Random bit of novel: What “assume the position” means

In our room we both stripped off our clothes, and showered together for warmth. Once we were out, I dried her roughly with the towel, and then told her to fetch the tawse.

“Fetch” is such a sexy word, in these circumstances.

She got it from the bedside drawer, on her side of the bed. It was on its side, being too thick to be coiled, or even folded. She held it out to me with both hands. “Sir.”

I took it from her gravely, and held it, in my right hand. It’s odd how something that small changes the emotional and sexual dynamic in a room. “If I told you to assume the position, Shar, what position would you assume?”

“Um. You’re a traditionalist. Sometimes. So I’d bend over, very tight, with my legs together but my bottom arched up so you can watch my cunt. And I’d put the palms of my hands on the floor. Since I’m so bendy, and you like a bendy girl.”

“Um. Fuck.” She did indeed know me. “Then I suppose you’d better assume the position. Shar.”

“Sir.” And she did as she said she would.

It was easier than it sounds, for Shar to place her palms on the floor in that position. There are times when short girls have an advantage. I watched her, awed. Sexual presentation has power, of course. It works on bonobos. It works on me.

I raised the tawse. I wanted to hear her scream tonight. The first time from pain. Probably not the second time.

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours) 3

So I was lying over his knees, bottom bare, waiting for his next touch. I knew it wouldn’t be him stroking me between my thighs again. He wanted to hurt me. It was his duty to punish me. I knew I’d been a brat to my teacher, really, and I couldn’t say that I didn’t deserve it. But with the headmaster instead of my teacher, it was a whole different experience.

He’d said, “you’ll come over my lap”. It hadn’t been what he meant, but I knew that I would. And that he wouldn’t be shocked. I could feel his thing hard and pressing up under me. He’d know, and he’d like it.

[Maddie and I were lying side by side on the mattress in the storeroom, her head nestled under my arm, while she told me this story. She’d started idly stroking my cock while she talked.]

I wriggled a little until his thing was between my thighs. I was sure it got bigger. Anyway, I know this was how we both wanted it. For now. We wanted more, too. My throat was so dry. We were nearly doing it right now, and I was sure that when he made me strip completely, to get the paddle, we couldn’t resist. He’d take me.

He was so handsome, and so dominant, and so good to me. I wanted him to take me. He should be my first. Someone who knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t hesitate. It was only right. 

And then his hand landed, on my left cheek. It felt so hard, and made me feel so soft, under him. I suppose it should have hurt, but it didn’t. It was like the strap on my hands, only a thousand times more. It felt like fire. It felt like sex, not that I knew that then. 

But I wiggled, part from reaction, and partly to keep his attention. I knew I was going to leak soon. I’m a juicy girl. 

[“I can confirm this”, I said, and she kissed me. She said, “Shhh. For now.”]

And his hand landed again on the same place. It sounded louder, so it must have been harder. But it just felt like a caress.

My skin tingled, and so did my cunt. I went wiggling again, and he grunted. His moved, while I lay across his knees. He couldn’t help himself.

His cock needed the release. I knew it. He was mine. I was so happy I could have sung while he spanked me.

He spanked me again on the same spot, his hand so hard, so firm above me; his cock just as hard and firm below me. It was fire and sweetness. And I could feel myself running, juices running down my inner thighs. He’d been right when he’d said he’d need a towel when he spanked me. But I was glad he hadn’t. I didn’t want anything at all between us. I moaned, and he couldn’t possibly have thought it was from pain.

He switched to my right cheek at last, his hand landing, hard. I worked myself on his thing, hips rolling up and down, while he added two more hard smacks. I loved the feel of his hand. I suppose it did hurt, in a way, but there were so many other things it made me feel that I barely noticed the pain. It just wasn’t what was important.

After the third smack on my right cheek he stopped. I suppose he was looking at me. Then I felt him again. My touched my cunt! Directly, with no pretence that he was doing it accidentally. I nearly screamed. I said, “Please…” Though I’m not sure what it was that I was begging for.

He said, “good girl.” And then his fingertips pushed into me. 

My mouth and my eyes were as wide as they can go. It felt so incredibly sweet, and right. My own fingers had been there before, but no one else’s. He knew what I wanted, and he pushed further inside. I moaned from pure pleasure, though I was trying to keep myself quiet.

