Some friends of mine and I had an interesting conversation last night. The topic revolved around Deviant Sexual Practices (DSP). I laughed along with some of the others, secretly remembering my own DSP and sighing with pleasure. Finally I posed a question to the to group: “What, exactly, defines Deviant as opposed to
They looked at me as if I had sprouted horns. I continued. “Is doggy style deviant? What about oral sex? 69? From the side? Watching porn? Spanking? Anal? Isn’t pretty much everything except the slain missionary position deviant?”
My newly enlightened friends agreed, after some debate, that they truly didn’t know what “deviant’” meant. Still, the most conservative insisted that any homosexual activity or that “rough stuff” was just “not right.” Poor girl. I wonder just how much fun she would have if she relaxed enough free of her parochial stereotypes. Maybe I should just give her one of books, something like the excerpt below from my first book, Conquest of a Fairy.
“If it’s hard you want it, it’s hard you’ll have it, Fairy. I’m sorry to you, Saoirse, but I’ll not be lettin’ some demented Fairy control me—or you!”
Angus grabbed her arm and forced her to the wall. Again he tied her wrists to the clothes hooks and forced her legs apart. When she was in place, Angus sighed again and began to administer the consequences. After twenty-five swats, Saoirse sagged against her restraints and cried.
“I’ll take mercy on you and stop for now, but do not disobey again. I’ll increase the number each time you do. You disobey too often and I’ll use a switch instead of my hand. I’m leaving you here, tied up, until I decide otherwise. You’ll learn the position I want this way,” he said.
“Please, Angus, wait, how long will you leave me?” she whimpered.
“As long as I like,” he answered as he locked the door behind him.
Saoirse hung her head and prepared to wait. An hour later Angus returned to release her. He untied her wrists but did not touch or look at her. He simply slapped her ass, turned and strode from the room, locking the door behind him.
When Saoirse disobeyed him again the next day, Angus, a man of his word, once more tied her to the hooks. He left for a short time and returned with a thin wooden switch. Despite her cries, Angus administered thirty stripes to her backside. By the time he finished, she knew her stinging ass and upper legs must be crisscrossed with bright red lines. She desperately wanted to hide the sight from Angus, but with her hands bound was helpless to do so.
“I don’t enjoy this, Fairy, but I’ll keep it up as long as you’re with her,” he said. He then released her wrists, kissed her and left her in tears.
On the third day Saoirse was not quite in place when Angus opened the door.
“You’re getting’ better. At least you tried,” he said.
Saoirse smiled at him. “My only aim is to please you, darling. You know that.”
Angus’ eyes hardened. “I know more than you think. Hold onto those hooks and don’t let go.” Angus got his wooden switch.