Masturbation Monday: “The Patterned Carpet”

A black and white photo of a naked woman kneeling on a patterned carpet about to take a clothed man's cock into her mouthThe patterned carpet is rough against my knees. When I put my just-above-the-knee dress back on, will everyone see the redness there and know exactly what I’ve been up to? Will they think I’m a slut? Do I care if they do?

My thoughts are silenced at the sight of his cock springing, already fully erect, from his unbuttoned jeans. This is what I’ve been wanting all night, and he knows it. When he brought me out here to this deserted corridor, told me to take off my dress and pushed me down on my knees, he was in no doubt that it was exactly what I wanted.

I lick my lips and part them eagerly, wordlessly inviting him to fuck my mouth. He takes his cock into his hand and holds it towards my waiting lips, offering it to me.

“Come and get it then, girl.”

I take him all the way into my mouth in one swift movement. It’s been a while since I sucked a cock, especially one as magnificent as this. But muscle memory is powerful and he moans loudly as his head hits the back of my throat. I slide my mouth up and down on him, sometimes deepthroating as far as I can go, sometimes pulling most of the way back and teasing the head of his shaft with my tongue.

I close my eyes and surrender to the taste of him, the salty pre-cum that begins to drip onto my tongue, the surprising softness of his rock-hard erection. Nothing matters except getting him off. I can tell when he’s getting close, because he grabs the back of my head to hold me in place. To hold is cock in the back of my throat. I gag, but he doesn’t care. Good. I don’t want him to care. I want to be a vessel for his cock, thoughtless and blank, naked before him for his use.

He gasps and then, with a long moan, releases down my throat. I revel in the taste of hot, sticky, salty come. When he eventually releases me, satisfied, I pull back and  some of it drips from my mouth and down my chin. I catch it with a finger and suck the finger clean, needing to taste every drop of him.

He buttons his jeans and  leaves me there on the floor, patterned carpet burning my bare knees, my cunt and inner thighs slick with my arousal. And I am satiated.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by Zen Nudist AKA Kilted Wookie, and was first published here.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Words Words Words”

A woman's breast just out of the water in a bubble bath with erotic words written on it.There aren’t many rules in our dynamic. My Sir is pretty laid back and isn’t really interested in micromanaging me or placing so many restrictions upon me that I’m bound to trip over one or another. One of the rules I do have to follow, though, is this: I’m not allowed to talk negatively about myself.

I’m so sick of this fucking thesis. I’ve been battling it for weeks and every time I think I’ve beaten it into some form of shape, I find something else wrong with it that needs fixing. I sigh and shut my laptop with a click. Put my head in my hands on the desk. Across the room, Sir spins around in his chair to look at me.

“You okay, Kitten?”

“I can’t do this!” I blurt out. “Just… I can’t. I’m too fucking stupid to do this. Why did I think I could?” Fuck. It takes me a second to realise I’ve broken the rule.

“Kitten…” his voice has a note of warning in it. I almost no longer care.

“What? It’s true”.

He pushes back from the desk and stands. “Come upstairs with me. Now”. Shit. I follow him meekly. In the bedroom, he tells me to take off my clothes and lie face up on the bed. My mind starts to race as I strip off. What’s he going to do? I was expecting possibly a spanking, but he clearly has something else in mind. That’s when I notice he’s got his favourite fountain pen in his hand.

He straddles me on the bed, his knees either side of my thighs. He’s still fully dressed. He pops the cap off the pen.

“Keep still,” he tells me.

“Sir?”

“I’m sick of you putting yourself down. Obviously punishing you hasn’t worked, so we’re going to try something else. Don’t move. If you squirm and make me mess up, I will punish you”.

The pen makes contact with my stomach first, just below my belly button. It tickles. I squeak but manage not to move. He’s writing something. I can’t tell what. Higher up my stomach, he writes something else. Then he leans over and adorns each of my breasts with yet more words. Down both my arms, along my collarbone, along the tops of my thighs.

He shifts position and uses one of his legs to make me spread mine. I resist the temptation to grind my cunt into his knee. His hand so close to my cunt that it brushes against the outer lips, I can feel myself growing wet. He writes something on my inner thigh. And just like that, this tiny bit of non-stimulation is all I get and he’s pushed my legs back together and is writing something on my lower abdomen. The whole thing probably takes less than five minutes, though it feels like much longer. He sits back and replaces the pen cap.

“Now go and look in the mirror”.

I hop up and cross over to the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door. For the first time, I see the words he’s written all over my body in his beautiful handwriting.

Beautiful. Capable and competent. Imperfect perfection. Talented. Kind. Funny. Sexy. Cute. Gorgeous. Smart. I feel tears starting to prickle in my eyes.

I part my legs to see what he wrote on my inner thigh, close to my cunt. The word is backwards in the reflection but there is no mistaking what it says, his favourite of all the words he uses about me: MINE. The first tear spills over.

He comes over and brushes the tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Kitten. You’re going to stand there for fifteen minutes and feast your eyes upon your gorgeous body with the way I see you written all over it. Then I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while you read them all back to me”.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week. Featured image is the utterly gorgeous Livvy and was first published as “Erotica“.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday plus other fun perks every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Canvas”

A woman with a flower tattoo on her back facing away from the camera. For a Masturbation Monday story called CanvasShe was his canvas.

Anna lay, nude, face down on the massage-bed. The whir and buzz of the machinery had long ago lulled her into a meditative state. This, combined with the delicious pain down one side of her back and the occasional reassuring touches from her Master, made Anna feel as though she were floating. She was only dimly aware, on the edges of her consciousness, that she was so wet she was surely soaking the towels beneath her.