His fingers pushed hard into me, and withdrew slowly. I stopped moving, my bottom up, splayed for him as wide as my thighs would go. I could do the splits, then. He grunted. “Wet girls need spanking, don’t they?” 

 I could hear the smile in his voice, but my answer still mattered. The cane and the paddle weren’t so far away. “Yes, sir! Wet girls deserve anything you want to give me. I mean, them.” 

He laughed, and this time he withdrew his fingers all the way. My cunt felt bereaved. Bereft. But he rested his hand on my bottom. “You’re right,” he said. And then the spanking started again. 

This time it was harder, and I understood that before he’d been going easy on me. These smacks were hard, and fast, and absolutely relentless. I lost count early, and they just kept coming. The pain was there. I still felt that sweetness, but now I had to admit that he was hurting me. And that I wanted him to. 

Sometimes he’d stop suddenly and hold me still. just for a few seconds. I knew he was having trouble stopping himself from coming. I wanted him in me when he came, so that suited us both. Each time he stopped, he spanked harder when he could move again. Something strange was happened. It felt so glorious, but I found myself crying. Just a couple of tears running down my cheeks at first. But soon, his hand still regularly smacking onto my flesh, my tears flooded, My mouth opened and I cried like a baby. 

I think he liked that. He stopped and stroked my poor needy cunt again. From the inside. Very firmly, but very slow. Something was happening in my body. My toes curled, inside my shoes, and my stomach muscles tightened. Then this wave of sweetness, of absolutely joy hit me, and I – well, I dissolved in it. I came, and I screamed and wailed, and I couldn’t help it or make myself quiet. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever felt.

I lay drooping across his lap, hands and feet resting on the carpet. He held me in place, and kept stroking me. I thought I was spent, but in less than a minute I felt a second wave. Not quite as big or terrifying, but warm and satisfying. He stroked a little longer, but I was done for now.

I knew there’d be more of that feeling after he’d paddled me. I wondered how his thing would feel, inside me. Or would he just use his fingers? I didn’t mind what he did. I felt utterly blissful. For now I was content to wait. I was content in every way, come to that.

Laci Green shout-out

Eight years ago (i.e. 2009), when she was 18  Laci Green was making valuable, educational and funny youtube videos on sex issues, and occasionally on why she thinks religion is (a) nonsense, and (b) not so terribly good to and for women. 

She’s largely dropped making references to her atheism, which I think is a pity, but understandable if your main concern is issues affecting young women and sex-positivity. 

Laci Green. Her smile takes up a bigger proportion of her face than with normal human beings.

Anyway, one day in 2009 Laci Green made a video saying that people should be accepting of and nice towards transgender people. They shouldn’t be haters: in fact, “haters” was the name for that video episode. Unluckily for her, she had a transgender person as her guest, and he used the word “tranny” of himself and others.

Not knowing that other transgender persons hate the word, she copied him and used the word too.

I have a bit of a “there but for the grace of god go I” feeling about this, because at the time I would have given the very same offence while trying to say something supportive. That’s because a girlfriend of mine worked as a cleaner at the Gender Centre in Sydney, and I’d often help her clean because I wanted to play squash with her when she was done. (“Play squash” sounds like a euphemism, but it isn’t.)

That meant I knew about a dozen politically aware transgender people at the time, and they all used the word “tranny” of themselves and others. So, when I was in conversation with them and it was relevant, I did too. I’m sure I’ve used it in other contexts, thinking I was being supportive. If I’d made videos, they’d still be preserved, of course.  

There’s also the fact that she and apparently other family members have had death threats. I relate to that, because I was once an organiser and media spokesperson for a tenants’ union, and some people didn’t like me getting in the way of certain landlords. Initially I was genuinely flattered and amused when I started to get death threats on the landline. Problem was, my roommates sometimes answered the phone too, and they’d cop the threats intended for me. So I learned that when this shit is directed at one person, it also affects a lot of other people around them. 

Anyway, this began in 2012, when someone saw Laci Green’s “haters” video, which was then three years old, and wrote to her asking why she’d used the word “tranny”. 

She replied: “You are totally right and I sincerely apologize for my mistake. Before I educated myself about trans issues I had not the slightest inkling of how the word is used to dehumanize nor its place in the cycle of violence against transfolk. Now I have seen people hurt by it and seen it used as a nasty slur. Words have power, and “tranny” is not a word for anybody but transfolk themselves to use because only they can reclaim it.”

