Original Story: The Bathrobe

By C.M.Tyssen 2009

When my bratty young submissive Pauline opened the door for me, I was all business. No smiles. No pleasantries. I just slowly reached out and grabbed her by the throat with one hand. Advancing slowly into the room (I didn’t want the girl to trip after all), my grip forced her back into a wall. I wanted to signal that I intended this night’s session to be a little more strict and intense than usual. So I gave her throat a slight but perceptible squeeze. And I watched her brown eyes widened with surprise and a little confusion.

Photo by Minon Minon

But as they use to say in the Army: no plan survives first contact with the enemy. I had originally envisioned and planned for something very specific this evening. So I had even called ahead and told Pauline what I wanted ready by the time I got there. But as usual she had ideas of her own. Like I said: she’s a brat.

So the moment I burst through the door I took in two things. First: Pauline had followed my instructions about neatly laying out all our toys and shackles. But second: she was not wearing the outfit I had laid out for her last time. Instead she seemed to be wearing nothing except a belted, terry cloth bathrobe.

I should have known this would happen. This was part of our usual game. I enjoy thinking creatively on my feet and Pauline likes giving me excuses to punish her.
“Pauline, dear, didn’t I tell you to meet me wearing your leather waist cincher and your sexy black ‘fuck-me’ heels?”

“Sorry, Sir. But I was shaving and I only just got out of the shower. I didn’t have time...” She gave a hopeful, lopsided half-smile.

“Seriously, were you trying to displease me on purpose? I mean, does a person wear a bathrobe because it’s sexy or because it’s comfortable?”
“Because it’s comfortable, Sir,” she admitted.

It took me a moment to consider how I should react. “Well, let’s see if we can associate bathrobes with something else besides comfort.” And with that I grabbed a handful of Pauline’s long black hair close to the nape of her neck. I pulled her away from the wall and into a standing position.

I re-wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her body. I then reversed the belt and tied a knot at the small of her back. Pauline’s wrists were then crossed behind her back and tied together with the loose ends of the same belt. And finally, in order to better immobilize her arms, I pulled her robe off her shoulders and pushed the soft folds down until they were bunched tightly just under her breasts. Since her arms were still in the sleeves, this actually caused her elbows to be pinned to the sides of her body.

I stood back to admire my handy work. Her bathrobe was now an ersatz straight jacket that completely immobilized her arms and cupped her breasts in a way that just made me want to hang some nipple clamps on them. (Lucky for her, a set was not within easy reach.)
“You understand why I’m going to have to punish you, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. Because I wasn’t dressed for you.”
“Exactly right. But it seems that merely spanking you hasn’t done anything to improve your discipline. We need to try something new. Get down on your knees.”

Let's not repeat Catherine the Great's mistake

This is an excerpt from an email to an ALT friend. I enjoyed writing it and thought others might like the concept as a fantasy, too.

The names people give horses are pretty wild. If you appreciate this little vignette of a story, let me know in the comments what kind of a name you would want for yourself if you were a thoroughbred. And while you are on it: just what is your opinion on carrots?

.....letter excerpt follows......

In other news, this talk of whips got me thinking. If you agree to bring yours, let's wrestle for it. Loser agrees to let their ass be ridden as if they were a horse in the final stretch of a Breeders' Cup race.

Mmmm. Imagine being on all fours with a bit gag in your mouth. As you get rhythmically ass fucked, a whip is urging you onward towards the finish line of a sweaty orgasm. *g*

The good news is that any horse that runs a good race gets a nice cool down massage as a reward for their aches and pains. I used to ride horses regularly and I still remember how to treat these magnificent animals. First, I'd take your reins and tie the end to a hitching post. (Or bed post, what ever is handier.) Next, I'd wipe away any lather and throw a blanket over your back. Then I would proceed to rub down the knots in your shoulders and flanks. And if your knees or ass feel abused by the ride, we'll rub in some nice healing ointment and kiss them better.

I hope you've already got a horse name picked out for yourself, my sweet. And let me know how you feel about carrots...

I've already picked out your bit and racing colors (click the above picture for an enlarged view), but I might be getting ahead of myself. I probably shouldn't assume victory. It's hard to imagine losing a tussle for the whip, but you might have a few magick spells up your sleeve. Failing that, getting a firm grip on my balls is likely to give you that critical edge in a tussle.

But fair is fair, if you win. Dig that strap-on cock out of your drawer and ride my bucking ass like you own it. With the right jockey, the odds are 2 to one that Warlock's Christmas Blues can be the first to cum across the finish line. Please just note that I happen to prefer apples to carrots after we leave the winner's circle. *g*

My most arduous sexual experience

I've been having fun taking story ideas from an ALT friend for an erotic story. I should be re-writing that, but I need a break. So I'm goofing off in order to share a personal true story. Don't expect to be aroused. I wasn't. And that brings us to today's topic: can a man still get an erection during bad sex? I found out that the answer is yes.

Back when I was in the Army I was stationed in Germany. I was being deployed all the time and with practically no notice. Consequently, it was impossible to plan much travel around Europe. I just never knew if my deposit on travel tickets was going to be lost because of another last minute mission to Bosnia or not.
But I got an opportunity to take a weekend bus trip to Paris, France. My wife and I were very excited. I grew up speaking French and I'm very fluent and wanted to practice. We both looked forward to getting a guided tour of the romantic City of Lights. But we ended up participating in what I can only describe as a tourist death march. (As in: "If it's 7:50PM, it must be the Moulin Rouge.")

