The lovely Zoë, very relaxed. 

At peace. Possibly even with the world, just for the time being. 

Peace is made to be broken, though. It lasts forever, and it’s fleeting.

A sweetly relaxed Image of Iintermission.

With just a trace of pink in the air. Or the rear.

Sensual things have been happening, slowly. She knows there is more to come. But in the intermission, the wise woman rests, and lets her imagination wander. 

And the lovely Zoë is always wise.

For a while Arethusa and I were enthusiastic about impact play outdoors in the wee small hours of night. 

It was quiet and mysterious. It was romantic. 

And, because Arethusa knew she couldn’t help crying out, and she underestimated how far away the nearest neighbours actually were, it was humiliating. 

Humiliation is a complex submissive pleasure, and not all submissives like it. 

But Arethusa felt that it helped carry her into a world where she was small and utterly submissive, and at the same time paradoxically safe. So I learned to give it.    

This midnight-ish paddling, over a trestle, wasn’t punishment. It was purely sexual. 

And, I suppose, it was scientific, at least on my part. I’d just made a wooden paddle, and I wanted to see if it, well, worked. 

A beautiful day in a castle in Tuscany. Made far more beautiful by the lovely Zoë.

Curves, sunlight, and just a trace of pink. A very simple but effective recipe for happiness.

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.  

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.

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.) 

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.  

She was my sustenance. She was my pretty pleasure, on a sunny day.