Jennifer is told to exercise after her slippering. As she obeys, she knows how hot she looks to Will and Maddie. She hopes she’s an irresistable temptation.
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.
Jayavardhini had wanted Philip, and she’d let Chetana know it, because he was intelligent, competent and decent, and she liked men like that. She was sure they would have sex together, since he was Chetana’s primary male lover and she was her primary female lover, and there would be times when Chetana was busy with others.
But she’d expected sex with Philip to be pleasant. Considerate. Companionable. This glimpse of a side of himself he kept hidden was a surprise.
Now she imagined his teeth at her neck and her nipples, his hands slapping and gripping her. Hurting her. Fucking Philip would actually be hot.
It was Chetana who noticed her presence first. “Jayavardhini, you’re a bad girl.”
Philip had been engrossed, gazing down at Chetana, but he looked about. He started when he saw her. He rolled partly off Chetana’s body, as if she’d caught him doing something shameful. Then he relaxed, settled back between Chetana’s thighs, and smiled at her. “Did we give you permission to watch us fuck?”
Jayavardhini widened her eyes. This was a game, and his question was the first move in it. If she looked mock-innocent and admitted guilt, then she would be fucked, by both of them.
But she suspected her arse would first be warmed and buzzing at Philip’s hands. She considered whether that was an attractive idea. Decided, she blinked her eyes, then widened them again, and said, “No, sir, I didn’t have permission.”
She thought he’d like that “sir”.
Chetana laughed. “You are such a minx, Jayavardhini. Did you know that my man is getting hard again? Already? Inside me, but it’s your doing?”
Philip said, “Ah…” He was embarrassed. “I’m pretty sure it’s mostly you, my love.”
There is heat in this room.
(Historical note: This is a real oldie, this one, that I recently found in the archives and cleared for use. We’re still in touch. Her mother was playing video games elsewhere in the house at the time this was taken. It’s hard to keep quiet while doing multi-instrument spanking followed by grunting noises, and in the end we didn’t manage. Didn’t even manage to keep on trying. Fortunately, those video games were loud.)
This blog began on 1 March 2012. It will soon be coming up to its seventh anniversary.
Primitive style in 1,000,000 BC. Or so Hammer Films claimed, in 1967.
What have I learned in all that time? I think I’m a better writer. I’m certainly better at fixing up typos. Blogging has helped me, by imposing the discipline of writing every second day, that has to be ready for an audience whether I want to be ready or not.
Though I write all the time anyway. I’m currently finishing a novel, and as soon as that’s done I’ll be working on the next one. But there I have the luxury of polishing and revising, over and over, before anyone else gets to see it.
Today, however, I’m working hard on making money before I go to Eroticon and India – partly because I need to, to pay for that trip. I’m going to have to keep today’s post pretty short. So I’m going to run the picture – Raquel Welch in a fur bikini – that I used in that very first post on this blog, back in 2012.
That first post began with these immortal words:
People always talk about the opening sentence of a novel, but no-one ever reads the first sentence of a blog.
My book about bdsm opens with: “About twenty-one thousand years ago a tribe crunched across white grass in the frozen landscape that is now Russia.”
I do like that first sentence. You may recognise the rhythm of it, which I stole from Jane Austen.
Anyway, I’m going to spend time over the next few weeks, celebrating this blog, and pointing out some highlights, and taking you behind the scenes in its production. Seven years, eh? Who’d have thought? Well, not me, that’s for sure. Not on 1 March 2012.
Jennifer, naked and puffing after demonstrating naked squat thrusts to Will and Maddie, knows that Will in particular is extremely turned on. But she finds that it’s Maddie, not her, who gets the benefit of that.
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.
A week later Jayavardhini Mudiliar opened Chetana’s door. Inside there was a woman singing. With an orchestra. Her voice seemed to circle like a soaring eagle, higher and higher. The sound was clear, though a little scratchy.
Oh, she thought. Philip’s wind-up gramophone. She didn’t know the music, but it was beautiful and very overtly sexual.
Chetana was on her back on her bed, with Philip above her, pumping her, roughly in time with the pulse of the music. Chetana was making a cooing, pre-orgasmic song of her own.
Jayavardhini’s parents would have said she should withdraw discreetly, but instead she walked in and watched them.
