Debauchery and submission

I caught my breath as Sally ran through the master bedroom’s door and, without taking time to explain, bundled me away from making the bed, into the dressing room cupboard and slammed the door. I stumbled back amongst the hat boxes and glove racks that filled the small, musty space. Scrambling to my feet, I pushed an eye up to the crack between the ill-fitting double doors, just in time to see both the housekeeper and the Master of the house follow Sally into the room. 

There had been rumours, of course. The other members of staff frequently whispered amongst themselves of debauchery and submission, without realising they were being overheard. Six months of working in this house, of being neither seen nor heard as I discharged my duties, had made me an expert at overhearing things, and yet I had discovered nothing concrete to substantiate such gossip. 
I suppose I have a rather strange job; it’s a bit like being an actor and a bit like being a domestic, but mostly I’m part of a complex tourist attraction. Each day, my colleagues and I dress in Victorian costume and work our way around a period manor house. 

As a chamber maid, my place is in the bedrooms. I dart between all 25 chambers, making and unmaking beds which are never slept in, stoking naked fireplaces, dusting, sweeping and generally doing all those domestic chores associated with Victorian maids. I’m allowed to answer questions from the tourists, but otherwise I have to keep myself to myself, lower my eyes when my betters pass by, and try and remain invisible in their presence. I had dismissed the rumours of sexual deviancy as the product of boredom from some of our senior staff members’ lurid imaginations; fantasies concocted to liven up a slow tourism day. Until now. 

Mrs Lawson grabbed Sally’s wrist and pulled her towards the Master. His face was solemn, and a stern furrow appeared on his brow as he peered into the eyes of the scullery maid. ‘Mrs Lawson informs me that you’ve been found wandering about above stairs again, young lady. That is not your place, is it?’ 

 ‘No, sir.’ Sally’s voice had taken on a meekness that was so convincing I wondered if it was genuine. I tried to quieten my breathing so I could hear what they were saying. 

‘You know the punishment, don’t you?’ 

Sally nodded at the Master again and I watched as, on a signal from Mrs Lawson, Sally undid her apron and took off her cap and shoes. The housekeeper then leant forward and yanked off my colleague’s black working dress, so that she stood shivering in some far-from-Victorian underwear. 

Mrs Lawson’s eyebrows rose. ‘And what exactly are those, young lady?’ her voice was harsh, but the high points of colour that had appeared on her face showed how much she was enjoying the situation as she observed Sally in her black stockings, matching bra and knickers. 

Sally said nothing, but hung her head in humble submission, as the Master of the house placed a large hand on the back of her neck, gripping it firmly. 

‘You have the collar, Mrs Lawson?’ 

‘Indeed, sir,’ the housekeeper produced a short black leather collar from her capacious apron pocket, and swiftly secured it around the maid’s pale neck. Then, rummaging further, she pulled out a thin lead and clipped it to the small silver loop that was positioned at the front of the collar. 

My throat felt as if it had dried closed; I could hardly swallow as I watched, afraid of being discovered, but at the same time wishing the gap I was peering through was bigger, so I could see more. 

I was unable to hear what the Master was saying now; he’d lowered his voice, almost to a whisper as he pulled on the lead which hung between her breasts. Then, in one swift, brutal movement, he grabbed the front of her bra and pulled it off, snapping the strap beyond repair. Her tits spilled out, revealing themselves to be even bigger than they’d first appeared. I moistened my lips. I could almost taste them and, enviously, I watched as the Master, yanking on the lead, bought Sally closer to him, before bowing down and engulfing a hard, nut-brown nipple between his lips. 

Sally had been a friend ever since I’d joined the house’s workforce, and unbeknownst to her, I’d had a massive crush on her from the first time I’d admired her in her pristine white apron and mop cap. To see her receive another’s erotic attentions was agony to my jealous body. I pressed my eye harder to the crack and strained my ears so I could hear the muted mewls my eyes told me were emanating from her lipstick-free mouth. 

Mrs Lawson, who’d been watching the scene before her with obvious satisfaction, stepped forward and, once she had received approval from her superior, bent to Sally’s other breast. I could imagine so well how wonderful that would feel, the tingling attention, the sharp tang of want that each nip, each kiss, would send hurtling between her legs as both tits were stimulated at once. 

I was aware of my own growing arousal. It had been simmering at the back of my mind ever since Sally had thrown me into the cupboard. Now it was controlling me, and I couldn’t help wondering if my friend had engineered things so I could observe her. A second’s panic shot through me, and I pulled away from the door. What if Sally told them I was here? What would they do to me if they found me? Then I sort of hoped they would find me. My breasts chaffed against my bra and stiffly starched uniform, as I wondered how I’d cope in Sally’s position. 

My fantasy was cut short by a sharp scream, and I was drawn back to the real life drama in the adjoining room. The maid’s knickers had, in my few second’s lapse of concentration, been removed, and she was now on all fours. Mrs Lawson held a short white cane, which she had presumably kept in her apron pocket, and was rhythmically tanning Sally’s backside as the Master pulled the lead, making the girl walk after him like an obedient bitch on heat. 

I was able to view them from every angle, as they moved in circles around the room, Sally yelping as the cane struck her neat backside. Our Master’s eyes blazed, his dick bulging beneath his suit trousers, while the housekeeper revelled in her administration of pain. 

Without registering what I was doing, I slipped off my apron and slid a hand into my knickers as I watched. My juices stuck to my fingertips as I imagined Sally’s liquid dripping from her damp pussy. For despite her calls of anguish, the maid’s face glowed with desire, and there was no doubt in my mind that this scenario had been played out, and enjoyed, many times before…. 

