The Ojastara Tales: Prologue 2

Posted on January 9, 2020 by jaime

Continuing the story from Monday.

By the time we’d got to her place I had my hand down the back of her skirt and inside her panties, feeling the muscles in her arse move while she walked. The muscles ball, then roll and stretch. It’s very rewarding, in a tactile sense.

By the way, I used the word “panties” in that sentence, I guess you noticed. I used to not like the word “panties”, but now I do, precisely because of its unpopularity and lack of dignity. People who think they’re probably about to fuck aren’t always interested in their dignity. As a main concern, anyway.

She thought me putting my hand on her bare ass was a bit of a liberty, but on the other hand (oh, stop it), it showed my interest and intensions in very certain terms, and that gave her something to play off. Also, I knew by then that she wanted me to do something that she hadn’t consented to. She’d communicated that to me, which is a kind of consent anyway, but these things can get complicated. Often we deliberately complicate it so that we don’t have to admit how much of what happens to a submissive is at his or her will. Still, she hadn’t consented to that, specifically, so I did it. Anyway, that was how we were till we got to her front door.

She turned to do the door. I grabbed her and kissed her. So we were ripping each other’s clothes off in the front doorway. Then she got the door open, and we fucked, for the first time, on her carpet. Later, in her bedroom, she showed me a broken riding crop. She said her last Master (he’d moved overseas) had broken that on her arse, and it had been a wonderful, beautifully sexual moment.

I was mildly intimidated by that. I’ve never broken a riding crop on anyone. I’m pretty sure I never will. I thought about the force you’d need to use, and shook my head. Out of my range.

Still, I said I was going to whip her arse with my belt and then fuck her arse, so she’d have a hot, welted arse and my come in her ass to remind her of me when I left.

She liked that plan and rolled over onto her front. I lashed her with my belt while she squirmed. Eventually it reached her, and she half turned and looked up at me, beseeching with big sad eyes, as if I was a monster to hurt a poor girl like that. So I put my hand on the small of her back, pushed her back down and continued.

I was demonstrating fitness to be her Dom. She’d told me she liked strict discipline, so I was enjoying myself but also making sure I got invited back to be naked with her again. Then I lubed her ass, and fucked her anally.

Some time during that roaring, grunting fuck she stopped calling me Sir and switched to Master. I hadn’t asked for that but it seemed heart-felt. I accepted the gift, which is huge; the gift of herself, all of her, is the greatest gift one human can give another, and in a way only Doms get to experience that. So I was more moved than I pretended, but I called her slavegirl, and that was well.

Though she wasn’t really a slave; she was a stroppy lawyer, and even her Master didn’t really own her. But it meant we were in a relationship. The usual rules for a Master and a woman-who-has-a-Master applied.

Which meant, for example, that she could wake me up at two in the morning, and demand to be fucked again.

To be continued on Monday 13!

The Ojastara Tales: Prologue 1

Posted on January 7, 2020 by jaime

I was in a relationship with Ojastara, a Tamil woman. We’d met at work, where I was policy consultant for the State Government and she was a lawyer working on a complicated land deal. Part of her job was helping me not screw up the legal niceties, because the issues were more specialised than I was used to.

I told her a story about how a couple of years ago the then Minister had insisted we discriminate against people who’d just been released from prison. It was wrong and outside of that organisation’s establishing Act. There was nothing there about adding to the punishment of people who’d served their sentence. It was socially unhealthy, it was illegal and it would hurt vulnerable people.

I knew the Minister only wanted it because a local shock jock was running a radio campaign to stir up his audience.

She thought I’d fight it on the constitutional issue, that it’s not a possible use of that government agency. But that would only make him mad at me and I couldn’t afford that. So I wrote the Minister a paper showing that he could do that but if he did he’d have to apply the same policy to other groups, unless he changed the legislation. I knew he wouldn’t want to do either of those things.

So he sent back my advice and and I came up with another solution that would give him what the shock-jock wanted but be unpopular with everybody else. By then three weeks had passed and the shock-jock had got bored and moved on to something else. So my third paper went to the Minister’s office and never emerged again. As I’d planned.

I meant it as a parable about how government works differently from law. She thought it was funny. So we had a drink in the pub across the road, after work.

Her name, as I mentioned, was Ojastara. She’d been in Australia since she was three, so she wasn’t culturally Tamil, or not much. I asked her if she liked M.I.A. (I do), but she said she liked Celtic music.

The main thing about Ojastara that was different from any other Australian girl was that she had the darkest skin I’d ever seen, at least on someone I’d actually met.

After a while I realised she had the darkest skin of anyone I’d wanted, very particularly and personally, to fuck.

