Tag Archives: spanking

Consent, Kink and Community

♦ I mentioned recently that I’d been to the Bristol Alternative and Burlesque Fair and had a few qualms with the compering of the event. Now (especially as the compère himself left a comment and seems like a really nice guy), I don’t want to badmouth what must be a very hard job that I likely couldn’t do, but I want to set out what it was I had a problem with and why.

Because (although I didn’t like his style anyway) it isn’t about personal taste, though it may be about personal ethics. It’s about something which I feel has big implications for the kink community and the people, whether part of that community or not, who were there. And because, though not everyone may agree with me, hopefully raising these qualms might get people to examine these issues.

The compère had what seemed like a pretty tough job to get the crowd going (I myself am practically allergic to audience participation), but I wasn’t that impressed. I mentioned “cheap “saucy” humour, being patronising, and displaying a seeming ignorance of informed consent” in my earlier post and it seems I even cleverly put them in order of importance too!

Though I didn’t like the humour and tone, that’s just my taste. Just because I don’t really like the “Phwoar! I love a bit of cock!” sort of attitude to sex, doesn’t mean much (though I do wonder to what extent the “saucy postcard” mentality might hold back wider acceptance of sexuality, but that’s a topic for another time) and no-one need pander to me more than anyone else. I also personally don’t think than audience really needs to be told to applaud when a woman takes her clothes off. Isn’t that second nature? But again, it’s likely a rhetorical trick that just didn’t land well with me.

No, it’s the consent stuff that really bothers me.

The early parts involved saying hello to people you didn’t know next to you and paying them a forced compliment (already too un-British for me). The problems, though, started with getting everyone to stand up (I was hovering near the seating area at the time) and turn to face to their right. Then the compère instructed the audience to give the person in front of them a small spank. Now, from my poor vantage point (and the fact I was quite busy cringing), I couldn’t tell you how many people did this, but that’s not the point. Did anyone know what they were getting into when they stood up?

Look, I’m not trying to sound the prude here. Nothing wrong with spanking, nothing wrong with public spanking. I like both myself (and got a twinge just writing the latter). But none of these people consented (or rather communicated consent: for all I know they were fine with it, but consent has to be communicated somehow) to even being touched, let alone being spanked. As I said to Crush at the time, my response to the person behind me would have been “You fucking touch me…”.

Later (by this time my friends and I were at a table), we were told that each table should get someone up onto it on hands and knees. No-one at our table, even the hardened kinksters, were having any of it and it’s at least good to see that, general cajoling to everyone aside, when only about three tables produced participants, no issue was made of it. We were then told that the aim was to spank the volunteers as a table and whichever table produced the most moaning (oh, so hard to fake) would get a prize.  Again, none of the volunteers OR the people supposed to spank them knew this when they were called to be involved. Sure, I suspect no fuss would have been made of anyone backing out, but that’s not really how healthy consent works.

Now, this might not seem like a lot to get angry about, but consent is paramount in all things, especially in the realm of kink. And consent isn’t just volunteering. No. To be true consent, consent must be informed. To be good kink, kink must be negotiated. It doesn’t have to be long and involved and stuffy, but people (whether being done to or doing to or both) should know what they’re getting into, boundaries should be made clear and consent should be given enthusiastically with clear ways to withdraw that consent (such as safe words).

A hypothetical person in that line of unknowing spankees had no way in the circumstances to be informed, give enthusiastic consent to what could be a complete stranger, or indeed withdraw that consent in the time between the instruction and the incoming spank. Am I the only one that thinks this dodgy?

Not only this, but this was a mixed fetish and non-fetish event. They carefully made sure to split the fetish stalls off from the alternative/burlesque ones, so some concern for the muggles must have been in the planning somewhere. But there was no mention of any fetish play, no matter how light and innocent, in the programme of events as far as I saw. Surely it’s people’s right to decide what they see and don’t see?

What sort of message are we giving off to non-kinksters, who thanks to bad press and bad books might have a warped idea of BDSM anyway, of public play among complete strangers with no communication and no consent? These spaces are a perhaps rare opportunity for our kinky community to speak for itself to people who might otherwise not get to hear us (and to teach good kink practice), shouldn’t we be a little more careful about how we use that voice?

I’d certainly love to know your thoughts on this, kinky or not. ♦

White Stockings, White Stockings She Wore

♦  If you get the reference in the title of this poem (without cheating), not only will I be SUPER impressed, but I’ll likely love you forever. Because win.

In any case, here’s a little poem I started writing a while ago but got creative block part way through even though I knew where it was going! Anyway, it’s done now and I think I’m beginning to discover some themes in my poems that I’m unintentionally returning to, which is very interesting! As always, I’m dying to know what you think, so please leave any comment or critique below! ♦

White stockings and feet

On Sunday, I put you in white stockings.
I held the silk-soft tips open and you dipped in your toes,
Wriggling them childishly as I started to slide the stockings slowly up.
Up, up over your calves to rest atop your milky thighs,
Mere inches from your freshly-shaven slickness.
Your bit your cunt-pink lip in false consternation.
I made a note to fuck the levity out of you later.

