It Doesn’t Need Gear

Now I will be the first to concede that some of my stories feature what may be best described as “specialist” equipment. That is to say, the kind of thing that may once have featured in a medieval torture-chamber updated and modernized for more pleasurable than painful use, not to mention the clothing of leather and latex and PVC. You might be forgiven to think that such things are essential if you are interested in playing seriously at a little BDSM…but that’s really not the case.

Minimum Requirements

All you need for a BDSM relationship is two people – one the Top (dominant or dominatrix), the other the Bottom (submissive, slave, or pet) – and the desire to engage in it. Most people start off just playing at it: spice up the love life with a little more slap than tickle. For a lot of people, it starts with a spanking.

This doesn’t have to be a formal thing, or involve anything other than your hand (in fact, I strongly recommend that you give your first spanking with your hand if you and your sub are not experienced). You’re just playing about and that threat your boyfriend keeps making to take you over his knee and spank you, he actually goes to carry out. And rather than fight him (or play-fight him, really) you go along with it. Rather than just spank you, he makes it a little sexual – you are at least semi-naked over his lap, after all. After the first few spanks, he strokes your bottom, and after the next one or two he strokes your pussy and starts getting you warmed up.

When my boyfriend and I started, he set out to get me turned on by being spanked by always teasing me when he spanked me. Everyone is different, but the way we progressed was to go from just a spanking to using a few neckties and scarves as blindfolds and bindings. Oh, and my battery-operated boyfriend as well. I still get a shiver when I think of the first time I had my hands tied, blindfolded, and bent over his lap. He switched on my vibrator and wedged it against my pussy before starting the spanking, and he literally spanked me to the verge of climax.

He didn’t let me cum then, he string it out until I was begging and calling him Master. I’d say that’s when the Dominant/Submissive aspect of our relationship really started off. After that we experimented with all sorts of combinations, and it was mind-blowing for us both.

Adding to the Basics

Once we started using silk scarves, we went on to use ropes too – we did buy rope especially, mainly because what we had around the house was rather scratchy and unsuitable. We also took it to what we were wearing. I described for my lover what I liked him wearing, what said “Master” to me in no uncertain terms. He then told me what he’d like me to be wearing (or not wearing), and what said “Submissive” to him.

That’s how I ended up dressing in short skirts and no panties a lot. Master leaves it to me what I wear on the outside most of the time, but his directives on my underwear are absolute. I know that if I want to let him know I’m in the right frame of mind to play I dress in a way that says submissive (a coquettish style) or slutty (short skirts or dresses). He does likewise, power dressing when he wants me to know he’s in a dominant frame of mind.

It’s like a code between us, even now, if one of us sees the other one dressing up a little, we’ll go and change to give the message that we’re also in the mind to play.

All from just how we dress!

First Toys

If you want to go a little further, handcuffs are quite ubiquitous, and in our case it was handcuffs, a riding crop, and a ball-gag. Oh, and a collar, my first but certainly not my last. I already had a nice sexy black corset, and it was very hot wearing just my corset and stockings, hands cuffed behind my back, and gagged as I waited for that crop…and after the crop, he collared me, and I was gone.

But I digress; my point is that it’s not expensive or elaborate stuff that you need. You don’t need to max out the credit card on-line to make a dungeon, just visit the local hardware store and use your imagination. Make sure you test home-made equipment before serious use to make sure it’s up to the job, though: nothing kills the mood faster than an equipment failure at a critical moment, or splinters somewhere unmentionable.

First…Is that even a garment?

It was a sort of harness of leather thongs and iron rings, my first “outfit” from an on-line source. It certainly didn’t actually cover anything, but it provided plenty of anchor points for ropes and things. Now I own quite a few kinky items, from catsuits to costumes.

But when you buy items to wear, what’s important is not so much what you are wearing as why you are wearing it. If the only thing you can afford is a sexy pair of panties you wear when you play, they are still your “playing panties” and they become special.

In some ways too much gear can detract from what really matters, the interplay between Top and Bottom.

Hiring Out

An option we used after a while was to hire out a dungeon for a few hours.

Fun times!

Hiring out a place is great because if you are of limited means it allows you access to toys you could not otherwise afford, it gives you some guaranteed “special time” you can work up to, and it keeps things special by them not being every day. That said, doing it every day can be great to immerse yourself in your world.

Do it Your Way

Whatever you do, make sure that you do it your way, not anyone else’s. We’re all different, we all do things our own way so make sure that you do things your way. You do not have to have a collar or a slave contract to have a good D/S relationship, you just need to be happy in the way you do things with one person in charge and other happy that way. I know one couple who swap roles regularly – they are both switches, and they chop and change as they like – so you don’t even need to keep the sub and dom roles the same.

It’s all in how that you want to do it, and your only responsibility is to make sure that you and your lover are happy.

Wild Discipline Montage


Like I said above, I do tend to indulge the gear a lot in my stories, but some are surprisingly free of specialist equipment. My werewolf stories are the principle ones, because in them the bondage angle is a means to an end for the werewolves to mate safely with humans, in order to ensure that the human doesn’t give the wrong body-language in the heat of passion. So here’s a teaser from Animal Magnetism…


He is still Peter, and I love him, and he is lonely. My heart aches inside me with his pain. More than anything, I want to put my arms around him and hold him and tell him: it’s OK, we’ll get through this.

“That’s, that’s OK Peter. See, I’m safe,” I tell him. “I still love you. I still want to help.”

“Martha,” he moans my name, rocking side to side slowly. “Want you, Martha…the wolf in me…it wants you.” His voice is thick with unconcealed lust.

“Can, um, can that happen, if you are…wolf, and I’m human?” I ask, my guts churning. Yes, I want Peter. The closeness, the scent of him, and his obvious arousal are actually sending little tingles through my pussy and my nipples. He’s so primordial it’s grabbing me by the hormones and turning me on without his even touching me. However despite how horny my body is right now, in my head I know that I don’t want to be torn limb from limb in the throes of passion.

“Yes…there are…many human mates,” he whispers. “But we have to be careful. Children might be human or wolf, might happen in later generations. Have to be taken somewhere safe if they are wolf, for first moon…” he is leaning closer, his mouth inches from mine. “Wolves mate for life. Humans…give the wrong signals, sometimes.”

I stare up into his eyes…there is the animal in there, and there is Peter, and Peter is frightened. Frightened because of the enormity of the step this could be, this commitment from him, and commitment from me too. This is like marriage, but more, so much more. What I do and say now could likely decide the rest of my life, be it long or short. Everything stands on this knife-edge.

My mind races as I see generations of people, some of them wolves, some of them not wolves but related. The ‘wolf’ aspect must be like a recessive gene: it may not show, unless both parents have it, or it may suddenly pop up generations later when some child suddenly gets the urge to howl at the moon and goes absolutely nuts. How many people in prisons or insane asylums are werewolves all unknowing? If I give myself to Peter I am not just marrying him with maybe no prospect of divorce, I will have to trace every child we have, every grandchild, and make sure they know what could be in their blood.

Then there are the signals, the body language. No wonder his parents seem strange…wrong signals, I can’t read theirs, and mine are wrong to them. They are predators by nature, and I come stomping through their lives like a bull in a china shop.

This is fucking huge, way too much, I can’t avoid it and I have only moments to consider it.

Body language can be learned. Genealogy can be tracked. We will have to be careful…but I love him. Filthy and wild, his musk is driving me insane, and I love him.

I want him to take me and make me his mate more than anything else right now.

“It’s all right Peter, I want that too,” I whisper. “Let me free,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“No! The wolf…if the signals go wrong…I can’t control…I’ll kill you!” he is breathing hard, frightened for me, addled with lust and hormones and whatever the fuck hell is bubbling through his body to make him half-wolf. Oh he looks human, but right here and right now I have no doubts he’s half-wolf, in his mind at least; not truly a wolf but a much more primordial human in there. Then there is his body: strong and fast, with senses that turn the night into a kaleidoscope of smell and sound. He must be suffering a huge sensory overload right now. Oh hell, if it’s the time of the month for me that I suspect it is, no wonder he’s turned on!

“Need you now,” he moans. “Can run, can run far away, leave you here, be safe…” his body seems to lock rigid as if he’s fighting with himself. I’m sure he’d try and run, but I’d still be tied here and if the animal gets control it could come back…

Inside me, a dam breaks. I can’t stand it, I can’t stand his pain and frustration, and I can’t stand how his musk, his very animalism, is driving my own hormones wild. I want him, really badly want him. That throbbing cock is inches from my pussy and I want it inside me so bad that I can’t think straight.

“Take me now!” I gasp. “Just do it, take me now, fuck me Peter – fuck me hard!”

Suddenly his mouth is pressing over mine, his tongue thrusting deep into my mouth and his musk suddenly billows over me. The state of him, of us, no longer matters as I press up against him, seek to draw his darting tongue into my mouth in our first true kiss. His hot, firm, bare chest presses hard down against my soft breasts, my erect nipples dig into him. My hips press up and his down, I can feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of my pants.

Our kiss breaks, and his rough kisses are grazing down my throat. Again I throw my head aside to expose it to him, an act of submission in every body-language there is. Arching my back, feeling his kisses grind down on my breasts I moan with lust. He is biting, not really painfully but more than enough for me to know he is there.

Hands grip the waistband of my pants and panties both, and his shoulders knot with muscle as with a tearing sound he quite literally rips them off me. Without even hesitating he buries his face in my pussy, his tongue thrusting and lapping at me, tasting and smelling me. My clit thrums under the assault, and my hips writhe as I cry out with the unexpected rush of heat and pleasure that floods up my spine.

His tongue thrusts at my hole, virgin tight but wet and responsive, then at my clit, making me whimper and moan. It feels so good, so very good! I can’t do what I want, can’t take any kind of control, can’t do anything except squirm helplessly as his musk and my own hormones intoxicate me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, never been touched by any other man though I have had offers. At least for my first time I am giving myself to the man I want more than anything, no matter what else happens.

Hot kisses move up my body, my flat belly, up to my breasts to suck hard on my nipples, to my throat, to imprison my mouth again. His cockhead presses to my slick pussy-lips, and I feel a sting of pain as they first resist, then part and yield. With a groan and a shudder he presses hard and his throbbing, warm, firm meat opens me up and fills me for the very first time. It strains and hurts but it feels wonderful at the same time as it impales me. His pubic bone grinds against my clit, pushing whimpering waves through me, turning the pain to heat to pleasure.

My head spins, I’m senseless from the rush of sensation, dizzy from overload, and I am not the only one. Peter’s hand locks in my hair, pinning my head as his kisses my lips, throat and breasts. My limbs strain against the ropes still binding me as his hips rise, easing his pulsing dick out of me, then fall, driving it back in deep and hard.

