Masturbation Monday: Spurning my arse?

Teresa posed, hands and knees on his bed, ass up. She knew what would have to happen next: Roland would reach for her, get up onto his knees behind her. Then he said, “No.”

Teresa made a protesting noise. “Whuh?”

“Get up, girl. Off the bed. On your feet.” 

Teresa looked at him, frowning. “I am dealing with a madman, who appears to be spurning my arse.”

But she rolled over and put her feet on the floor. Roland rolled off the bed too, stood in front of her and held her so that she had to look up into his eyes. “Go to my desk, Teresa.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

“And turn to face it.”

“Interesting.” But she did as she was told. It occurred to her that he was easy to obey because he wanted her and he focussed on her. He never made her feel like she was on her own. If he did, she expected that he’d find that obedience, in a sexual content, is a fragile thing. He hadn’t told her to, but to show him where she stood on matters of command and compliance, she put her hands back on her head.

Roland stepped behind her now, and cupped her breasts, lifting them a little while squeezing her nipples between the forefinger and middle finger of each hand. Teresa pursed her lips, and hissed almost silently. The pressure on her nipples was just hard enough that she could be certain that he meant to hurt her, though not too much. 

She arched back so her arse found and pressed against his cock. He grunted, and she felt his cock growing at that contact, from semi-hard to absolutely, fully committed. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and stepped back. Debbie stayed where she was.

“Good girl,” he said. It was the first time he’d called her that. She knew, from reading books like Tessa’s Task, with the attractively domineering billionaire Julian and his submissive and virginal secretary Tessa, that those two words are more important than they might seem. Julian, in Tessa’s Task, had called Tessa a good girl after he’d spanked and buttfucked her.

People who get dominant when they’re turned on, like Julian and, it was now obvious, like Roland say that to submissive partners they approve of. If she didn’t want to be praised for submissiveness, “good girl” would only be offensively patronising. They’d be offensive words addressed to her or to any female person over the age of twelve, she thought, except in exactly this context.

SoTeresa froze for a moment, frowning. She considered whether to object, or deflect it with a joke. But part of her was simply pleased that he thought she was good. She felt Roland, behind her, freeze too. He’d be nervous, of course. It was as though saying ‘good girl’ was his job application, and he was waiting to see if he had the job. At last she smiled and nodded. She heard Roland breathe out, and he kissed her shoulder. She was still sceptical, despite the concessions she’d made on their previous night together. He might be more relieved than he should be. Still, he could have a trial period. Provisionally, he had the job.

He didn’t know about her reservations. He said, “Now put your feet well apart and bend over, Reresa. Nipples and nose touching that desktop. Stretch your arms out sideways, and don’t move them. Now, Teresa.”

This time the pause only lasted a second. Then Teresa obeyed, putting her hands on the desktop and lowering her body into that unmistakably submissive position. Obedience to that order was likely to turn out to be rewarding in multiple ways. She would be fucked, and fed. Now bent over, obedient and at risk of being called “good girl” again, she frowned, evaluating the position she found herself in.

She improved it, straightening her legs without being told, to present her uplifted arse for him.

So he stepped forward and put his hand on her bottom, caressing her left cheek fondly, then made claws of his hands, dragging his fingernails gently up from the crease of her thighs to the small of her back, and then returning to her thighs. Her skin goosebumped under that light touch. He rubbed her more firmly, then smacked her arse. 

“Are you – Are you going to spank me?”

“Of course. Would you try to tell me you haven’t been asking for it, little minx?” 

Vampire girl #35: The End

The previous episode is here.


I’ve told the preamble to Diane’s birching at some length and detail, from first meeting her to getting her home, tied naked over a bench, with a birch assembled with twigs from the local park.

I’ve been putting off telling the actual birching part of the story, because while what happens during a whipping is immensely intense as an experience, it tends to make poor literature. All too often it turns into something that looks like Victorian flagellation pornography, all onomatopoeia and exclamations.

tumblr_mezsqqqbFu1qfbon7o1_500Like this: 

“SWISH-CRACK!! – Aiyee! Arrgh! Oh it is too much!

CRISH-SWACK!! – Oh, have pity! I shall die! Oh, mercy! 

SWICK-CRASH! – Arrrh! Huuuuu!”

and so on. 

So I’ll just report that I started Diane with about a dozen strokes, and she wriggled and coloured nicely under the birch.

Though I was turned on, and though she was a wet girl when I applied the finger test, I realised that I was going to have to apply the birch much harder if I wanted to break her skin. 

