Spank Ÿ v. slap with one’s open hand or a flat object, especially on the buttocks as a punishment. Ÿ n. a slap or series of slaps of this type.

How can something that’s painful be enjoyable? Create sexual satisfaction?

Erotic pain is a very hard thing to describe and quantify. In the words of Jay Wiseman:

‘One of the great fallacies is that people vary in their pain threshold. Medical research has proven that all persons begin to feel pain at almost exactly the same degree of stimulation. What is true is that people vary a great deal in how they react to painful stimuli …’

Whenever I read about spanking in the mainstream (outside of an erotic book or BDSM instructional text, basically) it’s invariably portrayed as something that’s met out as a unenjoyable punishment. Indeed, the idea that someone would willing submit to a spanking for the purposes of pleasure alone is confusing to a lot of people. Equally, the notion that there are those who like to inflict pain (responsibly) can be a difficult concept for some to get their heads around.

So, I’m going to show you a video. For those of you with a confirmed love of spanking, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you’ll be hot and bothered by the end of this. For those who can’t see the appeal of a pinkened bottom? This may just sway you …

Watch the face of the lady wielding the crop. Watch the movements of the woman receiving it.

In my opinion, this clip is breathtakingly beautiful.

*Please note that The Fashion Body – Buttocks is not overly explicit but does contain nudity and is therefore NSFW (not suitable for work).

The post Spanking is beautiful (NSFW) appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

What we used: Rattan cane
From: Bondara
Price: £16.99
Material(s): Rattan (cane), leather (handle)

*Important: Canes can hurt in bad ways as well as good ways! If you haven’t already, please do take the time to read the Behind the Chintz Curtain Disclaimer before delving further into this post.

First thoughts …

Lizzie
Excitement and dread.

It’s fair to say that Thomas and I have been on a bit of a journey these past few years with impact instruments; first hands, then paddles, then floggers, then straps, then crops, and now, finally, a cane. We’d been discussing the idea of trying one for a while but had been gradually building up as we knew from all the research we’d done on them (and from playing with our other impact toys) that the pain level would likely be quite a jump. Additionally, because of their greater length, there was the worry that a cane would be trickier to control.

In the end, it was Thomas who took the bull by the horns and ordered  it – I was too chicken!

What it looks like …

Lizzie
Like a looong stick. This is a very simple implement and there’s not much to it. It’s basically a length of flexible rattan (81.5 cm of rattan, to be precise) with a strip of soft suede wrapped around one end to create a handle.

While the exterior barrel of the cane is smooth, the two ends (where the rattan has been sliced through) are actually quite rough. Not really a big deal from a use perspective as these parts don’t – or shouldn’t – touch the skin, but not wildly attractive.

I already knew from reading and questioning others that thinner canes are generally more ‘stingy’ and fatter ones more ‘thuddy’, so the newbie in me was pleased to see that this Bondara cane clocked in with a diameter of approximately 1.0 cm. Reasonably chunky! 

Another plus? It’s not made of bamboo, which we’d been warned off due to its tendency to split and crack.

Thomas
It’s a bit hard to pick what a cane will be like from descriptions online. I knew I didn’t want a thin ‘whippy’ one to start with so, was quite pleased to find that the Bondara cane was relatively robust.

Lizzie’s right, it is a very simple thing; a thick bit of rattan (about as thick as your finger) with some leather wrapped around the end. It’s also nice and smooth, with no splits or cracks (very important). 

Using it …

Lizzie
When this arrived and Thomas let me see what he’d ordered, I got into a bit of a dither. On the one hand, I was really looking forward to having it used on me. On the other, I was worried about having it applied and not being able to cope. (Mind you, I was the same way the first time we used a crop!)

Then Thomas put it away in a cupboard, and that just ramped up the anticipation ten-fold. It’s fair to say, I drove him pretty nuts with questions about when he would be getting it out, whether he’d been practising with it in private, and whether he’d re-read all of the educational texts we have on the subject.

Yeah, I was a pain.

The inevitable response was. ‘I’m not telling you. Relax. You know I’ll be careful.’ (And I do know. He always is.)

The cane finally made an appearance about two weeks after it was delivered, and I knew it was coming because Thomas really took his time to build things up. He didn’t go straight in with it but spent a good forty minutes to an hour getting my head in the right place and warming the skin of my buttocks – first with his hands and then with a wooden paddle. Eventually, he leaned me over a piece of furniture and secured my legs with a spreader bar so that I couldn’t wriggle around. (A good idea because you don’t want to be able to shift position unexpectedly when it’s coming towards you and cause an incorrect placement.)

The first strike was a shock – and the sting very sharp – but, oddly, put my mind at ease because once I knew what the sensation was like, it immediately made it much easier to deal with. (Sometimes my imagination is my own worst enemy.)

Interestingly, the pain a cane strike generates is two-fold. There’s a sting when it first hits, followed by a second bloom of pain a moment or two later.

Thomas’s first blow was relatively restrained and he stopped and checked in with me immediately afterwards to make sure I handled it okay. From there, he incrementally increased the pressure, placing strokes in straight, parallel lines across my bottom. On the third one, he checked in verbally again and I requested that he switch sides so that the tip of the cane landed on a different cheek.  (The end was generating a fair amount of sting in a relatively localised area and given my newness to the instrument, I didn’t want to push things too far too soon.)

