The Yellow Room – 2

This is a section from a Victorian porn novel. 

The lovely Alice is being birched by her Uncle, while her cousin Maude counts the strokes and strokes her uncle’s cock. Uncle, being a wicked Uncle (TM), spends some time birching Alice’s cunt. Now read on… 

The Yellow Room

After several of these strokes had been given, her uncle asking her whether he was a wretch and a monster, as she had called him last night, she replied with vehement denials.

“No! oh no! oh! oh! oh! oh no! Not a monster! Not a wretch! My own dear uncle, whom I love! Oh! oh! oh! My bottom burns! Oh! oh! It is on fire!”

“Will you be a good obedient girl, miss?”

“Yes! Yes! Oh, indeed…”

“And thank me for whipping you?”

“Yes, indeed I do.”

“Whip well in, uncle,” said Maud quietly, in her rich voice.

And he did so. Alice shrieked, and fainted. 

Maud, beside herself, threw herself backwards on the long and broad divan – her breasts exposed, her legs (without drawers) wide extended.

Sir Edward, throwing down the birch, flung himself upon her with fury. He inserted his enormous affair into her burning cunt, and he fucked her so violently she almost fainted from delight.

When Alice came round and Sir Edward had risen from Maud’s bosom, Maud,  said, in clear tones, “Uncle, I told Alice yesterday morning, when she kept me so long before I could succeed in tying her down, that I would take care that it secured her an extra half-dozen.” 

Masturbation Monday: The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second, Part 3

Ojastara’s knees pressed into the grass, and she felt his hand shaking with passion and need as he placed it on the back of her head and pulled her in closer. 

She took her captor’s cock deeper into her mouth, so he was filling her, his glans close to but not quite touching the back of her throat. He was a pretty man, and his cock felt good into her mouth, hard though the skin was so soft and delicate. She loved the feel of that sensitive invader in her mouth, so responsive to her tongue and the suction she applied.

It was a pity the man attached to the cock was, she had to admit, a scumbag. But she licked that hard shaft, along the underside, making him moan.

His cock began to urge deeper into her, fucking her mouth and throat, and she reached behind him and pushed a finger into his asshole. He growled. “Bitch!” And she felt his hand slap her face. But, as she knew would happen, he accepted the penetration. She inserted a second finger, and began to suck him harder and faster. He began to make throaty noises, some guttural and some little more than squeaks. 

At last she knew from his gasping and hard breathing, and the way his cock had expanded in her mouth that he was ready. She placed her hands on his knees and pushed them wider apart.

He growled again: “Fucking little bitch!” He was not a nice man and he was not her friend.

But she let his cock reach the back of her throat, suppressing her own gag reflex, and bit him very lightly. It served as his signal. He gasped in a great breath, and his cock spurted into her, thickly, and she swallowed as he came into her.

His hands slackened on her shoulders, and she gave him fifteen seconds, as a kindness, before she dropped her head.

And then raised it, ramming his bollocks hard and ruthless with solid occipital bone. He made a strange gurgling sound, almost as if he’d swallowed his own tongue, and then said, “ooooh”, as if he were speaking clearly.

He fell to the earth, writhing in pain. Ojastara reached for an artery in his throat, and stopped the flow of blood. In a few seconds he stopped moving. She wasn’t sure whether she had killed him. She said, “If you recover, it would be nice to think that you’ve learned to be less of a jerk.”

But the foxes were approaching, growling. Their mistress had surely been bringing them food. She remembered that she had greater responsibilities than to the man on the ground, and nodded at them. The foxes came forward cautiously to smell their prey. One took an experimental bite of his arm. The teeth were sharp, and skin and muscle ripped. He rolled over, still dazed, and the foxes were on him. 

Ojastara bit the cord from her wrists and then removed the cord from her throat. It was probably wise to leave this place, but her captor and then victim had mentioned a landgrave, a man of stranger tastes and greater power than him. 

She could leave the foxes for now, as they were occupied, but they would join her soon enough. In the meantime she would find this landgrave.

 

Wicked Wednesday: The Yellow Room

Your author is too busy to auth today. But here’s something from an anonymous Victorian filthmonger. The lovely Alice has been sent to stay with her uncle, who wastes no time in making her accept corporal punishment and the mild humiliation of being chronically underdressed. Probably not “mild” humiliation, really, for a Victorian miss.

