Wicked Wednesday 240: Jennifer’s pleats and pleas 13: A fresh slate?

Maddie had asked me if she could suck my cock. It was true that she enjoyed giving head, and under some circumstances she could come from it. More or less. Actually she could come if she could find something she could press her pussy against, like her ankle, in some positions, or my leg. Still, she certainly enjoyed it, and was rightly proud of being good at it. 

A good girl: Maddie at 4.30, Version 1

But this time she’d probably offered because she was worried I was annoyed with her for being free with her advice, and for the shambolic condition of the photocopy room. And I had the cane in my hand.

So she  hoped that her lips around my cock would distract me from giving her more of that cane.

But I’d fucked her only a few minutes earlier. Probably I would get hard once she took me in her mouth, and even come, because she really was skilled and enthusiastic. But the urge was no longer urgent. And I knew it’d be an urgent need later today. 

So I stepped back and zipped up, while she watched warily. “No.” 

“As you wish, sir.” Maddie sounded dismayed. She watched, with alarm, the hand that held the cane. 

Erwin Schrödinger: famous for thought-experiments involving pussies

“Get Jennifer into my office after school, giving me a good reason to have called her. And have this room tidy and spotless. If you do both of those things, to my satisfaction, then you can suck me off.” 

She nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

“Stand up.”

Maddie stood, her skirt still around her hips. I smacked her pussy, hard, with my hand. She grunted with the impact of my palm on her most sensitive skin.

Her eyes seemed to glaze. I liked the feel of her pussy against my hand while I hurt her, so I smacked her again. And again, while Maddie kept herself open, and still. Then I smacked her left inner thigh, hard, and she spread her legs wider for me. I put the cane against her labia. “Step forward.”

“Sir.” Maddie obeyed, so that the cane, where it had been touching her, disappeared between her lips. There was both excitement and fear in her eyes. She wanted to ride it, press the bamboo deeper into her and slide wetly back and forth on it, but she didn’t dare.

I nodded at her. I’m not sure if she saw me. All her attention was focused on her pussy, and the effort to keep still. I said, “Fail at either task, and what do you think happens instead?”

A bad girl: Maddie at 4.30PM, version 2

She shook her head, trying to concentrate. “I’d have to undress and bend over your desk. And you’d cane me. Sir.” You could hear it in her voice: I was a monster.

“We’ll discuss your recent behaviour, yes. For a very long, painful time, Maddie.”

She nodded. She knew that was true.

“And when we’re dome you’ll find driving home very uncomfortable. And you’ll be standing up or lying on your tummy for the next few days. That’s a guarantee.”

Maddie looked at my shoes. “Sir.”

I took the cane away from her pussy, and smacked the top of her right thigh. Then I held it so she could hold the middle. “This has got you all over it. Clean it, and put it away.”

“Yes sir.”

“I hope I do have to cane you, Maddie. It wipes the slate clean. It’s always a new start for you, whenever you’ve been punished.”

“That’s true, sir. I hope Jennifer comes to learn that.”

 I stepped back. “Right. We’re done for now. You may leave.”

“Thank you, sir.” She stood and tucked her top back into her skirt. She retrieved her panties from beside the photocopier and lifted her foot to put them on.

“No. Put them in your drawer. However today ends, you won’t be needing those.”

Maddie blushed. That meant she expected to pass both tests. If she’d expected to get the cane instead of the cock, she’d have paled.

I knew she was happy as things were, so I resisted the urge to smack her bare bottom fondly, or to say something approving or reassuring to her. I turned without a word and walked through the door into my office.

 

Frisky business among the Venetian searchlights: Food for Thought Friday

f4tf_button2The Food for Thought Friday people have asked: 

Where is the riskiest/most adventurous place that you have had sex?

Did you get caught?

 

My answer:

Richard Wagner died in his rooms at a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice. The locals, naturally, turned this great historical building, rich in artistic associations, into a casino. 

Wagner's old digs. At night

Wagner’s old digs at night. See the dark area on the second floor, towards the left? We were there

A few years ago I went to the Casino de Venezia with Niamh, a girl I’d met in Dublin. Gambling bores me, and she said she didn’t care about casinos one way or the other. But I wanted to have a look at Wagner’s old rooms, and she came along because we were sharing a bed so we might as well share this too. Also, I’d promised and demonstrated that if she didn’t do as she was told I’d smack her arse. So there was that. She was fond of the hairbrush, in particular.

I guess I should admit that I’d answered her ad on Fetlife, once I realised I was going to be in Ireland for a while, so even before we’d met we’d both established that Niamh was a girl who liked doing as she was told. And getting a smacked arse. Anyway, there we both were. Niamh still wore that afternoon’s wonderful summer dress, the top of which was held up mainly by her breasts. I wasn’t so glamorous, since I was in jeans, but at least I had on decent shoes and a jacket. 