You hadn’t done anything special to deserve a gift,
But I’d got you one anyway.
I pulled a white cotton negligee from its hiding place
And slipped it over your upraised arms,
Tugged it down past coral nipples and freckled flanks.
I bent you forward and the negligee rode up to expose your bottom
And a peek of pussy.

It was all I could do not to thrash your thighs there and then,
Not to birch your behind until slick turned to sopping,
Not to dip my thumb into your hive and come out coated in milk and honey.
You stood stock still, an expectant angel, waiting for me to blink.

Not yet.

I stood and placed a lecherous hand on your bare bottom,
Another on your chest,
And tipped your torso upright, signalling the end of your appraisal
We were masks, you and I.
Mischief capered under your doe-eyed surface;
Under mine, only the thought of ransack. Rampage.
But first, we’d play.

Dressed in your spotless, sacrificial whites,
You listened as I set your task.
You’d dust this room from top to bottom.
You would sweep its floor and beat its rugs.
And when you had exchanged your purity for its,
I’d stand you on the coffee table and have you spin for me
Like a mannequin on the fucking shopping channel.

My secret?
For each smudge, a spank.
For each blemish, a bruise.
For each streak, a strike of the cane, a snap of the whip…
A mark for each of your marks.

I’d beat out your imperfections and brand them on your skin.
I’d pin you down and pull your hair.
And fuck what was left of your levity gasping into the air.

On Sunday, I put you in white stockings.
But you went home, smiling, in bruises, wet knickers and sin.

♦  For those of you who give up on the title reference, you may remember that I’m a proud Cornish maid. The title is a line from a Cornish song called Camborne Hill, about Trevithick and steam engines and with a bit of innuendo thrown in for good measure (I ‘ad ‘er I did, it cost me a quid?). You can hear it sung here by a lovely male voice choir (with a slightly fancified arrangement, but mostly authentic).♦

Wicked Wednesday

Fifth Bloggiversary Giveaway!

♦ Five years is a fair while, isn’t it? And since this blog started with my very first post on the 17th of November 2007 and it’s now the 17th of November 2012, that makes today my official fifth bloggiversary! Go me! Bang the party poppers, sound the trumpets and spank your nearest and dearest!

But this isn’t the time for a lengthy introspective retrospective. It’s time to thank you all for being here. Whether you’ve been with me all along and can remember the Fractal days, whether you came in at the shiny, back-with-gusto Crush era or whether your first visit was about a minute ago because you heard there might be prizes. It’s all good (though I’d love it if you stuck around).

So, to celebrate my fifth bloggiversary, there are prizes! (You were right!)

Three of the prizes in the giveaway are open to anyone and everyone, worldwide. Five of the prizes are open to the UK-only. Make sure you only enter the UK-only Rafflecopter (the second one) if you have a shipping address in the UK. If you win and you don’t, I will redraw and you’ll get bugger all. Entering under a pseudonym is fine as long as you can provide a real shipping address. Giveaway prizes will be shipped to you by the donor.


We-Vibe 3

The We-Vibe 3 couple’s vibrator, donated by yours truly! I won this toy a few months back in a competition, but it is UNUSED. Crush hates vibrations, so this toy is not for us. Since we’ve never used it and we will never use it, I’m donating it. After all, it costs a penny or two and I’ve heard good things about it, so it’d be sad for it to go to waste. Plus, purple.

Hungry for Love

A digital copy of Coming Together‘s zombie-themed erotic anthology Hungry for Love! Featuring my first ever published erotic fiction Last Man on Earth as well as 16 other stories by some incredibly talented authors. All are themed around zombies and all involve some awesome sexiness. Some even have both at once! With, y’know, zombie sex. And it works!

Tantus Splish

Tantus Splish silicone dildo, donated by Vibrator Kingdom! It’s Tantus, so you know it’s going to be awesome. They’re my favourite dildo-makers and I bloody love them. This is a harness-compatible silicone dildo that’s perfect for pegging, and impressively dual-toned. Look! So gorgeous!