Loaded onto a giant tour bus Friday night, we slept in our seats and woke up with stiff necks the next morning in Paris. Then it was a series of lightning visits to all the major sites of the city. But there was so much to see that it became ridiculous. Our able, amusing and flamboyantly gay German tour guide, Franz, would announce things like: "next stop the Louvre museum. Dear people, you have 45 minutes to fit in lunch and a visit to the exhibition halls." If you've ever been, you know that it can take 2 days to enjoy all the art in the Louvre. 45 minutes is patently ludicrous. And yet we kept up this relentless pace all day and into the night. And since Saturday was New Years we didn't crawl back to our hotel at the outskirts of Paris until 3:00AM. I was exhausted.

Thoughts: Goddess Worship

Something unusual happens in the early morning hours when I am deeply in love with a woman. Unable to fully fall asleep, my mind will wander and dream of goddess worship. This might seem patently weird in the light of day. In fact, it is my experience that the women I have known will flinch from even being called a goddess. Maybe because it seems so over the top as to be insincere?


Justine Joli: a model I wouldn't mind putting on a pedestal

But in the same way that an objectively bad singing voice can still resonates beautifully in the shower, these 3:00AM fantasies of goddess worship seem both heartfelt and imminently possible. As I toss and sweat into the sheets, I can feel my cock swollen with unspent sexual energy. Neither fully awake or able to fall asleep, I play out how I want to worship the lovely Courie. I picture her in the long robes of a pagan priestess, reclining on a throne at the top of an altar. She actually looks more like an eternal and ancient godhead. She seems to shine somehow. Gazing up at her, she becomes the embodiment of everything that is vibrant, powerful and wise. She's both my virginal maiden and my lusty whore. She's every contradiction and every emotional extreme. She's the embodiment of joy and life itself. I love her for all of it. When experiencing this much intensity of feeling, worship is the only sane response.

Would you lead me up the altar? Please put a ceremonial leash around my cock. Use it to pull me up the altar steps to your throne. Spread your knees and reveal your sex to me. I would joyfully and willingly debase myself as your slave - simply as a way to prove my devotion and awe of you. You need only ask. I would sacrifice anything and obliterate my own ego for you. I whisper how much I love my goddess, and you pull me down between your knees. Your cunt is the center of the universe. And you are presenting it as a gift to me. You are allowing me the priviledge of licking your clit. Grab my hair and pull me to you. With firm but gentle touch, guide my hands over your breasts and thighs. Guide my mouth to your sex. You remain coolness personified. You accept my worship as your due. You control me with directional tugs of my hair and quiet simple commands like: up, down, harder, softer, more. So guide my tongue to you clit.

Did you know that your wet cunt is magical? Every fiber of my being actually needs to bring you repeated orgasms. Because each climax that courses through your body is a prayer and intrument of communion with the devine. Each gasp of pleasure you utter is a blessing for me. I never want to breath anything else but the scent of your sex. Smother my face as you gyrate and buck your hips. Coat my face and tongue with the taste of your cum. Annoint me as your acolyte and worshipper! Sadly, I'll probably never get to worship her in this way. In the light of day, these fantasies seem too outlandish to express. Then again, a goddess is due devotion and sacrifice. So I suppose that's why I write this...

Opinion: Writing Erotica

As somebody with pretentions of being a decent writer, I find writing erotic stories to be extremely difficult. I had a friend who wrote erotic short stories. She spent time on them and tried to elevate them to a level above the Penthouse Forum variety of story telling which is pretty much a step by step description of what each body part is doing, to whom, and in what sequence. When she asked me to write a story to show her some day, I was dumbfounded at how difficult it was. Forgive the purient double entendre, but I think producing an erotic short story has to be the single hardest style of writing out there. (Heh-heh: he said "hard.")

Photo by Morey

After all, what turns a person on is deeply personal and usually not universal. One person's sexy fetish is an outright turn-off for others. Even worse are the language pitfalls. In order to produce sophisticated erotica a writer might be tempted to use euphamisms like "throbing member" and the like, but to my mind this comes off as cheesy and not sexy.

On the other hand, the very artlessness of some sex slang which can be a turn on for some, is deeply offensive to others. An example might be "cunt".And as an aside, I really wish this word could be rehabilitated for at least common bedroom use. Personally I don't think there's any other slang for the vagina that pairs off as well with "cock". The other alternative (pussy, box, snatch, quim, minge, etc.) all lack a certain edge and seriousness of tone. And ironically enough, cunt isn't even slang. It's actually a proper word that comes to us from the Old English spoken during the Dark Ages.

Nevertheless, in spite of my fears, I did finally manage to write a couple of erotic stories. What got me over writer's block and fear of failure was a technique of treating an erotic story like an improv performance. You know how the comic on stage asks for a place, profession and object and builds a skit around it? Well, I've tried to do something similar. It actually helps me to write a story if I have one person in mind. Anything I write I try to tailor to what I know about that one person's turn-ons and fetishes.

Does it result in high quality erotic writing? Well, I can't say if it does. But at least I'm writing and my targeted audience of one can at least appreciate the effort. And how does the cliche go? "If you manage to touch one person, then it's all worthwhile." (Heh-heh: he said...)