Lasshole fucker 5

Posted on June 24, 2019 by jaime

Ngaire could feel Freddie’s hands on her hips, his body pressed against her while his cock moved, fat and no doubt happy, in her ass. She moved her body, rocking back and forward on his cock to respond to and drive its urgency. She could feel his body, half covering her, seeming to vibrate as if he was holding himself back as well as taking her.

She felt droplets on her shoulders and knew it was sweat shaken from his hair. Her hair hung over her face, wet with her sweat, though it wasn’t an especially warm night. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything but her own arms and hands and the sheet below her face, but she knew exactly what his face looked like at that moment, intent and anguished.

His sex face: she’d come to know his sex face.

Their fuck was getting faster, and she was driving that. Freddie was letting her lead, reacting to her desire. She could feel that ball of tension somewhere below her stomach, in touch with her spine, building and tightening on itself and getting ready to burst, and she grunted, loud, though her nose. He growled in response, and she felt his body flatten on hers, his chest on her back, his hands on hers. And he was no longer holding himself back. He battered her, and her body answered him, exultant.

His movements were harder, faster, deeper and Ngaire fell slowly forward under his assault until she lay flat on her stomach, legs apart, ass still tilted up for him.

Their bodies moved together, needing more and pushing for it. Until that ball of tension burst.

She tensed and tried to raised her imprisoned hands from the bed and cried, head down, “Woooo-ohhhh”. He recognised her orgasm, since he’d caused enough that morning, and held her tight with his arms and thighs and came in her. He said something unintelligible when he came. It seemed to be pro-Ngaire, whatever it was.

She wanted to say something loving, though declarations of love were to be avoided. but nothing came to her, not in the form of words. He’d know anyway, she decided.

His cock was still in her. He hadn’t started to soften, and she could hear and feel his heart pounding. She turned her right hand to hold his. He took her hand; palms together. They intertwined fingers. She had no words but she hoped that said what she wanted to say.

Sinful Sunday: Pain is a new beginning

Posted on June 23, 2019 by jaime

In the last two posts, here and here, Arethusa has been waiting for punishment, for skipping two doctor’s appointments.

In this photo the punishment has finally begun. There are many strokes to go, but the commencement of a promised caning, especially when it’s deserved, is a relief.

Of course there is pain, and more to come. But pain also wipes the slate clean. The fault is paid for, and she can forgive herself, and know that she is forgiven.

Life begins afresh.

PS: I love those cane marks. They look like kisses in her flesh, which in a sense is what they were.

Friday Flash: Love Made Me Do It!

Posted on June 23, 2019 by jaime

When I was seventeen I was a psychiatric nurse. The psychiatric hospital, Queens Throne, was in the countryside, far from anywhere. But that afternoon my face was about three inches from Ellen Quantum’s cunt, so I knew where I was.

She was teaching me cunnilingus. We’d fucked twice in the last hour, so I was finally calm enough to consider other pleasures, and I was extremely willing to learn. At her instruction I slipped my hands under her ass, and lowered my lips and tongue to her cunt, nose more or less pressed against her clitoris.

She put her hand in my hair, and made sweet noises that told me I was on the right track.

But even with her thighs pressed against my ears I heard the sharp rap at the door. “Inspection!” Someone had run along the corridor to warn the nurses.

Ellen said, “Oh shit! Bastards!” My tongue was busy. She pulled me off her.

It was against the rules for a woman to have a man in her room, in the Womens Block of the Nurse’s Residence. We’d be expelled from the residence. I had a motorbike and could live somewhere else. But Ellen had no transport, and there was no accommodation near the hospital. She’d have to give up her career.

So I pulled on my jeans and tshirt, and shoved my socks and underpants in my pocket while she hid my shoes. But when I reached her door I heard a man’s voice, officious, shouty. He and his entourage were already in the corridor, opening every door.

So I went to the window and threw it open. There was a drainpipe about a metre away. We were three floors up. Ellen said, “That’s crazy! You’ll be killed!”

But nobody says that to a seventeen-year old boy, not if they want him not to do something. I swung myself out, stood on her ledge, and jumped the last metre to the drainpipe. I caught it, and it supported me. I climbed down.

An inspector realised someone had made an unorthodox exit, ran down and shouted, “Stop!” But I was gone.

I saved Ellen’s career, but though I liked her, that wasn’t love.

But word of the Great Leap Downward got around, and the younger nurses approved. Female approval, especially sexual approval, was still fairly new for me, and it taught me what I did love. I loved women, and fucking, and cunts.

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap 4

Posted on June 19, 2019 by jaime

Claire takes off her shirt and bra, and holds her hands out to be strapped. She hopes he likes her breasts. And her obedience. But Will raises the strap, and lets her wait, unsmiling.

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.

Lasshole fucker 4

Posted on June 18, 2019 by jaime

Freddie’s cock pressed against Ngaire’s asshole. That was not a position any other man had been permitted before, let alone the privilege he was about to take. Ngaire had reached back to hold herself open for him, both to signal her acceptance and, she hoped, to make this first entry less painful.