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Icicles No. 8 The Icicles No. 8 glass dildo, donated by Innocent Sex Toys! As anyone who owns one will tell you, glass dildos are fantastic. And just look at this one: beautiful, iridescent, blue! It’s so pretty and even more so because you can warm it up, cool it down and sterilise it for sharing! LELO Gigi The LELO Gigi luxury G-spot vibrator, donated by Bondara! A quality toy by a quality brand. The LELO Gigi (in a pastel pink) is a silicone vibrator designed to pleasure your G-spot. Everything about a LELO toy is luxurious, so I’m delighted to give one away. A Rechargeable Passion Massager wand, donated by Passion8! Who doesn’t love a good wand vibrator? This one’s wireless and rechargeable with two speeds and a body-friendly silicone head. You could even go really crazy and actually use it as a massager! Or orgasms. Those are good. Black Hand PaddleA Black Hand Paddle in Leather, donated by UberKinky! This spanking toy has a studded handle and a thong for better grip and is made from real leather. Leather, by the by, smells amazing. It’s a flexible toy that delivers a mix of thud and sting, so should suit many tastes! We-Vibe TangoThe We Vibe Tango rechargeable bullet, donated by Strawberry Blushes! When people ask me what clitoral vibe they should get, what do I recommend without fail? The Tango. It is honest-to-goodness my favourite vibrator ever. It is strong, gloriously rumbly and perfectly shaped. I am trying not to gush too much but, trust me, you NEED one. Plus, also purple.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And there’s your lot! Thank you SO much to all my giveaway prize donors and to you all for reading, sharing and entering this competition. Please help make it a success and hopefully win something to wank with! Any questions, please ask.

I look forward to drawing the winners on the 3rd of December (giveaway closes the day before, sorry to anyone who doesn’t understand times in EST, neither do I). Enjoy! ♦

Ten Hut! – 100 Orgasms

♦ “Close your eyes,” I said and he did. He lay back on the bed and shut them firmly, anticipating, always eager to obey when he knew I had something planned. I did have something planned, even if that plan had come together in the space of five minutes in the next room, rooting through The Drawers for kink and kit.

We’re having our housewarming this weekend and it’s fancy dress, because fancy dress is fucking fantastic. I’ve been making a military beret for mine and something clicked in my head when I saw it lying there, discarded. I’d been thinking lacy and stockings, but now…

I shut the door behind me and straddled him at the hips.  When I allowed him to open his eyes he saw me dressed in the green beret and a very military-like khaki jumpsuit buttoned to the collarbone. I carried a crop under my arm, swagger stick style. I swear his eyes almost bulged from his head.

He was dressed only in his trousers and he looked beautiful. I’d already been impressed earlier that day by how gorgeous his arms looked: swimmer’s muscles, lean and lithe but strong.

You’ll have to forgive me. I may say it myself, but what he said to me and what I said to him and the roleplaying was so fucking hot. But I forget. My waves of orgasms are too good at wiping out the coastal villages of my memory. The details merge, the lines become brush strokes of eroticism on an Impressionist painting.

So, yeah, I forget stuff.

But the night was swimming with “Yes, Ma’am”s and permission asked and occasional cheek given. I enjoyed ordering him around and domming shit up and punishing insubordination where I found it, rewarding good behaviour too.

I unbuttoned the top of the khaki jumpsuit to show my breasts, naked but for a fishnet bodystocking and, supporting them, an almost Steampunk “bra belt”. My nipples poked through the black fishnet and I leant in towards his face. He sucked on my left nipple with ardour and I gasped and ground into his body beneath me.

Before I knew it, I was surprising myself with an orgasm. My grinding into him wasn’t even involved! This was all from his attention on one of my nipples and I inwardly praised my body as I shuddered on top of him.

Military-style banter that I so wish I could remember followed. Trust me: fucking hot. Crush respectfully suggested we try the experiment again to see if we could reproduce those results and I agreed, but this time I demanded to lie on my back.

He took my nipple in his mouth again and he began to suck, but my nipple wouldn’t be so easily swayed this time. No matter. As he sucked hard I began to rub my crotch over my jumpsuit and, not that he knew that, my black PVC thong underneath. I rubbed furiously, so turned on by his desire and the sheer fucking hotness of it all. Soon I was shuddering, a second orgasm rippling through me.

Now Crush was bold with lust and, as we switched places again, asked me if he could spank me.

Well, I was in charge as his Commanding Officer, so what to do? But a filthy thought occurred. I quite like the idea of hurting a man, something he might not necessarily like, as a form of payment by him to get something he really wants. I’m not sure what it is about it. Perhaps the idea that his lusts have overtaken him so?

In any case, I offered the price of five pinches of his nipple for an undefined period of spanking me. He accepted nervously and I began, gently, to pinch him. I brusquely told him to count and he did. But he tried to be cheeky, tried to count three when it was two. So I started again. He counted the fourth pinch before I’d actually done it, so guess what? I started again.

This time there were no mistakes and I dismounted him, leaning forward on hands and knees as he spanked me with the red paddle. Sometimes I hate that paddle. Sometimes, as you’ll see, I love it. But right now it was a hard one to take.

Take it I did, though.

Now naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and I produced my black metal handcuffs from the little pile of toys I’d brought in. I set them down and, hot from our exertions, stripped the khaki jumpsuit from my body. Now he saw the thong and the full glory of my bodystocking as its netting covered my sticky-hot curves.

