12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #5 – ‘Born Again’

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Seventeen year old Jennifer was sprawled out on a towel on the floor, dressed in only her lime green cotton panties. Her long blonde hair fell across her snow white-skin, curling around her small breasts.
Freckles spread outwards in a sporadic pattern across her stomach, where they would reach across her thighs and around to her ass.
Never had she felt so alive than she did now.
Never had she felt like someone understood her so completely, in all of the ways, like Caleb did.
He stood before her, completely nude, her boyfriend of just one year, messy crop of blonde hair.
“Are you ready?”
“Mhm…”

Her response came out strained, rushed by her giddiness, her breathlessness.
She reached down, arms brushing past the curves of her breast, to peel back her panties and toss them aside.
The basement in which they were in was silent, save for the low hum of the mini fridge tucked away in the corner across the other end of the room.
Light filtered in through the window next to where Jen lay. Outside it was a summer’s day, middle of December, but you’d never know by the grey skies and gentle wind a-blowing.
Jen felt her nakedness now, could feel the cool air around her exposed nipples, around her shaven cunt.
Caleb let out a sharp exhale, then his eyes narrowed and focused downwards.
Something in her mind told Jen to close her eyes, she followed suit.

When the stream hit her, she jumped – and instantly felt like a fool. From somewhere behind her eyes, Caleb was moaning in relief.
The stream lashed at her stomach, warm and stinging. It travelled upwards across her breasts, falling across her hair and pelting at her skin.
Jen felt that breathlessness rush out of her tightened chest and up through her throat. She joined Caleb in the fever dream, in this frantic vocal act.
She wanted to reach down and relieve this building pressure in her clit but she remembered Caleb urging her not to before hand, demanding it to her as he had liked to do since they began to be more intimate.

The stream splashed off her breasts and onto her chin, leaving a droplet on her lower lips.
Almost instinctively, she licked her lips and tasted a saltiness her mind instantly described to her as ‘sweet’.
The stream travelled downwards, marking her stomach with its sting, wavering slightly but still with a power to pelt.
It reached between her legs, scalding her clit before traveling downwards across her clit.
Her legs trembled at the sensitivity, at the act, at something she wasn’t quite sure she could accurately describe if someone had asked her.
The pressure in the stream began to falter, coming to drip across her right leg in short bursts before dying completely.
The two teenage lovers panted breathlessly in that moment, maintaining eye contact.

Every inch of Jennifer’s body was stinging from the shower, tender to the touch, coated in Caleb’s essence.
She only had one thing on her mind then – could she play now?

 

 

 

12 Days of Kinkmas 2018 – Day #1: ‘Olives’

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There are volumes unspoken when she asks if he can place the olive into her mouth himself.

Outside the boundaries of their existence, wind howls and rain lashes at the windows. Inside, the only noise comes from her wet lips as she parts them gently. Otherwise, if there were other forces, other creatures occupying the same space, they were not stirring like these two.

He didn’t like olives at all – the texture, the taste – the horrid salty bitter taste that seemed to evolve in his mouth after taking it in.
What even was that change in taste that crept up on you?
So when he ordered the pizza – Joe’s Special – without the olives, lo and behold, maybe to spite him, maybe because it was late on a Friday, maybe because it was close to Christmas, business was booming and the maker was exhausted, the olives were here after all. Mocking him, as they lay scattered across the topping.
When she said she’d have them, he started peeling them off and placing them on a clean plate.
No, she had said, turning to him, looking at him with her green eyes that seemed to come alive and deepen, feed them to me.

He hesitated, looking at her, a lock of sandy blonde hair covering her left eye, a mischievous grin spreading across her face like light streaming in slowly through a window. She stood so close to him he could smell her – not the ghost of her perfume from work – no, her. Her scent.

Suddenly he became aware of more – the outline of her nipples through her grey singlet, the shape of her breasts as she leaned inward to him, looking at him with the intensely lit green eyes.

