Wicked Wednesday: In the Realm of the Sensei 8

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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

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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!

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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

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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.”

 

The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely in a Scots accent 3

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When Bridget had come Ojastara kissed her cunt fondly, then slipped her hands out of her bonds with surprising ease. She took the flogger from Bridget’s surprised hand. “We’re going for a walk,” she said.

“Where? Why?”

“I don’t think I’ll let you speak any more, Bridget. If you speak before I ask you to, you’ll feel this flogger. Hard, girl. It’s not always a toy.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. Wisely, she remained silent, but followed Ojastara through the forest. After a time Ojastara told her to stop, and take off her Domme costume. Bridget obeyed, and watch as Ojastara stowed her outfit, the tight black pants and the halter-top, and stowed it in a tree. Bridget wasn’t sure if she’d ever see those clothes again.

A smart lash, with the flogger’s thongs wrapped across her bottom, soon made her forget it. Naked, she followed the woman who was now her Mistress.

At last they came to a clearing, and a wall, within which was a small cottage.Ojastara called, but didn’t knock. She shouted, loudly, “Jack! Jack! I bring a gift!”

She glanced at Bridget. “Hands and knees, girl. Drop!”

Bridget began to understand just who and what the ‘gift’ must be.

Then the flogger lashed down again, and she cried out in pain. Properly used, it was anything but a toy. “Not like that, girl. Your ass facing the door. Knees apart. Arch your back, little one.”

Bridget obeyed, feeling like a cat making herself available to a tom. The lashes struck her bottom again, but gently. She took it as approval. Ojastara said, “Good girl. Now we wait.” 

Sinful Sunday: Fairies at the bottom of my garden

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There may not be fairies at the bottom of my garden. But sometimes – even better! – there are bad girls. 

Waiting for the man with the paddle. Knowing that she has as much control over crying out as she has over her ass turning red. She knows she’ll be loud once her punishment starts; the paddle has no interest whatsoever in what she wants to do or not. She fears that the whole valley will hear.  

As the man with the paddle (and the camera) I know that at 5.45 in the morning, which it is, there’s not a soul about in the valley, and she can express her sorrow as freely as she needs.

And she is beautiful, and she expects – rightly – that consolation will follow punishment almost immediately.  

 

On monetarising this blog

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I started this blog in 2012. Since then I’ve published an average of 4-5 times a week. I tend to write in serial form, building up sagas as I go. Most of my segments, or individual blog posts, are intended to contain arousing, erotic scenes. So each of those posts is part of a longer story, which often goes on for something like the length of a novel.  

Occasionally I put up something that isn’t meant to be sexy. I’ve presented research on this blog, and occasionally posted on issues that come up and affect the bids community in particular. Though I’ve been widening my brief, especially in the last year or so, to take in issues that affect people, but aren’5t necessarily linked to bdsm in particular.

The rarest kind of post has been the posts about my personal life.

There’s another category: “meta” posts, which are about this blog, and issues facing the blog.This one concerns the “Jerusalem Mortimer wants a word” blog’s survival. Because the reality iOS that this blog costs me money, to keep it up on the net. It also costs me time, as I work on pieces, and I do work for money.

So I’m going to monetarise this blog, and put in new features that are accessible for small payments. Generosity with my time and cash is still my basic assumption and approach.       

There’s an enormous amount of material here, and most of it will remain accessible for free. But I’m about to launch jerusalemmortimer.com as partially a pay site. 

This involves two things. First, I’ve opened a bookshop featuring my work. It sells erotic sagas, because sagas tend to be what I write. Each saga is divided up to make a book of about 26-30 pages.

Each volume is self-contained as well as being part of a larger story. They’re very affordable at $4.99 each, with the first volume in each series serving as a sample, available for $3.50.

The first saga is Jennifer’s Pleats and Pleas. It’s set in a slightly strange high school in an alternative universe.

The students are initiated in a range of disciplinary and sexual practices, and a very steamy and surprisingly kind time is had by all. 

It will soon be followed by volume 1 of a new saga, set in Japan and Vietnam in the 1980s. Historical literature! With ripped bodices!

Second, from 1 May 2020, this blog’s updates will be available only to subscribers who have taken out a Premium Membership.

As well as access to all posts a month before they’re available to general readers, Premium Members also get audio recordings of dramatic and steamy highlights from my work. These remain exclusive to members only.

