The Basement [erotic fiction]

Your hands are holding mine, playing with my fingers, pressing the joints, using your thumbs to roll the skin back and forth. But instead of being comforting, it's frightening me. You're pressing just a little too hard, pulling too roughly, and I become uncomfortably aware how breakable and fragile my small wrists and fingers feel in your big hands.

I turn my face up to yours and whisper, “Are you mad at me?” You smile, but again, it's not comforting. I'm leaning into the safety net of the people around us, drinking and talking, your friends and mine, all unaware of the tension between us. You're drinking more than normal, and that is frightening me too.

Some people have gone already, only a couple remain in your kitchen as the party winds down. I want to ask them to stay, or leave with them when they go, but sooner or later I need to face reality and this isn't going to go away. I've got goosebumps on my arms as the last of our friends hug me goodbye for the night, and the hairs on my skin rise as you put a proprietorial arm around my waist as we stand in the doorway watching, smiling as they get into their taxi.

I don't belong to you. I've only been lent to you. I don't live here. This is your house. Every atom has your presence stamped on it. The air smells of you, and the house seems darker already, responding to your mood. There's a moment of silence, a pause in the rising tension, then a lot of things happen very fast. I'm downstairs now with a bouquet of bruises blooming on my wrists. The red dress I wear is torn and I'm angry; frightened but furious at the same time. There's only a little light coming through the black material draped over the window, I can see your pale skin shining, a flash of dark eye, your expression so altered none of your friends would recognise you. You're transformed, changed, but I still know you, I always knew you. You were the monster which came for me in the night, the sound of rustling outside my door, the knocking of the branch on the window which stopped me sleeping. Fear flows inside me like ink in water, followed by the ignition trail of rage. I spit at you, fingers curled to use my nails on your face, swearing, hissing out the sounds as I tell you to get the fuck away from me.

“Don't you speak to me, don't even open your mouth, you little fucking bitch”. You grab my hair and use it to throw me to the cold concrete, you kneel and drag me over your thighs, ripping the fabric of my knickers as you throw them onto the dirty floor. You start to spank me, but this isn't a normal spanking, or even like a disciplinary, this is straight to hell with no warm-up, given in anger, and it hurts, it hurts so very very much, I start to scream… never before have I made a sound like this and I can't believe it's the same action, so often given to me in love, which is tearing my mind open right now.

You push me roughly off your lap onto the floor and as I struggle to get away from you, you're taking off your belt, you use my clothes to haul me back over and it starts again, but even worse than before. I'm fighting and kicking and screaming but you're so very much stronger than me and I can't get away, I'm sobbing so hard my chest is burning and I struggle to breathe..you push me off once again and I'm exhausted, too worn out by the storm of pain and emotion to even crawl away. I can feel welts and blood, the floor is spotted with red..I can taste blood inside my mouth.

You stand and lean over me but I still can't move. You're opening your flies and holding your cock in your hand, and I still can't move. I'm just lying, curled, a crumpled heap of tears and torn flesh and fabric. You lift me by pulling my hair, open my mouth with your fingers and push yourself inside me. I could use this chance to hurt you and try to run, but I can't. Too scared of what might happen. If I please you, you might let me go. You might forgive me.

I suckle the end, slide my lips over, open my mouth so I'm not touching you and gently breathe out warm breath onto your skin. I whirl my tongue in circles around you, and kiss my way up and down the shaft. I lick from the base to the tip in one swift movement, then push all of you into my throat in one go, holding it for as long as I can before starting to nibble and suck the tip, grazing gently with teeth and teasing with my tongue so that you never know where I'm going to lick next. I hold the shaft in my hands and gently move them back and forth while I put the top few inches into my mouth and suck you in, deeply. I imagine my lips to be my labia, and push your cock in and out of the warm, sticky wetness inside. I sneak one of my fingers into my mouth to be covered in lubrication, before I slip my hand between your legs while you're not looking. I take a chance and gently push a finger inside your opening while I suck you, keeping the rhythm going with my other hand.

My mouth stings and burns where the cuts are, and my confusion and guilt rises as I realise sucking you is doing to me what it always does, and I'm soaking wet between my legs. I adore making you come in my mouth, swallowing your hot semen and taking it inside me to keep. You know this and I hope, as your hands suddenly grab the back of my head, and you begin to thrust into my mouth, that your love is overcoming your anger, you're going to give me what I want, what I need from you. You're choking me, I struggle to keep my throat muscles relaxed, but the pain of you pulling my hair calms me, keeps me focused.

Just as I expect to feel the splash of something warm and delicious hit the back of my throat, you pull out and slap me hard in the face again. You put your boot on my chest and push backwards and I fall to the floor. “You're a dirty little slut, you like to take my cock, don't you? You want my cock? Be careful what you wish for. I'm going to fuck you until you scream”. I'm lifted off the ground and you cuff my hands behind my back at an awkward angle, then put my ankles in cuffs with a spreader bar between them. You lift me onto the table and stand in front of me with your cock so hard, so full, I'm unsure if I can take it all inside me. My eyes are so wide, I look at you pleadingly, pointlessly, because I know there is no chance you will let me go. And although my mind is horrified, my body wants this. My clit is swollen and hard, almost painful with need, my hips rocking back and forth in tiny invisible movements, my nipples are so tight and hard they're hurting me. I crave you, hate you, hate myself, disgust myself, but have never felt so beautiful or desirable or powerful as now, my makeup smeared with tears, smudges of dirt covering my skin, blood and bruises and fragments of cloth my only clothes, my pussy burning and so wet, so tight for you, my pupils dilated and wide with desire and terror.

You sink your fingernails into my buttocks and slide me the few inches across the table so that your cock sinks into me. The tip is inside me and throbs, as you move it back and forth. The angle presses my wrists together and makes them hurt, and the deeper your thrust, the more it hurts me. I moan and shake my sweaty hair out of my eyes.

Your hands are alternating, one moment on my hips as you lean over me and grind with greater and greater speed and force inside me, the next on my forehead, pushing my skin, or my neck, squeezing, my life in your hands, or pulling my hair, yanking my neck back as you sink your teeth into my throat. I cry out with the pain as I'm leaned further and further back and the bondage puts more strain on my arms and wrists. Then you bite harder and my moans change, and I whisper 'please, please', as the sensations build into a slow burn centred in my pussy, heavy and rhythmic, like a pulse inside me.

Just as the feeling begins to peak, you pull out and recentre me, then shove yourself inside my other opening, fucking me even harder than before. It's rough and it hurts and you're reaching your own peak now, shoving, pounding inside me, you let out a cry, and I feel the stinging heat spread deeper, which triggers my own pulse to burst in a warm vibration which spreads out through my whole body. My mouth opens, sounds come out but i don't hear anything. I am remade.

Excitement about tonight

Tonight I'm going to DV8, with B and his friend O, plus a few others. I'm excited and scared in equal measure...

Reasons why I'm scared/ anxious about it:
My first public visit to a club without N, unless you count TG in brighton before I even met her, which I didn't have a good time at. When I went places with N, I had context. I would be by her side, then feel brave enough to float off and do the social butterfly thing, then be by her side again. I'd know I was going to be playing, and who it would be with. This time, I don't know WHAT will happen. And yes, in some ways that's very liberating, but it's also scary.

