Stephanie reached the fourth step from the top of the slide. Her ass was level with the slide. I stood on the ground, still gazing up at her thighs, admiring the softly muscled crease of her buttocks and thighs. I said, “Stop. That’s just right.”

She looked down at me while I climbed up to join her. I stood on the fifth step from the top, so my cock, not quite contained by my underpants, was more or less level with her ass. I pressed my body against hers. This was the most intimately we’d touched, so far. My cock pressed, admiring, desiring, against her ass, and knew it was comfortable there. Her ass was the place for my cock to be. Stephanie pressed back against me, not only to keep warm.

I put my arms around her bare back, and held her breasts in my hands. Her nipples were hard with cold and arousal, rubber bullets between my thumbs and forefingers.

Stephanie turned, “Are we going to slide down together?”

She was thinking, I guessed, of my promise that her arse wouldn’t get cold on the metal of the slide. “Probably. You can sit on me.”

She smiled. “You can be in charge of keeping my arse warm. You spank Maires, don’t you?”

“Oh?” I hadn’t been aware I was in gossip quite that detailed. On the other hand, Maires was not a discrete kind of girl. “Well, yes. When she wants me to.”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Oh. That’s all her, is it?”

“No, sorry. I just meant, I don’t do anything she doesn’t want. I wouldn’t do anything  that you don’t want. Just being clear. But of course that’s not just just what she wants: I like spanking her. It’s, um, hot. Great ass, that Maires. Don’t you think?”

She looked away for a second. “Well, I’m not really into girls. But yes, she has a nice bottom. If you liked spanking girls, I can see that Maires would…” She looked back at me. She was blushing slightly. “Ah, anyway, yes, she’s got a nice arse. Fantastic legs. And I’m told she’s good at cunnilingus. By her boyfriend, no less.”

She was winding me up. I swung my body round to the side of the steps so we could press together and kiss properly. Stephanie nodded, and pressed into me, hard nipples against my shirt. I held onto the metal bar at the top of the slide with my left hand so I could put my right hand on her bottom. Stephanie sighed.

I patted her pretty little bottom, so lightly. I heard a chuckle from her, so I smacked her little harder. She kissed my neck. I smacked her again, a little harder still. I wondered if there was a point where she’d complain, but I didn’t want to find out. So I left my hand on her ass, kneading and fondling.

I focussed on the kiss. We opened our mouths. Her tongue touched my teeth. She put her arms round me, holding on to me and not the slide. She was depending on me. Literally. We kissed, changing the angle and exploring. My cock was pretty much entirely free of my underpants. It was, um, engorged. It was not cold. 

Stephanie eventually opened her eyes again. “Shall we slide?” 

“Hang on. No, I mean, hang on to the slide.” When she’d straightened and gripped the rails again, I swung my body back behind her. She waited. “Now, bend over.” 

“What?” 

“I promised you your ass wouldn’t get cold. I never made any promise about your tits. Bend over now. So your upper body’s on the chute. It’ll be cold, but it won’t matter.”

“You’re crazy, if you think–”

“Bend over, little Stephanie.” There was a pause. Stephanie considered various things. Which was stronger: cold, or fun and lust? Twenty seconds passed before I could say, “Good girl.”

“Hmmph!” But she said that with her head pressed against cold metal, her bottom the highest part of her body.  

I climbed up one more step, and let her feel my cock slide between her upper thighs. She said, “Oh, jesus.” We stayed together like that, moving very slowly and very slightly together, savouring every micro-movement.

But eventually I drew back, and reached under her to undo the top button of her shorts. And I tugged. Down.

When you’re pushing a girl on a swing, and she’s wearing only a little pair of shorts and a pair of sandals, it can be hard to decide where to put your hands. So for the first few pushes, I pushed Stephanie with my hands just under her shoulders, so she could fly to the furthest extent the arc allowed. it was effective, and chaste. 

But chasteness wasn’t the goal, so the fourth time she came back I stood a little further so I could catch her suspended about half way up the backswing, and bite her neck and kiss her while she laughed. Then I’d send her flying again. After that, I caught her by the shorts, and pushed her by her perfect arse. 

And then, finally, I wasn’t so much pushing her at all. I just smacked her ass each time it flew back into my grasp. She was beautiful, flying, long straight blonde hair streaming, small breasts cold and tight; she was a valkyrie. Eventually she let the swing rest, with her feet touching the ground and her head back and turned so we could kiss properly. Her nipples were stiff, red and hard in excitement and the cold.  