We did six strokes in total – three on each side – and my backside was on absolute glorious fire by the end. While it was still smarting, Thomas tipped wax from a wax-play candle over the welts and just about had me leaping through the ceiling. I believe the words ‘sadistic bastard’ were used but quickly forgotten as the session morphed into something else entirely :-).

A final note. I should just mention that canes have ‘after effects’. The welts and bruising this particular Bondara offering created were pretty spectacular and lasted roughly a week on me. While I personally loved seeing the evidence of our session in the days that followed, I’m aware that others might not find the slow-fading markings quite such a turn-on. Just something to be aware of – particularly if you are planning on revealing your butt and thighs in the swimming pool, the changing room at the gym, etc. 

Thomas
As Lizzie was being a right pain in the arse about when, where and how it would be used, I made her wait a while. (A reminder of who’s on top – in the bedroom, at least!)

When it did use it, it was after an extended warm up to ensure Lizzie was well and truly ready for it. I can’t say enough how important it is to build up to something more severe like a cane – especially if it’s the first time you have used one. Going in cold won’t hit the right balance of pain/pleasure unless you know your partner very, very well and you both agree that the severe approach is something you want.

Lizzie was clearly nervous, so I started really conservatively with lots of checking to make sure she was handling it okay. (She was – and was getting rather heated as well ;-). I limited the caning to three-a-side, which was plenty for an initial session, and I must say the red welts on Lizzie’s bottom, especially where the end of the cane was hitting, were very impressive. (This is why you need to spread the love over both cheeks). Any more, even at the relatively restrained intensity we were playing at, and I think sitting down may have been a real issue.

I didn’t want to let Lizzie off lightly after all the stressing and fussing beforehand, so had some hot wax to hand to finish her off.

A nice set-up to a particularly squirty orgasm.

The verdict?

Lizzie
One thing hasn’t changed. I’m still both excited and frightened by this implement. The cane has some serious, serious power and, if applied incorrectly and/or without thought, could result in a horrible experience. On the flip side, in the hands of someone who is measured, careful, and in tune with the person on the receiving end, I think it has the potential to open up an absolute kaleidoscope of possibilities for those, like me, who enjoy erotic pain.

If you choose to buy this – or any other cane – doing your safety homework is essential before putting it through its paces. (The aptly named Jay Wiseman’s book, SM 101: A Realistic Introduction is an excellent text with solid, practical information about caning and other aspects of S/M. Peter Masters’s BDSM website, too, has a very good overview of caning for beginners.) And if you’re the wielder, make sure you practise your aim and pressure on an inanimate object before going anywhere near real flesh. 

Thomas
I liked it, Lizzie liked it, and it’s an implement that can be used to great effect. Just go easy to start with, practice hitting pillows, etc., first to get your aim right, move the strokes around on the cheeks, and swap sides to help keep the intensity and the welts at a manageable level (unless your partner likes a more extreme workup, of course). And remember to keep a close eye on your other half to make sure that all is well and they’re not getting too stressed.

In summary …

Things we liked:

• The price. Sub-£20.00.
• The diameter. This is a thicker cane and, as such, a great choice for beginners.
• The feel. (Well, actually, it hurts. A lot. But that’s kind of the point!)
• The marks it leaves.

Things we weren’t so keen on:

• The cane ends could be finished better – they’re a bit rough ‘n’ ready.

Tickle your fancy? Click here to buy the Rattan Cane from Bondara.

The post The cane; not just for Victorian schoolmasters appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Title:

I think ‘Unheld Conversations’ would have been a better title for this book.

Jared is a member of an organisation called the Rod and Cane Society. Personally, I prefer to refer to it by its original name when it was founded back in 1937: The He-Man Woman Haters Club. Therefore, throughout the rest of this review, I am going to call it He-Man for short.

So, anyway, the guys in He-Man are all into Domestic Discipline (DD). DD, if you aren’t aware, is a form of relationship where one partner gets to decide if the other partner has done something bad and, if they have, punish them for it – usually with a spanking. It can actually function either way (the Wife can spank the Husband) but that isn’t a He-Man idea. Oh, no. And when I say ‘guys’, I mean ‘guys’; ladies don’t actually get to join He-Man. They have to join the He-Man Ladies Auxiliary. More on that aspect a little later.

He-Man even has a really cool clubhouse. It has two sections: a public section (just like you would expect a ‘Prestigious Fraternal Organization’ to have) but also a way more interesting part the public don’t get to see. All the social functions occur in this private section, and it’s just chock-full of art consisting of freshly spanked, red-bottomed women (tastefully modelled by Ladies Auxiliary Members). Oh, and I should mention the ‘Disciplinary Chamber’. I would tell you more about what happens in there, but I don’t want to give anything away.

Jared meets Melania at a He-Man event. Not held at the clubhouse, obviously, because, well, that would have been a problem. You see, even though Melania knows her father is a member of He-Man and her mother is a member of the Auxiliary, she doesn’t know anything about Domestic Discipline or what He-Man is really about. You see, the first rule of He-Man is that you don’t talk about He-Man. So even though her parents play matchmaker for these two lovebirds they neglect to mention to Melania just what she is getting into.

Now I know what you are thinking: Jared surely wouldn’t enter into a DD relationship without making sure that Melania understood what he wanted? Well, actually … They talk about him being in charge and he does kind of mention that he wants to spank her if she does something really, really naughty, but she doesn’t really think he’s serious.

Of course, eventually she does something that he decides she should be spanked for and … What’s that? He gives her a good old-fashioned brisk hand spanking over his knee? Well, no, actually. He fastens her bottom upwards over his fancy spanking bench with fleece-lined straps and uses his shiny new paddle on her. Perhaps not surprisingly, things kind of go downhill for a while after that.

