Posts Tagged ‘spanking’

Update! Top-picked for Sugasm 166… thanks y’all…

“I’m going with the flow, as you suggested.”

“I can see that.”

“How am I doing, so far? I do feel like less of a newbie, I have to say.”

“Well, you’re bending over a desk, with your gorgeous juicy ass exposed, and I’m poised with my cane. I’d say you were doing pretty darn good.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“That’s enough talking. Spread those thighs!”


I inch my feet apart ever more until i can feel the breeze from the swish of his cape on my engorged labia. I feel him draw closer, until his breath is warm on my ear, and i feel his hand rest lightly on my thigh.

“That’s nice, girl. Now, you do remember which part of your body the thighs are?”

“Yes, Sir. ”

“Now you will name each part of your anatomy that my finger touches. Any mistakes will result in punishment.

“Yes, Sir.”

His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.

“Inner thigh, upper leg, Sir.”


The finger continues its path, sliding up to my left ass cheek, and pausing. I shiver involuntarily with delight and receive a lazy if stinging slap across the right side of my ass, from his other hand.

“Buttock, posterior, gluteus maximus, ass. Sir.”

“Which side of the buttock, girl?”

“The left, Sir.”


His fingers move up my spine — it’s not a probe, but i do feel as if they are scanning the flesh they touch, for quivers, tantalizing the nerve endings that are almost on fire with anticipation.

“Er, ass,  left hip… back, Sir.”

“Hip? Ass? Is your ass in the middle of your lower back, girl?”

“Well, no Sir, but you said to say the areas you touched, so I was speaking progressively, Sir…”

Crack! The cane hits the desk with a whistle, and I feel the vibrations on my skin.

“Write down one point, girl. And make sure you keep the score right.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His fingers touch my spine, stroking the skin above L3 and L4.

“So – what part of your anatomy is this, girl?!”

“My back, Sir.”

“And which part of your back is that, girl?”

“The middle, Sir.”

“I am disappointed, girl. That is your spinal cord. This is L4.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

He presses down gently but firmly on L4, and I yelp “Bad pain! Bad Pain! Red!”, so he stops.

He always has my safety as his highest priority, even when deeply entrenched in roleplay. It’s why I love him. One of the reasons, anyway. He kisses my head and checks I’m alright, and we snap back into the scene.

His roaming finger now glides between my ass cheeks, over, between, stroking incessantly, eliciting sighs of ecstasy from my lips, and almost causing me to forget where I am, and what we’re doing.

“I’m waiting. Name the part of the anatomy I’m touching!”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I just got carried away, Sir.”

“ETA on the anatomical naming, girl? You’re making me angry — do you want me to punish you?”

I struggle with every fiber in every nerve end to not scream “Yes! Yes! Cane me! Flog me! Beat me until I weep for mercy! Send me flying into subspace! Fuck me until I scream the names of every Jazz musician from here to Cuba!”

Resistance is not easy.

“Ahem, er… I’m sorry, Sir, i don’t know what that’s called other than ass crack. (Is it bad that it feels so good? Am I bad?)”

“Are these questions related to anatomy?”

“No Sir. I’m sorry Sir.”

I hear him suppress a giggle, as his hand dips in between my thighs, and pinches a handful of my flesh. I say nothing. I love when he touches me that way.

“We shall continue.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you wriggling onto the corner of that desk, girl?”

“Um… well, yes, Sir, a little bit. I cannot lie to you, Sir.”

He is loving the effect that this is having on me. He knows how desperately and deeply aroused I am. It’s a huge part of the appeal, bringing me to the point of no return, controlling me in this way. And I cannot lie — it’s entirely mutual.

“Stand still. Stay, girl!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I cannot believe my eyes! Are you actually still wriggling and jiggling after I said stay?!!”

“No, Sir. Well, not much, Sir.”

“So, do you have any explanation for the flushed cheeks, or perspiring brow?”

“Yes sir, but it is nothing to do with anatomy.”

He leans over me, his face so close that i can think —  dream — hope of him (finally!) kissing me. His voice murmurs quietly yet insistently, with his lips so soft and close to my cheek that they kiss it as they move, although it isn’t what I think of as kissing.

“Let’s hear it, girl. What is it, exactly, that has you trembling and jiggling, unable to remain still, despite my instructions — a flagrant infraction for which you know you will be punished. Tell me, little miss… tell me what it is.”

“Ahem. Well, Sir, it’s… um… well, it’s you, Sir. You’re making me feel so… hmmmmm… and…”


“And the corner of the desk is the absolutely level with my clitoris, Sir, and it’s pressing on it, and it’s not helping, and…”

“Be clear. Is it me or the corner of this wooden table?”

Despite myself, I blush.

“The table started it but you increased it tenfold, sir… and i was only pushed into the table because that’s how you told me to stand… Sir.”

“And then?”

“I was a bad girl, and i wriggled, Sir.”