Members also get a monthly newsletter, letting them further into their author’s world, and giving advance notice and samples of Things to Come.  

You’ll also get the satisfaction of helping a poor starving author keep his site on-line. So, thank you!  

In the realm of the Sensei 6

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Asuka obeyed, lowering the panties so her pussy, now plumply visible, seemed to offer itself to him. Seamus could feel himself hardening. When the panties reached her knees, then fell to gather round her ankles, he said, “Step out of them, and give them to me. If you make too much fuss while I’m caning you I’ll put them in your mouth.”

“Hai, sensei.” Asuka stood, panties in her hand. She held them out and kissed his chest through his shirt when he accepted them and put them in his suit pocket. Then she turned, quickly and with just a hint of coquettishness, so that the skirt flared almost up to her waist before she jackknifed again, the uniform now protecting only the upper slopes of her buttocks.

Seamus lifted the hem and tucked it into her waistband. “I’m thinking of giving you twenty. The roaring twenties. Keep still, till I say you can move.”

Asuka said nothing, but made a sort of squeak. Something about that sound reached out to him; he was now fully erect. But he took the cane in his right hand and tapped it at the fleshiest, roundest part of her buttocks. So she knew where the first stroke would land. Asuka’s fear sound was lower in pitch. He supposed he’d become more familiar with these sounds, the sounds that Asuka made when she was under discipline, in the coming months.

Then, while he still had the nerve to do it, he raised the cane and swept it down hard against Asuka’s bottom. It didn’t land exactly where he’d aimed, but it wasn’t wrong either. The impact on bamboo upon girl was sharp and loud and it drew a white line across light brown skin, that soon blossomed into a bright red stripe, high on her bottom.

Asuka yelped, then sang out, “I’m sorry!” She held her position, her palms still pressed to the floor.

He followed the stroke quickly with another, this time aiming and landing it a little lower. She squealed and sang her apologies at mounting pitch and volume, but kept in place until the fifth stroke, the first across her upper thighs. That obviously stung more fiercely than the strokes he’d laid across her buttocks. Her upper body rose so she seemed to be bowing, and she took a step forward, breath hissing through her teeth.

The Ojastara Tales: Asking nicely in a Scots accent 2

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Ojastara knelt, her hands cuffed together over her head and suspended from a hook in the ceiling. Her knees were well part, the skin of her cunt inner thighs ablaze from the steady, insistent and insinuating lashes of Bridget’s flogger. 

Then Bridget increased the intensity, aiming the floggers lashes only at her soft, sensitive cunt. Ojastara closed her eyes,amnd her mouth hung open. She made no sound. Bridget increased the forces of the lashes, and Ojastara at last moaned, as though she was immersing her body into a warm bath. Then her brows arched, pleading, and she said, again, “Yeeees. Please. Please.” 

Bridget smiled. She leaned down and kissed Ojastara’s forehead, and pressed the handle of the flogger against her cunt. Ojastara seemed to collapse, her whole weight hanging from her wrists while she pressed forward and pushed herself against that hard, leather cylinder. 

At last Ojastara cried out like a cat being fucked, a high animal sound that was both need and satisfaction. It built and suddenly reached up to a higher pitch. There were years in Ojastara’s eyes, spilling, running down her face.

At last she breathed, “Oh yeah. Thank you, Bridget.”

“I think I’d like you to call me ‘Miss Bridget’.”

“Thank you, Miss Bridget.”

“Good girl. Not that you’re a girl, any more than, I don’t know, Eris was. You’re a trickster goddess. There aren’t many of you.”

Ojastara smiled. “That’s nice, Miss Bridget. But I’m not a goddess. Or a trickster.” 

“Just what a trickster goddess would say. But I have better uses for your lying tongue, Tara. Come forward a bit, still on your knees.”

Ojastara, who was still in charge there, and they both knew it, made an interrogative noise. Bridget sighed. “My cunt likes that sound. I think I want you forced to lean back a little, while you get me off.” 

So Ojastara crawled forward until her body hung back, from her uplifted, bound, wrists. Bridget stepped forward, thighs parted, and pressed Ojastara’s face into her cunt. She closed her eyes and sighed, as she felt her tongue in soft, wet, sensitive skin. And she let the flogger’s lashes rest against Ojastara’s back.