The prompt for Wicked Wednesday was “Going Dutch”. And then she said “Interpret as you want.” something you should never say to me.

Been a while since I have done a WW, been a while since I’ve posted, but here it is.

He led her to a door with two knobs, one above the other.  Grabbing the highest one, he turned it and the top half of the door swung inward showing a candle lit room and just below the door, a table set with fine china and the aroma of roasted meats and savory tubers reached out to excite her pallet.  Fresh bread simmered under melting butter and wine chilled in an ice bucket.

Her Master was seated at the table.  He rose and crossed to her, kissing her tenderly and then bending her over the lip of the bottom half of the door.  He secured her elbows and forearms, trapping her bent over the partial door.

The man who’d lead her there took hold of the hem of her skirt and panties and wordless pulled them off her hips where they pooled at her feet.  He raised one foot and then the other to slip the cloth out from under her high heels and when he placed her feet back down, he made sure she was spread out wide.  Her ankles were attached to eyelets in the bottom of the door.

Her Master smiled and speared a piece of roast beef dripping with sauce.  He placed it gently on her tongue as the man walked away.  It was delicious and seemed to fall apart on her tongue.

CRACK! A paddle connected with her ass sharp and stung through her entire body. CRACK again and again.  Then a hand caressed the bright marks and her Master proffered another piece with some potato and a carrot.

The strange man who’d taken her to her Master was in the room with him, pouring the wine, but the hand on her naked ass went on without interruption.  She did not know who was there, what gender they were, or how far her Master would allow them to take her.

She was allowed a sip of the crisp, warming wine and then CRACK again across her buttocks setting her on fire and bringing her wetness to a flow. Fingers invaded her heating sex and began to stroke her core.  Two more hands rubbed her ass and thighs and a finger played around the edge of her ass.

She lost count of the fingers and lips that caressed and stroked her bare flesh as she tried to concentrate on the food being set gently in her mouth.  She squirmed and moaned in her bonds and gasped as she was suddenly filled from behind.  She looked into her master’s eyes and he smiled and nodded.  Her fantasy, sex with a stranger, an invisible man whose face she couldn’t see.  Her Master found him, vetted him and let him take her while he watched and sipped the wine.

Another stranger, the waiter who’d chained her and stripped her, stood watching her being used from behind as the mysterious cock pounded in and out, shaking the hinges of the door under his continuous thrusts.

She could feel him come, firing deep inside her and another took his place.  She climaxed as he entered her and again when his seed buried itself in her core.

CRACK! CRACK! The paddle struck her again as the white ropy ejaculate dripped from her sore, swollen cunt.  Somewhere between paddlings she came again from the pain.

They left her then, smiling and sharing her Master’s meal, red ass and dripping sex on display for all the world to see, but only a few handpicked fortunates to use.

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Just finished the text and cover for two stories that I am about to send to my publisher – Smutville Press.  Picnic and Munch are both little heavy breathing sex stories and a bit of fluff and fun.

I’ll announce on twitter when it’s out, but here’s a little bit of picnic 


There was a car already there.

The trees swayed in the wind, making the shadows dance along the high grass and roll over and back across the picnic tables.  There was enough of a wind to keep the flying insects at bay and to make it a perfect place for an assignation.

But there was car already there.

She lifted her right leg and placed the bare foot on the dashboard.  The pink shorts she wore dutifully slid over, exposing the white frilly panties she’d chosen for the occasion.  She reached over to his lap and rubbed the hardness that pressed against her hand.  She’d been teasing him since they left.

She pulled the tiny white panel of the crotch out from under the rolled fabric of the shorts murmuring about how wet she was, letting the gentle folds of flesh under it to peek through for a moment.

He pulled into the parking lot.  It was big enough for a dozen or so cars, she’d imagined he would go to the end of the lot away from the one interloper to their planned assignation, but he pulled one spot over from the intruder.  She looked at him, turning her head down, peering through thick lashes as the practiced little pout puffed her lower lip.

He reached beneath her foot, leaning between her legs and opened the glove box.  He removed a pair of scissors he found in there and reached under the flimsy shorts.

