Sinful Sunday: Goodness! Such badness!

Sometimes Arethusa misbehaved. She didn’t enjoy the micro-second of contact between the cane and her skin, but then the next second it was warming and thuddy. Ties in place, she felt wonderfully submitted. In every sense of the word it was hot

Eventually it dawned on her poor, gullible Master that the cane didn’t have any deterrent effect, whatsoever. Oddly, because he was a kind and indulgent sort of Master, “strict” canings still happened anyway. 

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Consolation Prize

It didn’t happen every time. But usually he gave her an orgasm, one way or another, before she got up from her punishment place and position. 

So much of the rhetoric about life between a willing slave and her chosen Master comes down to this: he has to make himself useful, and keep his possession glad that she has a Master.

Arethusa was, in a sense, easy to please, after punishment. She felt especially sexually needy and urgent after he’d caned her. Partly, he believed, she wanted to distract herself from the fire in her ass, but also… she was fiercely aroused. Hungry.

So was he.

Sinful Sunday: The Light

It was bright daylight outside, and there was darker, more intimate and comforting light inside.

My loveslave, Arethusa, was getting the cane. Not for any misconduct, but for her Master’s pleasure, and, though she’d only admit that afterwards, hers. She’d feared it once, but since then it became her favourite instrument. The line of pain was so intense and so clear, like the mark it left for days after. 

But she wanted comfort, which is darkness. I wanted her pain, which is bright. 

So we did what we wanted together. And we took what we most needed. How, how much I needed her.

Wicked Wednesday: Message received

Maddie hissed something into her ear, and for a moment Claire stopped her wailing and poised herself to receive punishment. But the next five strokes all focused on her upper thighs, and she lost that control immediately. I waited while she writhed, legs rising and falling, and I timed the strokes to make contact while her legs rose. We were dancing, together.

Then I concentrated the strokes on the middle of her bottom, not worried if the cane crossed earlier tracks  Claire was in constant motion and voice, while I silently counted down: Three. Two. One. Then I put the cane down.

I stepped next to the weeping, blubbering Claire, and said, “Maddie. Good girl. You did very well. Now clean this cane, and put it away.” 

“Yes sir.” Maddie accepted the cane and left the room.

I stroked Claire’s hair while she wept. Her face worked, her mouth contorted with grief and pain. I said, “You’re done for now.You earned yourself two penalty strokes, but I’ll deliver them later. For now, Claire darling, all debts are paid. Forever. All gone.”

Claire heard me, and rolled onto her side. Her face a mask of tragedy, she held out an arm to me. I hugged her, and lifted her from my desk. She fell against me, still sobbing, as though heart-broken. I held her and told her she was brave and good. And forgiven. It was over. Paid for in full.

I still didn’t think she had done anything wrong when she turned to her husband’s friend for sex and comfort, after her husband had left her. But she did, so it was the right thing to say. It was true even if I didn’t quite understand it.

I held Claire firmly while she sobbed, until she slowly quieted. At last she looked at me. “You understood.” She said it with wonder in her voice, tears still steaming down her face.

“Thank you, sir. You have no idea how much my ass hurts. But I – I do feel better. Thank you.”

I said, “I always tell students I cane that they’ve been brave. But you … I’m awed by your courage. You really are a good girl.” I inclined my face closer to hers and we kissed, slowly becoming passionate.

“You’re Maddie’s master, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I wish… I wish you’d be mine. I mean my Master. Even if only for a while. But I need someone guiding me at the moment. Standing behind me. For me. I’ve gone so wrong.”

I said, “Then you’re under me, until further notice. You may call me Master. And your first order is to remember that your past is paid for. In full. If I hear you express any guilt about fucking that guy, ever again, we’ll go through this once more. Understood?”

She closed her eyes. At last she said, “Understood. Master.”

Wicked Wednesday: Claire, paid in full

Claire stood up, and I held her. She put her arms round me and pressed her body tight.I kissed her forehead, and she let her head hang over my shoulder, weeping silently. Or mostly silent. 

I put my hands on her poor, welted bottom and she hissed in her breath. But I pressed harder, then began to knead that flesh, knowing that it would hurt but that she would experience it as a kind of relief. 

At last she looked up at me. “Do you think I’ve paid yet? Have I had enough? It hurts soooo much.” 

I had never felt that she had done anything wrong. But we were doing this to work out her guilt for fucking her husband’s friend.

My instinct said she needed more, before she would definitely forgive herself.

She needed to remember this as the time she’d been driven to the edge of what she could stand, and then taken further. So I said, “Your arse is likely to hurt for about a week and a half. Then the marks will be gone, and this will be a memory. You’ll need to rely on that memory to feel you’ve paid. So… what do you think, Claire. Have you paid, or do you need more?”

“Oh god, sir. It really hurts. I never got the cane like that when I was a girl. But… I think I need another dozen, at least.”

So I kissed her mouth, and we held each other like lovers. She could feel me hardening for her. Because the sexiest thing, between her and I, as the punisher and the punished, was not her beautiful naked body.

Nor her helpless presentation over my desk, or her gasps and stripes as the cane did its work, wonderfully hot though those things all were, but her acceptance and submission. We were going to fuck as soon as possible after this had finished. I knew she felt that desire too, that powerful sexual heat from her own submission, though we didn’t speak about it.