And her lips…

When he placed the first olive into her mouth, he did so timidly. She giggled, and it was like the old cliché – like music to his ears. When he placed the second olive into her mouth, he noticed her tongue dart out ever so smoothly to pull the olive into her mouth.
He watched her, curious, as she swallowed and look back at him, waiting patiently.
What was behind her eyes, he wondered. There was mischief, yes, that much was in her smile, in the way her eyes focused up on him from where she stood. There was something else though. A seed planted.

Suddenly he wasn’t standing before her in their kitchen anymore, suddenly he was in some darkened corner of space-time where she was taking his cock into her mouth – and he could feel her. Her wet lips coating his shaft with her own saliva, he could feel her moan vibrate around him as she took his length in. He could hear her lips smack – in eagerness? In catching a breath? – As he pulled out of her. He could see it in her eyes that she wanted it again – hungrily, breathlessly, desperately.

Yet he was standing in the kitchen, her opposite him, her mouth parted gently, waiting for the next olive, her eyes glossy, mischievous, wondering – in space-time? Perhaps.

 

12 Days of Kinkmas Collection

In honour of the fourth annual 12 Days of Kinkmas (Formally 12 Days of BDSM Christmas but hoo boy, what a mouthful), I thought I would compile a list of the previous three years for anyone interested to catch up or newcomers or just people that enjoy my writing – it’s all there to binge. Or not! The choice is yours!

For anyone out of the loop, my12 Days of… series is back-to-back Christmas themed short erotica. Call it a gift from me to you!

12 Days of BDSM Christmas – 2015.

  1. Ignition’
  2. Mud’
  3. ‘Ornaments’
  4. ‘My Gift to You’
  5. ‘Worship’
  6. ‘Final Exam’
  7. ‘Monument’
  8. Obedient Little Girl’
  9. ‘Driving Home’
  10. ‘Reflections’
  11. ‘Q/A’
  12. ‘Giving Thanks’

 

12 Days of BDSM Christmas – 2016

  1. Elizabeth’
  2. ‘Snow Angel’
  3. ‘The Voice in the Darkness’
  4. ‘The Myth of Writing’
  5. ‘I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry’
  6. [An animal tore out this page]
  7. ‘The Dominant’s Growl’
  8. Christmas Fetish
  9. Christmas Guests
  10. Christmas Lights
  11. Terrible Mother!
  12. MERRY CHRISTMAS!’

 

12 Days of BDSM Christmas – 2017

  1. ‘The Little Drummer Boy’
  2. ‘Silent Night’
  3. ‘Interlude I – Elizabeth II’
  4. ‘Jingle Bells’
  5. ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’
  6. ‘Interlude II – The Cabin’
  7. O Holy Night’
  8. ‘Joy to the World’
  9. ‘Interlude III: Rite of Passage’
  10. Do You Hear What I hear?’
  11. ‘Candlelight Carol’
  12. ‘After’

 

 

 

30 Days of Kink – Day #29 – BDSM TITLES!

Do you have a BDSM title (e.g. mistress, master, slut, pig, whore, princess, goddess, ma’am, sir)? What is your opinion of the use of titles in general?

Well my kitten calls me Sir and I wouldn’t want that any other way!

For me, the use of the title harkens back to this sense of politeness and reception and nod to certain roles that we have taken in our lives.

I mean, yeah it’s incredibly sexy to hear it slither out of the lips of my darling. But there’s power to it that I feel, and I liken it to the days of old.

My number one rule with anyone, though, is that in their eyes, I have to have had earned their respect. Otherwise, there is little point in calling me Sir.

You could argue and say that they aren’t showing me respect by using the title, but I don’t really agree with that – I think it’s a little arrogant to demand this level of respect from someone you don’t know. So that doesn’t bother me.

There have been instances where I’ve spoken to a submissive I greatly admire and all of a sudden, they will address me as ‘Sir’ and I actually feel content, not for my own ego, but that I’ve earned their trust. I think it’s the act that’s most important, not that I’ve earned the title.

At the end of the day, I’m a schlub. I mean, I’m just some guy, sometimes I feel like — ‘hey, you don’t need to-no. You don’t need to call me Sir. Just my name is fine. I don’t deserve such recognition’.

