Masturbation Monday: Proper, good and bad

After a while of knowing nothing except the feel of Roland’s body and the need to be as closely pressed against him as possible, Teresa slowly became aware again of where she was. They were together on his desk, Teresa tightly bent over and Roland covering her.

They were still gasping like sprinters who’d breasted the ribbon and crossed the hundred-metre mark. He reached under her to hold and cup her breasts, his body still pressed tight against her arse, his cock slowly shrinking inside her.

His face was beside hers, over her shoulder after he’d collapsed onto her back. He looked at her with something soft, some form of adoration, in his eyes. His mouth opened, then closed. He had nothing to say.

But eventually Teresa said, “I felt that! You coming! Like a little splash in me. Little splash of you! It was lovely. I felt you come in me.”

Roland kissed her. “That was… amazing. You can have as much of my come as you like. Whenever you like. And wherever.”

She chuckled. That didn’t need an answer, but it was good to hear. He said, “How’s your arse?”

“You mean the spanking or the buttsex?”

“Let’s start with the spanking.”

“The proper spanking? I feel not sore. Very not sore. Warm. Lovely and toasty. And I felt all floaty, for a while. Not long enough. And while I was floating, nothing hurt. Is that supposed to happen?”

“Absolutely. Yes.”

“Then proper spankings are great! But… you’d give a girl that for being bad? How’s that supposed to discourage her? I want another one of those. Lots of them. I mean, once I’ve recovered a bit. But soon.”

”That was a good-girl spanking. A proper one. But there are bad-girl spankings, too, and I think if I ever have to give you one of those, you’d, um, modify your behaviour. To avoid me giving you another one. It’s not just that it hurts more, when I spank to punish. It’s the knowing I’m cross with you. It feels very different.”

“’If you ever have to give me one of those.’ You’re assuming a lot, aren’t you?”

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop 7

The previous episode is here.


Paul arrived on Monday morning. Janie clung to him while he listened to Monica’s report.

Monica had punished her twice on Sunday, till she’d cried. Paul noted that, of course.

janie sat up straight, her arms bound behind her back. Her bottom and legs still burned.

When they were home at last, he said, “You were good. Mostly. I’ll deal with Monica’s report on your punishments later. What does that mean?”

It means you’re going to punish me, Master. Every stroke Mistress gave me, you’re going to give me again.”

“That’s right. But that can wait. By the way, she’s not your Mistress any more. Call her Monica.”

Janie nodded. “Yes, Master.” Memories of that party flooded her mind; she’d been paddled and spanked, and whipped and used. “She made me – ” Then Janie stopped. There was no point in complaining. 

“It was a lesson for you, Janie. You obey me because you enjoy it. I don’t think I could do anything that you wouldn’t get off on.”


“But you don’t get to submit just for your pleasure, Janie. You don’t want to  choose what you submit to. You just submit. That’s what you want. That’s your deepest self.”

Something moved in her, and she felt herself dropping, down to her smallest, sweetest place. “You love me.”

“You know that.”

“You know me!”

“Well, I should, girl. We’ve been–“

“No Master, listen! I mean, please. No one’s ever known me, fully, and still loved me anyway. Before.” 

Paul was silent. He looked at her for a long time. She waited, somehow half terrified. Eventually he held his hand out to her. She took it.

[The end.]

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop 6

The previous episode is here.


The party was in the countryside. Only women attended. Some wore dark, severe clothes. Others wore little outfits that emphasised powerlessness and accessibility. Others, like Janie, were naked.

Monica introduced her as “coquette”.

Janie found herself demonstrating her new skills, while Mistresses stood, skirts lifted. She wasn’t expected to make them come, just show obedience. But a blonde, plump woman, obviously a friend of Monica’s, whispered in Monica’s ear.

Monica replied so Janie could hear. “Certainly! We’ll take coquette upstairs. She’s new, and not very enthusiastic unless encouraged. I use a paddle.”

The woman took a hairbrush from her purse. Wooden. Janie knew the hairbrush well. Paul had one himself, and it was heavy and hard. It hurt. The woman said, “This works.”

“Stand, coquette.” Janie scrambled to her feet, redly aware of their gaze.