WIld Discipline: The Werewolf Collection



Wild Discipline - Collection

 Wild Discipline #1: Street Wolf


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Wild Discipline #2: The Alpha


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Wild Discipline #3: Animal Magnetism


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Wild Discipline #4: The Wolf With The Red Roses


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Dress to Impress

Last blog post I talked about school days, and their nostalgic erotic attractions to many people. That got me thinking about the other ways we dress up, and what the things we wear mean to us. I realized that actually, in my stories the various characters do a lot of dressing up and down. What we wear says things about us, tells people something about us and identifies us. When I describe a character, I have to give some thought to what they are wearing. Sometimes, what they are wearing is really important to the scene I am trying to set.


Every Day Wear

Or to put it another way, normal or every-day clothing and what it says about us. If I describe a girl as wearing combats and a T-shirt, you can tell she’s either casual or is expecting to get outdoors or have to do a dirty job. If she’s wearing jeans, it conveys that she is dressed casually. If a short skirt, she’s feeling sexy. The same is true of male characters: a tuxedo says sophisticated leisure; a business suit says professional.

The truth is, though, that we dress every day for what we have to do and for comfort and to show who we are. Even if we don’t care what we wear (I sometimes don’t!) we are usually saying in our choice that we do not care. It’s a compromise between who we want to show to the world, what we have available, and what we have to do.

For example, I am feeling sexy so I would like to wear a short skirt and strut my stuff, but I have to work in the office so I have to dress formally, plus it’s cold out so I have to dress for warmth. So the short skirt is out, it’s slacks today because of the temperature, and a suit jacket because it’s work. Heels would be nice, but heels don’t grip icy pavements, so it’s my boots. I’m wearing hot underwear, though.

We can of course make our every-day wear work for us, and say something for us. We’re usually much freer with underwear than outerwear, and we can change when we get home. If my man wants to make me shiver when I walk through the door, his evening suit is what he’ll wear. If I want to do the same, I have this sexy little dress that I slip on without any underwear (it’s the kind that underwear shows through!).

Girls think a lot about the statements we say in what we wear, and smart guys pay attention. Guys can to, when they put their minds to it.

The thing about every-day wear is that we all wear it, at some point. You can’t not mention it, you can’t escape it. It’s all around us.

May as well make it work for us, then, eh?

Hence I introduce characters that are dressed normally on the outside but are doing unexpected things – like Michelle in The Challenge who starts wearing a chastity belt she has worn under her work clothes all week, or Lydia in The Interview going to meet her prospective domme wearing a short skirt and no panties.

Every-day does not have to mean boring, even if no-one gets to see it (except who you want to see it, of course).

 School of Discipline #2


Wearing a uniform makes a declaration about an individual, makes them instantly recognized for what they are if not who they are. It declares that they are important in some way. Uniforms are often a way of declaring not just profession but status. A police uniform declares authority, for example, and a French maid’s uniform subservience.

A lot of people have a thing about a man in uniform, probably because of what the uniform says about the person wearing it. Uniforms enhance a stereotype that may or may not be true. As such a lot of people use them in bedroom role-play, taking on the roles for some fun and games: the cop does a stop and (strip) search on a suspect; the guard “inspects” a prisoner; the soldier rescues a hostage; the maid comes to do some room service – dressing the part adds to the fun of the game.

I haven’t done many uniform-oriented stories as Penelope Syn, although obviously we have the reform school series (school uniforms), and a lot of costumes of all sorts are used in the Lydia’s Path series. At various times she is a maid, a slave, a school-girl, and other things besides. As Lyvia Lynn Rose I did write a uniform-oriented series of ménage stories, using firemen, navy NCOs, police officers, and cruise stewards as my subjects of one girl-gets-two-guys.

Of course, contemporary uniforms are not all we need. If a uniform is defined as an immediately recognizable outfit that denotes status and an implied sexuality, then just about any form of fancy dress qualifies – from Roman centurion to sexy witch to cave man, they all do the job of presenting a face to the world and more importantly, to the person you are interested in.

 Slave Girl #4

Fetish Wear

In BDSM there is a lot of fetish wear, and not surprisingly I go into a great deal of it in many of the stories. In the Lydia’s Path series every training session Lydia has, every party she attends, great attention is paid to what she is wearing, even if she is wearing next to nothing at all.

Fetish wear covers a wide range of unusual things, and I won’t go into all of them because it would take too long, and probably some shouldn’t be mentioned anyway. I will go into what I have written about, because as ever clothing tells us something about the characters that are dressed.

It being BDSM, leather, rubber, PVC and other materials are common. For slaves, the costume is likely to be restraining in some way, or to give the appearance of restraint, such as a leather body harness. Corsets (that do not cover the bust) are common because they enhance a figure and restrict the wearer at the same time. If a dominatrix wears one, the enhancement is emphasized; if a submissive wears one the restriction is emphasized. Catsuits that cling to the body revealing everything while covering it up are also common: the character is fully covered but semi-naked at the same time.

What the person is expected to do is likewise a consideration – slaves that find themselves all but naked know that sex is on the cards, as well as punishment. Common slave wear are cuffs on the ankles and wrists, and a collar – the latter for status, the former for quickly and easily restraining them.

In several scenes, Lydia’s owner, Mistress Trudy, delivers her training while wearing thigh boots (indicating sexuality and status) and long evening gloves (sophistication and authority) and not much else so that Lydia can give unhindered attention to whatever parts her Mistress tells her to. This declares the highly sexual nature of the domination and at the same time maintains the authority of the dominatrix – she is highly sexual, but not naked as the slave is.

Slave Girl #7

Some kinds of fetish wear go further; another archetype I’ve explored is the ponygirl; a girl who is treated like and is expected to act like a pony. Her outfit is usually revealing, and involves a bit and bridle, sometimes a saddle, usually a harness of some sort (often the ponygirl’s arms are restrained, pony’s don’t have arms), boots and sometimes gloves to imitate horse’s hooves’ and a tail. The latter is often attached to a butt-plug, but then ponies do not wear clothes so there should be few obstructions to showing off the tail.

Another item of fetish “clothing” is the chastity belt which I covered in my previous blog post on denial.

 Slave Girl #9

Whatever you wear, though, makes a statement – even if it’s with something no one sees, or the statement is “I don’t care what you think.”


Excerpt from Lydia’s Path #7: Time Off:

When we arose the next morning, we once again dressed in our maid’s costumes and attended to our duties. Despite being buzzed frequently, flirting outrageously and being frequently groped up by man and women both, we make it to lunch without being too far tested. After lunch, Mistress Trudy sends Amanda and me to change into new outfits ‘laid out for you’ and we withdraw quickly.

There is nothing laid out for us in our room except the keys for our chastity belts, and Amanda and I exchange a glance: this means we are to wear nothing. We quickly strip off until we are both nude except for our collars and belts, and we unlock one another and ease the dildos out of our holes with some relief. After being double-plugged for twenty or so hours I feel empty, and desperately horny.

Mistress Trudy is waiting for us on the landing, a pair of chain leashes dangling from her hand. She’s back in her leather cat-suit, and I’m wet at the sight of her. For months now she has been training and conditioning me like one of Pavlov’s dogs to become aroused in her presence, and to be able to climax simply on command. With an evil smile, but no comment, she leashes us both and leads us down into the large living room. Currently it’s empty save for Master Phillip and a new centerpiece: a large cage.

Standing on solid two-foot legs it is three feet high by three wide and about seven feet long. The floor of it is solid and a little padded, but the bars are widely spaced: a leg or arm can extend through them easily. One end opens wide and Master Phillip smiles lecherously at us both.

“In you go,” he says, threading the chains locked to our collars into the cage and through the bars of the roof in the middle. He tugs on them and Amanda climbs in first, and I follow her. Sitting up we have only inches of head clearance, it’s easier to recline, although it’s not exactly roomy. I shiver, feeling cold, and my nipples react predictably. Amanda is so close that I can feel the warmth from her body without us actually touching. My heart is pounding as the chains are locked to the roof of the cage, then the door clangs shut with a sound of finality and the lock turns with a an oily click.

Again that tingling thrill of confinement runs through me from my pussy to my fingertips.

“Now, dear sluts, your Mistress will bring in our guests first, and you will entertain them. You have permission to cum, you will not speak unless commanded, but you will obey whoever holds this wand,” he says, holding up a long electric wand. At the end it split into two electrodes and I wince just looking at it. “Now let’s have you making out like good little nymphos,” he orders, as the sound of approaching feet announce the imminent arrival of the guests.

Amanda moves close to me, slides an arm around me and kisses me deeply. I return her kiss, she is warm and yielding. Her lips are soft and her tongue invades my mouth slowly and teasingly as our breasts press together. My eyes close as we start to caress and touch one another. Amanda has become very dear to me, and when we are commanded to be intimate it’s always a pleasure. She starts to play with one of my breasts, while my fingers slip between her thighs and rub her slit slowly, and she moans softly into my mouth.

“… and here we have your initial entertainment, friends! These two sluts will do just about anything to get off, so feel free to play.” Mistress’ voice makes me flush as Amanda’s hand slips between my legs. It’s true, I will do almost anything to get off; I am that desperate. I can hear other people entering the room, surrounding the cage. “That’s enough of that!”

A stinging shock feels like a snap against my butt, and I squeak with pain. My eyes snap open, and see the room is full of the various Masters and Mistresses, in various states of dress and fetish-dress. I have barely time to form the image in my mind of our audience before Mistress punishes my cry of pain and tardy response.

“Quiet!” A second shock on the other cheek has me retreating from Amanda. “Push your cunt up against the bars here, slut,” Mistress continues. I back up on my hands and knees, my calves slide through the bars and my buttocks press against them so they frame my sex. A man next to Mistress puts his hand through and starts to feel me up. His thumb slips into my hole and his fingers stroke my clit and slit. I cannot restrain a soft moan of pleasure as he casually plays with my sex.


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Dominant Displays #2: Jenga


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School of Discipline #2: Charlotte’s Net


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Lydia’s Path #4: The Training


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Lydia’s Path #7: Time Off


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Lydia’s Path #9: Ponyplay


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School’s In!

It’s that time of year when the new term is about to start and kids are getting their new uniform, doing that last minute homework they should have done right at the beginning of the school holidays, and generally getting ready to get back to the grindstone of school.

