The moment she kneels and offers the cane to her Master, she is feeling pale, subdued. And in her heart she burns brightly. 

This moment, she thinks, of my submission. This now. Make it count.

Six, thank you, Master!

Now! Girl, I am sick of these last-minute panics! Are you going to get your next essay in on time?

Well, maybe, Master. I can only see what happens… 

Ah fuck! You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you? 

Mmmm maybe a bit…

All right. [Picks up cane again.] I think we can fix that. Don’t move. 

[But pleasure persists, the way grass can break concrete. He tried, but he didn’t fix that. Not at all.]

Welcome to Elust 114–

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~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Painful Truth…

As Wet As I Get

Three, in the end

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Pachelbel

Window

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

FemDom {T}ropes

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Mx Nillin Fucks… Socks!
Knight Attire
Seven years of comments
Erotic Massage

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Gifts?
Our Dynamic
Switch!
Collar me kinky

Erotic Fiction

Marking Time
Coffee-shops and painsluts
The Storm
This belongs to me
Backstage Girl
floral

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon ~ My Journey
3 Downloadable Tools to Track Your Income

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

#SoSS – Sharing Taboo Topics!

Blogging

End of Year Round Up
Caring too much about the wrong thing.

Erotic Non-Fiction

On Fucking and Being Fucked
Vignette – Pictures of Us
Lunch with a caned girl

Sometimes Emily, who’d been caned hard, two nights in a row, moved against me in a way that usually meant she wanted sex. Sometimes my cock was hard, pressed against her belly. But long after midnight she turned on her side and slept with her back to me. I curled up behind her, careful not to touch her bottom, and slept too. I’d forgiven her ages ago. I knew she’d forgiven me.

I’d promised her a third caning, and I delivered it. But this time I gave her less pain and more ceremony.

I tied her to the bed, but when her caning began I made sure the strokes were a little lighter than they had been for her first two punishments. I’d lost the feeling of righteousness that had powered her first two canings.

Afterwards, Emily knew that I’d gone easy on her. She was grateful in a way, but also disappointed.

So I stroked her until she wept and squeaked, expecting to be stroked to orgasm, and then stopped and warned her not to come. I left her on the edge, and still tied fast across the bed. She could assure herself that this was punishment.

I sat with a book, where I could watch her and she couldn’t watch me. If you tie your partner, you stay and watch, for their safety. Anyway, watching Emily was no hardship. It was starting to feel real. Emily really had given herself to me, as a possession, an owned woman, who was accountable to me.

I thought, while trying to read, about our future. We couldn’t just spend all our time with Emily being tied to our bed. Or me spanking and caning her. I’d have to find other ways of letting her feel herself owned and submissive, while giving us room and time to get on with our lives and careers.  I had no idea how to achieve this. Was there a submissive way of watching a movie? Or doing the dishes? Was there a dominant way? I didn’t know.

I shut the book and joined Emily on the bed, and used a buzzy thing to help her to pick up the threads of that dropped, stopped, orgasm. Then I undid her bonds and fucked her again. Emily came again, clamorously, and she was giggly talkative afterwards.

But I fell asleep, most of my weight on her back .Emily woke me an hour or so later, in ghostly night, asking me to move so she could get to the toilet. She came straight back. After all, she no longer smoked.

{The end]

The story of Héloïse and Abélard is one of the most famous love stories of Western culture.

They met when he became her tutor, and fell in love. Later, they married. When her family found out about the marriage, they attacked and castrated Abélard and shoved Héloïse into a convent. 

Heloise, after – ooh, that looks like it was the theology lesson

But it’s seldom admitted that this is a bdsm love story. When he appointed Abélard as his daughter’s tutor, her father told Abelard to punish Heloïse physically, in any way he wanted, if he was dissatisfied with her work. If I ever write a parenting manual, I’ll advise against that. 

It seems to have been the spankings and small whippings, with her clothing partly removed, that sparked the sexual relationship. Abélard hints as much in his first letter, written after the lovers were separated.

There’s no doubt at all that Heloïse enjoyed her sexual submission to Abélard. When she writes to him after his castration she’s clearly disappointed that he won’t return to his dominant role with her. 

The lovers are discovered

Two things always strike me when I read the letters of Abélard and Heloïse to each other, aside from the wretched sadness of the story, are:

(1) the utterly despicable role played by the Catholic Church throughout the whole disaster; and

(2) that Heloïse is worth a dozen of Peter Abélard. He’s a famous male intellectual and she isn’t because patriarchy, but she seems … smarter and a lot more emotionally and intellectually honest. 

Perhaps I’m biassed towards submissives, but I actually think it’s her directness and honesty that makes her still seem radiant and wonderful, while he (forgivably: he’s in a terrible situation, but still…) comes across as a pompous egotist. 

Sometimes I go all medieval on that ass. Sometimes that ass goes all medieval in a 12th century castle. 

Both are good.

I’d just used moral blackmail, talking about how she’d hurt me, to ensure she agreed to being punished. This was new territory for both us – I’d never punished a submissive before – but I was sure that talking about how she’d hurt me was wrong. So I’d apologised. 

But Emily shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I really am. I’m so sorry. And … you should do it. Punish me. I want you to. Well.” So I held her again. Emily buried her head in my shoulder while I stroked her neck, feeling that I was, on the whole, a shit.

Eventually we stood apart, and I took the cane from her. We’d been here countless times. But never like with this meaning. I said, “All right, Emily, you’ve asked for this, and now you’re going to get it.” That was true. “I’m going to beat you. As you deserve.”

‘Deserve’ was weak; I wasn’t sure what it meant. But I bet Emily had liked ‘I’m going to beat you’; that had sounded ruthless. I added, “Take off your clothes. Everything, including your watch. Quickly.” 

Emily undid and shed yesterday’s party clothes. I knew she’d prefer to be bending over the bed, tied down so she didn’t have to hold still. She wouldn’t have that. When she was naked I pointed the cane at her feet. “Put your feet apart. Wider.”

Emily obeyed solemnly, hands at her sides. I touched the cane to her belly, then touched it to her mouth. “Kiss.”

Emily bestowed a blessing on the rattan, easily. It seemed that I’d hoped for more reluctance.

“Thank you. Now turn around, please, Emily, bend over and touch your toes.”

Emily obeyed the traditional instruction, jack-knifing her body and reaching down to assume that simplest and most submissive of postures, beloved by bonobos, actors pretending to be teachers in bad porn videos, and me. It’s a hard pose to sustain for ten strokes, but she’d managed before. The position is emotionally as well as physically exposed. That seemed right.

“Thank you, Emily.” Still polite. I pressed the cane to the undercurve of her bottom, so she knew where the first stroke was coming.  

I was enjoying Emily’s submission display – would I fuck her after I’d caned her? Of course I would – but I was aware of softer emotions that I hadn’t expected. I’d lost my anger. Emily was giving me an extraordinary amount of trust, and that meant I had to be loving and protective. I had to be worthy of her.

There seemed to be something I hadn’t expected in this, something loving. It wasn’t “parental” because Emily wasn’t at all childlike and anyway I don’t think adults should hit children. But I was calmer than I’d expected, and oddly certain that I was acting from love. I suspected that I might be doing the right thing. I raised the cane.

Emily closed her eyes tight. I let her wait while I considered how hard to strike. I knew this had to hurt her. I put some speed and force into the swing.

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