So I doubled the strength of the strokes. I had been swinging the birch like a cane, but I began to use it more as a whip, with a twist of the wrist just before the impact, so that the twigs lashed across her buttocks and thighs at very high speed. After a dozen in that style, Diane was writhing in pain. She was weeping, and she wailed that it really hurt. I believed her. And I continued, just as hard.

rus_1931After thirty hard strokes she was wailing more or less continuously. It wasn’t really loud enough to wake the neighbours or have the cops breaking in the door, but her howls did fill the room. I loved the way she sounded: it was similar to the noises she made when she came. 

Still, although I was enjoying myself, I had to watch her carefully. She wasn’t going to use the safeword, but I was still worried about the strokes being too hard. I prefer knowing for certain that the submissive is safe, physically and emotionally, but I couldn’t be so sure in this situation. But the truth is that as her whipping got harder I got more focussed on her safety than on the things I usually enjoy. I was less comfortable and my cock got softer.

By the time I was onto Diane’s fortieth stroke, it was clear to me that all those stories I’d read about birchings in which the blood flows like wine, and the twigs spatter about the room, were fiction. Either that, or the Victorians and the other people who wrote birching porn were absolute maniacs. I was birching Diane very hard, and though she was obviously a sore and happy girl, she wasn’t bleeding.

So I let the birch wrap round her hips and the sides of her thighs. I generally try to avoid that, because the part of any instrument that lands on the further side of the target will hit the hips or thighs at ten or twenty times the force and speed of the part of the instrument that hits buttocks or thighs directly.

Finally, after delivering a series of lashes in which I left six inches or so of the tips of the birch to slash onto the skin on the further side of her buttocks, I got a yowl from Diane, and, at last, a couple of spots of blood on her hip. One of them trickled. 

“So,” I said, as if I’d been lusting for that, “you vampires do bleed.” (I’d thought about that line. It sounded ridiculous to me, but I guessed that she’d like to hear it.) I scooped up a smear of her blood with my index finger and held it to her mouth for her to lick. She was joyous.

The act of collecting that spot of blood revealed that the cut was tiny, less than a paper cut and probably not as painful. Blood refilled the tiny gap in her skin, but didn’t well up or overflow. The trickle stopped. 

So I gave her another dozen, as hard as I could, because I knew Diane was deep in subspace, and close to coming. I got a few more scratches and a bit more blood – enough to keep Diane happy, since I threw in a lot of rhetoric about how the blood was flowing down her thighs. It wasn’t, but I didn’t let her see whether that was true or not.

When I put the birch down and gave her three fingers in her cunt, it took her about twenty seconds to her first orgasm, and that orgasm, or the series of them, went on for a couple of minutes. 

But there’s a psychological limit to how hard most people can whip another person. I’d reached mine. We’d also got close to the physical limit of what that birch could do. I’d swung it hard and fast, and  I didn’t see how that birch could land much harder. 

I had a happy vampire girl, who wanted another hard birching straight away. (I told her she didn’t deserve it.) She wanted more. Me, I’d had an interesting time and parts of it had been hot, but I wanted less.

It had been an experience and I like experience, in general. And I’d delivered something that Diane had wanted. A dom should try to deliver what a submissive wants,though we like to do it in a round-about way so she doesn’t feel in control.

But it turned out that drawing blood is one of my limits.


[The end]

Vampire girl #34

The previous episode is here.


Diane had waited long enough. She was tied securely, I’d warmed up her bottom and thighs with the strap. She was psychologically ready. There was only one person in the room who wasn’t ready. But I’d procrastinated enough.

I picked up the birch and held the twigs to Diane’s mouth. You can’t kiss a birch the way you kiss a strap or a cane, but she nuzzled amongst the twigs in a kissy way.

I said, “Good. Diane, you don’t have to count the strokes. You can cry out if you like. I don’t mind the neighbours knowing you’re getting a whipping. It’s up to you whether you mind.”


“And if you run into problems, remember to say Alucard.”

“I won’t say it.”

“Well, it’s there if you want it. Turn your head and look at me.”

Diane turned her face so her left cheek rested on the blanket. Her eyes followed my every move.

I gave her a show, raising the birch above my shoulder, holding it for a few seconds. She kept her face blank, but I got alarm when I raised myself on tip-toes. Then I lashed it down.


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Vampire girl #33

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But I didn’t pick up the birch. I took my belt off and folded it, then held it to Diane’s mouth. She kissed it, but frowned, puzzled. “To warm you up before I birch you.” 

“I’m already warm!” 

“It’s better for you. Are you in a good position to argue with me?” 

“No. Sorry.” 

I straightened up quickly and lashed the belt down, hard, onto her right thigh, on taut skin a couple of inches above the knee. It sounded like a starter’s gun, and a bright red band formed almost immediately. Diane writhed, as far as the rope would allow, and howled shrilly. The neighbours would have had to be listening to pay it much attention, but she was in good voice. If I wanted to make her serenade the whole street, she would, with just a few more strokes like that. 