I'll be meeting O for the first time, and that's bound to be a bit awkward. 'Hey, you know this guy you're shagging? Just ignore me while I snog him in front of you, okay?' Apparently she's completely cool with it and totally okay - doesn't WANT a relationship with him, and doesn't do exclusivity at all, she's got her own playmates because she's domme, and why would she mind him beating me when she doesn't want him to do that to her? But still....what if she HATES me? Scared....she won't like me... *wobble*

In some ways, it's a bit like experiencing the whole public clubgoing/ public play thing all over again - I feel like I'm bound to break some unspoken rules, put my foot in it, everyone will end up thinking I'm an idiot. This vulgar acting out of my breakup with N in public has horrified me and I'm somewhat disillusioned by the scene, but also had my first taste of what it's like when people you thought respected and liked you, turn on you.It's knocked my confidence and made me feel very fragile. I need to re-take those steps, but it's hard. I feel so lost.

I'm going over to B's straight from work and getting changed there. I hate getting changed at other people's houses, it makes me feel awkward and tense. But he said it was best if I get there early as the timing is tight, then we can all be ready at the same time, and he can make sure I look sexy enough. What does that mean??!! Does that mean he thinks it's likely I won't look sexy? oh my GOD!

Plus, I'm going to have to get my mojo on and do the fake it till you make it thing, swagger through that damn door and swing my hips like I'm auditioning for a Shakira video. No bloody point in going if I'm just going to mope around, feeling miserable because nobody wants to talk to me, self-fulfilling prophecy etc etc. BE attractive and people will be attracted to you, that's the ticket. Bloody hard though. Hardly slept a wink again last night, more nightmares about N, death and arguments.

Reasons why I'm excited/ anticipating it:
Nothing to hold me back, anything and everthing could happen, I'm going with four doms/ tops and I'm the only sub, ha ha! I can probably spend all night playing if I want to.. I'm staying over which means I can have a lovely gentle come down and spend all night being snuggled and cared for, or possibly shagged rotten by O if we take to each other :-)

I need to make new non-N memories, and this, a club that I've never been to before, is the perfect opportunity. Plus, excited about first public play with B. He's bound to show off a bit, which should be fun, since I like to show off a bit too :-)

Now I'm without a girlfriend, but my libido is still going through the roof, I seriously need a few fuck buddies of my own! I need a few friends I can call on and say, I'm gagging for it, fancy a bit of how's yer mother?

Speaking of which, I've got a sess next wednesday with S&S. Phwoar. We're just going to have a couple of drinks and see where things go. Should be good :-)

Public v Private

It's been a bit difficult this last week or so. I've been about two cups of tea away from leaving the scene altogether. Perhaps surprising to those who know me as a bit of an exhibitionist, I'm very private about anything painful I'm going through, preferring instead to concentrate on the positives in public.

Part of the reason I drifted away from the goth scene was the bitch fest that resulted every time there was a slight bit of conflict and people getting involved when they shouldn't do. I absolutely hate the bitchy side of a scene. It disgusts me when people take sides and get involved in a private matter between two people.

As of tonight, I've removed all online content from my fetlife and ic profiles, and am just keeping the account to keep in touch with friends. I think this is the best way, for now, and not a decision I've taken without reservations. But it's better than leaving the scene for good, and this way I get to keep in touch with the people who've come into my life recently.

I'm trying not to let all of this tarnish the beautiful and spiritual thing that play has become to me, but it's quite hard at the moment.

A new beginning

Ever since I split up with my girlfriend, people keep asking if I'm okay.

It's been really hard, but I'm starting to come to terms with what has happened, and to enjoy myself again. She's encouraged me to continue writing about my experiences, because she knows it's helpful to me when others offer their insight, and perhaps reading about my journey might also help others in the same boat. This is so honourable of her, so decent, that I've decided to honour her in return by respecting her wishes and writing openly and without reservation.

Yesterday I played with B, someone I've got to know recently who is becoming a regular play partner. It was an absolutely fantastic play, for lots of reasons. He's starting to get to know my reactions, and push me further, and I'm starting to trust him more deeply and am able to let myself go a bit more. I can be quite shy about my body, but he's very good at helping me to feel beautiful, and this time I was comfortable enough to be completely naked. I've got hard limits on playing with men, I'm not emotionally available, and while I'm a complete slut at the moment in terms of being practically insatiable for everything sex and play-wise, I'm also devoted to my husband and would never cross the limits I've set with him, nor would I play with anyone who I thought would allow me to. My playmate is such an honourable gentleman that I can trust him to stop me even if I get a bit frisky and over-excited.

Splitting up with my girlfriend has meant that I'm only bound by the limitations agreed with my husband, and so for the first time in fourteen years, I snogged a man who was not my husband. I just adore kissing, I'd snog everyone in the whole world if I could, and although I thought it would feel weird and maybe even freak me out, as I've always been the epitome of faithfulness to my husband, it actually felt very natural. I suppose because I AM being faithful to him, I'm not deceiving or hurting him, just enjoying mutual fun between two people who care about each other. The other thing he was allowed to do which he wasn't before, is have his hands all over my breasts. Yum. I'm not exactly small up top, and it always felt a little cruel to tell him he couldn't touch them. Especially when I was absolutely dying for him to touch me.

This time I had a sense of feeling free from guilt, which liberated me to truly enjoy the play. The last time we played together, he suggested that next time I come, I should bring along some old clothes. I grinned up at him and said "Why, do you want to rip them off me?". "Hmm", he replied, "actually I was thinking of cutting them off you".

*faints*

I practically came in my pants!

Okay, so you know how you have favourite clothes that are so old, so battered, that they are virtually unwearable anymore, but because you loved them once, you can't bear to throw them out? Well, can you think of a better way for such things to be retired disgracefully from your wardrobe? I sent him a text while I was on the train to tell him that every single thing I was wearing was open to being trashed. I was, as always, very nervous, and as we went into his house, I could feel my heart pounding. We sat down in his kitchen for a quick drink, and he pulled me into his arms and gave me a bloody good kissing. Yum. Melty Lucy ensues.

We went downstairs into his dungeon, and did lots more kissing and cuddling, standing up, and then he started spanking me, while looking into my eyes. I have turned into such a complete spanking slut that I was soaking wet by then, and uttered little moans and quiet cries, until he pulled me, unresisting, onto his lap, as he sat sprawled in the black satin duvet puddled on the floor. He carried on spanking me while ripping my fishnets off with his hands, and let me just take a moment to say - is there any sound hotter? - my god, it was absolutely fucking brilliant!

When he'd finished giving me a damn fine bare handed spanking, he lifted me up in my tattered and ripped clothing, and cuffed me to the frame above me. He kissed me again, and asked, "Are you going to be a good girl, Lucy?". I whispered "yes", and to the astonishment of everyone who knows me, I'm sure, I actually did manage to behave myself because he then pulled out an absolutely enormous knife, so big it was more of a small sword! I was shivering and gasping and incredibly turned on. Then he got this switchblade out, which was so sharp, it would have been very easy to have an accident. He slowly and skillfully cut off my top, and ran the back of the knife over my breasts and down my spine, while giving me the most evil but hot stare I've ever seen. Then, he cut away my skirt, and proceeded to rip off the rest of my fishnets. Pause for more spanking, more kissing, and then I looked down and watched him cut away my knickers. Muuurrrrrhhh. *dribble*

A little more kissing, a little more beating, then he uncuffed me and pulled me down into the bedding for a snuggle. What's very nice is that he's absolutely gorgeous, but bizarrely unaware of it, so although he's confident, he's also very modest and not at all arrogant. He's respectful and seems to enjoy playing with me as much as I do with him, but understands quite clearly what I can and can't offer him. I want to play with lots and lots of people, in lots of different ways, but there will be a few people who are special to me and he's definitely one of them, and it makes me happy to know I'm giving him a bit of fun and pleasure, too, because he's definitely giving me plenty!

