Sinful Sunday: Table of Contentments

For the usual reasons, I can’t show Arethusa’s face. So you have to miss out on her smile. She’s not smiling at me, though she knows I’ve come round to take this photo. It’s an inward smile. It’s that she’s contented.

Sure, she’s tied across a table, getting her ass strapped and caned. Her arse is certainly red and striped, and she passes the legendary Masters’ hand-temperature gauge: yes, in fact that ass is hot!

But a hot sore arse can be a beautiful feeling to the person who experiences it, in the sense that all those yummy nerve endings down there are connected to others that tingle in her cunt and ultimately reach her brain. Wouldn’t work for everybody, but it does for Arethusa.  

But still, it’s punishment. And being tied down is a warning that it’s going to be severe. Rhetorically, that is. Really she’s tied down because she told me it’s hotter when she can’t move.

But even though we’re both enjoying ourselves, and we both know it, this also really does work as the expiation of a fault.

In a slave’s life of course misconduct has to have consequences. But once the consequences have been delivered, she knows it’s her duty to move on and not feel guilty for that failing ever again. It’s paid for and done. So there’s peace there. And therefore beatific smiles. 

And she knows she’s turning me on, and I know I’m turning her on. Genitals engorge; we’re ready for each other, once I’ve finished my duty.

A table. Of contentment.

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