“Sorry what?” 

Diane fought for breath to speak. The pain was still building. “Oh my god. Sir. Sorry, Sir. Sir. Sorry.” 

“Don’t forget it.” 

I began to strap Diane’s bottom and the plumpest part of her thighs just below the crease. I applied the belt leisurely, swinging its looped weight down onto her with an overarm stroke every twenty seconds or so. I kept the strokes hard but not as hard as the one I’d placed on her lower thigh. Diane relaxed, happy enough to be belted, while her bottom glowed pink, then red.

After twenty-five strokes she was beautifully and brightly red, her skin hot to the touch, and – when I applied the high-speed finger test to her cunt – sweetly, slickly wet. 

I smacked the belt down between her thighs, to catch meatily against her opened cunt. Diane was silent, as she had been for the other strokes to her bottom. But her mouth formed an O and she held her hips up, hoping for another. 

I stepped in front of her so she could see me smile at her, and watch me put the belt back on. “What do you say?” 

“Sir! Thank you, Sir. Thank you for, um, warming my bottom, Sir.” 

I reached down and caressed her hair, then put the fingers of my left hand into her mouth, as a reward. Diane sucked earnestly, running her tongue along each fingertip in turn. 


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Vampire girl # 32

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“You ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“This is going to hurt you, Diane, no matter how I do it. Do you understand?”

“Of course. I am ready.” 

And she was. But still… “Okay. But if it gets too much, just say, oh, ‘Alucard’, say, and I’ll stop.” 

Diane chuckled. “‘Alucard’? That’s silly.”

“Yeah, but you’ll remember it. Say ‘Alucard’.” 

“‘Alucard’, Sir. But I’m not going to say it. I don’t need a safe word.” 

“Then it’s good that you’ve got one. Use it if you need it. That’s an order.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Okay. Relax your muscles. Especially on your ass. Each time I see you tense up, I’ll give you extra. On your thighs.”

“Yeah, that hurts much worse.”

“Any extras will be hard, Diane. The neighbours will hear you screaming. They’ll hear you out on the street. Now, get your head down.”

Diane sighed, and wriggled. She seemed almost comfortable. 


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Vampire girl #31

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And so Diane was tied. Her legs splayed like a frog’s, and her hips were pushed up by the pillows, so her cunt was well presented. I was behind her, and she could not turn her head to look back, so the finger I ran lightly, just inside her lips, was a shock to her. She was wet. 

My finger was gone before she could relax and enjoy the touch. Her hips juddered, almost imperceptibly. I was certain that she wanted to beg, to plead for me to stroke her cunt again.  But she’d learned enough to know it would do no good. I put my hand on her ass, my forefinger near her asshole. She held herself still, absolutely still, her ass up as far as she could hold it.

She was like a puppy hoping for a biscuit. She posed and waited. Hoping.

I smiled, which she couldn’t see, and smacked her bottom, twice. She held the pose. “Good girl,” I said.

Diane breathed out. Disappointed and obscurely happy not to have her own way. I felt very tender, very fond of her at that moment. It was time to birch her. 


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Vampire girl #30

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I‘ve never been very interested in bondage for its own sake. Many people like it, as an artform. I just use bondage to take away the choice of moving, and to let the submissive feel that she’s helpless. My interest is in the bonds being effective and feeling ruthless. 

Before this night with Diane it was mostly a kind of play-acting when I tied a submissive. I’d used bondage mostly as a kind of play-acting. I might let her wait and enjoy the sense of being held in place, no matter how she struggled, but mostly I had an agenda – discipline, or fucking, or both. The ties I used generally let her struggle and writhe about, enjoying the sense of being held implacably, and feeling herself to be a poor helpless little thing. But in most cases the bonds weren’t really necessary. The submissive would have been able to hold herself still and stay presented even if I hadn’t tied her.

So bondage allowed submissives I played with, or lived with, the benefit of not having to stay obedient during discipline, while pretending that if she as to be tied then the discipline must be terribly fierce and severe.

But Diane was likely to go through pain that was a notch or two harder than I’d delivered before. This really would be severe. I’d chosen the birch because it seemed the instrument most likely to cut her skin and draw some blood without my having to flail away like I was threshing corn. I could be moderate and still give her some cuts and abrasions, and a bit of red trickle to admire in the mirror. Even so, people who’d been birched had mixed feelings about whether they’d enjoyed it, but no-one seemed to be in any doubt that it had hurt.

So I tied Diane with unusual care, fixing her wrists and ankles, and adding a few loops round her knees to keep them well spread. When I’d finished she was trussed, certainly unable to move from her position on the centre of the table.

