Wicked Wednesday: Gor blimey! A Collar?

I’d just asked Monica if she knew what a collar was. There was a silence. 

“They have them in those fucking awful Gor books, don’t they. ‘I will put my collar on you. You are wearing my collar. It is good that you wear my collar, little kajillion, or some name like that.’ The slavegirl lowered her eyes. ‘I am collared,’ she said simply. ‘I wear your collar.’ And so forth like that?”

“Good parody. I take it that actually you’ve read a few of those?”

Monica snuggled in closer. “Yes. They were really, really beyond terrible, I know. But when you’re fifteen and you’d like to – well, surrender a bit, they were fantastically sexy. I bought maybe four of them, before I realised they’re all much the same.”

“I bet they all fell open at the whipping scenes.”

“Oh yes. Once I’d owned them for a bit.”

“Yes, well. But the collaring idea has sort of floated free from the Gor books. Most people who do bdsm probably don’t even know that’s where collars came from. Now they mean whatever the people want them to mean.” 

“What do you want it to mean, Master?” She jabbed her elbow into my stomach, to underline, or undermine, that ‘Master’. So I smacked her bottom eight times, before getting a “Sorry.” Then I held her down with my left hand, and applied for six more smacks, making them much harder. She squirmed and said, “Ow!” She didn’t mean it had hurt. 

“Possession, little one. That you’re my property. We can do a contract if you want, setting out what you give me, which is you, basically. And what I give you, which is love and care. And authority. Discipline. Then we sign.”

“In blood! Has to be in blood!” She looked very appealing when she bounced. 

“Oh, all right. Anyway, think of it as your ownership papers, like for a car.” 

She rolled onto her stomach, and looked down at my cock. It had recently been in her ass. If she wanted to suck me, I’d make her wash me first, with a warm, soapy cloth. She’d wash me, I knew, till I was hard, and do the rest with her mouth. It’d be another of those little acts of service, that weren’t really about service.

“Shall we go and get me a slave collar? Or are you busy this morning?” 

“I think we plan to be very busy this morning. Go get a warm, soapy cloth.” 

She said, “Hmmf.” I smacked her again, then reached for the wooden spoon. She scrambled up. “Yes, Master.”

Wicked Wednesday: Monica gets used (and used to it)

I liked the little groan Monica gave, when I entered her ass, just the glans of my cock in past that muscle. She’d insisted that I fuck her hard, and not care if it hurt her, so this time I didn’t stop to let her get used to my presence. I pushed forward, into Monica’s lubed but very tight asshole, slowly enough for her to be able to feel herself yielding every centimetre, but faster than usual. 

Then we were pressed together, Monica’s asshole firmly plugged with me, and her heated, well welted bottom pressed against the cooler skin of my groin and the fronts of my thighs. I stopped, loving the sensations, while she panted, hard, four times, like a dog. It was only the second time she’d ever been anally fucked, and that first time had been only about two hours ago. 

I kissed her shoulder. “Getting used to it, girl?”

“No!” She was lying, though. I withdrew again, almost all the way out, and pushed forward again. Monica squealed on the in-stroke. It didn’t sound like pain. It was system overload: too mach sensation. When I’d filled her, and we pressed tight together again, I smacked the left side of her thigh.

The slap rang in the room. Monica said, “Fuck.” It wasn’t a protest.

So we fucked, a heated girl, the man who had beaten and heated her enjoying the warmth blaring from her soft skin. She was moving with me now, and kept her tightly bent ass pressed against me as I fucked her. Monica had been on her hands and knees, but as the fuck progressed her arms slowly buckled and her breasts and face pressed down against the pillows. 

I smiled, not that she could see me. For some reason that collapse looked and felt like surrender, and it touched and reached me. I was already smitten, but it was probably time to think about the longer term soon. Not now, though. I reached down to grasp her hips in my hands, holding her tight and meaning my grasp to hurt her, as I held her tight against me. Monica sighed. It was a happy sound.

