Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: The Dream

There were once, in ancient Thebes, two lovers. They met infrequently and cautiously, because both families were opposed to their love. Hylas’s family were citizens, and they farmed their land and served in the army, but never conducted business. Their land and their service brought them wealth and power. 

Phyrne’s family made lanterns, oils and candles, so that those who wanted to stay awake past the natural hours of darkness could do so. The family had become wealthy, and it too was powerful in its way, but to the citizens of Thebes it was a disgrace to be in trade, no matter how successfully. 

So Hylas’s parents heartily despised Phyrne’s parents, and in return her parents gave hatred, ridicule and contempt. Hylas and Phyrne met when they could, but they had little pleasure, and no sex. Instead they held each other, unhappy, spoke of their love and bemoaned their fate. 

Sometimes he allowed himself to hold one of Phyrne’s plump breasts in his hand, and afterwards, alone in his own bed, pleasured himself with that sensual memory.

Fortunately, there was, in Thebes at that time, a beautiful witch, dark of skin and beautiful, from some far and unknown land. Her name was Ojastara, and she was always followed by a cloud of foxes.

One night Hylas was in his family home. His parents and his sister were in their rooms, asleep, and so had he been. But he got up to get a cup of water. But as he was pouring water from the pitcher the servant girl in the kitchen suddenly froze. She stopped. Still. The house had stopped. Even the wind had suddenly stilled.

That was odd, and a feathertop of apprehension seemed to run down his spine. He shivered. Then he shrugged and turned to go back to his room.   

Then he cried out, very lightly, in fear, because a dark corner of the wall had wide, white eyes. Then he saw there was a woman, darker than the night, in the room with him. He stared. She smiled, and she was beautiful beyond anyone he had ever seen, except perhaps Phyrne. But his fear did not diminish. “What … are you?” 

“I’m your rescuer. My name is Ojastara, but you will call me Teacher.” 

“Teacher?” 

She selected, from an indoor pot that held orchids, a length of bamboo and swished it in the air. “Yes. And I suggest that you pay attention to your lessons. Come here.” 

Hylas wasn’t sure why, but he obeyed. The woman took him by his penis, which grew, incredibly fast and hard, in her hand. She whipped the cane, hard enough to hurt and leave a mark, just a micron below the hang of his balls. Hylas found, to his consternation, his cock hardening even more.

She smiled at him, the smile not entirely reassuring, and said, “You need many lessons, Hylas. Before you’re worthy of Phyrne. Now.” She turned her back on him, her hand still firmly holding his cock, and began to walk.

Hylas guessed that she was taking him to his bedroom. But he had eyes only for her rolling bottom and the firm femininity of her thighs.

He had never had a woman. He and Phyrne had never had the opportunity, and perhaps he had not had the courage to make it possible. It seemed, he realised, that a woman was about to have him. But her hand on his cock seemed to drive all other thoughts and considerations out of his mind. He followed, close. 

Sinful Sunday: What you see, what you get

When you’re taking a photo, and especially when you have your mind on other matters you may also be engaged in, you’re like Van Gogh. In one sense, anyway: you don’t see the clutter. 

With this photo, I’d want very much to lose all that stuff on the bedside drawers, and that power point visible in the mirror, under the bed. 

But at the time I was entirely too focussed on the lovely Zoë. So here’s the pic without all the editing I’d like to do with it. I bet you don’t really notice the clutter either!

By the way that implement, the leather swat, was made in Oxford and given me by Zoë. She could see at once that it could have a higher purpose than swatting flies. (Though at Oxford even the flies are kinky, and wear tiny leather vests.) 

 

Wicked Wednesday: In the Realm of the Sensei 9

Seamus took the peanut oil from her gravely.

“Now, Asuka, I’m not finished with you. Turn round and bend over again. You’ve still got eight strokes of the cane coming to you. You’ll get them before I take you to bed. But there’s another little matter I need to deal with first.”

“”Yes, sir.” She wiggled as much as she dared, once she had her back to him.

She seemed confident, on reasonable grounds, that he admired her ass. Perhaps he admired it even more now it was marked, for the first time, by the cane. Then she bent over, reaching down to touch her toes.

“Good girl. Feet apart a little more, Asuka.” She shuffled obediently. But he smacked the inside of her right thigh and said, “Further.”