Once we were in the top floor I asked a few casino staff where the Wagner rooms were. They didn’t know. They’d never heard of Wagner. If I wanted an explanation of anything you could do with dice and some cards – in public, at least – then they’d be happy to help, but this Wagner fellow … They’d shrug and hold their hands open and empty.

I got annoyed with this, so when I found a closed door I opened it, and when I found a closed curtain I drew it. When I found the back stairs we went down them to the mezzanine floor where Wagner had lived. And died. It turned out that someone had made a Wagner Museum out of Wagner’s old rooms. It was closed of course. Well, it was closed in the sense that it was dark and there was no-one there. But I turned the door handle, and it opened.  

I wondered about security alarms, and decided that I could probably bullshit my way out of trouble if an alarm went off, and I held the door open for her. Then I followed, and after a minute it was clear that if there was an alarm someone had forgotten to switch it on. Italy’s cool like that. 

I moved through the exhibits, feeling a certain mix of excitement and disappointment. Excitement because we’re here, where Wagner lived! And this is his stuff! And disappointment because I’d hoped for some sense of communion and connection. But there wasn’t. There’s his piano, but he’s dead. He’s not here. 

Wagner's Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it's worth it. Drawing: Arthur Packham (detail)

Wagner’s Rhinemaidens. They may kill you but it’s worth it. Drawing: Arthur Rackham (detail)

But there was a certain kind of homage to the great man when Niamh came back from her exploration. I kissed her, and then pushed her dress down to her waist, so her breasts were bare.

Like a Rhinemaiden’s. Like a Flower Maiden. Then I put light pressure on her shoulders and she sank to her knees, unzipped me and took out my cock. She licked, then kissed my glans, then opened her mouth a little wider. Oddly, it was me who said, “Ahhh.”

So I was standing there, my cock deep in the mouth of a bare-breasted Irish girl, when I heard something. A security guard had walked onto the mezzanine floor. He’d seen us. I put my hands on Niamh’s shoulders and squeezed, to let her feel how pleased I was with her, though my cock was already conveying that information, and to obscure her peripheral vision.

Then I looked at the security guard and shrugged the apologetic Italian shrug. Niamh was still sucking me, oblivious. He considered for a second or two: is a couple having oral sex in the museum likely to steal things? Or are they innocents pursuing innocent and harmless pleasures? He didn’t smile, but he lit a cigarette (yes, I know; it’s an old building) and wandered back to the stairs. 

overthewallLater I pulled out of Niamh’s mouth and took her by the hand. I opened the window out onto the Grand Canal. There was a ledge with a stone barrier. There were also lights lighting up the front of the casino, but they left pools of darkness at the sides of each projector. So that’s where I bent her over, smacked her pretty little ass, and took a condom from my wallet and put it on my cock. And put my cock in her. 

You’d think that was the riskier situation, but it wasn’t. Our view was fantastic, lights and gondolas and vaporetti, and the throng of people, and so was the softness of her cunt and my hardness sliding slowly together, and the gritty stone under her breasts, uncomfortable in the good way, and our urgency slowly building.

It’s a good place to fuck. Venice is a city for lovers, because without us there wouldn’t be the money to pay to preserve all those drowned streets and buildings. So there aren’t many people in Venice, I don’t think, who don’t like the sight of bare breasts joggling while their owner gets pumped from behind.

But they missed out. Even when Niamh and I came, fairly close together, and not completely succeeding in suppressing orgasm noises (we sounded like donkeys coughing), not a soul noticed us. 

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.”

Taste of cunt

In the Raylene story, I had a go at describing the aroma of aroused cunt.

I wrote: 

“a warm, woman-ish smell, the middle essence of almond and the blandness but not the sweetness of banana, but those smells made of animal and not vegetable.”

arousedBut I’ve heard from one of my critical readers that this description doesn’t ring a bell. And, since she’s a cunt-owner herself, I’m prepared to accept her criticism. 

Part of the problem is that what I wrote is so impressionistic that it’s almost a private language.

What do I mean “the middle essence of almond”? Well, in perfume that’s not the high note, or the low note. In almonds the middle essence is a sort of warm smell, with no strong taste of its own, except for that slightly mealy warmth. What does “the blandness but not the sweetness of banana” mean? Is “bland” even a taste? Well, I know what I mean, but it’s not necessarily going to communicate to someone else’s tongue, nose, brain and vocabulary.

And using vegetable comparisons to describe an animal taste, that wonderful exudation of the flesh, doesn’t help with clarity either. 

But I can’t think of any animal analogues. I don’t think cunt tastes or smells of fish, for example. 

1950s-housewifeANNNN-yway, I’m going to organise a cook-off, with people male and female who like the taste of cunt.

We’ll be mixing – not necessarily cooking – various ingredients in different combinations. If anyone has any suggestions, for a recipe that tastes like cunt, I’ll gratefully try it.

I will report on results. There could be a great commercial and scientific breakthrough, here.