Everything I've Written: 2012

by Matt Triewly


Everything I've written. And for adults only.

Friday 6th January 2012: Mrs Shit-Shit - Memory

Many years ago, when I was a bus driver, there used to be a passenger who for reasons about to become obvious we called Mrs Shit-Shit.

Mrs Shit-Shit was retired, tall and in many ways quite respectable, unfortunately she suffered from Tourette's syndrome, and also because she was extremely self-conscious about her condition she tried to control it, which merely exacerbated it - bit like attempting to hold a fart in.

A typical encounter with her would go something like this:

Mrs Shit-Shit: Morning driver, <stepping onto platform of bus> a half to Binstead please... SHIT!

Me: That will be twenty-five pence please.

Mrs Shit-Shit: SH-SH-SH-SH-SH-SHIT! Here you are driver...<hands me coins> SHIT!

Me<attempting to be professional>: How are you today?

Mrs Shit-Shit: I'm absolutely... SHIT!... fine, thank you... SHIT!

I have to admit at first I did find her quite amusing but after a while you got used to her and didn't think too much about it although you never forgot she was on the bus since you would hear the occasional 'shit' as you drove along.

Anyway, one day I was at Ryde Bus Station and on Service 10, which served Binstead Estate and was operated by minibuses, and behind time, when Mrs Shit-Shit ran down at the last moment through the bus station.

"Hang on a SH-SH-SHIT! Minute, driver, SHIT, please," she had shouted at me as I had been about to pull out.

Being a nice person I had hung on for her but by the time I had departed I had been about eight minutes late, and because the timings were quite tight it was going to be a bugger to get back on schedule. I decided to put my foot down, I also wasn't in the best of moods either!

I left the bus station like a bat out of hell with the engine screaming and by the time I got to the roundabout at the end of The Esplanade I was going a 'tad' too fast. Realising this I threw the vehicle down a gear and entered the tight curve. It was scary and to this day I think we may have been on two wheels for a brief instance, but fortunately the vehicle remained upright. However during this moment of near disaster all I could hear from the back was this long drawn out:"SH-SH-SH-SH-SHIT!!!"

I believe, now, it may have been the first time in a long while her swearing couldn't have been attributed to her condition...

Saturday 7th January 2012: Blockbusters and the Ghost of Bob Holness

Ghost of Bob Holness: "Ed, what T describes the current leader of the Labour Party?"

Monday 9th January 2012: I'm a Grandfather Again - Blog

After two grandsons, I now have a Granddaughter!!!!

Thursday 2nd February 2012: Slut Flogged and Branded in the Town Square - Bedtime Story

"Your head is bowed and your long and lustrous chestnut hair falls down in front of you like roughly drawn curtains half obscuring your features. Your bare and faintly freckled arms hang loosely by your sides and beneath the coarse scarlet robe, as befits a scarlet woman, a filthy whore, you are nude."

"You have been brought to the town square in an open cart and in front of you is a small gathering of the good and law abiding folk you sought to corrupt and dishonour, and they are there to witness that justice is done, because you are a dirty slut without morals, without shame."

"The magistrate having now finished reading out your sentence now orders his sergeants-at-arms to proceed with your punishment. They remove the robe to leave you completely naked and vulnerable. You are accompanied to the whipping cross where strong hands secure you tightly to the oaken beams with leather straps, your arms outstretched along the cross section and your legs strapped tightly to the upright. You can hardly move and you feel the unforgiving grain of the timber press against your flesh. Turned away from the townsfolk you attempt not to listen to their jeers: 'Look at her fat arse, who'd want to fuck that?' 'She's so ugly.' 'All she's got to offer is her cunt, and I bet that's slacker than a wizard's sleeve...' "

"You hear the tails of the flogger hiss cruelly through the cool air a split second before they agonisingly bite into the flesh of your exposed back, and then a second later across your buttocks. 'Lay it on hard, make the bitch bleed,' you hear one of the crowd shout."

"You cast your mind back to just before you were arrested, on all fours in the gutter with your short denim skirt pulled up and being fucked from behind with your tits exposed and being groped. You remember feeling the spunk running down your leg as you were manhandled into the police van but you had never cared because all you had craved for was cock, big juicy cocks, thrust up your cunt, rammed up your arse, and taken in your mouth, sometimes all three, because all you were - and are - is a dirty, fucking, ugly, worthless slut."

