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.

Wicked Wednesday: Mouthing Monica

We lay together, Monica facedown on the bed and I facedown mostly on Monica. My cock was still in her ass, just. Eventually I had to withdraw while I was still hard enough to take the condom with me. 

Then, like tired little mammals, we rolled over and slept, with Monica partly snuggled against my chest. I don’t know how long we slept, or whether it was Monica’s stirring or hunger that woke me. But when I opened my eyes and took in the world properly I saw that Monica had lifted herself onto her elbow and was looking down at me.

I said, “Hello, you.”

Monica smiled. “You’ll have to work out what to call me, won’t you? Hello, sir.”

“Hah. Monica will do. Or would you like a slavename?”

“What’s that? And I don’t think I’m a slave. I haven’t said so, and I think it’s up to me.”

“If you become my slavegirl, I think I’ll name you after your cunt. So … maybe oyster. Or no, pipi. That’s a New Zealand bi-valve mollusc, isn’t that interesting? But very vulva-looking shell, and delicious soft centre.”

“Pipi.” She considered. With every passing moment, I could tell, the idea of being a slavegirl was becoming incrementally less strange. “Pipi might be nice.”

“And also ‘Monica’. See, that’s a good name for a slave too.”

“Ha! I saw what you just did.” But we kissed then, and that was at least partly her doing.

“Pipi Monica Jaimeslave.”

“Well, we’ll see.” She squirmed in my direction, so her leg was between mine and her breasts pressed onto my chest. She said, “We’ve been awake for hours.”

“No we haven’t.”

“Ages, then. And you still haven’t put your cock in … “

I pushed her onto her back, and settled down, my face between her legs. I kissed that cunt. “Pipi,” I said. “We haven’t done lots of things. And there’s plenty of time.”

“Hmm.”

The wooden spoon was sticking out from under a pillow, and I reached for it. I said, “I promised you a hundred with this, and you’ve only had sixty-five. So … ?”

“So you think I need another thirty-five.”

“You do. And you know it.”

“Umm” But she lay back. That was OK with her. I kissed her cunt again, this time with more tongue, and she stroked the back of my head. Then I lifted my head, and smacked her cunt firmly, hard enough, with the spoon.

Monica said, “Didn’t hurt!”

But that wasn’t the game I wanted to play. I said, “Say, ‘Thank you, sir.'”

She whispered it. “Thank you, sir.”

I spanked her again, and she was louder, but still grateful. Her cries of ‘Thank you, sir’ got louder and higher pitched as the spoon got wetter. She was a very squishy girl now. Something about this spanking was working very well.

Somewhere after the twentieth stroke, not that I was counting, I said, “‘Thank you, Master.”

“What?”

“You heard. Do as you’re told, Monica. ‘Thank you, Master.'” ” I brought the spoon down on squishy, wet and sensitive girl.

A girl who cried out, “Thank you, Master.” Lust is magic.

“That’s right, girl.” I gave her the last dozen spanks while she yowled, writhed, and proclaimed her gratitude and her acceptance of her owned status.

Eventually I put the spoon down, so she knew it was over for now. I kissed her cunt again, then licked, hard, with my tongue, slowly lapping up till I touched her clitoris. “Pipi Monica Jaimeslave.” 

“That isn’t fair.” 

“Are you my slavegirl?”

“I’ve said so. So there is that.”

“Lift you thighs, Pipi.”

“Yes, sir.” I bit her lightly, just as a warning. “Yes, Master!”

“Good girl.” My heart was full, then. I loved her. I loved my slavegirl. Not that she’d really become that: not yet. I slid my hands under her arse and lifted her a little. And licked her cunt exactly as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Monica settled back, thighs wide, and let my mouth and tongue do what it would. There were still things to talk about, but first I had to show her that losing her independence can have its compensations. 

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Monica and the road less travelled

I’d just lubed Monica’s tight little asshole, putting the rest on my condommed cock. There’s a speech I usually make at that moment, at least the first time, where I check consent and make it clear that she’s in control. 