Asuka obeyed, seeming less puzzled. She’d have expected that he would want to have her, afterwards. But she made an interrogative noise when he lubricated his forefinger and pressed against her little asshole. Then there was realization, and she said something like, “Whoo.” In wonder.

Seamus pressed his forefinger into her, to the first knuckle, then less slowly to the second. He twisted his finger inside her tight, clinging orifice, and then withdrew, to put more lubricant on his finger. Asuka held herself very still. Her face, upside down between her knees, was wide-eyed, mouth open. He smiled at her, and smacked her left buttock, then her right, with his hand, and then lubricated two fingers.

He continued until Asuka was well lubricated and anyway better relaxed, so he could slide two fingers, then three, easily inside her. He said, “I’m going to fuck you there, Asuka. It may hurt you a bit. Like the very first time you fucked, perhaps. That sort of pain doesn’t matter; it’ll get better. But if it really hurts, hurts too much, you’re to tell me at once. Is that understood, Asuka?”

“Hai, sensei.” He was sensei again. He supposed it was sexier, to be buggered by your sensei. He assumed this was a virginity, about to fall to the lightest, slightest siege possible.

 

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: Jack in the Green 2

Bridget leaned back against her plantlike lover, his penis, if that’s what it was, firmly held in her anus. She felt a deep love and affection for him. She knew that was partly because she was influenced by the psychotropic chemicals he exuded from his body, what he called his “pollen”. At the same time he’d been a skilled and considerate lover, and that told her good things about his nature.

Though she had to admit her asshole was a little sore from his vigorous thrusts as they closed on their respective orgasms, she was disappointed when at last, and slowly, he with drew from her.

At last, though, she was no longer taken. He reached for her shoulder and helped her turn so she could look at him. He was an extraordinary being. His skin was dark green bark, his hair was leaves, and although the lines of his body and face were manlike, he was made of living, animate wood. His beard was tightly knotted, flexible twigs.

 She touched his face. He was oddly soft, for a man of wood. He smiled at her. “I do not often court mortal women quite so abruptly. But I wanted you, on sight.”

She grinned at him. “My arse is still sore, you abrupt bastard.”

He looked concerned. “I’d hoped to bring you pleasure. Not pain.”

“You did. Pleasure, I mean. I was teasing you. My arse is sore in a good way. Oh!” She remembered something. “You spanked me! You can’t spank me and pretend you didn’t want to hurt me!”

“I felt you wanting it.” He looked up then, and saw Ojastara looking at the pair of them, smiling benignly. “Cousin, I have never had such a gift. May I keep her?”

Ojastara said, “That’s entirely up to the gift, now. I only introduced you. She is not mine.”

Only a short time ago Bridget would have been hurt, if Ojastara had said she didn’t belong to her. Instead she looked at the Green Man. “Jack, if you’ll have me – often! – I’ll stay with you. I’ll willingly be yours. If you’ll -“

“I cannot be yours, little mortal. I’m an elemental; it isn’t possible. But your life will seem all too brief to me. I promise to keep you and love you as long as you live.”

“Then” Bridget pushed her owner back, onto his back. He was immensely strong, she knew, and he was humouring her, as she might ‘lose’ a wrestling match with a child. The protuberance that had been in her arse was clean, now, and gleaming. She lowered her lips to it. “I wonder how sensitive this is?”

Jack said nothing, but the protuberance oozed sap, and then a sticky substance that tasted faintly of something woody, but nourishing. As she licked and sucked at her strange new lover, his hands fell to the ground, and the fingers seemed to dig deep into the earth. The protuberance grew, and it streamed as she sucked, the fluid viscous and faintly sweet.

He placed a bony, woody knee between her thighs, and she rode it, pleasuring herself as she pleasured him. At last she seemed to be back in that shining, fuzzy cloud, high above the world.

Jack came in her mouth at last, releasing something nutty and faintly sweet. She swallowed, and wondered if she would ever need any other kind of sustenance again.

But his great inflexible hand pressed down on her buttocks, so that she pressed closer, tighter to his knee and thigh, soft bark against sensitive womanly skin. And she made the first high-pitched peep, of the sound that seemed to be her new orgasm noise. There were many more before the need and greed of her cunt at last allowed her to relax and rest. 

When she could look around again she saw that Ojastara and her foxes had gone. But she did not feel abandoned, in this new life. Jack said to her, “You’re my Queen now. Queen of April. Or possibly the May. Usually a goddess takes this role. So you must be a goddess too.” 