"Your back and buttocks are a sea of pain now, but that is only the first phase because now you are going to have your breasts whipped hard to teach you to flaunt them, to tempt good men into sin. Your bonds are loosened, you are turned round and through the blur of your watering eyes you now face the throng. Your shaking arms are once again drawn out and fastened to the cross bar, your legs and ankles to the upright."

"The first stroke lands across both your tits and nipples feeling as though you had been stung by a thousand jelly fish. You scream out in pain but the crowd bay for more: 'Whip the flesh off the dirty harlot!' "

"You are broken now, your body is numb, almost numb. But there is just one more chapter of agony to go. You smell the coals from the brazier, you just discern the footsteps, and then the searing, blinding, pain as the near red hot branding iron is thrust onto the shaved pale triangle of flesh just atop your slit with the words SLUT burned forever into your skin-"

She arches her back, gasping and crying out whilst gripping my left hand then slumps back down onto the mattress laughing. My spunk is already in her, though some of it has already seeped out, but perhaps there is still enough to fertilise her.

"You rather like the 'Town Square' fantasy don't you?"

"Yes, it really turns me on, though I also like the idea of being abducted."

"I'll have to come with something then won't I?"

"Yes, please. I quite enjoy a... bedtime story."

We both chuckle before I switch off the bedside light...

Thursday 23rd February 2012: National One Finger Day - Blog

A mate of mine reckons we should all travel up to the Houses of Parliament on the Ist of May and at 1 o'clock stick one finger up for one minute at all the politicians and their banker friends for all the years they've been sticking one finger up at us. What do you reckon?

Sunday 26th February 2012: Fat, Fifty and Fucked - Blog

Fat, fifty and fucked. I've been thinking about that for a few days, thinking about what I'm going to do for the rest of my sad little life.

Anyway, yesterday we had a pretty lazy day: I snoozed for a few hours during the day and when I woke up, I asked Juki if she fancied a shag. She agreed, naturally, so within a few minutes she was naked on the bed with me holding her arm firmly behind her head - she needs to feel pinned down. Whilst rubbing her clit I recounted her favourite 'Town Square' fantasy in which she is stripped naked before being publicly flogged and branded for being a slut. She didn't last long before she arched her back in ecstasy - only as far as the part where she is secured to the whipping cross. We hadn't had sex for four days as she had only just finished her period, which sadly means she is not yet pregnant. As soon as she had climaxed I had clambered on top of her and within a few minutes I too had come - she had been telling me what to expect when she punished me next.

By this time it was nearly three o'clock so decided it was time to do a bit of shopping and get something to eat. We wandered up town and eventually ended up in Coco's (it's called something different now, but I can't remember what it is). Juki had a sausage roll and I plumped for Country Vegetable soup with some hot bread - tasty.

We then went back up town where I collected an application form for a job before nipping into Thornton's for a hot chocolate.

Needing a bit of fresh air, I persuaded Juki to take a stroll along the Esplanade where I took some shots of the beach and pier. Whilst there J, who was cycling past on her way to watch the ice hockey at the Arena, espied us and came over to tell us that her partner/friend had passed away. I never really knew the fellow but tendered her my condolences anyway. Considering how much he had suffered it seemed to me that death was probably a blessing.

After J had gone, I said to Juki that I now intended to make the most of what life is left to me - I have wasted too much time on airy fairy ideas and projects which ultimately come to naught, and I just can't be arsed with it all anymore. So, from now on I am going to eat what I fancy, gamble, travel, play games, maybe even go to bingo one day and act out our fantasies. Juki agreed.

So immediately after we strolled up Union Street and popped into the Malaysian Restaurant, Yan Woo, where Juki ordered a Lemon Chicken and I had Sweet and Sour - it was delicious, and I really don't care if it is bad for me with high cholesterol. I just don't give a fuck anymore.

Back home I transferred a hundred quid into my Ladbrokes account, with Juki's assent, and promptly placed 10 quid on Nathan Cleverly - I won 40 pence!

This morning I turned the computer on to discover that someone had purchased 4 of our clips from Spanking Library, though I have to confess that all we made was six quid, but it's good for our egos if nothing else. In fact, the main reason we uploaded videos of our sessions to Spanking Library was so that we would have copies of our beatings should we lose them.