She had never wanted a tattoo before she met Cameron. Sure, she could admire the beauty and artistry when she saw them on other people, but the idea of getting one herself scared her. Not the pain, so much, but the permanence. Could etching something on her skin for life ever be a good idea? Cam had changed all that. Not just a tattooist but a true artist, he prided himself on creating beautiful, unique work for every client and giving them something they could look at and admire for years to come.

“I want you to tattoo me,” she told him on the eve of her fortieth birthday. “For my birthday.”

Cam had pursed his lips, fork hovering in mid air on the way to his mouth in surprise. “Are you sure?” he’d asked. She nodded emphatically. “Okay. What sort of tattoo do you want?”

“Something beautiful. Something us. I want it to mark me as yours.”

Cam had simply nodded, and they had gone on with their meal. This morning, she had come downstairs to find the massage bed laid out in the living room, and Cam setting up his equipment. He’d asked her if she was sure. She told him she had never been more sure of anything.

She wondered what he – her Dom, her Master, her Love – was putting on her body.

No names, she’d said emphatically. And nothing that I can’t show off in public if we go to the beach or the pool. Beyond those stipulations, she’d given him freedom – her body to use as his canvas.

The whirring slowed and stopped. Pausing from his work, Cam stroked a hand down the middle of Anna’s back, carefully avoiding his fresh handiwork. She drew in her breath.

“How are you doing, my love?” he asked her.

“I’m perfect,” she whispered back.

“There’s still an hour or two of work to finish it off. But you’re being such a good girl, you deserve a treat first.” His hand was rubbing her arse as he said these words. He delivered a sharp smack to each cheek, making her squeal in pleasurable pain. Then his fingers were sliding down past her arse, between her legs, pushing them slightly apart. She blushed furiously, thankful he could not see her face, knowing what he was going to find.

“You’re dripping,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice, as his fingers found the core of her arousal. “Why is that, slut?”

“I like the pain. And you putting your permanent mark on me. And…” she trailed off as one finger slid inside her cunt. He quickly found her G-spot and pressed against it firmly, while his thumb found her erect clitoris and started to circle it. Anna gasped and lifted her hips eagerly from the table to meet his fingers.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he murmured, rubbing her clit a little more firmly. “Plenty of the women I tattoo get aroused during. And the men, too.” She moaned, this thought producing another flood of wetness in her cunt. “Only I don’t do this to them, of course. But I can always spot which ones are the masochists. The ones who get all gooey eyed and floaty like you were doing just now. And I know they’ll go home and wank off furiously when I’m done with them.”

She was humping his hand with abandon now. A second finger joined the first in her vagina, while his thumb continued its assault of her now very swollen clit.

“Sir, I’m close…” she moaned. Cam grinned, wondering for just a second whether he should stop and do the rest of the tattoo while she tried not to squirm with unfulfilled arousal. But she was such a good girl, and this was a special occasion.

“Come on then, girl,” he commanded, redoubling his efforts. Then he leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “come for me, my love.”

Anna’s whole body jerked as she came, gushing over Cam’s hand and soaking through the towels beneath her. The sound she made was half mewl, half growl. Then her Master was withdrawing his fingers from her, stroking her hair, telling her she was a good girl. Her cunt spasmed, sending aftershocks through her body. She could not remember the last time she had come so explosively and so quickly.

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured.

She heard the buzz as Cam started up his tattoo machine again. “Lie still now, sweetheart, and let me finish decorating you.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image is by the gorgeous Marie Rebelle and was originally published as “Negative”.

 

Masturbation Monday: “Dining Alone”

Today’s Masturbation Monday comes from a prompt by Mr CK – “write about going to a restaurant and getting it on with the hot waitress.” Well okay then!

A woman sitting alone reading at a restaurant table. For a Masturbation Monday piece called "Dining Alone". I noticed her the moment I walked in. Long waves of red hair, barely contained by the sensible ponytail, curves filling the modest-yet-sexy knee length black dress, a smattering of freckles from the summer sun across the bridge of her nose, grey-green eyes. So my type it hurts.

So straight it hurts, I tell myself as she asks me where I’d like to sit and shows me to a quiet booth at the back of the restaurant. The girls you like always are. I’ve been on this business trip ten days and I’m sick of everything this boring little town has to offer – which isn’t much. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since I stepped off the plane.

I order my glass of wine, my starter, my main course, and each time she comes to take an order or bring me something I try not to stare. The shape of her breasts in that dress – not to mention the fact that I haven’t had sex or even masturbated in weeks – has my cunt dripping into my knickers. I reach into my bag for my book, the book I’ve been secretly reading at night in my hotel room. Do I actually dare read it here, in public?

Fuck it, I think. No-one here is paying attention, and even if they do, they don’t know me.

Of course, the filth on the page just has me even wetter, reading about women doing filthy things to each other and imagining the beautiful waitress in those scenarios with me.

“What are you reading?” she asks, coming over to clear my starter plate away. I jump and look up guiltily, slamming the book shut and shoving it onto my lap under the table. To my disbelief, she reaches down and grabs it to take a look.

Best Lesbian Erotica,” she reads out loud, an eyebrow raised. Her gaze moves from the book cover to my now scarlet face. “Really now?”

“Research…” I stammer.

“Sure, babe.” She hands the book back to me. “More wine?”

“What? Oh. Uh. Yes. Please.”

