Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s Tale 5

Towards morning, the hash sweated out of me and my mind and tongue working again, I hoisted Emilia on top of me and, when I judged she was concentrating fiercely, riding me to her orgasm, I gave her bottom a series of encouraging slaps.

She made a lust sound, an animal sound from somewhere deep in her throat, and held my shoulders tight, so that was clearly right. As she got closer to coming I slapped her shuttling arse and thighs hard, then very hard, and that was right too.

She shouted the only command I’d ever let her get away with – “Harder!” – and I smacked her till her ass and, it seemed, her mind were burning hot. She fell forward onto me, screaming into my ear as she came. 

Emilia had dodged the talk I thought we should have, so that served as our discussion. She didn’t need words quite as much as I did.

So we were lovers, then, who knew about each other from the first night. Carefully, we expanded our range.

So we were together the next night as well, and I held her down and wrapped rope around her wrists to see what would happen, and what happened is that Emilia sighed and wriggled, content to be bound. So I took the poor helpless girl over my knee and spanked her long and hard, and that brought forth stronger pleasured sounds.

And then she roilled onto her back, still tied, and pointed her toes at the ceiling. Different corners of the ceiling. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. We fucked: strong, committed fucking.

So it went by increments until we’d established that, for example, if I tied her ankles and wrists to the bed-ends and strapped her bottom and thighs with my belt till they were deeply, hotly red, she’d respond with even noisier lust.

Emilia could not only tolerate pain that would have me screaming and whimpering, she could ride that pain and turn it to sex. 

Two months later I broke my rules about emotional safety and declared wonderstruck love for Emilia under another starry sky. Because her mother had advised her never to believe anything a man said outside the legal hours of daylight, I repeated the declaration in the morning, sober, straight and still wonderstruck.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s Tale 4

Emilia lived at the end of a long climb up narrow streets to a row of old wooden houses. I stopped at her door, far above the city, taking in the view while I got my breath back. I’d decided to make at least some of my intentions obvious, so I’d brought wine and chocolate and flowers. I knocked at the door.

But it was a man who opened the door, who enjoyed my disappointment before introducing himself. Vijay was another doctor, with long glossy black hair, a chiselled face and startlingly white teeth. He was alarmingly handsome and charming. Fortunately, it was soon clear that Vijay preferred his lovers paler and maler than Emilia. Emilia let herself be found in the kitchen. I appreciated the effort, and also her dress, which was simple and satin, black with large red flowers, and low-cut. 

I put my arms around her, holding her ass to keep us… steady. She kissed me. Once again she had my cock hard, seeking her, this time through cotton, denim, satin and silk.

Dinner was enjoyable enough, but the conversation seemed mainly to be between Vijay and me. I’d hoped to talk with Emilia, but there was no opportunity. Still, soon after dinner Vijay left us, heading for the clubs. But at the door he directed a broad wink at me. So I’d been vetted and approved, which was something.

I started my planned conversation with Emilia, but before I’d said much she led me out to the balcony. She excused herself while I gazed down at the night-lit city, and returned with what she said was Vijay’s hash pipe. She filled, lit and inhaled, and passed the pipe to me. For years I’d seldom bothered with marijuana. I especially avoided it around women, because a man who isn’t handsome or physically impressive has to keep his wits.

My best feature is conversation, and drugs reduce me to tongue-tied idiocy. What I wanted to say to Emilia would be complicated even if my mind were clear. But the pipe was lit and a woman I wanted to please was offering it to me. I took it and inhaled as little as I felt I could get away with.

But even a tiny amount of marijuana is enough to send me spinning. In no time the city was a great velvet shawl studded with multi-coloured lights, cellos played at random, heaven’s ebon vault was unutterably bright, and Emilia’s face, near mine, was enormous, and glowing with some joke that I didn’t know, a joke that might worry me if I did know it.

But when she smiled there were dimples, and it was the most beautiful face that could possibly be. Still marijuana-spun, I tried to think of something to say.

After some time I thought of a conversation-starter. “The city”, I could say to her, indicating which city I meant with a casual wave over the balcony, “it’s nice, isn’t it?” I did not say this, but nothing better came to mind. Panicked, I finally said, “you”, and kissed her face.

Later Emilia’s hands were under my shirt, and I’d pulled down her dress to kiss her breasts, warm and round and, from her time in the kitchen, smelling of flour and chilli. I had my mouth and my mind full of her hard, soft and slippery flesh, until Emilia pinched my nose so I had to lift my mouth and stare up at stars and her eyes.