As a result of the apology, a whole lot of people went berserk. They decided Laci Green was an anti-transgender person activist, who was leading the charge against rights and acceptance. This would have been news to the various Christian right activists who really were running an anti-transgender persons agenda, an agenda now being put into place in several US States. 

Anyway, she got a torrent of hate mail, demanding that she kill herself, along with threats of violence, and, to show they meant it, they posted pictures of Ms Green’s home on-line.

The police took the threats seriously, and suggested to Ms Green that for her own safety she should move. She disappeared off-line for a while. When she came back it was with Planned Parenthood and a MTV spot, which organizations are better at security than just one person. 

Anyway, she recently started arguing on her videos with anti-feminists, to see if communication can be helpful. This angered people who feel that giving anti-feminists a platform is wrong, even in a a dialogue intended to open them to feminist ideas. So that has offended many offended people.

My impression is that it is probably a bad idea, because some of the people she’s spoken to really have been assholes on the internet, and it may not be a good idea to give them yet another platform, even if the intent is to argue with them. On the other hand, it’s the kind of thing that sometimes works to change minds, and that’s always a good thing.


Ms Green and Mr Ray-gun (artist’s impression)

Ms Green recently started shagging some guy called Chris Ray-gun. I know very little about him, but apparently he takes the piss out of people who called themselves SJW, or social justice warriors. I’m sure he’s said many dodgy things in his career, but I don’t know what they are. Some people calling themselves feminists have said this is why she’s less keen to be associated with “social justice warriors. As though your politics is determined by where you put your genitals. Me, I’ve sometimes agreed with a girlfriend’s politics, and sometimes not. Some people are like that.

Ms Green took pains to point out that she is still absolutely a feminist.]

Her other recent crime appears to be that she’s mentioned that she’d been accosted by a group of feminists who’d been heckling her at some event, who then made threats of violence against her. 

If you want to read a column saying that Laci Green was the problem there, and she should have apologised again to the people who were threatening her, you can read it here.

(I don’t know the columnist and I’m unlikely to read anything else they ever write, but that specific column offered an interesting use of the passive-aggressive voice used sanctimoniously. This is only a personal reaction, but I found it oddly creepy.)

As a result, there are signs that the Community of the Terminally Self-Righteous are building up for another bash at her for having, while still a minor, made a video that was supportive of trans-gender persons but used the word “tranny”.

My impression is that she’s a good thing, incredibly decent, harmless and well-meaning, who has done an enormous amount of work on issues like abortion, contraception, sex information, kink acceptance and so on.

I should point out that I’m a dom, so I’m a filthy sexual pervert, who has the goddam gall to call himself a feminist supporter. So what I say will ipso facto have no value for some people, but for what bugger-all it’s worth I salute and support Laci Green.

Sinful Sunday: Great in the outdoors!


This is outside the castle, overlooking the hills and villages of one of the remoter parts of Umbria. 

It’s a pity the lovely model’s nipples aren’t in this picture. Posing naked outdoors, in a place where it had snowed just 10 days ago, took courage. Even your humble photographer was freezing, and he wasn’t even naked!


Novel News! Bravery and anal sex

Shar didn’t argue. She didn’t even look skeptical, so I poured more lube onto my fingers while they were partly withdrawn, and pushed forward again.

She was still tight, but there was enough lube, for now. My fingers slid in her quite easily, and there was no tension in the set of her face or her body.

We continued until Shar began to move, rocking with my fingers, pleasuring herself. We stayed with this, letting Shar move on my fingers, for a long time.

But eventually I took my fingers slowly out of her, and patted her bottom where I’d spanked her. “Are you ready, love?”

“Yes. Let’s try.”

I put my knees between hers, and held her hips tightly, letting her feel strength, and need for her. My cock pressed against her cunt, and I had to fight my urgent need to be all the way in her.

“This works better if you guide my cock into you, Shar. You have to grip hard, and just aim it at your asshole. Do that, for me.”

She reached back and touched my cock, tentatively. I said, “Cock wants to go into easy places. Like your cunt, or… anywhere. You need to hold it hard. And if you’re in control, you can make sure the angle is as comfortable as we can make it. Yes?”