The hat, I noticed, fell some time during the spanking. Now it was pure kinkwear, but we kept up our roles nonetheless. My geek society would be proud. :P

I opened the cuffs, managing to hook them into my fishnet on the way. Sigh. Unhooking them, I instead attached them to my intended target. I grabbed them by the chain and hoicked his arms above his head, scratching at his chest and back and eyeing him fiercely.

Letting go, I made him scoot up the bed and knelt between his legs, bringing my beloved Tango vibe with me. I placed it between my labia, cushioned by them and kept in place by my thong and thighs. I turned it on and felt it throb. I kissed my way up Crush’s body, crawling seductively, reaching his cock and…

…running my tongue playfully a centimetre above his shaft as if licking, but not. A tease. A torture.

The kisses marched up his chest and neck before I turned and swooped back down on his cock, licking for real this time, making love to him with tongue and lips. I was feral, enthusiastic, I moaned when he leaked pre-come and writhed back and forth, managing to rock against the vibrator nestled in my folds. I came once, twice as I licked fervently and then collapsed on his cock.

I offered to let him fuck me, right then and there. But Crush was on task. He knew I had a goal to reach and figured one more towards it before moving on couldn’t hurt. He asked me to carry on licking and sucking and coming on my bullet vibe, but this time he wanted some dirty talk. And, narcissist that he is, heh, dirty talk about him.

So I told him as I licked him about how hot he makes me, how sexy he looks, his gorgeous body, his thick cock and I licked and sucked. I wriggled and turned up the rumble on my vibrator until I came again, moaning on his cock, gagging myself with his erection.

The finest part of the evening was still to come though. And I’m not even talking about the penetration. No, while that was fantastic, I think I liked the next part better. Remember I said sometimes I love the red paddle?

He wanted to use it on me again, this time while I continued to use the vibrator on myself. I was only too quick to oblige.

It was interesting how through the whole thing, I was still in charge. Even when I asked him what he wanted, even when I shuddered under his hand as he spanked me. It was strange, although it shouldn’t be, and wonderful. I was his superior officer, he a lowly subordinate and I was using him for my kicks. Simple as. Whether he spanked me or not, it was my will and I could easily have him court marshalled in a snap, naturally.

I discarded the ridiculously-named “bra belt” and the thong and leant forward on the bed. He spanked me as I toyed with my clit using the vibrator and for a while it was much the same as the first spanking. Then the rumbling on my clit began to kick in and, as I worked myself towards another orgasm, I found myself wanting more and more and MORE.

“Harder,” I begged and Crush obliged. “Harder,” I cried and he hit harder still. With each gain in arousal I wanted more force, more pain. Soon I was coming hard and Crush was pounding on me as hard as he could. I had never taken this much force for this long before and I kept it up as I rolled into another fantastic climax. I was out of breath, sweating, shaking, I was full of the most wonderful feelings and sensations. I collapsed forward and turned onto my back, gazing at my beautiful lad with wide eyes.

“I love you,” I said, breaking character momentarily.

“I love you too,” he replied.

The sex that followed was frantic and amazing. Once I’d warmed to the large cock inside me, I told him he could go as hard or soft as he liked. I think he tried to teach me a lesson and soon I was bouncing, shrieking, revelling in the wonderful pleasure/pain of his rough thrusts. He came inside me after a time and we flopped next to each other, spent… ♦




♦ The both of us naked, I found my face pressed into his stomach and my arse being caressed by his rough palms. I had already slowly stripped him of his clothes and stroked his soft thighs. He had already grinned and laid back as I ran my fingers over his oh-so-silky cock. Now I planted kisses on his belly and flank as he turned caressing and light strokes into firm pats that threatened solid swats.

The spanking began in earnest, though our positions stopped too much force, and he made sure to stroke my behind lovingly between each blow. I liked that. It ramped up the anticipation and kept it intimate and somehow more filthy. More calculated, perhaps.

He snuck his free hand around to my clitoris and teased at me lightly, again hampered by the angle. Seeing a better strategy, he told me I should rub myself instead and keep rubbing until he said otherwise. I love to be made to touch myself beyond what I’d normally inflict on myself. I love the threat of punishment if I let up even for one moment, no matter my wishes.

So I started to rub. I plucked my clitoris into pleasure as he started to put his usual force into his spanks, hitting me hard but still giving me a comforting stroke in between each. My masturbating became more frantic with my rising excitement and so did his stroking of my bare behind; he now squeezed and grabbed a little as he stroked, almost possessive in his actions.

I was close to coming and begged out loud for release.

“May I come please, sir?” I said, adding the “sir” out of my own desire to be subordinate.

He leant into my ear and whispered a hasty “yes” to me, allowing me to relax into my climax, making me shudder with pleasure and release of not only tension, but built-up emotion too.

Of course, when I was done, it’s not like I could just stop touching myself. I had orders, a fact he seemed to enjoy reminding me of.

