Sinful Sunday 302: Helpless helpless

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, tied over the table. The last thing he’d said before he left her had been to wait. Not that she had any choice about that.

Her wrists and ankles were cuffed and tied. Her thighs were widely parted, tied to the table legs. She could raise her head. She could buck under the impact of whatever he chose to hurt her with. She could buck under the force of his cock, deep inside her. 

He’d do nothing to stop those movements. He liked her to jerk and flop under him while he disciplined her, or rode her. So that was the only movement he’d allowed her to make. 

She wished she could press her cunt against the table edge. Just a little relief until he returned. But her position didn’t allow that. She could only try to fuck the air: he’d made that choice for her.

He’d taken off his belt, folded it and laid it on the table on her left side. The cane lay beside her on her right.

“I’ll be back to deal with you later,” he’d said. And he’d left, leaving the door open. How long ago had that been? How long would he make her wait? 

Wait for him, helpless. She smiled when that word crossed her mind. She liked being helpless. And he wouldn’t accept anything less from her, just now, than helplessness. 

She knew she’d been good. He wasn’t punishing her. But he’d been in a mood she knew well. She didn’t know when, but things were going to happen. And they were going to happen to her.

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Sinful Sundae: O Calcutta!

A woman spanked and then bound represents a culmination. It’s taken a lot of loving work and communication to get us to this point, and to her submission. 

It’s also a commencement. Once we’ve reached here, then things can move between us. Oceanically, but the sky’s the limit.

Oh, and doesn’t she have a cute ass? Or, as we say on Earth, “O! Quel cul t’as!”

Oh Calcutta

Detail from Clovis Trouille’s painting, “O Calcutta! Calcutta!”

Well, some of us on Earth say that, anyway. The artist Clovis Trouille was a notoriously enthusiastic admirer of the comely, womanly ass, and he called his most famous painting, “O Calcutta! Calcutta!”

The title’s a pun on “O! Quel cul t’as”, which means, “Oh, what a [cute] ass you have!”  

Ken Tynan borrowed the painting, and the title, for his sinfully sexy (but nice) 1960s theatrical revue, O Calcutta.

In its original form, O Calcutta included two spanking sketches written by Tynan himself. Ken “Spanker” Tynan was notorious among his woman friends for his keenness on using the flat side of a hairbrush, so it’s not surprising that he wrote two spanking scenes for his show and, as director, accepted and included them. Unfortunately, these two scenes are omitted from modern revivals of O Calcutta.

John Lennon also wrote a scene for the original revue, but now Yoko, as guardian of the Lennon estate, won’t let it be used. But that’s enough about 20th century art and theatre: doesn’t my model have a cute ass?

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Sinful Sunday: Tying up a gift

This is a gift. A beautiful girl, recently striped (I can’t abide lateness), now tied immobile and made to wait. Until her owner requires her. 

Truth is, she won’t have to wait long. Her master is a greedier man (for her) than he is patient.

But the question is, who is the gift for? Is it her master, or is her immobile, bound state a gift for herself? 

Either way, or both ways, it’s the perfect solstice exchange. And power exchange. 

Note:

My bondage tends to be effective, in that it achieves compulsory stillness, however she might struggle and wriggle and strive against it. But it isn’t as elegant as it should be. I know this.

Still, the feeling is right. 

Happy holidays!

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Homeward bound and gagging (a girl) for it

tiedbedSomeone just wrote me saying that last night they dreamed I was tying their wrists together before tying them to the bed-end. They said it was a good dream, so that was a nice thing for me to think about.

I’ve had a similar dream about her, but I used leather cuffs rather than rope.

She’s dropping by. “Dropping by” makes it sound a bit more casual than it is. It’s the sort of “dropping by” you have to pack for.

And she brings new experiences, which is to say, herself. 

Obviously it won’t be the first time I’ve done that small bit of bondage in general, but it will be the first time I will have done it with that woman. Like Prometheus, she’s been more or less unbound. Till now. Or till soon, anyway.

So it will be exploration: a completely new experience. You don’t have to leave home for them. Which is lucky because I’ve been to so many new places, including 200 miles above the Arctic Circle, in my travels. Now I’m back in my bit of the world I’d hate for the Shock of the New to stop coming. 

gagfuckThe gag reference was only there for the feeble pun. But it’s funny how a casual idea, that only crossed my mind for the silliest possible reason, solidifies into a project.