But Monica reached back and put her hands on the sides of her buttocks, parting them to give me better access. So I decided that consent was given, and that the rest of the speech wouldn’t be right: she liked the idea of me being ruthless, taking what I wanted. The whole point of Domming, and of hypnosis, is not to break the illusion.

So I growled, “Keep that ass up, girl, if you know what’s good for you.” 

Monica made a little vocal noise. It didn’t have words in it, but I took it that I’d said one of the possible right things. So I put my hands at the top of her thighs, squeezing hard enough to hurt a little, I hoped, and pushed forward. There was an instant’s resistance, and then she opened and I was inside, the head of my cock tightly held in slippery, lubed muscle.

I said, “Yes.” That was just pleasure. Then, for her, I said, “Good girl.”

Monica made another sound, a sort of gurgle. I looked down, feeling enormously fond of her. Her face was slightly turned to the left, and there was drool on her pillow. For some reason I found that utterly, absolutely hot, and I pushed further forward. Monica wailed. There was discomfort in that sound, but also celebration.

We moved together then, so I was fully in her, and my belly and thighs pushed against her bottom, still blazing hot from her wooden spoon spanking. We held still, both of us trembling, trying to savour the sensations and not move.

Eventually Monica said, “Ah, fuck … “

I said nothing, but took that as a request, and pushed forward to take one last centimetre, then withdrew a little. And then returned. Monica kept still at first, hands still holding her buttocks for me, but then she put her elbows back on the bed to support herself while she moved with me.

I smacked the sides of her ass, and then her thighs, while we fucked, and she made a sound, not in response to each blow but of gritty appreciation. So that was right too, but I soon lost the ability to coordinate the smacks and fuck at the same time, and simp[ly held her by her hips and fucked her. Time passed, with us focussed on movements, bodies and sensations.

Eventually Monica wanted to speed up, and I let her, keeping up, until she made a series of low, guttural grunts, and her anal ring tightened on the shaft of my cock. Then she screamed once, briefly, and then, panting hard, slowed to a stop.

I gasped, “Good girl. Very good girl.”

“You’re going to say that every time I come, aren’t you?”

“Probably. I like your sounds. And how you feel.”

“Heh. Then that’s good. You’ll just have to make me come often.”

“Dib dib dib,” I said.

“What?”

“Oh. You’ve never been a Boy Scout.”

“Idiot. No one has ever called my bum boyish.”

I was still hard inside her. I hadn’t come yet. But the break was good. “Don’t care about boys’ arses. Yours is perfect.”

She gave a little chuckle. Then she said, “I’ve never done that before. I mean yes, of course I’ve had anal sex before. But never as the first fuck. It was … Why did you do that?”

“Well, it’s very intimate. And to me it feels like it demands a kind of surrender from you. I wanted you to know that I want your, well, your submission. And it means that as far as I’m concerned normal rules don’t apply between us.”

She nodded. “Yes. They don’t. I feel that. I mean, as an emotional feeling.”

“Good. And it means to me, and I hope to you, that I, uh. I uh want this to be an important relationship. I mean I feel that it is. Going to be. No, already is.” I grimaced. I hadn’t expected to say that so clumsily.

“Yeah. I thought that’s what you meant. Glad I wasn’t wrong. You haven’t come yet, have you?”

“No.”

“Good. Fuck me now. Hard as you can, rough as you want. I want to feel you splash in me.”

“Yeah.”I could have made an issue of her giving me commands, but I just smacked her ass again, to preserve that whole Who/whom thing. Then I did as I was told.

Wicked Wednesday: Monica – Stirred with the Wooden Spoon

When a Dom has a naked girl bouncing on his lap, because he is naked too, and turned on, and he is spanking that naked girl hard with her own wooden spoon … Ah, I think I’ve lost my train of thought.