I think we were down in his basement for four or five hours, not playing for all of that time, stopping for regular breaks, and sometimes just rolling around kissing and wrestling or talking or touching. I couldn't play in private without that sort of stuff, now, if someone is going to hurt me I need to feel they at least care for me a little, that they like me enough to want to spend time chatting and being close, building a connection. Anything else (except for fantasy land - that's quite different of course) would repulse me and leave me feeling humiliated and dirty - and not in a good way.

We had a fantastically fun time after he put some tighter cuffs on me, when I absolutely refused to go quietly and was kicking, pulling, twisting, and generally writhing around trying to get away. He enjoys that too, especially since I always let him overpower me in the end - well, frankly I don't have any choice unless I safeword; he's very strong - and then start shouting my mouth off at him, swearing, calling him a motherfucker and an arsehole, and then descending into whimpering as he spanks and thrashes all the aggression and anger out of me.

At one point I was in a standing position and we were playing quite hard, when I started to feel a little faint. I should have said 'amber' at that point but I still have problems with even semi-safewording. I'm working on it. Fortunately he noticed I wasn't quite myself, and asked me whether I was okay, at which point I 'fessed up I was feeling weird and got quickly taken down and cuddled better again.

Today I feel positively blissful, floaty and relaxed and not at all stressed. I had the best night's sleep I've had in a week. I feel happy and contented and all loved up with myself, my husband, my friends, the whole world and everyone in it. Plus, I've got some FANTASTIC bruises...

Where to next?

Having sat here staring at the screen for ten minutes, reaching for the right words, I'm just going to give up and say whatever comes into my head, and hope it makes sense.

I've used these weblogs to record my journey so far, and to aid the process of self-reflection. I've found it really useful and I don't want to stop doing it.

Up until now, the experiences I've had since coming onto the scene as a newbie six months ago, have been overwhelmingly positive, with occasional hiccups which have been very useful as learning tools. Nothing awful, tragic or sorrowful has happened to me.

For five of those months I've had a girlfriend, and we had a wonderful time together. That relationship has now ended, and that's all I'm going to say about that. I see no point in playing out in public my private sadness UNLESS others might find my insight useful. I'm hardly the first or last person in this situation so I don't think there's anything new to say.

Naturally I'm bruised and heartsore, but I also feel rather adrift and anchorless - a little bit lost, if you will - and that's what I want to talk about now.

I'm still finding my feet in the scene, finding a place for myself. That place is no longer where I thought it was. Who am I when I play, and who do I want to be? How will I feel about playing, without a mentor, guide, best friend, to hold my hand and advise me?

Will I get lost? How do I temper my desire to try everything and everyone, with a bit of self-restraint and common sense? Am I able to? Do I trust myself? What if I become someone or something I don't like?

How do I balance that with wanting to throw myself back wholeheartedly into something that made me feel so shiny and new and gave me so much fun? My shine is a little dulled at the moment, and I need a good polish.

How do I walk the fine line between thinking too much, and not thinking enough?

What's that, you say? Learn from your experiences and take responsibility for yourself? Surely not!

Thank god I'm 33 years old and with a strong support network. I really wouldn't like to have discovered the scene when I was younger and still engaged in Mission Self-Destruct. Where I am in my life now, I've got the tools - gained from bloody hard work - to pick myself up and soldier on, learn from experience, and take responsibility for my own choices.

I hope.

"Mine" [erotic fiction]

We're in the club, in the sweet and velvety darklit space, for my first public play with you. Last night I slept in your bed, and you fucked me and played with me for hours. I've never come so hard or so long, and my skin is so sensitive, just the breeze from the open door is making me shudder.

You stand next to me at the bar with a hand around my waist while I wait until the barman notices me so I can order our drinks. Your hand slips lower over the leather underbust corset, and over the burlesque panties I wear. You start to rub the skin in between there and my fishnet stockings. Your hand slides between my legs and you rub the fabric, checking how wet I am. I'm soaking, as I always am when I'm with you. Just being with you makes my pussy tingle. You pull the sodden material aside and slide two fingers inside me. The barman chooses this moment to ask me for our order, and as I open my mouth to speak, you flex your fingers, making me gasp. You take pity on me and give the order for our drinks, as you push your fingers deeper. As he returns with our drinks, you calmly pay as I stare at him with my lips parted slightly, an expression of pleasure and shock, as your thumb pushes inside my ass and your hand moves harder and faster.

I think I might die of the pleasure. Everyone in the club can see me as my body shudders and trembles, your hand inside my knickers. Your other hand grabs my neck and pushes it down on the bar, bending my body in two. I can feel the orgasm building, the heavy liquid glow inside my stomach, everyone is watching you as you make me helplessly moan, I am horrified, I've never felt so exposed, vulnerable, but I love it, I've never felt so safe, so protected. Just as I think I'm going to come for the twenty fourth time in twenty four hours, you pull your hand away. My body aches for the loss. I'll wait for you.

You take my hand and look into my eyes. You lift my chin and kiss my lips, your tongue gliding lightly over the oh-so-sensitive skin. I lean forward as my pussy begs for you to touch it again but you grab my hand and pull me after you. You give the order and I climb onto the frame, sitting with my back to the wood, a strap around my wrists, ankles and waist. I look at you, trembling, my eyes huge. You smile and turn away, and when you turn back with the flogger in your hand, your face has changed, become controlled, in command. I know this face and love it too. Something inside me relaxes as you take control and you begin warming me up, gently as I'm sore from the things we did together the night before.

You move to another flogger and hit harder, and I start to utter little pain cries for you. You begin with the crop on my legs and it hurts so so much but feels so good, I can feel my pussy throbbing, my clit swelling, burning with the need for you. You seize my hair in handfuls and pull my head towards your breasts, then take my neck into your mouth, suckling and biting. The pain is wonderful, searing, I beg pleadingly, “Please will you mark me, please, please?”. I never demand but I know I'm allowed to ask. Your teeth tear into my flesh, mauling me, and as you step away I can see blood on your lip and I start to cry, but the tears are joyful.

You take out your whips and there is no mercy, as the blows pour over me, you are talking, telling me you're going to beat the living shit out of me, I've been begging for a really hard thrashing, now I'm getting what I asked for, maybe this will teach me to be careful in future. Just as I think I can't take any more you throw the weapons on the floor, and turn away. I'm afraid, thinking you're disappointed in me for not being able to take all the punishment you want to give…but then you turn back and I see you're wearing a double strap-on. The harness conceals the other section which I know is inside you, all I can see is the two cocks which you hold in your hand as you walk towards me.

You literally rip my knickers from my body, you're warning me as you push your first cock against my pussy lips, rubbing, pressing, teasing, that you are going to fuck me bloody senseless, fuck my brains out, fuck me until I can't take any more. Suddenly you shove it inside me, there is little resistance as I'm so soaking wet. The second cock is covered in my wetness too, and slides inside almost as easily. You've fucked me in the ass before and my body opens like a flower for you - but I've never taken it in two places at once. As you settle into your rhythm your own pussy is fucking the cock inside you, feeling it hit all the right spots as you slam yourself into me. 'Oh God, oh, oh, please, don't stop, please'. Your hands on my hips, holding me. Your face, so flushed, so beautiful, in front of mine. As you start to come, the sound of you is too much, my body can't help itself, I start to shake, the heavy feeling inside me grows and spreads through my whole body, like a waterfall, sunlight sparkles in my eyes, the liquid wave stamping your will into every cell, I welcome it, breathing it in, exhaling in huge gasps and sighs as we come together, shining, the lights in the ceiling like starfall as I tilt my head back.

You pull out of me as liquid gushes between us, I think it must all be over, you've taken your satisfaction with me, what could you want with me now? You lovingly stroke my face, running your fingers over my lips. You release me from the restraints and help me to the floor as I kneel, unable to stand, my muscles like jelly. I jump in surprise as you order me onto the spanking bench. More? I'm not sure I can physically take it. I signal this to you, but there is no mercy, not a hint or a shred, as you give the instruction. One way or the other I'm going there.

