Claire needs to forgive herself. Will doesn’t think she deserves punishment, only sympathy. But in the circumstances he finds the most sympathetic thing is to deliver the punishment she thinks she deserves.
And try to keep her aware that she’s good, really.
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.
Back in the taxi Roland had promised Teresa, into her ear so the driver wouldn’t hear, that her spanking would be the “can’t sit down” kind.
That was probably true, not because of pain but because sitting down would be the last thing she’d want to do when this spanking stopped. If it ever was going to stop. For now she was content to lie over his legs, tightly held, his hand landing over and over on her bare ass.
His hand was warm, comforting as well as mildly painful. Her arse felt glorious: warm, sexy, teased. She was in no hurry for this to stop. Neither was he, it seemed.
But at last he rested his hand on her arse, and she could feel her own heat, and his. She expected her skin was the brightest red colour it had ever been. She’d never felt quite so confident that a man liked what he saw, as she did just then.
He said, “All right, Teresa. That was your lesson: once you’ve started calling a man sir, it’s not safe to brat him. Not without consequences. But you’re done now. Up you get.”
But Teresa was too dazed and too bizarrely comfortable to want to move.
She watched her hair brushing on his carpet, and wondered again what colour her ass was – scarlet? crimson? somewhere around that part of the spectrum – and what it would take to get him to start again. And then, suddenly and treacherously, he pushed her and she tumbled onto that carpet.
She slid her hands under her bottom and squeezed tight, glaring up at him. He only smiled down at her. “Stand up, Teresa, and take your clothes off. All of them.”
Teresa considered defiance. But the spanking part of the evening, though it had been hot, and fun, was over. And undressing was something she’d been meaning to do anyway. So she removed silks and velvet, finally dropping the long skirt he’d pushed up to her waist, and stood facing him in just her corset, feet slightly apart, hands at her sides.
Roland regarded her gravely. He was still seated, still fully dressed. Finally he said, “You are amazingly beautiful. And completely, utterly desirable. I’m going to take that corset off before I fuck you. Because it’s more comfortable for me that way.” He looked her in the eyes.
Debbie decided not to fight on the corset issue. For now. Because when he’d claimed to want it off solely for his own comfort he’d been winding her up, and, she guessed, hoping she’d rise to the challenge. “Yes, sir.” But she didn’t take it off.
So he raised the stakes. “I don’t think I’m going to let you wear clothes in this flat again. From now on, you strip when you get in the door. Understood?”
Arethusa has been spanked long and hard over his knee, on her bottom and the backs of her thighs. Not for any fault; just for the sensuality and the emotion of it. Now she waits obediently while her Master takes a break. She stands as he told her, between the two doors that emphasise the different ways they can go, now.
The next stage will bring sharper pain than his hand; she knows that. But she doesn’t know which implement she should be preparing herself for. It will hurt, heat and mark her: that’s all she knows. In the last stage he will take her, but she doesn’t know which part of her body he will use. She’s not even sure which she hopes for. There’s something sweet about it not being her choice.
Doors are choices. They open into the future. But a submissive doesn’t choose which door opens. Arethusa waits.
Ruxana lay quieter than Nana had when I tongued her, and didn’t block my ears with her thighs. So I heard an amused feminine murmur and a stifled laugh. I frowned, though since my face was between her long, slender thighs, no one saw or noticed.
I guessed that Nana, Ruxana and I were making a show for some of the whores who I hadn’t chosen. There would be, must be, a peep hole somewhere that allowed them to watch. Then I decided that I didn’t care. I continued to pleasure Ruxana, who finally lost her relaxed posture, held my head tightly as if trying to wrench it off, and screamed to fill the room.
By the time she completed her climax, or series of climaxes, my manhood was once again standing in women’s honour and service. I rolled Ruxana over, and with gestures and a slap to her bottom encouraged her to present herself for me on her hands and knees. I admired once more that perfect bottom she had shown me when she posed naked with Nana, at the beginning of this encounter. I put my knees between hers and entered her, until that deliciously round and firm bottom pressed back firmly against me.
As I took Ruxana Nana came to stare into my eyes and press my nose between her breasts while I rode her friend. Ruxana and I were both well pleasured and well pleased with each other, and we moved slowly, unhurried, lost in the sweetness of skin against skin.
Nana sometimes pressed her breasts against my face and sometimes lowered herself to kiss my mouth. Though I was riding Ruxana, I couldn’t help wishing there was some way of taking Nana with me into Persia.
But Ruxana suddenly released her breath hard and then held her next breath, working her bottom hard against me. I only had to keep still, presenting, while she worked her way to her third climax. Her arms had collapsed and her face and breasts rested on the bed. She looked up at me, eyes half closed, smiling. She said, “Yavrucuq.”