School days are amazing although we seldom appreciate it at the time we are in our last years at school. Between acne, raging hormones, oppressive parents, social awkwardness, struggling to be popular, and rules we have to obey, we usually spend our school days moaning rather than enjoying them for the last care-free days we are going to have. Which is kind of a shame, and probably is why we often all dream of being in school again at some point in our lives. Only later do we realize how good we looked, how much potential we had, and how many hot boys/girls we could have scored with if we had only known how.

At the time we modified our school uniforms or stretched the dress-code as far as it would go to stress our individuality and or sexuality – kneel length skirts somehow ended up with the hems almost at the tops of our thighs, blouses got tied and strained over push-up bras, neck-ties were loosened and jackets slung over shoulders. Fashionable boots stood in for sensible shoes, flat soles replaced by heels, stockings and pantyhose for socks, and if regulations went as far as underwear, they were completely ignored!

I guess that’s why a lot of people fantasize about being back in that last year at school, or of dating someone who is. Any adult store has a school uniform or three next to the French Maids and Sexy Secretaries, be it the plaid skirt of some US uniforms, the English gymslip from St Trinians, or the Japanese Sefuko, all there to help us re-live our crush on a hunky teacher with a very different outcome (I assume, I know some girls that got their outcome regardless).

Of course if you are into BDSM, that school uniform with its short skirt and tiny panties is the perfect invitation to pull that naughty girl across Teacher’s knee for a good old fashioned spanking. Skirt up, panties tugged down, and the bare hand on your bottom makes it sting and your pussy tingle, while for him the sight of that wiggling bum and the sound of those whimpered apologies is enough to get him hard with anticipation. A spanking over the desk or against the wall is also very effective, and leaves Sir free to take advantage of the naughty girl’s uncontrollable hormones as well.

For some the roles are reversed, with him the naughty schoolboy and her the strict but hot teacher – and every other combination imaginable as well: it’s a common cross-dressing scenario, or one for both partners to age-play, there are even groups that role-play it all out. The principle is effectively the same in all of them: It’s reliving a point in your life where you became sexually aware, had few responsibilities, and often had someone very attractive in authority over you or working next to you. That pushes a lot of buttons for many people, and in role-playing or fantasies you can take the attraction, and the authority, to new levels no teacher or student could legally engage in for real. Certainly no teacher could tie you over that desk, pull your panties down and cane your bare behind before taking you hard and rough and…

Sorry, where was I?

Anyway, what I am trying to say is that school days are a common fantasy for a great many people in some way or another, and they work perfectly in conjuncture with a little bondage and corporal punishment.


Writing Lines

The issue when wanting to write about a school fantasy is how to keep it believable and most importantly, legal. Having a snog and a grope behind the bike sheds and dreaming of going further is fine when you are fifteen, but when writing erotica you really need all protagonists over the age of eighteen if they are going to take it further.

That’s when I remembered a news story I read once about a school that was set up on one of the Caribbean Islands for really recalcitrant kids. It was in many ways like a prison, parents with out-of-control kids paying to send their children there to get them back under control and teach them that there are such things as consequences. That Island having different laws to the USA, they could get away with effectively imprisoning children without trial and using forms of punishment not sanctioned there.

So if there was a place you could set up a reform school, you could add in the elements you wanted. As long as the students were consenting adults (consenting to the sex, that is, not to being sent to a reform school – I mean you could probably get a lot of adults to consent to that, so many you’d have to queue around the block, but that’s not the point) then there’s no issue. Students can have affairs with teachers, and in fact it’s encouraged as long as the teachers are firmly in charge to continue disciplining the girls.

Hence the School of Discipline series was born.

I incorporated a lot of added ideas into this series, giving it structure.

Uniform – the school has a dress code, although being in the tropics the uniform is necessarily brief because of the heat! So those short skirts we tried to get away with when we were in our late teens are now mandatory…

Orgasm Denial – the girls are compelled to wear chastity belts unless given permission not to. They get no relief save once a week when the belts are removed for hygiene reasons for a short period. Naturally this keeps the girls in a state of frustration, and if they get angry, even this privilege can be revoked. Hence the school encourages self-control, but also gives the girls a powerful incentive to, ah, “suck up” to staff!

Corporal Punishment – the other option for punishment is spanking, caning, and such. Usually administered publicly, spankings are an immediate punishment that reinforces discipline, but avoids the student losing out on privileges. It hurts, it’s humiliating, but when it’s done it’s done.

BDSM – the teachers are in charge of any relationships that develop, and that means a BDSM relationship. The girl’s may be satisfied, but it’s with the teacher’s in charge and training them to higher standards with more extreme rewards and punishments.

Then there were the characters to include. Obviously this Reform School is one kids are sent to in order to avoid a conventional criminal record. So while you may get a few from the official courts, most would be sent as an option and may not even know where they are going. So from this I drew my four lead characters for the four stories:

The Afluenza Girl – this is the spoiled brat who throws a fit because she was given the wrong make of sports-car for her birthday, the queen bee who makes other girl’s lives’ hell at school because she can, and has not the slightest clue about consequences. She thinks that she’s going on a special holiday…

The Neglected Girl – this is the child of wealthy parents who is effectively sidelined and passed off to au pairs to be raised, and seeks attention from her parents. Low self-esteem hidden behind an attitude marks this one out. She’s cried for attention one time too often and is now packed off to yet another place to “fix” her.

The Tough Cookie – this is the streetwise girl who’s genuinely trouble. She knows it all and how to play the system, or she thinks she does.

The Mistake/Set-Up – this girl really shouldn’t be sent to a Reform School, she’s not malicious for attention, spoiled, or criminal – she’s just a mistake, and someone has set her up.

Now with my characters I can write…


School of Discipline #1School of Discipline #2

School of Discipline #3School of Discipline #4


Excerpt from Obediently Schooled:

Mr. Adcock reached into his desk without his gaze moving from Ava’s face, and took out an object. A moment later something cool slipped around Ava’s throat and drew tight. It was not so tight it restricted her, but she could feel its presence and its weight.

A collar.

“From now on, you are to obey me to the letter, to the best of your ability, Ava,” Mr. Adcock told Ava firmly. She shivered, feeling the weight of the collar increase. “You will address me in private as Master Dominic. Do you understand?”

How did I just agree to this? Ava wondered, and why does it feel so good?

“Yes, Master Dominic,” she said aloud. The name rolled off her tongue. Rather than feeling humiliated, or oppressed, she had a tremendous sense of liberation.

“We’ll make more inroads against your lack of self-control, Ava, now we know how to relax you,” Master Dominic added. “Now take off your blouse and your bra.”

Ava shivered with excitement and her fingers fumbled with her blouse. She could stop. She knew she could stop…she just didn’t want to stop. This situation, stripping for her teacher in an empty classroom, was so incredibly erotic, and she was so horny in spite of her sore cheeks. No, in fact her sore ass was making it even more arousing: Master Dominic was in charge, he was running the show, and her ass knew it.

Her blouse slipped off her shoulders, and a moment later her breasts were released and revealed by her bra as she shrugged it off her shoulders. Master Dominic’s hands moved down, stroking across her skin, cupping her orbs in those warm hands. His thumbs caressed her hard nipples, and they tingled hard and sent a shiver down her spine to rest in her steaming pussy.

“Very nice,” he murmured. Ava leaned into his touch; she was desperate, but at the same time very calm. She’d agreed to do whatever he said, so she simply waited for him to give her instructions. Rather than constrained she was experiencing a sense of freedom: she didn’t need to worry about anything.

“Kneel,” he commanded. “You know what to do.”

Ava’s legs seemed to fold under her of their own accord as she knelt in front of her teacher. Her hands reached toward the bulge in his pants, easing the zip down, her slender fingers slipping inside. She shivered as they brushed the silky skin and firm flesh of his cock as she liberated it. His dick was warm, pulsing and firm, standing out straight and proud. She inhaled, the scent of his musk with a hint of a bitter tang as his foreskin rolled back to reveal the dark red-purple of his cockhead.

You know what to do.

His words echoed in her mind as she leaned forward to place a kiss on the tip of his prick. Her soft lips met his most sensitive skin, and she tasted his slightly musty, salty taste as her tongue darted out to tickle the little opening there. Then she swirled her tongue slowly around the head, spreading a mixture of his pre-cum and her saliva over it. Her mouth opened wider as she drew the whole of his cockhead into her mouth and she started to suck him slowly. Her eyes closed, she felt even more tension drain out of her body and mind.

This was relaxing, blissful, and fulfilling all on its own: she would please her Master, and he would please her later. Ava had no idea how she knew this, it just seemed right. It was like blowing a boyfriend; it made them yours, showed them what she could do, and put them in her debt. But while normally doing so gave her a sense of power, in this case it was an act of submission – and for some reason she found this an even more powerful turn-on.

Her hand wrapped around his shaft and squeezed it firmly, and started moving back and forth in time with her head. Her other hand gripped his hip and steadied her against him as she sucked his cock.

“Oh yes…not bad…” Master Dominic sighed blissfully. “Now, clasp your hands behind your back, and just use your mouth.”

Ava’s eyes popped open wide and she looked up at her Master. She’d never deep-throated before, but that was what it seemed he wanted. Her hands released him, and she clasped them tight behind her back. Ava sucked and drew his firm cock deeper into her mouth, as deep as she could, before easing back. She sucked hard and deep on each stroke, and his hand rested on the back of her neck, sending a prickle down her back. As she sucked him in, his hand pressed a little, making her take just a little more cock than she had planned.

She gave a meek little sound, feeling her body quiver delightfully. He was taking control, pushing her limit. As her head bobbed back and forth he took control of the rhythm and depth. Before long his cockhead was touching the back of her throat, and she fought the urge to gag – successfully. She felt a rush of pride that she was taking his cock all the way into her mouth.


School of Discipline the Collection


The Collection:


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School of Discipline Montage


Sophie’s Mischoice


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Charlotte’s Net


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Emily’s Shock


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Obediently Schooled


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Authority, Use and Abuse

I’m seeing a lot of things today in the world that are making me think very hard on these subjects. While they might not seem to have much bearing on kinky relationships, bear with me and I’ll show you how they all connect the dots.


In the World Today

The two biggest stories this last few weeks seem to be the story of unrest in the town of Ferguson, Missouri, and the atrocities committed by the fighters of the “Islamic State” in the Middle East. While these two stories seem to be completely unconnected there are some very disturbing parallels between them.

In Ferguson, there has been unrest, protests, and rioting following the shooting by a police officer of a teenager. In the days that have followed, journalists have been arrested for, well, being journalists, and tear gas and rubber bullets have been used on peaceful protestors. This is all very disturbing, despite all the confusion and misinformation.