Oh yes, if she seems to be enjoying herself and getting into the spirit of the thing, it can be helpful if he lectures her, telling her she’s the sort of bad girl who deserves this terrible punishment. That terrible punishment she’s arching her bottom up for, mouth open and happy, eyes sparkling. 

So I said, “From now on, you do as you’re told, Monica. What do you do?” The wooden spoon spanked nice rounded girl, keeping her arse in motion.

“Uh. UH. As I’m told! Sir!” I took her arse in my hand and squeezed fondly. Warm, she was, and burning hot in places. She sighed when I squeezed her again. “That hurts, Sir.” 

“Is that a complaint?” 

“No! Definitely not, Sir!” That arse wriggled under my hand. “Actually it really isn’t.”

That was probably submission, I decided, and rewarded her by slipping my hand down between her buttocks and stroking her cunt. She shivered when I touched her folds, a wet girl, then froze when I slipped three fingers into her, and began her finger-fucking. Her head fell, forehead touching the sheet, her body abandoned to me. She said, “Duh.”

I continued the lecture. “Whenever you don’t obey me, Monica, you can expect to be over my lap again. And I’m going to bring a cane next time, and leave it in your wardrobe.”

“I’ve heard about canes. Yes, Sir!” I continued her spanking with my hand until her head was up again, and her whole body moved with those three snugly held, wet fingers.

She was in plateau, high, happy, and ready to come. I let her edge closer, and at what may have been the last possible second pulled my fingers out of her, took up the spoon and resumed her spanking.

The strokes were hard, and she yowled as I landed them on that round, red, moving target. It was happy, sexual yowling. She’d been expelled from paradise into another kind of paradise.

By then she’d had about fifty of the promised hundred strokes. I slowed the pace, and spanked harder still, so that she felt each one individually. She rode and rolled on my cock. She was receiving this as strong stimulation, but definitely not as pain. After fifteen very fierce spanks, I said to her, “Sixty-five.” 

“Oh. I wasn’t counting. That’s a lot. And there’s so many to come!” 

Actually, I hadn’t been counting very carefully either. Sixty-five was an estimate. I rolled her off me, onto the bed. “Hands and knees, Monica. Arch that arse up!” 

She obeyed quickly, though I smacked her with my hand for not acknowledging the order. But I didn’t bother to explain why, so it wasn’t good Domming.

But I was busy extracting condoms and a sachet of lube from my wallet. I knelt behind her, my knees between her calves, and admired her anus and cunt, perfectly presented for me. I tore a condom wrapper with my teeth and put it on, then, more carefully, opened a tear in the lube. 

Monica, tensely waiting for my cock, instead felt my thumb, slippery, pressing her anus and then entering. I added more lube there and to my condom. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. Sir.”

I edged forward so my cock touched against that little orifice. 

Monica meets the wooden spoon

So we lay in Monica’s bed. Danny the cat had looked death at me as my foot blocked the way just before the door closed. But I was happy with his absence even if he wasn’t. Monica might have lost a smidgeon of protection but she didn’t seem to mind.

Monica had already been nearly naked before I tipped her onto her bed, but I had to pull off my shoes and socks, jacket and shirt, and pants before I joined her. While I was undressing Monica turned over onto her hands and knees and waggled her arse at me. She was right: I was hard again, wanting her, only about ten minutes after I’d come in her mouth.

So I lay down beside her, on my back, and pulled her over my lap, her hard little arse jutting gloriously upwards, Monica looked up at me.

“I know what this is! I’ve never actually been in it before. But this is the Famous Spanking Position!” I could hear the capital letters.

“Yeah.” I slapped her bottom lightly, then caressed her. She felt wonderful, firm and soft.

She said, “And you’re happy.” She meant she could feel my cock, hard, under her belly. I reached my fingers into the crevice between her lower buttocks and ran them further down, spider-walking with my fingertips until I touched her cunt. She jerked at the contact, my fingertips now a little wet and slippery, and then relaxed as I stroked her, very lightly. Her knees and her forehead dipped and rested on the sheet, all her consciousness, I expected, focussed on her cunt and my fingers.

