Straight out of the shower

So fresh  and so clean

Brazilian waxed with

Not a hair to be seen

My cheeks are divided

All treasures on view

Just waiting for action

You know what to do

My bottom is twitching

Awaiting your strap

And sweet stinging pleasure

From the leather’s tight wrap

Aim good so the tip

Smacks me right at the core

Tip kissing my asshole

Sweet burning, so sore

Red cheeks then a-glowing

And deep in between

Sweet fig starts a-weeping

And you know what that means

So now that I’m tender

And juicy and tight

I’ll welcome your member 

Where you wanted, last night

My rosebud is eager

For your penile desires

Squeeze past my defences 

And claim this sweet prize

Slide deep, slide slowly

Til you’re fully enclosed

And your shaft is embedded

In my tight little rose

But don’t be excited

Don’t act in such haste

My pussy is empty

And that’s such a waste

So have my dark secret

For your aperitif

But save your finale

For my soft silken sheath

Her muscles will squeeze you

And tease you and goad

Til control is all gone and

Your orgasm explodes

Two sides to a story

Catherine Clarke over at Shameful Desires asked for a writing prompt recently, and I gave her a final sentence. The very erotic tale she told deserved a counter-view, so I present here the Boss’s view of the events of that day…


Today did not start well, to put it lightly, yet it ended in a way I could never have imagined.

I spent my first hour having my balls chewed by Miss Fitzwilliam, our noble General Manager and part-time despot. She came to us from the world of Education, and we’ve never been allowed to forget it. She likes to think we are all still students in short pants, I am sure. Every time I visit her office it feels like I’m back at my private school, about to drop my pants and assume the position. Today was no different. Month end reports showed a drop in all the key measures for the Division and she was taking it all very personally. I swear, this time she was one step short of ripping my dick off and shoving it up my arse. Fair enough, I know the results were off, but it’s a tough economy and I’m not the only one working here. Foolishly, I tried to tell her as much. She loomed over me (I’m not short, but she’s a good six-footer).

“Lack of focus,” she roared, inches from my face. “You run a slack ship,” she bellowed. I winced as I caught scent of her breakfast burrito. “It is high time we saw some APPLICATION!” She punctuated this last assessment by slapping a wooden ruler hard on her desk. I am absolutely certain she imagined my behind under that ruler as she punctuated her vitriol with smacks to the desk until the wood gave out and fractions flew in all directions. She looked down, puzzled at the shard remaining in her hand.  She took that as the end of our morning chat, and turfed me out with a final rebuke.

“If we were 20 years ago at Saint Julian’s, you would be carrying the marks of my wrath on your buttocks for many days, MARK MY WORDS. You are a pathetic apology for a manager. Get your house in order or so help me, then next time, it really will be your arse on the line!”

I was getting a coffee an hour later, still stewing over Fitzgerald and the patent unfairness of it all. Her stinging words had taken me right back to my school days.

I had been set up as a prank by my classmates. Someone had slipped a tiny sheet of equations into my pencil case before a test. Miss Greensmith saw it and sent me straight to the Head. He had bawled me out just like Fitzgerald had, but instead of slapping a ruler on the desk, he had slashed his cane six times across my trouserless buttocks, punctuating each swipe with an assessment of my worthless future as a cheat and a liar. I carried his mental chastisement for far longer than his physical one, and the chaps certainly had a field day when they saw my purple stripes in the changing rooms next morning.

These parallel injustices were playing in my mind when in strolled Miss Clarke, a half hour late and tottering on heels more suited to a nightclub than the work place.

“There’s my problem,” thought I, “There’s where my ‘lack of productivity lies’. Never done a hard day’s work in her life!” I took in her white blouse straining against the force of her out-thrust breasts, and the expanse of toned thigh revealed when she bent to stow her bag by her desk, her too-short summer skirt riding up as she did so. I swear she was an inch away from showing her panties – if she even wore any!

“Women like her, they use their sex to get on, then complain about women’s rights,” I remember thinking. “That woman radiates sex you can smell. How’s a man to do any work with that as a distraction?”