She touched her forehead to mine and said I’d have to go home now, or take her to bed. That seemed an odd way to put it. I said, “bed better”, the first words I’d managed in some time. I thought they were rather good.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 3

I’d just threatened to spank Emilia for misbehaviour. And Emilia had agreed that I should. So I said, “But I’d still be doing it for your own good, Emma.”

That sounded stupid to me, but I thought that if she’d liked my first line, she might like that too. Or it might be ridiculous. Emilia considered and then nodded, gazing at the carpet. then she looked up at me. That “dropping her eyes” thing: was that calculated?

I had no idea. She said, “Yes, I know. It would be.” I wondered if she believed it. We’d been maudlinly sincere together so often that what we told each other was usually true. “So yes, you should.”

I believed it, myself. I said, “Ah…”

But more importantly I squeezed her ass that little bit harder. And patted her. And then smacked her. She put her arms round me, and our bodies pressed together. Hard cock to her belly. I lifted her t-shirt at the back, and let her feel the cold morning’s air before I smacked her again. A little harder, my hand on bare skin. Her mouth opened, but she wasn’t looking at me. I smacked her again. This time it was audible.

A little too audible; there were people sleeping in every room in the house. 

So here was an armful of warm girl, and a most complaisant and consenting girl she was turning out to be. I suppose I was something of a surprise to her too. We’d never talked about this.

But there was nothing we could do before other guests started waking up. Except for removing my erection from Emilia’s belly. So I kissed her with meaning, desire and emphasis and then – since it had to be done – released her. “We’re going to talk, aren’t we?”

Emilia agreed that we’d talk. In fact I should come to her place on Wednesday and she’d give me dinner. And then we’d… talk. I think that neither of us expected that we’d say many words during that… talk. But in the meantime we gathered the party detritus, taking glasses and plates back to the kitchen.

I set myself a sexless word puzzle. How to turn COCK to SOFT? COCK, CORK, um, WORK, WORT, SORT, SOFT. By the time I’d worked that out the front of my dressing gown was flat enough to be socially acceptable. After pushing herself back into another hug, and accepting one last squeeze, Emilia went back to the room she’d slept in, to wake her friend. We had no more time. People were stirring.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 2

So I’d just threatened to put Emilia over my knee, for disciplinary purposes. It took me a moment to hear what I’d just said. I thought I’d sounded like a roué in an ancient sex comedy, something black and white and British, on television at three in the morning, starring Terry-Thomas and Syd James.

At that time I’d kept bdsm hidden for seven years. I played bdsm with strangers, or I masturbated to dark fantasies, but I didn’t offer to spank my women friends. Or I hadn’t until just then. I wanted to slap my forehead, but my hand was busy patting and squeezing Emilia’s ass. In the absence of complaint from her I’d keep on doing that.

Still, I’d just threatened her with assault: low-level violence, some sexual content. We still hugged, but she was no longer holding an honourable gentleman.

Emilia didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t a gentleman. Her eyes widened, but she said, almost without a pause, “Yes, yeah, I know. You should.”

Oh? Relief was followed a second later by the thought that, if that was the case, then it was a pity I’d said, “if you ever do that again”. How long would it take for Emilia to do something like that again? What was wrong with now?

I thought about whether there were any private spaces in my apartment where Emilia could be suitably disciplined, as we both obviously wanted, and realised that the thing simply couldn’t be done. There were people sleeping everywhere, since they weren’t fit to drive home after my party. They probably wouldn’t stay asleep during any of the noisier pleasures.

That train of thought led to other speculations. I imagined Emilia, a vista of muscular but soft woman draped over my knee, her tee-shirt pulled over her head and her panties on the floor. I’d smack her gorgeous bottom a few times because I couldn’t resist, but surely I should start with reassuring and mood-setting stroking. Yes, that is what I’d do.

My hand told me there was just Emilia under that cotton t-shirt, so there were just two layers of material between our bodies, her tee and my dressing gown, a silk one with dragons that I’d bought in Vietnam.

The middle of one of the dragons pressed, roused, into Emilia’s lower belly. She looked up at me, eyebrows raised.

Some explanation seemed called for. “Yeah. Oddly enough, spanking you is something that I’d enjoy very much. In a, ah, rather pervy way.”

 She laughed, evaluating what she had here. “Yes, you would. You would, wouldn’t you?” But her belly stayed in contact with the hardening, stretching sign of pervy enjoyment.