Okay, it is off up town again to buy us some dinner and then when I've done that I have to complete yet another job application form before preparing for an interview on Tuesday.

Monday 27th February 2012: The Really Popular Cunt - Dark Humour

Just me and her now. Well, just me.

I gaze into her steel blue eyes to try and see her soul. I see... nothing.

She blinks once.

I slap her hard across her left cheek with the palm of my right hand.

She sways and nearly over balances onto the bed.

It feels good to hit her. I like hitting and brutalising females - it's the only thing that really turns me on. I guess I'm a real nasty cunt.

She brings her hand up to her face to massage her cheek bone. I would like to believe it really stung.

"Why did you do that?" She appears stunned, bewildered. And sounds hurt.

"Because I can... you bitch. You fucking bitch!"

I can feel the fury now.

I smash my right fist into her nose. I feel the bone structure just under her flesh crumple with a satisfying 'crunch'.

She screams and falls back upon the mattress bringing her arms up to her face.

I watch the scarlet ooze through her fingers and launch myself at her.

On top of her now she writhes and screams and attempts to makes a fight of it. But I know I will prevail.

"You fucking bastard," she screams.

Good. Very good.

I grab hold of both her arms and force them behind her blonde head and I can see that her nose is busted and has been dislocated. She's still pretty after a fashion, but not for long.

I head butt her in the nose and more blood spurts out. Oh, such fun!

I punch her in the jaw, and she emits a low animal groan as her bare tanned arms flail.

"Stay still bitch... if you want to live."

I laugh at that one.

I rip off her skimpy sleeveless top to reveal small white breasts with pert nipples - delicious and perfect, just what I crave.

I punch her hard in her stomach. She grunts and doubles up pleading for me to stop - exquisite, really exquisite.

I'm so hard it hurts now.

I pull my trousers and pants down before throwing my shirt off.

Panting and broken on the bed she regards me through desperate and terrified eyes as I desire all women to see me: the woman-hating cunt.

I can't resist beating her one more time. With a whirlwind of fists, I smash her face and pound her body. I watch the crimson patches bloom upon her once perfect skin.

I pull her mini skirt off before tearing off her black knickers, her thighs visibly trembling.

Naked on the bed I force myself into her and she knows not to resist.

I thrust hard into her cunt, like a spear penetrating flesh.

She cries out in pain, in anguish.

God, this is good, so good.

I climax like I have never climaxed before and I feel my spunk shoot out.

I slump down on top of her. And nearly thank her...

There is a tentative knock on the door.

But I have no need to worry.

It takes me less than a minute to put on my clothes and straighten myself.

I feel good, really fucking good.

A muffled male voice behind the door enquires as to whether everything is okay.

I catch on the handle and swing open the door - I care not that they can see her naked, gasping and heaving upon the mattress.

Two men in suits with folded arms face me.

"How was it, I mean she, sir?"

"Fucking brilliant, fucking brilliant. Just like the real thing, I mean, I could imagine it being just like the real thing, maybe better. Not that I have done the real thing. of course."

The two men in suits chuckle.

"So, how much do you want for her?"

There's a pause and then one of them says: "We can do you a contract for five thousand a month."

"Five thousand?"

It's a lot, a lot of dosh.

The man in the suit adds: "Well... they're not cheap... we have to pick them up... repair them... re-program... recharge... deliver... that's the cheapest we can do."

He doesn't want to negotiate - I understand.

"It's fine... I'll sign on the dotted... you don't do a shares option... these are really going to take off."

He passes me the contract and a pen.

I sign it.

"Thank you, sir... you won't regret doing business with the Fetish Android Corporation of Korea... or FACK for short."

We all grin at that one.

Before I go, I say to him: "I bet that's your biggest seller?"

"No, funny enough, it's not," the lead suit says.


"Pray tell me, what could outsell a pretty blonde who takes a beating?"

"You're not going to believe this, Sir... really you're not."

"Try me."

"It's... it's the Gordon Brown model... in fact they come back more battered than any of them... it's the ultimate irony... kind of popular... for being unpopular."

"But he hasn't been Prime Minister for more than twenty years now... unbelievable."

"Yes, Sir... unbelievable..."