Eventually we broke, and I helped Stephanie out of the swing. She said, “Slide! Slide!”

So I stood in front of her, holding her facing me, close. I put my hand inside her shorts and squeezed bare skin. Stephanie sighed. She slipped her hands down the back of my underpants, and enjoyed my penile reaction to that, body tight to to body.

Eventually I remembered speech, and said, “Slide. Sure. You go first.”

“You just want to watch me climb the ladder.”

“I do. I will.” 

“It’ll be so cold. The slide metal, under my ass.”

“Actually, it won’t. I promise.”

“You’re going to do magic?”

I smiled, like I hoped a mage might smile, and smacked her ass to keep it warm. And show my appreciation. Then we kissed some more because the night really was cold around us, and yet we were so warm for each other, a little sexual micro-climate. And I smacked her perfectly rounded, perfectly pretty bottom again, and walked her to the ladder leading up to the slide. 

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. This felt too good, and too promising. “Climb, Stephanie.” 

Yvain watched Gisela’s face closely, her lips pressed against her Seigneur’s groin, holding all of his cock in her mouth. Her cheeks dimpled as she sucked, At last, after a minute with the Seigneur’s cock deep in her throat she moved back a little, exposing a couple of centimetres of the Seigneur’s pale shaft to Yvain’s fascinated gaze, and took a breath. 

The breath was a single gasp and then she moved forward to take the penis entirely into her mouth. She reached up to hold the backs of his thighs, just under his buttocks, and began to move her bead backwards and forwards, mimicking the motions of fucking. The Seigneur stood perfectly still, and he looked down not at Gisela, whose eyes were fixed on his, but at Yvain. Yvain was aware of his gaze, but kept her eyes, obediently, on Gisela, and the shaft of his cock as it appeared and disappeared. Gisela gurgled as his cock moved in her. It did not seem an unhappy sound. 

The Seigneur held the back of Gisela’s head, forcing her face hard against him. He said to Yvain, “You’re impressed that she can take so much, aren’t you?”

Yvain was flustered. “Ah, yes. Yes, I am, my Seigneur. Though I do not know how I could – “

“The trick is to relax and learn not to gag, when the cock goes deep. Your own physical reactions are unimportant.”

Yvain nodded. It would be hard to learn, but she wanted to. The Seigneur said, “You will be taught to control your reactions.” He looked down at Gisela, meeting her gaze. “You were once no good at this at all, you remember?”

Gisela, her mouth still full, nodded almost imperceptibly. She mouthed, “”‘Ess, Seigneur.”

“How did you learn?”

Gisela had to open her mouth very wide to speak. “Karl stwapped me. When I gagged.”

The Seigneur smiled and did not answer her. His hand held her head tight and for the first time he began to move, fucked the kneeling woman’s mouth and throat. Yvain loved the visible movement of his cock inside Gisela’s mouth, bulging sometimes at her cheek. She was sure she could do most of what Gisela did, the steady, fervent suction, the keeping her teeth clear of the cock, and her tongue busy.

Still, she doubted if she could take it so deep and hold it without choking, as Gisela had learned. She was also sure that her Seigneur would have no hesitation in training her, with some implement to make her gasp and cry, and obey. She supposed that there would always be a point when a sore bottom, and the desire to avoid extra strokes, outweighed all other considerations. She knew she would learn to do what was required. 

At last the Seigneur grunted, and then froze, his body locked, suddenly immobile. He said, “No, not this time, girl,” to Gisela, and pushed her back. His hard cock shone in the air, gleaming with Gisela’s fluids but not his. Yvain stared: it was the first time she’d seen it clear and in readiness. It seemed bigger than the spaces in her body she expected he would put it. At the same time, she was not afraid: it would hurt her, she was sure, but not in an unpleasant way.

Gisela had sat back, still on her knees, her hands now dropped to the floor, still holding eye contact. “As my Seigneur pleases.” 

The Seigneur said, “Good girl, Gisela. Though it’s Karl you’ll need to please now. Go.” Gisela dropped to her hands and knees, and crossed to room to where Karl was sitting on the bed. She crouched at his feet.

The Seigneur snapped his fingers. “Yvain.”

She straightened up and came close. Her Seigneur was looking at a rack of implements on Karl’s wall. At last he selected a cane.

He turned and pressed it to her lips. “I don’t think I’ll need to hear from you for a while, girl. Open.”

Yvain decided not to say, “Yes Seigneur”, and simply obeyed. The rattan length seemed very hard in her mouth. Her Seigneur smacked her bottom, and she felt it as affection, fondness, perhaps more.