“And are you continuing to wriggle, girl?”

“Only if you tell me to, Sir.”

“And do you want to, girl?”

But as he says this he stops his constant stroking of my skin, and swoops his hand between my legs, holding me in place while two fingers pinch my clit.

I am so aroused i can barely speak.

“Y-yes, S-sir. I ca-cannot lie to y-you.”

“Why are you stammering, girl?”

“Er… i-it’s y-you, S-sir… how you’re t-t-touching me.”

He intensifies his efforts, bent over me, pinning my chest to the desk, although somehow his other hand has managed to locate my mushed nipple and is pinching it. I see the cane lying next to my face, and I understand how his dexterity has been afforded.

With a final tweak of my nipple that sends electric shockwaves to my pinched clit, a mini-orgasm bursts out of me, before I can stop myself. He drops my clit as though it were red-hot, and draws himself up to his fullest height beside me.

“Do my ears and eyes deceive me? Did you just commit the ultimate sin of coming without my permission?”

Once again, I’m close to tears. I’m still incredibly aroused, but fearful of what he may use to punish me.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I couldn’t help it.” I mumble into the desk.

With relief I hear a catch in his tone, that indicates that he will forgive this one-time transgression.

“Such bawdy, randy, slutty behavior requires a fitting punishment.”

He lifts my skirt and begins to spank me with one hand, and cane me with the other, simultaneously, and on alternating butt cheeks. I can feel my ass redden, and I spiral toward another orgasm.

“What are you?”

“I’m a bawdy, randy, filthy slut, Sir. And I’m very close to coming.”

He suddenly stops the alternating caning/spanking, and crouches down beside me.

“You’re a very good girl. You’re a slut, but you’re my slut. Give me your cunt.”

I turn toward him, and lift the front of my skirt. Once again, his hand swoops between my legs, but only to bring my pelvic region close to his face. With a sudden smack-grab of my ass, he brings my cunt to his face, and sniffs appreciatively, before flicking his tongue between my labia, then biting and sucking my clit. My knees are wobbly, and i grab the corner of the desk for support, not realizing how slick it has become in the time i was grinding onto it in frantic arousal. I maintain my upright pose — just.

He stands, bends me over the desk again, and spreads my thighs. I feel his cock nudge at my labia from behind, and then slide smoothly into me. I gasp.

“You’re close to coming?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Not without permission though!”

“No, Sir. Never without permission, Sir.”

Pump. Thrust. A tug of my hair, followed by another. Spanking me — a more intense administering than ever before, and I love it. Into my ear he whispers all the names he has for me, what a dirty girl I am, what a good naughty little schoolgirl, how he loves me, how he loves fucking me, how my cunt feels so good surrounding him, how horny I make him, how I should be punished even more for that (thwack! smack! thwack!).

“Oh god, Sir… please…!”

“Please what, girl?”

“P-please Sir, may I come, Sir?”

“You may.”

I let forth a scream of release as my insides clench and unclench to that unmistakable juddering rhythm. I feel a steady trickle of wet down the inside of my thigh, and a faint splash as it hits the floor. Without missing a beat, he continues to fuck me, hard, fast and expertly.

“Did you piss yourself, girl?”

“No, Sir.” (Pant, pant) “I came, Sir. You made me gush, Sir.”

“Good girl. Naughty little slut. Well done.”

His fucking becomes more urgent, and the streams of words come in a lower, thicker tone until he hums his final “ohhhhh” in my ear, and holds onto me hard. For a moment, there is no roleplay, no professor or schoolgirl, just Purrrrvert and I, breathless and spent, clutching onto each other for dear life because there is simply nothing else for us to do. Naturally, he is the first of us to recover.

“I believe you need to do some cleanup here, girl!”

“Yes, Sir. Should i get on my knees, sir?”

“That would be very proper, girl.”

As I sink to my knees, and take his still hard cock in my mouth, I catch his eye. It is once again Purrrrvert who looks back at me, with his disarmingly beautiful blue sparkle, and I know that I have pleased him in real life as well as the scene. It’s mutual — my need to submit and please my Dom is inherent in my own enjoyment, and arousal.


“So, how was it for you?”

“What, it’s cliche time? You’re shitting me.”

“Seriously, how was it? Did you enjoy being my naughty schoolgirl.”

“I loved it. But then, I tend to love everything we do together.”

“Excellent! Onwards we progress down the list of “I said I wouldn’t but I’ll try them with you”. Next time — ice and fire play!”

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“What am I wearing?”

“Short pleated skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination, white blouse, fetchingly undone so that I can see your delightful cleavage, with lacy bra underneath — black, to enhance your true slutty nature. And a tie. It’s not your collar, but it will do for now.”

“And you, what are you wearing?”

“Cap and gown, of course. And holding a cane.”

“I hope I don’t get this wrong. Age play is an unopened book to me.