I am not entirely sure what the Society’s existence was supposed to add to the Unexpected Consequences story. The whole Code of Silence was disturbing. The nametags were condescending. The whole argument that Melania would just come to accept her place over time? I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t reading The Stepford Wives.

Jared was totally ruled by his emotions, spending the entire story either feeling sorry for himself or being angry at Melania. I did think his hunter/gatherer argument had the potential to be compelling – if it were still 25,000 BC. Before he took responsibility for someone else, he really needed to take responsibility for himself first.

I kept waiting for Jared and Melania to actually have a conversation about Domestic Discipline and what they both wanted out of it. I still can’t believe that no such conversation actually occurred. I thought the ending was a case of doing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons.

There are a lot of people outside of the BDSM and spanking communities who would consider Domestic Discipline abuse. I just don’t feel like Unexpected Consequences provides any arguments against that but could actually provide some in favour.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to purchase a copy.

Amazon.co.uk:

• Unexpected Consequences - Kindle

Amazon.com:

The post Unexpected Consequences (Rod and Cane Society #1) – Cara Bristol appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

Image: Karlyne (Own work)

All Girls Love Ponies is my second five-minute erotica offering and involves a sadistic dressage instructor giving some rather unorthodox instructions to his female pupil. If the idea of a whip applied to a soft backside makes you hot, then this story might be for you …

Missed the first five-minute erotica, Frostbite? You can find it here.

IMPORTANT: Please note that All Girls Love Ponies is a work of fiction and contains explicit sexual content and BDSM elements, including impact play. If such material offends you or you are under the age of 18, please don’t read any further.

ALL GIRLS LOVE PONIES 

I was late for my lesson. Again.

Hell hath no fury like a dressage instructor kept waiting and to say that Sebastian was going to be displeased with me was a colossal understatement. Monumental, in fact.

The industrial lights from the indoor school blazed in the darkness and I swallowed, briefly toying with the idea of getting back in my car and driving off.

It was tempting. More than tempting. But I was in no doubt that if I hightailed it I’d banned from his tutelage forever. And I didn’t want that, because even though Sebastian Cavendish was a total asshole with a heart of granite and the demeanour of an angry bear, he was an absolutely brilliant riding teacher. People waited months and months and forked over hundreds of pounds to have him yell at them just once. I, on the other hand, paid for the privilege, physically, financially and mentally, every Friday night from eight ‘til nine.

For whatever reason, I’d decided that resurrecting my childhood riding hobby was a good way for me to relax, to shed the stress of my job as a lawyer at one of Oxford’s busiest and most prestigious law firms.

To a certain extent, my theory was working; it was virtually impossible to think about my caseload while sitting astride five hundred kilos of difficult horseflesh and being yelled at by an ex-member of the Household Cavalry.

A dark figure appeared between the open double-doors of the school, illuminated by the manege’s lit interior.

Sebastian.

He stood silently; legs apart, hands on his hips. Six foot three of intimidating shadow, waiting for me to approach.

I glanced down at my watch once more, praying for miracle.

8.17pm.

Nope. Time hadn’t stood still. I was nearly twenty minutes late.

A boulder of dread sitting heavy in my stomach, I reached back inside my Mini and grabbed the velvet riding helmet on the passenger seat, thankful that I’d scrambled into my breeches and jacket in the ladies’ loos at work. Asking Sebastian for additional time to change at this point would have been like volunteering to be shot by a firing squad.

Slamming the car door, I reluctantly started towards the manege, my anxiety growing with each step.

With the light behind him, it was impossible to see the expression on Sebastian’s face but there was absolutely no doubt he was royally, royally pissed; his displeasure was a living, breathing energy that radiated outwards and wrapped around me like constricting serpent.

A metre from his imposing frame, I ground to a halt, unwilling to get any closer to the explosion that was certain to occur. It was hard to keep my eyes up, to not look at the ground like a naughty schoolgirl, but I forced myself to face him despite the fact that I was literally quaking in my riding boots.

I knew better than to say anything. To him, excuses and placations meant nothing. The only thing this man responded to was perfection – and he never got that from me.

I stood and waited for him to address me.

But, disconcertingly, he simply stood there. Hands braced against his hips, face in shadow, caustic gaze burning holes in me as I squirmed like a gill-caught sprat on his line of contempt.

I was on the verge of breaking the horrible silence with a stuttered apology when Sebastian simply turned on his heel and strode back into the school.

For a moment, I stood dumbly. Should I follow? Or did his silence mean he was washing his hands of me for good?

He must have realised I wasn’t trotting along in his wake because he paused briefly and without turning his head uttered three words in the most scarily level tone I’d ever heard him use.

‘Get in here.’

I stumbled forwards, jogging slightly to catch up with him as he marched to the collecting area on the far side of the arena.

And was almost ill when I saw the jet-black horse waiting for me.

The Boatman.

Named after Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, he was easily the most difficult ride in the Sebastian’s stable – and the few times I’d been on him, things hadn’t ended well. I really had felt like I’d been crossing the River Styx to the world of the dead without a coin to pay for my passage.

I was so busy eyeing my equine nemesis and panicking about how the hell I was going to stay on him that I momentarily forgot about my human one.

Until he spoke, that was.

‘Take off your jodhpurs.’

My head whipped around so fast I was surprised I didn’t give myself whiplash.