I took my coffee to my desk, lost in my self-pity. As I glanced up I realised I had a perfect profile of her chest. As I stared I realised she was constantly fidgeting. She was continually shifting in her seat like she had an itch to scratch. Her tits joggled as she shuffled around. I could stand it no longer. In two seconds I was up and standing at her shoulder. I looked down at her, suddenly aware that my stance had given me a perfect view right into her cleavage. I reached for the mail as a distraction, but all the while I felt my eyes drawn to the strain of her white blouse, a button too many undone and revealing rather too much of her firm, smooth breasts and the edge of a pale-yellow brassiere. Her breasts were the size of large navel oranges but with the flawless texture of silk. I could see the push of her nipple, straining to be free of its bounds.

I coughed and she glanced up. I quickly adjusted my eyes to hers, but I know she saw me staring at her breasts. She didn’t speak, just parted her lips so slightly and dragged her tongue across the underside of her top lip.

I know I started slightly. “The little hussy is taunting me,” I thought. She looked away and returned to typing. My view cast downwards from her chest, to her waist and to the spread of her hips. She sat a little taller, thrusting out her buttocks as her lower back dipped inward.

“This is a woman in need,” I thought. “I can smell her need, her want.”

“My want, Mr. Smithers?” She looked up from her work, a look of confusion and – something else – on her face. OH MY GOD –I had spoken aloud!

In for a penny, as they say. I might not have a job tomorrow. “Yes, Miss Clarke,” I said. I cleared my throat again. I leaned forward and whispered, “I can smell your want.”

She froze. “Excuse me?” She was trying to be all uppity now, but I knew that’s why she had come to work today dressed like that.

“Your want, Miss Clarke. I can smell it,” I said. “I’m finding it quite distracting. In fact, I’ve been distracted by it for several weeks now.”

She sat, staring up at me, confused but with something underlying – was it fear? No. Anxiousness? Possibly, but mixed with an eager anticipation. “She wants this,” I thought, “I was right”. I pressed home on my advantage.

“It is quite distracting, Miss Clarke, that hunger that you have.”

“My … hunger?”

“Your hunger.” And here I whispered again. “Between your legs.”

Her hands rested lightly on the keyboard, tremoring slightly in time with her shortened breath. I fancied I could see her heart fluttering in the soft flesh of her bosoms.

“Your distraction is becoming a concern, Miss Clarke. A concern I need to address. Nip it in the bud, so to speak, before things get out of hand and Miss Fitzgerald becomes involved.”

She said nothing. The tension was palpable. Her fingers still rested on the keyboard, twitching as she tried to control her emotions.

“I think, Miss Clarke, that I need to deal with this behaviour, this distracting behaviour, so that we can move forwards. You know we have high standards, and that failure must be punished.” I took the back of her chair. “Miss Clarke, please stand.”

She looked at me and slowly, stood up. She nervously smoothed her skirt over her bottom. She was flushed, her heat accentuating the musky scent of her perfume.

“Good. Now, Miss Clarke, please bend over your desk.”

I could see her nipples clearly now, making their presence known through the sheer fabric of her blouse. “She wants me, wants this,” I thought, and I felt my penis stiffen at the thought.

“Miss Clarke, lean over,” I whispered.

She pushed aside her keyboard and some papers and then, very slowly, she lowered herself until her elbows rested on the desk. Her bottom thrust outwards against the loose fabric, but I wanted more, a better target, a better view.

“Miss Clarke, all the way down please,” I said. She lay her chest on the wooden surface of the desk, arms stretched forward to the far edge. Now her bottom was presented optimally, clearly outlined through the thin summer fabric. Her feet were slightly spread. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her scent was delightful. “Miss Clarke, you know what I am going to do with you…”

I reached forward and picked up the ruler she kept on her desk. A solid 18” wooden ruler, aged by many hands. She gasped as I swished it experimentally.

Could I really smack her bottom? Should I? She wants me to, or she would have slapped my face and stormed over to Fitzgerald. The ruler seemed to have a life of its own as it whipped down and smacked across her skirted cheeks.

She jumped and yelped, more from shock than pain, I know. She didn’t really feel that little swat.

“Miss Clarke, control yourself,” I whispered. I smacked her again and this time she let out a low moan, telling me he wanted more, she wanted to be punished. I gave her another half dozen or so smacks, but this was not working for either one of us.

