In the Realm of the Sensei – Prologue 16

Seamus took a sip of Asuka’s pinot gris. Her hands and the steam from the bath had warmed it too much for it to be perfect, but he savoured it anyway. He had time: Asuka was waiting on his bed, on her back, legs up, waiting to lose her virginity. Her vaginal virginity, at least: he’d already taken her orally and anally. Anyway, he’d decided to leave her to wait and think for a while.

He didn’t understand why Asuka had preserved her virginity, except orally, into her twenties. He had no time for the idea that virginity was pure, or authentic and desirable. He’d got rid of his own at the very first opportunity. But she’d held on to hers, something that must have been challenged by many adolescent boyfriends. To him her abstention from fucking, till now, seemed an eccentricity. But she must have thought it important, and despite her submission she’d chosen her own path and her own adventures. Therefore she’d put an enormous burden of trust on him, and he wanted to live up to it.

He supposed vaginal sex would be the final stage in establishing their relationship. He’d always thought that anal and vaginal sex were equally intimate, but that they were intimate in different ways. Anal, to him, was about conquest, possession from the inside and surrender given and accepted. Vaginal was usually more emotionally tender. When people said of a man and woman that “they made love”, they were usually talking about penises entering vaginas.

He decided that Asuka wouldn’t want her first time to be entirely tender. She was enjoying her submission, and he should not let that lapse. He could be loving by the end, but first he had to make sure she felt that her place was subordinate, that she served him, and that her pain was a way of serving him but it was also irrelevant. Ideas flickered across his mind, and he became hard again. It was time.

He left the bathroom, letting her hear his tread, but he passed his bedroom door, where she waited, and went on into the kitchen. He searched the second drawer and selected a wooden spoon. He knew she’d hear the clatter of sieves and skillets and read that sound correctly.

From his doorway Asuka looked adorable, her legs up and her feet pointing, as she’d been told, at the ceiling. The underside of her bottom and her upper thighs glowed redly from his hand, his belt and the cane. She was aware that he’d arrived, he knew, but she did not move or make a sound. 

He crossed to the side of the bed so she could see him. She made no sign and though her eyes moved to watch him she did not move her head. He smiled and said, “Good dorei.”

He took her feet and swung them over toward his body. She watched, eyes widening as he brought the wooden spoon down on her soles. She made no sound for the first smacks, then pursed her mouth and drew in breath each time the spoon landed. He could see the pain in her eyes, but it was not emotional pain.

He smiled, lifted her legs a little higher and smacked her underbum with the spoon. She was stoical at first but made little cries when he continued after the first six.

“Legs apart,” he said. Asuka obeyed wordlessly, her feet now pointed at the wainscotting at the junction of the ceiling and the walls. She must be aware, Seamus thought, that in that pose her pretty kitty seemed to be just begging to be spanked. But instead he climbed onto the bed and kissed that kitty. She was a wet girl patiently waiting. He let his tongue enter her, then licked slowly upwards, stopping just short of her clitoral button.

Asuka said, “Oh!” She was trying to keep still. Her stomach muscles had tightened, to stop herself from undulating under him.

“Hold on to you thighs now. I’m going to warm you up to take me. It’ll hurt, but if you let go, then you won’t deserve to have your kitty filled. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei.” Gasping, she reached down and held her thighs spread and open for him.

Smiling, Seamus brought the spoon down on her kitty, not hard, and enjoyed her little sound: she hadn’t minded that. He smacked her kitty again, still smiling. She was relaxed: this was fine with her. Then he smacked her sharply on her left inner thigh. She held on tighter: she understood now that this really was going to hurt.

He spanked both inner thighs for several minutes, creating a broad patch of reddened skin, glowing warm to his touch, on each inner thigh. While the wooden spoon did its work Asuka simply hung on and endured. Her cunt had released a little stream of drool, down her perineum, slowly towards her anus.

“You can let go now. But keep your legs where they are.” Asuka, engrossed in sensations at once painful and wondrous, obeyed. Seamus climbed up the bed, feeling the heat of her thighs, until he was looking down at her face.

She raised her head impulsively and kissed him, then held his back. Her thighs closed on his body. He savoured her heat, and then looked directly into her eyes as his cock pressed against her lips. She gazed up at him as he slowly entered her.

When the head of his cock was inside her, warmly, sweetly, wetly held, she said, “Sensei. My Sensei.” She raised her head to kiss him again, her arms around his back. Then she let her head fall back, watching his eyes as he pressed forward into her, centimetre by centimetre, as slowly as he could manage. He hoped he felt as good to her as she did to him. At last he rested, their pubic bones pressed tight together, his cock fully inside her. She broke eye contact for a moment, drawing in her breath, savouring this new and long-denied sensation. 

Seamus kissed her throat. “Who do you belong to?”

Asuka tightened the grip of her arms and thighs. “I’m yours, Sensei. You own me. Like you own your turntable. Or your shoes. I hope you never give me away, but that’s not my choice to make. Not now.”

