A lovely girl, especially if she is Zoe, should be:

(1) regularly spanked;

(2) loved and cherished, and have every input to make sure she knows it; and

(3) comfortable.

Sound advice from The Junior Woodchucks’ Guidebook section on Domming.

Disobedience should be severely punished. It wasn’t the first time I’d disciplined Arethusa for not telling me about university assignments, and not getting them handed in. I’d caned her for that before.

But it had happened again. I felt it was time that stopped. So this was real; it wasn’t a sexual game, even though anything between Master and slavegirl is inherently sexual. But I genuinely was disappointed in her, and I felt the duty to give correction and change her behaviur. 

So discipline had to be memorable and painful. But it’s still true that anything that passes between Master and slavegirl is inherently sexual. She was sorry and embarrassed, and I was cross and certain I was doing the right thing. But it’s still sexual. Without the sexual power that comes when a Dom is being very dominant and a submissive is very submissive, this discipline wouldn’t happen. 

It’s as though both of our minds divide into two tracks: for me one track is duty, and for her one track is atonement, and for both of us the other track is lust. 

And, of course, Arethusa’s obedience during punishment will eventually be rewarded, with proof that she’s loved and wanted. A Good Girl. Really.

But before we get to there, on the other side, there’s a Bad Girl to deal with. The prolonged waiting, the corner time facing outside instead of nose-to-the-wall, and the sign are all new, at least between the two of us. They’re humbling in themselves, and they warn that today, punishment is going to be a long, slow journey to expiation and forgiveness. And eventually, of course, getting your ass carefully soothed, in bed.

Even in a simple one-subject photo, there is information. There’s the hand, that can’t help but be there, in possession. 

There are the vertical stripes on that arse, that tell the expert eye that Arethusa was getting the cane, recently, while giving head for her Master. 

There’s the fact that the stripes aren’t very hard, that indicate that she was really very good at giving head. 

“Yes,” said Holmes. “Apart from the obvious facts that the girl has superior fellatio skills, is sexually submissive, left-handed, likes red rather than white wine, and frequently gasps when she sits down, I can tell you nothing whatsoever about her.”

When a girl isn’t going anywhere, for a while, she needs cuffs to keep her warm. 

These are official police cuffs, that a Domme from an Aussie cop. She later gave them to me, which was a nice present.  

They are cold and utterly inflexible, in feel. They say, “you are held”, in the plainest language possible. The warmth is in the our hearts, and in my hands. 

Afterwards can seem like an eternity. Or maybe it’s the absence of time. Nothing needs to change, to reach, or even think. 

My girl, the lovely Zoe, at peace. Held. Still. Hands held.

Erotic nirvana is one of my favourite times. 

Bedtime is not always time for sleep. Or even relaxation. 

Arethusa would watch me while I caned her, unless I’d told her she wasn’t allowed. When I was naked, she liked the way my cock would get a little harder and sort of bounce with every stroke. “It’s glee,” she said. “You think you’re being so wicked, and you love that!” 

Arethusa was often “naughty”, but she was very seldom wrong.

Swimming Pool is is partly a psychological thriller, and partly a meditation on the process of artistic creation. Like all good French films, it spends a lot of its run time with the camera staring at the naked body of an incredibly beautiful woman, in this case Ludivine Sagnier. It ends with you questioning and arguing in the bar afterwards about whether anything you just saw on screen “really” happened. So I recommend it.

Unlike Ludivine Sagnier’s character, who almost certainly deserves it, my diving beauty, Arethusa, has just been soundly spanked. So all is well. The world is safe.



This was another of those canings that had no disciplinary message. Just pleasure, and colour. We both loved the way Arethusa coloured, and striped, and I always felt it was my duty to keep her marks fresh.

But the man with the cane, at about this point, will pause and wonder if there should be more stripes, or whether his girl looks so hot that it’s time to move on to other things. There are pleasures and possibilities with either choice.

I know which decision I made. But reading this image, you’ll just have to guess.