Chloe’s game 4

Chloe stood and faced me, still with her hands on her head. I wanted to step out of role to check that she was all right, that her consent was real, to reassure her. But that would only be about reassuring me. Chloe had shown me what she wanted, she’d taken a brave risk, relying on my response, and so I swallowed my doubts and tried to be worthy of her.

Yeah, I felt ridiculous. It was like I was channelling this. (I think this is a British music-hall comedian called Jimmy Edwards, by the way.)

Yeah, I felt ridiculous. It was like I was channelling this. (I think this is a British music-hall comedian called Jimmy Edwards, by the way.)

Mr Mortimer the strict teacher might be ludicrous, but I could be him, and he could do this. He said, “Well, Miss Sendak, Miss – what the hell was her name? – Laffers or something says that you have been a Very Naughty Girl.”

“Miss Laforge is silly.”

Mr Mortimer also felt slightly silly, but he did have an erection.

He realised that he did have a script for this game. There were any number of literary sources. He said, “I think you’ll find, young lady, that you’ll think twice before you say that again.”

“Hah.” Chloe put her tongue out.

If I were not already in love with her, I’d have fallen at that moment. I wanted to multiply into many men, like Krishna with the Gopi girls, to fuck her in every way simultaneously. I wanted to whip her mercilessly and caress her gently. I wanted us to dissolve in mist and merge. She was my fellow pervert, she was brave, beautiful, clever and generous.

And, of course, she was as cute as a baby panda, if one were to put its hands on its head and poke its tongue out.  

Chloe’s game 3

I opened Chloe’s desk drawer. There I found a long and heavy leather strap, three inches wide and nearly five feet long. There was a buckle at one end, but it was too big to have been a belt. Chloe later told me it had been part of an old suitcase.

The drawer also contained a wooden hairbrush and a heavy wooden ruler, and a jar of something that said on the lid that it was Dubbin. I assumed Dubbin must be lubricant, Chloe for the buggering of. Ignorant sod that I was.

Chloe had collected these items from her parent’s home, along with her old school uniform. She’d worn that uniform in earnest just five years earlier. Somehow, in the intervening time, it had turned into a sexual costume. It was a self-mocking costume, like a naughty nurse outfit or a French maid’s costume. But once all the layers of irony had been duly acknowledged, she still looked sexy.  

beltI picked up the belt. I’d only hand spanked Chloe, apart from a couple of occasions I’d used the back of her hairbrush. A strap seemed much more serious.

I folded it and hit my palm experimentally. It gave a slow and heavy impact, more of a thud than a sting. And a satisfying clap.

Chloe winced. I supposed she must have already tested the leather on her leg, to see how it would feel.

I felt, again, that familiar rush of power and sexual energy. “All right, girl.” I coughed. “All right, girl. Stand up.”

Chloe’s game 2

I took this in, astonished, and Chloe met my gaze with embarrassment that was no doubt genuine, though it suited the role she was playing. I knew what role-playing was, but I wasn’t sure I wanted it. We had serious things to talk about, hadn’t we?

Anyway, the closest I’d come to role-playing was as Ostler (one line) in a school production of Henry IV Part I. I was nobody’s actor. And the note was to Mr Mortimer, who seemed a very authoritarian sort of fellow. I wasn’t sure I could do him. I wasn’t authoritarian, back then. I might provide pain, for sexual purposes, but I didn’t give orders.

Where did all this come from? I wondered what would happen if I just said, “Anyway Chloe, so how was your day?” I laughed, briefly, at that thought. Chloe’s face fell.

Not quite like this, but the same general effect.

Not quite like this, but the same general effect.

Christ. I lent down and kissed her forehead and whispered, “No, darling, you’re … I wasn’t laughing at you. Sorry. You’re fine.”

Straightening, I said, “So, Miss Sendak, it seems you’ve been a naughty girl.” I sounded nervous. I might be a fearsome disciplinarian, but I didn’t seem to have the voice for it yet.

Chloe said, “Miss Laforge is mean, and I bet you’re mean too. And I’m not sorry, and I’m not scared of the strap, anyway.”

“Strap?” I forgot to be Mr Mortimer. “What strap?”

“It’s in the drawer.” 

Chloe’s game 1

I was talking about teacher/schoolgirl stories and roleplays. I mentioned that I’d learned how to go deeper and darker, as a dom, than I’d ever been before, by playing that game. It’s a silly scenario, but it did turn out to have more power than I expected.