In the Middle East the IS is expanding rapidly with its black flags and its interpretation of Islam that, my Muslim friends assure me, has as much to do with mainstream Islam as the teachings of the Westboro Baptist Church have to do with mainstream Christianity – which is to say, not much. They are driving out and/or killing those they view as unbelievers in their faith, such as the Yazidi sect of Zoroastrism (a religion officially tolerated by Islam), and a few days ago a captured American journalist was publicly beheaded.

So what would these two disparate events have to do with one another?


Authority, Humanity, and Oversight

Both events are symptoms of thee terrible errors that we humans have made again and again through history. They crop up all the time, from interactions between individuals up to interactions between nations, religions, and yes between races.

The first is the establishment of those who are in authority and those who are not. In Ferguson, Missouri, it was between the white-dominated police and the larger black community. The police are, pretty much by definition, the ones in authority, and backing them up is the court system, the judges, and the counselors – almost all, it should be noted, also white. It’s an authority of officialdom, not firepower (although there is a lot of that too). In the IS-controlled areas of the Middle East, it’s between the IS fighters and anyone they deem not a Muslim (which includes a lot of people who would call themselves Muslims, such as member of different sects). The IS fighters have all the authority (they have the guns) and the other’s do not.

The second error is in dehumanizing those who do not have the authority – the argument that somehow they are no longer to be thought of as “human” the way those in authority think of themselves and those they favor. One police spokesman in Ferguson was reputed to have said that the black community comprising some three quarters of the town’s population were no better than animals. In the Middle East the Suni-dominated IS regard the Yazidi sect not only not Muslims (technically they follow a form of Zoroastrism) but also as devil-worshippers and apostates, people who deserve nothing but death.

The third error is the loss of oversight. There is in these cases no recourse for the oppressed, because those in authority have dismantled or rendered impotent any mechanisms there may have been in place to restrict or moderate their behavior, and make them answerable for their actions. In the case of Ferguson, there are few police oversights, the courts are all on their side, and the law is too. The same is true of the IS – they have their interpretation of their holy book telling them that they are right and everything they do is justified, and that’s it. No-one will step in and stop them, and there is no justice but them.


Authority, Humanity, and Consent

Every single society that functions on a scale larger than a village has to have authority, there’s no getting away from that fact. We need police forces to catch criminals and deter crime. We need soldiers to protect our populations from other nations that would exploit them. We need leaders, and courts, and authority figures. Let anarchy loose, and leaders will select themselves (which is pretty much how the IS came into existence).

However the dehumanization of those we have authority over is another matter. When the police treat the public as their enemies and not their allies, they will soon be under siege. When the politicians stop thinking they need their electorate to get into power, we have an issue.

The other big problem is lack of oversight; that is, there has to be a system to withdraw our consent to be ruled, to make sure the police also follow the law, to keep the courts honest. In Ferguson voter registration booths have appeared, so that those previously not enfranchised can vote; they are gaining their voice, and will demand through that voice that their grievances be addressed.

That’s the thing in a democracy: we consent to be governed by a government, provided we all abide by the results of elections. We give up our authority to give them theirs, and they can then govern. The moment they stop respecting that authority is the moment we have to take it back.


Tops and Bottoms

And now, to explain why this has a bearing on my usual subjects: In a BDSM relationship, there are the same demarcations. One party, the Top or Dominant/Dominatrix, has the authority. They are the person in charge, what they say goes. The other party, the Bottom, or Submissive, is the person ruled over. The Bottom may even be dehumanized to be given the status of child, pet, or even object. Doing this removes levels of authority and humanity from them, which is kind of the idea, but while their status may change, the respect they are paid by the Top, their value to them, does not.

This is because in any healthy relationship there is a very simple oversight mechanism: the consent of the Bottom. The Submissive in the relationship should always have a means of indicating that they withdraw their consent, their safe-word. Very often this is all established before hand – the Bottom willingly gives up the authority that the Top takes on under clear contractual guidelines.

The moment the Top stops respecting those guidelines, the moment the Bottom’s consent withdraws, the relationship either terminates or goes from mutual consent to abuse. Once it enters that stage, the Bottom is obliged to fight back if the Top does not release them.

It all comes down to authority, consent, and respect from both parties.


Teaser Time!

Enough of the heavy stuff! I think pretty much all my BDSM stories hinge around consent and respect, but here’s a little teaser from two I haven’t plugged yet from the Dominance & Submission and the Dominant Displays series.

Trained for Love shows a woman’s introduction to the scene as she tries to snare her man. Jenga is a the fun game he plays with her at a party, competing with some of his guests in a game of pain and pleasure where she is the playing piece…


Excerpt from Trained for Love:

There is a pause while the penny drops.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“No. I’m not kidding. There’s one way to convince him, Dom,” I swallow hard, after my research I have a very good idea what I am asking for. “I want you to train me to be a slave. I want you to do that, so we can show Brian that I can be part of this lifestyle. Sure, I’d rather he did it, of course, but if this is the only chance of being with him, I’ll do it. Train me, please Dom, or find me a Master who will.” My voice is shaking, but I am absolutely resolute that I will be with Brian, and nothing is going to stop me. I’ll do whatever it takes.

“You have no real idea what that would entail, Sally.”

“Maybe not, but there’s only one way for me to find out, isn’t there? If it doesn’t work, I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The phone goes dead. I have played my last card, but I think it was an ace.

A few days pass. Then Dominic texts me a message:

Come around tonight. My place 8pm. be ready. Short skirt, no panties.

“Result!” I declare, although my stomach has butterflies in it. As soon as I am home I go through my limited wardrobe to find a miniskirt. I shower, apply my make-up, and dress in the sexiest underwear I have, a black lace bra, garter belt and stockings. Black heels, a short black miniskirt and a crisp white blouse top things off. Feeling very nervous about walking out the door like this, I nonetheless do so. Thankfully the weather is still lousy enough for me to wear an overcoat.

I had never been to Dominic’s apartment before, and did not know what to expect. He buzzes me in over an intercom, telling me to walk straight into his flat, which I do. Inside, it is dimly lit with a polished wooden floor and wood-paneled walls, interspersed with full-length mirrors. When I catch sight of myself as I hang up my coat I am shocked, because while I normally look bookish now I look like a slut. Correction, I look like a hot slut. I really do look sexy like this, I realize.

My heels click on the floor as I step hesitantly into the main living room, which is unlit.

“Stop,” Dominic’s voice speaks from the shadows. I freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Here are the rules: you obey every command without question. You do not baulk, you do not question, and you do not hesitate. To do so is a lack of submission, and shows you do not truly wish to be a slave. Is that understood?” Dominic speaks with finality and authority.

“Yes.” My voice cracks as I nod, then correct myself. “Yes Master.” My research is paying off already.

“Good. Now strip, and kneel.”

My stomach does a flip. My body tingles instantly. It starts in my pussy and jumps like lightning to my nipples, then plays its way across the entire surface of my skin. Nothing save a kiss from Brian has ever made me this turned on this fast.

Very self consciously I reach up to my blouse and unfasten it, and slip it off. Then with some trepidation I unfasten my bra and my perky little breasts are uncovered as I set that aside also. Swallowing hard, I unzip my skirt and push it down over my hips to my ankles, and step out of it. As ordered, I am not wearing panties, and my little bush of curls must stand out in contrast to my pale skin.

“The rest as well,” Dominic orders, as he seems to sense my doubt as to whether I should remove my garter belt and stockings. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and step out of the shoes before removing the garter belt and slipping off my stockings. Then I sink to my knees on the polished wooden floor next to the folded pile of clothing. I am trembling, and not from the cold, I am turned on and my pussy is wet.

“Let your hair down.”

I reach up and self-consciously tug the pins out of my thick bun of hair and shake my head, letting the thick, long locks fall down over my body. It reaches almost to my waist. Few people realize my hair is actually this long.

“Now,” his voice purrs, and footsteps sound as he approaches, stepping into the light wearing black leather jeans, cowboy boots and not much else to show off firm biceps and well-defined abs. He looks cool, confident, utterly self-assured and very much in control, and his jeans have a big bulge in them. “Tell me why you are here, Sally. Tell me what you want from me?”

I swallow hard.

“Sir, I am here to ask you to train me as a slave, so that I can appeal to the man I love to be my owner.” I speak with my heart in my mouth. I have no doubt whatsoever that this is my one shot at this.

“You are aware that I will take control of your life in every way?” He paces around me, examining me like a prize steer.

“Yes Master.”

“That I will require sex from you when and how I specify and that it may not be sex with me?”

“Yes Master,” my stomach flutters and I can feel the heat in my cheeks. I was already aware that this training might involve him using me, just as being with Brian might involve Brian giving me to another. All the same, I am weak at the knees now that he is spelling this out. In defiance of my conservative upbringing, my pussy is tingling and shamefully hot and wet at the thought.

“That I will punish you as I see fit for any infraction?”

“Yes Master.” That I was prepared for, and I knew it would likely be very painful when – not if – it happened. If anything, that thought frightened me the most, as I have never had to endure serious pain.

“And you are willing to sign a contract to assure all of this?”

“Yes Master.” My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear him.

“Very well.” He walks behind me and something cool slips around my neck, and then tightens, though not uncomfortably. It is a leather collar.


Trained for Love:


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Bookwench I Am

A last comment! Later tonight (Monday) I’ll be doing a twenty-minute slot to take over from Bookwench I Am along with a couple of other erotica authors. They are a book-reader’s book blog on Facebook, you can find them here:


In Denial

Today, I’d like to give my thoughts on Orgasm Denial…

Orgasm denial is a theme that is not uncommon in BDSM, and surprisingly a lot of people actually practice it in a mild form in real life, although they probably wouldn’t term it that. When I first found out about it, my first thought was: “Why the hell would someone want to deny their lover pleasure? BDSM is sex isn’t it, and sex is all about orgasms!”

But of course, there is more to it than that, a lot more.

Orgasm denial comes in several forms that I know of, but there are probably more and there are probably terms I have not used that come into play. Further, different partners may employ different techniques in varying combinations at different times.


Strict Monogamy

First is the mildest, most obvious form that a great many couples practice: saving yourself. This is simply about being with someone you love, and not only does it mean not having sex with anyone else but not masturbating either when alone, saving it all for that person. It keeps your love life special and intimate and bonds you tightly together.

This may sound “vanilla” to some of my readers, but don’t knock it: it’s actually used by a lot of couples into the BDSM lifestyle too – the only difference is that they tend to reinforce it with interesting devices or formalities.


