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.

 

.  

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.

 

Sinful Sunday: On Being the Main Course

Arethusa was, of course, no stranger to the cane. She was a good girl and she tried, but she’d blown her budget that week buying blankets and an eiderdown printed with Gibli Studio’s mysterious creature Totoro. She had something of a Totoro obsession. 

As a result she’d run out of money for the fortnight, and I had to tide her over. Her Totoro obsession wasn’t why I loved her, but I did think it was loveable. So I wasn’t at all angry, but I also knew my duty as Master.

So she found herself in my dining room again, bent over the table. The day’s main course.

She’d had her warm-up strapping, and knew there would be a short pause before I reached for the cane that perched on the table beside her. The table had two messages for her, as well as the presence of the cane.

The first was the cushion, that told her that I wanted her to suffer no discomfort except what I inflicted. And the box of tissues, that told her I intended that she would be crying before this lesson was finished.

But when it was finished, she would have her tears wiped away, and the tissues held so she could blow her nose, and them, without her being allowed to rise, we would set about making her feel better. Discipline isn’t cold: it’s intensely and overpoweringly intimate. 

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.

Sinful Sunday: Nymphs and a Tawse

Two nymphs in my garden. I felt very classical.

The warmer nymph was holding the tawse across the paler nymph’s bottom. That was the only time warm nymph was ever allowed to touch that tawse.

There are rules and etiquette about submissives and disciplinary implements. I followed those rules because they made psychological and sexual sense.

Normally she wasn’t allowed to touch it. it touched her.

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?”

 

Sinful Sunday: Tip toes

It’s corner time for Arethusa, after the spanking. I’m not sure why I told her she had to do her time in the corner, until she could be welcomed back as a good girl, on tip toes. 

She liked the attention to detail. If I’m to tell her what to do, I should be interested in exactly what she does.

I liked what tip toes did to her legs. And it was a nice mini-sign of obedience, that … well, it pleased me. Both of us.

 

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.” 

Sinful Sunday: Glory

This was just after Arethusa’s first spanking. I can’t remember what it was for. It was a micro-second of hesitation when I’d given her an order, or forgetting to call me Sir (I wasn’t her Master yet). But it was something.

We wanted that first spanking to happen ASAP, and for it to be “for” something, to have a reason, so that her accepting it was an act of submission.

And afterwards, dumped shockingly fast off my knee and onto the carpet, it was her first Corner Time. 

“Stand there, hands on your head,” I said. “You’re in disgrace.” 

Of course she knew she wasn’t in any disgrace at all. Just thinking about her, just being in the same room, turned me on. I’d told her that, and then she’d witnessed and felt it.

On display there, in that penitent pose, bottom and thighs freshly spanked, watched by a man already smitten, she wasn’t in disgrace.

She was in Glory. And she knew it.