“HEY!” she called before she could stop herself, but by then the damage was done.  He’d taken hold of the waistband of the bright frilly panties and snipped it through.  She could feel the cloth give way around her waist.  He reached across her belly and slit the other side.

“They were pretty…” she murmured.

He reached between her legs, thumb skillfully sliding under the crotch of the shorts and grabbed her sex through the white panel of the now destroyed underwear.  She gasped as his rough touch electrified her to her core.

“Lift your ass,” he whispered.  He pulled the frillies out from the leg of the shorts, his fingers pulling her mound as he did.  “They are pretty,” he conceded and placed them on the dashboard of the car, spreading them out neatly.  “Now they can be enjoyed by so many more people.”



I HAD to do this week’s Wicked Wednesday.  I suggested the prompt, so I felt like it would be rude to not join in.

I wrote a story in an anthology (http://sirjaerls.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/deal-from-some-like-it-rough) located somewhere in this stream of consciousness blog, and the only negative review from Amazon boiled down to: it wasn’t realistic. 

No.  And that’s the point.  Pizza delivery guys and plumbers don’t get laid by the beautiful housewife either, it’s the FANTASY that people want to read … and write for that matter.  So I got the wild hair idea of “what would it look like to make it REAL“?  

So for better or worse, here is the ROMATICA (romantic erotica) and the REALITY.



Looking deeply into her eyes he smiled as his deft fingers slipped the sweater over her head and reached around for the clasp nestled between her shoulder blades.  Her back jumped and trembled as his powerful touch freed her from the confines of the bra and she lowered her gaze as she lowered her arms to allow him to slip the cloth away, baring her to his gaze.

Yet he held her eyes, and wrapping a hand behind her head, pulled her in for a deep lingering kiss that spoke of passion, need and desire.

She fumbled a bit with his shirt, cursing the small buttons that delayed even for a moment when she could touch him, feel him, the warmth of his skin, the fur on his chest, the belly she was so anxious to hold. In a glittering shower of buttons, the shirt won free.

He reached for her again and in a frenzied orgy of cloth and moans, they undressed each other, clenched, locked in step, bodies pressed as closely together as they could be while fevered grasping hands bared more flesh until finally they were both free of their clothing.

He lifted her in his arms, lips locked breath shared and lay her on the bed.  Looming over her, watching her he lowered himself as she guided him in.  Her breath caught in a half sob and her mouth fell open as she moaned.

“So good,” she whispered, her voice dark with desire.


He lifted her shirt as it stuck in the hem of her skirt.  A quick tug freed the tail of the shirt and caused his fist, clenched in the stubborn cloth to slam against her breast.  Her gasp of pain came at the same time as his apology.    She grasped his neck and leapt to his mouth, clashing her teeth on his.

Ignoring the stinging he felt in his mouth, he began to kiss down the side of her neck and pulled her shirt off over her head, the sound of her glasses clattering on the tile somewhere in the distance.  Setting to work on the bra clasp he pulled the straps tight and sought to open the clasps one by one while using his feet to wedge off his shoes.  The bra twisted and the clasps jammed.

She batted his hands away and reached behind her to undo the clasps and pulled the bra free.  His left shoe skittered across the floor and he grabbed her breasts, filling his hands and leaning down to kiss her again.  His open mouth covered her nose for a moment before he was able to try again with more precision.

She reached for the buttons on his shirt, mumbling in his mouth about the frustration of buttons at a time like this.  Frustrated, she pulled the shirt open shredding it as the buttons held when the cloth could not.

His stocking foot fought the right shoe, but it refused to slip off the way its mate had done.

He stripped her skirt and panties and she fought his belt.  He batted her hands away and opened his pants.  In a single savage act, she tore his pants down and he gasped as her fingernails scored long red welts over his thighs.

He stepped out of the left leg of his pants; the right leg still stuck by the reluctant shoe like a clog and picked her up in his arms, swinging her to the bed.  Her foot caught the lamp and the bulb shattered, scattering glass across the floor.

Laying her on the bed, he lay over her as she held him.  As he lowered himself she smiled and a moment later whispered, “Are you in yet?”


Actually, that was kind of fun.  I may have to try that in an expanded version.