Sebastian was standing just to the right of me, arms folded across his chest, face completely impassive.

‘Excuse me?’ I spluttered.

‘Your jodhpurs. Take them off. Now.’

Anger surged through me at his audacity – the nerve of the man! – but, most alarmingly, the ghost of a thrill came hot on the heels of the outrage.

I drew myself up and somehow forced myself to assume the expression I used when facing down opposing barristers in court.

‘How bloody dare you, you arrogant shit.’

Sebastian’s eyes took on an evil gleam and my blood turned ice-cold at the frightening promise in them. Well, except for the place between my legs, which, against all odds, seemed to catch fire at his look.

He uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to me.

‘Natalia.’

Leaned in.

‘Take. Them. Off.’

All the air seemed to leave the arena. Just for a moment, I wondered if I was having some sort of hallucination, but then I realised, no. This was very, very real. On some instinctive level, I realised that I was on a precipice. Even worse, I was going to willingly step off it.

Glaring defiantly at the man in front of me, I let my helmet drop to the ground and bought my fingers to the hook at the top of my riding trousers. Popped it loose and yanked down the zip below it. Unfortunately, my air of challenge, such as it was, lost all effect as I realised I would be unable to rid myself of them without first shedding my boots.

Reluctantly, I dropped my eyes and attempted to toe them off. Usually, I removed them with a boot jack – the fit was very tight – but here in the riding school there was none. As I struggled to lift my right heel upwards, I glanced briefly at Sebastian.

He made absolutely no move to help me despite my obvious difficulties, seeming perfectly content to watch me contort myself as I attempted to follow his ludicrously inappropriate instructions.

My humiliation grew. Yet something in me refused to back down.

Eventually, the boots came off – along with my socks. I was so embarrassed by my lack of grace that it was almost a relief to peel my black jodhpurs down over my thighs and calves. At least until I had to hop about in front of him pulling the clingy fabric over my ankles.

When I finally stood bared legged and barefoot in the sawdust, my breeches in a heap next to my hat, I was red-faced with embarrassment.

‘Lose the knickers. Put your boots and socks back on.’

Without waiting to see if I would comply, he turned and made his way over to the rail of the collecting area and picked up the long dressage whip leaning against it. Then Sebastian turned towards me, tapping the long, thin stem across his palm, narrowing his eyes at the pants still in place over my sex. ‘It seems that you’re as appalling at following instructions as you are at riding in a straight line.’

‘I–’

‘Don’t say a word,’ he snapped. ‘You’re in quite enough trouble as it is.’

I swallowed.

‘I’m going to give you one last chance, Natalia. And if you don’t do as I tell you, you’re going to be very, very sorry.’

I was in absolutely no doubt that Sebastian’s threat wasn’t an idle one. My hands flew to my hips, tangled in the elastic waistband of my knickers, pulled them down my legs. When it came to drawing my socks and boots on, I didn’t hesitate. I simply sat bare-assed in the sawdust, the rough shavings brushing against my pussy, and drew them on as quickly as I could. When I stood, the chips that had clung to my skin rained down the backs of my legs like wooden confetti.

Sebastian regarded me critically, in the same way he would take the measure of a horse he intended to break.

‘Come here. Bring your things.’

I didn’t dare disobey. I bent to scoop up the detritus of my riding gear and made my way towards him, the various items spilling over my arms. Funnily enough, I was more concerned with not dropping anything that the fact that I was exposed from the waist down.

‘Put it down.’

I did. Straightened.

‘Look at me.’

My eyes met his.

‘You’re going to ride every drill I give you perfectly. No errors.’

My jaw dropped. In the four months I’d been coming to Sebastian for tuition, I’d never managed to execute a single line, circle, or change of rein that met his exacting standards. And that was on a horse I could actually control.

‘And if I don’t?’

He smiled, showing off his lovely straight, white teeth. ‘You’ll be reprimanded.’

Oh, God.

‘Any questions?’

Hell, I might as well go for broke. ‘Why am I not wearing pants?’

‘So that I can punish you more easily when you fail, my dear Natalia.’

I sincerely wished I hadn’t asked.

The Boatman seemed to sense something was afoot. He flicked his ears backwards and forwards and shifted restlessly as I moved to mount him.

Don’t panic, Natalia. You can do this.

Gathering the reins in my left hand, I grabbed onto the saddle and prepared to pull myself onto the gelding’s back but, as I did so, I was suddenly struck by an awful thought.  When I swung my leg over, Sebastian, who was holding the stirrup on the opposite side to prevent the saddle from slipping, was going to get an absolute eyeful.

‘I haven’t got all night, Natalia,’ he barked. ‘If you don’t want me to take this whip to your ass, get on the horse.’

That decided it. I pushed my weight into my left leg and pulled myself onto The Boatman’s back. And almost lost it when the cool, smooth saddle leather pressed against my bare pubis. I’d had it waxed not two days before and the skin was achingly sensitive.

The Boatman chose that moment to dance sideways, his body moving like liquid silk beneath me. I sat deep and tightened my legs in an effort to bring him under control – and was immediately distracted by a sharp bolt of arousal as my unprotected clit rubbed against the pommel of the saddle. Somehow, I managed to keep hold of the reins, but it was a close-run thing.

I bought the gelding to a stand-still and hurriedly got my right foot into the stirrup. When I looked up, Sebastian was frowning at me.

‘Warm up. Two circuits at a walk. Change the rein. Two more.’