Chetana’s body she knew well, dark, dark black and her flesh muscular but lusciously voluptuous, while Philip, held between her thighs, was wiry and mostly white except where his arms and legs were tanned.
Philip had one hand on Chetana’s throat, constricting her, his other hand tight on her shoulder, fingers digging into her. As they plunged and rose together his face was fierce, while Chetana’s seemed abstracted.
Her body arched beneath him, hips and thighs surging upwards to meet his thrusts, greedy and hard. When Philip released her throat and slapped her face lightly, Chetana closed her eyes, her mouth open, a line of drool spilling from its edge.
She moaned, low like a big cat, a puma being fucked, then abruptly clenched, thighs and arms tight around him, her head thrown back to scream.
Chetana’s orgasm scream was loud and uninhibited. Philip slapped her again and the scream repeated, then again a few frenzied seconds later, quieter now and dropping in pitch.
The woman singing came too, at roughly the same time as Chetana. The orchestra seemed to move in then, to caress her with infinite tenderness and then carry her gently into sleep.
Chetana was done for the moment, though Philip did not stop. Chetana stared up at him, as if he were a frightening but wonderful gift, until he gasped, both hands holding her shoulders down, hands cruelly tight, and when he came he growled at Chetana like an angry bear.
Chetana reached up and touched his face. She said, “Oh, my love.”
Jayavardhini was surprised, but she couldn’t help but smile. They were in love. She hadn’t quite understood that, though the way Chetana had spoken of him when she and her were making love had puzzled her. She hadn’t known Chetana be so moved by a man before, or, even as Chetana’s female lover she had to admit it, by a woman.
Philip was a surprise. He was so polite and diffident when he had his clothes on that she had assumed that was the real him. She’d been wrong. In intimacy the man was ferocious. And slightly cruel.
They still hadn’t noticed her, but the record had ended. She took the spindle off, and Chetana suddenly looked her way.
I’m not a minimalist. If I were in one of those once-fashionable white rooms, with only a white chair and, say, a white piano, I’d go nuts.
To me, white is a start. White, especially on a submissive lover, is a canvas.
There’s been a major break-through in the UK’s frankly insane and stupid censorship laws.
Books, films and sites – such as this one – that depict bdsm in a consensual context can now freely discuss bdsm, and depict it in text or images.
These marks were, technically, unlawful in the UK. Not inflicting or enjoying them, but showing them. Shades of “hide your shame, woman”
One of the oddities of the UK law was its bigotry. Acts like face-sitting or sexual spanking between adults are perfectly legal, but they couldn’t be depicted in erotic media. The purpose of law is supposed to be to protect people from harm. It’s not supposed to protect people who don’t like the idea of some sexual activities from thinking, “yuck”.
For example, if Theresa May and Jacob Rees-Mog, say, were to film themselves having consensual sex and release the footage to the internet, I’d think that was yucky. I’d find it repellent if I saw it. However, I don’t need the law to fix my problem. That’s easily solved by not seeking out images that I don’t want in my brain. I’d avoid seeing the May-Rees-Mog tapes, which is easy to do.
So, what are the changes?
Certain types of “violent” porn are now permitted so long as the sex acts are consensual (the wording is ‘full and freely exercised consent’,) do not cause serious harm to participants, are not ‘inextricably linked with other criminality’ and are not likely to be viewed by anyone under the age of 18.
Obscenity lawyer Myles Jackman, who has campaigned for these changes for a number of years, said that the change had wider implications for the law. He said: “It is a very impressive that they’ve introduced the idea of full and freely exercised consent in the law. Even for people with no interest in pornography this is very important for consent and bodily autonomy.”
Media superhero Pandora Blake, in her civvies
Activist and queer porn filmmaker Pandora Blake, who also campaigned to have the ban on the depiction of certain sex acts overturned, called the news a ‘welcome improvement’.
“This is a happy day for queer, feminist and fetish porn.”
It means, incidentally, that one of my own books, that had been legally problematic – because I described a consensual caning that left welts that lasted a few days – can now be published in the UK. So, even though I don’t live in the UK, I am significantly better off as a result of these reforms. I’m not the only one.