“She’s under protection, Maria, so I’ll be there too. But I won’t get in your way.”

The two women made Janie walk ahead of them, up the stairs.

Coming downstairs, Janie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her bottom and thighs blazed red from Maria’s hairbrush, and her face wore two angry red patches, where Maria’s thighs had gripped her fiercely for the second and third orgasms.

Janie thought, I don’t think I’ve ever looked so … violated. She hadn’t desired Maria, but yes, she acknowledged, she’d been aroused by what she’d done.

Later, another Mistress took her upstairs, and made Janie serve her, again and again.

But when she was satiated, the Mistress demanded a taste of “little coquette’s cunt”. She put her hands under Janie’s sore buttocks and raised her a little before tasting her delicately.

Then not delicately. At last Monica said it was time that she came, and Janie screamed and writhed, as if her body were suddenly flooded with joy. She came gloriously, if not entirely willingly.

Afterwards she wept. But not unhappily.

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop #5

The previous episode is here.

Monica had said that Janie was better, when she was afraid. There was a pause. Then Janie said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“So. Here’s why you shouldn’t come, little Janie, unless I tell you to. Have you ever spent a night hanging from the ceiling by your ankle cuffs, getting a whipping every hour, on the hour?”

Janie thought about what that might be like. She had no doubt that Monica would do it. “No, Mistress, never.” Her voice was awed.

“I’m half tempted to give you the experience, then. You’d never disobey me or your Master again. Would you?”

Janie shook her head, eyes wide. “No, Mistress!”

“But if you come, Janie, that is what will happen to you. So control yourself, little slut.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Monica fucked her for perhaps an hour, sometimes excruciatingly slow, while the little vibrator worked inside her, sometimes fast, pounding Janie’s bottom with her belly and thighs, the artificial cock bigger and longer than Paul’s. Janie had to fight the urge to release, sometimes gritting her teeth and crying with the fight to keep her orgasm at bay. 

At last she begged, nearly exhausted, “Please. Please, Mistress.” 

Monica withdrew. She rolled from the bed onto the floor. “You do not beg! Stay in place, Janie. Bottom arched up, just a little more.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Janie did her best to comply. The first stroke of the riding crop landed across her thighs, about two inches below the crease of her buttocks. It felt like pleasure, like the missing, vibrating cylinder. Janie huffed air through her nose. The next stroke landed an inch higher. Janie fought for control while Monica whipped her. She never been in danger of coming from the ministrations of the riding crop before.

Janie lost count of the strokes. Monica was panting lightly when she’d finished with her. Her body burned while Mistress warned her again about what would happen if she came, and allowed her, at last, into bed. Monica’s bed. It was after midnight, and Janie was exhausted.  

Before she slept she reflected that there was nothing terrible about how Monica tasted, or anything bad about the feel of her wet pussy in her face. It was ok. But it hadn’t done anything for her, sexually. So why was she so wet? Why did she need, so hard and so desperately, to come?

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s Drop 4

The previous episode is here.


Janie spent Friday night, after her punishment, being taught to pleasure a woman. Monica kept the terrible leather paddle in her hand while Janie served her, and Janie felt it often.

There were so many things in cunnilingus that she could do wrong, she discovered. She had to discover, focus on and follow the rhythms of Monica’s desire, serving her, pleasuring her, responsive to her every change in timing or intensity.

When she was mistaken Monica used the paddle on her bottom, harshly and frequently.

She never showed Monica any lack of enthusiasm. That terrible session when she bent over the trestle while Monica paddled her: that was enough to make her forget any scruple, any distaste, any lack of pleasure in applying her tongue, her lips and nose to Monica’s cunt. Paul had sometimes punished her more painfully, but never so coldly. She was terrified of being so ruthlessly and painfully thrashed again.

In the meantime Monica lounged under her, sometimes holding Janie’s hair and pushing her head down, sometimes squeezing her face between her strong thighs. Sometimes Monica gasped with pleasure, and there was a respite from that agonising paddle.

But only for a few seconds, and never with a word of praise. 

Janie served her Mistress’s pleasure, every muscle in her body, and all of her concentration, directed at pleasing her Mistress and avoiding punishment. She would do nothing that incited Monica to punish her.  