Then, without warning I suddenly smacked her left cheek, hard. She sang, “Yiii!” But she looked alarmed only for a microsecond, then she grinned. It hadn’t hurt. Far from it.

I said, “‘Thank you, Sir; may I have another?'”

She looked at me, again with only a microsecond of disbelief before she nodded. “Thank you, sir. May I have another one? Just like that?”

She got another, and asked for more. And we continued, Monica learning that the Famous Spanking Position works, until her lower bottom, where I’d concentrated the smacks, glowed red and nicely warm. After the twelfth smack I stroked her cunt again, finding her comfortably relaxed and even wetter.

She sighed under my hand, and raised and turned her head to look at me. “Why is that so fucking hot?”

I considered not answering, because the explanation I knew wasn’t as sexy as it should be. Not as sexy as getting her even hornier and then beginning the promised hundred strokes from her wooden spoon. But it had been a serious question, so I said, “Have you ever manually tuned a radio? Or a TV?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, just before you reach the station, you get a loud burst of white noise, right?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That’s the carrier wave. It carries and boosts the signal.” 

“OK.”

“Inside the carrier wave, when you tune the receiver closer, you get the signal, all the creative stuff, the words and music, plus vision if it’s a TV. That’s the content. But without the carrier wave the content isn’t very powerful. I mean it probably wouldn’t reach your set, or only very weakly.”

“OK.” 

“Arousal works the same way. I smack your arse. Stimulation, right? Your body reacts, strongly. That’s the carrier wave: arousal. But on its own the arousal is just loud white noise. It’s the signal that gives it meaning. So if you’re already turned on, and the context is sexy, then each smack boosts your arousal and boosts the signal, makes it sexier. You’re creative too: you create a lot of the sexiness of it.”

Monica reached for and kissed the hand that had just spanked her. “Yeah, I see that. If I was at work and you were my supervisor and you slapped me on the arse: same stimulation but the meaning would be different, and it’d make me fucking angry.”

“Exactly. Of course it helps that every smack on your arse, your cunt feels it too. And, um, some people, they like to let go sometimes and have things just happen to them. They like to issue a good, helpless, sexual surrender. Not that you’re like that,” I lied, politely. 

“It’s not hypnosis,” Monica said, “but it’s still a mind game. And you still need the subject’s cooperation, just like I do.” She nodded. “I have to be turned on. And feeling a bit surrendered.” 

I pressed two fingertips into her cunt. She moved, trying for more, and captured my fingers to the first knuckle. I pressed further then withdrew a little, hoping it was good but still frustrating. Monica flopped up and down on my cock, in response, like a fish on the bottom of a boat.

I said, “Yeah.” I took the wooden spoon. “Now we’re going to make the signal … stronger.”  

I let the convex side of the spoon land, hard, on the crown of her right buttock, where – so far – I hadn’t warmed her with my hand. Monica yelped.

I struck her again, on her left cheek, so she knew this was going to be hard. And relentless.

Monica yelped and sighed, not at all unhappy. She said nothing more, but began to rock as the blows fell, using my cock as her fulcrum.

 

Monica’s knees

Monica undid my pants, and pulled them and my underpants down below my knees. My cock flicked free, bobbing about near her mouth. She touched the head with her tongue and of course it flicked higher. She had to reach and take it firmly in her left hand, so she could kiss the end, her lips wonderfully soft, without it leaping out of range.  I helpfully pulled her t-shirt off, so she was naked on her knees to a clothed man. It seemed right. 

When her arms were free of the t-shirt she said, “Nice cock.” Then she moved forward and took the glans into her mouth.

I said, as men will under those conditions, “Ah.” I tried and mostly managed not to move. Partly that was because I didn’t want to seem rude, and discourage her from sucking my cock at all, and partly because I liked the idea of her doing all the work. At this stage.