Orgasm Delay

This isn’t so much denying pleasure as delaying it. Typically the submissive in the relationship will be teased and stimulated but told not to climax without permission. This may take place as an ongoing low level of stimulation throughout the day, or it may be during sexual activity that the submissive is not permitted to reach climax until the dominant allows it. This might be because the dominant retains complete physical control, or they may instruct the submissive to keep themselves from orgasm. Of course permission to climax may not be given at all, but if it is the experience can be very much more intense.

Some couples use this in “vanilla” sex – indeed, if you think about it most men try and delay their own orgasms during sex as a matter of course. Other times both men and women use some control over their lover to tease them and drive them wild. In BDSM it tends to be more pronounced, but it’s the same principal.


Complete Denial

Sometimes, one person will be completely denied sexual pleasure of a certain kind for a prolonged period. This is sometimes backed up with a chastity device (there are a lot of different types out there) to which the other partner has the key. This is very different from “saving yourself” as it is enforced in such a way as to make even the possibility of a quick bit of finger-work impossible. Further, the restrictions may apply only to one part of a partnership: the dominant may be free to play around while the submissive is chaste, or the submissive may have to serve the dominant sexually in other ways while getting no relief for themselves except the knowledge they have pleased their lover.

Make no mistake this is something the submissives themselves very much enjoy, and obviously it’s entered into voluntarily by both sides. Needless to say, when the submissive is finally permitted relief, it’s usually very powerful. That’s really the whole point of denial and delay, to make the eventual climax more spectacular.


Conditional Control

This is often an aspect used in conjunction with some of the above methods. Obviously when you are saving yourself for the other person, that’s the condition. However Denial and Delay may come with more esoteric conditions attached to them in kinkier relationships. One couple I knew spent several months where she was only allowed to cum by masturbating herself while giving him a blowjob, and she could not make herself climax until after he had. This was a means to an end, as she didn’t like the taste of his cum much, and this “conditioned” her to look forward to it. Once or twice toward the end she actually came spontaneously when giving him head without masturbating beforehand, and now she always gets excited when giving oral.

I once met a guy who’s wife, when they were married, kept him locked in a chastity device all week. He was only allowed to climax when on all fours, wearing a French maid’s uniform, while she pegged him with a strap-on and masturbated him. He now gets a hard-on any time he thinks of wearing a dress.

I have met quite a few couples who use conditional control to get their lovers to agree to a spanking or other punishment, or who deliberately demand control they know their lover cannot maintain in order to justify a punishment – one that lover probably enjoys just as much, it has to be said.

Strange? Let he who thinks of himself as normal cast the first aspersion. In both these cases the submissive being conditioned very much enjoyed the experience, and came away with a reaction they wanted to have to it.

Conditional control is a very powerful tool, because it takes the enhanced pleasure of the delayed or denied climax and uses it to condition the person experiencing it to an act that the controller wants them to enjoy or acclimatize to.


In the end, orgasm denial (or control, whichever term you want to use) is about two things. The first is the control that one partner exerts over the other at a very intimate level. It’s a control of sexuality and you cannot get much more intimate than that, especially if you use that control to influence other behaviors. The second is that it is swapping quantity for quality; you restrict the number of climaxes one person gets, but the sex can get really mind-blowing when it comes – especially if it’s done right!


In Literature

In my stories I’ve used various forms of denial a lot, and they are fairly common in the BDSM genre. In the Lydia’s Path series, Lydia finds herself locked in a chastity belt on more than one occasion. Many of my heroines find themselves teased with vibrators or other devices, as happened a lot in the School of Discipline series – there, orgasm denial was a fundamental tool of discipline in the school! Also in the Domination & Submission story The Tease, and it’s follow-on The Challenge.


D&S#4 DD#3 - The Challenge


Excerpt from The Challenge:

We make our way up an elevator to a luxury apartment even more exclusive than my Master’s. Several other couples are already disrobing in the vestibule, revealing fetish clothing that displays the body beneath to best effect – or, for some slaves, no clothing at all. I feel a little tingle of pride that Masters, Mistresses, and slaves all pause to look as Master Simon tugs the overcoat off me without warning to reveal my body. I keep my eyes down, though, as pride in my looks had once been my downfall.

Master clips a leash to my collar, a common thing at these parties. Wearing a leash makes it clear whose slave is whose. We enter the apartment itself, spacious and tastefully decorated, and our hosts greet us, Master Brian and his toy, Sally. Master Brian is a big man with curly dark hair who clearly works out a great deal, a fact revealed by his wearing just a pair of jeans to show off his broad, firmly defined chest.

Sally is nearly his opposite, being small and slim, delicate and waif-like with very long, dark hair. Tightly corseted, her mouth filled with a ring-gag, she has her arms bound behind her in a mono-glove and a tray of drinks strapped to her waist and neck. Other than the corset and a pair of heels she is naked, her small breasts and shaven pussy exposed to view.

“Glad you could make it, Simon.” Master Brian greets my owner with a hearty handshake.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Master Simon grins. “Will you be showing off your slut’s talents?”

“Oh, definitely, I have something good in mind. Help yourself to a drink, by the way.”

“Thanks. I look forward to it.” Master Simon scoops up two glasses and hands one to me. Some slaves have to do without at the whim of their owners, and some don’t. I am fortunate in that I don’t. I sip the champagne as we tour the party, which is already going well. We pass a display of sex toys, bondage implements and fetish clothing, and pause to look it over. With a wicked smirk on his face my Master leaves something on the stall as we leave, but I don’t have the time to see what.

Only moments after we move on the dildo inside me vibrates strongly, making me gasp and flush. I glance in surprise at my Master, but he is chatting animatedly with a Domme I’ve not met before, gesturing with both hands. He isn’t holding the remote control. Another long burst of vibration deep inside me sends helpless tingles up and down my spine. My breathing comes shallow and rapid. What’s going on?

I glance back at the toy-stall, and see someone I don’t know pick up a small remote control just like Master’s for this belt, and a third throb clamps my thighs tight together as it vibrates right against my g-spot. Shocked I realize what he has done.

Master has left the remote control to the vibrator in my belt it on the stall.

Some of the passing browsers are trying to figure out what it does. They can’t know that I am being pleasured every time they play with it, and most give it several tries before putting it back with a shrug.

“M-master,” I gasp, as he draws me on through the party. “The remote control, it’s,” I shudder as another burst of pleasure makes my sex twitch and my nipples feel as if they are straining against the unyielding cups of this bra.

“Yes dear?” he looks at me, his eyes sparkling. “Let me see.” He pats his pockets theatrically. “Oh dear, I seem to have mislaid it,” he smirks. “Never mind, I’m sure no harm will come to it.”

I can’t answer him. I’m too busy breathing as hard as my constricting outfit will allow and trying not to go cross-eyed. The completely random pulses of vibration have me breaking out in a sweat, and struggling to stay on my feet. I can’t cum from them, it’d be a relief if I could, but they are constantly distracting me, edging me, and reminding me of my helpless state.

Master Simon continues his tour with me in tow, apparently unconcerned by the fact that people unknown to both of us are, in effect, playing with my pussy. If anyone notices my sudden odd expressions or muffled whimpers and mewls, they say nothing.

One large room of the apartment is outfitted as a dungeon with a black-tiled floor, black walls and ceiling, and almost crammed full of BDSM gear. There are stocks, St. Andrew’s crosses, cages, restraints I can’t put a name to, chains, restraining points on the walls, and even some winches fitted to the ceiling. Also there are racks of tools and restraints such as fetters, manacles, spreaders, crops, canes, whips, floggers and other items.

A number of scenes are unfolding there, and Master pauses to watch a girl getting electric shocks to her most sensitive areas, then a Dominatrix punishing her male slave. The latter is naked and hanging upside-down from a leg spreader winched up high. His arms are bound tightly behind him. His Mistress whirls a flogger with expert precision over his buttocks and groin. In spite of – perhaps because of – the painful strikes to his cock and balls, he is sporting a huge erection.

The sight makes me shiver, even though the suspended man begs for more every time his Mistress pauses, and I look away. I am glad that my Master doesn’t favor such methods. Across the room, several Doms and their slaves take turns playing with a helpless, hooded blond girl, teasing and exploring her as she moans and squirms, unable to see or likely even hear her lovers. Even from here I can smell her sweet arousal.

Master tugs my leash and we move on.


Dominant Displays: The Challenge


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Dominance & Submission: The Tease


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 School of Discipline the Collection

School of Discipline: The Collection


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Are Friends Electric?

A kink I have heard little of in literature, but have mentioned in some stories of mine, is electrical stimulation.

Now there are a variety of ways to do this, and the most commonly known is the “violet wand” – rod with a pair of electrodes at the end for delivering small shocks to the person it is applied to. This is a “punishment” device, something used in the same way as a crop or cane, to deliver a brief jolt of pain. The nature of electricity also means that the subject often gives an involuntary jerk as they are shocked, and while it can be quite painful there are few lasting effects or signs of damage, which is why it is a favourite of some. Some people improvise different kinds of “prods” but this can be dangerous depending on the current and voltage used – my advice is to stick with devices marketed as toys and always follow the instructions!

However, electrical stimulation can be used in other ways as well. One of the easiest ways to experiment with these methods is to use a TENS machine. These devices are marketed as pain-relief, very often to pregnant women about to undergo labour. As such they are very safe to play with, they can’t hurt you or deal serious damage. They work by using pulsed current sent through electrodes usually attached to the subject via stick-on pads. However, imaginative users can easily adapt metal clips and clamps to attachment to more sensitive areas. The current can then be passed through other body parts to either cause involuntary twitching, or else to stimulate the subject directly. Some sex toys are designed specifically to deliver this kind of current, via specialised fittings designed to attach to or penetrate the body: both dildo’s and butt-plugs are available with attachments for electrodes. Some also connect to chastity belts so that your sub can be locked up tight and played with at the end of a wire without removing their belt.

These can all be find to play with, but anything entering you MUST be used as instructed. Current applied to the skin tends to flow over the body rather than through it, so a higher current is often used to get the desired effect. The opposite is true if you are penetrated by one of the electrodes – then the current will flow through you, and a high current can disrupt the body’s nerve impulses and this is not a good thing if those are the ones keeping your heart beating.

So the message is, whatever you do with electrical play, use the things designed for it and always follow the instructions. Never place something inside your body designed to be used on the outside, or run a current internally that is advised for external use only.

Why do it?