Acts that were banned that can now be depicted include:
Thanks to…
Myles Jackman, legal superhero
Myles Jackman and Pandora Blake both worked hard, sometimes under huge stress, to get this change through. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude, and admiration beyond all measure, for sticking to this cause and ultimately winning it for all of us.
I dare say non-kinky civil libertarians are pleased too. Because government control of public speech always – always – begins with speech about sex. But, unless the censorious forces are stopped in their tracks, it never ends with sexual content.
And every country affects every other country, so this has world-wide significance. I’m living in Australia, also Antarctica, and this victory in the UK means that similar, chilling, legislation is less likely here.
So thank you, with respect and admiration, to Pandora Blake and Myles Jackman!
Jennifer has her cunt stroked before Will starts her slippering. Being aroused makes punishment easier to take, she finds. Perhaps too much easier. Will rescinds her right to have orgasms, except when she’s been given permission. She feels that: a step deeper into submission.
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.
Four days later, when the weather was calm and the ship was making good speed across a flat sea, Philip searched through his luggage. He had spent every night and most of the time they were both free in Chetana’s cabin, and this was the first time he’d spent in his own place. It was unfamiliar to him, and because he’d been busy while the ships were stowed, it wasn’t him who had put his belongings in the cabin.
He found the small Burberry case at the top of the wardrobe, and brought it down carefully, hoping it had been put there with the same care.
He undid its leather straps and checked it, fearfully. Nothing seemed to be broken.
He whistled, closed it again, and took up the case. He walked the short distance down the corridor, and turned right towards Chetana’s cabin, near the Jagannath’s prow.
As he approached the door opened and a woman stepped out. Philip hadn’t seen her before. She was Tamil like Chetana, smaller, younger, with the same shock of black hair, emerald eyes and bruised purple-pink lips. She was smiling.
She saw Philip approaching, and her mouth opened, still pleased with the world. “Hello! You’re Philip! I’ve seen you, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I would certainly remember it.”
“So I have you at a disadvantage! From what Chetana says, that’s almost impossible. But I should abandon it.” She held out her hand.
She smelled of lemon. And something floral. And sex. “I’m Jayavardhini, Jayavardhini Mudiliar. You can call me Jaya.”
Philip frowned, then smiled back at her. “I know the name Jayavardhini. It’s a beautiful name. And auspicious. If you prefer Jaya, then I’ll follow that. But please don’t shorten your name out of politeness.”
The woman, named after a goddess of victory, laughed. “Well, then, I do prefer Jayavardhini. Thank you. Most people find it a mouthful.”
Philip had an urge to say something inane and flirtatious about her and mouthfuls. The urge surprised him. He said, “Jayavardhini. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“It’s been lovely to meet you, Philip. I’ve heard about you for so long. In Chetana’s emails. It’s like finally coming face to face with a legend.” She glanced at the case in his hand. “You’ve brought Chetana a picnic? You smuggled caviar or something else she likes on-board?”
He shook his head. “I’d love to be able to. But the rule is that food is a common resource. No private stashes.”
“I bet you made that rule.”
“I proposed it.”
She was still laughing at him. “Most people who invent rules don’t apply them to themselves. I suppose your legend is true, then. Anyway, I’m holding you up. I should go, I think.”
But she didn’t move. For a second Philip had the impression that she was going to kiss him. He knew Chetana was not a one-man woman. Nor was she a one-woman woman, probably. But he was a one-woman man. Still, he would not have minded if she had kissed him. He said, “I’ll see you.”
She said, “I should hope so! I’m a botanist, so I’ve been sorting out our plants: hydroponics and soils. It’s still a nightmare down there. You have… noidea. But it should get less frantic in about three days’ time. I’ll be more visible after that.”
He smiled at her. “Good.”
Then she did kiss him. She changed her aim at the last instant to touch her lips to his cheek, but he could not have been more astonished. Or, he supposed, charmed. Then she kissed his mouth.
He’d been right: a kiss from her wasn’t something he would mind.
He realised he’d have been shocked, stammering in embarrassment, a week ago. Chetana’s sexual appreciation had changed him. So he grinned, only happy. “All right. I’ll look forward to you being free.”
He had the urge to ask if Chetana was all right, and alone now. But she was only a door away. So he watched the woman walk away, sarong tied under her armpits, probably all she wore.