“That’s right, keep touching yourself,” he hissed as the spanking continued. I allowed the tender, heightened feeling of my sex to carry me along and soon I hit another orgasm, making me gasp and moan. The shock dying down, I asked if I could stop and he relented at last.

My recovery didn’t and couldn’t last long: he pulled at my legs, flipping me over onto my back. I was balanced awkwardly on a lump of duvet, but I didn’t care. I just wanted him inside me.

He pushed his cockhead against me, but my wet cunt offered little resistance and he soon sank in deep. I had wanted this this evening, but thought my earlier outburst of emotions had ruined my chances, so I was so, so glad to be getting what I wanted anyway.

He was, as usual, a little too big for comfort, which I absolutely love. I asked him for it slow but hard and deep, so that I could feel every delicious flash of feeling, every gorgeous millimetre of his cock opening me up, driving to my depths.

He thrust slowly into me, but getting that little bit faster with each stroke. I writhed and wriggled on his cock, feeling his chest with my hands whenever I wasn’t steadying myself. I came again, pushed into climax by the pounding of his cock just as he came inside me. I love doing that.

I pulled him close to me, buoyed up by my orgasm and our physicality but also by the emotions of this intimate act with him. So easy to forget that not long ago he was new to sex entirely, new to kink entirely, new to me entirely. When I see how far he’s come for me, I can forgive that we have a way to go and I see how much he loves me. If there was no other reason to love him, that’d be a pretty good start.

Luckily for me, I have plenty already. ♦

Mischief Managed

♦ I have a habit of falling over. Not real falling over, in this case. I’m not a graceful girl, but I can keep my footing.

No, this is something else. I get in a playful mood, especially on weekends when the day is lazy and young. A playful mood that likes hugs and kisses and all sorts more. That’s when Crush will hear the playfully plaintive cry of “Oh, no, I’ve fallen over! Help!” and come in to find me strewn across the bed.

This weekend I was even more trouble than usual and in want of a good spanking. Our daily efforts fell apart a little while back and it had been too long. So I called for him, my body bent forward over our bunched up duvet and my bum wiggling in the air.

I kept my head facing down and away, another quirk I love for some unknown reason. I heard Crush enter, but he wasn’t going for me. Not yet. I heard him rattling at the kinkier of our two drawers, which put my mind on instant alert. I felt a thrill run through me at him taking this so seriously. But I’d accidentally blocked the drawer up so he couldn’t get in. I was almost as angry with myself as he pretended to be. I wanted to be hit with things.

I reminded him that our flogger still hung on the door handle, but he dismissed it straight away. Too soft, he said. He wanted something hard to use on me. I needed to be punished.

He climbed behind me and pulled down the tiny shorts I was wearing. It was the first warm afternoon since I’d bought my roller derby shorts and I’d been determined to flaunt them. My arse was now bared, no knickers to be seen, my shorts around my thighs. He began to spank me hard and harsh, putting his arm into each blow.

I snuggled my face into the pillows and luxuriated in the roughness. It really had been too long. I was still feeling too antsy just to lie there and take it, though. I wiggled and wriggled and occasionally tried to throw him off or escape altogether. Of course, he was as determined as I was cheeky, so all it did was make him pile his weight firmly on top of me and fix me still. And hit me harder. It was occasionally too rough, but only too rough just enough. Soon I was moaning my satisfaction into the bed and thrusting myself back and forth into his strikes.

I wanted more, I wanted as hard as he could give, but it was over too quickly. When it was, though, he pulled me over and leaned menacingly into my face.

“Tell me you’re my dirty little slut,” he hissed.

My cunt pulsed and my eyes widened. I fucking loved it. I smiled happily back at him as I replied. “I’m your dirty little slut.”

We kissed and stroked each other before he pulled me on top of him and lay back,  running his hands over my still-bare bum. I peppered his mouth with kisses. Even so, he hadn’t quite dominated the mischief out of me. I snuck in a little nip at his lip and he turned stern.

“Don’t think you’re in charge just because I let you be on top.” He warned and I smiled as innocently as I could manage.

It was all a lie, though. I wanted trouble. More than that, I wanted retribution. I wanted him to destroy the impudent little slut I was making of myself. I wanted a reaction. When I went to bite his lip a second time, I got one.

Quicker than I could process, his hand had clutched at my throat and he’d started to propel me backwards at speed. He was strong, oh, I’d forgotten how strong when he wants to be, and I was on my back at his mercy. I wasn’t sure there was any mercy. The whole thing was forceful and fantastic. A hand on my throat was already a weakness of mine, but being pushed about like a ragdoll was more than I could dream of.

Still with my neck in his grasp, his free hand pulled off my short shorts entirely. When they were discarded, he whipped up my tshirt to expose my breasts and then pulled it over my face, letting go so that it covered my head. I’d seen football players do similar to celebrate a goal, but this had none of the roaring stupidity and was all shame and sex and submission. I could still see slightly through the thin fabric, but my head was tilted upwards and away from Crush and any movement would dislodge the tshirt, making me effectively bound like this. I liked not being able to see what he was doing. I wanted to be his thing.