At last Monica announced she was satisfied. (She’d come four times, Janie thought rebelliously: she bloody well ought to be satisfied. Then she turned white with terror, just for having that thought. Somehow, she feared that Mistress might know.)

Monica ordered her onto her bed, on her hands and knees, thighs widely spread, bottom arched up. Her Mistress put a blindfold round her eyes. She was aware of rustling sounds and then a click behind her.

And then a presence, cocklike, pressing at her cunt, and pushing forward. Monica was riding her, fucking her, with a strap-on. At first she wondered what could be in it for her Mistress, since she could receive no sensation from a silicon cylinder. 

But then there was a tiny sound, and the cylinder inside her began to buzz, slowly at first and then insistently. The cylinder began to drive into her, and nearly out again, and in. Her Mistress was fucking her, her hips swinging, the device in her cunt driving Janie higher and higher. Janie made a joyous sound: so much pleasure she wanted to sing.

Then there was a flash of pain: a riding crop striking hard on her left flank, then again on her right. 

“No, Janie, you haven’t earned an orgasm. I could feel you getting near, little slut. But you’re to control yourself. You’re here to serve, not to get off, little slavegirl. You may not come, is that clear?”

Her cunt clasped that strap-on. It still pushed her, relentlessly, to pleasure and release. Please, she wanted to say: oh, please, I want it so much. Please let me come. Please. But she said, “Yes, Mistress.”

“You have a lot to learn, Janie. Still, a little fear seems to improve you. At least you’re likely to be trying.”

The next episode is here.

Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop #3

The previous episode in this story in here.

Monica said, “Janie, I’m going to a party tomorrow. I’m bringing you.”

Janie blinked. “Uh?” 

“It’s a party you’re dressed for, just as you are.”

Janie nodded. To see how the words felt, she said, “Yes, Mistress.” They felt alien.

Monica didn’t react. “When I told you to to undress, Janie, did you obey immediately?”

Her heart sank. “No, Mistress.”

“Did your Master instruct you that you were to obey me as if I were he?”

She knew this woman was going to punish her. She so hoped this woman, her temporary Mistress, wouldn’t punish her. But it would do no good to beg.

“Yes, Mistress, he did. In the moment I forgot. I’m very sorry, Mistress.”

“Indeed. You knew better. I don’t want you embarrassing me with behaviour like that tomorrow. What would Paul do?”

Janie thought. She’d disobeyed, though only briefly. “Cane me, Mistress. Six strokes.”

“Appropriate. I’ll use the leather paddle. But ten strokes.”

Silence stretched on. Then Janie remembered: “Thank you, Mistress!” She sounded squeaky.

“Just in time, Janie. Bring the trestle to the middle of the room.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Janie hurried.

Then there were words, the beginning of a ritual. She’d never expected to hear a woman speak them to her “Bend over, Janie.”

Janie turned to face the trestle. She placed her feet apart, so they touched the trestle’s back legs, exposing herself to her punisher. There were grips, low on the legs on the other side. She lowered the upper half of her body, and held on tight. 

“I’m not going to call you a good girl for obeying me, Janie. That’s a given from you, the bare minimum.” The paddle cracked across her buttocks, and she cried out. Paul would have said something loving, to help her get through her punishment. And she always knew she’d be given an orgasm afterwards,  

But the paddle landed again. It was so hard and hot, nearly as bad as a hard stroke from Paul’s cane. Janie cried out again, abandoning herself to punishment, holding on tight. “You will learn to obey me, Janie.” 

On the third stroke, which landed low and hard, Janie began to sob. There were tears running from her eyes, down and into her eyebrows. “Without expecting praise or reward.” 

There was a pause. Janie knew Mistress would be watching the colour rise and deepen on her bottom. Enjoying it, like a connoisseur.

Janie wondered if she were a connoisseur of being punished. Paul was warm and loving, even when he hurt her. This was colder, and more impersonal. Still – she hated to admit it – there was something hot in that.

Then the paddle cracked down again, loud, and burning like fire. “If I have to teach you this lesson again, Janie, you’ll get ten with the cane as well.”