Of course I did not know the word, but I said, “Yavrucuq” back to her, and then to Nana, and we all three laughed delightedly, pleased with ourselves for having one word in common, and that an endearment.
Nana took Ruxana’s place, and I soon found that although I was exhausted she demanded a rougher and more energetic ride than Ruxana. But when we had both spent I knew I really was exhausted beyond recovery.
I told them they were most beautiful, and if it were possible I’d take them both with me to Persia, and they listened and kissed me at random moments since nothing I said made any sense to them. Except in my tone of voice, which is part of that universal language that cannot be translated and needs no translation.
So when I rose from the bed they scrubbed me again, and kissed my manhood again, addressing me and it as yavrucuq before letting it be clothed.
They said other things to me that I no more understood that they had understood what I had said to them. But it was clear that I’d be welcome, should I ever return to Baku.
We embraced each other, and they withdrew through a door I hadn’t even noticed at the rear of the room, leaving me to return to the ante-room, where Sorouf sat with his girl, conversing and drinking something green.
(I’m afraid that’s all there is, of orientalist erotica. For now, anyway.)
Teresa sprawled over Roland’s knee. He’d promised her a spanking when they arrived at his home, and they’d been there for all of quarter of an hour. He was delivering. His hand landed on her bottom and sometimes, more painfully, on the backs of her thighs.
Teresa held on tight to his right leg for balance and sometimes kicked her legs, though that was mostly for his benefit. She knew he was roused by this, only partly because of the hard mass pressed against her right thigh.
Her long velvet skirt was pulled up and piled at her waist. His hand held her firmly, keeping the skirt out of the way, and her ass in harm’s way.
This hadn’t quite what she’d intended when she’d saved him the bother of removing her panties, by not wearing any.
She’d decided to wear nothing under her skirt several hours earlier, because she’d hoped they might go out after the Real Vampire social. She’d planned to walk him to a taxi stand through the nearby cemetery afterwards and suddenly demand to be fucked. That’d be splendidly goth, and it’d disconcert him a little, she was sure. And he’s still rise to the occasion. But there’d happened to be a taxi outside the pub and he’d hailed it.
Anyway, now she was getting that promised spanking, it made no difference; it would have taken him at most a few seconds to pull them down and off.
He took his time, his land landing every ten seconds, not too hard. The heat and the soreness were cumulative things. Both had built up slowly but surely as her spanking continued. She knew that she was colouring for him; he’d said more than once how very prettily red her arse and legs were turning.
He’d have to do this a lot in the future, he’d claimed.
TTeresa had said nothing, but she thought he was probably right. Not all fantasies turn out well, when realized, but this one was. She yelped suddenly, not because he’d smacked her but because he’d stopped and slid his hand into the damp valley between her buttocks and his fingers into her cunt
Roland wasn’t gentle, but she made a quiet moaning sound, riding his lap as he pleasured her. She made a deeper, louder, moan a few minutes later when the movements of her hips were becoming emphatic and he stopped stroking her and resumed her spanking, a little harder.
This happened twice more, and eventually she knew, objectively, that she was being spanked hard now, but there was not the slightest sense of pain. Only arousal, and the desire that each smack should be followed by another one just like it.
Arethusa would smile at her marks when she saw them in the bedroom mirror, ruled straight and neat across her bottom.
This was a punishment for untidiness, that had meant she’d lost all her university assignment materials, so that she was already late with an essay before she’d started it. So we searched her bedroom, and finally found the papers among stacks of paper concerning other things.
So she did the essay first, with me helping on the appendices. Then she tidied her room, with her Master watching her, cane in hand.
Then, and only then, she could bend over and receive the punishment that had been hanging over her for about a day and a half.
It was one of her more severe lessons. I’d worked up a steam of righteous masterly wrath. But the harshest thing, in a way, was my making the marks deliberately messy. No tidy collection of lines. When she looked at them in the mirror, they reminded her of the consequences of messiness.
(But when you have a Master, loving but with a taste for giving her stripes and tears, and a masochistic slavegirl, can you stop her caning from being sexy? No, it turned out we couldn’t. Worthy experiment, though.)
When I was scrubbed pink and clean, and patted dry, Nana led me to the bed, her hand holding me by my manhood.
The previous time I’d been with two women at once they had desired each other as well as men and, I suspect, they had hunted together before, choosing a man they both wanted. So in bed they had entertained each other with cunnilingus at times I was recovering my powers.
But Ruxana and Nana seemed to have no interest in each other, though they made each other laugh and were on sisterly terms despite their slightly competitive approach to me a little earlier. So I took Nana first. She was an energetic and comfortable ride, once we got to grips with each other.
Ruxana kissed me while I rode Nana. And unavoidably, though I was trying to save myself, I came in her, and that was sweeter than sugar. Nana kissed me like a lover, and then pressed my head down, gently encouraging, and trying to suffocate me, pleasurably, between her breasts.