I nodded and gently squeezed The Boatman with my calves to move him to the outside of the arena. After a brief battle of wills, he complied. But not before his undulating movements had caused further havoc with my rapidly swelling clitoris.

Initially, I was just thankful that I had the horse moving in the right direction, but by the time I’d completed my second circuit and started riding the diagonal line that would see us moving clockwise rather than anticlockwise, I was rapidly turning into a ball of messy, distracted arousal.

The rhythm of The Boatman’s springy walk, my bare pussy and the leather rubbing against it, was bordering on unbearable. Worse, I could feel the saddle growing damp as my pussy started to leak its juices onto its smooth surface.

The Boatman chose that moment to take advantage of my inattention and dance out of alignment, throwing in a few small bucks for good measure as he did so.

Heart pounding, I wrestled to bring him back under control.

‘Halt!’ boomed Sebastian, who was now standing in the centre of the arena, mere metres from our mishap.

Easy for you to say, I thought, somehow managing to bring the black devil beneath me to a stop.

‘Dismount.’

I took my feet from the stirrups and slid to the ground next to him.

‘Tie him up at the collecting ring and come directly back to me.’

On shaking legs, I led The Boatman to the side of the manege, secured him, and returned to face the seriously displeased man holding the dressage whip.

‘Get on your hands and knees, Natalia.’

Thud, thud, thud.

My heart was deep and hollow, pounding like a kettle drum. How far was he actually going to take this? The man had a frickin’ whip in has hand for Christ’s sake. And just how far would I let him go?

As far as you need to in order to earn his approval a small voice whispered.

It was an uncomfortable truth. Deep down, as much as I railed against Sebastian’s awful attitude, I genuine wanted to please him, to do something worthy of his praise. Now he’d well and truly thrown down the gauntlet and, fool that I undoubtedly was, I didn’t want to be found lacking any more than I already had been.

Decision made, I lowered myself into the sawdust, keeping my eyes locked on his the entire time.

The corner of his mouth turned up as watched me. ‘Drop your head,’ he said as he moved to stand behind me.

I did as I was told, the helmet adding its own weight as my neck arched downwards.

‘Why are you being reprimanded, Natalia?’

‘For not keeping control of The Boatman.’

‘No, Natalia, that’s not it.’

There was a whistling sound and then, a millisecond later, a stripe of excruciating heat arced across my bare buttocks. I yelped in pain and lurched upwards, tried to cover the stinging skin with my sawdust-covered hands. Sebastian was ready for me, though; a broad palm pressed not ungently against my spine, stopping me from getting far enough up to balance. I was forced to lean forwards again and put my hands back on the ground to stop myself from face-planting. For a split second, my instincts screamed at me to crawl out of reach, away from Sebastian and the cruel sting of the whip in his hand, but they were quickly superseded by the desire to hold my ground and prove to him that I could take whatever he chose to dish out. Steeling myself, I took two deep lungfuls of air and braced for whatever was coming next.

It was as if Sebastian had been waiting for me to strengthen my resolve, because the moment I firmed my posture, mentally accepted what was happening, he addressed me.

‘If you move out of position again, I’ll tie you to the railing of the collecting ring. Do you understand?’

I nodded.

‘Good. Now, Natalia. Why are you being reprimanded?’

This time, I thought before opening my mouth.

‘For losing concentration.’

‘Excellent.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sebastian’s leather boots appear near my left shoulder.

‘You have an appalling attention span when you’re struggling with something, Natalia, and that’s the reason you ride so shockingly. So, I’m going to make things both better and worse for you. Each time you lose it, I’m going to give you five lashes with the dressage whip.’ He paused, as if waiting for me to say something.

I thought it best to hold my tongue.

Sebastian continued, sounding vaguely amused. ‘I’m also going to make things more difficult for you every time you slip up.’

Uh, oh.

‘For each error, you will receive something that will make it even more difficult to concentrate.’

Unable to stop myself, I snorted. ‘What could possibly be more distracting than a backside that’s on fire?’

‘Oh, Natalia. Believe me, your backside is going to be the least of your worries.’

My heart actually stopped beating.

‘So it’s really very simple. Keep your concentration and you’ll escape further punishment. Lose it and you’ll make things more and more difficult for yourself.’

My palms started to sweat.

‘Now, I’m going to give you the remaining four strokes I owe you and you’re going to take them gracefully. Aren’t you?’

I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes, Sebastian.’

And then my backside exploded in pain as the dressage whip swung down to meet it with a fierce kiss.

From that point on, the lesson became my own personal chamber of torture. I’d been back on The Boatman less than ten minutes, valiantly trying to ignore my newly striped bottom (which screamed in fiery protest every time it rubbed against the saddle), when I screwed up the sequence Sebastian had asked me to ride. He had me off the gelding in an instant, and the moment the horse was tied up out of the way, he laid down five blistering lashes on the lower curve of my bottom, one on top of the other. Then he pulled me to my feet, tears dripping down my cheeks at the humiliation, and unceremoniously stripped me down to my bra. I was sure I looked ridiculous, standing there in just my boots and a black lace underwire, but Sebastian didn’t seem the least bit concerned by my appearance. He pulled the delicate fabric cups down so that my breasts were completely exposed – and unsupported – and ordered me to get back on The Boatman so we could continue the lesson. As I climbed back into the saddle, I sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the man above for blessing me with small breasts – officially the only time in my life I’d ever been grateful for being an A cup.