Here Alice is being birched by her uncle, while her cousin Maud, already fully submitted to him, counts the strokes, and strokes her uncle’s cock under his kilt, to encourage him to keep the strokes hard. 

Alice’s birching (excerpt)

Maud’s even voice continued to number the strokes, and she herself seemed aflame; the sight of the agony her uncle was inflicting seemed to excite her sensuality to an extraordinary degree. Her lips were moist, her eyes swam; the eyelids dropped and all the indications of a very lovesick girl appeared in her.

Alice’s bottom, now bleeding, her tightly strapped limbs, her piercing cries, and the relentlessly inflicted punishment excited her strongest passions. She could have torn Alice limb from limb, and she encouraged her uncle, by rolling his balls and pulling squeezing his prick, to continue the punishment in the severest manner.

She gloated over the numbers as she called them out. 

Sir Edward, too, seemed beside himself. His eyes as two flames, he watched every motion of Alice’s body glossed upon all she displayed, and lacerated her flesh with the rod yet more severely as his organ, already excited to an enormous size, was still further enlarged by Maud’s hand.

At length, Alice’s lower bottom having been well waled from left to right, as well as from right to left, there remained but the nine strokes to be given lengthwise. 

For these, Sir Edward took the third birch from Maud, who by this time was standing with her legs wide apart, uttering little sounds and breathing little sighs of almost uncontrollable desire. 

The unhappy Alice’s cries had somewhat lessened, as the birching had been so severe that her sensitiveness to it had been much diminished. But now, feeling the birch rod curling round her cunt, which being all open and wet, was more than ever exposed, she yelled in a perfectly delirious manner. 

[To be continued next week.]

Product buying guide: Floggers on parade!

Doms/Dommes make house calls. Sometimes. Conditions apply. The submissive has to have been exceptionally bad. Or good.

But when we come visiting we can’t take all our paraphernalia with us. Generally the whipping bench and the leather sling attachable to the ceiling have to stay at home. Forlorn.

We have to choose just a few treasured items to take with us.

Some Dom/mes have a basic house call bag. There’s mine, above. As well as those implements it contains the usual stuff: padded cuffs, a collar and leash, nipple clamps, condoms, lubes and so on.

But if I was only going to bring one implement to a scene, it would be a flogger.

Floggers

In this post “implements” means “things used in impact play, usually on the buttocks and upper thighs.” 

There are two kinds of implements, broadly speaking. Some are rigid or nearly so, like a hairbrush, wooden paddle, ruler, cane and so on. Others are pliable, like a belt or strap, a whip or a flogger.

The difference between a whip and a flogger can get a little hazy, but essentially, a whip has a single tail, or anything up to around five. From the recipients’ point of view, whips are generally thought to deliver a stingy sort of sensation.

Floggers generally start around nine tails (the cat’o’nine tails used in the Navy was essentially a flogger). And from the recipients’ point of view, they deliver a thudding sensation. As most submissives prefer thud to sting, that makes floggers more popular than whips.

Kinds of flogger

There are two basic kinds of flogger. Some have hard lashes, whether of leather or whipcord, rubber or silicon. Others have soft lashes, of soft leather, often suede, or rubber or silicon. 

There’s one more distinction to make. Most floggers have lashes about half to a third of a metre long, and are fairly substantial implements. They can be used while the partners are in bed together, but also for a more formal flogging, in which the submissive is bound, standing up or lying across the bed, while their disciplinarian stands a short way aside from them to deliver the strokes. 

There’s another class of flogger that is much smaller, almost always has soft lashes, of about 10 to 20 centimetres long. These can’t really be used for whole body flogging: they are designed for nipples, cunts, cocks, the sensitive skin between the buttocks, and other areas that couples, or threesomes or whatever, considers to be especially erogenous and sensitive.

1   Flogger with hard lashes

This implement comes closest to being a whip. That’s partly because the lashes are hard like a whip’s tail or tails.

So this implement is best in a relationship where the submissive partner likes more pain than most, and where there is a D/s or M/s relationship. 

The advantage is that it’s easy to use and aim, and though it delivers the right kind of pain, very effectively, it’s unlikely to draw blood or do any harm unless the person wielding it behaves like an absolute maniac. 

The disadvantage of the flogger with hard lashes is simply that it may hurt the submissive more than she or he likes. The Dom/me has to take care and make sure the submissive is feeling sexy and happy. And that may be easier with a soft lashed flogger.