Instead I patted her poor, ridged and welted bottom. Her eyes told me she didn’t feel that as pain. “Then go back to the desk, Claire. And bend over.”

Claire nodded, then looked up to kiss me one last time. “Yes, Sir.” I released her and she turned back to the desk, where Maddie was waiting for her. Maddie kissed her mouth too, then helped her down.

I did not believe Claire deserved this punishment. And I knew she needed it. She had to forgive herself, and have that forgiveness stay securely with her. So I raised the cane again, and whipped it down, biting into the backs of her legs, at the softest, best padded part of her upper thighs. Claire screamed, all of her former dignity and self-restraint gone in one stroke, while Maddie held her firmly down.

 

Sinful Sunday: Comfort and the cane

Arethusa got this caning for missing a doctor’s appointment. But the first thing I did was put down not one but two pillows for her to rest on, so she didn’t hurt herself, bending over my table.

It didn’t strike me, until I looked at the photos I took, what an odd mix it was: caring so much about her comfort, and then taking the cane and making her as uncomfortable as I possibly could. 

Sinful Sunday: Canes, kisses and warmth

The end of the caning. I’m quite proud of those closely spaced marks, and the story they tell.

But I like the combination of those hot stripes and the warmer blush surrounding them, and the warmth of the light. Which was more luck, for me as photographer, than good management. But warmth, in every sense, is right.

 

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Wild justice


Revenge is a kind of wild justice, but not all wild justice is revenge.

Generally, when I’m laying on the cane for disciplinary purposes, I like to make the cane stripes straight, close but not overlapping, and neat. That seems to go with the word, “discipline”. 

But on this occasion the girl Arethusa was being punished for chaotic behaviour. I won’t say what it was, but it was the general equivalent of getting drunk at a party and screaming abuse at her best friend, before kissing said friend and insisting that she loved her, then throwing up on her. It was that level of public chaos. 

So I deliberately laid on the strokes from many different directions. It wasn’t really chaotic, but it was as chaotic as I get. I never caned her in quite that way again, because chaos wasn’t really something she perpetrated often. But I just love the marks that caning left.


Masturbation Monday: Lunch with a caned girl

After making omelettes and warming bread I put the tray in front of Emily, who lay on our bed, on her front. I sat beside her, my back against the headboard. Emily demolished her omelette at speed, and helped herself to some of mine. Healing is hungry work.

She passed me her plate, for me to put on the floor beside the bed. “So. I’m supposed to obey you. Like take orders, from now on. But what happens if you tell me to do something really stupid?” 

“Well, I’ll try not to. I don’t want to do you harm.”

“Oh that’ll work. Because your judgement is always better than mine.”

I put my hand on her well-welted left buttock and squeezed.

“Yeech! Well, all right: mostly it is, come to think of it. But not always, Jaime.”

“That’s true. I can say really stupid things.”

Emily nodded. “How about if sometimes I say, ‘excuse me, but what you just told me to do, um, putting this nicely, was stupid and it would do me harm because’. And then I’d explain that it’s a bad idea because of whatever it is.”  

“That’d be fine. Except you have to be even nicer than that. I’d suggest speaking respectfully. Or.” I put pressure on the hot skin under my hand.

“Yii! That hurts!” It wasn’t a complaint, or not entirely.

“But if I tell you to do something that would actually be bad for you, then you can trust that I’ve made a mistake. So if I give you an order that seems stupid, tell me. I’ll listen to what you say. Always.”

“Okay. You’ll always listen to me. Then what?”

“Then I re-consider it. Then I decide.”

“I don’t know, Jaime. I want you to be in charge. But if there’s a risk, it’s to me. I know you don’t want to harm me, but what if you told me to do something that would fuck me up at work or something?”

“Well, I’m going to be careful. And I’ll never mind you telling me when I’m wrong. Ever. And I’ll hear you and decide. Carefully. I know what you’re worried about, but I’m asking you to trust me. I have to have the final say, or this doesn’t work.”

“Trust you? You sure? You seen the state of my arse lately?”

“You can trust me to keep your arse in that state. Your arse looks great.”

“Feels warm. Makes me feel horny. Which is weird, I know. Glad it looks good.”

“Oh fuck. Emily, that ass looks fantastic.”

“This is good.”

“But we were talking. You can trust that I’ll only overrule you when I know you’re wrong. Like if you’re trying to get out of doing something you really need to do. That’s when you’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.” 

I watched her face carefully. She was frowning.

Sinful Sunday: Soulful stripes

There comes a time when punishment is over. Time moves fast during a caning, and then, when the last stroke is delivered, it slows down. Nearly to a stop. There is pain, and there is peace.

She’d been warned about consequences of not doing university work before, and she knows that the punishment was an act of love, and she deserved it. No matter how much it hurt. 

But she knows, too, that he still has the cane in his hand, as a badge of office, almost. Justice is one of the strongest ties between master and willing slave. And, justice or not, she knows he’s hard for her. 

In a moment he’s going to hold her. And kiss her, and tell her she’s good, and he’ll help her get the overdue assignment finished. But for now, the assignment isn’t what matters. His need for her, and hers for him; that matters. In a few seconds, no more, they’ll be fucking.