The next five lashes came when I failed to move The Boatman from a trot to a canter as quickly as Sebastian would have liked. These ones landed across the fleshiest parts of my buttocks and the blows had enough force behind them to make my mind go completely blank as I tried to process the pain. While I remained on my hands and knees, trying to breathe through the aftermath, Sebastian crouched down beside me and reached for one of my nipples. It was shockingly erect and I realised, suddenly, that this out-of-left-field session of punishment – the pain, the humiliation, Sebastian’s dominance and his implacable orders – were all speaking to me on some base, sexual level.

I was totally and utterly aroused. More turned on than I could remember being in my entire life.

And a glance at the rather impressive bulge in Sebastian’s pants told me he was too.

My moment of epiphany was cut abruptly short, however, because just as the realisation entered my head, he pulled something silvery from his pocket and attached it to the turgid tip of my left breast.

‘Fuck!’ I whipped my hand out of the shavings and tried ineffectually to bat his hand and whatever the hell was now clipped to me away.

‘Put your hand back down, Natalia.’

‘What the fuck have you done to my nipple you sadistic shit?’ I half snapped, half wheezed.

‘You watch your language.’ He punctuated his command with a firm tug on the silvery thing and I immediately crumpled in agony, clenching my fingers into tight fists.

I’d just managed to ride the wave of it out when an identical crushing pressure enveloped my right nipple, too.

‘Aaahhh!’

‘It will pass. The first few seconds after the clamps go on are the worst.’ Sebastian smiled. ‘Well, until they come off, that is.’

Clamps?!

‘On your feet, get back on The Boatman. We have another twenty minutes left.’

I looked frantically down at the watch on my wrist. ‘But I was late and it’s already nine o’clock!’ I protested.

‘You’re mine for a full hour, Natalia, and you’ll get the lesson you paid for.’

The next fifteen minutes went relatively smoothly. For the majority of them, my mind managed to overrule the tingling in my pussy, the increasingly raw skin of my bottom, the weight of the clamps as they dragged at my aching nipples with each bouncy step The Boatman took. Against all odds, the additional distractions were forcing me to focus every part of myself on the horse beneath me; concentrating on every little detail of the ride was only way I could rise above them and keep my ever-increasing arousal at bay. That was until my clit took a delicious rub during a leg yield, the reins went slack and The Boatman bolted.

Off I came again. Another five lashes. Alternate cheeks. As the final stroke landed, Sebastian gave me the shock of my life by burying one of his fingers in my embarrassingly wet pussy, then drawing it out and around the pucker of my anus.

I tensed. He snorted with laughter.

His finger left me briefly and there was rustling followed by a squelching noise, as if something was being squeezed from a bottle. Then the feeling of something cool, firm and slippery pressing against my ass – which I immediately clenched in protest.

‘You owe me five more minutes, Natalia. And I’m going to make them count.’

‘By sticking something in my bottom?’ I retorted.

Sebastian leaned down next to my ear. ‘Are you looking to add another ten minutes of complimentary instruction?’ he whispered.

I shook my head frantically. No way. I was close to the limit of my endurance – physically and emotionally. These last five minutes might as well be five hours.

‘Pity. You’ve made more progress this evening than you have in the past four months.’ He punctuated the end of his sentence by pressing whatever it was in his hand through the resisting ring at the entrance of my anus. Stopping briefly when I flinched, and then continuing until it was fully seated within me.

I whined. I actually whined. The object wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was uncomfortable. Only the discomfort had an edginess to it that was inexplicably tantalising. It didn’t make sense – especially to someone like me who generally disliked anal sex.

Sebastian slapped my bottom the flat of his hand none-to-gently and I scrambled to my feet.

‘You have five minutes left, Natalia.’ He paused, studying my flushed face. ‘Don’t disappointment me.’

It was like being in the eye of a hurricane. Three hundred seconds of heaven and hell.

Every time my bottom hit the saddle, the bit of the object protruding from my ass was shoved further inside me. My nipples felt both numb and tingly, the clamps on them feeling heavier than ever before. The welts on the skin of my buttocks became more and more tender with each movement of the horse beneath me.

The only way to escape the assault of sensation was to become part of the animal between my legs, an extension of the reins in my hands.

And for the first time ever, I rode the drill Sebastian gave me without making a single error.

When I finally drew to a halt in front of him, The Boatman in a perfect outline, legs absolutely square, I was on the brink of a complete meltdown.

Sebastian took hold of the horse’s reins and nodded at me to dismount. ‘Wait here,’ he said, and led the gelding to the collecting ring, rubbing his muzzle as he did so.

I looked down. Saw the silver clamps quivering against my breasts as I trembled. Registered the damp smears of arousal on my shaking thighs.

What the hell was happening to me?

Before I knew it, Sebastian was back, standing like a conquering king in front of me, the dressage whip in his hand. My eyes widened and I took a step backwards.

‘Stop.’

I froze.

He stepped closer. ‘That sort of riding, Natalia, is what I will expect from you every time from now on.’ Keeping his eyes locked with mine, he lifted the long whip and trailed it very, very slowly from the hollow of my throat to the start of the crease between my legs. ‘Very well done.’

The wash of happiness Sebastian’s approval induced was so deep and so great I almost sobbed with relief. At last! I finally had his respect.

But as great as the gift of his compliment was, it did nothing to ease the twisted state of my virtually naked body, wrung so taught it felt close to breaking.

Even as I bathed in his praise, I felt like I was lost in a thick, dense emotional fog and that any second I would shatter into a million disconnected molecules.

I made to turn away, desperate to cover myself and gain the sanctuary of my car, but Sebastian had other ideas.