She smiled at him, the cane pressing against the corners of her mouth. 

The Seigneur turned his attention to Karl, who was now receiving service from Gisela’s mouth, her hair flowing down her back, her hands at his waist.

“Karl, let the Mayor know he’s not getting his wife back till tomorrow. And send her to me at eight tonight.”

“Yes, Seigneur.” Karl’s voice was guttural. He had Gisela’s hair clutched in his hand, and he pulled that clump back so she had to hurt herself to move forward on him. Her gurgles suggested that she liked that very much.

The Seigneur smacked Yvain again. He was smiling, and she smiled back. “Another time I might walk you on a leash, hands and knees, back to my rooms. But that’s very slow, fun though it can be. For some reason I seem to be in a hurry, at the moment. You walk in front of me. Go!”

Yvain, greatly daring, wiggled as she opened the door out to the corridor.

This was early in our relationship. We were doing “Master” training. The rule was that Arethusa didn’t have to call me “Master” every time she spoke to me. But if five utterances went by without her using the slavegirl’s polite form of address, then she’d get a spanking. 

I’d insisted on “Master” partly because she’d said it sounded awkward, to her. Right, I thought, as Doms will.

So this was instant punishment, without any formality. Standing, arms folded in front of her so she wasn’t tempted to bring her hands back to protect her arse, getting soundly spanked.

She’d said, “Sorry, Master!” at least fifteen times before I stopped.

“Right,” I said. “Now go to my room. Take your clothes off and wait for me. Hands and knees, on the bed.” 

“Yes, Master.” Arethusa shuffled off, bed-wards, panties still down.

It became natural, true and not at all awkward, very quickly.

The Seigneur still held her chin when he broke off the kiss. Yvain missed that contact. Her body and mind were responding to him and his treatment of her in powerful and unexpected ways. She found herself wondering what being taken by him, having his cock in her body, would be like. Apart from the sensations she’d given herself with her fingers she had little to go on. It would be lovely. But he was so cruel. She looked up into his eyes, confused. 

The Seigneur smiled. “Is a serf entitled to look at the Seigneur without permission?”

Yvain shuddered. “No, my Seigneur. I beg your forgiveness.” 

“You may possibly have that, after you’ve earned it. Put your feet wide apart, and bend at the waist, girl. Beldam, when I say, you may commence her punishment.”

“Yes, my Seigneur.” Yvain didn’t dare look back, but she was sure the beldam was smiling at her Seigneur, pleased with the situation. She heard the beldam step to her right side, slightly behind her.

The Seigneur said, “Girl, I take it you are unfamiliar with cocks. But I’m sure you know how to undo buttons.”

“Yes, Seigneur. I am.” She had unbuttoned and buttoned her sister’s baby’s vest often enough.

“Then undo my buttons, starting at my waist and working down. You will be freeing and stroking my cock. Understood?”

Yvain blushed again. “Yes, my Seigneur.”

“Good. You handle my cock gently, as if it is a dove in your hands. Gentle. If you are not sufficiently gentle, you will go outside, naked as you are, and pluck and strip me a switch, and bring it back to me to flog you wth. Now hold your position, legs apart, bent at the waist. Now, begin, girl.”

Yvain reached and undid the top button of his dark-blue silken breaches. Then the next. At the third button she was aware of his cock, hard, straining against the material. She undid the last two buttons, and released a cylinder of flesh, thick and hard, though the skin itself was deliciously soft. She clasped it between her hands, savouring its pulse and its warmth.

The Seigneur shivered, which she supposed was a good sign. She wondered what she should do to make him feel she was pleasing him.

“Now, little slut, stroke it. with a slow rhythm, your hands moving back and forth. Slowly at first. I’ll tell you when you speed up.” 

Yvan obeyed, and was puzzled to find the cylinder somehow harder and a little larger in her hands. The Seigneur nodded at the beldam. “When I say ‘begin’, beldam. Yvain, you are about to be punished for looking at my face without permission. Sometimes when I have you punished, I will want to hear you count the strokes, thank me, and tell me the lesson you are being taught.”

The cock in her hand seemed to move, upwards, as he spoke those words. He continued, “This time I want only silence from you. The punishment of a serf girl is of no importance. The pleasure of a Seigneur is of total importance. Keep your hands and your eyes on my cock, throughout. Beldam, begin.” 

“Yes, Seigneur.”

