Sinful Sunday: Time out

Arethusa, well spanked. Waiting for Part 2 of her punishment. Holding the implement that’s going to deliver that second, more painful, part. Wearing socks anda  top because we were in the mountains, in autumn. But I love those pink socks. In fact I love all the pink in this pic. 

One of my rules was that misbehaviour that harmed herself or her interests automatically meant the cane. So when she failed to attend a doctor’s appointment because she was nervous about what she might learn, she knew she’d also sorted out how she was going to be spending her evening.

But as I’ve mentioned before, a caning was always followed by consolation. At the time I was seriously over-estimating the cane’s effectiveness as a deterrent. 

But we got her another appointment in ten days. This time I drove her, and waited.  

 

Sinful Sunday: It’s corner time!

Corner time is a good time. For reflection on misdeeds (and schoolwork not done), and consideration of what Master will do about it. There’s a tawse in her near future, and she knows it. But there’s always comforting afterwards, so that’s not so bad. 

It’s also not a bad time for Masters. Arethusa looks so sweetly obedient. And a Master can always walk past while she’s waiting, and check out her arse. Are Masters sleazebags? Well, sometimes, when we’re lucky, and we’ve been good, we get to be.


Sinful Sunday: What you see, what you get

When you’re taking a photo, and especially when you have your mind on other matters you may also be engaged in, you’re like Van Gogh. In one sense, anyway: you don’t see the clutter. 

With this photo, I’d want very much to lose all that stuff on the bedside drawers, and that power point visible in the mirror, under the bed. 

But at the time I was entirely too focussed on the lovely Zoë. So here’s the pic without all the editing I’d like to do with it. I bet you don’t really notice the clutter either!

By the way that implement, the leather swat, was made in Oxford and given me by Zoë. She could see at once that it could have a higher purpose than swatting flies. (Though at Oxford even the flies are kinky, and wear tiny leather vests.) 

 

Sinful Sunday: Goodness! Such badness!

Sometimes Arethusa misbehaved. She didn’t enjoy the micro-second of contact between the cane and her skin, but then the next second it was warming and thuddy. Ties in place, she felt wonderfully submitted. In every sense of the word it was hot

Eventually it dawned on her poor, gullible Master that the cane didn’t have any deterrent effect, whatsoever. Oddly, because he was a kind and indulgent sort of Master, “strict” canings still happened anyway. 

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Fairies at the bottom of my garden

There may not be fairies at the bottom of my garden. But sometimes – even better! – there are bad girls. 

Waiting for the man with the paddle. Knowing that she has as much control over crying out as she has over her ass turning red. She knows she’ll be loud once her punishment starts; the paddle has no interest whatsoever in what she wants to do or not. She fears that the whole valley will hear.  

As the man with the paddle (and the camera) I know that at 5.45 in the morning, which it is, there’s not a soul about in the valley, and she can express her sorrow as freely as she needs.

And she is beautiful, and she expects – rightly – that consolation will follow punishment almost immediately.  

 

Sinful Sunday: Perfectly dressed

 

This evening she puts on her cuffs herself. The cuffs are fur-lined and their softness has its meanings. They are physically comfortable and they symbolise her owned status. He hopes they mean to her that being owned is comfortable. It’s home.

But she puts puts them on herself this time. He is lying back lazily watching her. Shedding the clothes she wore out in the world, and wearing all she needs when she’s with him. 

When she has put on the last wrist cuff he still watches her. She is beautiful. And yes, she smiles, comfortable, natural. 

He says, “Come here.”

Sinful Sunday: Consolation Prize

It didn’t happen every time. But usually he gave her an orgasm, one way or another, before she got up from her punishment place and position. 

So much of the rhetoric about life between a willing slave and her chosen Master comes down to this: he has to make himself useful, and keep his possession glad that she has a Master.

Arethusa was, in a sense, easy to please, after punishment. She felt especially sexually needy and urgent after he’d caned her. Partly, he believed, she wanted to distract herself from the fire in her ass, but also… she was fiercely aroused. Hungry.

So was he.