The feedback I’ve had from submissive I’ve flogged using this kind of instrument is that it hurts, of course. A hard flogging will leave redness and sometimes small welts that will last a few days. 

Other submissive reported that the impacts were too intense to be enjoyable as they happened, but that the glowing heat and the sense of having been genuinely punished was worth it. In short, they didn’t enjoy the flogging, but they loved having been flogged.

This implement definitely has its place, but it should be used carefully.

2.  Flogger with soft lashes

The soft lashed flogger is probably the flogger I would take with me on a one-implement mission. It tends to be popular with submissives. It delivers thud much more than sting, and that seems to be the ideal mix in impact play. For most people.

Like the hard-lashed flogger, it’s easy to use and aim. It delivers warm, good-painful sensation, and the blush from a good flogging can last a couple of days. It has to be used extremely hard to get more. That’s a useful fact, for submissives who go swimming, gymming and other activities where they have to change in public or leave their upper thighs or lower buttocks exposed. 

Everybody has different tastes, and that includes submissives. However, I’ve yet to play with a submissive who likes impact play who doesn’t openly or “secretly” love the soft-lashed flogger. It’s relatively gentle, with a kind of warm comfort mixed with the pain. It can safely be used for a long, long flogging while the submissive drifts off to that floaty space where submissives may go.

Though if the Dom/me wants it can be used harder and more punishingly. I like to give a “reminder” stroke every so often, in the middle of a flogging, so the submissive doesn’t feel that their flogging is predictable or within their control.

Disadvantages? At the moment I can’t think of one. I suppose you’d choose something else if you were going for an intense “real punishment” scenario.  

So if I were going to visit a submissive, especially one who is new to “discipline”, and I could bring only one implement, the soft-lashed flogger is the one I’d bring. 

3.   The cute little flogger

This small flogger isn’t one you can usefully use for whole body punishment, unless you have a lot of time on your hands. It’s for flogging erogenous zones, essentially.

Its big advantage is sexual intimacy: you use it at close quarters, to flog your partner’s cock or cunt, their perineum and the sensitive skin between the lower buttocks. And you use it on nipples.

Many small floggers come with a dildo handle, so that when the submit is aroused, the Dom/me can insert the dildo into cunts or anuses, and stimulate their submissive another way. I recommend one of those, so long as you can find one that you think looks stylish.

Generally I like natural fibres best, and my choice for the two larger floggers reviewed above is leather. (I’m leaving vegetarian and vegan issues out of this, for the time being.) However, I’ve found that for this smaller implement silicon lashes are better.

They can be heavier than leather, so that a small implement with short lashes can deliver a satisfactory thud. Silicon also allows for finer lashes than you can usefully get with leather strips. And finally, it’s easier to clean. Do these little floggers have a place in a Dom/mes toolkit? Yes.

General notes

When shopping you should look carefully at the way it’s made. Personally I’ve never had or handled a flogger that wasn’t well made. Standards are high. Still, check before you buy. The handle should be solid, and reasonably weighty.

Some makers produce floggers with quite wide lashes. It’s a matter of taste, but I prefer lashes to be fairly narrow. Maybe a little over a centimetre for a soft lash, a little under a centimetre for a hard lash. But your taste may vary. A shop should allow you to have a practice swing or two, so you get the one that feels right to you. 

Colour is up to you. I prefer the traditional black, though I once bought a pink one, because the intended recipient was a very girlie girl, and though she liked discipline she liked to feel it came with sparkles and a bow. Anyway, colour is up to you. 

Happy flogging! Or being flogged!

 

 

 

 

Portrait of the author

 

I said I’d get rid of this picture, which I put up for temporary reasons. It was for some computer technology that would guess your parents (on the assumption that your parent were famous). So they checked out this pic, and their program said that I was the love-child of John Lennon and Christina Hendricks.

That seemed unreasonably flattering, but then that sort of program is intended to be flattering.

But actually that’d be bad news for me, since I can’t play guitar, so me and Dad wouldn’t have that thing in common. And Mum: well, I’d keep trying to shag her, if she’s Christina Hendricks. So it’d only lead to trouble.

Also, this is one of the last free images I’ll post on this blog, though I’ll continue with Sinful Sunday.

But I’m going to need to make this site more commercial soon. It goes against my grain, but it’s costing me money, this site. When actually I need to be making money, if I’m to pay the gas, electricity and rates.