“Langsam, darling. Go with the flow. “


Today, I am a schoolgirl, and he is my professor. I am a good girl, always a good girl. I want to impress my professor and make him happy. And then, if I’m lucky, he’ll punish me by throwing me over the table and doing me until my eyes spin.

It’s bad, it’s taboo and it’s wrong. Which makes it doubly hot.

I’m a good girl but I crave punishment. O sweet contradiction.


He raps on the table at my suggestion that this might be his next move, making me jump, and bang my thigh on the corner of the desk.

“You should leave decisions of that nature to your superiors, young miss. And stop rubbing your thigh. What’s wrong with you?”

I remain mute. He whacks his cane on the tabletop. “I asked you a question!”

My eyes downcast, my knees and lower lip trembling, I mumble, trying desperately not to rub a modicum of comfort into my throbbing thigh muscle. “On the corner of the desk, you made me jump and I banged my thigh.”

“Speak up, girl, or you will not be punished at all.”

A pause, during which I remain still, holding back a sudden rush of unexpected tears.

He puts his face very close to mine. Lifting my eyes for a fleeting moment i catch a blue sparkle, and the unreleased tears subside.

“So, young miss? Was there anything you wanted to say?”

My eyes remain downcast. “I’m… sorry I only got an A-, sir.”


“And that i dared to suggest that you decide something one way or another.”

He seems very slightly mollified, but glares down at me, trembling like a rain-drenched kitten.

“And how do you plan to mitigate these shortcomings?”

The warmth in his voice belies the stern tone. I am heartened, and incredibly aroused.

“I will do whatever i’m told, Sir.”


I look down at my shoes, and shift from one foot to the other. My lips tremble — both the visible set, and the pair which are less so — despite myself. I wonder idly whether his uncanny sense of smell can pick up the scent of my arousal — or if, in fact, it already has.

“Stand near the corner of the desk, young lady. Right now!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Closer, and facing it!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s a very slutty length for a skirt, girl. Look, the corner of the desk even peeks beneath it.”

I pause. The skirt is short because that’s what he made me buy, for entirely his own pleasure. When we’re out in public, he loves to reach under the skirt and stroke me, sending us both into paroxysms of erotic frenzy while remaining poe-faced and seemingly innocent. Ordinarily I would call him on it, but for the first time, it feels inappropriate. This roleplay is all-encompassing and the flow is intense. Breaking character would be wrong, and possibly spoil the mood. I am suddenly and incredibly reminded of my time as a professional actor, and I smile to myself at the perverted and erotic similarities of roleplay to regular improv.

“It shrank in the wash, Sir. It’s not that i’m a dirty slut or anything… Sir.”

A stern glare in my direction, with the anticipatory sound of a cane thwacking the owner’s palm that sends my senses reeling into overdrive.

“Move closer to the desk, girl.”

“Sir, am I doing this right? The corner is pushing into me… right into me… it’s a little embarrassing.”

“Young lady, why are you mumbling? Speak eloquently, please… and describe in details what is that makes you blush.”



“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. It’s the desk corner, it’s pushing into me. Into the space between my thighs, Sir, and it’s — well, it’s difficult to stand still, Sir, although I promise I’m trying, Sir, I promise. The thing is…

“Oh, spit it out, girl!”

“Well, that’s something you’ve never said to me before, Sir.”

I realise what I’m saying about a nanosecond before the words leave my lips, but I just cannot stop myself. Although I mutter them, the silence in the room is so voluminous that they are as obvious as if I’d screamed them in perfect pitch down a well-tuned microphone.

Thwack! The cane hits the back inside thigh and I yelp in pain.


“Watch your lip. And don’t drift from the point, girl. You were telling me why you were embarrassed. The mood I’m in, this is no time to be cheeky. Finish what you started!”

OK, that i had heard many times, but in  an entirely different context.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir. What I was trying to say was that however hard I try to stand still, the fact that the corner of the desk is placed at clit height is having quite an effect on me.”

“Be specific!” he thunders, and suddenly the penny drops, and I remember who and where I am.

He wants my graphic, erotic descriptions. He wants me to make it abundantly clear to him the effect he is having on me, because this in turn intensifies and pinpoints the effect on him.

“I’m very aroused Sir. In fact, I’m wet, Sir. Soaking.”

Slowly, he steps toward me — agonizingly slowly, he eyes not leaving mine for a second. His hand stretches out towards me.

“Give them to me. Your panties. Give them to me.”

I remove my by-now sodden panties and hand them to him, watching as he sniffs them, hums in satisfaction, and then finally pockets them, and wonder somewhere in the back of my mind whether I’ll ever see them again.

“Very well, girl. Now I will be testing your anatomy skills. As I touch you, you will name the body part — official and proper name first, followed by any more colloquial terms that you’d like to share with me.”

As he sweeps a finger suggestively along my slit, I gulp worriedly and hope to all that is unholy that my memory does not fail me in my moment of need.

To be continued…

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