We know roughly what’s going to happen, and some of the ways it will hurt. — The old ways are dying out. The village has changed. There are too many incomers; too many people escaping the city for simple — but luxurious — country living. …

When a bitch is in heat, you have to put a leash on her. — How does anyone get stuck in a dryer? Does their hair get tangled? I don’t know, but I’m not risking my hair, not even for this. Pretending is good enough. I’m kneeling with my ass in the air, and my yoga pants are stretched thin enough to show the scarlet…

Give me a can, mister. I’ll piss on your pretty little bitch. — Yesterday Sir peed on me for the first time, to help me prepare for today’s punishment. “Make up and dress up, kitten! We’re going out. Wear the Oscar de la Renta.” Yes! It’s my favourite gift from him: a vintage white lace maxi dress. Nothing makes me feel so beautiful…

Sir had me compile a list of my most transgressive fantasies. — “I’ll allow you to select your own punishment, kitten.” Oh, shit! I’m a good girl, usually. Most of my transgressions are so minor they earn ‘funishments’: spankings which leave me appropriately chastised but intensely aroused, and end with a forgiveness fuck. More serious sins deserve more serious sanctions, so Sir…

Spread-eagled, barely conscious of the blur of changing faces looming over me. — I like being close to nature. I go to the forest, strip off, and walk the trail with nothing but skin between me and the living, breathing world. It’s not an exhibitionism thing: if I’m daydreaming a hiker might surprise me, and catch a glimpse of my naked body; I’ll…

Babysitters aren’t Paul’s only kink. — I don’t really babysit since I started college, but I have hung on to one client. I come home every weekend to hook up with my boyfriend, Todd, and to sit for Paul on Saturday night. Paul was always my favourite client, for three reasons. One, his son is always…

Butter is not a good lube. — There is a real recipe contained in this story. I can recommend the pie, and every part of the method, but they are best enjoyed separately. “What are we making?” He never helped in the kitchen until I started cooking in an apron. Just an apron. Now he follows my…

She sucked me dry when she saw how much her little show had excited me. — Liquid blue eyes gaze up at me from the bed. She’s looking at my hand, at what I’m holding. The words are difficult for her, and she trembles so much she stammers over them. “I’m s-s-scared, Daddy.” I remember the first time she said that to me. Our dynamic was…

I can only apologise — My cure when I have writer’s block on a tricky story is to distract myself with wine and penning humorous, gratuitous filth instead. I’m sober today, so I have no excuse for thinking last night’s scribblings might fit this week’s Wicked Wednesday theme of “breaking the rules.”