She takes my glass and saunters away without another word. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was swinging her hips and ass deliberately to taunt me. Not knowing what else to do, I return to my book. When she brings my wine and, a few minutes later, my main course, I dare to flash what I hope is a flirtatious smile at her.

Judge me for reading porn in public, I dare you!

“Is everything okay?” she asks, appearing by my table again as I’m half way through my spaghetti alla carbonara. I nod, my mouth full. She pulls a pen out of her breast pocket, grabs the spare napkin from the unused place setting opposite me, scrawls a quick note and shoves it towards me. This all seems to happen in a single fluid movement, and she’s walking away again.

Shift finishes in twenty. When you see me go through the door in the far left corner, follow me – code is 1013. Don’t let my colleague see you. We won’t be disturbed. 

I nearly choke on my mouthful of spaghetti. Even as I’m telling myself that this is insane, I know that I will go. After all, when a beautiful woman summons you with such calm authority, what else can you do?

I keep my eyes on my food and occasionally glance at my watch as the ten minutes ticks down. At precisely one minute past ten, I watch out of the corner of my eye as she waves goodnight to her colleague and saunters to the back of the restaurant and out of sight.

Am I really going to do this? Do I dare? In a second, I decide. I throw down enough cash to cover my meal and a generous tip – a very generous tip – and head in the same direction, one eye on the other waitress, now the only person working. As she’s ringing up another customer, I seize my moment, punch in the code, and shut the “staff only” door behind me. I just have time to take note of that fact that we’re in a large and deserted commercial kitchen, all silver and chrome, when…

“I knew you’d come.”

She’s sitting on one of the shiny counter-tops, stockinged feet now free of her high-heeled shoes, sipping from a glass of what looks like whisky on the rocks.

“I don’t really know…”

I was going to say I don’t really know why I did, but she cuts me off. “Shush. You’ve been eye-fucking me since the moment you walked in. Lucky for you, I think you’re kinda cute too.” She hops down and comes towards me. She’s shorter than me without her tall shoes, but the confidence and power she exudes leaves me in no doubt who’s in charge.

My mind starts to race. Is she toying with me? Is this some kind of joke? What if someone walks in at any second? Then she presses her perfect, red, whisky-flavoured lips to mine, and I stop thinking about anything at all.

She pushes me back against the closed door, fingers twisting their way into my hair as we kiss. I think I moan, but the sound is swallowed by the kiss. I cannot remember the last time my cunt was so wet from nothing more than kissing and feeling someone’s body pressed up against mine.

She nudges my legs apart with her hand, then brings her leg between mine, thigh pressing against my cunt. Even through my tights and knickers, I’m sure she can feel the heat and wetness. Shameless, now, I grind against her, desperate for more stimulation. God, how long has it been? Can a few short weeks of no sex really make me into such a wanton slut?

I gasp when the leg is moved and replaced by her hand, the ends of long, elegant fingers dancing ever-so-softly against my cunt through the two thin layers of clothing. She’s teasing me, because she can see how much I want it.

“Please…” I whimper against her mouth.

“Is this what you want?” she asks, slipping her hand under the waistband of my tights and into my knickers, making contact with my desperate cunt at last. My gasp of pleasure is the answer she needs. When her fingers make contact with my clit and begin to circle it, I cannot help my moaning.

“You have to be quiet,” she says. “Can’t have you getting me caught and in trouble. If you make too much noise I’ll have to stop.” Her calm dominance and her talented fingers have me weak at the knees, gladly wanting to do anything she says, anything to please her. Another rush of wetness coats my already soaked panties.

I’ve always been loud in bed. It’s just the way I am. Back in my university days, my housemates hated it when I brought this girl or that boy home for a night of passion (which was often) because it meant none of them were getting any rest that night. But I believe this beautiful woman when she tells me that she will stop fingering me if I make too much noise, and all I want in the world right now is for her fingers to keep going, keep pushing me towards bliss.

Her rubbing has changed. Faster now, and harder, my own juices providing all the lubrication we need. I bury my face in her shoulder, in her hair, to hold back my sounds. My clit feels harder than I can ever remember it being, and I’m thrusting my hips, humping her hand with my cunt. I’m so close! For some reason it comes to me to ask her permission.

“Please can I come?” I whisper frantically.

“Just from this little bit of attention? God, you really were gagging for it, weren’t you?”

The flush of embarrassment nearly pushes me over the edge. “Oh, god, please…”

“You can come if you can do it quietly.”

My mouth opens into a scream but no sound comes out. Somehow, holding the sound in makes my orgasm even more intense and I come, harder than I have ever come before, in this stranger’s hand.

As I grab at the wall to steady myself, she places a small kiss upon my lips and then withdraws her hand from my knickers and shoves her sticky fingers into my mouth.

“Clean your mess up,” she orders. I suck the fingers clean, the musky smell and taste of my own cunt making me realise how much I want to taste hers.

“Can I…?” I ask, already crouching before her and starting to push her dress up.

“No. My colleague will be in here any minute and you need to be gone by then.” I swallow my disappointment as my hopes of getting to bury my face between her perfect legs are dashed. Then, perhaps inspired by her, I have a flash of daring.

“Quick. Give me your phone.” She does. I punch in the name of my hotel and my room number. “I’m here two more nights. Come and find me and I’ll return the favour.”

