly, because she was good at cunnilingus, and she liked to do me, and I liked being done.

She reached down and stroked my cock. “But, this is sort of uncool of me to say, but I really like cock. I mean live cock, not plastic.”

I said, “But you liked being ridden?”

“Hah! She was smaller than me. It was odd having a lover smaller than me. But you’re not, and no, Master, I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to ride me. Not in that sense, anyway.”

“Noted. Also plausible, and an interesting idea.”

“I’m not your horse, Master. It’d be like trying to ride a Labrador.”

That somehow caused a huge surge of affection in me, and I kissed her, looking in her eyes, with meaning. Eventually we broke off and I said, “And … “

“Right. And actually, my woman lover, she had the yummiest little arse. I used to spank her with my hand and make her lick me till I came. And I always had a hairbrush in my hand when she was serving me, in case I thought her attention had wandered or she wasn’t serving me hard enough.”

“So, she was a submissive, then. Not your Domme at all.”

“I think sometimes she slackened just because she wanted the hairbrush.”

“Interesting. And you don’t seem very Dom-y to me, but that’s also plausible.” 

Monica looked at me. “So, Master. Which one was the lie? And how will you punish me for lying to you?”

 

Sinful Sunday: Tip toes

It’s corner time for Arethusa, after the spanking. I’m not sure why I told her she had to do her time in the corner, until she could be welcomed back as a good girl, on tip toes. 

She liked the attention to detail. If I’m to tell her what to do, I should be interested in exactly what she does.

I liked what tip toes did to her legs. And it was a nice mini-sign of obedience, that … well, it pleased me. Both of us.

 

Two truths and a lie: Monica guesses

“Two truths and a lie,” Monica said. “Yeah, they’re all plausible. 

The three stories I’d told were:

1. I lost my virginity at 14, to a bikie chick in Parramatta;

2. A teacher got a poem by me into a book released by the UN, and became my Dom/sub-centred sex fantasy for at least a year; and

3. I first became a Master because a submissive girl felt bad because she’d tried to have sex with someone else, and thought we’d split up over it, but instead I took her under my wing (and thumb). 

“But,” she continued, “the lie is the first one.” 

“Oh? Why do you think that?”

“First, you’re a nerd. You’re Masterly and all that, but you’re all nerd, too. And nerds don’t get laid at fourteen, usually. I bet you first got your end away at sixteen.” 

“Interesting,” I said, noncommittally, though she was right about the age.

“But that’s not that strong, because you are very keen on fucking, and you might have got lucky. But the give-away is that you said, ‘Parramatta’.” 

“Why is that a give-away?”

“Because you’ve got a New Zealand accent when you get excited. You’re a kiwi, and I bet you haven’t been here all that long. So wherever you were when you were fourteen, it wasn’t Parramatta.” 

I grinned. “OK. You’re too damn clever, and exactly right.” 

“So when did you get your first fuck?”

“I was sixteen, clever girl. And the girl, Josie, she wasn’t a bikie gang moll, though her last boyfriend before me was in the Gypsy Jokers. And she was from Pakuranga, which is maybe equivalent to Parramatta. Though the first fuck was in my flat in Mount Eden.” 

“At sixteen, you weren’t living at home?” 

“No, I’d slammed the door and gone. Paid the rent with a bit of house painting and some marijuana dealing.”

“Ahhh. So you were a bit of a wild boy.” 

“In a very middle-class way. I was always far more careful than I pretended to be. I hid that, but I was.”

“Figures too. So what do I win?”

“You win … I think you get your bottom smacked while you suck my cock.”

“That sounds more like your reward.”

I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it, hard, to move her face over my cock. Then with the other hand I spanked her perfect little arse.

She opened her mouth, and touched my cock, teasingly, with her tongue. That mattered. I had to pretend not to care, but I’d have been mortified if she wasn’t happy. 

But I kept my voice rough. “It’s exactly what you want. And what’s good for you. Suck my cock. Now.”