“I do not believe you are getting the message, Miss Clarke,” I panted, “I need to take this further. Please raise your skirt.”

Without hesitation, she reached back and slowly slid the fabric up, revealing her cheeks and tiny lace panties.

“Beautiful, Miss Clarke, ” I breathed, “Just beautiful. I may need to have you after this, Miss Clarke.”

She swallowed again. “More, please, sir,” she whispered.

I took the ruler again. Smack! The sound exploded across her almost-bared cheeks, and a pink rectangle blossomed.  I smacked her again, three, four times. She was whimpering now and her cheeks had a pinkness to them. I dropped the ruler and slipped my fingers into the waistband of her panties. I eased them over her cheeks and down her thighs. I rested my hand on her cheek, feeling the warmth. I spanked her, open palmed, and she yipped. I did it again, then I got into a rhythm and I slapped her firmly and rapidly. She squirmed and yelped, but with no real resistance.

Finally, I stopped and I cupped her cheeks, feeling the firmness and the heat. Her white bottom was now a delightful rosy red. I traced her bottom cleft and she clenched as I pressed a finger inwards towards her anus. I gave her a sharp smack and she relaxed so that I could tease her cheeks apart and view her delightful hidden offering. Beneath, I could see she was wet, open and ready.

I undid my belt to release myself. She gasped as she heard the leather pull loose from the fabric loops. She glanced at me and I saw a need different to the one I had expected. I glanced at the belt in my hand, and at her naked buttocks. I swear she twitched her bottom, enticing me onwards. I folded the belt in my hand. As she lay there I whispered to her, “This is because your cunt is so wet, Miss Clarke. I … need to teach you a lesson.”

Before I knew what was happening, I had raised my arm high and swung that belt downwards with a crack. She cried out as the leather whipped around. I did it again, strapping her seven or eight times. The deep red weals popped even against the rosy glow of her earlier spanking. She was crying now, and I was as ready as she. I dropped my trousers and stepped between her legs. She pushed back to meet me and I slid easily into her wet, tight cunt. I Slid deep, feeling the grip of her all the way in, and I rested there, balls deep.

“Tell me what you want, Miss Clarke. Tell me now.”

Please fuck me!” 

That was what I needed to hear. I slid slowly back and forth, and she countered my thrusts perfectly. I quivered as I fought to control my orgasm, desperately trying to squeeze out every sensation from this moment. I realised I had wanted this woman for a very long time. She was murmuring, “Oh my God!” as we discovered each other. I could hold it no longer and my orgasm ripped through me like a freight train through a tunnel. As I came I rammed hard and deep, pushing her over her own edge as I did so. I am proud to say, she screamed as she came.

We lay there for the longest time, with me slumped across her back. Finally, I got up, plucked a handful of tissues from the box on her desk and cleaned off before rearranging myself.

“Miss Clarke,” I said, “You are remarkable. I will have you again.” And I went into my office and closed the door so that I could sit and dwell on the serendipity of life.

Through the glass door I could see Miss Clarke as she rose and tried to pull herself together. I saw her sit and suddenly jump up again. I leaned forward, curious, before I realised why and I laughed to myself, recalling my own chastisement years before.

“Yes,” I thought, “She will be sore for a while, and bruised for longer. We won’t have any problems with the dress code for awhile. We won’t be seeing those short shorts this week, that’s for sure. But I think it was very much worth it.”


image from Dreams of Spanking

Missy and the Judge

Missy rapped Judge’s door

The command came too soon

To enter his chambers

And pay for the Piper’s tune


Judge gazed on her beauty

Such an angelic face

But lurking beneath that

She hid her family’s disgrace


Judge stood from his chair

Stared her straight in the face

He wanted to make her

Afraid of this place


”Now listen here, Missy

You’ve been quite the lass

You’ve been sharing your virtue

With your whole graduating class”


“Your folks if they could

They’d have you off to the jail

But I persuaded ‘em rightly

You just need a sting in the tail”


“So let’s get right to it

I’ve a lot to get done

Get yourself in position

I will not make this fun”