It’s not until she’s kissed me once more and then shoved me out of the back door and into the night that I realise I never caught her name.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction with #BonusSmutTuesday, every single week by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

[Guest Post] “Three Pairs of Ruined Panties, Two Delicious Dinners, and One Squirming Sex-Blogger Slut” by Quinn Rhodes

Today I am super honoured to be hosting a guest blog by the gorgeous and talented Quinn of On Queer Street. She’s so brilliant I am frequently amazed when I remember 1) how young she is and 2) how new she is to sex blogging. Definitely an up-and-c0ming talent to watch out for, and a woman I am privileged to call a friend. I’ll let her introduce herself…

– Amy

___________________________

A woman's body from the waist to mid-thigh, wearing black lace knickers and drawing a heart on her hip and belly with red lipstick. For a guest post by Jadis Liddell.

Hey, I’m Quinn Rhodes, a queer sex blogger who writes erotica, reviews sex toys and talks about mental health. I blog at On Queer Street, and am on Twitter at On Queer Street. I’ve been blogging for less than six months, so I was really excited, but also really nervous, to pitch this post to the wonderful Amy at Coffee & Kink, who I have a wee bit of a writer-crush on. I recently had my first threesome , a really interesting conversation about reclaiming the word ‘slut’, and took myself out on a date…

(And yes, bonus points will be given to those who sing the title of this post to the tune of the Christmas song that I have been told off – and spanked – for singing in May.)

While I’m sure there are many people who arrive at my blog looking for more science-related-content than my erotica delivers, I am at heart a scientist and a very curious person. A few weeks ago, I realised I had a unique opportunity to conduct a very fun experiment that played into many of my kinks and could hopefully help me learn something new about my sexuality.

I had a date for kinky play with two cute humans lined up in the next few weeks, and we’d spent a lot of time discussing and negotiating sexy fun for our adventure together. Lots of this involved playing into my kinks of denial and humiliation, with them making fun of me for how wet and needy my cunt was after they’d tormented me to their satisfaction. To help with this, and especially so we could explore them teasing me in public, I’d bought a new toy: specifically, the Desire butterfly vibrator from Lovehoney. (Reviewed by Amy here).

I was about to enter a week of denial when I wasn’t allowed to masturbate – following on from a few days when I was allowed to wank but not orgasm – to make sure that I was a horny mess by the time I got to play with them. I think this was guaranteed anyway, but they wanted to be certain. (As well as see me squirm, because they are a wonderful sadistic bastard and a mean-in-the-best-way switchy girl respectively.) However, I hadn’t tried out the new toy yet, and I was struck with inspiration for how to do so.

Something I’d been meaning to do since the start of 2018 was taking myself out on a date – which I was defining as getting dressed up and going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. In my mind, it was an expression of self-care and self-love, and as well as a reminder that I am not ‘less’ because I’m not in relationship. Since my mental health meant I hadn’t yet done it at this point, I decided that I would combine testing my toy with taking myself out to dinner. I wore cute knickers, new tights, a pretty dress, a belt that matched my boots… and under all of it, a vibrator strapped to my cunt.

With instructions from my to-be-play-partners to be a good girl and turn the vibe on while you’re talking to someone, slut, I headed off on my date. In my handbag, the remote for the butterfly lay next to my new LGBTQIA+ YA novel, but by the time I’d reached the end of the street I’d slipped it into my pocket and had fun testing out the settings as I walked to my restaurant of choice.

As I was treating myself and ordering a luxurious three courses, I had lots of time to play with the toy. Like the obedient girl I am, I turned the vibrator on while ordering my dishes and asking for the bill, but I might have tweaked exactly how powerful the vibrations were for that. (Though they don’t know that, so ssshh!) While eating my food, I had the remote on my lap, and wiggled slightly as I increased and decreased the intensity and tried to find the position where I could maximise its stimulation on my clit.

Using the toy in such a public space, occasionally biting my lip to stop any little whimpers escaping, was extremely arousing. It felt like I had a dirty little secret, and I fantasised about getting off while surrounded by all the unsuspecting customers… or someone seeing me trying to get off and striding over to pull my dress up and expose what a filthy girl I was. It will be a surprise to none of you that my knickers were soaked with my arousal by the time I got home.

That was the first phase of my experiment. The next was trying it out when someone else held the remote, to see if it was hotter when someone else was in control.

Everything about my first threesome was brilliant, but I did especially enjoy the moment where I was told to put on the butterfly vibrator so we could go out and get food. They checked that the straps were tight and made me hold it away from my cunt (my poor, aching, hadn’t-been-touched-for-a-week cunt) so they could make sure it worked. I’d been given orders that I was to make sure the toy was charged so they could use it on me, and at the moment they tested its vibrations my bratty side wondered what they’d do to me if it wasn’t… but it was, so the game was on.

I’m a big fan of Japanese food but I’m not sure I fully appreciated the deliciousness of the sushi and noodles I consumed that night. The couple I was with passed the remote back and forth between them under the table, so I could only tell from their smirks who was toying with my cunt at any particular moment. They looked at me earnestly with completely innocent expressions, engaging me in conversation as they turned the vibrations up and watched my struggle to form coherent sentences.

They played with me in a way that was humiliatingly hot and they did it in such a delightfully gleeful way. I don’t think they made me order food; something that I’d been looking forward to and dreading in equal cunt-clenching measure. But I wasn’t brave – or stupid – enough to give my tormentors this especially devious idea to make me squirm.

On the way half-hour journey to their house, I sat in the back of their car with my legs spread and begged the mean pretty girl to turn on the vibrator while I made a mess of the seat under me. I loved every humiliating second.