Freddie said, “You’re ok?”

Ngaire shook her head into the pillow. That meant yes. She remembered she had to speak. “Go on. Freddie. Please. Fuck me.” Then she spoiled it a little by saying, “I think.”

He put his hands on her hips, to hold her steady, or to let her feel that he was in control. And pressed forward. Ngaire felt the pressure build then, then suddenly it was gone.Her little muscled ring suddenly opened for him, without the pain she’d expected. Then there was a slight twinge, nothing more, as he moved further forward, so all of the head of his cock was in her.

She took several deep breaths, willing herself to relax.

For a time he did not move, except for a slight trembling. He was holding himself back, with just the head of his cock inside her. There, her muscles were stretched further than they ever had been before. But there was no hurt, now it was done and she allowed herself to get used to his intrusion. He said, “I’m going to fuck you now. Ngaire, you’re to tell me if it hurts, or you need me to stop, or to withdraw. Is that clear?”

Ngaire considered. Being fucked sounded like a good idea. Her face and breasts pressed against her mattress. And her knees and feet. Her ass was up, and now partly full of cock. She smiled at that thought. Then she felt a sharp impact, his hand on the side of her hip. The smack rang in the room, in her ears. “Ngaire.” There was warning in his voice. “I need you to speak. You tell me if it hurts. Clear?”

You just smacked me! Now you say you don’t want to hurt me? Ngaire thought that, but didn’t say it. Anyway, the smack had got her attention, and it hadn’t actually hurt. She said, “Clear.”

“That’s better, Ngaire. Good girl. So don’t forget. If it doesn’t feel right, at any stage I can stop and I will.” He held her hips firmly again, and pressed forward. Ngaire breathed out while the cock entered her. It was strange, and new, and not sore. The magic of lube, she supposed.

The sensation changed when he had entered her fully, and her ass pressed back against his lower belly and thighs. She’d thought this would be good for him, and do nothing much for her.

But when he was deep in her asshole, it was as if she could feel it in her cunt. it felt dark and strong.

They stayed pressed against each other, and by the time he started to move, to withdraw and then drive his cock forward into her, she had been desperate for him to begin. After a time she began to respond, to move with him.

They were still moving excruciatingly slowly, It was Ngaire who sped up. She found that each withdrawal needed a returning thrust, and she needed that to happen over and over, and always faster. She was roused now, and, impaled on his cock, she rode it and him. At some stage she lifted her head from the pillow and moaned. Freddie smacked her again, but lightly, encouragingly, and sped up some more. “Good girl,” he said.

She hoped he’d smack her again, but harder. She couldn’t find or speak the words to ask for that. She was not, in any sophicated or elegant sense, herself. She just wanted this fuck to end in the climax she was struggling for, and for it to last forever.

Sinful Sunday: Fixed

Posted on June 16, 2019 by jaime

In last week’s Sinful Sunday, Arethusa stood in disgrace, waiting, holding the cane between her buttocks, not allowed to move.

She’d missed two doctor’s appointments. That broke Master’s first and second rules for her: obedience, and taking proper care of herself. Master said he was going to help her, but first he had to punish her. The wait had helped her to accept both of those facts.

Her Master took the cane from her at last, and led her to the kitchen table. He attached her wrists and ankles to spreader bars, and tied those bars, and therefore her, to the table.

Then he took up the cane again. She heard him give it several practice swishes through the air, and she knew that he needed no practice. He just wanted her to hear that ominous sound. Her caning was going to be severe.

The skin of her buttocks and back was alive, glowing with a kind of anticipation. Some of it was fear, but not all of it. At least, and at last, things were about to start being made right.

Food for Thought Friday: Mistake

Posted on June 14, 2019 by jaime

The morning after the party,

A bedroom door opened and Cassie emerged, in a manga tee-shirt that hung almost to her knees. Cassie was a doctor, a glowing light-brown woman with large, almost black eyes and an extraordinarily sweet face framed by medium-length black hair. She was small but contoured. She lifted weights.

Cassie was embarrassed to find me, and uncertain of her welcome. Last night she’d performed the party’s most spectacular piece of bad behaviour, launching a screaming attack on her best friend, accusing her of fucking her last boyfriend, of pretending to be sweet but always undermining her and other feminine offences.

It’d been the least fun part of the evening, but I’d already forgiven her because the outburst had been so out of character, and because, only a few minutes later, Cassie had fallen asleep in that same friend’s arms. Wine sometimes solves the problems that it creates.

But Cassie was hung over, embarrassed and ashamed, so I hugged her. I let her go when she winced. But she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, having dealt with her bladder and her head, and wrestled her way back into the hug. “I’m really sorry, Jaime. I don’t know what … Well, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, love, it’s okay. You’d had a bit of wine. And … you probably had reasons.” I found myself hugging Cassie with one arm while reaching down to squeeze her ass with my other hand.

Cassie rubbed my chest with her forehead. “No, I didn’t have reasons. Not good ones.”

