She waits. He anticipates. Everything starts here.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: So often, everything starts here
6
Category Archives: Sinful Sunday
Sinful Sunday: Hermaphroditos and yearning for oneness
I found this sculpture of Hermaphroditos in the Palazzo Massimo in Rome. In the myth Hermaphroditos is the child of Hermes and Aphrodite, who – because both gods are a little more magical than most of the Olympians – combined in one person and soul the beauties of both hir parents.
It’s an image of gender ambiguity, and in our time that’s probably the meaning most often ascribed to the Hermaphoditos myth. But it’s something else as well (all myths have several meanings, or what’s the use of them?): that union of two into one body is what many lovers are yearning for in their deepest and most desperate sex.
A living Image, which did far surpass
In beauty that bright shape of vital stone
Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.
XXXVI.
A sexless thing it was, and in its growth
It seemed to have developed no defect
Of either sex, yet all the grace of both, --
In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked;
The bosom swelled lightly with its full youth,
The countenance was such as might select
Some artist that his skill should never die,
Imaging forth such perfect purity.
(From The Witch of Atlas)
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: Slavegirls at the bottom of the garden
It’s 6.30 in the morning. A girl waits for me, pale pink with deeper pink in places,bending over a chair near the end of my land, looking down into the valley. The air is clear but still morning-fresh: she shivers a little.
She won’t come quietly, that girl. Echoes of the flogger’s impact, and quieter pleasures, and orgasmic cries, across the valley. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s never been more beautiful than that morning.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: Without a word
“Arr-ffaa!”
As the first pain reached into her body she sobbed, not with the hurt but with relief. Her long, longing wait was over.
He said nothing. He hadn’t spoken yet. But there had been two canes resting beside her right flank. Now there was only one.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Skinful Sundae and Early Minimalism: One stroke
Time passed. The wooden tabletop was warmer under her body. Her wrists and ankles were still cuffed and tied to the table. She was helpless. In every sense at his mercy. His … woman who had a master. As much his property as the table he’d tied her to. That felt strong. It felt right.
Time passed, long and longing. At some time she became aware of him behind her, though he’d moved quietly and he said nothing.
Master!
Shhh.
Then she felt his finger, just inside her cunt. She gasped at the surprise and pleasure of it. He stroked along her left side, just inside. Then his finger was gone. Her cunt, her whole body, screamed silently for more. At least another stroke along her right labium, so she had balance. It was only fair. To both labia. To her. God, one more touch.
Please …
Shhh. Later.
He was gone.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday 302: Helpless helpless
She didn’t know how long she’d been there, tied over the table. The last thing he’d said before he left her had been to wait. Not that she had any choice about that.
Her wrists and ankles were cuffed and tied. Her thighs were widely parted, tied to the table legs. She could raise her head. She could buck under the impact of whatever he chose to hurt her with. She could buck under the force of his cock, deep inside her.
He’d do nothing to stop those movements. He liked her to jerk and flop under him while he disciplined her, or rode her. So that was the only movement he’d allowed her to make.
She wished she could press her cunt against the table edge. Just a little relief until he returned. But her position didn’t allow that. She could only try to fuck the air: he’d made that choice for her.
He’d taken off his belt, folded it and laid it on the table on her left side. The cane lay beside her on her right.
“I’ll be back to deal with you later,” he’d said. And he’d left, leaving the door open. How long ago had that been? How long would he make her wait?
Wait for him, helpless. She smiled when that word crossed her mind. She liked being helpless. And he wouldn’t accept anything less from her, just now, than helplessness.
She knew she’d been good. He wasn’t punishing her. But he’d been in a mood she knew well. She didn’t know when, but things were going to happen. And they were going to happen to her.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: Shake it all about
God! It’s huge!
Uncomfortable?
Master! You should bloody try it and see.
Actually, I don’t think I will, girl. Who’s Master?
The man who just shoved a plug up my bum?
The same. Ah, would you like me to take it out?
Er, no. It’s kind of ok. I think I could get used to it. Thank you. No.
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: Consolation
Arethusa said, Oh, Master. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Master. I –
No, it’s over, darling. And you were brave and good. And your – the fault’s forgotten. You’ve paid for it, the slate’s clean and you’re a good girl again. I’ll never mention it again.
[I was telling the truth. I’ve genuinely forgotten what the fault was that led to the stripes in this picture. It would be something that I felt harmed her interests, and that I’d warned her about. And that she’d repeated anyway. It’d be laziness or carelessness, because she doesn’t wilfully disobey.]
But I hate disappointing you. I feel … [She shook her head, still on all fours on our bed.]
Shhhh, love. You’re a good girl. Wonderful fucking girl. You’re a good girl with a sore arse, right now. But I do know how wonderful you are. I know that I love you, little one.
[Arethusa isn’t a brat. She likes to be good. The worst thing about being punished, for her, isn’t the pain, which happens often enough for purely sexual reasons, but having to feel bad because she’d disappointed her master and lover.]
I know that too. And I love you, Master. But I let you down.
Here. Relax, ‘thuse. You’re the world to me. And …
Ahh… Yeah, yes…
[And that’s when I took this photo, left-handed. Just before I put my right thumb where any person of sense, in love with the woman on that bed and wanting her to feel good, would put their thumb. And hold her firmly and begin to stroke, and then pump. There was no more conversation for some time, and no more talk about feeling guilty. Eventually, cuddled in spoon position on the bed, we slept the rest of the afternoon away.]
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sundae: O Calcutta!
A woman spanked and then bound represents a culmination. It’s taken a lot of loving work and communication to get us to this point, and to her submission.
It’s also a commencement. Once we’ve reached here, then things can move between us. Oceanically, but the sky’s the limit.
Oh, and doesn’t she have a cute ass? Or, as we say on Earth, “O! Quel cul t’as!”
Oh Calcutta
Detail from Clovis Trouille’s painting, “O Calcutta! Calcutta!”
Well, some of us on Earth say that, anyway. The artist Clovis Trouille was a notoriously enthusiastic admirer of the comely, womanly ass, and he called his most famous painting, “O Calcutta! Calcutta!”
The title’s a pun on “O! Quel cul t’as”, which means, “Oh, what a [cute] ass you have!”
Ken Tynan borrowed the painting, and the title, for his sinfully sexy (but nice) 1960s theatrical revue, O Calcutta.
In its original form, O Calcutta included two spanking sketches written by Tynan himself. Ken “Spanker” Tynan was notorious among his woman friends for his keenness on using the flat side of a hairbrush, so it’s not surprising that he wrote two spanking scenes for his show and, as director, accepted and included them. Unfortunately, these two scenes are omitted from modern revivals of O Calcutta.
John Lennon also wrote a scene for the original revue, but now Yoko, as guardian of the Lennon estate, won’t let it be used. But that’s enough about 20th century art and theatre: doesn’t my model have a cute ass?
Click on the lips for more Sinful Sunday goodness!
Sinful Sunday: Tying up a gift
This is a gift. A beautiful girl, recently striped (I can’t abide lateness), now tied immobile and made to wait. Until her owner requires her.
Truth is, she won’t have to wait long. Her master is a greedier man (for her) than he is patient.
But the question is, who is the gift for? Is it her master, or is her immobile, bound state a gift for herself?
Either way, or both ways, it’s the perfect solstice exchange. And power exchange.
Note:
My bondage tends to be effective, in that it achieves compulsory stillness, however she might struggle and wriggle and strive against it. But it isn’t as elegant as it should be. I know this.
Still, the feeling is right.
Happy holidays!
Touch these lips for more Sinful Sunday submissions.