He pulled my legs up and pushed himself inside me roughly, making me gasp in pleasure. He took my hands and placed them atop my breasts, using them to lean on, pushing his weight down on me and making me squeeze and massage myself as he pounded me. I was his toy, his slut and he was showing me what he could do, showing me punishment, using me for his pleasure. He was in control and I was his to fuck and abuse, his to thrust his cock into, to spill his seed into, to force to come.

I felt filled with a strange sort of energy and my body tingled with feeling as my mind reeled in submission. When we came together, it was only the icing on the cake. ♦


Arse Over Tits

♦ I straddled him as he lay back on the bed, serene except for the excitement in his eyes. He loves to see me on top of him, loves to gaze at my body stretching up to the smile fixed firmly on my face. He likes me to lean forward just so and lift up my top, exposing my breasts.

Naturally, that’s what I do.

His eyes open wider still and the expression on his face is one I want to never forget. He loves me, he wants me. He thinks I’m fucking hot.

I feel a need grow between my legs, a tingle start in my pussy, not helped by my closeness to his body.

He wants to fuck me and says so.

I feel the need for more than just a fast and frantic fuck, no matter how good it would be.

I want to be hit with things.

I unstraddle him and coil up loosely on the bed as he prepares his instruments. I don’t ask for anything in particular, except maybe something lighter to start with just to warm me up. Other than that, I let him choose. He returns with the soft suede flogger for starters and a choice of main course: the spanking ruler, the shiny red paddle and the studded one.

He encourages me into position on my stomach and pulls my clothes from my backside. He brushes the suede tails of the soft flogger over my skin, making me wriggle with the sensation. It’s a light flogger and he has to work hard for it to sting, but I still like it and I love the sensuous way it caresses me in-between strokes.

He began to flog me, softly at first and then, more confident in his aim, with more twist and sting. I practically purred as the flogger hit, but soon longed for firmer things.

Luckily, I wasn’t wanting for long. Crush lay the flogger down and began with his hand this time, spanking me hard until I squirmed, pressing my face into the pillows. I occasionally mumbled when his hit was off or just right and he adjusted accordingly, but any requests for mercy were ignored.

When my arse was red with the sting of his hand, he switched to the shiny red paddle, slapping it into me with each strike. It’s a red shiny PVC on one side and matte black leather on the other and I was surprised to learn that not only did they feel markedly different, but that I could tell which side was which.

After he thought I’d had enough, at least for now, he stopped and allowed me to face him. My bum was hot and tender and I felt wonderful. I felt so ready to fuck him except for one thing.

He’d made a promise to me just the other day and I thought it was time for him to keep it.

See,  I’ve taken to occasionally tying my own legs to my headboard via cuffs with long straps when I masturbate. I’ve always felt my best with my legs in the air when I come and when I was single I tended to brace my legs against the wall a lot. Now I’ve taken to a bit of light self-bondage as it feels great to have my legs secure when I orgasm and it’s always fun to feel restrained.

Crush promised recently to use and abuse me in that position and so I made the suggestion. He smiled and agreed on the condition I took a little more punishment.

Oh, yes.

Soon I was on my back naked with my legs held firmly in the air by velcroed cuffs. Easy to get out of, you say? Not so much, because my arms were firmly placed under my own body weight in such a way that escape would take a good minute of wriggling before even getting to the cuffs. And with Crush right in front of me, that wouldn’t be allowed.

Being paddled with my bare arse in the air meant something else too. I was looking right at Crush as he did it. This is a bit of a new one for me. Normally he’s behind me and my face is turned away. I’m used to closing my eyes or hiding my face. It’s almost instinctive. And whilst I could close my eyes, there was nowhere else to look. He was right there and his eager face kept me fixed on him. The paddle rained down hard and fast and oh-so-pleasurably.

I yelped and gasped and wriggled and even pleaded when the harshest strokes hit, but to no avail. I was on fire with sensation and lust and despite (or perhaps because of) the pain, the tingle in my pussy was growing from a tingle to an ache and an ache to desperate need. He was going to paddle me to orgasm. I could feel it.

Suddenly, the blows stopped. My cries ceased and turned to confusion before realising that he had decided he was done.

“No!” I begged, “More, please, more! More!”

Hearing the need in my voice, he continued and I felt a shaking in my muscles and a throbbing in my cunt. I moaned as the orgasm elbowed its way through my body, setting me shivering and screaming and melting…

As it subsided, he put down the paddle and started to take off his clothes. The angle of entry was new to us, but it didn’t pose much problem and soon he was making his first thrust inside my wet cunt. He rested his hands on my still-aching arse and began to push in and out of me.