So I shall explore that – with her – too. She’s a vocal girl, and what she has to say is always interesting. So she’ll find silence hard. I suppose she’ll find me hard in her silence.

I think we’ll both be happy. Happiness is simple. 

 

In the four weeks I’ve been away from home, a tree has blown down so I’ve got plenty of firewood. The lawn hasn’t grown (winter) so that’s good. Six new book cases were delivered this morning, so I’ve got my work cut out getting them into place without making the place seem crammed. And I have to get organised for that wonder-girl’s arrival.

And once I’ve got myself organised, I can continue with the Raylene story. The episodes can appear while I’m too busy to write.

Carstairs and bollocks: filed-teeth fellatio in Lesotho

pelicanclubThe other day I dined at the Pelicans Club as Galahad Threepwood’s guest. Gally had left me briefly alone near the entrance, to pay out on a wager he’d taken with Rorke, the butler.

That showed the sporting spirit, but it was how I fell into the hands, or at least the ambit, of the Club Bore. 

The man attracted my attention with a flap of his newspaper and a fixed stare, so I did the polite thing and approached, extending my hand. His name was Carstairs, and in seconds I realised he was not only going to address me but actually tell me anecdotes. But the eye he cast on me was definitely glittering, and there’s no escape from that sort of thing.

His story was interrupted by the vacuum cleaner, which – or who  – was doing lengths of the carpet. Carstairs had taken a seat in the corner that let him monitor all arrivals and departures, but at that stage of the cleaning that meant that every pass of the vacuum cleaner began and ended at this feet. Carstairs simply spoke through the vacuum cleaner’s visitations, neither pausing nor raising his voice, and that and my own wandering attention mean that parts of the story are lost.

Carstairs’ story

Grace Jones in chains, and the 1970s. The Pelican Club is always in about 1928, and Carstairs' story seems to date from abut 1870. Pardon, but your timeslips are showing.

In chains and the 1970s. Pelican Club stories all happen in about 1913, while Carstairs’ story seems to date from about 1870. Pardon, but your timeslips are showing.

“Africa, of course, but one of the lusher parts … downpour, so stayed in a mokhoro … sort of round hut thing … girl chained to the table leg, never got the drift of why … not a stitch on her …  skin gleamed like a grand piano … 

“No, no, don’t mind telling you … nuzzled at my … undid my buttons with her … worried me a bit that she’d filed her teeth … but what can a man do, if a lady … unchained her afterwards … slapped her rump, and that made her frisky … 

“Absolutely true, old bean… not a bed; a sort of cot … collapsed but that didn’t stop us … then the hut fell over … sprawled in the mud …

“Crowd of angry chaps outside … supposed to stay a virgin, apparently … chased after me waving their mulamu … father stuck me to a tree … could see his point of view … hung there for eight days … only when I laughed.”

Gally rescued me at that point, and we went off to the dining room. Gally led the way like a dapper drum-major, but as he marched towards the roast lamb he threw a remark over his shoulder. “Oh, you must’t worry about Carstairs.”

I sighed. “Never been east of Callais in all his life, has he?”  

“Never been east of Soho, old egg.”

Mouth to mouth 13: Qing Bound and…

I tugged Qing’s right foot over the the edge of the bed closest to the wall, and ran the rope twice around her ankle, then tied a knot. It wasn’t a Shibari knot, or anything even remotely elegant in one of the Japanese bondage styles.

It was an ugly but effective knot I’d learned while I worked on garbage trucks to earn some money for my first year at university. I don’t even know what it’s called, but anything I tied with it would stay on the truck.

Once I’d tied Qing’s foot she tugged at the ropes, experimentally at first, then trying harder to escape. As I said, it’s an effective knot. I tighted the rope at the end connected to the bed, so she soon had little room for movement any more. Her struggles when she understood what I’d done were more determined; I knelt beside her foot and watched the muscles in her ass and her upper thighs flex and un-flex.

qingbackHer cunt sometimes seemed to open a little with her effort. So it seemed from my perspective, looking up at her from between her ankles, admiring her buttocks and that sweet little slit. Her display was beautiful, and reminded me how much I wanted to fuck her again.

That’s the thing about writhing about. If your partner is any good with rope at all, it’s not going to get you loose. On the other hand, you will be turning him, or her, on. So it’s excellent for getting you fucked enthusiastically, but doesn’t have many other uses. 