Yvain waited for one second of silence while the beldam no doubt raised the strap above her shoulder and took her aim. Then the leather smacked her, filling the room with that sharp impact. The warmth of her bottom sharpened instantly to pain and heat. Yvain suppressed her gasp, and kept her hands on the Seigneur’s cock, making sure she held him no tighter, nor sped up the stroking.

The second and third strokes lashed the tops of her plump thighs, and Yvain knew the beldam was trying to make her squeal again. She bit her lip, determined to remain silent, held her humiliatingly submissive position, offering herself to the strap and serving her Seigneur’s cock.

The next two strokes cracked across her bottom, which was now in exquisite pain. Still the beldam whipped her, remorselessly. At the twelfth stroke the Seigneur said, “Beldam, is this serf slut wet?” 

“Oh yes, Seigneur. Glistening. She spoke the truth about punishment.” 

“Good. Yvain, I want you to put the fingers of your right hand into that dripping little slit.” 

“Seigneur?”

“And get those fingers as wet as you can. Then you anoint my cock with your juices. Begin, girl.” 

Yvain withdrew one hand from his cock. She had the urge to kiss it, which was odd. Then she pushed her fingers into her cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. She moaned, knowing that the sound would only meant more of the strap.

Did you know there’s a whipping scene in Wagner’s Das Rheingold? 

It’s very loud in the Georg Solti recording, where the recording supervisor, John Culshaw, commented that the whip they used to make the cracking sounds was “absolutely terrifying”. And he’d been to a British public school in the 1940s, so he can’t have been easily scared. 

Anyway, I should say that the whipping scene in “Das Rheingold” is interestingly grotesque, but completely and utterly not sexy. It’s between two dwarfs, and they’re brothers. 

But if you were looking for a bdsm scene in a Wagner opera, I’d recommend the Daddy-daughter confrontation between Wotan and Brünnhilde at the end of Die Walküre. It begins with Wotan furious because his daughter disobeyed him, and determined to punish her.

She begs, reminding her father why she did what she did, and inadvertently reminding him of why he loves her: she’s the best of him. So he still punishes her, but he changes it to make it something positive, intended to benefit her. And they reconcile with one of the hugest and most overwhelming orgasms in all music.

If you were a Dom on the prowl (rrrowl!), you could do worse than hang about in the lobby after a performance of Die Walküre, There’ll be some very good looking women there, as well as the ones who look like James Thurber drawings. Find a woman you fancy who’s been weeping red-eyed buckets, buy her a drink and give her a handkerchief. So far you’re being a gentleman, but tell her to clean herself up in a very slightly command voice, and there’s a 50/50 chance that you’ll take her home.

By three in the morning you should be smacking her ass and telling her she’s a good girl really. And she should be hitting the A above the treble stave.   

Seamus assumed, then, that while he was caning Yua, none of his class had studied their page as he’d instructed. The book was HG Wells’s The War of the Worlds.

So he set them an essay on the Momotarõ myth, in which Momotarõ was sometimes born to rule over lesser people and sometimes an evil invader who slaughtered peaceful natives. The essay had to compare the Momotarõ stories to the The War of the World‘s treatment of imperialism.

“You can write it in Japanese if that’s easier. But if you try to write it in English you automatically get an extra grade. Yua!”

“Sensei?” She turned her face from the wall to face him, while keeping her body more or less in place. The welts on the sides of her buttocks, where the panties did not cover her, were bright and somewhat raised.Her thighs were slim, but soft. He could not help but think of how they would feel, wrapped around his upper thighs, or raised to hold his waist. 

He suppressed that thought and said, “Yua, you start a grade down from everyone else. But if you get anything less that a B+, I’ll cane you every day for a week. Understood?” 

Her eyes widened. That meant she would have to work hard. She said, “Hai, Sensei.”

He turned back to the class. He knew from their occasional inattention that Yua, behind him, was wriggling, but he ignored that. Finally the bell rang and the class filed out. Except Yua. She knew they still had business, she and him.

At last they were alone together. Yua stood silent and stil, with her hands on her head, expectant. “Come here, Yua.”

“Sensei?”

When she reached his desk, smiling, sure of her power and victory, he made her turn around. He tugged her panties down, to inspect the damage. She had been well and prettily striped. He took the cane and put it between her upper thighs, close to her cunt.

“Don’t touch this with your hands, and don’t let it fall. Carry it for me while you go into the storeroom. And wait for me. Go!”

The cane between her thighs waggling as she walked, Yua went. She left the door open.

This is a simple, beautiful image for today, and it doesn’t need much commentary. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the lovely Miss Zoë, snugly bound and warmly spanked.