Kay Jaybee – Through the Gap 

Starting out in kink

There is a common misconception that to become a practitioner of BDSM you need lots of expensive equipment. You don’t. Some rope, the odd cane or riding crop and you’re ready to go. 

Imaginative use of furniture will add spice to all your fun and games. 

Oh, yes, you do also need a consensual partner with a similar taste in kink. Someone who’ll share their champagne with you. 

But do remember boys & girls to keep all your pleasures Safe, Sane and Consensual.

craving chastisement

Many of the men who come to me crave chastisement. I supply it for a price. Inevitably I see them cry before the end of the session.

Madam X, Dominatrix

ravenous as wolves

I let him write his filthy suggestions in black felt tip on my naked breasts. Then he draws a thick black arrow on my belly pointing at my pubes, adds other disgusting messages on my back ending between the cheeks of my backside, with its horrid invitation to violate me in neat black lettering… all to the great amusement of his six grinning friends –  who look to me as ravenous as wolves!

Inflicted with love

The things I want to do to you are so utterly wild that I don’t have the words to explain them.

She said, ‘I’m going to show you just how much pain can fit inside a person…’

She was not gentle with me.  Her need and desire were so all embracing that I nearly faded into the background as she did what she did to me…

I was far more relaxed that I thought I would be, and loved it more than I thought I would. The power exchange was a turn-on, to switch up from being an active participant in sex, to being restrained into a passive recipient of sex, it was amazing.

Why do I like being spanked? I really don’t know. It’s just how I am built.

Sometimes I need it to escalate during times of stress to actually feel something, other than the tension in my shoulders and chest and the burdens I carry around. Sometimes it’s just foreplay to remind me that the sting is going to be offset by the sweet thrust and rhythm once strap-on cock meets pussy.

Sometimes I just want to be dominated and surrender to whacks that aren’t controlled by me. Their pace or velocity is chosen by another. I like ceding that control. I am not one of those girls who likes it sweet and tender during sex. I love to make out. My goodness I love to make out. I love to be eaten out; I can thank a special boyfriend for my first orgasm from his oral skills.

But during sex I am not your love me tender, love me sweet kind of girl…

Make Me Purr

Hurting him

Oh, I love deep kissing him as I’m hurting him. It’s simply heaven feeling his moans of pain through my tongue and lips. Often, I confess, it has made me cum.

quite explicit fantasies

Almost all interviewed practitioners [of BDSM} had a first memory that they associated with BDSM. For many, the discovery was intertwined with a specific event, usually far back in time, yet easily to find in memory. For many also, it involved a flashback to childhood. Kate said: ‘I have had these feelings and fantasies as long as I can remember, even before I knew that sex existed and what it was about’. Anders’s first memories of BDSM come from school. He remarked:

I had quite explicit fantasies about my elementary school teacher, she was very foxy. She was newly graduated and had a determined manner, but it didn’t scare me. I remember thinking, what if I could get control over her instead. I had quite explicit fantasies about how I rapped her with a ruler.

Recurrent stories concerned the discovery of a BDSM interest through various childhood games. The informants told of games of cops and robbers, and cowboys and Indians, including restraining, bondage and wrestling. Adam, who defined himself as a submissive and masochist, reflected on how his childhood games had BDSM-like elements, and that he was always the one who was caught and exposed:

When you start connecting stuff you will sooner or later think: ‘Hey, wait a minute, why was it always me who was the Indian being captured by the cowboys? And I realise it now. I was always the one who got caught; I was always the one who was exposed to stuff. But at the time it was not sexual, it was natural. So maybe it is congenital, but I think it’s also the environment that shapes us.

Charlotta Carlström –  BDSM: becoming and the flows of desire

association with intense and prolonged painful erotic stimulations

Many sexual masochism or sexual submission (m/s) practitioners explain their experience in religious or spiritual terms, referring to it as a mystic experience, transcendent, reaching for God, a feeling of wholeness or oneness with the universe, a sacred kink, magical, a connection, and mind expanding. Although these altered states of consciousness can be reached in non-painful m/s circumstances (e.g., bondage with soft ropes, mummification), their association with intense and prolonged painful erotic stimulations is especially strong. Receiving pain in a m/s context may therefore be not a goal in itself but a way to attain another state of consciousness (commonly called “subspace” by m/s practitioners). Most m/s practitioners report that they do not enjoy pain per se but that it is the context (erotic ambiance, scene, and clothing) and preparation (e.g., pre-agreeing, scripting, expectation) that are crucial, both subjectively and objectively (i.e., brain response patterns). However, most of these subjective reports are based on single cases or a small number of participants. The relation with pain in m/s practitioners should be further investigated.

Frédérike Labrecque, Audrey Potz, Émilie Larouche & Christian C. Joyal – What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission, The Journal of Sex Research,

Being in Control

And here I am. A woman who likes to wear high heels and dresses. Whose nails are done – most of the time. A woman who likes to feel safe around a man. A woman who deeply cares for those around her. But who is also dominant and wants/needs to be in control. A woman who loves to tie someone up and tease them, peg them, slap them and sometimes even hurt them. – Miss Bo

already a pervert…?

One day near to Christmas, my mum said to me: ‘You better be good or Santa will come and take your undies down. Instead of presents he’ll be giving you the spanking of your life – and on your bare backside, too. Just you wait and see’

Well, the thought of that made me feel swimmy-headed. Santa, a stranger, a man, exposing my bottom and privates, then smacking my bum as I bent over his knee…Despite my tender age, I was already a pervert…!

Natalie J – Confessions of Natalie: a truly kinky housewife