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?”

 

Sinful Sunday: Request granted

“Please punish me, Sir,” she’d said. 

She knew that punishment was coming, whatever she said, but it’s sexier to ask for it. She’s admitted that sometimes part of her thinks that if she asks very nicely she might get a stroke or two off. But another part hopes she won’t, and she would be very disappointed if she did.

Once in position, over the whipping bench, she’s on a ride. Submission becomes some kind of fairground attraction. She’s bought her ticket, and now she hopes it as exciting as she can bear. 

You don’t control a rollercoaster while you’re on it. But afterwards yours eyes sparkle and your face glows. 

 

Sinful Sunday: You won’t see me. But you’ll know I’m there.

She’s asked nicely and, as far as I could tell, sincerely, to be caned, and of course she will be. 

But there’s always the warm-up first. The leather paddle doing good, loud, work. She’s still worried about the caning to come, but she knows that the warm-up is a good thing: erotic and sensual in itself, and also a sign of care. I can’t be as angry with her as I’m pretending. 

Soon, she knows, we’ll fuck, and she will pretend to be very sorry and I’ll pretend that I’ve only just forgiven her. Hypocrites, we Doms and submissives. In a way. But we also know each other closely, and we know the truth, too. 

She knows she won’t be allowed to come for at least an hour. And that when she does, she’ll finally be told what she already knows: that she’s a good girl. 

 

 

 

 

 

Sinful Sunday: Please Sir

When she says, “Please punish me, Sir,” she’s being a conspicuously Good Girl. Every aspect of her presentation is a display that says, “I’m a good girl, really.”

Her eyes and her face are downcast, and her open hands hold out the instrument of her punishment. Her hands are open because she knows she’s not allowed to close her hands on the cane. She bent down, naked, to take it from the floor in her mouth, then released it onto her open hands. And then held out those hands to me, offering both herself and it. Details and body language matter.

The wool over the whipping bench, behind her, tells her that she’s going to be spending some time bent over there. That matters too. It would be a terrible world, boring, unloving, unsexy, if I didn’t pay close attention to her needs, even when delivering discipline.

She gives a perfect display of submission. It’s come just a little too late to save her bottom and upper thighs. But that doesn’t make this moment less enchanted, for either of us. I’m not ready to tell her she’s a “good girl”. Not yet. But I will be soon.

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.

Sinful Sunday: The Glory of Marks

Marks. We both loved her marks. They tell a story, and she could see that story just by turning her back on a mirror and looking over her shoulder. 

These marks told two stories. She’d just been punished, a nice straight set of stripes from the cane. That was one story, a very traditional one between a Master and his slave.

But there were also warm blotches on the outer side of her left buttock, and another, a little lower on the outer side of her right thigh. They tell a different story. We’d fucked after her caning, because it’s such a submissive and accessible position, and we both need to feel each other, hard, after she’s been punished. 

But the best thing of all, about that position, is that I can spank her, hard, while we’re fucking. It helped her feel surrendered, plundered, while we’re fucking, and we both loved that sensation too.

The glow of the handprints tell us both about the glory of that sex.

And now she’d been caned, fucked and spanked, and we’re catching our breath. But she’s still not allowed to rise. There’s a paddle, not far away. And it’s about to become part of her life.  

 

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.

 

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Sinful Sunday: A nice place to wait

A submissive woman gets to do a lot of waiting. It may as well be in a pretty place. 

It was just before six in the morning, so there was bright light, but no neighbours around to hear if a girl cries out. I’d spanked her good morning, but the idea of taking the paddle-testing part outside seemed to occur to both of us. 

Because I’d just made a wooden paddle, and obviously it had to be tested. To see how it worked as an instrument of pleasure, for those who like a heated, impacted bottom (which, from our different perspectives, was both of us), and how it might work if I had to use it on her in discipline. 

The paddle passed, triumphantly. It was, in every possible way, hot. I’m not a very woodwork kind of Master, but it seemed I could make a good paddle. 

But before the action begins, there’s always a wait. Time to feel humiliated, and just a little nervous about the chance of an early-morning neighbour encounteri9ng a naked, brightly spanked girl, obviously in position to take more, and wondering if the people on the far side of the valley will hear the impacts and her vocal responses. 

Her Master, meantime, is watching, enjoying the pause and the beauty of the morning, and the beauty of Arethusa. 

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.