And then we fucked. A couple of times I had to slow down, and once I froze, since another move would make me come, and I was enjoying myself too much. Monica liked the hard, fast sequences, and at one stage I suspected her of having sneakily come without permission.

I didn’t make an issue of it. But at last I smacked her hard again, and growled, “Now, little pipi. You come now,” and we moved up a gear, fucking as hard and fast as we could. There was no sneakiness in her second orgasm: she yelled and yowled, my loud girl, and then subsided, panting again, while I pumped her and came in her myself. I sank down onto her back until she was flat on the bed, on her tummy with me on top of her, cock still hard in her ass. 

We kept still for a long time. I think she was enjoying the experience of my cock slowly wilting, shrinking, inside her. So was I. I could only kiss her shoulder. I said, “pipi.”

She said, “Master.” Neither of us meant anything specific. She reached for my right hand and held it. At last I had to withdraw because if I didn’t I’d lose the condom. We turned then and held each other. Usually I wash after anal, even with a condom, or make my girl get a warm cloth and wash me, but we were too fond and happy to care. We rolled over, so I was under her. I stroked her breasts.

Lots of things occurred to me. The one I said was, “You know what a collar means?”

 

Monica the lube monitor

Monica lay facedown on the bed, legs spread, ass arched up so she could lube herself. She turned to watched me watching her, her finger glazed with lube, delving into her ass. “Do I look hot?”

“You look hot. Also obedient, which I like. And beautiful. So, yeah, you’re pretty much my ideal woman.”

She pulled her finger out and half turned, to coat it with more lube. “I feel hot. I mean turned on. But I was sure this looks pretty good, in your eyes.”

“Yup.”

“Pervert.”

“And proud of it.” I smacked her thigh. And put a condom on, because she really was enticing me.

“Good boy. Master! Re condom. Can I – ?” She rolled over and sat up, taking my cock in one hand and slathering the other with lube. I said nothing. She knew that lubing me was almost sex in itself, and that if she did it for long I’d need a new condom, and some down time.

She looked in my eyes. “I guess this is service. It feels good.” 

I kissed her, since her face was close. “This is sort of service. But real service comes from doing things for your Master that you wouldn’t usually get pleasure from. Like, how are you at ironing shirts?”

“I suck at it. Guess I can learn. I can imagine how it’d feel sexual if it’s slave service, and I knew that I’m pleasing my Master. But I’m pretty good at looking after boots!” 

“Then you get both, pipi. Uh, it’s time you got on your hands and knees now.” 

“It is.” Monica turned and got into a sort of catlike position, knees wide apart, back arched so her cunt and glazed asshole were pointed at me. I got up on my knees and shuffled forward till I had my hands on her hips and my cock just touching that tight muscle. So she knew I was there.

“Just say if it gets uncomfortable, or painful. I only like to hurt you in ways I can control.” 

Monica shook her head violently. “No! I want you to fuck me hard. I don’t care if it hurts. All the better if it does. Just fuck me. Er, please, Master.”

So I smacked the sides of her crimson, richly warm and red ass, and pushed forward,, until the head of my cock was firmly inside her. 

Monica groaned.

Wicked Wednesday: Monica across my knee

Monica lay over my lap, bottom up. I kissed two fingers and help them to her mouth, and she kissed them. Then I kissed the fingers again and pressed them against her left buttock, o she understood. My current state of mind was very pro-Monica.

Monica had turned her head to watch me while I spanked her. She smiled at me, then made a kiss shape with her lips. I smiled back, and then let my fingers trail down between her buttocks, and stroke the sweet wet fruit of her cunt. 

She closed her eyes then and sighed, and she started to rock on my lap, starting to work towards that orgasm that we’d agreed would be the only thing that stopped this spanking. Eventually I raised my hand, three fingers wet all the way to the soft tissue connecting the metacarpalphalangeal joints, which deserve a more familiar name, don’t they?

Anyway, I removed thoroughly wet fingers, and gave Monica her first over-the-knee spank. I made it hard, because my experience is that a submitting girl gets more pleasure from a hard spank, and that means, paradoxically, that it hurts less than a softer or more hesitant slap. Monica sucked in a breath and her bottom clenched. 