That second category is smaller, but it’s more important to me, of course. She was so black her skin glowed, almost with a trace of blue-black like Superman’s hair. I thought it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

She had an apartment not so far away. She mentioned that after our second glass of wine, when it was clear that we were getting on well. So I put my arm round her while we walked to her place. After a block’s worth of silence she said, “It’s a pity you’re such a rule-breaker. Because I’m a girl who likes strict rules.”

I didn’t immediately realise that was meant as a hint to out herself in case I was sensitive to clues like that. I missed it it the moment, but I whacked her bum anyway, not very hard, “Well, I’m the rule-breaker. I never said you could break rules. Especially not mine.”

She dodged, but not until after my hand had connected. She laughed at me. “Oh? What sort sort of rules would you want? And do you really think you could hold me to them? I’m a very stroppy lawyer.”

So I stopped, and held her for the first time and kissed her. She had such a sweet face. I said, “Politics beats law, every time.”

She nodded. We’d recognised each other. A policy-maker was going to beat a lawyer, and then fuck her. She said, “But lawyers, we’re famous for not taking any bullshit.”

So I smiled, held her against me, smacked her bottom again, but really quite hard this time, and kissed her.

And that’s this story’s first episode. Tune in again on Wednesday!

Sinful Sunday: The shadow knows

Posted on January 5, 2020 by jaime

Zoë gets up, drawn by the light, to look out at the dawn over this new city. Even though they’re directly over a building site and a tv studio, the world seems green and optimistic.

She studies, fascinated, the the elegant beauty, the slowly moving interplay, of shadow and light.

But someone who hasn’t got up is fascinated by much closer beauty. “Zoë,” he says, “Come back to bed.”

Writing Plans for 2020

Posted on January 2, 2020 by jaime

I was writing the adventures of Claire, and an unnamed Headmaster. And his secretary Maddie.

I like them, all three of them, though I initially saw my headmaster as a villain. Over time he became more thoughtful, and kinder. That’s an inevitable process in my writing, because I mostly write about people whose worst deeds are accidents, the product of need and carelessness, and not “villains”.

My observation of life is that almost no one is a “villain”. Everyone thinks they’re a hero doing the right thing, and fiction, to be realistic, needs to include more about the damage done by people who think they’re doing right.

I think I’m going to end the Headmaster story now, at least on my blog. The saga – and it really is a saga – is better suited for books, and in particular in books for sale. The headmaster books will be for sale soon.

That leaves me with a question about what I should do with this blog space, “Wicked Wednesday”. I think I’m going to do two things for a while. The first is to tell you something more about a Tamil girl I knew, because that passes the five-year rule. The five-year rule is that I don’t write about sexual things that happened in my life until they were at least five years ago,

The second thing is, I’ll pay more attention to prompts.

I once told the Tamil girl – I’ll call her Ojastara, on the excellent ground that that wasn’t her name – a sexy story while I stroked her to orgasm because I was exhausted. She loved that, so I did it again, many times. So I might start with the stories I told her. It may become a more single-mindedly sexual Thousand Nights and a Night.

Beyond that, I should tell you that I, Jerusalem Mortimer, am also another writer, under another name, which name I’m not going to speak, here, and in 2020, I’m going to be spending more time on his writing career. Sometimes there are Sexy Bits in his books, but he’s not an erotica author like your humble host here.

I’m going to spend a lot more time being him. But Jerusalem Mortimer is a part of me that I like, and I’ll keep writing as him.

For sure.

So watch this space.

Sinful Sunday: Odalisque

Posted on December 28, 2019 by jaime

She is a possession. Beautiful, well disciplined and well loved.

She lies on her bed, comfortable, relaxed and happy.

But she hears her Master enter the room. She turns, wondering what he wants with her. But she has a pretty good idea.

Wicked Wednesday: May I?

Posted on December 24, 2019 by jaime

Claire learns that she’s not a woman who’s allowed to come without permission. But some wonderful things are happening and holding herself back may be too difficult, punishment or not.

It’s a hot scene but it’s had to leave my blog because it’s published now, and publishers don’t like their stuff to be available for free. I’ll put up a link to where you can buy this very hot text, shortly.

Masturbation Monday: Proper, good and bad

Posted on December 23, 2019 by jaime

After a while of knowing nothing except the feel of Roland’s body and the need to be as closely pressed against him as possible, Teresa slowly became aware again of where she was. They were together on his desk, Teresa tightly bent over and Roland covering her.

They were still gasping like sprinters who’d breasted the ribbon and crossed the hundred-metre mark. He reached under her to hold and cup her breasts, his body still pressed tight against her arse, his cock slowly shrinking inside her.

His face was beside hers, over her shoulder after he’d collapsed onto her back. He looked at her with something soft, some form of adoration, in his eyes. His mouth opened, then closed. He had nothing to say.

But eventually Teresa said, “I felt that! You coming! Like a little splash in me. Little splash of you! It was lovely. I felt you come in me.”