Diane cooperated in being tied, obeying when I told her to move, but she had no difficulty staying silent.

I said, “I’m going to birch you.”

Diane nodded, then said, “Yes, Sir.”  

“I’m going to draw blood, little vampire girl. And then I’m going to continue. Are you ready for that?”

Another nod. Then she remembered and said, “Yes, Sir.” Her throat was dry.


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Vampire girl #29

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I picked up the birch while Diane was fiddling about in the bedroom, untying the cords attached to her bed. I gave it a couple of practice swings, making a silken, dangerous sound in the air. Diane returned just as I swished it the third time, and she paused and swallowed before taking another step towards me. 

She held out the rope: three separate pieces, each neatly coiled and about four metres long,  “Sir? How do you want me?” 

I ignored the rope she held out and looked at her. “Er,” she said, “want me to be, when you birch me.”

“Put two cushions on the coffee table. In the middle so you can get your ass on them. Nice and high.”

“Yes, Sir.” Diane arranged the cushions as instructed, and looked at me again. “Shall I take my shirt off now, Sir?”

“I’ll tell you if I want you to do anything. And I don’t need helpful suggestions, Diane.”

“No, sorry, Sir. Shall I bend – Oh. No, sorry Sir.”

“That’s better. And yes, Diane, get on the table now. Face down. Get your hips over the cushions and keep your ass up. Good girl. Now spread your legs. Because I’m going to want to birch the insides of your thighs, girl. Spread wider. That’s right.”

Diane obeyed. That line about “inner thighs” had reached her. 

Once she’d arranged herself as ordered, she waited, looking at me, a man with a birch in his hand. I was looking at a submissive woman entirely offered, presented, on a table. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something. But she remembered in time, and did not speak. 


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Vampire girl #28

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We reached Diane’s apartment and her door clicked behind us. We were in Diane’s world, or at least her living room, and the world was outside, far away. There was a couch, an armchair and a long low wooden coffee table.

I’d fucked her on each one of those items. And I’d burnt her knees on the carpet. So there was a sense that we were back in our proper place: a room we had sex in, and where Diane was often mildly and deliberately hurt. So Diane was under my direction in this room, and in my power. She hoped. She turned and looked at me. “Sir? Would you like me to take my shirt off?”

But I wasn’t quite in my place yet. I was just in over my head. Fortunately, a dom can always bluff. “When I tell you, Diane. First, that rope by your bed. Get it. Fetch it. Bring it here.” I smacked her thigh.

But Diane just looked confused, and held the bundle of switches out for a second, as if to offer them to me. Oh.“Yes, of course. Put the birch down first. Stupid girl.”

I smacked her thigh again, as though it was her fault that I’d given her an order I hadn’t thought through. It was unfair but Diane wanted me to be leading and in the right.

“Oh. Sorry, Sir.” Diane put her bundle of switches on the coffee table, frowning.

I caught most of her hair in one handful to pull her upright. I smacked her bottom twice, three times, and then kissed her. “Now go!”

I was still making this up as I went along, but I was starting to find the way forward. Diane went.   


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Vampire girl #27

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We walked back from the park in silence. I didn’t mind that. Just a few minutes earlier, Diane had come, from being taken to a park, stripped near-naked in a public place and whipped. So she had that to think about, and although there were some self-revelations that might have surprised her, I was sure she was enjoying the memory.

I was confident, too, that she was looking forward to the moment when we got to her apartment and I closed the door behind us. She was expecting that our session back home, where I’d have more privacy to do painful and sexual things to her and she’d have privacy to writhe and struggle and squeal, would be even better.

I wasn’t unhappy, but my thoughts weren’t quite as sunny as hers. I was about to birch Diane till I drew blood. I knew that was what she wanted, and that she’d be very disappointed if I didn’t. But I’d never drawn blood. I was proud of being careful and accurate when I used any instrument on a submissive.

I don’t think I’d even broken a submissive’s skin, or drawn the most modest spot of blood. Part of my definition of being good at domming was not doing what I was about to try to do. 

I couldn’t talk about these doubts with Diane, or at least I felt that I shouldn’t. Although most submissives will be ready to talk through any doubts, fears or insecurities a dom may have, she’d prefer not to have to. Diane wanted my certainty and my power, not my doubts and weaknesses.

So I slipped my hand under Diane’s torn siort and patted, then gripped her right buttock, feeling the warmth from the last time my hand had landed there, and enjoying the muscular action as she walked. She smiled at me and we walked together, hip to hip. She was proud. She’d been brave, she’d pushed her own boundaries, and she was about to push them further, she expected. I wasn’t so sure I felt pride, but I walked proudly. With her. 


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