She wasn’t experienced enough yet to be doing that as deliberate disobedience, but I spanked the backs of her thighs, four hard smacks. Till then they’d been left relatively pale; now they bloomed in dark pink. I put my left hand on the small of her back to hold her down. “You stay relaxed while I spank you, girl. Clench your bottom again and I’ll give you ten with the wooden spoon.”

I don’t think she was pretending to look alarmed at that. “Yes, Master. Sorry.”

“Good girl. Now stay in position. Just relax and ride, Monica.” I spanked her right cheek this time, then settled down for a long series, left then right, while Monica sighed, and occasionally made sweet moan. After about twenty or thirty spanks – I wasn’t counting; the number was irrelevant – I pressed two fingers onto her hot and brightly crimson left cheek, so she understood she’d just been kissed again, at least symbolically, and then stroked her cunt.

Monica sighed, and moved in response to my hand. She wanted faster stroking, so she got it. After a couple of minutes her moans got higher and more flustered, and she said, “Oh.” She froze suddenly. 

It wasn’t an orgasm. It was a kind of plateau, a little stop on the way. I resumed her spanking, a little harder than before, because I don’t think she was capable of feeling it as pain. When I’d used my belt and the wooden spoon before, she’d writhed and struggled. But now she lay quietly as I smacked her over and over, breathing slow and soft, still rocking rhythmically on my lap, with my cock pressed hard against her flank. She would accept whatever I gave her. We were, in a complicated sense, fucking.

I resumed the spanking, faster now, and harder; she was working her way to that orgasm, sure enough. 

At last, when she was riding high, squeaking and muttering unintelligibly, I moved the hand I’d been holding her down with and reached under her to pinch her left nipple. Monica screamed, not because it hurt. Though I hoped it did. Then she screamed again, and her legs parted wide, and she flopped on my lap, grunting and squealing. She sounded wonderful. She was happy. And triumphant. I stopped her spanking and held her arse tight with both hands. “Good girl, good girl, good girl.” I said it over and over. 

At last she rolled over, and held my hard cock. She kissed it, but I pulled her up so I could look into her eyes and kiss her mouth. Only one woman had managed that before, at least with me, but I didn’t want to say to Monica that she wasn’t the first. So I said, “You’re amazing. Little horny girl. Can I keep you?”

“Do that again, then maybe. Actually, it’s not up to me any more. Master.”

“You’ll do.” 

“Good. So will you.” We could have stayed like that for hours, just cuddling and praising each other, but I had urgencies of my own, now. “Get the lube.”

She’d demanded a two-part ‘punishment’, with this spanking, then getting anally fucked again. “Oh yes.” 

“I want to watch you lube yourself, little one. So I can fuck you. While your arse is still nice and toasty. Now!” 

Monica hummed two rising notes, and rummaged in her bedside drawer.

 

.  

Wicked Wednesday: What Monica really hates

Monica had said I should punish her for lying to me – in fact I’d told her to tell me a lie – by doing something to her that she’d hate. 

I said, “You know, this may never end. Because I’m going to ask you what you really hate, and then I’ll know that you’re lying again, and so I’ll have to punish you again.”

“You applied to be my Master. Too late to back out now. Anyway, I don’t mind if it goes on forever. I don’t think you do. Yeow!” 

That last sound was because I squeezed her nearest nipple, the left one, and then twisted. “I was looking for the Off Switch.”

“That isn’t it, Master. It seems to be a bit of an On.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Anyway, what it that you’ll really hate?”

“Well, I think you should put me over your knee, and spank me just with your hand, because that feels more personal. So, better punishing. And I bet that if you spanked me till I came, that would be sooo humiliating! It’d just show me what a disgraceful slut I am.”

“You think you’d come, just from being spanked?”

“You can stroke me a little bit, iff you feel like it. But yes, I think, yes, I reckon I can.” 

“And that would punish you?”