But there’s another element: did you notice that my title says three pairs of ruined knickers? I admit, I may have simplified for the purpose of a clever blog title – the actual number is probably much higher. The results of my experiment show that I found being helpless in public, at the mercy of two cute humans who controlled my cunt, far more fun than just wearing the toy on my own. What’s maybe less clear, from the results I’ve related above, is that I actually found the discussion about being teased as hot (if not more so) than just playing with the vibrator myself.

One of the reasons I’m a sex blogger is that words are powerfully arousing to me and a key part of my sexuality. And as brilliant as our threesome was, I am not sure if it would have been quite as good if it hadn’t been preceded by weeks of flirting, sexting, and discussion of boundaries that built wonderful sexy anticipation. When I was allowed to, I jerked off furiously with lube and my favourite toys while messaging them about the wonderful ways they were going to make me suffer. When I wasn’t, I carefully sat on my hands so I wasn’t tempted to, because I really wanted to. Their words were good, the kind of good that made my cunt clench and made me catch my breath at their sheer hotness.

I think it comes down to what I’d call my biggest kink. Orgasm control is hot, humiliating scenes are hot, struggle-fucking is hot, but the connecting thread in all of these is power play. Having someone in charge, whether I’m fighting against that or being a good girl, is brilliant – and ultimately it wasn’t there when I was ordering dessert from the cute waitress on my date. The element of dominance and submission that I get off on was there through most of our pre-threesome conversations and left my cunt dripping every time.

So, the results of my experiment overall? I love exploring my sexuality alone, but getting to play with others who want to make me blush and squirm tends to result in doing more laundry, because I ruin so many pairs of knickers…

Remember to check out Quinn’s work!

Image courtesy of Pixabay.

Masturbation Monday: “Oral Service”

A white women's body, from the top of the chest down, sitting with one leg folded in and the other up and bent. She is wearing nothing but pink knickers. For a Masturbation Monday story called Oral Service

She’s a good girl. I tell her so often. It’s one of the many reasons I love her. She’s been serving me faithfully for years now, my girl, and it’s got so much better since we’ve both been self-employed and working from home.

Usually when we’re at home together, we work side by side in my home office. Well… I sit at the desk and she sits cross-legged on the floor by my side, laptop open in front of her. I like her to wear nothing but cute knickers and her collar. Sometimes not even that. She fetches me coffee when she takes a break from typing, knowing exactly how I like it – cream, no sugar unless I’m having a particularly stressful day, and served to me by a gorgeous kneeling service submissive. She glows with pride when I take the drink, take a sip, then stroke her hair and tell her she’s my good girl.

Sometimes, though, the service I require from her is more intimate than just fetching my drink. You see, I’m an erotica author by profession. I write about sex – hot, steamy, wild, kinky, queer sex – for seven or eight hours a day. And more often than not, I get really fucking turned on doing it.

“Girl.”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Get to a good stopping place and tell me when you’re ready”. I am considerate of her work and always give her a reasonable time-frame to refocus her attention on serving me. A few minutes later, she tells me she’s ready.

“Good. Now come over here and get under the desk. This scene I’m writing has got me needing your lovely tongue”. I push my chair back to let her get into position under my desk. Then I move back towards her, flip my skirt up – I hardly ever wear knickers for exactly this reason – and offer my cunt to my eagerly waiting girl.

She runs the tip of her tongue against my labia, then pushes it into my cunt, tasting my excitement. Then she finds my clit and begins first circling it, then flicking it gently. I moan, my back arching, hands gripping the edge of the desk. Fuck, she’s good. She licks faster, lashing my sensitive clit with her tongue. She might be my submissive, but I am all hers when she pleasures me like this.

My legs are beginning to tremble as she brings me closer to orgasm. I know she feels it, because she clamps her mouth around my clit and sucks it hard. This always tips me over the edge. I reach under the desk and grasp a handful of her hair, using it to hold her pretty face in position as my cunt spasms and I come, hard, in her mouth.

As my orgasm subsides I release her and fall back in my chair, catching my breath.

She peeks out from under the desk and grins.

“Kiss?” she asks in that adorable voice that I can rarely say no to.

I lean down to kiss her, my girl. My good girl, still with the taste of my orgasm on her lips.

Masturbation Monday is created and run by Kayla Lords. This week’s photo is by the gorgeous and talented Marie Rebelle, who blogs at Rebel’s Notes. Click the logo to see what others are getting off to this week. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting me on Patreon (where you’ll get #BonusSmut every Tuesday!) or buying me a coffee. 

Masturbation Monday: “Rope Space”

A black and white shot of a person's hands bound with rope behind their back.He pulls your hands behind your back.

I laze on the bed while he slowly ties you up. To start with, I ask you questions. Does this pinch? Does that hurt? How do your hands feel? Any numbness or tingling? It is my job – well, ours – to take care of you as you willingly make yourself helpless.

He wraps the rope under and then over your bust, framing your gorgeous breasts. I want to bite your cute little nipples, but I mustn’t get in the way as he turns you into a piece of human art.

“The thing I love the most about rope,” I tell you, “is the smell“. I grab a fresh coil of jute from the pile on the bed and hold it out for you to sniff. The sigh that escapes your lips tells me that you get it, too.

He pulls the wraps tighter, cinches them in place with a twist just under your arm.

Your breathing is a little faster. You’re no longer forming sentences. Your eyes have changed. I recognise this – this slipping away of coherent thought as you let yourself surrender. It’s happened to me, too. Hundreds of times, his hands and his ropes have reduced me to putty. And now it’s happening to you in front of me. But I’m not jealous, nor even envious. No. It is a profound privilege to watch my lover introduce you to this bliss I know so well.