Here’s the story: (an excerpt from a book I’m trying to sell, as it happens):

 Chloe’s game 1

The message was from Chloe, inviting me to visit. It was odd she hadn’t called my mobile. I supposed she’d wanted to leave a message without talking to me. There was something odd in her tone. She sounded very earnest. She didn’t answer, on either phone, when I called her back.

 So I drove round and warily walked the path to her room. Chloe must have heard my approach, because the door was open for me, despite the cold. She sat, an extraordinary sight, on a wooden chair she must have borrowed from the elderly couple she was renting from.

naughty1She wore a white shirt, top buttons undone, and a tie with bottle green and emerald green stripes. The blazer was green with a shield and a Latin motto; hardship led, as it so often does, to the stars. The skirt was bottle green, pleated, and tiny. I stared stupidly at her.

Chloe said nothing, but passed me an envelope she’d been holding in both hands.

I took it, and she placed her hands on her head, fingers interlaced.

The envelope contained a folded note in Courier font:

Dear Mr Mortimer,

Chloe Sendak, the bearer of this note, has been late for school three times this week despite repeated warnings. She had been caught vandalising school property and stealing from other girls. Worse, she has made up an extremely improper poem about poor “Chalky” Carstairs. I have spoken to Chloe about her misconduct but she responded quite insolently. I have referred her to you because of your reputation for strictness. This girl requires firm corporal punishment on the bare buttocks, though you have my consent to remove her clothing altogether. Please punish Chloe extremely severely, and then keep her in overnight.

Yours faithfully, 

Rowena Laforge

Form teacher, Upper Sixth Girls


Rowena Laforge didn’t exist, as far as I knew, but she’d signed her name in spidery green ink.

Jungle journey

I’ve been asked for a picture. I’ve got one of me looking domly, dressed in black and scowling by an industrial wall. I’ll post the Dom of Darkness photo some time. But here I am in color instead, ready for the jungle.

The jacket’s made from a map of the world, useful when travelling.There’s a compass in a hidden pocket at the back. Also a whistle if I get lost. A magnifying glass. And a lighter. 

I’ve had the typhoid and yellow fever shots. I’ve got a stack of malaria pills so I can rattle if I get the shakes. I’m going to buy a mosquito net when I get there, but that’ll be more for sexual purposes. I’m packing a copy of Dawns and Departures of a Soldier’s Life by Sir Harold Paget Flashman, which, I’m told, is an invaluable guide to the jungle terrain and local manners. 


Why does bdsm feel so good #3

(Continuing that excerpt from “Between the Lines”: thoughts about pleasure, while delivering my second-ever successful spanking.) 

As I continued, slowly building up the force of the smacks, she gave me movements to watch, the rocking of her hips and buttocks as she pressed down against me and then offered herself up in answering rhythm to my hand.

No, your head stays down.

She had tucked her hair behind her ears, but now she was in motion it fell forward over her face.

There were tactile pleasures, the curve of her buttocks and thighs under my hand, soft when I touched her gently, and firmly resilient when I touched more fiercely. The impact of my palm against muscles, the reactions of her body in that second of impact; those sensations were all the more intense for only lasting for an instant.

Maureen’s body pressed against mine, her hips slowly pumping, moving on my cock and under my hand. I was achingly aware of every silken micro-movement of her belly or her thighs.

There were sounds, too: the claps of skin against skin and her occasional answering grunts. And there were our own heady smells.

{To be continued].

Why does bdsm feel so good? #2

(Continuing that excerpt from “Between the Lines”: thoughts about pleasure, while delivering my second-ever successful spanking.) 

I cupped Maureen’s left buttock with my hand, drawing a pleasurable sigh from her. She was cool to the touch. I cupped the other cheek, squeezed and patted her, and then stroked the sensitive skin in the cleft between. When my fingertips touched, lightly, against her cunt Maureen opened her thighs, releasing me.

She bowed her head, probably more in concentration than in submission, and closed her eyes. So we had begun.

I smacked her lightly, closely observing my hand’s impact against her flesh. I knew I would want to remember each detail. What was this? Why did I like this so much?

There were visual pleasures, the sight of Maureen’s flesh rippling and firming as each smack landed. Her face frowned in concentration, a slight pursing of her mouth with each blow. I watched these things with absorption, and wondered at their beauty.

Hand reared girl

When I made the smacks harder I could watch the changes in her skin, the instant of pallor directly under my hand at the instant of contact, blushing to pink as the blood rushed to the assaulted skin.

At first I could see individual prints, my palm, fingers and thumb marked on her like the paint hands on Palaeolithic cave walls, but these soon merged into one large red blotch covering her buttocks and upper thighs. 