Monica stopped lecturing now and calmly, unhurriedly, completed Janie’s paddling. Janie sobbed throughout, lost in pain and humiliation. 

At last it was over, and Mistress commanded her to stand up. Janie struggled up, weeping, her bottom sore and, somehow, heavy. Monica held the paddle to her lips. Janie knew what she had to do. She sniffed, wishing she dared to wipe her eyes. She kissed it.


Wicked Wednesday: Janie’s drop Part 2

[I’m taking a break from the Maddie saga, because I’m flat out working. Here’s something I prepared earlier.]


Janie’s Drop #2

The previous episode is here


Monica was tall, dark-haired and slender, in a tight black dress. She’d kissed Paul at the door, ignoring Janie. They talked quietly. Janie looked around an ordinary room. Ordinary except for the trestle in the corner. She had to admit she knew what that was for.

Paul and Monica were watching her. Monica nodded. “Strip, dear. Completely. Kneel beside your Master.”

Janie looked at Paul, beseeching. He said, “I told you to obey her as you do me. You’re being insolent, Janie.”

Janie removed her shirt, then wriggled out of her skirt. She took off her sandals and knelt, body upright, hands by her knees. She stayed close to Paul. She was afraid of Monique.

Monica looked at her the way Paul did, as if she were the most fascinating thing in the universe. She didn’t think she liked it from Monica. She loved Paul. Anyway, she didn’t like women. Not sexually. Monica smiled at her, but addressed Paul. “She has lovely breasts, and a perfectly adorable little bottom. I’m sure you make her serve you often.”

Serve, thought Janie. She pleased Paul any way he ordered, but they made love. But Paul only said, “Yes. She’ll serve you too, of course.”

Oh god no, please, Janie thought. She could feel the heat in her face.

Monica walked behind her. “Oh! And she’s been punished!”

Janie wanted the floor to swallow her. She wore the trace of Paul’s cane. Twelve strokes, for not calling her mother. Three days ago:  the marks had barely faded.

Paul smiled. “You can discipline her, for your pleasure or as punishment. But tell me if you have to punish her.”


“Why’s that, Janie?” The sharpness in his voice helped her guess.

“So you can give me the same when you return. Master.”

 “Good girl. Clever girl.” She liked his praise. Janie relaxed a little.

Paul said, “The airport’s waiting. Janie, kiss my feet.”

Janie dropped to her elbows and knees and lowered her face, touching her lips and tongue to his shoe. Her cunt felt it hard, as always: it was something loving she did for him, and it made her feel utterly and deliciously submissive.

While she moved to his other shoe, Paul said, “I expect her back in good condition. Stripes and bruises, fine, but no damage.”


Paul shook Monica’s hand. It was a transfer, thought Janie. He looked at her, hand on the door, and she knew that, harsh as he was trying to be, he’d miss her too. Then he was gone.


The next episode is here.

Janie’s drop, part 1

She’d kind of hoped he’d take her with him

“Why do you have to go, anyway? Can’t I come with you, Master?”

Janie knew she only sounded querulous. No one likes a whiny sub, she’d been told. She knew, too, that Paul had little choice about this trip. It was work. But Paul had never punished her for needing him.

Paul smiled. “You won’t be missing me much, Janie. You won’t have time.”

Huh? “Master?”

“You’re meeting my friend Monica. She’s in charge of you this weekend. You’ll address her as Mistress, and you’ll obey her just like you obey me. Until I collect you on Monday. Understood?”

Janie felt near-terror. She’d never obeyed, or served, anyone but him. “Yes, Master?”

This was her calm space, and they were both leaving it

Yes, Jane.”

“How can I- ?” She wanted to say, “serve anyone but you?”, but she knew this was already decided. And although this frightened her, she didn’t want to displease Paul. “How do I get to her place? Do you have her address?”

“I will deliver you, little love, and I’ll come to collect you when I’m back. And we’re leaving right now.”

Panic! She felt the sudden jolt, the lift in her heart rate. “Master! Please! I, I have to pack!”

“You’re wearing your collar. You won’t take that off, and you won’t need anything else. Now, girl.”


The next episode is here.