I got exactly one foot before he tackled me from behind and forced me back down on my hands and knees.

‘Don’t you want your reward?’

Then that wickedly long crop was raining down on my derriere until my skin felt like it had been dipped in gasoline and set on fire.

The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt before and the orgasm that had been threatening to break loose the entire lesson exploded through me like a Fury. On and on it went, re-igniting to an excruciating peak when Sebastian reached beneath me to pull the clamps of my poor, tortured nipples, bathing them in a euphoria of blissful agony.

When the storm finally subsided and I came back to myself, I was lying on my stomach in the sawdust, head resting on my bare arms. Sebastian was crouched beside me, stroking my back, the dressage whip discarded at his feet.

Barely able to summon the strength to move, I turned my head in his direction and looked at him in wonder.

‘How long have you been planning that? I mean, how did you … know to do that to me?’

Sebastian smiled slightly, not even pretending to misunderstand.

‘You always did respond to the sadist in me, Natalia – even if you didn’t realise it until now.’ His grin turned wolfish. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to be late again for almost a month.’

I grunted, and sucked in a breath when his fingers drifted down to my behind and gently extracted the object from my anus. He held it up for me to see.

It was a small glass plug, quite beautiful in its own way.

He glanced pointedly from it to me. ‘Next time you fuck up, Natalia – and you will,’ he added casually, ‘you’ll have an even bigger one of these to contend with.’ He rose to his feet, picking up the dressage whip as he did so. ‘And I’ll blister your ass so badly you won’t sit down for a week.’

I smiled against my arm as he walked away.

‘I look forward to it,’ I whispered into the silence.

The post Five-minute erotica: All girls love ponies appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

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A novel of punishment, pleasure and intrigue set against the exotic backdrop of 1920s Singapore, Straits Academy will almost certainly appeal to those with a penchant for sexual discipline. I was really intrigued by this book’s synopsis – I’ve not come across many contemporary erotic novels set in the early twentieth century – and the promise of crops and correction within the context of a colonial girls’ boarding school was too much to resist.

In the first few pages of Straits Academy, we are introduced to our intrepid heroine, Adelaide Hartley (Addy), as her boat makes its way into Singapore harbour; she is excited about meeting her new fiancé, Arthur Fitz-Bowman, after a long-distance courtship and looking forward to the prospect of embarking on a new life in a foreign country. Her joyous anticipation quickly fades, however, in the face of the news that her future husband has been murdered – possibly as a direct result of an opium smuggling investigation he was conducting at the time of his death. Mr Thomas Drake, the man responsible for delivering Adelaide an account of the terrible event, suspects that his murder – and the smuggling – is somehow tied to the beautiful Madame Ong who runs a well-known girls’ boarding school, Straits Academy. A close friend of the deceased, he has been doing his utmost to solve the mystery surrounding his acquaintance’s untimely death. Yet as he speaks with Adelaide (who despite her age of twenty-two years resembles, in stature, a teenage girl) he is struck by a somewhat unconventional idea that results in an even more outlandish proposal: will she consider posing as his niece and attending Straits Academy in an attempt to glean information about Arthur’s murder? To his surprise, Addy  agrees to his suggestion – and thus begins a wonderful tale of raised school dresses, lowered drawers and very pink bottoms.

We’ve all heard of villains we love to hate but, in this instance, Madame Ong is very much the villain you hate to love. Cruel and sensual in equal measure, the reader looks forward to her punishments with the same twisted sense of anticipation that the school girls in her charge do. She is beautiful, measured and capable of just about anything. Adelaide’s interactions with her and her like-minded staff are blisteringly hot and, even with the advantage of a level of maturity, Addy is cannot remain indifferent to the sexually charged correction methods she and the other girls must subject themselves to. It’s the small touches that make Madame Ong so successful, because even though Straits Academy is explicit, the moments that her power is more ‘quiet’, are equally potent and stimulating:

‘Adelaide rose hurriedly and pulled up her drawers, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. As she got the last button through, and her skirt smoothed down, she looked up and noticed the headmistress looking pointedly at the bench where she had been sitting.
Adelaide spun around to look and turned beet red. There was a dark spot on the wood exactly where she had been sitting. The headmistress caught her eye and gave her a wide smile.
“I think you’ll do very well here at Straits Academy, Adelaide. Very well indeed. Now off to class with you.”’

But as much as I looked forward to Madame Ong, I also loved reading about Mr Drake, the man responsible for thrusting Addy under her nose – or should I say hand. Very much aware of his sexual appetites, watching him as his awareness of Straits Academy’s practices and policies – and its true purpose – grew was wonderful. The scenes in which he disciplines his wayward ‘niece’ are electric (the age-play is very well done), laced with tension, and work as an unusual sort of foreplay for the romance that develops between them. There is an outstanding scene involving him spanking Adelaide under the eye of a school chaperone that almost had me sticking my head in the fridge and another involving a mirror and chair that had a very similar effect.

‘Drake raised his hand, and held it above her for a second, savouring the sight of her bare bottom and the feel of her across his legs. Having Miss Connor’s eager eyes on them was a potent spice.
He brought his hand down, hard enough to make a good sound and raise a pink splotch on her bottom. She made a little cry, but kept her hands and feet in place.’

