Third Time Lucky

little potThe boy was delighted that his Mistress had given him permission to cum. It had been a few days and he always loved spunking in front of her. Whenever he was allowed to orgasm there was always the question of where and how he was to cum and what would be done with his spunk.

On this occasion, she simply handed him a little pot and suggested that he might like to catch his cum. He dutifully obliged and shortly afterwards handed her his milky offering. His Mistress simply smiled, took the pot and went to store it in the refrigerator.

A few days later, after a particularly energetic session during which his cock had been used repeatedly, she produced the same pot, still holding his spunk and requested that he make a further donation. Being that most goodly of boys, he of course obliged, spunking into the pot a second time and handing it back to her to return to the fridge.

Then one morning a couple of days later his Mistress came and told him that they would be spending some time together that evening. In preparation, he was to make his boy-cunt, his cock and his chest perfectly smooth for her pleasure. Needless to say he spent the day in excited anticipation and eagerly followed her commands, preparing his body like a whore might before being taken and used.

When they got together later that evening and played, he thought he might never be allowed to orgasm. He was tied and whipped, turned onto his back, had his face sat on while his Mistress came before she moved down to ride his cock. But after what must have been hours, she told him he was to masturbate in front of her whilst she hurt him. More than that, he was to masturbate into the little pot for a third time.

He loved looking up at her as she pinched his nipples and watched his wanking and soon he knew that he was close. His Mistress handed him the pot and told him to catch it all, adding his new spunk to the donations already held.

Then he settled down, his head in her lap, gazing up at her with nothing but love. As she gazed back, soothed his hair, stroked his face, she reached for the pot with one hand, whilst touching his chin with the other. “Now, be a good little whore and drink up all that cum” she encouraged as she tipped the contents of the pot into his willing mouth.

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How a simple accident can be so easily misunderstood

Pizza beforeFollowing recent scandalous reports in various media, I feel duty bound to put my version of events before you. I leave you to judge which is the most credible.

Being that rare mix of creatures – that of a holy, pious and righteous man yet also a man of the times and of the people, my life is sometimes a mixture of both the simple and the pleasurable.

Such was the case when recently the Bishop came to tea. As is often the case when persons of a liturgical nature visit, I opted to entertain with simple, biblical fare yet with a modern twist. Hence my loaves and fishes offering, actually became pizza with anchovies.

Realising that our efforts to warm the house through for our visitor by raising the thermostat to its maximum had gone too far, I was forced to avoid getting too hot and bothered by the simple act of stripping naked. Our guest seemed not to notice, so all was well. I was sure the evening would be a great success.

As our simple meal was now ready, we ushered our guest into the lounge area of our simple yet palatial abode. It was then that I realised that a great misunderstanding was on the cards. For you see dear listener, the previous evening some terrible sinners had met there and one of that number had produced something that I am led to believe is called a “dildo”. The large blue phallic object was now sitting proud in the middle of the floor. Surely our distinguished guest would notice it. Questions would be asked, an explanation would be required. My future place in the hierarchy of the church questioned and my place amongst the saints put into jeopardy. There was nothing for it, it had to be hidden, and hidden quickly.

Being a man of both quick thought and one of great personal sacrifice when it is called for, I took a deep breath . . . and sat straight down upon the enormous object. It filled and stretched me. It made me gasp and make other strange noises. Our guest assumed I was beginning some mystical chant and joined in. Soon there was rhythmic swaying was introduced. Mistress placed a slice of the pizza before me to distract me, but our guest was enthusiastically singing and swaying and encouraging me to do the same. My cunt was still full of the object that I was impaled on. The swaying continued. and chanting increased, the rhythm increased until suddenly and without warning . . . I orgasmed right onto the pizza.

It went silent. Everyone stopped and stared although I was in some sort of mystical yet angelic shock. It took our guest to break the silence. “I bet that’s not a topping you ordered” he proclaimed.Pizza after

Mistress, who had been observing the whole episode, encouraged me not to waste food but to eat up all of my pizza and being that most goodly (and pious remember) of boys, I did as I was told.

Once our guest had eaten his fill and my place in the papal line of succession assured, we bid him good-night, saw him on his way into the night with a cheery wave and retired to bed, Mistress running ahead with glee, me following behind, unable to walk very fast.


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2 breasts – 1 baby = Spare milk right? :)

Milk SplashAt first this post was going to be called “I squirt, you squirt, we squirt” in some vague homage to the art of conjugation, but as you can see, I opted for something a little less obscure.

You see dear listener, last evening I ventured into what we in England call a ‘public house’ an establishment which our lovely cousins across the pond might refer to as a ‘bar’ (and while we’re on the subject, how lovely to see Sarah Palin back in the news, backing Mr Trump – he must be thrilled, the White House must surely be his for the taking now).

I entered this place of drink and merriment despite knowing that it would contain a group of kinky perverts (for I’d hate you all to think that that was WHY I went there in the first place – I mean, I’m misunderstood don’t you know)!

One of the topics of conversation that came up was breast milk. A lovely lady who happens to be the owner of two rather lovely breasts (alas I’ve only seen pictures) made the observation that it seems that we as humans, appear to be unique in that, after infancy, we only tend to drink the milk of other species. At which point, my three ears pricked up (ok so technically one of them wasn’t actually an ear, but rest assured three things pricked up)!

You see my delicious squidgy ones, I have always been fascinated with breast milk (and to be fair, what man isn’t if we’re honest (thus proving that I’m normal)).