“Oh, it’s a spanking! That’s a punishment! And that orgasm: so humiliating! I’d be so sorry!. And then … “

“‘But wait there’s more’? You’re going to say having your cunt licked is very punishing too?”

“No. Your cock in my little, not quite so virgin, arse. I admit I liked that the first time. But I’m sure I’ll hate the second time. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

“Yes, you need whipping, is what you need. But…” I thought about it, keeping her in suspense. This was a gratuitous piece of topping from the bottom, but I’ve never really cared about that if it’s fun. If the sub goes too far, it’s easy to deal with. And this promised to be fun.

At last I nodded. “All right, little pipi. Get over my knee.” 

Monica knelt beside me, bobbed down to kiss my cock, then further to take me in her mouth, then launched herself forward so she was in place, her bottom the perfect target. 

She was already red, from over a hundred smacks, some from my belt and some from her wooden spoon.

I was about to make her a solid, blazing crimson. Yes, spanking her till she came, if she could, wasn’t exactly punishment, but it certainly made an interesting project. I put my hand on her delicious bottom, and squeezed.

 

Wicked Wednesday: When did Monica lie?

So Monica had told me three stories: 

1 The first man to spank her had let her down, bursting into tears and demanding that she spanked him instead;

2 She did have a submissive relationship with a woman who used to ride her like a pony, but never took the crop to her; 

3 Actually she had a dominant relationship with that woman, who she used to spank with a hairbrush if her cunnilingual tongue action wasn’t enthusiastic enough.

I said, “The first story is true. Because of mathematics. Though it’s plausible anyway.” 

“What do you mean, ‘because of mathematics’?”

“”Only one of your two stories about a woman lover can be true, because they contradict each other. So if there have to be two true stories, and only one of Stories Two and Three can be true, then Story One has to be true. Regardless”

“Ah yes. Your stories didn’t contradict each other. I’ll have to remember that next time.” 

“And you’re not the first woman I’ve heard complaining about a guy claiming to be a dom and then wimping out when he’s got permission. And you gave him his spanking when he begged for it, even though it didn’t turn you on at all. I believe that because you’re nice, and that was nice of you.”

“Actually it was really hard.” 

“I bet he was.” 

Monica bit me. “Idiot. I meant it was hard for me to spank him, but you knew that. I really had to force myself to do it. It felt so unnatural. Only as a thing for me to do, I mean. Other girls can spank guys to their heart’s content. And their cunt’s.”

“They sure can. It was brave of you, too. Going so far out of your own comfort zone. It’s a hard thing to do, and brave when it pushes you into a complicated role that you really don’t know and don’t want. Don’t think I didn’t notice that, too.”

“The second story is true too. And it’s really hot. I can’t ride on your back. But … I could take you to a park, wearing only blinkers and a pony-tail butt plug.”

Only, huh? In a park?”

“And hitch you up to a cart so you can pull me along. I’ll signal left or right turns with a whip. On your bum, which I’ll be watching very closely.”

She checked my cock for signs of returning life. They were there. “That’s really … perverted,” she said.

She rubbed my cock again, gently and slowly, and it started to fill and rise. I could tell that “perverted” did not mean “out of the question”. 

It’d never been a major fantasy of mine. And I wouldn’t do it in a park: a Master isn’t supposed to get his girl arrested.. But I had a friend who owned some land out past Lithgow. So maybe … 

I stroked her cunt lightly and she said, “Ump”, and turned on her side facing me, raising one thigh to give me better access.

I delved in wet girl, and said, “And the third story is a lie, and I fling the lie in your face.”

She had my cock in a circle made by her thumb and forefinger, and stroked it lightly. I was hard now. She said, “And why?”

“Because slavegirls who lie to their Masters should have their lies flung in their faces.” 

“I suppose so. But why is that story a lie?”

“You can barely bring yourself to spank a boy who begs you to. So I don’t see you domming anybody, male or female. The third story is the lie.” 

She cast her eyes down. It wasn’t especially good acting. “You win, Master.”