Masturbation Monday: Emilia’s tale 1

It was the morning after my thirtieth birthday party. I’d got up, and started collecting dishes, glasses and ashtrays for the dishwasher. No one else was awake yet.

This is the t-shirt image. Emilia’s t-shirt was, er, longer

But a bedroom door opened, and Emilia Vivian emerged, in a manga tee-shirt that hung almost to her knees. Emilia was a doctor, a glowing light-brown woman with large, almost black eyes and an extraordinarily sweet face framed by medium-length black hair. She was small but contoured. She lifted weights.

Emilia was embarrassed to find me, and uncertain of her welcome. Last night she’d performed the party’s most spectacular piece of bad behaviour, launching a screaming attack on her best friend, accusing her of fucking her last boyfriend, of pretending to be sweet but always undermining her and some other girl on girl offences.

It’d been the least fun part of the evening, but I’d already forgiven her because the outburst had been so out of character, and because, only a few minutes later, Emilia had fallen asleep in that same friend’s arms. Wine sometimes solves the problems that it creates.

But Emilia was hung over, embarrassed and ashamed, so I hugged her. I let her go when she winced. But she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, having dealt with her bladder and her head, and wrestled her way back into the hug. “I’m really sorry, Jaime. I don’t know what … Well, I’m sorry.”

My hand was, just then, the most important part of my body, and had all of my attention

“Ah, love, it’s okay. You’d had a bit of wine. And … you probably had reasons.” I found myself hugging Emilia with one arm while reaching down to squeeze her ass with my other hand. Affectionately, you know. We had history, Emilia and I. In the years I’d been with a girl called Susie, we’d sometimes talked and gazed earnestly into each other’s eyes, and we’d once almost had sex.

I’d had my penis partly inside her when conscience, hers more than mine, finally won. It’s quite a late stage to worry about fidelity, but we’d stopped and separated. I’d felt noble, though I doubted Susie would’ve admired it. So Emilia and I were intimates, without having had sex. Or not exactly sex.  

Emilia rubbed my chest with her forehead. “No, I didn’t have reasons. Not good ones.”

“Well, okay, but I still know you’re a wee love. You’ve got years of credit with me; you can’t blow it in one evening.” Emilia smiled up at me. “And I still don’t think it came from nowhere.” More smiles.

When your brain steps into manga-world…

A nice man was being nice to her. And the ass-squeezing was probably a great comfort in her time of self-recrimination.

Then information from that bottom-squeezing hand swamped my brain. I added, “Though … if you ever do anything like that again, Emilia, I’ll put you over my knee.”

Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan 3

I’d slid easily into Megan, standing behind her, while she was still bent over the bench. I occasionally struck her flanks, the side of her buttocks and her upper thighs, while I rode her ass. I still held the belt, firmly in my hand. Whipping her was my duty, and my pleasure, and mine. 

When Megan submitted, she gave me continuous guidance about what she wanted.

For example, I knew that she could come within seconds if I told her to, but that otherwise she’d wait until I gave her permission.

I knew that I should delay that permission, because she didn’t want to be allowed release till she’d begged and reached an agony of tension.

She hadn’t said a word of that to me,  and I don’t how she’d let me know these fine and intricate things. But she had told me, somehow.

We fucked, still slowly, knowing we could stay slow for much longer, and I strapped her right side six times with my belt. In answer Magan made a harsh, sex noise: “Harrgh, harr, harrrgh…” Because my cock was no longer obstructing her mouth. 

I smiled, for simple happiness, and then applied the belt, just as hard on the left side, while she pushed back at me, possessing and riding my cock, and sang that low, harsh pleasure song again. Only then could I speed up. And though she wanted me to, she wouldn’t until I’d set the new pace. 

It had been a long time since I’d engaged with these complexities, and I loved returning to them. The intuitive link between dominants and submissives, the way we know each other, was where a part of me was most alive. The same would be true of her. We made happiness, if not love.

Megan lifted her legs off the ground, to hold me while I fucked her, and pressed her feet just below my buttocks, moving together with me, her temporary master, her cock and pain-giver. She sighed, and tightened the pressure on my buttocks. 

She said things (“fuck me fuck me sir please come in me”, and so on) that I won’t quote too closely here because they’d seem silly, while in that context they didn’t seem silly at all. She wanted my come, even in a condom; it meant so much. 

I smiled at her, since she couldn’t see me. Megan liked to beg. I said, as if grudgingly, “That’s better.”