There are some editing errors in Straits Academy (minor typos and inconsistences ) but I was lucky enough to be able to read an advance copy of the text so these could very well be absent from the final version (and in any case, the story and the writing were strong enough that I was able to move past them without feeling they’d substantially detracted from the book). I will also admit that I was a little disappointed by what I felt was the story’s somewhat quick end; the Straits Academy plot unfolded at a steady pace for the first twenty seven chapters but its resolution seemed, to me, to be a little hurried, which was a shame. I was really hoping to see more of Madame Ong, her staff and the mysterious Tan Yue Sheng in the concluding stages. Perhaps Alice Liddell is teasing us, however, and we will see more of the fates of these characters in a future book. Let’s hope so.

A Town Like Alice meets Delta of Venus. Exotic, hot and very sexy.

*Please note that Straits Academy was provided free of charge by the author in exchange for a fair review.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to buy Straits Academy from Amazon.co.uk (Kindle) and Amazon.com (Kindle).

The post Straits Academy – Alice Liddell appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.

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If you have a bit of a thing for spanking and punishment, Uncle Charles’ Girls should be at the very top of your ‘to read’ list. Although penned approximately ten years ago, this little novella was only available via a private membership site until it was published as an eBook in June of this year and I can only thank Alice Liddell, who wrote the foreword, for encouraging Randolph to make this story more widely available.

To say that Uncle Charles’ Girls got me hot and bothered would be something of an understatement. It literally had me squirming in my seat – and I mean that in a good way. Such was its impact (sorry, couldn’t resist) that I had to lock myself in the bedroom during and after reading it. Windows were steamed. Sheets were wrinkled.

Set in Victorian England, the story focuses on eighteen-year-old Lady Clara Smithson and nineteen-year-old Lady Louise Wellington. Although not related by blood, an unfortunate series of events throws the girls quite unexpectedly into the guardianship of Louise’s half-brother, Charles – otherwise known as Baron Cladwell. Louise has little knowledge of her half-brother, having had no real contact with him during the course of her life, and both she and Clara are extremely curious about the man who is to oversee the remainder of their education and their introduction to society. Never in their wildest dreams (or nightmares), however, do they imagine that the Baron has a decided predilection for birching and that he intends to discipline their bare, youthful bottoms whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Charles can’t believe his good fortune at having two pretty young women – whom he can cane at his leisure – fall into his hands. It all seems too good to be true and is the ultimate realisation of a fantasy that he has harboured for nearly fourteen years:

‘One of the aims of Charles’ life became obtaining a well-bred young woman to ‘raise’, a young woman whose chastisement would be under his direct supervision. However, Charles always felt that this aim would never be realised, and that his love of the rod would be manifested only in the occasional discipline of a housemaid. He could have hired a whore, certainly, who would have been happy to ‘play’ for a price, but this Charles found offensive. Only truly-deserved punishment of a downcast, apprehensive miscreant, chastisement earned through genuine misbehavior, was interesting to Charles.’

Despite weighing in at just 115 pages Uncle Charles’ Girls packs a hefty punch. The pace is good and the discipline scenes are off-the-charts erotic. Anne Randolph’s imagery is brilliant and the explicit descriptions of the various birchings and spankings enacted in the novella are breathtaking. The build-up to each is carefully done and it is oh-so-easy, not to mention enjoyable, to picture in your mind’s eye the encounters taking place. It’s very much a ‘skirts up, drawers down’ affair and the titillation is firmly rooted in the descriptive, voyeuristic detail:

‘Reluctantly, slowly, sniffing audibly, the girls reached under their full skirts and petticoats, and gathered them up and around. Within seconds, the three of them stood holding a froth of dark skirt and white petticoats around their waists, bare from hip down to just above their knees, where their plain dark stockings were gartered with simple ribbons.’

Charles is a wonderfully drawn character and his enthusiasm for the birch rod fairly leaps off the pages. There’s undoubtedly a sense of outrage on the part of the reader for treating his charges in the way that he does – using them inappropriately to obtain his own sexual gratification – but his actions are skilfully offset by the erotic landscape created by Randolph’s words. And as Alice Liddell points out in her foreword:

‘In the Victorian period in which the story is set, many young ladies did actually live under precisely the sort of supervision described in these pages. And if a husband felt it necessary to correct his wife with physical chastisement, this was both legally permitted and socially condoned.’

In the entirety of the book there are only two penetrative scenes – neither of which involve either Clara or Louise – but this doesn’t mean that Uncle Charles’ Girls is lacking in sexual charge. If you’re a bit of a fan of impact play – or the idea of it gives you lovely butterflies in your stomach – you should definitely be making a date with Uncle Charles. Make no mistake, though: this book is not for the faint of heart. If you’re at all offended by raw language (including the ‘c’ word), euphemistic Victorian names for body parts, explicit anatomical descriptions, or the idea of BDSM-style punishment leaves you cold, this may not be a good choice for you. Per the Amazon product description warning:

‘Uncle Charles’ Girls is an authentic piece of Victorian erotica. It contains explicit BDSM themes, severe punishment by spanking and birching, dubious consent, and explicitly-described anal sex.’

And just to touch on the ‘explicitly-described anal sex’ referenced above, there is a brilliant little Author’s Note at the end of the novella, which cites the following historical source for ‘Dr. Young’s Rectal Dilators’:

The best bit? Uncle Charles’ Girls has a sequel, Uncle Charles’ Brides, scheduled for release this August.

Can’t wait.

Tickle your fancy? Click on the following links to buy this book from: Amazon.co.uk (Kindle), Amazon.com (Kindle).

The post Uncle Charles’ Girls – Anne Randolph appeared first on Behind the Chintz Curtain.