Missy shucked off her jeans

Dropped her pants to the ground

Stepped out of her garments

And turned right around


She bent from the waist

And she touched her toes

She spread her feet wide

And she held that pose


The Judge stared at her beauty

And he sucked in his cheeks

As he gazed lustily on

Her toned naked physique


With firm rounded buttocks

And a deep cleft in between

Leading down past her asshole

To the sweetest pussy he’d seen


The Judge tried to speak

Tried to sound real butch

But instead he just gasped

And sputtered and such


He coughed and he spat

All that tough guy stuff

And he tried once again

With a voice deep and gruff


“Now listen her Missy,

You put your family to shame

You know you’re a bad’un

And I need to whip in some pain”


“There’s a long list of boys

Who they tell me you’ve fucked

And a few of the girls

Who’s pussies you’ve sucked”


“I saw with my own eyes

Your shamelessly brazen display

When I peeped in your window

When your folks were away”


“You were down on your knees

Your bare ass sticking up

With a big rubber dildo

Plugging your tight little butt”


“Young Joshua was with you

You had his dick in your mouth

And then up your arsehole

When that dildo popped out”


“He fucked you so deeply

His balls slapped your cunt

As he reamed out your asshole

And then he came with a grunt”


“I said a strapping would cure you

Make you think twice ‘bout sex

And I offered to do it

With your Pappy’s bad neck”


With no further ado

The Judge whipped out his strap

And raised the thick leather

High over his back


He whipped that strap down

Striking Missy’s full moons

She screamed bloody murder

As the sweet agony ballooned


Again and again,

Judge whipped her cheeks raw

‘Til her bottom was glowing

And her cheeks were quite sore


Judge threw down the strap then,

To admire the sight

Of Missy’s firm buttocks

So glowing and tight


He took both her cheeks

And spread them apart

And just as he did so

She let out a fart


He leapt back in shock

At the sudden warm gust

He was quite lost for words

Yet it strengthened his lust


“So that’s how you play it

You dirty young slut!

Well let’s stop any more gases

Sneaking out of your butt”


He whipped out his dick

And slicked some spit on his pole

Then pressed home his member

Into Missy’s tight hole


Judge fucked her quite strongly

For a man past his best

Til the tightness of arsehole

Was too much to resist


With a last balls deep thrust

He erupted inside

And he took a last gasp

As his heart fluttered and died


Now sore cross both cheeks

And sore deep in between

The dead Judge and Missy

Made a sight quite obscene


She forced herself upright

His cock slipped out of her bum

She felt the cool air waft

Up her stretched out rectum


She slipped on her knickers

Pulled her jean shorts up high

And strolled out of the Chambers

Where Judge had just died



Room Service

Room Service. Here to turn down your bed,

Unless you would like something else instead.

Some crackers and cheese, a nice glass of red,

Or maybe you prefer me to give you some head?

Would you like me to wank you and bring you relief,

Or maybe to spank you and bring you some grief?

If you touch your toes I will happily bestow,

Upon your tight bottom a nice rosy glow.

I’m the gentlest of spankers, you will surely agree,

And when we are finished, you can spank l’il old me.

I could bend over tightly and show you my drawers,

If you lift up my skirt and let your fingers explore.

I know you’ll enjoy the delights you will find,

When you pull down my panties and expose my behind.

My cheeks are so luscious and perky and tight,

So ready for spanking from dawn until night.

If you would Sir, I appreciate a hand spanking first,

Just to warm up the engine and make a girl purr.

And from there, if you please, your belt is just fine,

And if you don’t have one you can always use mine.

But I must stop you there so we can change halfway through,

So I can use my old belt to soundly thrash you.

And when we are both nice and sore and warmed up,

Well then we can get down to a good solid fuck.

You can fuck my tight pussy, my mouth and my bum,

Just so long as I get some incredible cums.

If I don’t, well there’s always a price to be paid,

For failing to tip your sweet chambermaid.

You can expect to pay dear for your failure to please,

Your butt will be high and I will spread out your knees,

So I can fuck your tight ring with my big strap-on cock,

Pushed it deep in your arsehole, right up to the top.

If I don’t get my pleasure, you must pay dearly for yours,

So what’s it to be? Your stomach or your balls?