I crawl, on my hands and knees, unable to stand, as you watch me with a little smile. I can see your friends exchanging knowing, amused glances with you. I climb up onto the bench and collapse, exhausted. You stroll over, and secure something to my backside with bondage tape. I turn my head to see, but you say get your head back there, NOW. And I can't do anything but obey when you use THAT VOICE. You use your cane as a warm up, I'm crying out, ow! Ow! That hurts, please, please, it hurts. I know baby, you say. Just a little longer, you can take a little more, for me, can't you? I nod my head reluctantly and whimper as your cane is exchanged for a paddle which comes down on the same spots again and again. Ten more, you say. You can do that for me baby. 'K, I say in a tiny voice, as I feel the edge of faintness knocking at the door of my mind. Ten hard whacks come down, and I'm almost somewhere else entirely as you gently remove the tape and the leather, and take me in your arms, holding me, stroking me, whispering to me.

Later, long after, after you've taken me home, cleaned my face of tears and streaked eyeliner, put me between clean sheets and tucked my hair behind my ears from my flushed, satisfied face, I've slept, and woken up beside you, so so happy, I wander off to look at my bruises in the mirror. There, among the battle scars I proudly examine, is a big outline formed in bruises. Clearly visible on my ass cheeks are the words 'Mine'. I smile, stretch lazily, and get back in bed with you, and giggle happily before falling asleep again.

Town Slut [erotic fiction]

I think anyone who lived here would be considered an outsider. Although I only moved here a month ago, there are people who've been living in the town for twenty years or more who are still regarded as newcomers. A freak like me never had a chance of fitting in. I suppose I should have expected some kind of fall-out - I just didn't expect it to be like this.

The tradition of Town Slut has a long history. For hundreds of years, one night on every full moon, the sluttiest woman in town was chosen. It's been going on so long, no-one talks about it any more because it's not news. Except - it was news to me. I don't know how they keep it secret from the rest of the world - but they do. If you're born here, you've got the good sense to do your flirting in private. All I did was walk down the street - the way I always do. A little strumpet, they called me. Said my walk was like a challenge…is it my fault I hear music in my head and felt like dancing? I haven't even touched a man or woman since I've been here - not until now.

I heard the doorbell ring while I was getting changed after work. I was in a rush as always, so even though I just had my underwear on, and my heels, I threw my kimono robe over it and answered the door anyway. The silk clung to me in all sorts of interesting places and I realised it had been too long, far too long, since I'd been touched there by anything but my own hands.

I opened the door and was shocked to see five men in suits, all rather heavily set, and of the local council variety, standing on my doorstep. One of them, clearly the designated spokesman, and slightly less unattractive than the others, handed me an envelope. I started to ask him what on earth was going on, but he just gestured at the letter and so I opened it.

“Dear Imp,

Your forward behaviour has been noted and voted on. You have been selected Town Slut and you are considered to have voluntarily reliquished any rights and/or status you may hold for the night of the full moon, April 2009.

Yours sincerely,

People of the Town”

I understood the words but the letter made no sense. I stared at it, bewildered, and then raised my eyes to the council member, my lips forming a soft shape as a prelude to questioning him. I never got the chance to say the first word; he slapped me in the face - hard. I staggered backwards and fell, the silk robe splaying out around my hips as he shouted “you little hussy, we're going to fuck you so hard you'll beg to be a simple whore for the rest of your life”.

Before I could get up, one of the other men shot forward and jabbed a needle into my thigh. Within moments I felt the sedative flooding through me, and I felt woozy and at the same time, powerfully aroused. I blurred in and out of consciousness with images moving like jagged ice in front of my eyes. It must have been some time later that I came to, started to understand and be able to remember what had happened to me.

It was evening by then, and I was outside. The sweet scents of early bluebells were in the air, and I could hear, carried on the warm wind of late spring, the sound of folk laughing and talking, making their way out for the night, or home, with their families, their friends. How could this be happening? How could I be so close to help, yet no-one would help me? Wouldn't someone come and save me from this terrible thing, the awful night to come? Surely it was some sort of elaborate joke. They wouldn't really hurt me - would they? Yet the side of my face where I'd been hit burnt in answer - I already had been hurt, and the chances were I'd be hurt very much more by the end of the night.

Strangely it didn't terrify me though. I was frightened, but I was also very excited, so the drugs must still be coursing through my system. I took a moment to take stock of my surroundings. I was in a paved area by the clock tower, in between where the main roads met. I was nearby most of the pubs and clubs in the town, and there were already people walking through this arterial route through the city.

I was restrained in an unusual way. Somehow my wrists, waist and ankles had been cuffed to a sort of frame on a large bench, which was attached to various winches and pullies. It didn't take a genius to work out that these could be used to move my body into different positions where certain things would be more…accessible. I still had on my stockings, bra and shoes, but I'd lost my knickers and robe somewhere along the line. I was lying on my front, over the bench, with my hands behind my back. My head lay slightly over the edge, my waist was strapped to the bench, and my knees were parted, with my ankles cuffed so that I couldn't close my legs.

While I'd been noticing these things, more people strolled through the courtyard. An elderly couple, arm in arm, chatting and enjoying the evening air, paused nearby me. The gentleman turned to his wife, indicated me, and said “do you mind, darling? I just need to relieve myself…” His wife smiled and gestured for him to go ahead. He came between my legs, out of my sight, but I could smell his slightly faded grandeur. I heard the sound of his trousers being unbuttoned, and then the noise of him clearing his throat with a cough. He put his fragile old hands on my legs and moved them slightly further apart - the frame took the strain and I couldn't move them back, although it became uncomfortable, verging on painful.

From the side of my vision I saw his wife stopping to pat their small dog, and chat with some friends who had just been out for their own evening walk. I felt her husband's hands touch me between my legs, searching for an entrance. He held himself with one hand, while the other spread the lips of my pussy. Although he was old, he was very hard, and clearly in need. I was dry, and it hurt and burnt as he pushed himself inside me. I cried out, but I may as well have been silent for all the notice the townspeople took of my moans, shouts, whimpers, cries of no, stop, don't, you're hurting me…

He thrust only a few times before quickly coming inside me, and the hot spurt lubricated me a little. He wiped himself off on my thigh with a grunt, zipped himself up, and walked away to join his wife with an 'all done darling, let's get home to feed the dog, it's past his teatime”.

A little later, a group of young lads, in their early teens, wandered through the square. They sat on the steps of the clock tower with some shandy, laughing and all trying to pretend they weren't looking over to where I was tied. After some time, they gave up on this and started egging each other on, all trying to avoid being the one to go first, but all wanting to use me before they went home to Mum and Dad for their dinner. They were clearly virgins, and I wondered why they hadn't made use of the Town Slut before.

One by one, they made their way to me, until all of them had their fill. They were all unsurprisingly small, none of them having reached their full growth yet. They could barely wait until they were inside me before shooting their load, and before long I had streams of come running down my legs, pooling onto the bench beneath me. They laughed and joked as they teased each other with comments about size and stamina, but really they all felt the same once they had their dicks in my pussy. They thrust like rabbits, fast yet shallow, taking their satisfaction quickly, shocked at their own daring. One talked big, saying he was going to come in my mouth, but he couldn't work out how to use the equipment and before long, the temptation to get his cock inside me, warm, soft, and tight, won out.