Shares grip on my cock tightened. I gasped. There was nothing Shar could do, just then, that wouldn’t feel good. She lowered her ass just a little, and set the head of my cock against her little ring. She said, “Yes.” I pressed forward.

The head of a cock is more of a challenge than two, or even three fingers. But I held her hips tight, as she held my cock, and pushed forward. Her anal ring hesitated, unwilling to open so far, and then opened. It was a sudden give, and Shar cried out. Partly in pain, and partly because of the strangeness of the sensation. She moved forward instinctively, to get rid of me.

“No, girl.” I put my hand on the ball of her hip, in warning. “If I slip out, I’ll only have to enter again. It’s the single most challenging part. You need to keep me in you, just inside you, until it feels better. I won’t move till you’re ready.”

Shar breathed out, penetrated for the first time. She had nothing to say about that. I kept still, praising her, just the glans of my cock lodged, held. Eventually I felt her relax.

I pushed forward another inch, savoring every movement, every sensation. But I made myself stop again. Shar trembled. It didn’t seem to be painful, but it was difficult.

Her anal tube held me, gripping, no longer trying to expel me. I sighed with pleasure, hoping she felt even a fraction of what I felt.

“You’re brave. And perfect.” While I meant it, and she liked praise, praise can’t do everything. But eventually she relaxed again, and I pushed further this time, burying my cock in her, my groin pressed again her presented ass. Shar made a nasal sound. That contact, my body touching hers, was good. So I pressed deeper, until we were fully joined. I’m not sure at what point you can say an anal virginity is gone, but this one definitely had flown.

We kept still, pressing as tightly against each other as we could. I recognized a change in Shar’s breathing. This was starting to reach her. The pain had abated to the point where she could parse it as pleasure, and the actual sensation of being filled seemed to be… good.




I’m onto the last chapter of Part 4. Part 5 is – I think – only three chapters long, so I’ll be finished soon. I’m going to buy champagne for the entire internet! (But you’ll have to drop round to get your share.)

Wicked Wednesday: Maddie’s virginity (last hours) 2

My teacher kept me after class, the bitch. [Maddie said, as we lay together in the storeroom.]

She was taunting me, knowing I was desperate to leave. She asked me how many strokes I’d had on the hand, and whether I’d been paddled before. She was watching the clock the whole time. She let me go at 12.03. She chose that because she knew I’d have no chance of making it to the head’s office by 12.05, as he’d instructed me, and that if I had two minutes I’d try anyway. 

So I ran, staying out in the playground and not in the corridors, so as not to get in more trouble. When I got to his office, I made it 12.07, so that was it. I was in for a return visit after school to get the paddle.

But then I thought that maybe his clock might be slow, and he wouldn’t notice I was late, so I knocked at the door.

Then I heard a sharp noise, like a pistol shot, very loud, from inside. Then, half a minute later, another one, and another one after that.

Someone was being punished. Punished hard, by the sound of it. But was that the paddle or the cane? Was it a boy or a girl? Then there was a fourth stroke, and I heard a gasp of pain. So it was a boy, trying not to cry out, and not quite being able to stop himself. 

I heard the headmaster roar at the boy that he was to take his punishment in silence, and that he was going to get that stroke again. Then there was a silence, and in a moment, the headmaster opened the door. 

“Hello, Maddie. You were two minutes late. You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” 

I said nothing. There was a boy – well, really a young man, in the same year as me, so he’d be 18 = bent over the desk. His pants and underpants were round his ankles. The head had the cane in his hand still, and there were maybe a dozen stripes across this boy’s ass. More. I’d never seen cane stripes before. I’d never seen a boy’s bare ass before, come to that. I was a shy girl, then. So I gawped, open-mouthed. 

The head took my arm, and made me kneel on a chair, hands on head, nose to the wall. “Yes, you are a glutton for punishment, you silly little girl. Now, you keep your nose touching the wall. If I see your nose before I’ve told you you can move, it’ll be the worse for you, girl.” 

And with that he went back to his desk, and said, “All right, Rob. We’ll give you that stroke again. See if you can stop yourself from whining, this time.” 

Then there was the crack of the cane again, and the sound of the desk jolting when Rob’s body slammed against it. But he made no sound.

I wondered if I’d ever be able to take a stroke like that. It didn’t seem possible. And yet I knew that one day I would. For him. 