Whenever I see a woman breastfeeding in public, I go through a sort of mental checklist, which goes like this:

  1. I’m pleased that she feels able to do this and not have to hide away, after all, it’s just a baby having something to eat.
  2. I must smile an encouraging smile, which hopefully might offset some of the negativity which she doubtless gets occasionally.
  3. I mustn’t smile too much. Or for too long. I mustn’t freak her out or make her think I’m weird. Drawing up a chair for a better look therefore is right out.
  4. Although … she doesn’t seem to be using the other one and I wonder if she’d mind if I asked for a drink.
  5. I wonder why she’s calling for security?
  6. I wonder if it’ll be the same judge again, he was nice.

The point is, that I fantasise (sometimes) about not just sucking, but suckling. And getting milk. I think I’d love that. And now, thanks to last night, it’s my new current obsession. So any lactating ladies who don’t mind feeding a man, or just tying me down and squirting me in the face, let me know. I’m just a normal guy after all.


Finally, I really really hope that now when folk Google for Sarah Palin or Donald Trump, that they end up here. I know, perverse. So spank me?

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HNT – Not Yet Buried


Click for bigger, but really, why would you? © TwistedPaws.

People have been leaving bodies in cemeteries for centuries. So here’s one more.


Full HNT slideshow here.

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HNT – String excites me

Click for bigger, but really, why would you? © Original photo TwistedPaws, Gimping, by me.

Sometimes, when She binds me, I get a little excited and things get a little blurry.


Full HNT slideshow here.

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How to be the perfect submissive

school_signHello readers, or as I like to call you, disciples. For a very long time now, as I have travelled the land spreading my wisdom and experience, many thousands of submissives have repeatedly come up to me and asked “How can we be more like you?” or “You are so obviously the perfect submissive, how can we attain such perfection?” Well of course dear novices, the answer to the second question is easy, you cannot.

You see perfection like mine takes years of dedicated submission to achieve. Submission, humility, service and pain. To be the perfect submissive as I am, you do have to be full of humility. And oh how I am so full of it. People remark frequently that I really am full of it.

So how can you all be a little more like me, a little more perfect? Well you are indeed very fortunate, because I am actually going to give you some of my very precious tips, for free. Normally to attend one of my world-famous “How to be a great sub” seminars would cost over £2.60 but today I am going to give you some pointers for absolutely nothing.

You see dear fledglings, to be a really good submissive, you have to first of all train your Dominant. And trust me on this, your Dominant loves to learn, but it’s important that they learn from you. And what is the most important thing that a Dominant can learn from their submissive? That’s right, they want to learn how to care for their submissive.

Who doesn’t like to start off their day with a cup of coffee brought to them in bed? And that includes submissives. If they are nurtured in this special way it shows the Dominant that they are there for them and ready, even at the very start of the day, to endure the most arduous of humiliations, such as a morning wanking or face down spanking.

And of course, following on from the full English breakfast in bed that your Dominant will want to bring you, it’s time to get dressed and this again, gives us another opportunity to not only train our Dominants but also to show them our loyalty and in my case, my perfection. You see Dominants love to dress their submissives in what they believe is their choice of clothing. But like so many things, they need guidance in this area. So whether it’s nappies or ball gowns, straitjackets or frilly panties, do guide your Dominants into buying you the right clothing. Otherwise they’ll just run amok and put you into all sorts of ridiculous outfits that’ll probably just make you look likes whores.

And now onto pain. Pain is a particularly important tool for the aspiring Dominant – but of course here again, they need your guidance and encouragement to make the best use of it. After all the pain is meant to be for your pleasure, not to meet their sadistic whims.

Introduce your Dominant to people who make nice gentle toys, feather dusters, soft leathers floggers and those soft furry mittens. Teach them that by caressing your body with pleasing sensations, they are earning your submission, so that if they insist on riding your cock or wanking you or fucking you with a dildo or strap-on, that you are going through it just for their pleasure, such is the quality of your submission.

Finally of course there is the question of cake – what, where and when. All submissives need to be fed cake, but many Dominants don’t realise this and again, they need to be trained in the ways of cake reward. So do ensure that your Dominant knows which cake you prefer.

Well that’s just a snippet of my wonderful talk and I’ll be happy to take questions now, but only from submissives. Dominants, you’re on your own.

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Cometh the year, cometh the men. And the women. But how many?

tblOrgasmsToday I got thinking about orgasms, like one does. I wonder how many times I orgasm in a year, I thought. I wonder how frequent that is and what the standard deviation might be. I wonder who they are with? I wonder where they most often take place. I wonder who I give orgasms to. How many different people? Do I give more orgasms than I receive? More importantly do I give my lover more than I give anyone else? Will I give women more orgasms than men in 2015?

Well some of those questions I know the answers to. But where is the empirical data, the background statistics? And how silly an idea would it be to keep a MySQL table of all the orgasms I give and receive over the course of a year?

And if I do that, what sort of data should I collect? The date? The place? Who was the giver? Who was the receiver? Did I get paid for it? Was it in private or in front of a live television audience? Did I suffer any sort of medical emergency (don’t laugh, I once gave myself whiplash)? Was there cake afterwards? Were the police involved? Where the fire brigade called? Was a vet needed? What did the judge order? And did I get favourable reviews?

These and of course many other questions can be answered with a simple database. And so, I propose, purely for scientific analysis (oh yes, should I record orifices used?) to attempt to keep track of a year’s worth of orgasmic data.

But you see, now I want to know, what does everyone else do? Do you keep a diary? An Excel spreadsheet? Carve notches on the bedpost? Will you remember the name of everyone that you make cum?

I suspect that only the overall summaries will be public viewing – not everyone that I make cum will want to see it in print after all. But if I do make you cum at all this year (and I hope I do) please remind me to complete a database entry, if not during, at least as soon as possible afterwards.

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