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The WickedWednesday Challenge this week was “Write from the Point of View of and old car that has gotten a new paint job”. I have never really taken direction well, but what the hell, this was kind of fun to do it wrong.
Then too, I was supposed to keep it under 1000 words. I failed. It’s 1021. Yeah, what a rebel.

“Lady Kar,” Lord Canton cried out as he was escorted into the perfumed opulence of the drawing room. The woman who smiled in return offered her gloved hand for his kiss.

“Lord Canton,” she purred, a stately cat, proud and well aware of herself. “Welcome back. You’ve been gone too long, you naughty boy!” Canton blushed at the gentle teasing. Calling him a “boy” was as flattering as calling Lady Kar a girl.

“I have been abroad, Madame,” he replied, reclaiming his walking stick from the diaphanous half naked young girl who escorted him. “I’ve only just returned and paid a visit straight away!”
“An honor as always, Lord Canton. And just in time also, I might add.”

“Indeed? And what manner of temptation have you in store today?” Lord Canton’s eyebrow lent an air of lascivious sincerity to his inquiry but his eyes carefully regarded the calculated sway of the girl’s hips as she left the two of them to their negotiations. It wasn’t until they were completely alone that he turned back to the Madame.

“A rare find, sir, a rare find indeed. While you were away and causing us to worry so about your absence,” she pursed her mouth into a mue in playful recrimination, “ I have come upon such an exotic beauty as you have never witnessed. She will be displayed this very evening!”

“Displayed?” Lord Canton echoed. “Not used?”

“Well, my lord, tonight will be special indeed. Tonight I have paired her with two strapping young men of some beauty. They shall be in the spotlight and those fortunate enough to witness will be in the shadows. Anonymity for all sorts of dire happenings.”

“I see.” Canton pursed his lips. “Alone in the dark,” he said slowly signaling the beginning of the negotiations. “Not unlike the insufferable accommodations I endured on my journey. “Surely there is a greater temptation?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Kar smiled. It was a point of pride that even at her age, her teeth were white and straight. A rarity she exploited to her best advantage. “We do of course offer the finest companions for your watching enjoyment.”

“I think, Madam, I have a counter proposal. I should like to offer you half again the usual fee – but I insist that I be escorted by you yourself.”

It was the last thing she’d expected him to say and for the first time in many years she was left without a comeback. “Lord Canton,” she swallowed. “You are a dear man, but I no longer…”

“Nonsense, Villma,” he dropped all pretense of distant propriety. “You’re still a lovely woman. I want you on your knees before me with your mouth around me. I’ve wanted it for some time now.”

Lady Kar smiled, and though the professional woman tallied the coin such a liaison would bring, there was a genuine glee in her smile that radiated over her face and under the powder and rouge.

“Come then, my lord,” she took his arm and indicated a private booth. Here a panel of the wall slid open and Lord Canton had a grand view of a stage lit by candle and gas. The action had already begun and the girl – a nubile young thing with skin as dark as brandy had just finished disrobing.

“Exotic indeed Lady Kar,” he whispered appreciatively. The Madam smiled and leaned against him, her hand resting idly on the front of his pants. Her fingers trailed slow circles over his hardening member and she could hear his breath catch as she found the parting of his trousers.

The new girl in the lamplight stroked her pert breasts and pulled the nipples as from the shadows, two figures entered the light. Both were young men Lord Canton had seen in the house before, servants for the main, but available for those members who preferred males or liked to be voyeurs instead of participants.

The girl grabbed the first male aggressively by his belt and tore it free, allowing his pants to fall. The man’s sex was enormous and she bent to lavish him with her tongue. The other male appeared behind her and eyed the thick black bush around her delicate skin. Dropping his own pants, he held her hips lining up his cock.

Lady Kar opened Lord Canton’s buttons one by one and pulled him free. The lace of her gloves wrapped around him and pulled on his hardening shaft as they watched the second young man split the girl. The exotic girl groaned and bucked but never lost the cock in her lips. She pulled on the first man’s balls and Canton watched with growing arousal as the incredible length of the man disappeared down her throat. He groaned.

“You like what you see, my lord?” Lady Kar whispered her voice husky.