Then there were three more strokes, and Rob – I remembered him now; he played football, and was one of the popular boys – screamed. It was so shocking I couldn’t help myself. I turned to look. Rob knew he was in trouble for that scream. He was crying audibly, all his defences down.  

“Well, you’ve just made your caning longer, Rob. And I’m going to have to keep his nosy girl waiting for longer.”

I turned my face back to the wall, as fast as I could, knowing it would do no good. What did I think of seeing and mostly hearing Rob getting flogged? I don’t know, exactly. I was disappointed that it wasn’t just the head and me. But … I liked thinking of him doing that to me. And if he was caning me, would I like it if he let someone else into his office while I struggled not to cry out? I don’t know about the reality, but the thought of it was so hot.

He said, “Maddie. What are you here for?”

I thought. It was such a huge question. “I’m here for a spanking, sir.”

“A spanking. On…?”

I said quickly, “On my bare bottom. Sir. Uh.” My cunt felt it, when I said those words to him. “I’m here for a spanking on my bare bottom, sir.”

“That’s better. Now, Maddie, if you can’t give Rob his privacy, there’s no reason you should have any privacy either, is there, nosy girl?”

“Um. No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Good. So make yourself ready for your spanking now. The bare bottom one. Skirt off. Panties … not just down, for you. Right off. Now, Maddie!”

“Yes, sir.” I slid down from my knees on the chair, so my feet touched the floor. And I undressed for him. Knowing he was watching me. He’d seen my top half when he’d given me the strap. Now he was looking at the bottom half. I wondered if I’d be naked when he paddled me.

I looked at him. I didn’t dare put my hands in front of my cunt. He was the first man to see it. My heart was pounding, and I knew I was going to spill soon. I wished he was caning me. I wished I could bend over his desk, naked for him. So he could do what he liked to me, and then take me.

But I asked him with my eyes what he wanted. He said, “Back in the chair. Hands on head, nose to the wall. If I see your face again, before I call you, I’ll cane you, Maddie.What will I do?”

I remembered to keep my nose pressed to the wall. “You’ll cane me, sir, if I look again.”

“Good.” I heard him walk to Rob’s right, so the strokes would go the other way.

“All right, boy. Do you think you can take the rest of your punishment without any more snivelling?”

It took Rob a long time to answer. Eventually he sniffed once, loudly, and said “Yes, sir. I can take my caning without snivelling.”

“Well, you’ve done a pretty poor job of showing it. I’m not at all satisfied. I’m going to give you four now. And you’ll be back here tomorrow. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The voice sounded despairing. Then there came four loud cracks, mercilessly hard, and in quick succession. Rob jolted the desk under each one, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.

I heard the cane rattle on the table. “Right. Up you get, boy. Get your pants up. And, Rob -“

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re not to wipe your eyes. Go back to class and sit there till class resumes. But I want your teacher and your classmates to see what a crybaby you are. I’ll be asking your teacher whether you had tears on your face, so I suggest you don’t disobey. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” There was resentment in his voice. I was shocked. How dare he disrespect Sir?

“I heard that, Rob. We’ll talk about proper, respectful speech tomorrow. Before I repeat your caning. Now, let’s try it again. Do you understand?”

Rob cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.”

That was better. I actually nodded, pleased that he’d learned to respect Sir.

Then I caught a glimpse of Rob’s face. I hadn’t moved, but he’d stepped into my visual field while he put his clothes on. The look he gave me was pure venom. It shocked me. I kept staring at the wall, knowing he’d be staring at my bottom now.

“Get out, Rob. Straight to class with you, and no wiping your eyes. Or your cheeks. Go!”

Rob said, “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat again. “Thank you, sir.” And the door closed behind him.

The headmaster put his hand on my shoulder. “All right, Maddie, you can get up now.”

“Thank you, sir.” I stood up straight in front of him, displaying myself. I wished he’d touch my cunt. Maybe rub me.

“You’ll come over my lap in a second. But I’m curious. Did you feel sorry for him?”

“No sir. Not for a second.”

“Why not, Maddie?”

“Well, sir. I trust your judgement. And anyway, I heard him disrespect you.”