Roland kissed her. “That was… amazing. You can have as much of my come as you like. Whenever you like. And wherever.”

She chuckled. That didn’t need an answer, but it was good to hear. He said, “How’s your arse?”

“You mean the spanking or the buttsex?”

“Let’s start with the spanking.”

“The proper spanking? I feel not sore. Very not sore. Warm. Lovely and toasty. And I felt all floaty, for a while. Not long enough. And while I was floating, nothing hurt. Is that supposed to happen?”

“Absolutely. Yes.”

“Then proper spankings are great! But… you’d give a girl that for being bad? How’s that supposed to discourage her? I want another one of those. Lots of them. I mean, once I’ve recovered a bit. But soon.”

”That was a good-girl spanking. A proper one. But there are bad-girl spankings, too, and I think if I ever have to give you one of those, you’d, um, modify your behaviour. To avoid me giving you another one. It’s not just that it hurts more, when I spank to punish. It’s the knowing I’m cross with you. It feels very different.”

“’If you ever have to give me one of those.’ You’re assuming a lot, aren’t you?”

Sinful Sunday: Academia and a domestic scene

Posted on December 22, 2019 by jaime

It was University again, that got Arethusa caned. There were several essays set, and Arethusa let one slide until the day before handing in. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, or the second.

When she confessed it was hanging over her, I sat her down in the library and made her work on it, while I wrote the appendices as best I could. Though even they needed more specialised knowledge than I had. But the only way of getting the essay in before the cut-off time was if I did them. So we both worked until the early hours, and got the essay in with minutes to spare.

I was concerned about why this was happening. But I was also certain that as soon as the essay was sent, and she’d slept, there was a reckoning due.

So we have this picture of Arethusa about halfway through that reckoning, and the collection of implements I used in that reckoning. And, because every loving Master should look after the messes he creates, a box of tissues.

But there were always two tracks of thought and feeling with Arethusa’s punishments. She is submissive, and I’m a Dom. That means I was in charge, and responsible for making sure things went well for her, using guidance, assistance and discipline. It also meant, it’d be silly to deny, that some scenes were hot as fuck.

So in the midst of punishment I was always thinking about how hard it was reasonable to go, and what she needed to change her behaviour. But there was also simple sexual appreciation: she looked beautiful. And the more I marked her, the more beautiful she looked.

It’s an odd kind intimacy if you aren’t wired for it, as giver or receiver. But for us, it was an act of love and care. Her gift of submission, and mine of control and care. And then of lust and joy.

Masturbation Monday: Animal sounds

Posted on December 17, 2019 by jaime

Teresa paused. Jack had just asked her –told her – to ask him to fuck her ass.She paused. It turned out to be a hard thing to ask for. It made her feel shy. Also, it might hurt. But she felt committed, and more: she wanted this. It wasn’t so much that she wanted his cock in her ass, as that she wanted him in charge.

At last she nodded. “Yes, sir. Would you please fuck my – Ohff!”

Jack had run out of willpower, or won’t-power, it seemed, and with her demand half-stated he’d pushed forward and into her. Teresa opened her mouth, savouring the sensation. He put his hands on her hips, clutching hard to hold her still while he slowly took her.

The last time she’d had a cock in her arse the boy had worked his way in with a series of small advances and even smaller withdrawals, until he was all the way in her.

But Jack relied on the lube, and perhaps her assurance that he could be rougher, and he took her, slowly but in one long, continuous thrust. She felt him firmly taking her, his lubed cock hard and slick against the inside of her anal tube, nosing its way deeper and deeper until the cool of his stomach and thighs pressed tight against her blazing hot skin. She sighed then, satisfied. She was thoroughly filled.

They both breathed out audibly then, tightly joined, and slowly moved together. He reached under her to press his hand hard against her cunt. Eventually, she pushed her arse back at him, and squeezed to hold him tight. He was deliciously hard and just the right amount of painful in her, her spanked skin still blazing heat back at him. She said, “Ah. Ah, fuck.”

She could hear her own desperation. She could already feel her need gathering at the base of her spine. He moved his hands to hold the fronts of her thighs, and sped up a little, chasing for his own orgasm.

Then everything was confusion, as their bodies took control and nothing was slow or careful. They fucked as hard and fast as they could.

Debbie could feel a familiar hunger and need building in herself, while their bodies rutted, each pushing into the other, and they had no more sense of time.

A few minutes or an hour later she felt the wave she was riding break. Her eyes wide, she made her orgasm cry: “Tard! Tard-ah! Tard ah ben kit tol! Ah!”

His own sounds, just a few seconds later, made no more sense. Just a series of low animal growls, bear-like, and then he came, deep in her. She yowled with him as he spurted within her. She felt that, his liquid released in her. She was moved by it. And yes, she decided, she felt fed.