Then, with only a little encouragement from Nana’s tongue and mouth to get hard again I did the same, mutatis mutandum, for Ruxana. But when I was spent for the second time, and both girls were also happy, I knew that I didn’t want to quit them, and they showed a flattering disinclination to let me go.
So I pushed Nana down and put my hands under her splendid bottom and applied my tongue to her.
She seemed astonished at first, but she was soon happy to lie back, holding my head and writhing under me, to be pleasured. I wondered at that, because it seemed unlikely that a woman in her profession would not have encountered cunnilingus before.
But then, I expect that not a lot of women got their private parts kissed and licked in Kentucky, where I came of age. I had not been taught the skill till I first reached Paris a few years later.
Perhaps Nana had not yet encountered it, or she hadn’t expected it from a man. When Nana had raised her legs in the air and squealed triumphantly, I kissed her, my face still wet with her, and rolled over, pulling Ruxana into her place.
I kissed Ruxana’s breasts while Nana stroked me, keeping her breasts pressed firmly against my side and in my awareness. Ruxana looked at me, eyebrows raised. She wanted to say something, but neither of us knew a word of the other’s language. Still, the happy sound she made when I kissed her navel, and lowered my head further confirmed that I had read her right.
“We definitely did. Draw things out in each other. Right from the moment you pushed my skirt up.”
That was a good memory for Roland, obviously, His cock thickened in Teresa’s hand, not quite to hardness, but a sign of renewed interest just the same.
He took her hand then, and kissed it, then bit it. Teresa said, “Yes… I was hoping you’d bite me.”
He took each of her fingers then, kissed each sensitive fingertip, then squeezed it between his teeth, in turn. “Pleasure,” he said.
He pushed her down onto the bed, on her back, and repeated that treatment, kissing her labia, then her clitoris, and then biting. Teresa said, “Ah, but… Ahhhh…” And under the ministrations of his mouth she forgot what she was talking about. She lay back, and accepted his tongue, and the warm feelings of comfort and a kind of wary love, an emotion that warned of bigger emotions on their way, and let her hands drop to the bed, at her sides, and her thighs open for him.
At some point she roused herself, mentally, while he tongued her, and said, “But…”
He lifted her left thigh and smacked the underside. Not softly or playfully; the smack of someone who she had given her consent. She considered that, while waiting for the second smack she was sure would be coming, and nodded: so be it. He gave her that second smack, as close to her bottom as he could reach.
Then lifted his head just long enough to say, “There are no buts, Teresa.”
There’s my butt, she thought rebelliously, and you like to hurt it. She grinned, imagining herself saying, You pervert! But she didn’t say that. Because he’d lowered his head again, and this time took as much squishy Teresa-flesh as he could into his mouth and closed his teeth a little, and shook his head as if he were a dog tearing flesh. A polite, gentle, careful dog. Then he resumed tonguing her, focussed on her clitoris while he slipped three fingers into her.
Teresa could feel her toes curl, and then curl tight, and her fingers made fists. She grunted, hard, and then moaned, like the wail of a cat being fucked.
Roland only sped up, and the other familiar sensation, tight in her thighs and her belly, rose in her. She moaned, but then when orgasm took over her body she could only gurgle: “k… k… k…”
And then time was floaty, and nothing meant anything or had to have meaning. But at last she felt his cock, hard now, touch her left calf muscle.
She knew she wanted that. In her mouth, she decided. She’d like to swallow him And his come.
But first she said, remembering the thing she’d thought before, “But I meant, would you, bite me to draw blood?”
“No. No, sorry, I wouldn’t want to do that. No.”
“You’re really no fun.” She was joking, but she was disappointed and a little sad. She knew they’d both have to think and talk about this some more. There had to be some way they could both have all of what they wanted, without having to take on too much of what they didn’t want.
But she half rose and leaned down to kiss his belly, and there was no question in that moment, or in the next several minutes, what they both wanted.
Afterwards is such a good time. For both dom and sub. It’s a time of sweetness, and stillness. If the dom has given the submissive pain, there’s only one thing to do, as they both re-enter consciousness and know where they are in the world, and to each other.
Pain can lead to joy, of course. But so can comfort.
Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze
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Contraception- Snip, snip, snip
I’m Depressed and Now My Vagina’s Against Me?
How to Have Sex in a Body You Hate
Reflection
Authentic Surrender
Sin and Sugar
Touch
A Forest
Into the Shower
Polyam Public Play
Prague
Taboo – Golden & illegal
Pleasure is Mine
My 2020 Vision
Begging for it
The Masturbation Ritual
Taboo, or not taboo, that is the question
How to find a finsub: Part 1
My Thoughts on the Topic of Taboos