“Slower, please,” I said, his cock hurting me a little more than I’d like. He did so and it wasn’t long before I was begging for faster and harder now that I’d warmed up to his girth. I asked him to rest his weight around my neck instead of my arse and he did so, leaving me utterly pinned and at his mercy. Of course, there was no mercy, only relentless fucking from a man who took me inch by inch and threw me open.

To be his to fuck without hope of escape was to be oddly free and I floated on a bed made of thrusts and aches and restraint.

He groaned and I started the climb to orgasm again, coming hard as he spilled his semen into me. I ached and throbbed and gasped and crawled into his arms when he released me. ♦


This is another post from perhaps a month back that I’ve been waiting for the right time to post, so excuse me if some of the timeframes are a little off. Hope you enjoy it!

♦ “How many pounds is it?” he said, his hand hovering over my exposed rump, his voice tinged with an unusual quality that rippled on it like oil on water.

He was talking about spanking me, of course, but any other meaning than that escaped me. How many? I hadn’t done anything! We still hadn’t settled on a daily number that fit us both and I couldn’t think of anything else of significance. Why did he think I ought to know how many I should get?

“I don’t know.” I said, perhaps more petulantly than I should. Horny though I’d been all day and despite a little idle fantasising about whips earlier, I wasn’t in the mood to be spanked.

He asked again, but with context. “How many pounds is it you’ve lost?”

I understood.

I’ve been counting my calories since the end of September in an effort to lose weight. I didn’t really bother over Christmas, because I’m not that much of a masochist, and since then it’d been hard to get into a routine. I hadn’t weighed myself since the end of December, over five weeks ago. I was sure I’d gained weight.

He promised to give me a spank for each pound I was over my last weight.

But I was under by seven pounds. In fact, I’d lost 24.8lbs since I started.

So that’s what I told him. It didn’t let me off.

“How am I going to do 0.8 of a spank?” He said.
“You could round up,” I replied.
“OK,” he said, adjusting his grip to hold me firmly, “248 spanks…”
“What?!” I replied, but they started nonetheless.

That bastard, that delicious bastard. He’s a mathematician, so he knows damn well that’s not how you round up. He just thought he’d play cleverpants and move the decimal point.


But, oh, they were stingy and they were thuddy and he counted each of them out in a glorious measured metre. Slow enough for each pound of his palm to register, fast enough to leave me breathless.

By one hundred I had asked for harder, by two hundred I was screaming with each stroke for harder and faster and stronger and MORE.

I was counting too now and I found that saying the numbers out loud with him was adding to my wriggling, raging excitement. I made a mental note to count along from the beginning next time.

He finished with a flourish. 248 pounds of skin upon skin, 248 strikes of his will into my flesh. 248 individual kisses from him to me.

He turned me over and towered above me grinning as I lay with my clothes all askew and my body flushed.

“I think you’re starting to like this.”
“What gave you that impression?” He smiled.  ♦

e[lust] #33

Photo courtesy of Penny

Welcome to e[lust], the sex blog round-up- The best posts from the hottest and smartest sex bloggers all in one place! This edition highlights topics such as STI’s, swingers and poly relationships, spanking, role play and so much more. Want to be included in e[lust] #34? Start with the rules, come back in February to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

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I’m The 48%I keep breathing. Strangely enough, the world didn’t end at that precise moment. I felt numb. I stared at those two red lines on the monitor.

Can Swingers be Happily Married? Long Term?Swinging can be an exhilarating experience. It requires sincerity, honesty, vulnerability, strength, forgiveness, and patience.

Secretary I was a little worried: my intentions in placing the ad had been purely dishonorable, but her response offered no evidence that she correctly divined my intentions.

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Why I Write – And Respect – Negative Sex Toy ReviewsI call a spade a spade, and name it out for being crap no matter if it’s $39 crap or $139 crap. Crap is crap and you shouldn’t have to buy it.

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A Little Spanking Can Go A Long WayAll I could do was hold on until it was over. It was more than I could take, but I took it and, of course, I loved it.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Read More…

One Hundred Strokes of the Hand Before Bed

I wrote this post over a month ago but I think it’d be a shame not to post it just because time has passed. It’s still relevant and I still find it pretty hot, so maybe you’ll like it too. Just bear in mind that time has passed since then. 

So, as I mentioned here, I’ve been wanting a damn good spanking lately. Every day. I don’t know why, but I do know that all the great reasons I can think of for doing it were already there before. I could have asked for this any time I wanted. But ever since our wonderful post-Christmas reunion, we’ve been sexier, kinkier and spanking a lot more.

And it just sort of occurred to me that we have several great implements for administering a beating, but I’m a bit of a wimp in the harshness of beating I can take. I swear I used to be tougher in the Fractal days. Well, if I got spanked more often and more harshly, soon I’d be able to take more, right?

That’s the plan. I want to be spanked and I want to be spanked harder and more.