He instructs you to kneel on the bed and pushes you down onto your front.

Rope circles your left ankle. I stroke your hair. Grasp a handful of it and tug. Tell you you’re a good girl and breathe in the scent of your arousal, which surely must be dripping onto the sheet beneath you by now.

He binds your leg in on itself. The right leg follows. I go to ask you if you’re still okay, but the little smile and half-closed eyes tells me all I need to know.

He pulls your legs up and fastens them together, then to the back of your chest harness. You whimper softly. I squeeze your hand, tell you again how good you are.

He moves back to admire his handiwork. You, transformed into art on our bed. You are beautifully helpless and helplessly beautiful. Our willing toy. And I know we have only just begun all the ways in which we will play with you before the night is over.

Today’s Masturbation Monday is a true story! All thanks go to Mr CK and the gorgeous girl who lived this with me and gave me all the rope-feelz I’ve been experiencing this week. Masturbation Monday is created and run by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what others are getting off to this week. If you enjoyed this piece, please consider supporting me on Patreon (where you’ll get #BonusSmut every Tuesday!) or buying me a coffee. 

Masturbation Monday: “Punishment For Touching”

There’s a back-story to this one. I was a bad girl, and as such I earned a punishment. Mr CK tasked a pretty girl we’re going to be playing with soon to come up with the punishment. Her task for me was to write a piece of erotica about caning… and then read it aloud while being caned. While she watched on cam. So that’s exactly what I did.

Please enjoy the piece I wrote as part of my punishment.

A red and white candy cane. For a Masturbation Monday story about a girl being punished by caning.I hate the cane. Hate it hate it hate it. I love pain, but the thuddy, dull kind – the vicious bite and sting of the cane is something else. That’s why it’s saved for when I’ve been really bad. I knew I was in for it when he caught me with my fingers in my knickers after being strictly ordered not to touch. However much  protested – that it had only been a moment, that it was really his fault for keeping me so cruelly denied – he hauled me into the bedroom telling me I needed the disobedience beating out of me. Which brings me to now – watching him take the evil implement of pain off the hook on the door and give it a couple of test-swings.

“Get your knickers off and bend over”. I squeak. “It’s no use whimpering. Hurry up”. Damn, I wish his orders didn’t make me so wet. My body is beginning to betray me. I peel my knickers off and step out of them and bend over the bed, resting on my elbows, ass pointing up – small and vulnerable. He runs his hand over my ass.

“You know why you’re in trouble, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I touched my cunt without permission, Sir.”

“And sluts don’t get to touch their cunts without permission, do they?”

“No, Sir.”

“Five strokes, and I’m not going to go easy on you.”

He brings the cane down on my ass. I let out a squeal of pain. Fuck, it hurts! I bury my face in the bed and whimper pathetically. The second stroke lands in the exact same spot. I yelp.

“Aw. Did that hurt?” I nod furiously. “Good. That’s because it’s a punishment. Three more to go.”

CRACK.

The third stroke makes me scream, the sound muffled by the mattress. I hate it. I hate it so much. So why am I so wet I feel like I’m going to drip all over the floor?

WHACK.

The fourth stroke brings tears to my eyes, but my cunt is wetter than ever.

CRACK.

The fifth stroke is the hardest. The tears spill over, staining the sheet. My ass is on fire.

“Aww, are you crying?” I nod. “You’ll behave next time then, won’t you?”

Without warning, he shoves his fingers between my legs and into my cunt.

“Don’t. Fucking. Come.”

That’s when I realise the punishment is far from over.

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction every Tuesday by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

Masturbation Monday: “Fluff”

Content note: this one contains cuckquean fantasy and pretty intense sexual degredation. All parties in this scenario are consenting adults.

A black and white close up of a padlock and claim on the door of a cage. For a Masturbation Monday story called FluffI never know quite who he’s going to bring home. His tastes are wide and varied. One week, a curvaceous redhead covered in tattoos. The next, a tall, slender girl with boobs to die for. Yet another week, the one who looked like she’d stepped out of a 1950s pin-up centrefold. I think he likes to keep me guessing as well as keep things interesting for himself.

A surprising number of women go for what he’s offering… I think it’s because he goes for the more Dominant ones who relish the idea of tormenting a stupid little fucktoy like me.

I hear the door go, and hold my breath. Yes, definitely two of them. I count the steps as they come up the stairs, my heart beating faster. I’ve been locked in my cage in the corner of our bedroom, naked except for my steel chastity belt, all evening – as I always am when he goes out to find someone to fuck. A short distance away, the key sits – for emergencies only, of course, in case the house catches fire or something.

If you ever use it when it’s not an emergency, I will know,” he warned me each time he locked me in. “And you’ll be in for a world of punishment.” I never do. I like sitting here, my cunt getting wetter and wetter with anticipation, waiting for him to come home.

The door opens. He comes in first, my ridiculously beautiful Master, his long hair released from its ponytail and his tie loosened. She follows, and I exhale as I get my first glimpse of her. She’s a brunette, petite, only up to his shoulder even in her heels, her little red dress – the same shade as her lipstick – showing off every inch of fabulous curves.

“Such a good pet, waiting in its cage for you to get home,” she coos, looking over at me. “Is it really going to watch while you fuck me?”

“Mm-hmm. It likes it, too.”

