M is for… My Sacrifice

Concealed by shadows in the corner of a spacious room, Magda clutches her robe to her breast. Silence weighs upon her and the rest of the room’s occupants like a heavy blanket, even though more than a dozen robed people have gathered in front of a small dais. Upon it, two men with their heads close together converse in mouthed words and hand gestures. They’re deliberating the fate of a third man, who kneels, head bowed, at the foot of the few short steps leading onto the dais.

Though she knows what the judgement will be, Magda cannot stop her heart from aching. She cannot bring her breathing – or her shivering – under control. Being a part of this preordained event and yet separate from it until her part comes proves to be impossible. She cannot drag her eyes away, does not want to. Every blink is resented for even a heartbeat of not being able to see his profile through the gaps in the curtain of his hair is agony to her. Continue reading “M is for… My Sacrifice”

E is for… Eat Me, Drink Me

Scuttling across the floor behind Mistress, I swallow a whimper. Bare floorboards scuff my knees, the gaps between the planks leave stinging prints on my palms. I stumble a bit, gasping for breath when she yanks on my spotted tie to stop me from face planting.

“Keep up, boy,” she commands in her whip-lash voice.

I choke out a barely intelligible, “Yes, Mistress,” and do my best to pick up the pace.

She tows me from one side of the room to the other. Guiding me around the sofa, weaving me in and out between the coffee table and armchairs. I follow obediently, head held high, arms bent at the elbow, back arched, ass in the air. Presenting myself as per her instructions, performing as perfectly as her Schnauzer did at Crufts. Continue reading “E is for… Eat Me, Drink Me”

All That Remains


Image used with permission of Floss Liddell

The walk from my back door to the bottom of my garden is a short one. Thirty steps, give or take. Even so, it always takes me a good twenty minutes to shamble down the length of the stepping stone path. Partly because I dislike the heavy feeling I get in my heart when I reach the end and partly because, every few feet along the way, a different memory is called forth.

See that stone bench over there with the carved koi base? When Jenny lived here, we’d use it as a spanking bench. We’re both tall and the bench is low and close to the fence, but we’d made it work.

And the park bench, iron-footed with wooden slats, is where I used to bind Teresa with shackles. That memory always makes me smile in a way she would have called dirty. It can’t be helped, though. The sides are just far enough apart for her legs to be as wide open as any pair of legs could be. Look, underneath it. There, in the grass. That’s the riding crop I used to spank her soft folds with. I can’t bring myself to take it inside. Not now that she’s gone. Continue reading “All That Remains”

An Abandoned Chapter


Image used with permission of Little Switch Bitch. To see it in its original home, click here.

As a rule, my stories are all written on the day they’re published. But not this time. This post is what it looks like when I cheat because I lifted this partial chapter from an abandoned project that I started in 2016. When I saw this week’s Masturbation Monday prompt I couldn’t help but think of this scene, so I’ve decided to share it with y’all. It’s a long one, though, so get comfy before going in. Enjoy, folks.

I stared at the golden numbers in front of me, wondering for the thousandth time since I’d arrived at Glenville Royal Hotel just what the hell I was doing.

Every step of the way here, I’d fully intended to head to room sixty-four to spend the night with my boss and apparently on-again lover. I’d scrambled into the lift, telling the guy beside me that I was going to the second floor, only to still be standing there, smiling awkwardly, when he vacated on the fourth. I went all the way up to the top floor, palm sweating around the card with one six nine hand-printed in the corner. Continue reading “An Abandoned Chapter”

#StoryIn12 – Cherry

I’m turning my #StoryIn12 tweets into 500(ish) word blog posts! Some will be sexy, some won’t, but all of them will feature my tweet in full and unbroken.

I watch Daisy pad barefoot across the lawn in my folks’ back garden, trying my best not to laugh. She’s moving so carefully, so stiffly, people are asking her if she’s alright. They get nods. A dismissive wave of a hand accompanied by mutters of ‘I’m fine.’ They get a string of lies because she isn’t fine at all. Continue reading “#StoryIn12 – Cherry”

Ella’s Fantasy Friday: The Pole

Welcome to my new short story series, Ella’s Fantasy Friday!

I took a stroll through my catalogue of erotica recently, and do you know what I discovered? Out of the hundred plus stories I’ve penned in the past two and a half years, only a handful touch on my personal fantasies and kinks.

That got me thinking about the stuff I have locked away in my head that turns me on. About the places my mind goes during masturbation and, sometimes, during sex. I soon realised that many of my turn-ons would probably be considered controversial. Unfeminist. Damaging. And I also noticed how each of the fantasies in my head tint the colour of my fiction, the impact they have on character dialogue and dynamics.

In a bid to offer you, my lovely readers, an insight into what goes on my head (should you want it) I’ve decided to write about my sexual fantasies. I’m not gonna analyse them here for two reasons: Continue reading “Ella’s Fantasy Friday: The Pole”

A Surprise Attack

I haven’t followed the Wicked Wednesday prompt this week cos it’s true story time! Aside from reviews, I don’t think I’ve ever let you into my sex life, lovely readers, and I think it’s about time I changed that. So, here we go…

Holy fuck, I’ll be in for it when we get home, I can feel it in my bones.

How do I know? His sudden silence.

He’d been talkative when we left the shopping precinct, nattering away as he grabbed my bags so that I could use the cash machine. We’d reached the car and he’d stuffed a few over-filled tote bags in the boot, and was cheerful and smiling, right up until the moment I playfully smacked his butt as he opened the passenger door for me. Continue reading “A Surprise Attack”

Bastinado

My bones almost leap from my skin when the grandfather clock in the corner of the room declares that midnight has arrived. It’s a dolorous sounding thing at the best of times, but tonight the tolling weighs heavily upon me. It feels like I’m listening to my own death knell. My heart rattles out at least six beats for every pitying chime.

As the last one fades to silence, the door behind me opens. It’s almost as if whoever has come had been loitering in the hall, waiting for this most ominous of moments to make their entrance. The blindfold that had been left on the floor was custom made to my face shape, so even though the room is brightly lit, for me darkness is absolute. I don’t know which of his Controllers the Master has sent. Continue reading “Bastinado”

Oh, Lola

Lola is being a brat.

Her office is closed today. She wants me to stay home with her and I can’t, so she’s acting up.

First, it was pouting. Those soft lips of hers, tinted pink, puckering into a perfect little rosebud while her chin dimpled, and her Wedgewood blue eyes glittered with tears. She has this way of inclining her head and looking up at me through her dolly lashes. It looks innocent enough, but the way she pulls her arms in and leans forward so I follow the line of her eyes, to her pout, to her cleavage reveals it for what it is.

Manipulative little so-and-so. Every other time I’ve seen her pull that trick I’ve grabbed her and kissed her breathless, so why she thought it would work today is anybody’s guess. Continue reading “Oh, Lola”

Achingly Beautiful

She was a flame, divine
My pathic call of duty, irrefutable
Her eyes they paralyzed me, froze the flow of time
A glimpse so achingly beautiful
Verse from Achingly Beautiful from the album “Cryptorania” by Cradle of Filth

I’ve seen and done a lot in my short life. More than most people will see and do in a lifetime. But none of the happiness or sadness, joy, pain, or suffering I’ve experienced could have prepared me for this moment.

When I’d received the featherlight touch of her fingers – sheathed in black lace – on my shoulder… choosing me… I’d thought I was ready. But now, here, in the muted light of her candlelit crypt, I understand the enormity of my own arrogance.

I am not ready for Libertina.

But she is ready for me. Continue reading “Achingly Beautiful”