So I got it into my head to ask Crush to spank me every day. To insist. He agreed readily, having learnt what spanking does to me and being keen to hear my moans. He loves my moans.

I come up with a quick system after a bit of thought. Ten spanks a day and we’ll see how we get on. We’ll see if that works as a system and then the plan is to write up a little contract together and I’ll sign it. One with punishments for transgressions…

I’m not sure I ever found that my cup of tea before either, but now I do.

In any case, I’ve decided to document our first forays into this experiment…

Day One

The first night of spanking. I am supposed to be given ten spanks today. I insist on being given two extra: one for covering everything in glitter (it was for SCIENCE! Also PORN!), one for accidentally typing “right” when I meant “write” earlier. This is unforgivable. Crush decides that because of my mistake, I should receive all my strikes on my right cheek. He knows I hate it when one cheek gets overly abused and the spread of pain is uneven. Tonight he is particularly hard. I wonder if he’s really trying to show me, to make an example. It’s hard to bear and he doesn’t let up until my twelve strokes are over. I yelp loudly, but am satisfied. The evening turns to sex and, later, to snuggling.

Day Two

I had an idea today about my spanking system. Ten strokes was easy yesterday and ten a day just seems a bit tame now. If I want to be filthier and also build-up my tolerance so that I can take more of a beating, ten isn’t going to cut it. I come up with a system of ten strokes for ten days, twenty for twenty days, then thirty and so on until we reach one hundred strokes of the hand before bed. I discuss it with Crush.

“Does one hundred seem like too many? How long would that take anyway?”
“Let’s find out,” he says and flips me over on the bed, jeans and knickers down.

It doesn’t take that long. He’s gentler than yesterday since I’m not sure we’ve done that many before and it never becomes too much for me, but still makes me wriggle. It feels really good. We chat a bit afterwards about the kind of system we want to make. It’s a good discussion, but results are somewhat inconclusive. We’re not going with my idea just yet, because it’d take forever. Even so, I’m pumped. This is so exciting for me and makes me hugely optimistic and anticipatory about our sex life. Go us!

Day Four

We forgot last night until too late, but decided to make up for it tonight. And we certainly did. Crush was tired as we left it right until bedtime again, but I insisted he gave me the spanks and double for missing out the day before. In fact, I asked for 21 because of yet another English error in my work. I don’t make language mistakes all that often, but when I do I take it very seriously. Language is beautiful and I am supposed to be good at it, after all.

In any case, I told him he could make it quick so that we could sleep. He did. He pounded my arse with ferocity. Again, too much for me but, again, I took it. It wasn’t easy. I tried to keep count but lost it somewhere around ten. When he was done he’d hit me so hard he needed me to kiss his hand better. The spanking put him in a dommy sort of mood. That mood…. well, it led to a wonderful night.

Day Six

Again, we missed yesterday, this time because of a party at ours that ran very late and very sleepy. But today Crush made up for it again. I’d decided on 30 spanks as a good number. Ten for yesterday, ten for today and another ten forgetting a day again. I can’t remember now whether I told Crush this number or not, but even if I had he’d probably have forgotten.

Bedtime rolled around and although I’d reminded Crush a couple of times, I was completely caught unawares. We were kissing on the bed and I leant in over his lap to kiss him deeper. That’s when I found myself pushed into position on my knee and before I knew it, 30 strokes of the hand on my swiftly-bared arse.

Again, too fast, again, too much. Why do I love too much so much? Even now it’s making me hot to write this down.

“Was that really 30?” I said, having lost count again.
“Yes. It’s all over. Unless you want to beg for some more?”

And I did want to beg. Even though 30 had been too much, I wanted more. I don’t quite understand that, but I’m sure some of you will know what I mean. So I begged and he gave me another 30, leaving me gasping and yelping and writhing. When he was done, he took a handful of my hair and tugged me backwards, making me sit upright. That was also fucking hot.

I made the mistake of exclaiming at how fast he’d managed to fit in 30 spanks.

“Oh, you want to see fast, do you?” He menaced and flipped me over once more.  Another thirty, lightning fast. Another moment of pain and pleasure and pleading.

We followed this with more kisses, hugs, chatter. A normal bedtime routine that was only broken when he rolled me over so fast that I ended up half  kneeling on the floor and half perched on the edge of the bed. Ten more rapid spanks followed.

“There.” He said. “That makes it a hundred.”

The complete daftness of ending up so precarious on the bed edge and the pleasure of the spanks combined made me burst into a fit of giggles. I was happy, Crush was happy and my arse was red and sore. It brought us together, it gave us sex when we’d thought ourselves too tired and it had made me really think about my limits. I’ve found that I’m enjoying “too much” quite a bit.

OK, so we haven’t made a contract up yet or found any hard and fast rules, but I’d say our experiment is going pretty well, wouldn’t you? ♦