Seamus felt a sort of flutter in the muscles of her cunt. She was trying to hold him and please him. He assumed Chiaki or Yua had told her to do that. He pushed forward, not that they could get any closer, but he hoped she felt his yearning for more.

He said, “That’s right, Asuka.” Then he withdrew almost all the way and slowly pressed into her again. Asuka closed her eyes then opened them again, worried she’d disobeyed, and moaned.

He slid his hands under her, holding her ass and letting her take his full weight. And together they danced. After a time he pulled out of her and rolled her over, then made her get up on all fours so he could ride her doggy-style and smack the sides of her bottom while he took her. She made happy sounds, “ayayayayayayayay,” but had no words. She came then, still noisy, and he had to hold himself back.

He knew he couldn’t last much longer. He withdrew again and rolled her onto her back, and reconnected, now holding some of his weight on his elbows. He sped up, and it was clear she could see from his face that he was close. She opened her eyes and mouth wide, and wailed as she came again, and he let himself finish, spurting deep and roaring like he’d heard the lions do, fucking at night at the Birmingham zoo.

They lay together for a long time. It was Asuka who moved first, stroking down his spine and kissing him. “Oh Sensei.”

“Girl. Asuka. My dorei.” She seemed to be happy to hear him say that. The word “dorei”, a household slave or servant, seemed to have more meaning now they’d consummated the shedding of her virginities. He decided he’d done well by her. He hoped so.

Asuka said, “I’m going to make you dinner now.”

“No. I’m hungry, but I’ll cook.”

“You have a dorei now, Sensei. I cook. And you must be tired.”

Seamus laughed. “Oh, all right. But I don’t keep a dorei to do the cooking. Or clean the house. We do that together.”

“As Sensei says.” She grinned at him. He knew he still hadn’t won that argument. But they cuddled and said loving things, and Seamus slowly became soft again.

Asuka got out of bed and walked, still naked and well marked, out of his – or was it their? – bedroom.

Masturbation Monday: On a great big clipper ship, going from this land into that

Chetana lay facedown on her bed while Philip washed her. He’d sponged all of her body but now he seemed to be concentrating soapily on her ass and upper thighs. Chetana expected he wasn’t going to shift his attention, or his hands. The cabin rocked gently under them. She knew the ship had left the Laccadive Sea, and was sailing into the Arabian Sea.  

His fingers, surprisingly strong, pushed into the muscles of her ass. She felt him find and work on the remaining knots of tension, a process that both hurt her and satisfied. She was aware of  another feeling, something luxurious that she hadn’t felt in about two years.

It was that she was relaxed, and her mind was in the sensual world, free of things to do or think about.

At last he smacked the inside of her left thigh, then her right, and repeated until she understood and moved her feet apart, open for him. But he continued to knead the muscles of her ass, and only slowly worked his way down to the backs of her thighs.

At last she sighed, and said, “ah fuck, that’s good. Where’d you learn all that?”

But Philip only smacked her bottom, her skin and muscles gloriously relaxed, when a couple of hours ago she had been so tense it hurt. His smack didn’t hurt. She hoped he’d do it again. Most of her male lovers were too deferential for that sort of thing. He said, “You don’t have to talk, my love.”

His finger slid down the sensitive skin of her perineum, from just below her anus to stop, frustratingly, just above her cunt. He was teasing her. Then he smacked her bottom again and she said, involuntarily, “ooh!” That felt so welcome, so right.

“But you do have to get your ass up.” The hand pressed onto her bottom lifted,  and she expected it to land again. But it didn’t arrive. She wriggled a little, and parted her thighs further, then lifted her bottom, in the most abjectly invitational pose she could manage. He said, “Perfect.”

She could hear in his voice that he was smiling at her. Then his hand did land, a slightly harder smack. It seemed to awaken her skin. She felt goosebumps forming, suddenly.

Then the fingers between her buttocks dropped a little and touched her cunt for the first time. Chetana opened her mouth, half from the joy of it and half to suck in a lungful of air. He stroked her lips, still only touching the outer sides. He said “Good girl.”

It was the first time he’d ever said it to her, though she’d known it had been on the tip of his tongue for the last two days. She’d heard him stopping himself. Now he was more relaxed, too.

He stroked her, still slowly and lightly, and at last – at last! – touched her inner wetness with his forefinger. Then he pushed further into her. Chetana said – her voice sounded so high! – “You better fuck me soon. I think I’m going to come any moment.”

She wasn’t surprised when he smacked her again. And then again.

After the third smack, he said, “I don’t care when you come. Or how often. Up to you.”

He put a second finger into her, and reached deep. Chetana groaned.

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. 

Sinful Sunday: A moment’s peace

There’s a moment of peace after her Master puts the cane down, and tells her that it’s over and she’s been a good, brave girl. 

Her mind is at peace. She was caned for her Master’s pleasure, and hers. There was nothing for her to forgive herself for, nothing for him to forgive. He’d just woken up needing her submission, urgently, and he’d cuffed her to their bed, and reached for the cane.

