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Caning, hot forks, and beads. And defamatory blogging.

08 Sep

Roland was spanking me more gently than previously.

“I’m worried about what you’re going to put on your blog,” he said. “I think you’re going to make it look like I forced you to do it.”

“What would it matter? The blog doesn’t have your name on it,” I pointed out, “And anyway, I’m going to write the truth. If I wrote that you forced me people wouldn’t want to read the blog. I mean, they want to enjoy reading it. They want to be happy – it’s entertainment.”

Having a sudden, deliciously malevolent brainwave, I added: “Anyway how do you know you didn’t force me to do it? Maybe I only did that because I had to.”

“Because,” said Roland, still giving me taps with his palm, “You didn’t make me get the five answers. And you came prepared.”

“Because the spanking hurt too much,” I said, “And the sauce was just in case of a worst case scenario, so that it would at least taste good.”

We both giggled. After a bit of thought, he added: “And you didn’t try to leave the house or call the police.”

I had to think about this one. “…Well I couldn’t leave because I was naked.And I tried to stall you by saying I needed the bathroom [he laughed]. And you had a knife so I couldn’t call the police.”

Roland laughed. “So what are you going to write on your blog then?” He started a monologue:

“He abducted me and drove me to his house. He told me that I would be spanked until I revealed five answers, then I would have to give him a blowjob. I tried not to give him the answers but the spanking was too painful. So I tried to stall him by saying I had to go to the bathroom, but then I realised it was impossible to withstand the torture and I would have to give the blowjob. He threatened me with a knife and I realised it was impossible to escape. I tried to run upstairs but he caught me. Realising I had no choice, I followed him into the livingroom. I didn’t want to be spanked any more, and, feeling that I should get this torture over with, I had no choice but to use the sauce I had brought in case of this worst-case scenario. So at least it tasted good.”

Roland spanked me for a long time with every implement. I was looking occassionally towards the cane. Then he was sitting on the sofa again and we were talking about stuff. I was on the floor. I said I needed the bathroom, found a fork, and came in with it behind my back.

“What are you going to do with that knife?”

“What knife?” I says.

“The one you’ve got hidden behind your back.”

I brought it out, “It’s a fork.”

Roland heated the fork in the fire and let me jab and scrape him in the balls with it. I scraped it over his cock, too. Then he made me do the same thing to myself, and it felt great – warm scraping over the lips of my pussy and not sore at all. Then Roland took the fork and dragged it around over my labia and seemed surprised it didn’t hurt.

Then he put me over the arm of the sofa and, using the sauce as lube, stuck the anal beads into me and it hurt. He slowly pushed them all the way in, twisting them as they went, moving them in and out and then turning on the power so that they were vibrating inside of me as he was turning and pushing them in. Once they were all the way in he continued to twist them, then move them in and out.

After this, I asked if he wanted to cane me. He gave me six hard strokes, letting me control the hardness of each one. Every single one made me go backwards out of position over the sofa arm, so I’d end up crouched on the floor holding my butt. For the first few seconds I’d feel nothing, lying there gripping the cushion, then a wave of stingig pain wouls hit me. The sound was really loud too – even the swish. Roland was telling me about men he’d seen (possibly while shooting porn movies, which he has done professionally, possibly in the London SM clubs) who could take really hard strokes. I asked him to give me a boy stroke, but then I worried about the pain, so he said he’d give me a stroke in-between a girl and a boy one. That was the seventh stroke, and it hurt a lot and made me cry out.I felt it break the skin, and a few minutes later I felt a crust on a little spot where it had landed, which stayed for 3 days and came off. Roland’s face remained impassive and sometimes slightly worried. He didn’t get turned on by my pain much – if at all, something I find remarkable and quite mysterious. I get SOOOO turned on by the idea of him in pain! Yum!

I stood up and asked if I could cane him. He lay over the sofa like I’d done. I took my time walking around him. I made a few practice strokes, in the air and on him. There are two kinds of men: those to spank – young, skinny, look in-between boy and man – and those who spank, who are bigger and more old like Roland. So Roland wasn’t in the right category for me to spank, but any arse will do; all men are the same anyway. I couldn’t do it immediately, because this was my dream since age 9. I’d never dreamt it’d come true, that I wasn’t the only one in the world interested in spanking. Yet here it was. The cane felt right in my hands. I felt powerful. The 9 year old girl who fantasised of spanking every morning and night, rubbing her bottom and getting wet, was now dizzy with appreciation and power. She was me. I was her. I haven’t changed all that much in 13 years. I raised the cane and whacked him with it. He yelped even though I hadn’t done it hard. But then, I always suspected millionaires were crybabies. I gave him another one and it was lighter but he still went ‘ow’ even though it totally wasn’t as hard as the ones he gave me. And I thought men were supposed to be tougher than women. Roland said I was doing it hard and he didn’t want me to do it anymore in case I left marks that Magda would see (they have a no polyamory in the house rule and she’d be back tomorrow morning so might guess he’d done it in the house).

I went, “…oh…You should’ve said…I already left marks..” There were two raised red lines, but the lines were only a few inches long, not all the way across. He said it was fine cos he could hide it for one or two days but not longer than that and the marks would fade in that time. He stood up and let me touch the welts. They felt hot and raised.

Then we went to the hotel, it was past 2am and we couldn’t get in so he drove us back to his house and said we can sleep there and hopefully Magda wouldn’t find a hair. He’d been worrying about me dropping hairs all night because apparently Magda can spot hairs really well. (He was right about this, she did find a sequin, a fingernail/toenail, and a hair).

 

 

 

 

 

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