Birched in the library

Bending over, in punishment pose, in the place she thinks of as The Library of Depravity. Waiting for Sir.

She’s already been spanked, but she’s about to feel the birch for the first time. 

She knows it won’t be the last. 

It’s comfortable, bent over the rolled arm of a leather armchair. But she knows she won’t be comfortable for long. In the meantime she waits, presented for him, hoping she’ll please him when he comes for her. 

She hears footsteps, approaching the library. She has a lot to learn, she knows. But some new information, and new sensations, are about to touch her.

Sinful Sunday: It’s that skin feeling

He hadn’t put the cane down, but he paused. She stayed in position, bottom and thighs stung, deep and warm.

He ran his hand, the one not holding that thick cane, lightly down her skin, grazing the blossoming welts with his nails. Her skin woke up, aroused. She felt the goosebumps blossoming, where he’d stroked her. 

He sighed with pleasure and admiration. And then his hand was gone. He’d raised the cane again.

Sinful Sunday: The comforts of being good

Sometimes a good girl needs a spanking. She just does. Her skin and her soul crave it. Not too hard, not too light. Just sensual. With lots of appreciation of her beauty. 

And sometimes a good girl gets what she needs.

 

Note:

The castle again. A couple of weeks ago I published an “aftermath” picture, showing my girl sleeping afterwards. But this was taken during the enwarmening process itself.  

Held prisoner in an SS Castle!

She was a prisoner in an SS castle!

But, brave lass, she didn’t tell the evil, gloating von Mortimer anything. Course, it’s easier when SS stands for Sinful Sunday.

Note

The text is kinda schlocky, I know. Though the model is anything but schlocky. It’s taken in the castle, of course. The light is just beautiful, as always. As is she.  

Click on the lips to see other Sinful Sunday entries!

 

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!

Sinful Sunday: Winning by losing

 

The wave had nearly crashed and toppled, carrying her with it in a swirling fall of white foam. She opened her mouth and yowled in celebration and terror. She was going to come, and it was too big, and she was too high to fall. 

Her Master’s voice. Far away at first, then shockingly close. “Time’s up! Stop!” 

She said, “Ooohhh.” The effort to control herself, to stop that orgasm in its tracks – she couldn’t have managed that, once. But she fought for and won control. For her Master. 

Her Master picked up the hairbrush. I’ll give you two minutes, then you can try again, darling. But … the next two minutes are going to hurt you.” She felt him press the hairbrush against her left cheek. So flat it was, and so hard. 

She braced herself.

Sinful Sunday: Away from the light

Everything had been impact and flurried movement and cries while her Master spanked her. He’d used the hairbrush, because he liked the uncontrolled way she responded when the brush landed. But he’d put the brush down at last, when all she knew was sex and pain and heat. Now there was peace, of a kind. 

Her Master had said she had two minutes to come, or she’d get the hairbrush again. This time he would go a little harder. 

She could feel the sun on her left thigh, but she squirmed out of the light. Her fingers worked, her arm under her tummy, fingertips wet with her own arousal. Her body tensed, and she lost awareness of time, and space: she couldn’t have said where she was.

She pushed forward, her body riding her own fingers onward. Would she come before her time was up? She didn’t know. Or care. Only that sweetness, in her skin and in her cunt, driving her on, burrowing into that quiet and soothing dark.