When they'd all had a turn, they drifted off, bonded by the experience, leaving me exhausted and used, sore, my mind floating…

I don't remember all the men, and yes, the women too, who took their pleasure with me that night. The worst was when the clubs started throwing people out, and a group of cocky young men walked past. They'd been drinking, heavily, and were pulsing with testosterone and adrenaline, looking for a fight and a fuck. One particularly repellent young man, with shaved head, earring, and expression of angry arrogance, was wearing no shirt and had his trousers barely held up in that ridiculous fashion which allows the wearer's pants to be on full view, for better or for worse.

He stopped in front of me. I was the perfect way to prove what a man he was in front of his mates, despite the fact that he hadn't pulled that night. He started yanking the frame around so that I was positioned hovering above the bench, my body suspended, but still face down. He told his blonde friend to lie underneath me, with his back on the bench, and get ready to put his cock inside me. Despite all the cocks I'd been fucked with, I was still tight, and wet, so wet, from all the semen, and my own juices. The blonde man was big and wide, and he rubbed against my clitoris with the head of his dick. He pushed it towards my opening, and shoved the first inch inside. My muscles involuntarily gripped him, and he cried out, and grabbed my hips with both hands, pulling me onto him with one movement. He started to thrust, but the chav guy, the one bossing the others about, he stopped him from thrusting any further with his hand on the guy's shoulder. He beckoned his other friend over, he had his long brown hair in a ponytail, and positioned him standing so he was behind me, between my open legs. The ponytail guy used his hand to scoop up a palmful of other men's come, and rubbed it between my buttocks. Then with one sharp stab, he shoved his thin, long cock inside my arse. I was so full of cock I felt as if I was going to explode, but there was one more place which hadn't been filled.

The chav guy in charge came round to the front, and stood in front of my face. He looked me in the eye and smirked as he took himself out of his pants. He slapped me in the face with his cock and grabbed my chin with one hand, squeezing until my mouth dropped open, and then shoved himself inside me. He started fucking my mouth, and the other two men moved in rhythm with him. He set the pace, alternating between long, deep, slow, to fast and shallow, as he controlled my breathing with his cock. I was terrified, and he responded to the fear which could only be expressed through my eyes, by fucking my mouth as hard and deep as he possibly could, until I thought I'd choke to death.

Just as I started to become faint with the restriction to my airway, his head rolled back and he moaned, desperately, as he filled my throat and mouth up with come, holding my head so close to his body I was sunk deep into his balls, forced closer by the hands holding my hair. He thrust and thrust the last tiny spurts into me and his groans brought the other two men to the edge, and my body was overflowing with hot spunk in every part possible, my hips bruised and battered, my scalp sore, my breasts bleeding and my skin torn.

The man in front of me withdrew, stared at me in disgust, and spat on me. His friends peeled themselves away from my body, laughed, high fived each other, and they all walked away, high spirits restored by giving me what I deserved.

I lay, broken, used, exhausted, as the knowledge dawned on me that I would never be the same again. Then, through my swelling eyes (some of the men had hit me so hard my face was blackened with bruises), I saw a woman, her sweet curves held tight by a black satin corset, was looking at me with the deepest compassion. Her soft hands stroked my face, and she whispered “I'm going to look after you, baby”. Gently, she undid the cuffs holding me down, and rubbed my wrists until the circulation began to return. She kissed my cheek, and despite the night's pain, I felt myself throb in response. “you are mine now, you belong to me”, she said, “and no-one can hurt you unless I permit it. Which I may choose to do. Will you come with me? Will you be my little hussy, to use and abuse?”

“Please, please, yes, take me”, I begged.

Victorian Vignette [erotic fiction]

“Can we offer you coffee with your breakfast, ma'am?” You smile at the young waiter, hovering attentively, and nod. “Paper, ma'am?” “Yes please”, you reply, and it's handed to you as your coffee is served on the oak table in a little silver pot. You use the tongs to deliver one sugar lump into your bone china cup, add cream from the jug, and pour your drink. The waiter knows you like your usual paper folded and ironed onto the third page.

You look up from your enjoyment of the news, and glance around the room. It's a large space filled with people, some speaking in low tones, all of whom are relaxed and enjoying the sunday morning at their club. You lean back in the ancient green leather armchair, and adjust your bustle slightly. You have an hour at least, before the demonstration starts. You are looking forward to showing the good works that you've been doing with your husband.

The club members come and go, the room filling and emptying like a wave. Your dress rustles stiffly silken as you lean forward occasionally to take a sip of your coffee and turn the page of the newspaper. Your reading is interspersed by the courteous interruption of your colleagues as they wish you well with your experiment later today. You smile and nod, accepting their praise and excitement at your work gracefully, taking your high standing in the scientific community as your due, knowing the work you have done is making an important contribution to the academic and practical study of hysteria and kleptomania in females.

As the time approaches, you rise and walk through the club's breakfast room, the scents of lilies and coffee permeating . Your heeled and buttoned leather shoes make a distinctive sound as they hit the marble floor of the corridor, changing to a softer click once you reach the large area used for demonstrations and workshops, a balconied space with rich, lustrous rugs carpeting the floor.

A melodiously cheerful voice greets you.”Good morning once again, Mrs Harkness”. The speaker is a tall man, stocky, muscled, well over six foot, with merry blue eyes, a full mouth suggesting sensual depth, and jaunty dark brown hair. “Good morning once again indeed, Mr Harkness”, you say, with an undertone of amusement in your voice as you greet your husband. You indulge your eyes for a moment as you allow them to roam over his well-built frame.”Is the subject ready?” “Yes, she's contained and in position”, he answered. With a little sadness scoring his voice, he adds, “I only wish we could explain to her so that she would understand, this is for her own good. And the work we are doing is so very invaluable to the long term health of our dear nation.” You nod in agreement and walk over to the work table. The room is arranged with the space for the demonstration at the centre, the audience spaced out in a wedge shape rising up to the balconies in front. Your subject has already been prepared by Mr Harkness, his work as careful and meticulous as always. The female subject was selected from a small group under study, all of whom have been identified by you as suffering from hysteria (evidenced by the unreasonable crying and screaming during all of the experimentation so far), and kleptomania (the subject had repeatedly stolen bread and fruit from the marketplace in London near to the slum dwellings she lived in).

Today's subject was fair, slender but of the build of body suggesting this is dictated by lack of food rather than body type. Despite malnutrition, still heavy of breast and buttock. Mr Harkness has prepared the subject for the medical experiment which is to follow, by the use of a dentists chair, all heavy brass, iron and leather. The straps secure the subject at wrist, ankle, chest and forehead, for safety purposes. Wide and frightened eyes meet yours, almost animal-like in their intensity. Of course, the poor young woman can't be expected to understand the benefits to be gained from the development of this new procedure. She has had a minimum of clothing removed, purely to allow access to the necessary parts of her body for the experiment to work, leaving her with an underbust corset, garter belt, stockings, and soft slippers, all in cream, tied by ribbons, hooks and eyes.

As the audience begin to arrive and take their seats in a flurry of fabric - crinoline, whalebone, velvet top hats, wooden walking sticks - you identify several colleagues in the medical and scientific community, as well as friends and long standing supporters of your work, some of whom have donated generously to your research. The husband and wife team you comprise is highly respected and you have published in many journals of note.

Mr Harkness begins the introductory speech, as he explains the purpose of your work and the results so far. He tells the audience that initial findings indicate that the removal of sexual arousal in females suffering from hysteria and kleptomania can treat the symptoms of these diseases. Very few studies of female sexual arousal have hitherto been done, therefore stage one of the research is to explore this in more depth. Stage two is to remove e.g. satisfy the subsequent arousal. This particular female subject is part of the study, and so far, although the hysteria is still acute, during her period of incarceration she has not indicated any kleptomaniac tendencies, indicating further study is appropriate.