“And Queen,” she said, wondering. “Then she looked at him. “‘For the shepherd lads on every side’ll come from far away; And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother; I’m to be Queen o’ the May.'” 

Jack stood, and extended his strange hand. Bridget took it and rose. He said, “You’ve become a goddess. Whatever the season was, you’ve just brought the Spring. That was strong, and good. I’ll have to try very hard to make you immortal. With – pardon, I don’t usually work by human manners – with your consent, of course.” 

Bridget remembered that hers was a goddess’s name. An old one. Perhaps that was more than coincidence. She said, “You may make me immortal, fine sir, if you please.”

Sinful Sunday: Goodness! Such badness!

Sometimes Arethusa misbehaved. She didn’t enjoy the micro-second of contact between the cane and her skin, but then the next second it was warming and thuddy. Ties in place, she felt wonderfully submitted. In every sense of the word it was hot

Eventually it dawned on her poor, gullible Master that the cane didn’t have any deterrent effect, whatsoever. Oddly, because he was a kind and indulgent sort of Master, “strict” canings still happened anyway. 

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: In the Realm of the Sensei 8

Asuka stood and stretched, catlike, then turned and made to embrace him. But Seamus had decided she wasn’t quite finished. “You can see the kitchen’s a mess, Asuka. That’s your doing. Take your uniform off. And bra. And you might want to put some sandals on, because you’re going to clean up your mess, and some of the shards will be sharp. Make sure you clean up thoroughly. Then you come back here. And bend over again.”

Asuka stared at him. There were tears in her eyes, but they hadn’t spilled. She nodded, then stepped back so he could watch while she pulled her uniform over her head and off, and reached behind her back, staring into his eyes, to undo the catch of her bra and take it off.

Then, naked except for her socks, she went to the door to collect her sandals, and put them on.

She went to the kitchen and took a shovel and broom from the cupboard under the sink. She made a sort of bow to him, head low in shame, then she began to clear up as ordered.

He sat and watched his well-striped girl, though he pretended to read Sei Shonagon while she picked up the pieces of plate and swept the shards and dust onto the shovel. When the kitchen was tidy again, if lacking in dinner plates, she looked at him, questioning.

“That looks … acceptable. Oh, and bring me the peanut oil.” Seamus hadn’t thought to buy proper lubricant. She didn’t need lube when they fucked vaginally. She was a juicy girl, a flowing girl, when her lust was roused. And he’d taken other girls anally before, but he hadn’t expected to include Asuka in their number. Not yet, not without discussing it first. But now that she was being punished, and being given the firm treatment she’d asked him for, it seemed that the time had come. 

Asuka looked puzzled when he mentioned the oil, but she’d plainly accepted that if she was being punished and if her man for some reason wanted to baste her in peanut oil, then that was what would be. She wouldn’t question him.

She lifted the little ceramic bottle from the cupboard, and came back to Seamus, holding the oil in both hands in front of her breasts.  

He took it from her gravely. 

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales – Jack in the Green 1

Bridget waited on her hands and knees, her bottom arched up, proffered and offered. Behind her she heard the door of the cottage open, and a male sigh of pleasured surprise.

Seconds later, she felt hard hands on her shoulders, pushing her down so her face and breasts pressed against the grass. A voice that seemed deep but oddly constricted, said, presumably to Ojastara, not to her, “This is a thoughtful gift, Vetter.”

Bridget thought. “Vetter” meant “cousin” in some languages, and probably meant it once in English, before French influences entered the language. Could Ojastara somehow be a relative of this being? But she forgot questions of philology, because the voice addressed her. “You are very beautiful, little human. My mortal morsel.” She felt his thighs, hard as teak, pressing at her softer thighs and buttocks, and something, also hard, pressed protuberantly against her asshole.

She thought about that hardness entering her without lubrication, and whimpered. But the end of that protuberance began to flow, and it entered her, somehow exuding its own slippery gel. She looked down, for the first time, at the hands and forearms that pressed her down. They were solid, without fat, and the striations were neither muscles nor veins. They were a dark green colour. What, she thought, on earth am I fucking?

The voice said, “It’s late to name myself. But your invitation was too strong, little one. I am the Green Man. I’ve been on this world far longer than humans, but I welcomed you when you arrived. Recently, I mean about four hundred years ago, which is a long time ago for you, and yesterday for me, they gave me a name: Jack in the Green. You may call me Jack.”