I thought, as she moved forward and took more of me into her mouth, still tonguing and licking me, more than sucking, about her saying my cock was nice. I’ve always been puzzled by that, when women say it to me.

A cock is a cock, if you ask me, and I can’t see how one is nicer than another, though it might be bigger or smaller than average. Maybe there’s something loveable about mine, or maybe it’s just something that some women say to all guys, once cock becomes an issue at all.

I don’t know, and I’ve never queried it. 

I swung the belt down, not hard, so it slapped her bottom, vertically, and wrapped down the underbum to her left thigh. She made a noise of surprise rather than pain, and I did it again, but on her right. She said, round the cock in her mouth, “Why you whipping me?”

“Make you feel good. You’re not just serving me, you’re under my discipline. And the belt helps you know that. Feel it.”

Monica licked the underside of my cock. “Interesting.”

Then she took me deep, all the way into her mouth, so it was jammed into her throat. I said nothing, but my legs were shaking. I reached down at last and took a handful of her hair and pulled. She made a sound of acknowledgement: that was right, and expected.

I began to control her movements, moving her forward and back while I thrust in her, fucking her mouth and throat. I gave her two more strokes with the belt, and she took that as encouragement, sucking harder and moving her head faster, only partly under my direction. So I gave her two more. Her mouth opened a little at each impact, as she gasped lightly, then resumed her task.

Monica put her hands on the backs of my thighs, and sucked hard. She wanted to show she was good at this, and she was. I looked down at her striped backside.

Vertical stripes crossed the earlier horizontal ones, so that her ass was marked out like a noughts and crosses game. Or two.

Danny the cat was watching this, the human female apparently serving the male, receiving pain as her reward and apparently enjoying that. He might remember that scenario, from the days he still had his balls. He moved, ignoring hs mistress, and began wrapping his body round my feet and ankles. Monica and I both noticed. She did eye contact and I shook my head. I had no idea what he was up to either. Cats are weird.

Monica said urgently, while my cock pistoned in her, “Belt!”

I’d forgotten my duty. I laid down four more strokes, while she took me deep and hard. And, of course, the force both of her service and her submission was too much for me.

I started to say, “I think I’m about -” And then I came, body shaking with the sugary sweetness of it, and thrust and spurted into her mouth, while she sucked hard, urgently trying to take it all, and not spill. I thought she’d expect to be punished if she let a drop escape. She was probably right.

I released Monica’s hair and caressed her face. She had her head down now, focussed on sucking and licking my cock clean. She smiled up at me at last, and put her tongue out, so I could see my come on it. I said, “Swallow.”

She did. “Yes, sir.” Then returned to nuzzling my cock, now going soft in her mouth. 

I said, “Well, bed, I suppose. Though I’m not going to be able to fuck you for at least an hour.”

Monica released my cock at last, and shooed Danny. He made his way to the top of the fridge so he could glare down at us. “We’ll be able to pass that hour pleasantly enough. Anyway, sir, I think I know how I can get you hard, whenever I like.” 

I helped her up, then held her to me while I smacked her bottom, six times, with my hand. Monica made no complaint, and didn’t squirm. She just arched her bottom out to make a better target for me. They weren’t light spanks but she was laughing. And she was right. I could feel signs of returning penile interest, a little flow of blood. Though I still couldn’t manage an erection just yet. It had been years since  I’d been a teenager.

I looked around her kitchen and saw a wooden spoon on the shelf with eggbeater and the grater.I took it in the same hand that held her belt. I looked at her. She smiled, knowing what the spoon was for. 

So I said, “Yeah. Have you ever had this used on your perfect little ass?”

“You’re my first pervert. Sir.” She grinned. Calling me ‘sir’ was silly. As well as hot. “So, no. I’m a wooden spoon virgin.”

“Lovely! Well, I think I’ll give you a hundred strokes with this.”

“And then you’ll be hard enough to fuck me, won’t you? Sir.”

“I expect so, Monica. Bed.”