My cunt pulses. I love the objectification of being referred to like this, spoken of not as her but as it. My locked-up hole clenches again when I watch my husband – my Master – grab this beautiful woman and kiss her passionately. She moans into his mouth. His hands find their way first to her breasts, squeezing and massaging, and then to her ass, pulling her in closer to him. I’m not jealous. I know it’s me he really loves, and he only does this because of how much it turns us both on. But god, I’m envious when he pulls up her dress, slides a hand between her legs and rubs her. My own cunt hasn’t felt anything but cold, unrelenting steel for weeks.

She moans, writhing against his touch. He kisses her again. She must hear my whimper, because she giggles and breaks away from him, coming over to my cage.

“When I worked in porn, we had staff whose job was to get the guys hard before they fucked. They called them fluffers.” She kneels before the cage, looking in at me through the bars, turning her attention from my Master to me. “What do you think, little fucktoy? Want to fluff your husband so he can fuck me while you watch?”

I look at her, wide-eyed, and then glance at Master. I am not allowed to speak unless given permission.

“You may speak. Respectfully.”

“Yes please, Miss.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

“Ask nicely,” she taunts. “Maybe we’ll even let you out of that cage if we do a good enough job. On second thoughts, no. Pathetic cunts don’t get their pathetic holes played with.”

I look imploringly up at my Master, who has moved over to stand beside his new friend. “Please, Master, can I suck your cock until it’s hard enough for you to fuck Miss?”

“What do you think?” she asks him.

“Well, since it asked so nicely…” he unzips the fly of his jeans and pulls out his cock. It’s semi-erect already. He shoves it between the bars of the cage, and I open my mouth eagerly to receive it. I take him deeply into my throat, whimpering quietly, flicking my tongue over the head of his cock, gradually teasing it to full erection. God, I could suck his cock all day.

Her hand slips into the cage and between my legs, rubbing the steel of my belt right over my clit. Of course, I can’t feel a thing. I whine and hump her hand, is if it’s going to make any difference. My belted cunt drips.

“Pathetic,” she says again. “Poor little creature, so horny from sucking its Master’s cock. Knowing it’s not going to get aaaaany release at all.” She turns to him. “Has it got your cock nice and hard?”

“Oh yeah. It’s got a talented tongue, that’s why I keep it around.”

She grabs his hand. “Then come and stick that hard cock in my tight little cunt while it watches.”

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the link to see what’s getting everyone off this week.

If you enjoyed this story, you can get bonus erotic fiction every Tuesday by signing up to my Patreon page at any level.

Image sourced through Pixabay.

Masturbation Monday: “Private Tuition”

[This story depicts a consensual roleplay scenario between adults. All characters are above the legal age of consent.] 

A woman lying face down on a bed wearing a black top with a lacy bottom, her butt on display. For a piece of schoolmaster cane erotica.

Gem shifts in her seat, her butt aching from sitting too long in the uncomfortable wooden chair. She glances to her left, where Hannah appears to be engrossed in her work. A few feet away, Sir sits at his desk typing on his computer. They’re supposed to be working in silence. Punishment for whispering and giggling during his lecture earlier.

Fuck this, Gem thinks. Time to make this a little more interesting.

Very slowly, one eye on their Professor at all times, she reaches a hand across the couple of feet of space between them and pokes Hannah in the side. Hannah jumps and yelps. Lightning-quick, Gem pulls her hand back and returns to her book.

“Is there a problem?” Sir asks, his gaze on Hannah.

“No, Sir.”

Gem fights to keep the smirk off her face. A minute passes. When she’s sure Sir’s full attention is back on his screen, she reaches a hand out again and – so quickly Hannah barely has time to register what’s happening – tips Hannah’s open book onto the floor. It lands with a clatter in the quiet room. Gem is already writing again, her face a picture of innocence.

“Hannah!” Sir’s voice booms across the room as the other girl scrambles to retrieve her book.

“Sorry, Sir.”

He stands, comes around to the front of his desk. “Come over here.” Hannah stares. “Hurry up, girl, I haven’t got all day.” Hannah reluctantly gets up and goes to the front of the room. Her black skirt is so short it barely covers her ass. Slut, Gem thinks.

“Do you want to explain to me why you seem to be unable to follow simple instructions like study in silence?”

“It was Gemma, Sir. She prodded me and made me jump and then she pushed my book off the desk.”

“Is that true, Gemma?”

Gem glances up, her eyes wide in feigned surprise.

“No, Sir. I’ve just been sitting here doing my work, Sir.”

Sir is sure she’s lying, of course. But he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to punish two little sluts for the price of one.

“You’ve been nothing but trouble lately,” he tells Hannah. “I think it’s time you learn what happens to bratty girls who can’t behave in my classroom.” He goes to the cupboard in the corner of the classroom. Gem feels her eyes widen, and watches Hannah’s do the same, when they both see that he’s taken out a long rattan cane, the type wielded by Victorian schoolmasters in old TV dramas.

“Bend over my desk,” Sir tells Hannah, flexing the evil-looking thing between his hands. Hannah takes a step backwards, stuttering something unintelligible. “Don’t make me tell you again, girl, or it’ll be worse for you.”

This can’t be happening, Gem thinks, all pretense of focusing on her studies out of the window, gaze fixed on Hannah to see what the other girl will do. There’s a second where Hannah glances over Sir’s head at the door, as if considering running and then deciding against it. After the longest ten seconds or so in history, she turns and bends over the desk, resting on her elbows and forearms with her butt in the air. From her vantage point, Gem can just see the crease where Hannah’s bottom joins her thighs beneath the ridiculously short skirt.

This has got to be some kind of insane dream, Hannah thinks, bracing herself against the hard wooden surface of the desk. Any minute she’ll wake up and she’ll go knock on Gem’s door and tell her flatmate all about the crazy dream she had about being caned by their sexy, straight-laced Professor. Yet even as she thinks this, she realises there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to wake up.