But she was passive and complaisant as I took her left foot and pulled it over to the left side of the bed. That made sense: she never tried to escape, only to to struggle against her bonds after I’d tied her.

Once her left ankle was secure, and I was confident the knot would stand up to anything Qing’s slender legs, now widely spread, would manage, I left her go.

She pulled against her new bonds, twisting her upper body while her legs and feel remained tightly held and immovable. She was experiencing and demonstrating, emphatically, her sexual helplessness. Because I am who I am, that made me hard and pitiless. I like helplessness, and I love female wriggling. Especially if it has urgency, as Qing’s did. I’d untie her if she asked, but it’d be boring. I hoped she wouldn’t. In my mood I wanted to believe that I could take what I wanted.

spank againI came up the bed a little and smacked her bottom again, so she knew where I was. I tied her wrists and hands together, behind her back as I’d promised her. Her struggles inspired in me the affection with which a lion watches a lamb. She’d fall still and rest every thirty seconds or so. She didn’t have a lot of strength, or stamina.

I slipped two fingers into her slippery wet cunt, and Qing lifted her bottom in surprise and then pleasure, clear of the bed. She had little freedom of movement but I knew that control of her cunt, which I had, meant control of any movements she did make, and of her breathing.

My finger were making her breathe hard and fast, close to orgasm, when I rolled onto her back, my cock pushed against the feminine softness of her ass and my knees between hers. My toes and knees pressed into the bed, just like hers. I let her feel my weight on her. and smacked the side of her bottom. Qing’s skin was pale in the night air, but she was warm for my hands.

Her eyes widened when my hand landed, and she celebrated or complained about the pain with a little vocal noise that sounded a bit like a hiccough. I smacked her three more times. The spanks weren’t hard, but they meant Qing had experienced something new: she’d had an adventure. Then I kissed the back of her neck.

Qing smiled, and I remembered the lion-and-lamb metaphor again. I bit her neck, then kissed the spot better. My cock pressed against her, just above her cunt.

assupdocI growled in her ear: “Get your ass up” – another smack – “girl!”

“Wha’ you say? Jaime, it’s funny; I don’t seem to mind you spanking me… How weird is?”

“I’m going to fuck you now, Qing.” But since she’d mentioned it, I smacked her left flank, just below my own thigh.

While Qing dealt with the pain, small but enough to be worth paying attention to, I bit her ear and kissed it. I thought I might as well: it had worked for her neck.

“You’re going to get your ass up so I can fuck you. Now.”

“Ah… Why do you want..?” I missed the significance of her question. I thought I’d been clear enough, so this must be more Qing-delaying tactics. So I smacked her, and she dropped her question.

I smacked her again. “So I can fuck you, Qing. Why else? Now,” – I gave her a taste of my command voice – “get that ass UP.”

I waited.

Mouth to mouth 12: “Ropes? There are ropes on this bed?”

I didn’t know what woke me. Not at first. Qing slept beside me, her tiny body coiled, with her head half under her pillow and her little ass pushed back at me for her comfort and mine. A cord I’d noticed before we slept, one of the four tied to the bedends, lay on the sheet near her mouth, wet with her drool. Another comforter, I supposed. When she slept alone.

sleeperI lay on my side behind her, my arm over her shoulder resting on the swelling of her left breast. In the times I was awake and hard, I’d enjoyed its insistent arousal in my palm.

Through the night I’d listened to her sleeping breathing, with my cock sometimes hard in the warm, comfortable gap between the top of her thighs. 

Sometimes I’d soften and drift towards sleep, but whenever she moved I’d wake up  and my cock would straighten, wanting her.

(That gap at the top of the thighs: it’s the sub-pudendal inter-gracile fossa. The name for that part of the body is my contribution to medical science. It may be useless – I mean my contribution – but it‘s sexy.)

But I must have slept for few hours, eventually, because some time after four in the morning I woke up. Qing had reached back to hold and enclose my cock in her right hand. I could feel my heart-beat, held inside that little cage of fingers.

There were no curtains on her window, and outside I could see light in the gaps between the trees. There’d be birdsong soon. But in her room it was still dark and quiet. I watched her shoulder rise and fall with her breathing. Qing must have sensed that I’d woken up, because although she didn’t move at first, she made a satisfied, happy noise, and stroked the underside of my cock with her thumb.