He smiled at me. I noticed he wasn’t using his “strict” voice any more. He was kind again. “So you’re my little warrior, are you? On my side.”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m pleased to hear it. One thing, though. He deserved that, every bit of it. And he deserves what he’s getting tomorrow. He’s a bad person; a bully, and worse. Maddie, I forbid you to speak to him. Or spend any time with him. That’s an order, girl. For your own safety.”

I said, “Thank you, sir. For the warning. And I will keep away from him.” Huh, I thought. That won’t be hard.

He sat down in the chair I’d been kneeling on, and patted his lap. “Come over my knee, Maddie.”

“Oh sir, yes!” That was a giveaway, but we were hardly bothering to pretend any more. I dived across his lap, pressing my cunt down where I thought his – Oh, there it was! And he put his hand down on my bottom, and rubbed and stroked me. I’d guessed right. It got harder, and pressed against me. I sighed. I was happy, here.

“Feet apart, Maddie. No, further apart. No, right apart, girl.” And his hand slipped down between my buttocks, and nearly touched me where I wanted. I felt so much need.

Then his hand was gone. “Arch your bottom up, Maddie. Lovely. Now we begin.”




Novel news: Shar’s submission: good from her first drop

We embraced in the hotel room, beside the bed. I undid Shar’s jeans and pulled her top off. “Turn round, Shar.”

Shar turned her back. She’d forgotten to make a demonstration of how good she was being: look! I even humor you when you give me an order! Nor did she produce her usual playful defiance. I made no comment because simple obedience is another stage in submission, and in its early stages it’s fragile.

I undid her bra and took it off her, holding her breasts firmly while she leant back against me.

I kissed her neck and pinched her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. Not to hurt, but to make her aware that I could hurt her, if I chose to. She was, literally, in my hands. Submission, when it’s offered, has to be accepted and rewarded.

She sighed and pushed her ass back against my groin. I said, “Excuse me.” I pushed her panties down to her knees, and held one hand to her lower belly, almost touching her cunt. “Take those right off.”

“Yes, Sir.” Shar crouched for an instant. She was naked now, nicely contrasted with fully-clothed me.

“Spread your legs for me.” My fingers pressed, frustratingly, just above her cunt, and that made that order one that had to be obeyed urgently. She spread, and fell forward a little when two of my fingers entered her, relying on me to catch her.

“Good girl.” I slipped a third finger inside her and pressed and stroked spongy wet girl. Her breath synchronized with the movements of my fingers. “That’s good. Who’s a good girl?”

“Me, Sir?” She was pretty sure that was the right answer, but she didn’t want to seem smug about it.

“Yes. You.” I smacked her bottom, affectionately but hard enough to hurt, if she was in one mood, and for her to feel relieved and released by it if she were in another mood.

She said, very quietly, “Hahrr.” So she was in the mood where being smacked felt good. I took my fingers out of her and held them to her mouth. Shar hesitated for a moment and I smacked her again. She opened her mouth and sucked my fingers. She’d been reluctant to have me lick her this morning, I wondered if this was the first time she’d ever tasted herself. I didn’t ask. She seemed happy enough not to have to think.

“Good girl. Now face me.” Shar turned and we kissed. I put my hands on her ass, cupping one rounded, muscled half-globe in each hand, then lifted and separated slightly.

That reminded her of something. “You’re going to use that tawse on me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, love. But not as a punishment. For pleasure. Including your pleasure, though I’m going to enjoy it. You’ve been incredibly good.”

Shar kissed me again, smiling. She liked being told she was good. My approval had become important.

“I’m awed by what you did for that girl this afternoon. I was so proud to be with you. So I couldn’t punish you again. Today.”

She smiled, irony back in her expression. “Today.”



Another segment of novel. For you because I love you all, and also because I’m writing, and very short on blogging time.. 

Wicked Wednesday: Fucking ages away

Shhh-stack! sang the whip. (Which she bought from the Sentient Whips store on Vulcan)

“His sexual slug lolled against his thigh.”

Neil Gaiman pointed out in Ghastly Beyond Belief, an anthology of bad science fiction writing, that the danger of writing sex scenes set in the far future is that people won’t know what’s metaphor and what’s supposed to be taken literally. 

Does our hero have a pet sexual slug who comes over and does nice things for him, or has the writer thought of a metaphor for a post-fuck penis, relaxed, wet with his partner’s pleasure and some of his own, and lolling happily?