Mr Harkness takes your hand and kisses it, introducing you to the audience as his wife and scientific partner. You address the room briefly before moving on to Stage One of the demonstration. You deftly touch the ears, back and neck of the girl, stroking, scratching and stimulating. She has been prevented from disrupting the demonstration with noise by the insertion of a cleverly designed gag in her mouth. However, little noises of protest still escape. You observe and comment on the change in skin colour, and draw the audience's attention to the erect nipples of the girl, holding her breasts in your hands to show how the aureole has deepened in colour and her breathing has sped.

Mr Harkness, meanwhile, takes the electrical stimulator and applies it in rotation to various areas of the subject's body, beginning with her nipples, stroking upwards along the legs and arms, and finally between her legs. You observe and comment on the changes in breathing, as soft gasps issue from the woman. You dig your nails into her shoulders feeling a momentary possession and pride in the success of the demonstration so far, and the subject's clear arousal. You feel an urge to claw her breasts, rolling the nipples sharply between fingers and thumb, and you do this, seeing as you do so that her hips move gently against the leather of the seat. You knead the palm of your hand into her body, feeling the nipples become ever harder, and with your other hand you clasp her throat, filled with the power and the thrill. You could perform violence on this body right now, or you could give pleasure, the choice is yours.

Mr Harkness now shows the audience how visibly the subject is aroused by indicating the wetness flowing from between her legs. He stimulates the area just above this with the electrical device and shudders move through the girl's body. A flush has risen from her chest to her neck and shoulders, and now has reached her face, indicating sexual arousal is at its peak. You and your husband meet each other's eyes and with a silent agreement you move onto Stage Two of the demonstration. Mr Harkness talks the audience through what is happening, as you don a prototype device based on previous models designed to treat hysteria. A wooden rod is attached to a harness, which can be strapped around your corsetted waist. A wetness has begun between your own legs, which you note as an interesting side effect. Mr Harkness appears similarly affected, judging from the glance you cast at him.

Moving between the legs of the woman, you adjust the chair so that she lays back slightly. Her open legs are invitingly spread and you place your hands on her hips to settle yourself comfortably into the movement which is about to begin. Taking the rod in one hand, you use the other to spread her. You put the rod at the entrance to her body, place both your hands on the back of the chair, and lean forward, penetrating her. Mr Harkness' voice continues to explain, discuss, take questions from the audience but the sound recedes as you concentrate entirely on successfully concluding the demonstration. You knead the girl's breasts again and take handfuls of her hair, pulling it sharply, as your hips rock back and forwards, driving the rod in and out of her. Giving in to a sudden urge, you slap her sharply in the face and your own body reacts, a dropping sensation, and warmth spreading through you from the stomach down, becoming an unbearable tingle. You simply have to alleviate this almost painful ache, and just out of sight of the audience, you thrust your hand through the endless layers of petticoats and starched fabric, to rub frantically at the site of your discomfort. As you do this, you replicate the actions on the girl your wooden rod is still penetrating forcefully. Barely have you begun before a growing heavyness erupts inside you and you let out little sounds of delight, noticing on the edge of your consciousness that your subject appears to be undergoing the same experience, judging from the shudders rippling through both your bodies.

As the aftershocks recede, you re-arrange your modesty and lean forward, compelled by compassion to kiss the girl briefly on the mouth, allowing yourself the indulgence of biting her lips momentarily before you turn towards the audience and bow, as thundering applause swells and washes over you.

Another successful experiment, ongoing funding secured, a breakthrough for science and the medical community of England. Congratulations are abundant and well-deserved, as you toast your success before going in to luncheon.

The Cane and the Knife [erotic fiction]

“You”, says your voice from behind me, “are supposed to be resting”.

I'm feeling that horrible sensation in the pit of my stomach that you get when you know you've been caught out doing something, and you're not quite sure how bad it's going to be. I turn around, trying not to cringe, hoping that I'll see anyone but you.

Although my skin's prickling with the physical sensation of closeness, you're actually much further away than I thought, sitting at a table a few feet away. I realise the reason I hadn't seen you before was because you're surrounded by your friends, whose laughter and carousing tails off as the harmonics of your voice freeze in the air. I feel a chill as my eyes fail to meet yours and I stand, suddenly isolated by the quick backwards step everyone near me has taken - as if they don't want to be associated with someone who is shortly about to be in whole oceans of trouble. I stand hunched over, miserably, my mind racing, trying to think of a way to defend myself against the accusation…knowing my behaviour is indefensible.

“Baby”, you coax. “Come here”. I can feel tears getting closer because I know you really are mad at me, and you're right to be. I've just had a major operation and I promised, *promised* I'd be good and rest until I was completely better. And now you find me out clubbing, and what's worse, you caught me when I was busy flirting with someone I'd only just met. Could I possibly get caught in a more compromising position? I briefly consider whether openly sobbing would help or hinder my predicament. As I ponder this, and chew my lip in thought, my eyes absently wander upwards and unexpectedly meet your gaze. You look so disappointed in me.

“I never thought I'd have to do this”, you murmur, with your voice like wild silk on wet gravel. You snap your fingers and one of your friends comes forward. He leans over with his ear close to your mouth, and I see your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying. His mouth curves up at the corners and I think, 'no, please no - not him!' I've always been afraid of that one. He wears full length biker leathers, and with his shaved head and piercings, he reeks of testosterone. He's the antithesis of the kind and loving touch with which you've always treated me.

My hands automatically rise to protect myself as you look me in the eye. You turn to him and indicate me with a gesture. “Take her”, is all you say.

I shift my weight to take a step backwards but before I can even move he's on me. He's holding my eyes and I want to look away but I can't, even as I know my expression is changing from pleading to sheer frightened terror. His long leather coat provides plenty of protection from the kick I aim at him, and he's grabbed me by the wrist and is dragging me away from you, away out of the room. Your face is sad but determined. I stumble in my high shoes, gasping for breathe in the tight laced burlesque corset I wear. The blonde dreadlocks which fall to my waist only provide a convenient handle for his other hand, to guide me as I'm dragged, partly walking, partly crawling on my knees, partly carried…out to the little room - an antechamber really - that leads on to the chillout area.

He's let go of my wrist now as he's thrown me down. He's still said not a word to me. I rub my wrist, glaring at him, as I crouch on the floor. My eyes are angry, my expression is cornered. My lip curls as he grabs my wrist again and uses it to lift me to my feet, and then positions himself between me and the exit. There's a little bench pushed against the side of the room, at hip height, that I come up against as I try to back away. Fuck! He can't really do anything to me that I don't want - can he? Surely someone would hear me - I'm in a club, after all.

What's happening? What's going to happen now? Can I get past him to the door? As I'm flicking through my options, he takes two strides towards me and suddenly he's close, so close. I struggle to meet his eyes, and I feel the blush rising, the flush that always fills me when I'm with someone who presses my buttons, as much as I don't want to react to him like this, right now. Ashamed, I look down, and he moves closer, his hands going around my waist and lifting me onto the table. With a firm but undeniable grip, he parts my legs and steps even closer, so close I can smell leather and sweat, and something else, something dark and violent and dirty. I hear his voice for the first time now, and it's as deep as I always imagined it would be. Fuck, his voice is so sexy. I don't want to be attracted to him, but every part of my body tells me it's too late, far too late. My skin is afire, my body aflame, my flesh burning. “You.” He makes the word sounds like an instruction. “Look at me”. I try to resist but my face turns up of its own accord, and I look at him under my lashes through the heat haze between us. The moment my eyes meet his, his hand moves with such speed to my throat, I don't have time to cry out. He lays his fingers oh so gently around my neck, applying the merest suggestion of pressure. With his other hand he draws my hips closer to his, and I feel his erection pressing against me. My body betrays me…I want him inside me…he smiles, leans back a little and runs his hand from my throat, down my body to between my legs, lightly touching, drawing a line in which I'm divided in two.