Then I’ve met some people who feel the need to call me ‘Sir’. It’s important to them. Even if it’s someone I met, say, from the blog or on Tumblr, it’s important they keep to these values that are important. Of course they always ask first, which is lovely.

I’m sorry I’ve been a bit slack with these, ladies and gents. I’ve been fine-tuning the upcoming 12 Days of Kinkmas that I hold the start of December every year! It’ll be in its fourth year! So if you’re a fan, look forward to that, if you’re not, ignore the bombardment Of Christmas-themed erotica!

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #11: Candlelight Carol

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‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change’

 

Jodie Weber stood completely nude, facing the tiles of her bathroom. The plan was to retire for the evening before her husband’s Christmas party had started to die down. She had said her farewells and prepared the bath. Only, now…

 

Now her sandy blonde hair was in a tangle, spread out across her forehead and eyes like webbing. Her hands were before her, propping herself up as she bent forward. They had begun to tremble from the weight. Her weight.

How long had she been standing here?

 

Her cunt was cool, the fresh drops of her urine left as beads on her trimmed pubic hair. That was when he slipped into the bathroom – when she was relieving herself on the toilet. She swore she must’ve locked the door but the fact that he stood there before her, smirking smugly, told her she had been wrong. And Jodie wished her husband had fixed the door sooner, that lock had been unlatching for a while.

 

The man that had told her to finish urinating was a William, an old friend from High School she recently connected with. Her husband didn’t like him, found him weird, but Jodie kept in touch with him all the same. She had invited him here because truth is told, she didn’t have many friends anymore, and the party was beginning to be filled with her husband’s greatest hits of friends, College – Work Years.

 

But when William told her to finish urinating, when the sheer shock at seeing him released the rest of it, when he pulled her by the hair and told her to strip and face the wall, she did. He looked like a man possessed and she didn’t want to cross that man in any which way.

 

Jodie trembled once she had started to undress. Her hands shook as she pulled her dark jeans around her ankles, her colorful Sesame Street panties she thought would be fun and youthful for her, became tangled around her knees. When William once again told her to undress, her body stiffened. She wanted to obey but her body went down into lockdown. William must’ve anticipated this, or at least was planning on it, because he was unbuckling his belt with one hand and locking the door with another.

 

When he smacked her, the jolt teleported her back to her childhood. Her father, a conservative catholic, caught her masturbating in her room and belted her with the strap. Jodie suddenly felt ashamed, confused, and sick to the stomach. She hadn’t thought about that incident for years now, her father’s voice – what he had said to her, had faded. ‘Filth’ was a word mentioned, that’s all she remembered.

 

William had her undress soon enough; the third strike of the belt did that for her. Tears had begun to swell in her eyes. She felt childish, sick. Elated. Excited. The mix made her queasy and kept her focus on the shame.

 

When Jodie was completely nude, William told her to raise both arms high above her. When Jodie hesitated, he struck her with the belt again, right across her ass, and as pain throbbed there, he proceeded to tell her to make haste.

 

Jodie felt exposed. At 32, she was still coming to terms with her own body and she wasn’t there yet, not really. Though friends and family told her she was slim and pretty, when Jodie looked in the mirror, all she saw was a mass of flab.

 

The man behind her – William, she reminded herself, As in Will from 12th grade – laughed softly. It wasn’t distasteful, or bitter. It sounded genuine, as if in shock. Or content. Or maybe, just maybe Jodie was reading too much into it and needed to break free.

 

He broke the silence, running his hand up her back, caressing the curves of her ass. She jumped at his touch, but something deep within her told her not to, as that piece of information was important.

 

‘Do you remember…that prayer they taught us in school? ‘God grant me the serenity..?’.

When he slapped the left side of her ass, she nodded.

‘Yes’ came her trembling voice.

‘Say it for me. Say it all for me, Jo’

There it was – Jo. Her father used to call her Jo. The father that had laid her over his knee and smacked her as punishment all those years ago. Jodie didn’t want that though, so she began to say the prayer, only it came out in a whimper.

 

She felt silly so she started again. Naked and bent over as she leaned into the cold tile wall, she shared the prayer, frozen still.

 

And yet he struck her, again and again, after each sentence.