I just need someone to do some software work for me, and then there will be books for sale and much else. Watch the hell out of this space!

 

The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second, Part 2

Ojastara, hands tied behind her back, leash around her neck, followed her young captor. He was wearing a brown t-shirt, with German words on it. The forest equivalent of a Hi-Vis jacket. His shorts were small, and tight.

She watched him walking ahead of her, her leash in one hand. Ojastara wasn’t worried by her captivity, or concerned that he was, perhaps, not a good man. He wasn’t, but she liked watching him walk. A nice ass and good legs went a long way, in her mind.

So after a time she she risked stopping, and pulling back on the leash, The movement tightening the bowstring round her neck, but it also made him turn. He smiled, not nicely. Such a lot of contempt for such a young man, thought Ojastara. He said, “Did you trip?” 

Ostajara fell forward, as if she’d tripped. The movement brought her knees between his feet, her head against his crotch. She said, “No, not really, but I beg you: not the Landgraf! Couldn’t you look after me?” She stared at the bulge of his cock.

He stared down at her head. She let her shoulders slump, which displayed her breasts as she guessed he would want: weighty, not proud. He considered her and at last said, “And how would you like to be looked after?” 

She looked up at him, without leaning forward yet, so he could consider her breasts fully. “I think a woman is happiest serving a man’s pleasure, don’t you? So you have… with you” – she looked at his shorts – “a means to my happiness.” She opened her mouth, then, and made an O of her lips.

The young man looked at her, ideas and possibilities finally dawning on his face.

“Ah. Well, the Landgraf is more… complicated in his pleasures than I am. But if it’s hard cock you want, I am your man.” 

Ojastara leaned forward. “Then I could care for your cock. Though I’ll need my hands.” 

He slapped her, hard. “You think I was born yesterday, cow? You can suck my cock. Doesn’t need hands. Not even yours.”

The was a low, vulpine growl when the sound of that slap filled the clearing. Ojastara shook her head then, and the foxes subsided. The young man hadn’t noticed the foxes following them, and so her headshake meant nothing to him. She looked at him, as if imploring, and he pushed his shorts down, and his cock sprang free. 

Ojastara lowered her head and kissed the tip, and then, sucking him so he could not think, took him into her mouth.

The Ojastara Tales: Tale the Second

Ojastara spent the night in the swamp. The swamp was affectionate but, by four in the morning, a little colder than was strictly comfortable. 

In the morning, when the sun had warmed and woken it, she let the swamp feel her gratitude and affection, but told it she had to go. The swamp was reluctant for a few seconds, and Ojastara worried momentarily that it intended to hold her by force. But it relented and she sensed it returning her affection. A section of the mud beneath her swelled and then carried her, bouyant, back to the point where she’d stepped in.

The foxes – those miscreants who had fought over and shredded her dress – were waiting for her. Ojastara considered picking up a stick to beat them off, but the alpha female whined and then licked her hand, so she knew she had nothing to fear. 

She resumed her walk, naked, the foxes forming a guard of honour behind her. At last she came to a wall. It was brick and stucco, and higher than she could climb. Ojastara pursed her lips (one of the foxes swooned at this sight and had to be re-awakened by its mother), and decided to follow the wall until she found a collapsed section or an entrance.  

The wall seemed to be ancient, but it also turned out to be well maintained. There was no tree that she could climb and drop down to the other side, no ivy to clamber up, and no gaps. At last she came to a gate. A young man stepped out as she approached, with a longbow and arrows. He said, “Welcome, naked lady, to Waldenbereich.” 

Ojastara said, “The name means as little to me as if I were a tree. Or swamp. But thank you for your welcome. May I pass through your gate?” 

The young man smiled contemptuously. “You now have the right to do as you’re told, no more than that. Step forward, please, with your hands together behind your back. I can’t add you to my family, but it will do me no harm to give the Landgraf a gift.”

One of the foxes growled, and the young man nocked an arrow to his bow. “If you don’t want your pet to die, tell it to relax.” 

Ojastara signalled to the fox to stay back. She stepped forward, unafraid, with her hands behind her back as ordered. Swiftly, skilfully, the young man tied her hands, and used a spare bowstring to make a slip-knotted leash on her neck.

He tugged, wordlessly, and she followed. Befhind her, foxes growled.