He touches me through the thin ruffled fabric between my legs. I'm so ashamed, I'm so wet…I flush even more and bite my lip, dropping my head sideways to my shoulder. He rubs, touches, explores with fingers and I can't stop myself, my back arches, my head falls backwards, I cry out…'no…you mustn't…I can't….please stop, please don't, please don't, stop…please, don't stop…'

He unzips himself and, with one hand holding my throat, pushing me back against the wall, and the other hand on the back of my waist, drawing me closer….I try to push my thighs closed, but he uses the greater strength in his legs to keep them apart. There's the small matter of my knickers, which proves no barrier at all to the sharp knife he carries sheathed under his coat. He slits the fabric as if it were skin, and despite the increased threat I suddenly go crazy, writhing and shoving him away, kicking, shouting out, pushing at him with my hands which moments before had wanted to pull his cock inside me…deep into my body…

His face changes expression. He releases me for a moment, zips himself back up as I slap and tear at him, and then inside a moment he has turned me so I'm facing the wall. Bent over on the bench, my wrists are captured in one of his hands and held behind my back, as he pulls out a cane from his boot. I kick backwards, aiming for his legs, but as the blows fall I quickly lose focus. Each stroke falls with the pain of a slap, the threat like a knife on my clit, the pleasure of a tongue warm inside me. I can feel my thighs slickly rubbing together, my pussy is throbbing, I'm grinding myself against the bench, desperate, desperate to cry out no, desperate to beg to be fucked…desperate for the pain to stop, to get worse, to end me, to begin me, complete me. Each stroke makes a sound that echoes in the small room, echoed by my moans and cries. He finishes off with three hard, painful staccato slaps on my rear, and then the feel of the cane is replaced by a thick, human, hot sensation between my legs.

He holds my arms down with his hands as he pushes against the warm, dripping wet flesh that cries out to be shoved into…my whimpers turn to pleading, I can no longer pretend I don't want it, I'm begging for it, please, please, I need it, fuck me like I need to be fucked, please, please…his fingers tangle in my hair, forcing my face into the wooden surface…his one solid, thick thrust up to the balls in me, sudden and deep, over and over…tears from my eyes, my head turning, sobbing…please Sir, finish it…he uses me and I want him to…his pleasure in me, his climax begins mine, I arch, cry out, clench and squeeze the last few drops inside me, the last few tears from my eyes…

And then I hear your voice from the corner…when did you come in?…

You smile benevolently at us both, and say, 'Well done, my darling'.

The Disciplinary [erotic fiction]

We're sitting on the sofa drinking tea when you notice the bruise. I'm sitting with my legs curled up under me, and my skirt hitches up more than I realise. I lean over your lap to put my tea down, and you playfully stroke your hand up the back of my leg, lifting the skirt even more, just enough for you to see the marks on my buttocks. You don't react, so I don't realise at first that you've seen it. I'd been hiding it all day, not knowing how you would respond. I'd promised to keep myself as white as snow for our play later, and I never meant to get so carried away.

You pat my back in a 'come on, up you get' gesture, and stand up and take our cups into your kitchen. I pad after you in my bare feet - it's cold in your lounge and I'm only wearing summer clothes. I stand in the doorway and cross my arms over my chest, feeling a little shivery.

You walk towards me and I smile at you, totally unprepared for what happens next. Your hand moves so fast, I don't even see it, but I feel the stinging slap as your palm meets my cheek. It's shock as well as the blow which makes me stagger back, eyes wide, and I trip over a table and stumble backwards onto the floor. You walk towards me, expressionless, but your words are full of absolute fury. “What…did…you….DO?!" you hiss at me, as you tower above me and I lie on the floor, too terrified to even protect myself.

“I…I…I…you know what I did, I told you I was going to the club last night with my friend, I told you I would let her play with me if she couldn't find anyone else to play with. You didn't want to come, you told me you were busy!'

“You little SLUT! You promised me you wouldn't let anyone touch your arse. That arse is mine, MINE, do you hear me? And if I tell you to keep it nice and alabaster white so I can mark you from scratch, then that's what you'll do. You filthy little hussy, you couldn't go for one week without taking a beating, could you?"

“I wanted you to do it, but you wouldn't! I needed it! Anyway, I didn't mean to….I just got carried away in the moment”

In all truth my bottom had been flogged so hard I could barely sit down. The huge bruises spreading purple, black and blue across my cheeks looked horrific, and felt oh so terribly, deliciously wrong as I lay with the hard carpet pressed against them. You lean down and grab the front of my shirt, yanking me up into a sitting position before belting me across the face again in a huge backhander. The ceiling spins and the ground moves underneath me for a moment but I don't have a second to catch my breath because you pull me up by my hair, using it as a handle to turn me around so I'm on my knees facing away from you. You take two handfuls of my shirt by my shoulders and pull sharply downwards, ripping the fabric, then tossing it to one side. With one hand in my hair, you use the other to unzip my skirt and tear it from me, pulling it roughly over my hips and splitting the seams. You don't even bother to try and remove my knickers, you just rip them off angrily. I twist and turn, trying to get away, but your hold on me is firm and uncompromising. You shove my head down towards the floor and tell me to get over your knees. I start to cry - I never meant to let anyone bruise me, it was just a stupid mistake, I didn't want to make you angry, you're not going to really hurt me are you?

“You dirty little piece of ass - you're so badly bruised now you're far too damaged to have any kind of play with you for pleasure. I might as well finish the job someone else has started and at least then I'll bring you in line. I'm going to give you a disciplinary that you won't forget in a hurry, you little bitch”, and all the time you're speaking, your fingers are firmly opening me, pushing inside me, telling me that you love me but you're going to hurt me very badly, for my own good.

I'm crying openly now, sobbing onto your thighs, wet with my tears and the juices running from your pussy and mine. You can smell my excitement and my fear, my sweatsoaked thighs fall open as you look down at me and see my face smeared with eyeliner, two huge red marks on my cheeks, and my buttocks so dark with bruises. You feel my wetness trickle down from between my legs onto yours as you position me so that you can administer the disciplinary.

WHACK!

Your hand crashes into my buttocks which are so so sore already. A wail comes from my lips, unbidden. The pain is shocking, like a bucket of cold water on a hot day, and as your hand comes down over and over again it reaches unbearable levels.

“Please please please please don't…you're hurting me so much…please….I can't bear it, don't, please, don't! Ahhhhhhhhh”

I shudder from my shoulders to my toes as your hand comes down one last time and I throw my head back and cry out so loudly the sound snaps in my chest and my voice breaks. I croak huskily “I won't ever do it again, please, please, I'm sorry”.

“You always say that, but you just can't control yourself. You need a firm hand, and you need my control. You've always been a handful, and what you really need is to have all that rebellion fucked out of you. Get off my lap and kneel on the sofa with your arse in the air”.

I whimper, cry out, my face stained with tears, and moan softly, no, please no…

You ignore my pleas, and pull my legs into the required position. I clamp my thighs together. “Open!” you instruct me. I whimper again. “Open up right now, you little slut, you know you need this fucking and whether you like it or not, I'm going to fuck you as hard as I want, as long as I want to, until I'm satisfied you've learned your lesson”.