The courage to change the things I can. 

SMACK.

and the wisdom to know the difference.

SMACK.

 

I noticed you are planning a bath. Candlelight, hm? How romantic’

Jodie had forgotten the water was rushing. She glanced down, steam filling her eyes. Just one splash could distract him enough for her to get away. Get downstairs.

He struck her again and her thoughts rattled away.

He left her side then, and that’s when her world plunged into darkness.

Candlelight danced up the walls lively as she trembled in the small space between the toilet and the bathtub.

‘Hypnotic, really’ Came William’s voice. ‘The flame. How it reaches, the mood it sets’

 

Her body started to scream, started to burn. A cry came out through Jodie’s moist lips but William silenced her with the palm of his hand.

They stood together in silence then, Jodie eyeing him from a side angle as the candle wax dripped down from the left side of her ass.

 

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate your sweet cries, they truly are a symphony. It’s just, now is not the time for that. A pity.’

His palm disappeared and allowed her to breathe, the air felt sweet to inhale down.

Wax hit the right side of her ass, and sizzled against her skin. The heat, the pain, was biting into her. Her knees buckled and she lost her footing, falling into the wall. Her breasts grazed the tiles, hardening at the cold.

 

‘Turn please’

Jodie looked back at the sound of his voice. ‘What?’

‘Turn’

The water stopped rushing at once.

Jodie looked down, perplexed, when William’s voice grew short. ‘Face me’.

Jodie turned to the direction of his voice and was met with that sharp heat, now familiar pain. It trickled down her right breast, circling around her nipple. Jodie whimpered.

She suddenly felt breath on her and realized it was William blowing on the wax around the nipple.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I imagined all these years you know?’

The sentence scared her. Was she going to die today?

 

Jodie could feel the wax growing stiff on her buttocks. Still, she knelt it against the cool tiles so as to take the edge off.

William had instructed her to keep her hands high above her, and she had done so, but fighting the impulse to scrape the wax off was hard. Worse, her hands felt like dead weight. They were starting to hurt.

 

When the wax dropped onto her left breast and sent a red-hot flare across her entire body, Jodie had to bite her lip to stop from screaming. She instantly tasted blood. When William blew softly on her left breast, and the nipple hardened in response, Jodie felt the weirdest sensation in her cunt. Tickling, was it? No. An ache? Not sure? Trying to think of what it was, what the mix was compromised of, took her mind away from the lingering red-hot flare on her tits.

 

There was a sound, shuffling feet. The movement in the light of the candle sent shadows dancing up the wall, like spidery limbs out on a mission. William was kneeling before her, Jodie saw. She could see this much.

 

His hand stretched across her to gently turn the bath’s tap – and the sound of water gushing broke the silence between them.

 

As the bath ran, just like Jodie intended, she sat there in the shadow of William, wax dripping in places she’d kept for her husband. New sensations flooded in, a mix of feelings, rage and arousal.

 

And yet, she gave in to William, could feel herself giving in as he spoke the words ‘And now we will clean you up’

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #9: Interlude III: Rite of Passage

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IT comes in fragments now,

Like images reflecting off pieces of broken glass,

Shifting, changing,

The more you move.

 

I remember the bed made up for me on the ground level,

I recall the wooden stairs that creaked so loudly that

When I awoke at the dawn of a new day,

I feared I would wake your house.

 

I remember the bed sat against a window that

Looked into the backyard pool.

I remember the name of the lively dog,

Who would wake me at the light of day.

 

And I remember you,

Tired and yet wide eyed,

Sneaking down the stairs

Dressed in a loose pink night dress that

Barely covered your breasts or your legs.

I remember the way your dark hair curled

Around your eyes.

I remember that look in your eyes,

You had to have more,

You had to see me.

Why else would the dawn wake you?

 

I know we kissed

Heavily

Lovers that had the world

Lovers that forgot time itself

I know you straddled me sometimes

Because I can sometimes still hear your giggle,

Soft and mischevious.

But now I’m old

And time itself has forgotten me.

 

So like fragments,

I have the world

And I have the memories.

I have the memories

And I have the sounds.