It’s very hard to describe electrical stimulation if you have not experienced it. It’s something like feeling a prickling or pulsating pressure in your skin, but that doesn’t do it justice. In additions, because it is direct nerve stimulation it can have effects other than just the physical sensation. As mentioned, it can cause involuntary muscle spasms, which can be wonderful for removing another level of control from a submissive. Being restrained, then made to writhe, makes a sub very much the plaything of the person holding the control box. While the sensations can be pleasurable or painful, they are seldom enough to cause either climax or lasting damage, so they are very good for teasing or long-term punishment. After an hour or two of being made horny and wet (or hard) by a few well-placed electrodes you can be easily made to beg for relief!

When being punished over time, the subject won’t have any marks or lasting damage, while the pain is brief and intense. This helps release endorphins for a “high” sensation but avoids lasting soreness – so the subject can take more pain, in the short-term. It is also safer to use on more sensitive areas, like the genitals (although it WILL hurt like hell!).

Electrical play is one of those things for which you really need specialised equipment, but if you have it, then it can be a lot of fun to play with, both as an aperitif and as the main event.

In Literature

Of course I have written about it in some stories, and two in which it features very strongly. In Shock Treatment, in the Dominant Displays series, it features very heavily as a scene is enacted in which Jennifer experiences something new at the hands of Frank. In Emily’s Shock from the School of Bondage series the streetwise Emily meets her match in Mr. Faraday the science teacher in a predictable fashion…

DD#2 - Shock Treatment School of Discipline #3

Excerpt from Shock Treatment:

Master points to a corner where a St. Andrew’s cross (made of steel tubing rather than wood) awaits me, and I approach with some apprehension. It’s solidly built, but looks industrial rather than comfortable by a very long way. The lengths of steel tubing are jointed in places, which will make it possible to pose me, but there is no visible padding. I shiver, as this promises to be intense.

“Facing out, slut,” Master Frank orders me, with a predatory smile. Crocodiles can smile less suggestively than that. For the first time since my boyfriend became my Master, I am a little nervous about the fact. I climb onto the scaffold, my feet on two rests and my hands gripping two more points above my head. Master takes some short, padded lengths of scaffolding and secures them with quick-release pins that my fingertips cannot quite reach to lock each wrist in place. Two more pin each ankle, and I am now effectively locked in place in a spread-eagle, facing outward.

Reaching around me, Master unbuckles my breast-harness and draws it off me, releasing my tits. Easing the vaginal hook out of my pussy, he drops the garment (and I use the word in the loosest possible sense) to one side. Calmly, he uncovers a small box with controls on the top and a dozen wires extending from one end, including a mains feed. Each wire ends in a sticky pad like a medical sensor. He starts to stick these to me. Four to my abdomen, two on each breast, two to my butt-cheeks and two on my sex either side of my clit.

It must be a Tens or something similar, like those electrical exercisers you can buy. I know enough of such things to understand that most of the current will flow through my skin. There’s no chance of electrocution, but enough will penetrate to give me sensation and make my muscles twitch. Master starts to play with the controls, and a sensation like a series of fluttering ripples cross my belly. Then my abs contract sharply several times, making me gasp. I can visibly see them twitching and tightening hard, and I can feel them too. I have no control, though, no ability to relax.

My butt suddenly clenches hard as well, and I whimper with frustration as I am denied even the most basic control over my own body. It doesn’t hurt that much, but it makes me feel more helpless and out of control over my own body than I have ever done before, an assault that bypasses my body directly to my ego. I give a long whimper as the fluttering, rippling sensation flows across each of my nipples, and they snap as hard as nails, harder than I have ever felt them before. Another wave of stimulation does the same to my clit, and suddenly my cunt isn’t just wet, it’s literally dripping onto the floor as I moan in fear and frustration and a lot of arousal.

Master adjusts the controls, and now it hurts as my ass and belly start to twitch and jerk randomly. I am denied any control over my body by the system. As the same time, waves of stimulation tickle and thrill my nips and clit.

“Ahhhh shit!” I squeal as the sharp contractions and tingles become stronger. The shocks that cause them I now feel as stinging pain.

“Language, slave,” Master admonishes mildly, and presses a button. My entire body jerks and spasms, dangling from my suspension, unable to do anything but squeak and squeal in surprise and horror. After a moment it relents and I sag, panting and tingling as Master casually strips his shirt off and kicks off his boots.

“S-sorry Master,” I whimper, panting hard, my breath shuddering as my abs and ass continue to twitch involuntarily.

“I should think so. I put this together especially for you,” he chides me, moving close to me. His hand strokes through my gash, exploring my cunt-lips and savoring my wetness. “Why, I’d say you were quite enjoying this,” he chuckles. A finger slides easily up my wet hole and explores briefly, wringing a helpless little moan from me – especially as he thumbs a control with the other hand and my clit spasms again, and my cunt contracts sharply.

“F – fu – flipping heck!” I squeak, nearly going cross-eyed.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault you are an eager little whore, is it?”

“Ahh!” I squeal as the tingling and twitching crosses the pain threshold again, and my body shakes in response. He pulls his fingers from my sex and pushes them into my mouth without preamble, and like a good little slave I lick and suck them clean.

“You are a very dirty girl,” he whispers, hitting me with another burst of shocks.

“Eeek! Yes! Bad! Master!” I squeal as my body jerks and spasms under the assault of the shocks. My head is spinning. Lack of control is a huge turn-on for me, but this is a step further than I have ever gone down that road. I not only do not control my body, it now moves to another pulling the strings.

The sensation is exquisitely humiliating.

Master pauses a moment, and I pant for air as trickles of stimulation still pulse through my intimate areas. My eyes can’t seem to focus for a moment, but gradually they clear. A number of Doms are watching with interest, their subs watching with apprehension or sympathy. Master still has the box in one hand, but in the other is another toy, a wand with two prongs at the end. He extends it toward me, pressing the prongs either side of one nipple.


The sharp crack of a spark and a stab of pain in one tit wrench a squeak of pain from me.

“Hmm. That works,” he remarks

Shock Treatment:


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Emily’s Shock:


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Safety First!

It’s a subject that has come up a few places recently, and I want to talk about it today for a while.

Safety isn’t sexy, and it’s not something that a lot of writers in the genre spend a lot of time on. Some indeed push the line of consent very hard, something I try and avoid a lot of the time. In most of my stories the protagonists are involved in purely consensual acts; while many women have rape fantasies it’s one aspect I do not indulge in my own stories. A fantasy is one thing, but I like my stories to be realistic and in real life rape is horrific.

Anyway, back to the subject of safety.

When on-line I’m asked quite frequently to help people find a partner who can help them indulge their fantasies, and it’s more often than not the submissively-inclined who ask. My advice is always to refer them to a number of social networking and dating sites that focus on that kind of kink they are interested in. So how do you stay safe with someone you do not know when basically what you have in mind is to be tied up and intimately played with, at the end of the day? After all, this is the idea in a lot of BDSM, it’s what a lot of subs crave. Similarly, it looks like an abuser’s dream because it’s like leaving a note saying “Meet me by the old well at midnight for fun & games, and don’t forget to tie yourself to a heavy anchor first, hope you cannot swim!” and knowing someone will do just that. Plus I think everyone has heard of the Craig’s List Killer…

Well there ARE things you can do to stay safe, even if you are meeting a total stranger potentially for something involving ropes, chains, whips, and/or sex.


When you meet someone for the first time, the following are important to do in order to take care you don’t end up a victim. A lot of them make sure that you are safe by deterrence – that is, you are not creating a situation where a genuine predator couldn’t do anything to you, but where if they do there is a good chance they will get caught, and so the genuine predator will try and avoid these situations. A genuine dom(me) will know and understand your need for caution, and will respect it. If there’s no respect for these limits, you are not dealing with the real deal and will not get what you are looking for in any event.

1) Make sure someone knows where you are going and who you are meeting. Never, ever meet someone who wants you to tell no-one, or never mention their name.

2) Always hold a first meeting in a public place, where there are other people around. That way there will be witnesses to your meeting, and if you don’t gel with the person you are meeting it’s easier to just say thank you for the meeting, but it’s not for you and leave without there being a scene.

3) Make sure someone knows when you are expected home. If you are not back by then and they cannot raise you, they can raise the alarm. You could also set up text messages with someone over an extended period if you are going to be gone a long time, or even have them GPS-track your phone.

Playing Safely

OK, you met in a public place, plenty of people saw you, your friends know when you are expected home and you have really got along with this person like a house on fire, and you want to get to their place and get the handcuffs and riding crop out, what then? How can you be sure this won’t end up badly?

1) Discuss your limits and expectations before hand. There is a phrase, “topping from the bottom” which is actually quite true a lot of the time: what goes on is determined by what the “bottom” has as their limits and fantasies. To accomplish this you need to talk before hand about what is to happen. If you meet someone who declares that subs do not dictate what happens, time to walk.

2) Establish safe words and signals. Safe words are a must, even between trusting life-partners as well as strangers. In addition, as gags can get involved in bondage-play, having signs you can give to say “I don’t like where this is going” or “I want to stop now” is likewise essential. Make sure these are understood in advance, and that the other person is fully in agreement. Again, anyone rejecting the notion is likely a fake insofar as you will not get what you were looking for.

Absolute Trust

Ultimately, you will not know if the person is trustworthy until you place your trust in them, and you won’t know that they will respect your safe word until you say it. However, you can screen out the obviously untrustworthy and give yourself the best chance of finding someone who can fulfil your needs if you follow some basic good advice like that above. One thing I will mention, it’s important to remember that this does not apply just to the first meeting, but to many. Anyone can pretend for a day, after all.

Once you have that trust built up, though, you can have an amazing relationship that can fulfil your every fantasy – so it’s worth kissing a few frogs to find a prince, as they say.

A Teaser

Well, this is one of my monologues, so of course I will add a teaser and a plug to a relevant story of mine at the end! In this case, the first story I ever wrote, Slave Girl: The Interview, has one such meeting as I describe above. The protagonist, Lydia, has had a few bad experiences, so she knows to be careful…

Slave Girl #1

An Excerpt:

I pull my Toyota into the pub’s car park on what turns out to be a warm summer day and get out with my knees trembling. I’m sure I look to the outside world like an office-girl going to a lunch meeting. Little do they know. I hurry to the pub’s entrance a few minutes early for our meeting, my stomach full of butterflies.

It’s a pleasant place, not a modern venue but a cozy old-world pub with a stone-flagged floor and exposed beams. I find it quiet, shady, and cool as I step inside and make my way to the bar.

I order a diet coke and a shiraz and barely set them down at a corner table when I hear an engine outside. A few moments later, she glides into the bar. I know it’s her. My body, pumping with adrenaline and tingling with arousal, recognizes her from the way she carries herself, the way she moves.