His strokes hurt as they fell on her, of course. But how quickly those individual flashes of pain turn to warmth, to a kind of sensual glow, and then to sexual longing. She watched him as he raised the cane. His cock lifted with that movement: caning her turned him on. 

He takes photos for her to admire later, and then puts on a condom. And he leaves her cuffed, wrists and ankles spread for him, while he poises his body above hers, ready to take her. And then that moment of peace is over. 

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!

Novel excerpt: Out of the closet 3

Bad advice, as always from these things. I’m here to tell you: you don’t need to have sex in a closet.

This is an extract from a novel that was then unpublished. Now it’s publishing, and I have to remove free content from my site. 

 

In this episode from the novel, the pros and cons on having sex in the broom closet, during an art exhibition, are thoroughly explored.

Novel excerpt: Out of the closet 1

The novel this is from was unpublished when I put this post up.

Now it’s about to be published, so free segments from it have to be taken down.

This excerpt explores the perils of sex in a broom closet, especially in an art gallery during the opening of a new exhibition. It’s hot, and also comic.

Voice of the thunder

Bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronn-tuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk

That’s what the thunder said. You know that.

It had been the hottest, most oppressive day you can imagine. The sky absolutely still, the temperature far too high and the humidity close to 100 per cent. You felt you could reach for a handful of air and squeeze it like a sponge. I was at my desk in just my underpants, trying to write, with sweat running down my body. 

Then, finally the clouds arrived, speeding like the Seventh Cavalry, like a huge black blanket being towed by a speeding car. The rain came. It was a tropical downpour, with water drops as big as golf balls.

I heard a whoop from the other office; Therese, my houseguest. A few seconds she ran into my office, wearing a summer shirt, a bra and knickers. She grabbed my shoulder, leaned down and kissed me. “Let’s get the fuck out into this!”

“I’m Thor!” Lady Therese, goddeth of the thunder

So we ran out into my front yard, and her shirt was instantly soaked, clinging transparent to her skin. We squealed and yowled, running circles round each other and dancing at each other, furiously, stamping on the grass so the rain jumped, all energy and no grace. It was pagan enough.

Then the lightning struck; the thunder spoke only two seconds later.

The lightning bolt was only a couple of kilometres away. In lightning terms that’s right on top of you. The next bolt hit a tree on the property next door. The thunder was so fast, and close and loud that we both ducked, involuntarily.

Therese grabbed my arms and rolled down onto her back, pulling me down with her. On top of her. I pulled her shirt away from her body, and pushed her bra up, round her neck. She lifted her hips, so I shoved her knickers down to her knees, and put my foot into the gusset, pushing them the rest of the way down and off.

I said, “Um, I didn’t pack any condoms. Must have left them in my other underpants. I’ll- ”

She grabbed my shoulder again. “I’m still bleeding. You don’t mind a bit of blood, do you?”

“Fuck no.” That was the answer she expected. Years ago, when I started university, she’d been the first girl to cover my cock in her menstrual blood, so she knew I had no objection. (Though when I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror post-fuck, that first time, with my cock covered in girl-gore, looking like it’d been in a car crash, I’d found that a bit of a shock. But I got used to it, and I’d never told her that.)

That skin feeling

“So you’re not going to get me pregnant. Fuck me. You can come in me.”

There were urgencies involved, so I said nothing and slipped my cock into warm, viscous cunt. We held each other and fucked, rolling each other over and over in the rain, with the lightning crashing around us, and the air we were in flashing into brilliance, and the thunder roaring.

Her cunt and my cock, sharing body territory, were wet and slippery, and because we’d started hard and fast, and continued faster, it was only a few minutes before I shouted something wordless, and made that space even wetter and more slippery. 

She shouted for me not to stop, so I stayed, still pumping furiously, hoping she’d come while I still hard. And she screamed, water pummelling her opened mouth, and she drew her knees up, since she was on her back at that stage. She wrapped her legs round me. We lay in the grass, gasping, while the rain poured onto us, not so much in drops but as if someone was tipping out baths and 40 gallon drums of warm water onto us. 

Thunderstorm fetish? Maybe.

Klick on the kiss for more Kink of the Week posts!

Taking my Leda: the Swan’s tale

Leda lay face down over a pillow, ass upraised,

Fresh and pinkly paddled, human, dangerously beautiful.

(Danger? I could get lost in there.) My talons scratch

Down the backs of her thighs, slapping brutally,

Then tightening to possess her athlete’s relaxed

Softness. I pull her thigh closer, to open her,

Hard cock yearning at the soft, sweet, sea-shelled clasp

Of her cunt. I knead my human girl.

 

leda from behindShe makes that short, low moan that drives me to hold

And hurt her, and I must put my knees between hers,

A feathered god mounting his mortal. My bone-like need

Thrusts forward. She engulfs me in her universe.

I gasp amazed and wordless love, awed by unity,

Then I take my girl and she takes my divinity.