I have the sounds

and I have the sights.

 

And I remember,

Twisting the pool cue,

Sliding it deeper,

Hearing the whispered catch on your breath,

Catch on the guttural animal cry

escaping your lips

As you beg me to let you come.

 

It comes in fragments now,

The trembling subsiding,

The breathing slowing,

The waves of sleep surrounding us,

Dream taking over us.

 

Creativity begs torture

Sometimes I don’t mind,

Sometimes I do.

Glass can cut.

12 Days of BDSM Christmas 2017 – #8: Joy to the World

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Once upon a time, a man gave a lady a challenge. It was a cruel one: Sadistic, tough, psychological – but the lady, strong minded and used to toughening things out, took it upon herself to take the challenge.

 

It was a risky task: For each hour of the day, she was to bring herself close to orgasm but stop herself. Every time she did, she was to message the man her exploits. If she failed, she was to wait the next day blame start again. Only when the clock struck 12am was she allowed to orgasm, and she had to record it for the man for safe keeping.

 

For the first few hours, the lady found it fun. Exhilarating. She rose to the task of edging quietly in the bathroom of her work. The thrill of getting caught, she had said, drove her close each time.

 

By midday, she needed no time to bring herself close. She was already dripping, her panties soaked. She cursed the man and grazed her knuckles against the bathroom wall, but she stopped herself and she texted her exploits as arranged.

 

The Challenge became complicated when, after work, the lady’s friends invited her for after work drinks. The lady, sore and shivering and close to madness, didn’t want to. She felt like any tiny thing could bring her over. Every step felt heavy, and she could feel her panties twisted up her ass.

 

She wanted to fuck. Without rhyme or reason or love. The sheer primal madness shocked her, scared her. Anxiety pummeled her mind – and still she stumbled on her words, accepting the invitation out.

 

The pub was loud and distracting. Her friends told stories of the past, present and future, and the lady noticed things she never had noticed before – a friend’s cleavage, for example, or the light behind her eyes. Or the way her nose wrinkles as she smiles and laughs.

 

The lady was transported away from the conversation and for a full minute had tasted the juices of her friend, lapping up every drop as the friend moaned beneath her, cane beneath her.

 

Another hour had gone by. Then another. Each time, she texted the man, each time she stopped. Her vision was blurry; sweat was in beads across her face. Her nipples were sore, her cunt ached. She wanted to fuck, she wanted to come. She wanted to strip off and pour bourbon down her tits and let the whole pub suck it out of her skin, cleansing the pores, covering her in spittle.

 

For the train home, she thought of her co-worker, a blonde, blue eyed pretty thing. I wonder if she liked her nipples in a clamp, thought the lady, but pushed the image from the mind. The clock was close to the next hour, she noticed as she jiggles her legs.

 

She had to urinate but didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire, coming as she urinated. She didn’t want to be caught on the train, forced to come, because if she didn’t act, then the punishment would begin and she wouldn’t come.

 

On the hour, she came through the door. She found the man in the kitchen, doing the dishes. He stopped when he heard her and turned, facing her, his sharp eyes on her. He pointed at the clock.

 

He kept his finger extended to the clock on the wall; she wriggled out of her dress.

 

He continued to scrub dishes; she unclasped her bra and dropped it to the ground.

He continues to scrub dishes, she glided two fingers across her slick wet cunt, and letting out the moans she had also left behind in the pub and at work.

 

When it came 10pm, she was in tears, furiously rubbing herself. The man watched from across the room, his face propped up by his hands. She knelt before him, crying, grunting, and screaming.

 

She came, letting out a grunt she barely recognized. Her body, her entire body, trembled, and she collapsed sobbing, on the ground, her cunt squirting out the last of her juices on the wooden bedroom floor.

 

‘I made a mess’ the lady said, and apologized.

The man moved across the room and brought her to his arms and held her. He told her she was good, and that he was pleased.

‘I’ll clean it after this’

 

After the hug, after he cleaned her and the mess the both of them had made, the two lay tangled in a nude embrace.

‘You don’t know what that was like’ She said softly as she began to drift asleep.