I can serve you your dinner and then walk out the door,

Or you can take your chances, and we can both enjoy more.

Seeking Absolution

imageChristi sat in her pew at the back of the church, gazing at the new pastor as he went about his ministrations. He had arrived just a few weeks ago – his first posting from Ecclesiastical College. Some of the girls said he had been a wild boy in his days before taking the cloth. They said they’d heard all sorts of stories of his antics in the city as a free spirit, and then there was some mysterious incident that had him seeking God and a life of penitence. He certainly looked like he could take care of himself. He stood over 6 feet and was a solid mountain of muscle – maybe a quarterback in his day?

She mused on what might have made him enter the church. A fallen soul, seeking forgiveness perhaps?. Did he get into a fight and kill a man? Maybe he got a girl pregnant and didn’t do right by her – maybe she killed herself. Could he be gay, perhaps, and not able to accept it? Fucking shame if he was gay, with that muscular body and dark, brooding looks. Whatever the reason, she was grateful he was here. He was a breath of fresh air compared to the old fossils who were pastors elsewhere in the County, and his arrival had doubled the size of the congregation. Parents who’d had to drag their daughters to church each Sunday now found these same girls dressed to impress and pushing their parents out of the door to get the best seats. Christi liked the back seats though, where she could watch and enjoy without being seen.

Christi gazed at the man and imagined what he might be like under those robes. She had some experience with guys since leaving High School three years ago – she was now a Junior at college and she had quickly discovered the joys of older guys, eager to teach a fresh young country girl the ways of the world. But this guy was older than those college boys, and she imagined his muscles hard and firm, his manhood big and strong, and his big hands strong yet gentle on her body. She thought he could show her things the younger guys only dreamt of, that he could mold her body into his, do things with his cock she had only read about. She shifted in her seat as her thoughts overwhelmed her and she felt her sex tingle with anticipation. She glanced to either side – she had the row to herself today. Gently she laid her summer jacket over her lap and slid a hand beneath, pushing up her short skirt to slip inside her soft cotton knickers. With a little manoeuvring she eased the gusset away from her pussy lips and then slid a fingertip down her crack, sliding along the moist groove. She found her clitoris and gently circled the growing bud, teasing the little nub into erection. Years of practice meant she had this technique down pat, and she knew she could bring herself off in seconds. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a cry, then began to flutter her finger across the sensitive tip of her erect clit. Quickly she felt the heat grow and her orgasm began to build like a wave at sea, hurtling toward the shore to crash down onto the beach, exhausting all its power. She held her breath as the peak hit, then as her orgasm ebbed she slumped into the seat and breathed a ragged breath. Guiltily she glanced around once more, but no one seemed to have noticed. Up front the pastor briefly caught her eye and she was sure he must have seen the guilt on her face, but his eyes continued onwards.

At the end of the service, Christi hung back to watch the pastor some more. She saw him head into the confessional and saw an old lady go into the booth next to him. After a few minutes she came R out and Christi dashed across and into the booth without thinking. She closed the wooden door and sat on the hard wooden bench. She could smell the manliness next door through the screen. The scent moistened her pussy once more.

She jumped when he spoke to her. “How can I help you?” She shivered at the sound of his voice, deep, husky and so close.

Christi was momentarily speechless, but then the words stumbled from her before she realized what she had said. “Punish me Father, for I have sinned.”

“I think you’re mistaken, young lady. I forgive, not punish”

“But to be forgiven, first I must be punished for what I’ve done, Father.”

She heard a surprised cough through the screen, and decided to go further. “I desecrated this church, Father.”

“a..a..and how did you do this, child”

She was bold now. She could tell she had the upper hand. “I touched myself, Father, between my legs. I rubbed myself and I brought myself off thinking of a man. Thinking of you. I imagined him, I mean you, taking me, right here. Do you think I need to be punished, Father? Will you punish me?”

“My child, you are right. You must be punished for your deeds as penance. You must go to the vestry and wait for me there.”

