supplicium post mortem

- You won’t ever call me Sunshine, or anything barfy like that, will you?

- Never.

- What will you call me?

- It rather depends, doesn’t it?

- What if I’m wearing this?

- Then, young lady, you can go straight across my knee.

- And what about this?

- I’d have to call you Miss then, wouldn’t I?

- It would be wise. And this?

- Ooh, mean babysitter – Miss?

- I think that would be Sir.

- In that skirt?

- She watches Battlestar Gallactica.

- Geek, then.

- Not to her face, unless you want some of this.

- Ah! Sir. Sir! Yes, sir!

- Better. What about when I’m wearing this?

- Only Aunt Amelia would wear that, and it’s always best to agree with her. Now this quite interests me, especially with these underneath.

- What would you call me then?

- Put it on and we’ll see.

- Well?

- Oh…you, boy, are the most impertinent fourth former it has ever been my misfortune to know. You can touch your toes for the cane right now.

- Right now?

- Right now.

- Ah!

- Hold still…right, now get those off. I’m going to have to fuck you.

- Isn’t buggery wicked?

- Very wicked. But you can’t expect me to resist, with a bottom like that, and such straight marks.

- Not that you’re modest.

- Quiet, boy.

- Come here, you. Here.

- Mmm…

- Slower…Here…What will you call me now?

- Darling.

- Don’t go away again. Promise. Promise.

- Oh, sweetheart, as long as I live. As long as I live.

---

Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Sweltering Celt. The theme this week was sunlight. Unfortunately, I misread it as sunshine. Oops.

I wrote this piece in response to a challenge that emerged on  Twitter yesterday: write a 250-word erotic story in 24 hours. Other takers were @naughtyabby and @spankinresource and @sabrinamorgan (no relation, ha ha). To keep it interesting, we each provided a wild card to try to include in the story. They were: willow green, hairbrush, & loose thread. So, mine didn’t turn out a story, exactly, but took its structure from the Facebook meme 25 Random Things About Me. I don’t know if it’s erotic at all, but here it is:

25 Things About Them

1. Her first erotic feeling: dream, age 3?, someone telling her, “Underpants off for a spanking.”
2. She mastered silent wanking in college, in dark, roommate asleep, or in youth hostel dorms.
3. He wanked with a friend in the swimming pool of their African prep-school.
4. He loved to touch her bottom while they lay in bed half-awake in the morning.
5. The-Hairbrush-That’s-Not-For-Kids was the only small implement that could quickly put him over the pain threshold.
6. His cock was large, lovely, and uncut.
7. His cock was the only one that’s ever been inside her.
8. Virginity lost on her mother’s bed, mother out of town, plastic billowing above where the ceiling was being repaired.
9. They wanked beside each other and whispered pervy stories.
10. He got hard at her vowels when she said “Planters peanuts.”
11. The willow switch he liked to use otk was reddish-brown, not willow-green.
12. He pulled the loose thread from the hem of her shorts, then took them down to spank her.
13. She thought she was unfanciable until she met him.
14. She kissed his eyelids.
15. She kissed his thigh.
16. She kissed his cock.
17. She kissed his hand.
18. She learned to kiss from him.
19. His tongue in her ear made her shiver.
20. He tucked his cock back and said he was a girl.
21. Boys getting the cane never failed to excite him.
22. Boys in the YMCA steam room admired his cock.
23. For her, sex was best when they were trying to have a baby.
24. She misses Pervy Hour.
25. Sometimes, now, orgasm triggers sobbing.

So just as we finish writing about that CS Lewis passage about the lover’s pinch that hurts as it is desired, we find the referent (Anthony and Cleopatra) line as a NYTimes Sunday crossword clue. How about that, kids? Imagine my surprise, then, when I look up the line to find out the answer to the clue (its stroke is as the lover’s pinch….):

If thou and nature can so gently part,
The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,
Which hurts, and is desired.

(Anthony and Cleopatra 5.2.342-44)

In case you’re confused, the 5-letter answer is death. Ugh…

I read The Narnian, by Alan Jacobs, a C.S. Lewis biography I heard about on the malespank forums, which said the book contained references to Lewis’s supposed tgi interests. I considered these claims doubtful, but ordered the book from the library anyway. One reference is to Lewis’s discussion of “Eros” in the chapter by that name in The Four Loves. He alludes to a kind of role-play (first full paragraph on text page 145, or “149″ in the embedded media) :The Four Loves

Jacobs says that Lewis “insists strongly that such play must really be play, accepted as such on both sides, both fully voluntary and very temporary” (Jacobs 287). This revelation increased, exponentially, my feeling of connection with Lewis, a connection already powerful via his writings about his bereavement in A Grief Observed. I thought, He knows everything that’s true! How I wish I’d been alive when he was. I have the strangest crush on him. I think this is my first crush on a dead author, I mean a romantic crush. I want him to read my book. It wouldn’t be intellectual or rigorous enough for him, but I wish he’d read it. We have a lot in common, I feel.

The other reference was to some early letters with an Oxford friend in which he signed himself Philomastix (whip-lover) and opined about girls he’d like to spank (Jacobs 56). If only he’d met Casey Morgan (ho ho). The more I read about this man, the more I feel he was a fellow traveler in every possible way, separated by time. How nuts am I to be crushing out on a long-dead writer? Jacobs is a good writer, smart and sensitive, someone who understands and appreciates both literature and religion. He makes me want to try the other Narnia books, and he makes me cry at times. I often cry around C.S. Lewis. I often cry, period.