And it was. Our carefully passionate meetings weren’t everything I wanted. We kept a certain kind of emotional distance because of the ban on falling in love, and that never quite felt right to me. But having this in my life was better. It truly was.

Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan 2

The previous episode is here.

I put my hand in her hair and Megan made a low, harsh sound of appreciation, so I tangled more hair in my fingers and pulled, hard. I moved a little faster, and stepped up the pace of her strapping. Megan tried to say something, but my cock obstructed her.

I paused. “What was that?” 

“Harggr.” 

Oh. I knew what she’d said, but I said, “You’ll have to be clearer than that.”  I swung the belt down again, hard, across her back and buttocks. She jerked forward.

There was a brief wet second in which she had almost all of my cock. Then she had to draw back again.

Megan said, with what should have been extreme clarity, “Har-weh. Deh! Deh.” There was urgency in that voice. I was charmed by her enunciation, given that I blocked her tongue and mouth. I decided I should get a gag for her, so long as it was only partly effective.

“Oh, do you mean, ‘harder’?”   

“Ess. Ess ease. Puh. Puh ease.”

“Good girl.” I strapped her harder, six times, while her cries rose in pitch and she sounded very close to coming. I withdrew entirely from her mouth and walked round the table. I touched the soft skin just below her left buttock.

Megan trembled, but the tension was not fear. I asked, as if I was offering a glass of milk, “Megan, would you like to be fucked now?”

I put on a condom, and then grasped her hips tight, fingers pressing as hard as I could. She said, in sexual rage, “Yes! Yes please.” 

“That’s right.” I stood behind her, between her feet, and leaned forward, cock disappearing into her. Megan was wet, and her bottom warm from the belt.

Masturbation Monday: Mating Megan

Megan, who’d written to me, was pretty, clever and real. So I contacted her back. She insisted on a picture of me with my shirt off. I starved myself for a couple of days, which made no difference, and managed my own phone camera and bathroom mirror picture. It took nearly forty pictures to get one in which I wasn’t too obviously sucking my stomach in. But it passed.

She called me and made a speech she’d probably made before: she didn’t want a relationship; she wanted hard bdsm sex. In her bedroom, she wanted a man to take what he wanted from her and do what he wanted to her. But I wasn’t to think that I had rights over her when I wasn’t in her bedroom. Okay?

I said all that was fine with me. “By the way, you don’t like Dobermans, do you? I mean, romantically?”

“Dobermans?” I’d made her laugh. “You’ve been on this site, and now you ask all your girls if they’re into dobermans? Like that’s something you have to be wary of? You’ve had a time!”

“I could a tale unfold…”

She, fortunately, didn’t want to hear it. “Anyway I hate dogs. Do you want to, um, stick pins in me?” I said something crass about things I did want to stick in her, but not pins, and so she agreed to meet me in what was becoming my favorite bar.

Megan looked as good as her photos, and I looked no worse than mine. I knew I wanted her once she’d walked through the door. She took longer to decide about me, I think, because she was much prettier than me. But I clinched my case when she knocked our table, spilling wine, and I promised to leather the front of her thighs for that.

If I’d said “thighs”, or “the back of your thighs”, I might not have won her. But “the front of your thighs” showed ambition and attention to detail. She considered that, and said we had a date.

The date was for Friday night, at her apartment. Some time that night Megan was tied to a table, face down, with her knees spread and drawn up like a frog’s. I’d roped her knees to the tops of the table legs. Her thighs blushed front and back, since I’d over-delivered on my promise.

We were in a classic dominant-submissive configuration, Megan naked, bound and bent, and I standing clothed before her, my cock in her mouth. She suckled, slowly nodding, while I drew back and pushed forward, unhurried, as if absent-mindedly.   

About twice a minute, I would swing my belt down her back so the end cracked and curled around her bottom and the insides of her thighs. Megan rewarded each stroke by taking my cock deeper for a second or two. She’d said it was safe to strap her hard because she never bit when she was strapped. Her mouth always opened, in response to pain.

I was impressed: it’s not something that most people know about themselves. She was more experienced and skilled than me. She was a technician of pleasure. She was also quite wise and cheerfully sensible, and though we were nearly strangers I liked her.

We’d never be lovers. But we gave each other truth. Accepting Megans measured submission let me expand to fill more of myself. It was like re-opening the disused wing of a house. 

The next episode is here.