Like me, Mistress Trudy is dressed for business: a dark skirt suit and a briefcase, as well as her handbag. She is taller than I am, and in higher heels to boot. A slim figure, she has an impressive bust and a long mane of glorious red hair that tumbles nearly to her waist. She walks into the pub with the presence of a model working a catwalk, with utmost confidence. Her dark eyes fix on me, and I rise to greet her, trembling worse now. I’m lusting for her already, but also I’m a little afraid of what might happen if I’m at the mercy of such a confident, self-possessed woman.

“Miss Weston?” I start to offer my hand.

“Lydia, so lovely to meet you.” She kisses my cheek in a familiar way, and I find myself flushing. “Is this mine?” she asks, seeming a little surprised to see the glass of wine.

“Of course,” I assure her. She gracefully settles into her seat and gestures to me to do the same. “It’s lovely to meet you at last,” I add shyly, my heart racing.

“Well of course it is,” she agrees with a smile that leaves me utterly disarmed, mesmerized.

We make small talk about my journey, the places I’ve travelled, what I studied at university. After a second round of drinks, I relax a great deal. We sit close, almost touching, intimate without obvious sexual overtures, although my twitching pussy indicates clearly that I am very attracted to her. Every few moments, I find myself imagining what it would be like to kiss her — to be permitted to kiss her — and to caress those beautiful breasts, to kneel between her legs and lick her sweet pussy.

“Tell me, dear,” she says, her hand resting on my knee, concealed from the rest of the clientele by the table, “what did you choose to wear under than skirt?”

A little thrill goes through me. She told me to wear my corset, as well as the rest of the ensemble I’m wearing, but she hadn’t specified panties. I swallow hard. This is a test, I think to myself.

“Well, Mistress, you didn’t specify panties so … I’m not wearing any,” I reply softly and breathlessly. I can feel my pussy grow moist and my nipples erect, so hard they are visible. All of a sudden, the chemistry between us has become very sexual.

“Truly?” Her smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. She likes what I did! Her hand slides up to the top of my stockings, under the hem of my skirt. Our eyes lock; I cannot look away.

“Yes, Miss,” I confirm. “I thought that if you intended me to wear panties you would have said so.”

“Oh, I would have, and I like that you understood.” Her hand slips higher, and her long-nailed fingers probe the soft curls around my sex. “You have lovely silky hair, my dear.” She strokes my ponytail with her other hand, and to any onlooker she is merely commenting on the hair on my head when she says, “Very nice hair for such a dirty slut, walking in here with no panties on.”

I gasp at her casual delivery. I’m not used to using such language outside the bedroom. Maybe it’s also the way she is teasing me under the table, as my wetness flows and my nipples harden.

“Th-thank you, Miss,” I reply, concentrating on sitting still as she plays with my pussy. “Yours is very beautiful, too,” I add with genuine admiration.

“Thank you, my dear, although I do shave. I insist on it with my slaves, as well,” she purrs to me. I catch the hint — she will want me to shave myself, or she will shave me. That’s something I have not done before.

Now her fingertips gently strum my clit. “And you moisturize,” she adds as her fingers dip into my slickness. “What a nice wet cunt.”

“Y-yes,” I pant softly. Her language is only turning me on more! “A girl should always moisturize.” I realize that her nipples are also erect; she is turned on by teasing me.

“How good is your self-control?” she asks me, her fingers busily stoking, exploring, homing in on the places that bring me the most pleasure, but not going further. I’ve never been teased like this before, at least not in public. Edging is common in BDSM, where the sub is pleasured but kept from climaxing. It takes great self-control on the part of the dominant, but renders the sub very uninhibited and pliable. I have been edged before, but not to a great degree.

“P-pretty good,” I stammer. Her fingers continue to stroke and explore, shielded by the table.

“Good. You may warn me if you feel you cannot maintain control,” she tells me in a calm, no-nonsense fashion. “Needless to say, you are required to have permission to orgasm in my presence today.” Her calm strength—not just physical strength, but the confidence of her assertions—makes me feel hemmed in, constrained and restricted. It’s like being tied up with just words.

“Yes, Mistress,” I reply meekly, eyes slightly wide as she continues her subtle teasing.


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Sensory Deprivation

It’s well known that deprived of one sense, we pay more attention to the others. If you close your eyes and try and orient yourself, you will use your hearing and your touch to tell you where you are and to probe your surroundings. Your sense of smell begins to mean more, reveal more to you than you consciously realised before.

It’s a common theme I’ve used in several stories that one of the protagonists is blindfolded, and often restrained, sometimes even earplugs are used to deprive them of their senses. This focuses the attention of the person on their senses of smell and taste and touch to a much greater degree, “heightening” those senses that are key when we make love and intensifying the pleasure they experience – and in some cases, the pain too.

Another aspect of sensory deprivation is that it heightens our dependence on others; when we cannot see, we may have to be guided. This increases the demands of trust, and the sense of dependence experienced by the submissive indulging in the loss of their senses. First they place themselves in the power of another; then they have a sense removed, perhaps more than one. They may well be restrained in some way, be it a token such as a leash, partial, such as having hands bound, or complete by being fully restrained. Now they are reliant on their Dom for guidance, movement, and all of the essentials. In addition, the submissive may have been fully or partially undressed, heightening their sense of vulnerability and dependence.

Once again, the actual underlying theme in BDSM is not sex, or dominance, or pain. It is trust. When you are naked, with senses restricted, and restrained, you have to trust the person who placed you that way a great deal. Some do it because the apprehension of being so placed is an adrenaline rush, for others the trust and the placing of all the responsibility on the other person removes any and all inhibitions – and I cannot deny that this is my own take on it! You have to absolutely trust the other person, and that’s sometimes a big leap especially the first time.

Sensory deprivation itself can lower out inhibitions: in the story Blind Lust the submissive Anne is attending her first BDSM party, after having been introduced to the scene by her lover who is taking her. To keep her from too much apprehension, he makes a ritual of taking her: he has her dress in fetish clothing, and transports her in a small cage, as well as blindfolding her. She has no idea of where she is going, and she cannot see the party – meaning she has to experience it, and cannot do that until she is already immersed in it.

DD#1 blind lust cover

An excerpt:

The blindfold slides over my head, cutting off my vision and muffling my hearing somewhat. Losing my sight makes me much more aware of my body. I feel every slight movement my full breasts make, every slight adjustment of my balance makes my butt move and emphasizes my slim waist.

My blond hair has grown out a little more in recent months, since I moved in with my new…what do I describe him as? “Boyfriend” doesn’t sum it up, especially as he is in his thirties while I’m in my twenties. “Lover” does not express the depths of our relationship, and “partner” implies that we are on an equal footing, when I am very aware that we are not. No, Dr. Christopher Ably is none of these things to me, save on occasion. At times like this, there is only one word that sums up his relationship to me: Master.

I, Dr. Anne Schneider, am his slave.

It’s not my day job, by day we are both researchers at a pharmaceutical company. He is my superior at work, and it is well known that we have moved in together, and people comment on how good a couple we make. Christopher works out a lot to give him a good physique, has rugged good looks, with clipped dark hair and dark eyes. I am younger, with hazel eyes and natural blond hair currently growing long. Like Chris, I work out regularly to keep me slim and fit. I’m average height and have small but perky breasts.

However, what is not known is how I am treated in that home, or how much he dictates how I live. He is my master, and I am his slave, in a BDSM relationship – that’s bondage, domination, submission and masochism, for those not in the know. It’s a situation I find intensely satisfying and very exciting. I never know quite what he will choose to do with me when we arrive home and I slip out of my office clothes and into the collar with my name –SLAVE ANNE – circling around my throat.

Master took me on as his slave half a year ago, after we had dated for a while. Since then he has taken control, collared me, punished me often, rewarded me well…and the sex has been mind-blowing.

The blindfold covers my eyes and ears tightly, restricting both sound and sight. Other than the blindfold, I am wearing a tight leather corset that cinches my waist firmly and covers me from my hips to just beneath my breasts, clearly displayed at their pert best. A pair of high-heeled shoes completes my costume, locked to my feet, and my collar is also locked onto me.

I am otherwise naked and extremely vulnerable as Master caresses my body, pinching and tweaking my nipples to stiffen them, his warm fingers working my gash to make me wet. I bite my lip and give several soft gasps and moans. The sensations are amplified by my blindness, as my mind concentrates on my other senses. I surrender to the rush, experience my skin tingle everywhere he touches me. It is an effort of will to keep still and simply allow him to do as he pleases, but I know it is expected of me. He is in charge, and I must obey. With the blindfold over my eyes I am reliant on him, and I submit my independence to his desire.

“Open wide,” he orders, and I open my mouth to have it filled with a ball-gag he secures in place with straps around my head. “Time to go,” he says in a voice filled with anticipation, only slightly muffled by the blindfold.

Tonight we are going to a party, a BDSM party. It is a first for me, up until now only Master has ever seen me dominated and restrained. This will be my first appearance as a slave before others, and I am full of apprehension.

I already know how I will travel there, and my Master assists me to climb into the “birdcage” he’s already prepared. A cylindrical steel cage, it has a door and padded seat on the floor, and legs that stand it perhaps a foot off the ground. I crawl in and sit on my haunches on the padded floor of the cage, my back to the bars opposite the door. It’s only just large enough to fit a person in this position. A strap around my waist secures me, and I extend my arms forward blindly for Master to secure my wrists to the cage door.

The flow of air around my hot skin changes. Master must be putting the cage cover on. Then the cage moves, rolling along the ground. I strive to stay silent as I feel the casters the cage rolls on bump over ridges. A jerk, and then I know we are in the elevator, descending. Each movement, each bump, amplifies the pleasure the dildo teases me with, as Master wheels me past the concierge in the lobby and out to his SUV.

I am aware of the latter, as he lifts the cage, me and all, into the back and secures it there with cargo straps. My awareness is peripheral, however. Most of my attention is taken up by the dildo still fucking me. I muffle another moan as the pace of it increases slightly. Then the sense of motion starts again. The SUV maneuvers, slowing and accelerating, turning left and right so that before long I have no idea where we are going.

After what seems like an eternity the SUV halts, and I hear the back door open. The cage is lifted out of the SUV, and then moved across smooth floor, ridges, bumps, into another elevator, more bumps. Then I hear voices… a lot of voices. Apprehension grips me again. All the worries and concerns, all the social conditioning I had overcome to accept my Master’s collar returned in force. I’m a strong, intelligent woman, with a Ph.D., no less. My upbringing screams that I should not be a sex-toy to a man. Yet the cage confinement and the blindfold made me feel blissfully free of responsibility. As a possession I need not stress over any decisions, I can just experience and enjoy what happens.