I sucked in a breath, intending her to hear and understand that I was awake, and that it was okay for her to know it. I wanted her to feel certain that I was pleased to find myself in her bed, and to find her wanton again. Qing ran her thumb up and down the underside of my cock, still holding me lightly with her fingers, until the sensation was almost unbearable. Whenever she touched me my cock jumped like a salmon climbing a rapid.

She turned over at last, and kissed my belly. I said, “ahh..” But she moved lower, down the bed. 

qing and my cockI suspected that I should stop her. Or I kind of did. I was sure I’d come far too soon if she sucked me. And while coming in Qing’s mouth wasn’t the worst thing I could think of, I’d prefer to delay a bit longer. 

But she took the head of my cock in her mouth, and I no longer had the willpower to tell her to stop. I let her please me. If she’d been mine and submissive I’d have trained her a little more: teaching her how to suck as hard as I want without getting her teeth in the way, and I’d have wanted to make my points with the help of a rope’s end.

Still, I don’t think it’s possible for a man not to be pleased with a woman with her mouth full with his cock.

But I remembered that rope’s end, the cords that had been in her mouth while she slept. I found that they stretched as far as the cleft between her buttocks, and I gave her a series of light strokes across the near half of her ass, to encourage her.

qing's smacked bumQing frowned. I doubted that she’d ever been whipped before. But the strokes were light-ish – the way she’d soaked the end with her drool helped to make it land across her skin a little harder – and they helped her with rhythm.

I hoped she also felt the strokes were interestingly, enjoyably perverse. She seemed to be happy, so I kept her whipping going. Then I made the strokes harder, and Qing came up for air. She was hesitant about speaking. She was trying to remember something. 

“You’d asked me about these, when I was drifting off, didn’t you?”

The phrasing told me what was missing. “Jaime. I’m Jaime,” I said. And to show off, I added, “And you’re Qing.”

“Jaime, sorry. Anyway, you’re only more or less righ’ with my name. You don’t qui’e get the ‘chj’ sound. So: Jaime.”

“C’est moi. Anyway, I thought this” – I whacked her ass again with the cords – “was interesting. Not every girl has ropes tied onto her bedends?” 

“Well, not every boy pays any attention to them. You’re the first, actually. An’ … I didn’t put them there. I just – what’s the word? – inhabited? No, inherent?” 

“Inherited?”

“Ah-yuh. I inherited the bed when I took the room. And the ropes were already there. I just never took them off. It was too hard.” 

qingI had a little pile of things I’d taken from my pockets when I’d undressed: the condoms, but also my phone, keys, some cash and my Swiss Army knife. I held up the knife, with all blades closed. “Really? You couldn’t get them off, and that’s why they’re still here? It’s very easy to fix that. I can cut them off right now if you like.” 

“No! It’s ok!” She was trying to sound casual. She didn’t remotely succeed. 

So I said, “Well, whether they stay or go, would you like to try them on? Now?” 

Qing dropped her head and licked my cock again. She busied herself with that project, and said nothing. 

“Qing, I can’t do anything unless you say the magic word.”

“Please?”

“Okay, magic words: say, ‘yes, please’.

“‘Yes, please’.”

“Not quite yet. First I tell you that I’ll put you on your tummy. And that I’ll tie your feet apart, and your hands together behind your back. And among other things, I’ll fuck you while you can’t move.”

“Tha’ would be your turn-on, would it?”

“I’d enjoy m’self, for sure. But the question’s what you want. Now: ‘yes, please’, or ‘no thanks’?”

“Ah… And how do -“

I don’t know what she was going to ask, but I know delaying tactics when I hear them. So I smacked her bottom with her saliva-soaked card again. She said, “Aa-aiie!”

I smiled at her, as though I were a reasonable man. “So that’s a ‘no, thanks’?”

“No.” That sounded considered. “I mean, it’s not ‘no thanks’. It is ‘yes, please’. If you promise to remember tha’ I haven’t done this before.”

“Good girl. Very good girl.” I put my hand on the small of her back. “Now spread your legs.”

Mouth to mouth 11: Ropes for Qing?

qing lovingQing made a little noise of satisfaction, and we started to move together. After a while we sped up, and I found that I’d hit an obstruction inside her. It hurt. I thought that maybe I’d hit her spine, since she really was a slender girl and there didn’t seem much room inside her for my cock to go.

But it’d been her cervix. I changed my angle slightly and it didn’t happen again. Qing hadn’t noticed, as far as I could tell.