I painfully spread my legs and without ceremony you force your fingers inside me to check whether I'm ready. I'm dripping, soaking, pouring with juices and as I peek around behind me I see the strap-on - I know it will hurt, but I can't help my breath pounding in my throat, my heart beating faster in my chest, my clit feels as if it's ready to explode and you grab one of my wrists with one hand, force it behind my back, then grab the other, and hold them together with your left hand while you hold the strap-on with the other. You force your way inside me, I try to wriggle away, but there's nowhere to go to. I try to bend my knees, writhe away from the hard thrusts but you stop and say “Open up. NOW.” I move back into the position you want me in.

You're fucking me hard, fast, you start to breathe faster yourself and you're so wet. You're doing this for my own good, I need to learn this lesson, but you take a grim kind of satisfaction from it as you pound into me. The other end of the strap-on grinds inside you and you feel yourself becoming closer to orgasm. You know you're hurting me, the strap-on is going in far too deep for my comfort, you know it must be banging into my cervix and causing me pain, but you don't care, you know I need to be used like this, you feel your clit rubbing into my buttocks each time you thrust, getting more and more swollen and I'm banging my head into the sofa, crying out, moaning, sobbing, begging you to stop, then in one shocking moment you push your finger into my arse, you feel my muscles tighten around the strap-on, and I arch my back, the flush shooting up to my neck and I cry out “please, I'm going to come, please can I come?”. Your own pussy tightens in response, you take pity on me, “Come for me baby, I'm going to let you have an orgasm, you can come now, baby”. And I cry out, spilling my hot shocking pleasure inside myself, waves shuddering through me, sighing and moaning. The sight of it sends you over the edge and you cry out “oh baby, I'm going to come, I'm going to come inside you, now” and your eyes go wide, you scream, you push inside me again and again, so hard, that it sends me crying once more. You collapse over me, then one last wave rolls over you, and you dig your nails deep into my flesh, blood fills the little white marks which turn to red on my back, and you comfort me as I cry, and cry, and cry because you hurt me so much, because it's over, because I want you to do it again and again and again…

Back in the game

One moment it seemed I was stuck at home, recovering from an operation, barely able to leave the house and being taken on outings by my friends like a day release from the local care centre. And the next, I've suddenly got my life back again, hardly a day free in my social diary, seeing my friends, going to kink events, playing again, and catching up on lost time with an energy and enthusiasm that seems to increase as every day goes by.

So first of all...let's just take a moment to say a big bloody 'hurrah!' for that!

Now I've got that out of the way, my next moment is one of reflection - how has not playing for two months affected me, and how did it feel to start playing again after that time?

It's difficult to separate out the different feelings and where they were coming from. Naturally, being stuck in the house with a great big healing wound, lacking in energy, being in pain and exhausted all the time, affected my self image, my confidence in myself, my relationships, and shook my sense of who I am. But I am fundamentally quite resilient, so once I started being able to get out and about again, my bounce returned pretty quickly.

The 22nd February was the day I became aware of the scene. On the 19th March I met N, and on the 3rd April I had my first play and dipped my toe in the waters of the scene properly. I had two months of regular public and private play, a HUGE and incredible range of experiences which without a doubt, changed my life, and then from the 1st June not a sausage, not even a little spank, for two months. TWO BLOODY MONTHS!!!

It's made me aware of how much I need to play, as well as want to. I love sex, and I love pain, and I love to play. If nothing else, it's taught me that this is who I am, and where my sexuality lays down. I can't turn back into who I was before, and I don't want to.

I was afraid, when I first started exploring BDSM, that my developing sexuality would threaten the person I am. I was quite happy and comfortable with being me - tatty, raggedy old me who sits at home knitting and making dinner for her husband. I'd put my sex drive in a box and padlocked it, and although it was rattling and shaking its chains crazily in the back of my mind, I'd closed the door and was blissfully ignoring it. I'd put my energy into being a nice, decent person, a lovely human being who did nice things for people and thought of others before herself. I LIKED me, and I was scared that connecting with a part of my character which I'd ignored for a long time - sexual and social me - would have a negative impact on my personality. But it hasn't. I'm more fulfilled, happier, more content, and I am starting - just beginning, mind, it's still pretty delicate - to feel beautiful, sexual, desirable. I feel like more of a whole person, and I've not lost any of the parts of me I felt were precious before. I've gone forward, not back.

There have been a few hiccups along the way. Not being able to play really shook me. I thought when I was well again, I'd go back to exactly where I'd left off, but for all sorts of reasons, that's not the way life works. I went to LAM this month and got myself into a total tizzy, completely unnecessarily, and nearly screwed up something really important to me because I was being a total and utter mook. I've sorted my head out now and am more relaxed about playing, as a result. I think maybe I thought I was only desirable during the moments when someone wanted to play with me, and all the rest of the time I was not. That's just not very clever. I don't stop being desirable just because life gets in the way of play. I knew that in my head of course, but now my heart begins to understand it, too.

N and I had little moments of naughty play, getting longer and bigger and better as I recovered. Mostly while we were fucking. Crikey, I've had the most incredible fleeting moments of play in the last month while we were having the most amazing sex. Also she teased me with a carpet beater while she was tidying up her toybox. Now that sounds like a euphemism if I've ever heard one.

My first proper play with N left me almost unable to walk! I had to crawl into the bedroom and get under the sheets, I was shivering, and felt really peculiar. She started off by spanking me. I am such a spanking slut, it's not even funny. I was making little moans and gasps and then realised I'd better shut the windows before the neighbours complained. Now my bottom is no longer off limits, she could give full range to her toybox, and we went through pretty much everything in it. Fuck, I'd forgotten how much that quirt hurts, and the dragon's tail. She warmed me up thoroughly and beat seven shades of shit out of me. I was being a bit of a wuss though, my pain threshold has gone right down again. When I play with N at home, she rarely ties me up - and I don't get angry like I do when I'm restrained. She dominates me almost purely psychologically, although occasionally she has to hold me down when I'm wriggling too much. Even though it hurt like a motherfucker, I wanted to take the pain, to please her, and because it turned me on. I was so wet it was almost embarassing. Seeing that look on her face, the 'don't fuck with me' look which is only for me; knowing that I've changed too, become pliant and melting under her dominance, pleading instead of demanding, whimpering instead of swearing, sobbing instead of shouting. I love letting that person inside me loose. It's such an uplifting experience, one that I can only have with her. She can close my mouth with a look.

I lay still, without anything tying me there, and took the beating she gave me, because I wanted to, because she wanted me to, to show her how much I loved her. She turned me over and cuffed my ankles and wrists together in such a way that my thighs were spread, my breasts positioned perfectly for a flogging. She worked me over on my front, and pushed me to my limit until I wasn't sure I could take much more. She always knows when to push, how to push, and when not to. I don't know how.

She pulled out the silver claws, and each finger on one hand was turned into a tiny weapon. She teased me, tormenting my pussy with the claws until I was almost in pain with the desire. I thought my head was going to explode. I simultaneously wanted to start crying, have a lie down and some cuddles, and have an explosive orgasm. We went with the lie down and cuddles option this time, which was a good choice, considering I don't think I had any explosions left in me. She held me and her skin felt so soft, her face so familiar but strange at the same time.

Pause for snack, drink, sleep. Fast forward to...

Spanking slut strikes again. Ooh, I can actually feel a warm sensation in my stomach and my pussy clench, just thinking about it. I was lying on the bed, rthymically grinding my hips against the covers as her hand came down over and over again. Then we had a session with the carpet beater followed by the cane. I've got a stripey bottom now, and sitting here knowing what my bruises look like at this precise moment, unbeknownst to anyone else, is making me smile. I just love the cane. It hurts sooooo much, especially when she goes over the same spot again and again. I was in agony....and dripping wet....and it was absolutely fucking mind-blowing.

Excuse me..this weblog now ends due to the need for a cold shower!