“Well, you won your round. So it’s a draw. We’re getting a feel for each other.” 

“But I still have to be punished for lying to you.” I kissed her, and put a third finger in her cunt. She closed her eyes and kissed. “I have a suggestion for how you punish me. Something I’ll really hate.”

She was grinning, her eyes sparkling. That “something I’ll really hate” was another lie. But I was curious to know what it was.

Monica tells a lie

Monica was lying between my legs, sucking my cock while I leaned against my wall, occasionally flicking her bottom with my belt. But even when you’re young and dumb, no one’s completely full of come, and I was not going to come in her mouth.

So I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up. She looked in my eyes for clues about what might happen next. Clues are always welcome. I said, “No. It’s your turn now. You have to tell me two truths and a lie. I need to know if you play saxophone.” 

“Ah. It’s trombone, actually. And skin flute.” I smacked the belt down on her arse again, a bit harder. “No! I haven’t started yet. But trombone was a lie. And I don’t make ‘bone’ jokes. So don’t you, either.” 

I kissed her. She tasted of me. I’m not actually my own favourite taste (where do male narcissists stand on that?), but I’ll put up with it if it means kissing Monica.

“I bet you don’t even play saxabone.” She pulled a disgusted face. She was not wrong. Then I smacked her arse again. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of that. “Two truths and a lie, Monica. Starting … NOW!”

Monica put on her frowning, thinking face. Then she said, “The only time a man ever spanked me, before today, he burst into tears about half way through and asked me to spank him. So I did, because I’m such a kind girl, but there was nothing in it for me. So I’ve always been a bit suspicious of male spankers.”

I thought about that, then said, “Yeah, OK, that’s reasonably believable.”

“The only woman Domme I’ve ever known, she rode me one night, with her on my back and silk ribbons in my cunt. If she pulled the right ribbon I had to turn right, or left if she pulled the left one. It was kind of hot, but she never followed through. I mean she never whacked me, and I kind of thought that might be … good. And I’m being rude about her, unfairly, because she was good at cunnilingus, and she liked to do me, and I liked being done.

She reached down and stroked my cock. “But, this is sort of uncool of me to say, but I really like cock. I mean live cock, not plastic.”

I said, “But you liked being ridden?”

“Hah! She was smaller than me. It was odd having a lover smaller than me. But you’re not, and no, Master, I’d prefer it if you didn’t try to ride me. Not in that sense, anyway.”

“Noted. Also plausible, and an interesting idea.”

“I’m not your horse, Master. It’d be like trying to ride a Labrador.”

That somehow caused a huge surge of affection in me, and I kissed her, looking in her eyes, with meaning. Eventually we broke off and I said, “And … “

“Right. And actually, my woman lover, she had the yummiest little arse. I used to spank her with my hand and make her lick me till I came. And I always had a hairbrush in my hand when she was serving me, in case I thought her attention had wandered or she wasn’t serving me hard enough.”

“So, she was a submissive, then. Not your Domme at all.”

“I think sometimes she slackened just because she wanted the hairbrush.”

“Interesting. And you don’t seem very Dom-y to me, but that’s also plausible.” 

Monica looked at me. “So, Master. Which one was the lie? And how will you punish me for lying to you?”

 

Two truths and a lie: Monica guesses

“Two truths and a lie,” Monica said. “Yeah, they’re all plausible. 

The three stories I’d told were:

1. I lost my virginity at 14, to a bikie chick in Parramatta;

2. A teacher got a poem by me into a book released by the UN, and became my Dom/sub-centred sex fantasy for at least a year; and

3. I first became a Master because a submissive girl felt bad because she’d tried to have sex with someone else, and thought we’d split up over it, but instead I took her under my wing (and thumb). 

“But,” she continued, “the lie is the first one.” 

“Oh? Why do you think that?”

“First, you’re a nerd. You’re Masterly and all that, but you’re all nerd, too. And nerds don’t get laid at fourteen, usually. I bet you first got your end away at sixteen.” 

“Interesting,” I said, noncommittally, though she was right about the age.