Her face was contorted in an extreme version of her pleasured expression, and she was making a sound I didn’t understand. (She was saying “cao wo”, meaning “fuck me”, but I didn’t know that till much later.)

Other things were clear enough without language, though, and I let her have my weight for a few minutes while I reached under her to grab her ass. I pulled her cheeks apart, and squeezed her hard, hoping to cause mild pain while she was close to coming.

qing loving 2In a minute or two, Qing opened her legs wide and put her feet on my arse. I sped up, hoping she’d come before I did, and put my right forefinger into her ass, up to the first knuckle. That did it: Qing stopped muttering cap wo. She screamed it, as if she was in a panic.

She wrapped her arms around me, so she was clinging like an octopus on eccy. She had three more orgasms, each a little calmer than the one before. I let myself come in her for the last one.

 Qing sank back, arms and legs flat on the bed. I rolled off her, to lie on my side with my left leg over her. She said, “Well. You’re a dark horse. I didn’t think you even liked me.”

“Oh, I liked you. I just thought that guy was your boyfriend.”

“So does he, half the time. But he’s just a dickhead.”

“Mmmmph.”

qing asleepQing was falling asleep. I guessed I’d do the same, so I pulled some of the duvet away from the wall.

I found ties on the side of the bed, made of soft, furry rope. I could see knots on the other side of the bed, now that I was looking for them. 

Four ties, near the bed corners. You could use that to hold someone spread-eagled and immobile.

I said “Qing? These ties … Is this something you’re into?”

But I was too late. She was asleep. 

Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 65: Of human bondage

cuddleRaylene had turned her back to me and closed her eyes, so I’d pulled a sheet up from the floor and draped it over us, but mostly her, and put an arm round her.

She slept while I watched her, snuggled in close, the heat and feminine roundness of her arse pressed against me.

My cock was still wet with her fluids, comfortable and exhausted. And smug: I remembered Raylene’s screams, and that we’d lost count of her orgasms.

Raylene may have had a similar memory, because she pushed her hips back, making the querulous little moan that babies make when they’re starting to wake up. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was sucking her thumb, and she rubbed her ass against me. Maybe she wanted to let the coolness of my body take some of the heat from her strapped bottom and thighs. Maybe she wanted my cock to wake up and show some interest. Her mouth stopped working on that imaginary thumb, and her breathing relaxed. She was asleep again, but she still undulated her hips, very slowly.

The heat of her skin against my cock reminded me of how we’d spent our afternoon, and thoughts about that got me to semi-erect. So my cock pressed slightly more firmly against her ass, and that tighter contact meant that my cock got harder. And so on. It’s a virtuous circle.

So I began to pump her, my cock sliding along the crevice between her buttocks. Raylene began to move her ass in time with my thrusts. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing was still regular and quiet, but it was obvious that she’d woken and was only pretending to be asleep. So I reached down under the sheet, and stroked her bottom lightly, and then smacked her. She turned and gazed at me, shocked and betrayed.

“I’d be sorry to have woken you. But I didn’t, did I?”

Raylene rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “I thought you might try to fuck me while I was asleep. I was going to let you win.”

“I’d have to do a fair bit of shoving you about before I could just stick my cock in. Roll you over, get your legs apart, get your ass up, depending on how I’m going to fuck you. And if you – if any woman – looks asleep while that’s going on, then you’re faking. Or you’re drunk or drugged out of your brain, and … Well. Not my idea of a good time.”

“Yeah. Creepy, that shit.”

There was something in her voice. “That’s happened to you?”

“You lie down with boot boys…” She pulled a face. “Can I tell you some other time? Right now it’d be a buzzkill. Sir.”

“Ernfff. Okay, we can talk about it later. Would you like -?”

“What I’d like to do is suck your cock.”

I’d been about to offer to get her a glass of water. But that seemed more interesting. “Well, you’ll have to beg nicely.” 

“Please, Sir, can I… Wait a minute. I have to beg you to be allowed to suck your cock?” 

“Well, you get to serve me. And it’s a very nice cock. But what’s in it for me?” 

Raylene looked at me, astonished. Then she laughed. “Yeah ok-ay. An oldie but a goodie. So, please sir, may I pretty please have the pleasure of sucking your cock?”

“I think so. But I think I’ll have you tied for that.” I looked around her room, not finding what I wanted. “Got any rope? Or cord, maybe?”