Christi ducked out of the confessional and dashed into the vestry. Looking around she saw she was in a small office with a desk and a rack for the pastor’s vestments. There was a floor to ceiling cupboard across one wall. Now she was here, she began to feel very nervous and foolish. What if he decided to call her parents, or the police? What if he denounced her to the whole congregation? She couldn’t live with herself. She decided to just make a run for it, but just as she was about to dash from the office the door opened and the pastor stepped inside. He stood in front of her and looked down at her. She looked up, but then ducked her head in shame at his gaze. He lifted her chin so she had to look up into his eyes, eyes that seemed to read her soul. Without a sound, he turned her around and pushed her towards the desk, then eased her forwards so she was bent over the edge. She felt a draught as her short summer skirt was lifted off her buttocks. She tensed then as she felt his fingers on her knickers, easing them down over her firm young buttocks. He tugged the knickers down to her knees. She felt his breath on her bum as he knelt to remove the garment entirely. His face was so close to her bum he could see everything, see her smooth, shaved pussy, her wetness and the pinkness within. She knew men liked to look at her from behind, liked to fuck her doggy style. She knew she looked good, knew he must be excited by the sight he had before him. She was excited and ashamed of the situation she had engineered, so she lay with her face pushed against the leather blotter on the desk to hide her shame and avoid looking at the man to whom she was so willfully exposed.

She heard noises, scraping and a door opening. She presumed he was looking for something in the cupboard. After what seemed an age, she heard his footsteps as he moved back to the desk. She felt his hand on the small of her back, and then a cool, firm pressure across her buttocks. She realised he had a paddle in his hand and she tensed in fear and anticipation. The paddle lifted clear of her bottom and then seconds later returned with force and a hard, deep pain. Christi cried out and tried to stand, but the pressure of his hand kept her down. He hooked a foot behind her heel to pull her legs apart and smacked her again, again, again. He paused then, and she felt the board on her back as he put it down to free his hand. She felt his fingers stroke down her buttock cleft and on to her wet pussy. She felt him cup her bald mound, and then the pressure of his fingers opening her lips as he dragged his hand back upwards, across her labia and towards her anus. She felt a pressure on her hole as he pressed a lubricated finger against her whorl, popping the tip past the ring of muscle momentarily. She cried a ragged cry at the intrusion.

Next, the board lifted off her back and he tapped it firmly against her spread cheeks, then lifted it clear before smacking her again with the unyielding oak. Six times he smacked her, each hard and solid, then he stopped. She lay sobbing across his desk as he soothed her sore, tender cheeks. Through her tears she didn’t hear his zipper as he eased it down to free his shaft. She felt it though, as he painted her pussy with the tip of his rigid cock, and then slid inside her to the root. She felt his hips smack her tender buttocks with each thrust. She felt his urgency grow along with her own until suddenly she was coming and then she was empty as he withdrew and she felt the warm splatter of his cum on her red hot cheeks. He left her then, to recover, and he went about his business in the church.

As she lay, sore, exhausted and sated, she knew. She knew what it was like to be with a real man, and she knew she would be seeking absolution at his hands every Sunday.

Oglaf – inspired quotes!

You have to go check out Oglaf. The most surreal carton I’ve read. Often erotic, often slightly weird but generally very funny. Here’s a little sample:

the upper hand

And you may spot the little one-liners at the top of each page. Here are a few of my favourites:

Your cock seems sort of bland. I did practice fellatio on sausages though

How much more pathetic do I need to be before I get pity sex?

I’m looking for the kind of problems you can solve with sex

If ‘garage sale’ was innuendo for anal sex, I would snicker more at weekends

I love shower sex. Ikea are less keen

I’m a generous lover but for selfish reasons

The plague has been cancelled due to illness

Sexual innuendo? I can keep it up all night

I could go on, but better for you to just pop on over and while away a night reading through the comic.

The Desk

desk 2


The Desk

Over the Desk

Bend over the Desk

Grip the edge of the Desk

Arch your back above the Desk

Spread your feet to the legs of the Desk

Squeeze your buttocks against the edge of the Desk

Stripe your soft cheeks rising above the Desk

Cry with your face pressed into the Desk

Crush your breasts against the Desk

Entering you now over the Desk

Juices smearing the Desk

Over the Desk

The Desk



Inspired by a couple of posts I read today, from The Migraine Chronicles and Shameful Desires. Thank you fo rthe inspiration, ladies.