“But that’s not that strong, because you are very keen on fucking, and you might have got lucky. But the give-away is that you said, ‘Parramatta’.” 

“Why is that a give-away?”

“Because you’ve got a New Zealand accent when you get excited. You’re a kiwi, and I bet you haven’t been here all that long. So wherever you were when you were fourteen, it wasn’t Parramatta.” 

I grinned. “OK. You’re too damn clever, and exactly right.” 

“So when did you get your first fuck?”

“I was sixteen, clever girl. And the girl, Josie, she wasn’t a bikie gang moll, though her last boyfriend before me was in the Gypsy Jokers. And she was from Pakuranga, which is maybe equivalent to Parramatta. Though the first fuck was in my flat in Mount Eden.” 

“At sixteen, you weren’t living at home?” 

“No, I’d slammed the door and gone. Paid the rent with a bit of house painting and some marijuana dealing.”

“Ahhh. So you were a bit of a wild boy.” 

“In a very middle-class way. I was always far more careful than I pretended to be. I hid that, but I was.”

“Figures too. So what do I win?”

“You win … I think you get your bottom smacked while you suck my cock.”

“That sounds more like your reward.”

I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it, hard, to move her face over my cock. Then with the other hand I spanked her perfect little arse.

She opened her mouth, and touched my cock, teasingly, with her tongue. That mattered. I had to pretend not to care, but I’d have been mortified if she wasn’t happy. 

But I kept my voice rough. “It’s exactly what you want. And what’s good for you. Suck my cock. Now.” 

Wicked Wednesday: Truth to Declare

After we’d finished the sex that began in our last exciting episode, I lay beached between Monica’s thighs. Not beached like a whale; maybe a sea lion. Monica had made louder and more appreciative noises than she’d awarded my cunnilingus. So I was happy. She was playing with my hair again.

Eventually she said, “We’ve known each other for hours, now. I know you’re a PR hack. I know you’re a depraved bastard who’s come in my mouth, my arse and my cunt, and whipped my arse in a taxi. Not to mention, whipped my arse in my kitchen and in this bed. And you think that you own me. Master. And you’re probably right. Here I am, anyway. What don’t I know about you?”

I said, “I don’t know. What I know about you is that you’re clever and beautiful, with superior fellatio skills.” She smiled, smugly. “And a perfect arse and a yummy cunt. And you seem to like getting whipped, which is lucky because I can’t imagine stopping. Not now I’ve started. But I don’t know where you got your evil cat, or whether you can play saxophone, or…. I guess we’ll find out more as we go along.”

She squeezed me with her thighs. My cock, slowly softening in her, felt that. There was a pause in the softening, though I was spent. I figured I’d need at least an hour before my cock would be able to stagger upright again.

She saw something in my face and squeezed me again. “Yeah. But I want to know more now. I’m not a girl you can keep waiting. You’re in this bed because you didn’t. But I want top know more right now. And to test what I think I do know.” 

I said, “Ahem. The life story of Jaime. Well, I was born at a very young age … “

She put her hand on my mouth. “No, we’re playing a game. Master. You’re going to tell me three things about yourself. Two of them true, and one lie. I have to guess which one is the lie. Go.” 

I thought. I shouldn’t keep her waiting, so I’d need to answer quickly. I said, “First, I lost my virginity at fourteen, to a girl who was a moll for the Gypsy Rogues. That means I’m at one sexual remove from every bikie in Parramatta.”  

Then I said, “Scuse me,” and withdrew from her, holding the condom in place with one finger. Thinking makes cocks smaller. 

Monica said, “Supplementary question: was it good?”

“Amazing. I was very keen. And very grateful;.” I bit her nipple. Monica purred, which was knowledge too, of a kind.

“Second, when I was nine I wrote a poem about a dead koala, which my teacher liked so much she sent it to the UN, who published it in a book about threats to the world’s wildlife. That teacher was very hot, and I used to watch her arse whenever she wrote on the blackboard.