“Luck bastard, that.” He said

She smiled and released him, his ridged cock standing straight from his hips. She turned to him and slowly descended to her knees, voluminous dress pooling at her waist. She took the member in her mouth and incredibly, he grew even larger.

The Madame should have been watching the grand attraction. It was making her a lot of money with all the gentlemen and even a few ladies that gathered in the shadows. She should have been sure that it went smoothly for her guests, but Lord Canton wanted her. With all the girls and young women in the house to choose from, he was willing to pay EXTRA for the Madame.

She dove upon his cock with an enthusiasm she hadn’t felt for a long time. Taking him deep into her throat she used every technique and trick she’d learned over a lifetime of pleasuring men. Lord Canton groaned and closed his eyes and Lady Kar stroked him and let his discharge glaze her face.

When he was done, she smiled and kissed the tip of his manhood, licking the last of the moisture away. She tenderly put him back together and rose, his discharge still glistening on her face.

“Pardon me, Lord Canton,” she smiled. “I will return shorty, I need some fresh paint.”

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I was accused of misogyny. 

I laughed.  I was accused by someone that I never met who knows nothing about me except that I identified myself on twitter as a sadist and Dom.  That was all they needed to make an assessment. 

I don’t talk about my sadism, my role as a dominant, or my desire to see a woman squirm and beg and lose the barriers that keep her isolated as we all are in this world.  I limit that to here and to twitter. 

This is one reason why.

Look upon a woman in the throes of passion; look at the muscles that constrict, the flesh that spasms and jumps and all under my touch.  This is beauty restrained and gifted to me in a way deeper and more intimate than any vanilla relationship could reach.

Look into her eyes.  The fire of intelligence that sparks her day, the powerful brilliance of an agile mind subsumed under passion and emotions she might not even know were there.  Barriers fall under the strain of the body’s attention.  When a bright, powerful woman lets herself fall to instinct and desire and becomes little more than the grunting, straining mindless need, it is the greatest gift imaginable that she would allow me to take her there, keep her there and allow me to release her.

D/s can be a misogyny/misandry practice.  There are those who see the tools: the whips, chains, ropes, paddles and think they are Doms.  These are dangerous, foolish children playing with another human blindly and without concern for their partners.  I wish they didn’t exist, but they are legion.

For me, my sadism, my control is all about bringing her to a level she’s never known – taking her deeper into the primal “I” where the lizard knows only the need, the desire and the power of release. Therein lays a beauty breathtaking and intense.  Therein lays a fire that is blinding and deep. 

I can make her cry, laugh, moan.  I can make her need, I can make her scream, I can make her pass out.  But she warms my soul in the light of that fire and her rise and fall brings to me an intimacy that enwraps my heart and fills my soul.

Misogynist?  Quite the opposite.  I am a sadist and a dom because I can clear away the borders, tear down the walls and with breathless wonder touch her core, caress her soul.  And when she wakes, if she is in my arms, if it is me she sees and holds and clutches like rescued child, my heart finds completion and I know for that moment, for that instant in time, she is mine.  I will rebuild her walls, I will rebuild her defenses, but now I can do it from the inside.

And when we part for the day, for a week, or sadly forever, she will be as much a part of me as I am of her.  I will never let that moment go, even if it ends badly, that moment in time is MINE forever.

In the darkness when the shadows come, at work when the politics are crushing, in traffic when I am the only one who values his vehicle, I reach for that moment and remember the sweating, unconscious naked woman in my arms whose eyes flutter open just enough to smile at me.  I will remember how she strains every muscle to give my beard a kiss.

it’s then I let her into my barriers and let her past my walls.  After care is as much for me as for her. 


It’s NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and all the moments I can steal are dedicated to creating a new book of no less than 50K words.  

But this week’s Wicked Wednesday is “When Pain Because Pleasure”, and that’s my theme song!  I could NOT turn away from this WW, so I dug into the archives (yes, I have archives) and found two pieces that I think work rather well for this assignment.

