Sinful Sunday: Lying low

It’s not often I got down on my knees for Arethusa. But I wanted my eye level at thigh level. And my view was beautiful, human, womanly, submissive, and also somehow mathematical. I don’t mean you can count the stripes if you like, I mean somehow both warmly living and abstract. 

Sinful Sunday: Bad girl

This was school work again. University, really, but when I punished Arethusa for being late with an assignment, I was always aware, in the back of my mind, just what a traditional bdsm scenario this was. All the hotter, of course, for being real. 

Now Arethusa sleeps but, I hope, dreaming in colour.

[Note: this is from the same session and may be the colour version of the black and white shot I posted last week. I took a lot of similar shots of that session, and I haven’t checked closely that this is the exact same one. But there was a request for colour: it is here.]

Sinful Sunday: Kool Khrome Kink

Those marks were delivered with passion. Pain, submission and kink. And then we fucked, hard as we could push our bodies against each other. That was all in blazing colour.

But Arethusa tended to fall asleep after orgasms. I’d lie beside her, admiring her body, and the claims I’d made on it; the marks of her ass that said her ass is mine. But you can’t admire quietly forever. Some time we’d wake up, and make even brighter colours.

But for now, our kolours kool and we drift into sleep. She was first but I followed, as I usually did. A quieter, beautiful, still kinked but monokhrome world.

Sinful Sunday: You’re in disgrace

I don’t know if there are Doms/Dommes who mean it when they say, “You’re in disgrace”. But I know this Dom never has.

Generally speaking it’s something I say after punishment, when I want to decorate my wall with her standing naked, spanked and on display for a while. “Now face that wall, and don’t move or speak until I say you can!” I say, adding, “You’re in disgrace!”  

No, she’s not in disgrace. She’s taken her punishment, and been properly repentant and obedient throughout, and I think she’s utterly wonderful. But telling her she’s in disgrace seems more dramatic than saying she looks hot and I just want to gaze at her for a while.

And, though I’ve never asked, my impression is that many/most submissive women like to hear they’re in disgrace, so long as it’s certain their Dom/Domme is going to do something about that. 

Sinful Sunday: Over the Moonlight

 Arethusa, cuffed and clipped, fixed tightly over the whipping bench. There’s something abstract about that image, her arm close to me but fixed down, her thighs behind the wood of the bench.

Her photographer has a wooden paddle in his hand, and it has proven to be the harshest implement she’s ever encountered. She’s about to be taken.

It is night, under a full moon, and over the moon. We can hear creatures around us, possums and sugar gliders shocked by the things humans will do, when it’s time for a very deep, very savage kind of sex.

She told me later that this encounter had become her go-to masturbation memory. That made me incredibly happy, and weirdly proud. It’s as dark, in the Dark Lord sense, as I’ve ever been.

Sinful Sunday: Request granted

“Please punish me, Sir,” she’d said. 

She knew that punishment was coming, whatever she said, but it’s sexier to ask for it. She’s admitted that sometimes part of her thinks that if she asks very nicely she might get a stroke or two off. But another part hopes she won’t, and she would be very disappointed if she did.

Once in position, over the whipping bench, she’s on a ride. Submission becomes some kind of fairground attraction. She’s bought her ticket, and now she hopes it as exciting as she can bear. 

You don’t control a rollercoaster while you’re on it. But afterwards yours eyes sparkle and your face glows. 

 

Sinful Sunday: You won’t see me. But you’ll know I’m there.

She’s asked nicely and, as far as I could tell, sincerely, to be caned, and of course she will be. 

But there’s always the warm-up first. The leather paddle doing good, loud, work. She’s still worried about the caning to come, but she knows that the warm-up is a good thing: erotic and sensual in itself, and also a sign of care. I can’t be as angry with her as I’m pretending. 

Soon, she knows, we’ll fuck, and she will pretend to be very sorry and I’ll pretend that I’ve only just forgiven her. Hypocrites, we Doms and submissives. In a way. But we also know each other closely, and we know the truth, too. 

She knows she won’t be allowed to come for at least an hour. And that when she does, she’ll finally be told what she already knows: that she’s a good girl. 

 

 

 

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Please Sir

When she says, “Please punish me, Sir,” she’s being a conspicuously Good Girl. Every aspect of her presentation is a display that says, “I’m a good girl, really.”

Her eyes and her face are downcast, and her open hands hold out the instrument of her punishment. Her hands are open because she knows she’s not allowed to close her hands on the cane. She bent down, naked, to take it from the floor in her mouth, then released it onto her open hands. And then held out those hands to me, offering both herself and it. Details and body language matter.

The wool over the whipping bench, behind her, tells her that she’s going to be spending some time bent over there. That matters too. It would be a terrible world, boring, unloving, unsexy, if I didn’t pay close attention to her needs, even when delivering discipline.

She gives a perfect display of submission. It’s come just a little too late to save her bottom and upper thighs. But that doesn’t make this moment less enchanted, for either of us. I’m not ready to tell her she’s a “good girl”. Not yet. But I will be soon.

Sinful Sunday: The Glory of Marks

Marks. We both loved her marks. They tell a story, and she could see that story just by turning her back on a mirror and looking over her shoulder. 

These marks told two stories. She’d just been punished, a nice straight set of stripes from the cane. That was one story, a very traditional one between a Master and his slave.

But there were also warm blotches on the outer side of her left buttock, and another, a little lower on the outer side of her right thigh. They tell a different story. We’d fucked after her caning, because it’s such a submissive and accessible position, and we both need to feel each other, hard, after she’s been punished. 

But the best thing of all, about that position, is that I can spank her, hard, while we’re fucking. It helped her feel surrendered, plundered, while we’re fucking, and we both loved that sensation too.

The glow of the handprints tell us both about the glory of that sex.

And now she’d been caned, fucked and spanked, and we’re catching our breath. But she’s still not allowed to rise. There’s a paddle, not far away. And it’s about to become part of her life.