Note

I don’t have time to write another instalment of the Maires, Stephanie and me story. I’m writing a non-erotic novel, and dealing with crazed bureaucrats. So this is a story I prepared earlier. 

Masturbation Monday: Stephanie the Sir-sayer

“Stephanie, my sweetlove, put your knees under Maires’s shoulders. And get your cunt nice and comfortable.”

Stephanie considered. She said, for the first time, “Yes, sir.” She was just trying it out, to see how it felt to say it. But hearing from her it was powerful magic.

Sincere or not, I felt it right through my body. I took her hand and put it on my cock. She squeezed. “Oh! It’s not quite dead!”

“Say, ‘sir’ again.”

Stephanie looked at me, eyes unnaturally wide, then dropped her gaze submissively. She breathed, “Oh, yes, sir.”

I knew she was taking the piss, but that didn’t seem to matter. She tightened her grip on my cock, which answered her. “Oh my god, it’s not dead at all. It’s just like ET! Sir.”

I grinned. I said, “You can play all the games you like. But the truth is, you already half mean it, Stephanie.” She looked away for a second.

“You might be right. Sir.” 

I tried so hard not to look smug. Really I did. “Now, I gave you an order. It’s an order that gets your cunt licked. So…”

“Yes! Sir!”

And she scrambled, straddling Maires, and lowered her body slowly until a little gasp told me she’d made contact with Maires’s tongue. I imagined Maires smiling, buried as she was in beautiful woman, tongue working hard to please her new sister.

Stephanie trembled slightly as Maires licked up at her cunt. This was completely new, for her, and wonderful.

Her ass was sweetly poised, in one of the classic spank-me positions. It trembled a little, too. 

That ass seemed so intensely inviting to me, even if Stephanie had probably forgotten, for the moment, that I existed.

But there was her gorgeous arse, jiggling up and down in response to Maire’s tongue. There were no games, now: I was simply hard.

Yes, I decided, this was a very good time to introduce something else new. New for Stephanie, at least. I rolled off the bed onto the floor, and took the belt from my jeans.

 

 

 

 

 

Masturbation Monday: Stephanie among the burning beasts

The previous episode is here.

 

I lay on Stephanie’s back, cock slowly softening inside her. Even though I’d reach under her to hold her breasts, cupping, squeezing and pinching her nipples, not too hard. Even though that was something I’d been wanting to do for eight years. 

I kissed her shoulder and then her neck, and she waggled her arse under me. That was welcome too, but I was spent. For the time being. I said, “Scuse me a sec. Sorry.” And I wthdrew from her while I was still hard enough to be sure the condom would stay with my cock.

I dropped the condom out of sight under the bed and rolled onto my side, so Stephanie and I lay facing each other, our heads each resting on one of Maires’s thighs. Maires reached down and stroked our hair, and we kissed. Stephanie put her hand on my soft, wet cock. “You’re all fucked out. I’ve drained you.” 

There was an odd mix of pride and disappointment in her expression. For no good reason except that I was enthusiastic about her arse, I smacked it, first lightly, then hard, a proper spank.

“Oh, I’ll probably be back in a bit. And in the meantime… tongues on men are like strap-ons on women. They never get exhausted.” 

“Jesus, Jaime,” Maires said. “That’s absolutely fucking Wildean.” 

So I smacked the outer side of her thigh, twice. That, for some reason, helped me work out what we should do next. “Come down the bed, Maires. Right down, so your feet can touch the floor. No, on your back.” 

Stephanie rolled onto her back, to give Maires room, and watch her. I said, “Good girl. Now stop there.”

“Yes, Sir.” Maires usually didn’t acknowledge orders she was already obeying. But she wanted to show off her status to Stephanie. And to suggest that it could be fun. She liked games, the fun kind, and she played well.

I kissed her, and took a pillow. “I’m going to put this under your shoulders. Up a bit for a moment, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.” She smiled at Stephanie. And frowned at me: what in fuck was I up to?

I got the pillow into place. “Now drop your head back. You’re an accessory.”

She looked at me, still frowning, before obeying. “After the fact?”

“You’re a cunt-licking accessory.”

“Ah. A very, um, willing cunt-licker, sir.”

I said, “Not that it matters.”

I took Stephanie’s hand. She’d been watching us, fascinated. She’d blushed, just lightly, when I called Maires a cunt-licking accessory: that was rude. No one talks to a woman like that, she’d have said two hours ago, and yet it was hot. We were animals now, fiery like Blake’s tiger, in the night. And the cunt in question was hers.