“Well, you are welcome to fuck me, Jack. Though you’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Or… felt.”

“I’m sorry about that, a little. When I saw you I desired you. And when I’m in a state of desire, I exude … Well, think of it as like pollen. But I exude desire, and you feel it too. So you desire me very much, but you didn’t exactly choose to desire me. I think. Anyway, we want each other, and I’m afraid I’ll have to leave pollen ethics to human thinkers. Jacks in the Green don’t have philosophy. We don’t have politics, either. That’s for you beautiful mortals.”

And he began to move, deliciously, in her ass, taking care not to to hurt. Bridget knew, in a far-away part of her mind, that the pleasure she felt was also partly derived from the chemicals he released. But it was such intense pleasure, and she began to rock back on him, so that she was fucking him, and doing so hard and fast.

Then he held her, one hand on her shoulders, and took control again, fucking her very slowly. Bridget’s world seemed to shimmer, as if their mutual pleasure was somehow visible, like a shining cloud surrounding them both. She turned her head and bit that hard forearm. There was a very faint print from her teeth, and he grunted, not in pain. He reached one hand back and smacked her bottom, six times. His hand was utterly hard, but he was careful not to hurt her, or not much. Then he stopped her spanking and began to fuck her a little harder, a little deeper.

Bridget gasped. she was being taken on a high, hormonal path, as if she was flying, with his hard tube in her ass. She gasped in air, as she could feel her climax build, relentless. Usually she came noisily, guttural or a scream, but deafening for her poor lover. But she could only squeak. Her orgasm came in sharp jabs of pleasure, over and over, possibly for four hundred years, or a day.

At last she stopped, and relaxed against him. She felt immensely happy and fond. She hoped he would let her up, in a while, so she could see his face.  

  

Come to my shop!

My shop is now open!

It’s selling the longest, sweetest and sexiest schoolgirl spanking saga ever written. So far there are nine volumes, and there are probably another five still to be written. But at the speed at which I’m creating things now, they’ll be ready, with happy endings for all concerned, a little later this year.

But reading “Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas” isn’t about the destination; it’s about the journey. Buy it now!

Another saga will commence shortly: In the Realm of the Sensei. It’s based loosely on the adventures of a friend of mine who was teaching English in Japan for a while, and will then move on to some of my own adventures in post-war Vietnam. So there’s always more, coming to the store. 

It due course I’l be selling the highly desired Jerusalem Mortimer coffee mugs on-line, along with the famous Jerusalem Mortimer t-shirt. But bear with me on those. They will arrive, but other things will have to take priority. 

Above all, I say: Come visit my shop!

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: In the Realm of the Sensei 7

Seamus waited politely while Asuka controlled herself and took her place and position again. When she put had her palms flat to the floor and presented herself, silently waiting, he said, “Do that again, and I’ll give you get two strokes extra.” Then he lashed her again, leaving a second pronounced, slightly raised stripe across her plump thighs. He’d kissed that area so often before. He would again tonight.

He didn’t let her take a break after the sixth stroke, but continued, aiming the cane at a lower spot on the backs of her legs. It landed, loudly, and stung her fiercely. His aim was already getting better. Then he worked his way up again, until she had twelve strokes standing out boldly on trembling, luscious skin.

He let her wait after the twelfth stroke, while she stayed down, hands still to the floor, her body quivering a little, not knowing whether her caning was over. At last he broke her tension, touching her thigh lightly with the cane. “You’re done, for now.”

She still held her position. Perhaps she wanted his cock just then, and felt this was a good position for receiving it. But she looked up at him, head still between her knees and said, “Oh, sensei. Thank you, sensei, for my lesson. I will never disrespect you again. Never again.”

Seamus smiled. He was certain that what she’d just said was not true. He expected that they’d started a cycle this night, in which Asuka would make sure, at regular intervals, that she needed to be punished again. Something in that sharp, sexual pain had pleased her very much, and there’d been an intense kind of closeness between them, each of them focused on the movements and sounds and probably smells of the other. They’d both want that again.

“Sensei? I would like it very much if you … If you wanted to fuck me now. Right where I am. Please?”

But he only said, “Good. I’m pleased to hear it, Asuka-chan. I promised you twenty, you remember? You’ve still got eight strokes to go. But you can stand up now.”