Her ass feels good to him, under his hand. He hopes his hand feels good to her. 

He pays close attention to simple actions, and a complex woman, that he loves.

A crop, properly applied, leaves two kinds of lines. Some are pink/red. 

And some are just the poised threat and promise of shadow.

I had to fight, with this one. My girl is not here. 

So I had to use an older image, not of her. In this case the original image was very clear, and I’d rubbed oil into the woman’s skin before I caned her. That makes for shining skin and very clear lines.

But losing that clarity in the filtering process, I finished up with just the curve of her ass and the marks of the cane, reaching red-fingered across her skin. And just a hint of her cunt, offered to that brutal man with the cane. 

The blur makes for simplicity, stripping everything down to those basics.

What happens to good girls?

Well, if they’re very lucky, they get bound, helpless, and soundly spanked.

This lovely girl has been very good and very lucky.

Let us all celebrate the moment!

One of the best things about the classic “bend over and grasp the table edge” position is that after the punishment you can give comfort and pleasure to a bad girl who’s taken her punishment well, and who you know is feeling sorry. 

And without her having to move, you can give her comfort and pleasure until she feels like a happy, wet, wanting, kind of sloppy, loved good girl again. 

Sometimes a slavegirl misbehaves. She was having trouble getting essays in on time. I’d worked round the clock that night, writing the appendices for her for a major project, that had to be handed in in the morning or it wouldn’t be accepted. She wrote the main section. 

So in the morning, when the completed project was emailed off, a minute before deadline,  I was not pleased. There was a discussion to be had, on why this had happened and how to stop it happening again. 

But first there was punishment. This photo is from about two-thirds of the way through. Later she needed to cry in my arms and be comforted, but first she needed the harshness.  

Tenderness and the harshness, and her need for both, are all expressions of love.

Two leather armchairs, and yet she doesn’t seem entirely relaxed. I can’t think what the problem is.

But I can at least make her more … comfortable.

This hits me, this image-and-memory of my love bound, presented, like a sexual punch in the solar plexus. 

There’s so much power and beauty in her presentation. And though she’s bound and still, the image moves. Things between us are still and yet they’re happening dizzyingly fast.