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An Equestrian Fetish

While riding clothes can be sexy, and horses are fun, what I’m talking about here is a little bit kinkier…

One common fetish in the BDSM scene is what is called “pony-play” where the submissive dresses up (or usually down, weather permitting) as a pony which the dom(me) then trains and rides (or more often gets to pull a small cart, as humans don’t do all fours very well and a male dom is usually it a bit heavy for a female sub anyway). The costume the sub wears is usually very sexualized, consisting at the least of a bit (which also functions as a gag) and bridle, harness, boots (usually with horseshoes attached), gloves or other restraints for the arms, and a tail (often attached to a butt plug). Sometimes the sub is naked, others they wear a catsuit – especially if the weather is less than clement). Sometimes this is combined with a chastity belt or other restraint or stimulation on the genitals.

Training a pony-girl or pony-boy is performed like training a horse, making the “pony” learn to walk, trot, prance etc. on command. And yes, there really are “farms” and “ranches” run where you can go and indulge this fetish.

So why, some may ask, do they do it?

I think the reasons are as many and varied as people are, but I’ll take a stab as to what I personally find attractive in playing the part of an animal. Pony-play is a subset of a larger fetish which includes dressing and acting as different kinds of animals – cats, dogs, cows, and others – but most are distinct in being domesticated animals. It’s about becoming a pet, I think, something that is trained, controlled, has no choices, but is also cared for and treasured. Pets are looked after, sometimes quite intensively, and that level of care is very reassuring.

The submissive lets go of their responsibilities as a human for the much simpler role of the animal. They don’t just have to obey orders – after all, they are an animal, how many orders can they understand? They can play, misbehave, and still be cared for (though they may be punished). It’s a more extreme form of the slave-master/mistress relationship in that respect. The slave is sexualized, deprived of their rights and responsibilities as a human, and played with. Needless to say it requires a great deal of trust, more so than the usual owner-slave relationship as the sub will often be unable to speak.

For the owner, it’s an exercise in even greater power and authority over the submissive, as they control just about everything. For the submissive it can be tremendously liberating to leave the responsibilities and inhibitions of being an adult behind. There is also the sexual angle, in the case of ponies – long hair and rolling gait are strong feminine sexual characteristics, and I don’t think it’s any coincidence that from what I can tell the majority of the human ponies are pony-girls.

It’s something I have tried to communicate in the story Pony Play, the ninth in the Lydia’s Path series of short stories. The protagonist Lydia is taken to a farm to undergo pony-training under a Dom; she submits to and very much enjoys being sexualized, losing all rights as a person, being trained in her role and on one occasion being mated with male ponies. At the end of the training she is displayed with other ponies at a show put on for those in the scene.

To give some idea of how common this fantasy is that story is far and away my biggest selling single story to date. I’m currently writing a second story on the fetish and have more planned including a science fiction tale and one that crosses over with my “werewolf” series. In the meantime, Pony Play is today being promoted on a Book Blast, so please make the most of the low price if your interest is piqued…

Slave Girl #9

Oh, and of course here’s a teaser…

Come along Scamper,” Mistress Meredith tugs my leash and stalks quickly down a long passageway with me hurrying to keep up. She takes me straight through to the back of the house and a cool, bare room with some lockers in it where she unclips my leash.

“Strip,” she commanded, folding her arms beneath an impressive bust and tapping her booted foot.

For many months now I have been given orders like this, orders I have become accustomed to obeying, and now is no exception despite my apprehensions and doubts – the collar and leash take care of all of those; I am a slave and responsible for nothing that happens. I quickly slip out of my jacket, scarf, skirt, blouse, garter belt and bra. I carefully fold them as I remove them and set them aside on a nearby bench. Then I slip out of my shoes and feel the cool flagstones under my feet as I carefully slip off my stockings and add both.

Mistress Meredith watches me with a slight smile of approval, and opens a locker. At her gesture I place my clothes in. She squats in front me to unlock my chastity with the key that Master Daimon gave her, and we remove it to place that in the locker as well, closing and locking it.

Except for my collar, I’m now completely naked.

“You won’t need those for a few weeks,” Mistress Meredith remarks with an amused glint in her eyes. “Now, arms up.”

Without questioning I raise my arms and clasp them behind my head, pulling my hair back as I do so – this way she is unobstructed in whatever she wishes to do with me. Smiling more she runs her hands firmly over my body as if inspecting livestock. She cups and squeezes one small and pert breast, and gives me a sharp slap on my bum.

“Not bad,” she remarked, pulling a tape-measure out of one pocket. With practised speed she measures me around the waist, bust, hands and feet, and glances at a notebook she pulled from another jacket pocket. “All seems to be correct,” she mutters cryptically, and disappeared through a small door behind me.

I stood there on the cold stone floor, still with my hands clasped at the back of my head, naked, and just waited. Mentally I counted my breaths, keeping them slow and even, reminding myself: I am a slave, my body is no longer mine, I must follow all orders.

A long moment passes before I hear Mistress Meredith’s footsteps return, and I keep my eyes forward, refusing to look curiously at what she is carrying.

“My, we are a well-trained filly, Scamper,” she chuckled. I hear her set down whatever she is carrying, and she pulled something made of pink leather and lined with soft pink satin around my waist. I immediately recognize a waist cincher or short under-bust corset, one that jingled with D-rings, straps and buckles. I keep still and exhale as she tightens it up firmly, cinching my waist in firmly by a few inches. It’s not uncomfortable, at least not more so than the corsets I often wore for my Mistress.

“Hold your arms out,” she instructed me, and I released my hair and extended my hands toward her, for her to slip a harness of pink leather straps over my arms, one that framed my and supported breasts like a bra, yet kept them uncovered with a steel ring framing each nipple. The harness buckled to the top of my cincher, and I could feel that it gripped me firmly and actually gave my breasts good support.

Mistress Meredith picks up a net of straps and pickles, still in pink leather, that could only be called a bridle. Shaking it out and holding it in shape she smiled at me, a very wicked smirk.

“Open wide,” she commanded, and I opened my mouth obediently to admit a ball-gag on a short shaft that fills my mouth and tugs the corners of my lips back a little like a horse’s bit. Straps all over my head hold it in place, and my hair is pulled back through a small gap in it so that I now have a pony-tail again. She moves behind me, and I feel the buckles being tightened and I locks click shut.

Being gagged is a regular occurrence for me, and ball gags are especially fiendish: you can say nothing, and having it in your mouth makes you drool uncontrollably. Unlike most ball-gags, this one seems to have a hole drilled through it that makes breathing easier at least.

I now have a very good idea as to what is going on and what I am to be trained in. It’s confirmed as Mistress Meredith produces gloves and boots, again in pink leather. The boots are somewhat like ordinary high-heeled knee-boots, save that they had no heel: instead the platform ‘sole’ of the foot was formed into the round base of a horses hoof, and Mistress Meredith held one up with a smile to show me that it was shod with a real horse-shoe.

“Aren’t they delightful, Scamper?” she asked as she set them on the floor in front of me, and looked at me expectantly.

Delightful? I’ve played the part of cat and dog before now, but never horse. Being treated as an animal is a step further into submission than being a slave is…tingling with excitement that is part fear, part arousal, part eagerness.

Obediently I step into the boots, and Mistress Meredith buckles them up. For a moment I totter until I find my balance. They are easy enough to wear if I adjust my posture and lean just a little forward…which of course makes me push my bum out, and will put an extra roll in my stride. My pussy tingles as I anticipate my butt will be the target of a good few spanks, and I’ll probably be fucked from behind a fair few times over the next few weeks.

At least, in my heart I hope so; I’m horny for it already.

No, I won’t be fucked. When I am a pony, I’ll be mated.

I’m so lost in my realisation I don’t see Mistress Meredith until she is in front of me again, holding out some leather cuffs of the kind I was used to wearing almost as much as wore my collar. She fastened them on and buckled them firmly before taking up a pair of gloves.

“Make a fist,” she instructed, and I did so. The ‘glove’ had no fingers, just padding that ended in a smaller set of ‘hooves’ than those on my feet, with horseshoes at the end. The gloves would fasten to the cuffs I was wearing, and with them on I would be unable to use my hands. Mistress Trudy had restrained me similarly in the past, but this woman is unknown to me and I cannot suppress some trepidation as I slipped my hands inside the gloves. Mistress Meredith buckled them to the wrist-cuffs, making them impossible for me to remove, before firmly raising each wrist to my shoulder and clipping the cuffs to the shoulders of my harness.

This pose with no meaningful use of my hands or arms I know well, although the last time Mistress Trudy bound me this way it was with bondage tape, and she had added pads to my elbows and made me crawl on all fours. Ponies, it seems, get to walk on two legs.

“Now, I’m told you can take this size,” Mistress Meredith held up a steel butt-plug, and my eyes widened. It was big, probably slightly bigger than the plug Mistress sometimes made me wear, but I probably could take it, and I nodded slowly.

“Good girl, Scamper,” she said, and I felt a little thrill run through me. Just two words, and I could feel a warm glow of pride inside me and little shiver at my new name. I was a good slave…no, I was a good pony.

“Bend over, Scamper,” she ordered me brusquely. “I’m sure you’ve had this before.”

Oh yes, I know what’s coming. I bent forward at the waist, the position of my arms necessitating that I thrust my ass back.

Picking up the plug, she took a long plume of glossy black hair and an odd, slender probe with a ring in the end. She placed the latter at the outside end of the plug, and screwed the plume onto the end as well. The plume and probe pushed out at ninety degrees to the base of the plug, and I watched in puzzlement as she then applied a lot of lubricant to the business end of the plug.

She moved behind me, and I mentally brace myself. Sure enough the cold, wet and metallic nose of the plug began to press against my sphincter, and I relax and push back to accept it. It is quite big and heavy, and I strain to take the widest part before it was in. As soon as she pulled me upright I felt the tickle of hair on my buttocks and legs.

A thick, black silky tail that thrust up and out from between my cheeks and cascaded almost to my ankles. I could feel the weight of it as I shifted my stance it seemed to swish delightfully on its own.


Bear Country!

I’m visiting my folks for a few days down in Gloucestershire, but I’ll be back by Wednesday when normal service or what passes for it) will be resumed. In the meantime, I’m near bear country, the Forest of Dean. Not real bears, they’ve been extinct in Britain for centuries, the nearest you get in the Forest is Winnie-the-Pooh – seeing as it was here that A.A. Milne wrote his famous books about the bear of little brain (but surprising common sense).

It’s also a really beautiful place.


If you ever visit, I recomend the open-air sculpture trail as worth walking around! Also handy for some al fresco nookie 😉