Forgive some old poetry, but enjoy if you can:



Light coalesces to a pinpoint

Life shrinks to an endpoint

Body arches in writhing pain

Torn throat pleading “do it again”

Orgasms that tear and burn

Emotions, sensations bubble and churn

Physical creation of emotional pain

Share with me, all one and the same

A gift I can give, one with release

Sharing anguish without grief

Connection, reflection, reaching accord

Building, releasing: a two edged sword

I grant you my pain, but from

Love I grant your freedom

It’s here in my arms


This one I wanted to play with.  It’s called “Counting” because I started a refrain with two word sentences and then three and four and five.  Despite the play with word count, it turned out to be fair.



Clamp bites

Neck arches

Mouth parts

Tongue lifts

Teeth clench

Eyes close

Breath catches

Back arches

Arms tense

Legs shudder

Sex moistens

Fingers flex

Belt caresses flesh

Red welts rise

Horse cries echo

Torso twists, lifting

Legs strain restraints

Eyes fly open

Mouth bares teeth

Neck powers cries

Shoulders press table

Writhing against ropes

Feet curl up

Fingers into fists

Cane caresses tender flesh

Bruises and welts dance

Blood rushes in hot

Eyes cross and close

Face pulls in pain

Ass jumps and flexes

Hands reach out blind

Sobbing screams sharply muted

Moisture hot on thighs

Beaten, spanked and now taken

Used and loved and dominated

Eyes glazed all but love

Body shakes and trembles again

Touch and sex and pain

Release and love and passion

It’s all the same emotion

Intimacy without shame, soul deep


I love this topic…

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When an artist prepares to do a painting, especially a large painting detailing many people and lots of action, he will often create a “study”, meaning that he will do a mini-painting or sketch of some detail to better have an idea where it will fit and to help create a feel for the finished work.

My NaNo this year is a “sword and sorcery” high fantasy/horror novel.  Although it will have a lot of explicit sex, it’s not erotica in that the sex isn’t the point of the work, it’s incidental.  Here then is a study for that work.  I wont be including this in the novel, or at least not in this form, but it gives me (and you if you care) an idea what the tone will be for the tale.


The sword stopped with an abruptness that sent a thrill up His arm.  The blade gave a dull “thunk” as it struck and shattered bone.  The corpse at the other end of His arm slumped and nearly tore the blade from His hand.  The hilt and pommel were slick with the spilled blood of nameless, uncounted dead and only the grip of tightly wrapped leather let Him hold the weapon long enough to wrench it free.

In the same motion the blade flew across the front of His horse and blocked a feeble blow from some farmer’s get.  A shock of brown hair, a face too young to have ever known a razor were the instant impressions He had before the horse reared under His spurs and crushed the boy’s head with a shod hoof the size of dinner plate.

The screaming of men and horse was deafening.  His voice, battle trained and tried, screamed defiance and rage, hate for enemies and all that ever lived.  Another sweep of the blade and another gusher of blood added to the slick red mud under the horse’s hooves.

From the corner of His eye, He saw the banner droop, the numb hands slipping away from the boy who once held it.  An arrow had found its way into the youth’s eye and death had taken him before the body could fall.

He dropped His shield and reached, capturing the pole and banner in His left hand.  Rising up, the sturdy shaft blocked an axe blow and a sizable chip of wood splintered off and spiraled over His head.  Behind the battered flimsy helm, the attacker’s grizzled craggy face was battle crazed.  It was a look He knew well.  Another block with the thick pole and the sword reached over the horse and came down on the axman’s head, cleaving it open, parting the bone like cracking an egg.

The standard swooped back again, the pike at the top of the flagpole severing a neck.  The gush of life’s blood stained the flag a dark crimson.

He spurred the horse around to find He was alone in circle of death.  His troops fought on in small pockets, one on one. He rose in the saddle, standing in the stirrups.  In a voice strange even to Him, raw from battle, burning from hours of fighting and screaming orders, yelled one more command.

Waving the banner high, blood of His foes spraying from the motion of the flapping grisly flag till he and his mount were thick with crimson, He called his soldiers to Him, rallying on His command.

The battle was won.  The enemy defeated.

They might have surrendered.  He’d made the offer.  They’d refused.

“NO MERCY!” was the hoarse call that echoed over the final dying screams of men as the horde of demons that called Him “Master” rode over the last of the unarmed defenders.