It’s corner time for Arethusa, after the spanking. I’m not sure why I told her she had to do her time in the corner, until she could be welcomed back as a good girl, on tip toes.
She liked the attention to detail. If I’m to tell her what to do, I should be interested in exactly what she does.
I liked what tip toes did to her legs. And it was a nice mini-sign of obedience, that … well, it pleased me. Both of us.
This was just after Arethusa’s first spanking. I can’t remember what it was for. It was a micro-second of hesitation when I’d given her an order, or forgetting to call me Sir (I wasn’t her Master yet). But it was something.
We wanted that first spanking to happen ASAP, and for it to be “for” something, to have a reason, so that her accepting it was an act of submission.
And afterwards, dumped shockingly fast off my knee and onto the carpet, it was her first Corner Time.
“Stand there, hands on your head,” I said. “You’re in disgrace.”
Of course she knew she wasn’t in any disgrace at all. Just thinking about her, just being in the same room, turned me on. I’d told her that, and then she’d witnessed and felt it.
On display there, in that penitent pose, bottom and thighs freshly spanked, watched by a man already smitten, she wasn’t in disgrace.
She was in Glory. And she knew it.
With Gala the difference between a caning for the sex of it and a punishment caning was clear. When sex was the motive I’d hand-spank her first, then use the leather paddle, making her a warm, wet and enthusiastic girl by the time she caught the first stroke of the cane.
When she was due for punishment, I delivered the caning cold, so the change from nothing to very sharp, shocking sensation was steep and fast.
Gala still caught up quickly, so that the longer a caning lasted the more, paradoxically, she enjoyed it.
But the submissive posture she had to adopt turned her on, in either case. By the time I’d lectured her and raised the cane for the first stroke, Gala would be more than ready.
The position itself was a turn-on, for her as well as me. That posture told her she was submissive, in a position she would only adopt for a man because she was submitting to him, and that things not in her control were about to happen.
The body likes what it knows, and she always liked that. The submissive position was body knowledge.
She asked me once why I always had an erection when I spanked her. Did she turn me on, when she misbehaved?
Actually she did, but not as much as giving her the corrective spankings did. I said I’d show her why.
In this pic I’ve started with her lower buttocks and upper thighs, and haven’t begun the more serious part of her spanking yet. But I took this photo. The Dom’s-eye view while he’s delivering a spanking, naked girl over his knee. I held the phone, with the pic showing, to her face so she could look. “This,” I said.
“Oh.”
[I used this shot last week, in the Surrealism prompt. But here it is without the peaches, and in its original context.]
Prince’s song, “Peach”, features a sample of Kim Basinger making an orgasmic moan.
And we all know the peach emoji. I use it, it seems, twice a day.
Anyway, peaches are good: watch your honey drip, can’t keep away…
Lust is good. It’s especially good when things move so fast, for both of you, that you feel like you’re skating on time, downhill racing.
We thought we were just going to do spanking-merges-into-sex. But we got caught up in a tidal wave, a lusty one, and everything had to be fast and sudden.
Bodies move, when they’re having fun. And lust is in the driver’s seat.
Elena liked her day at the beach. I’m more of a moon tan guy myself, but she tanned more than she swam, and then she headed to the bar. Where she met me.
She drank champagne with me, and agreed to come over and …
Anyway, I do tanning too, with spank-curious girls. And she colours beautifully.
Then I dimmed the lights, like Bryan Ferry would’ve, back in the day. Yeah, you can guess the rest.
PS: I’ve written this as though it was easy. Yes, actually it was, but of course life’s not often that way. Sometimes I’m a mouse and don’t offer the champagne or make the invitation. Sometimes I do try, and my charm, such as it is, doesn’t seem to work. But when everything goes right, it’s wonderful.
There was no reason for caning poor Arethusa that day. She was innocent and good!
At least, there was no disciplinary reason. She was doing well at university, with health, money and all the other things I watched.
But it was Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t been caned in too long. We both knew that. So … What else can a Master and his slavegirl do?
The score:
I loved caning Arethusa. The impact, the little shiver and gasp she gave each time the cane landed. Each stripe appearing and forming under me.
She didn’t enjoy getting the cane as much as I enjoyed caning her.
But she liked my pleasure. She liked the transgression of it. And she loved the warm/hot fuzziness that comes when it’s over. She loved Just Having Been Caned.
And there’s something about immediate post-caning sex. Arethusa tended to be feeling very surrendered while I tended towards the savage. We fucked like she was a town being sacked and I was the Roman army.
And afterwards … the marks. We loved those marks.
Gala was very good at looking sorry. She did it when she really had dome something wrong and I was coming at her with a look in my eye that most submissives everywhere have learned to recognise. But sometimes it was mock-repentance, because the look in my eye was a little less cross, but still promising.
But, as only small, deliciously spankable girls who know things are about to happen can do, she managed a pretty good impression of repentance.
Wouldn’t make any difference though. Luckily for both of us.
About half of Arethusa’s canings were punishment canings, while the other half were just for the sex of it. Punishment canings tended to be a little bit harder, and I was usually growly and lecture-y throughout, so she knew she’d been a bad girl. She didn’t like to disappoint her Master, so that made the strokes hurt more.
This one was for being late with a university assignment. That had happened before, and it was time to drive that lesson home. So this was a hard caning, and there were more strokes to come.
But even punishment resolves into sex, eventually. She was watching me, for most of it in the mirror, and she said she loved the way my cock got harder, just at the moment of delivering each stroke. “Glee!” she said, when it was safe to say things like that. “You love caning me, and … your cock and your face: it’s just glee!”
Arethusa was very seldom wrong. Except about getting her assignments in on time.