[To be continued]

Why does bdsm feel so good? (“It’s clear why I like it, thanks, but why do I like it so much?”) #1

This is a bit from “Between the Lines” about the second (or fourth, if you counted two excruciatingly embarrassing first attempts) spanking I ever gave. 

Hurry up!

“The click of her bedroom door closing had enormous importance. We undressed with fumbling speed, not speaking until Maureen lay back on her white sheet and I lay between her long white thighs and I kissed her belly and the vault of her ribs. Only then could we pause to talk. It seemed that in the hours we’d been apart we’d done things that we had to do, for purposes that had nothing to do with this bed, and that none of those things were of any importance at all.

We focussed on what was of interest. I rolled onto my back and sat up, pulling Maureen with me so she sprawled on top of me. She raised herself on her hands and looked down into my eyes, then slid herself down to lie, long, cool and white across my lap. She closed her thighs on my cock, and waited. 

Our first experiment had been all immediacy, both of us sliding on the edge of the instant like skiers half a step ahead of an avalanche. This second exploration was different. Time moved normally. I contemplated Maureen’s beauty and the astonishing gift that her posture represented: the magnificence of her permission and the luxury of time to enjoy it.

Her pale length was still tinged with pink at her lower buttocks and upper thighs. The coloration was so faint that if I hadn’t known it should be there and wanted to find it I might easily have missed it. I was relieved to find I’d done Maureen no damage, but I had to admit to myself that I was also disappointed. I wasn’t entirely civilised: I’d hoped that I’d left my mark on her.

[To be continued]

An Arabian Night #2

The answer us that it sounds exactly like an Arabian Night.

But really it’s a Parisian night, from the early twentieth century, put into English a little later by a London-based Welshman, Edward Powys Mathers.

Mathers’s version is probably still the most popular English-language version of “The Thousand Nights and a Night”. But he didn’t know a word of Arabic. He translated the French version by Joseph Charles Mardrus.

Chaste, though naked, athletics, as in the original Arabic version

Mardrus knew Arabic, but he also wrote his own mildly erotic Oriental fantasies, like his “The Queen of Sheba”, which is all gold costumes (underwear that goes “clank” when you drop it), yearning glances and shuddering thighs. Then in the early 1920s, Mathers did an English version of Mardrus’s French. The original is two generations away from the English version.

I discovered all this when I went searching for other translations of the Princess Abrixa scene when I was researching my “Between the Lines”. “Between the Lines” among other things tries to sketch in a cultural history of bdsm. I wanted to show that there’s awareness of bdsm pleasures in pretty much all world literatures, not just the European ones. But when I checked the Burton translation, the bound and spanked girls weren’t there. There were only some chaste athletic competitions.

Disgruntled slavegirls demand to be in the sexier French/English version. (Painting: Giulio Rosati)

So I checked other translations, and discovered that the bondage and spanking doesn’t appear in any other translation. Mardrus and Mathers had made it up. Well, the athletics was probably enough to keep Sharkhan happily watching, hiding in his tree, but it isn’t quite so saucy for the reader. Mardrus and Mathers knew what an Arabian night ought to be like, even if the original Arabic writer didn’t.

I fixed the immediate problem for my book by  dropping the “Arabian Nights” reference, and substituting some early medieval Arabic medical texts that showed some awareness of bdsm, or at least of sexual responses to whipping. But it was a pity to have to lose that warm, all-girl spanking night by the pool.

Blog archeology. Also fur bikinis.

People always talk about the opening sentence of a novel, but no-one ever reads the first sentence of a blog. My book about bdsm opens with: “About twenty-one thousand years ago a tribe crunched across white grass in the frozen landscape that is now Russia.”

That’s okay, as beginnings go. It’s not about bdsm, but at least it suggests the possibility that the cast will turn out to be wearing lambskin boots and fur bikinis. As seen in pretty much all films about caves, clubs and fire-starting.

Hammer Films' idea, in 1967, of what women wore in 1,000,000 BC. The fur bikini offers excellent protection from pterodactyls, but may be unsuitable for swimming.

Raquel Welch is the obvious example, from the film poster that became a lot more famous than the film it publicised. That was “One Million Years BC”, from the Hammer Horror crew in 1967, and it had babes, dinosaurs, grunting-as-dialogue and Harry Harryhausen’s stop-motion pterodactyls. Also a man-eating brontosaurus, which must have annoyed dinosaur-savvy kids even at the time. Raquel Welch plays “Loana the Fair One”, and she’s out-acted by the pterodactyls. But it’s still a cool film.

Anyway, by the time I get readers this first post will be long buried.

But greetings to anyone who finds this. If you’re a web archeologist from 2023, drop me a note and I’ll send you a Special Gift.