She’s brought back to the knowledge that this is very, very real by the touch of a large hand on her ass through her skirt. Then Sir is flipping her skirt up and over her lower back, revealing her bottom covered only by the flimsiest of lacy knickers. He caresses her again, making her draw in her breath sharply. This is so humiliating! And yet…

“I’m going to give you ten strokes of the cane. Are you going to count them for me like a good girl?” Hannah hears herself whimper.

The first stroke surprises her more than in hurts her.

“One…” she manages to gasp, catching her breath and bracing herself for the second strike.

The second stroke is more painful, landing in exactly the same spot as the first. It’s a sharp, stinging pain that settles to a dull ache.

“Two.”

He strokes her ass between each stroke, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the pain.

Thwack. “Three.”

Crack. “Four.”

She hears herself moan with the fourth stroke. The shocking realisation comes to her: she’s enjoying this. She’s always enjoyed a bit of spanking in the bedroom with boyfriends, but this is somehow different. It hurts more, yes, but it’s also more… the word comes to her, humiliating. More erotic. As the fifth stroke lands, she realises she’s dripping wet and hopes Sir – and Gem – don’t notice.

“Five.”

Gem watches, mesmerised, from her seat. The way Hannah’s ass jiggles slightly with each stroke of the cane, the beautiful red lines that are starting to appear on her pale skin, and the way her little whimpers have given way to moans have her transfixed. She can’t deny it – she’s more turned on than she can remember being in a long time. She squirms in her seat, feeling her wetness coating her knickers and wishing she was brave enough to slip a hand under the waistband of her skirt and finger herself.

Sir runs a finger along the elasticated waist of Hannah’s panties. “Let’s get these off.”

“Oh, no, please…” Hannah protests.

“Shut up, little slut, you’re not in control here.” The sh0ck and embarrassment at being called a slut by her Professor sends another rush of arousal to Hannah’s cunt. She is powerless to fight back as Sir peels the thin lace from her ass and down over her legs, leaving them around her knees.

“Hannah.” His voice is stern.

“Sir?”

“Why are your knickers wet?”

Fuck. She doesn’t know what to say.

“I… I don’t…” She’s silenced by his hand stroking her ass again, soothing the burning lines made by the cane.

“Are you enjoying this, little slut? Does getting caned make you wet?” She shakes her head vehemently. “We’ll see. Soon Gemma and I will both find out just how wet you are. But before then you’ve got a few more strokes to go, haven’t you?”

Gem’s aroused squirming has intensified. She’s rocking her ass gently in her chair, thrusting her cunt against thin air.

Whack. “What number was that, Hannah?”

“Six, Sir.”

Whack. “Seven.”

Oh, god, Hannah thinks. It hurts more without her panties – however thin – cushioning her ass, of course. But the eroticism and embarrassment of standing here, bent over a desk with her soaked knickers around her knees, is almost too much to bear.

“The last three are going to be harder. Are you going to take them for me, little slut? Of course you are. We all know you’re loving this.”

Stroke number eight makes her yelp. “Eight,” she gasps.

Number nine makes her squeal, but her cunt is wetter than ever. “Nine!”

The final stroke is the hardest, but before she’s even moaned out “ten,” Hannah finds herself disappointed that her punishment is over. She’s never been so turned on in her life. She starts to straighten up, to reach for her knickers and pull them back up, but Sir’s hand is on her back and holding her in position.

“Don’t you move.” His fingers run over her ass and dip down to just before her cunt lips. “Spread your legs,” Sir orders. Hannah obeys, burying her face against her arms on the desk to hide her blushes. She’s so very humiliated… why does it turn her on so much?

She gasps as she feels his fingers make contact with her swollen outer labia, and then trace their way along to the opening of her cunt.

“It’s a fucking flood down here,” she hears him say. “You really do like being caned, don’t you, little slut?” He strokes her cunt tantalisingly gently, running his fingers through her black curls of pubic hair, teasing her but never making contact with her clit, the centre of her desire which is now throbbing in desperate need to be touched.

Gem, unable to contain herself any more, has slid a hand between her legs and is teasing her own cunt over her knickers. Watching her sexy friend be caned, teased and humiliated has left her feeling by turns envious and thankful it’s not her, but most of all, aroused as hell.

Hannah thrusts back against Sir’s teasing hand, trying to get the stimulation where she needs it the most.

“Awww,” he taunts her, “does little slut want her little clit touched?” In answer, Hannah whimpered and tried again to grind her cunt against his hand. He pulled it away, leaving her aching. “Uh-uh, not today. You’re being punished, remember? It’s too bad you’re such a filthy girl that it gets you all squirmy and needy.”

Hannah wants to protest, to beg, but he’s already pulling her knickers back up, smoothing them into place over her sore ass, and flipping her skirt back down to cover whatever semblence of dignity she has left. She lets out an unsatisfied whimper.

“Gemma.”

A nervous knot forms in Gem’s stomach as she pulls her hand away from her wet cunt. “Sir?”

“Take her home and edge the hell out of her. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t come before next week’s class. If she does, I’ll lock you both in chastity belts for the rest of the semester.”

Did you enjoy this piece? You can find out what happens when Gem gets Hannah home in #BonusSmutTuesday, exclusively for Patreon supporters. Sign up at any level to get access.

 

Masturbation Monday is created and owned by Kayla Lords. Click the logo to see what other deliciousness is getting people off this week.