“Well, okay, but I still know you’re a wee love. You’ve got years of credit with me; you can’t blow it in one evening.”

Cassie smiled up at me. “And I still don’t think it came from nowhere.” More smiles.

A nice man was being nice to her. And the ass-squeezing was probably a great comfort in her time of self-recrimination. Then information from that bottom-squeezing hand swamped my brain. I added, “Though … if you ever do anything like that again, Cassie, I’ll put you over my knee.”

It took me a moment to hear what I’d just said. I sounded like a roué in an ancient sex comedy, something black and white and British, on television at three in the morning, starring Terry-Thomas and Syd James. I’d kept bdsm hidden for years. I played bdsm with strangers, or I masturbated to dark fantasies, but I didn’t offer to spank my women friends. Or I hadn’t until just then.

It was the stupidest thing I’d ever said. I wanted to slap my forehead, but I was patting Cassie’s ass and in the absence of complaint from her I’d keep doing that. Still, I’d just threatened her with assault: low-level violence, some sexual content. We still hugged, but she was no longer holding an honourable gentleman.

Cassie didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t a gentleman. Her eyes widened, but she said, almost without a pause, “Yes, yeah, I know. You should.”

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother and the strap 3

Posted on June 13, 2019 by jaime

Claire is standing naked, or nearly naked, in front of a man for the first time in over a year. But last time she wasn’t being carefully and in detail being told what to do. Or holding her hands out, so that man can strap them.

Lasshole fucker 3

Posted on June 11, 2019 by jaime

Freddie handed Ngaire the bottle of lube. Ngaire took off the top, watching as he raised himself to his knees and straightened his back so she could reach his cock. He was hard again, the penis pointing at her. She was surprised. He wasn’t twenty and she’d lost count of the number of times they’d fucked that evening.

Steve, her ex-husband, would have been asleep after the first. She hadn’t liked the sexual enthusiasm of boys, when she was growing up. Maybe that was why she’d married Steve. It was hard, in retrospect, to think of reasons why. But there was Freddie’s hard cock in front of her, and he’d put a condom on it.

Ngaire blew it a kiss, and poured out a handful of lube, and took his cock in her hand, slowly stroking it up, from tip to base, then back again. Freddie grunted, and his cock moved in her hand. It was somehow harder, a little bigger in her hand. “Is that slippery enough for you? I suppose I should say, for me.”

“Bit more on the head. That’s the bit that’s going to open you. You can’t have too much lube there.”

Ngaire got up to her knees too, and poured more lube onto her hand. She took his cock in her hand again, and pressed her body against his. She kissed him.

He responded, putting his hands on her arse and pulling her close. His cock, slippery as an eel, though firmer, pressed between her thighs.She gripped it tight, and he gasped.

Eventually he whispered, “I’ll take you slow, and you’re to tell me if it hurts. Is that understood?”

That, Ngaire thought, would be the voice he gave orders to Daphne and Shar. “I’m all right. I’m not a princess.”

“Liar.”

“Heh. Then I mean I’m not made of glass.”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts. I need to know how you are.”

“What will you do if I don’t tell you it’s hurting? Spank me?”

“Heh. At least I’ll know that that’s hurting you, and how much. Also, I’d enjoy that, but in buttsex I’d hate to be hurting you. The goal is very much not to hurt you. But you, beautiful girl, should get back on your hands and knees, with that yummy ass up. Knees well apart.”

Ngaire felt the urge to say “yes, sir”. But she fought it down. Still, she did do as she was told. After all, they seemed like sensible instructions.

She watched over her shoulder as he shuffled closer, until his knees were between hers. The head of his cock pressed against her perineum, and he put his hand on it to guide it to her little hole, about to have its first sexual experience.

She remembered something she’d read somewhere, either in porn or some women’s magazine with twelve hot butt-fucking tips, and reached back with both hands. She held her own buttocks, and spread herself for him.

He said, “Good girl.” She supposed those were the last words she would hear, as an anal virgin.

Sinful Sunday: Waiting, holding the cane

Posted on June 9, 2019 by jaime

She stands up straight, as she’s been told. Master sits behind her. She thinks he’s reading a book. She’s to have the second instalment of her punishment for twice missing a doctor’s appointment. He knows that she was afraid that the doctor would find cancer, and though she knew it was stupid to delay finding out, she couldn’t face it.

Master had said he was going to punish her for disobedience and for failing to look after herself, which were the two most serious offences under his rules. She’d already had a hand spanking and a session with his belt. But they’d felt good, apart from his disappointment in her: that had hurt.

But the real punishment was yet to come. He’d put the cane between her buttocks and told her to make sure she held it while she waited. She wouldn’t enjoy what would happen if she let it fall.

So she waits, with the cold, hard instrument pressing into her. Until she is called.

Post-script: They made another appointment, and he took her to the doctor himself, and came into the appointment with her. So he was with her to hear that her tests had come back negative. She was spanked (but not caned) again that night, but warmly and lovingly, out of relief.