In a similar vein, there’s this:

“He watched, awed, as she took off her space helmet, shaking free her lustrous blonde hair. She removed her space suit, her voluptuous figure revealed in the tight, figure-hugging lines of her satin-velcro skin-suitsuit. As she stripped down to her leotard, he marvelled, admiring the erotic promise of her camel toe.” 

Fortunately, the camel toe isn’t connected to the rest of the camel, and its erotic promise was, “Yep, she don’t mind a smack on the arse, but bite her nipples and she’ll rip both your lungs out.”

Then it jumped off her leotard and hopped, as unaccompanied toes must do if they wish to move around, out of the scene. Phew!

Spang! Spang!

There was a Robert Heinlein science fiction novel, The Number of the Beast, in which the story was told in first person as a woman character. The heroine/narrator had amazing mobile nipples, that went “spang!” every time they erected. That was very often, believe me. I don’t know if he ever explained the nippleesque sound effects, because I couldn’t finish the book. I also never got to find out what her cunt said in moments of excitement. Ah, well.

Heinlein was a good writer, once. But by the time he died he’d managed to make himself into a terrible, terrible one. 

“I can’t make it tonight, honey, I’ve got crabs,” he said, inevitably.

Anyway, my point is that he garooded her firm proud pavanes lustily, causing her to shoockle like a Deleuzian lovecat in its annual droxa-heat. Her seven breasts, like her eight jewel-encrusted eyes, were on fire with passion.

No, really, they were on fire. Everything was extremely flammable on that planet, because of its atmosphere. It was high on oxygen, and therefore too obsessed by the myriad lines on its own right hand to notice as it spiralled towards the sun. In the year 2157!

“Oooh,” she moaned, “lunge that spockle, and floofe me hard!”  

Swiftly he grasped her heaving haunches, and …



I’ve been caught by novel deadlines. Maddy, our usual Wicked Wednesday guest, will have to wait a week before she returns to the headmaster’s office. Poor girl: they say the worst thing is the anticip


Finger-fucking in the taxi (FREE novel excerpt)

“God, I’m sorry about last night. I was having nerves. How was your flight?”

I shrugged. “Tried to sleep. Did manage to tune out. And you’re never, ever to hide nerves from me. That’s an order.”

Shar smiled complacently. “You’re going to like giving me orders, aren’t you?”

“Yup. What I won’t like is repeating them. That’s when you get your ass smacked.”

“But you’ll do that anyway. Already do.”

At about the same moment I said, “Taxi.”

“Trains are cheaper.”

“Not so much, for two people. And we got bags. And you’re a girl with no knickers on, and you might need privacy. “ She didn’t blush. So I said, “Though you will have to behave yourself. Taxi driver could hardly miss it if I have to punish you.” That worked.

She said, “Er…” But we rolled our bags to the taxi stand.

I organized the handle of my carry-on bag and my coat to block the gap between the front seats.

Shar sat beside me, staring forward, eyes glazing a little, while I slipped my fingers between warm damp thighs and into her cunt. Shar’s mouth dropped. She hadn’t been sure I really would do this. But she was a wet,welcoming girl.

She smiled, amused by me. Then she made her face straight, as if this wasn’t happening. I stroked inside her cunt, sometimes gently and sometimes hard, making her gasp as quietly as she could.

She tried to keep her upper body still and her face blank, At the same time she rolled her hips slightly and slowly to move with and make use of my fingers.

She put her hand on my wrist, not to stop me but to hold me, squeezing sometimes tight and sometimes with every ounce of her strength. Her face was red, not from embarrassment but from the effort of suppressing any – or most – sounds of her pleasure.

Cause something is happening and you don’t know what it is…

The taxi driver was grumpy when we stopped, though not because a woman had been pleasured in the back of his cab. He knew that much, I suppose, because there was a particularly focussed quality in our silence, with Shar’s occasional gasps, that gave us away.

Taxi drivers must be used to that sort of thing in their back seats, and if they minded unduly they wouldn’t drive taxis.

What annoyed him was that the little wall I’d built with my bag and coat meant he hadn’t been able to watch in the rear vision mirror, and the angle was wrong for cab-cam.

I wondered if that, in some taxi-driver-centric universe, was a legitimate grievance. I decided it couldn’t be but tipped him over the odds anyway. So we shook hands, though he knew where my hand had been, and parted on mutually congratulatory terms.