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.

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. 

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.

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.