“She kissed me when I got published, and that was the basis of all my masturbation fantasies for the next year. I had to imagine what she looked like naked. But in my mind she was very, very beautiful. And she was, in my dreams every night, my first sex slave.”

Monica raised her head to kiss my shoulder, then let herself back so she could watch my face. She said, “Hmm. Both plausible so far.” 

“Third, the first time I became someone’s Master, we were already having lots of spanking and role-play commands and obedience in our sex, but only as sex. But Sue spent the night with a psycho because she thought he was sexy, but he turned out to be violent and impotent. When she got back she said she’d been at a friend’s place, but that friend had already called to ask to speak to Sue. So I told her I knew she was lying. She confessed, and thought we’d break up.

“II didn’t want to break up. So instead I took my belt off and told her to undress and bend over the kitchen table. I strapped her till she was crying, and her arse and thighs were very, very red and hot, and she was very, very sorry. The sex we had afterwards, still over the table, was mind-blowing. Hotter than anything we’d had before.

“So she became mine, under my command and discipline for real, not for games. So: Master Jaime, his birth.”

Monica compressed her lips, thinking. She said, “Yes, that sounds like you, too. Opportunist. Disgraceful. Three stories, one of them a lie. Hmm.”

 

[I think I’ll leave it there. The exciting solution is next week!]

 

Wicked Wednesday: Laid-back Monica

Eventually Monica gave a sigh and a couple of squeaks. It wasn’t a big orgasm, just a comfortable one. Comfortable for Monica, at least.

I was pretty sure she’d drawn blood on my shoulders when she’d tighten her nails on me. But her thighs pressed against my ears, like cool, shapely silk, and that is one of my favourite things, way ahead on raindrops on noses and mittens on kittens. 

I looked up at her, past her belly and breasts, to see if she was smiling. She was. She looked down at me, and tried to pull me up her body by my hair. I smacked her flank for that, twice so she knew it was punishment, then came forward so my mouth was in kissing range of her nipples. pink and – I tested with my tongue – hard. My cock was between her upper thighs, not far from its natural home.

Monica smiled. “Master. I meet a man and call him Master. Must be all that patriarchal bullshit in The Magic Flute.” We’d met at the opera that evening, and we’d come a long way, fast.

I said, “This isn’t about patriarchy. It’s you, and me.” I thought about it, then smacked her flank again, simply because it was unfair.

“I think I know how your argument would go. And it’s right. But I’m still calling a man Master, the same evening I meet him.” 

So I was serious. “Monica, you know the politics of this. It’s choices that suit us, as people. And you can change your choice any time. I think it’s hot, you calling me Master, but you could stop.”

“Yes, Master. I could stop. Master.” Then she grinned. “Is this how you treat your slavegirls?” 

“I don’t have slavegirls. If you commit yourself, then you’re my harem, all one of you.” I remembered what we were talking about. “But, when you said, ‘is this how I treat slavegirls’, did you mean the spanking? Or the oral sex?”

She frowned. “Was that a Holy Grail reference? ‘After the spanking … the oral sex!'” 

“Oh hell! It was accidental. But yeah, I guess it was.”

“Anyway, I meant the oral sex. The cunnilingus, Sir Jaime. And maybe the spanking too. Though I prefer you smacking my arse than my sides.”

“Then don’t misbehave when I can’t get at your arse.” I smacked her again, to show that she didn’t make those decisions.

“Ouch,” Monica said, with utter insincerity.

“And … we have to talk, before you really become mine. And even then, you can revoke my status as Master at any time.”

“I can’t imagine you getting a Court to uphold my slavery contract. So you’ll just have to keep me happy.”

“I’ll do my best. And yes, slavegirls get lots of oral sex.”

Monica reached down to hold my cock, and found it hard. “Good,” she said. “Though it’s not oral sex I’m after right -“

I edged further up my body so my cock., still held and hard in her hand, touched wet, soft cunt.

“Get your thighs up, girl. I want your toes pointing at the ceiling. Later you can rest them on my arse.” 

“Right masterly,” she murmured. And made me welcome. I pressed forward.