Fat, Fifty and Really Fucked

I am sat naked in front of my pc. I am sat naked in front of my pc because I have just had a cold shower - and I have just noticed that there is some blood on my thigh which is due to me nicking myself whilst shaving around my genitals which I normally do weekly.

I don't know why I mentioned that, why would anyone want to know about that?

Actually, I do know why. It's because there's a part of me very much into 'ritual' - I relish carrying out specific duties at a set time, and the more intense the act the greater the gratification derived.

Why am I now talking about ritual? Why am I so conflicted and confused? Why, why, why, why, why and why?

God does not distinguish between good and evil, only man does that but God creates man and man apprehends 'reality' subjectively. Destruction and creation are all the same to God - Science is the how of things and God is the why of things.

Am I a sane man going mad or a mad man becoming sane?

Crazy thoughts buzzing round and round in my head like a swarm of flies. A coalescence of craziness.


"You need a job," Juki had counselled me yesterday in a matter-of-fact tone. "You have far too much time on your hands, thinking, dwelling on things, reflecting on the past..."

She's right, I guess.

Tomorrow, at half ten, I will sit down - more anxious about landing the position than not landing it - in front of two guys in suits and I will, for want of a better term, lie. I will tell them I am passionate about what the organisation stands for - in reality I am lukewarm. I will wax eloquently about my achievements for my last company when all I cared about underneath was sticking out each day and getting paid. I will let them believe that I relish challenges. I will pay 'homage' to health and safety, equality and diversity whilst secretly despising political correctness. I will 'welcome' the opportunity to 'grow' within the organisation. Firm hand shakes, smiles, charm... bullshit.

Bullshitting the bullshitters - that's what it's all about.

Bullshitter or bullshittee?


"You think you're working class, but in reality you're far more middle class." - That's another thing Juki told me yesterday.

I think I need a caning.

Apologies for the rambling. Anyway, wish me luck for tomorrow, and more luck for the company should they choose to hire me - they'll need it.

Wednesday 29th February 2012: Fat, Fifty and Lying Again - Blog

Sitting here at the keyboard this morning with a cup of sweet tea by my side I kind of feel flat, deflated. Juki has long since departed for work - stressed, tired and somewhat pissed off, and I fear that I may be in some small way a cause of her discontentment - maybe.

Anyway, about yesterday...

Yesterday, I attended an interview for a job, and I am not at all certain that I can indeed do the job but as someone once told me: "So long as you are good at interviews you will never be out of work for long, in the short-term style will always trump substance."

So, Monday evening, I polished my shoes whilst Juki washed and ironed my best white shirt. She also made certain that my black jacket and trousers were clean and presentable - all I needed was a tie which Julie selected for me. I was as prepared as I was ever was going to be.

When I had got up Tuesday morning, after a night of fitful sleep, I had felt absolutely knackered though the cold shower did revive me somewhat. After a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea I had got dressed and then gone to catch the bus, with plenty of time to spare. In fact I had time to take a couple of photos and short clips before my interview. However, whilst walking past a shop window I caught a glimpse of my reflection: an old, rather plain, fat guy who not only looked totally out of place attempting to look smart but was also, to top it off, sporting a ridiculously short tie, and it was at this point that I thought: I don't have a fucking hope in hell!

I then had a vision of me walking into the interview room and the panel bursting into such hysterics at the sight of me as to put the Cadbury's Smash Robots to shame!

Despite this sudden collapse in confidence, I knew I couldn't pull out.

Having said that when I had entered the interview room I became a completely different person: confident, amusing, driven, 'on top of my game', sincere. It was weird. I couldn't believe what I was saying, in actual fact I felt that I fair impressed them, so much so that I now believe that I may indeed land the position - we'll see.

As soon as the interview was over I realised that I needed a drink - I haven't felt like that in a long time as I am virtually teetotal nowadays. So I phoned up a fellow whom I'd promised to meet up some day for a drink and by chance he was free so we agreed to meet up in The George in Newport.

As we had gone up to the bar Pat had assumed that I was going to have a cup of coffee, and he was quite surprised when I had ordered a bottle of sweet cider. And a little while later, another. And another.

I wasn't pissed, merry more like, and it felt good, really good. Pat (who was 64) was a really interesting fellow, a raconteur, who had lived life to the full, was still living life to the full, and I enjoyed every minute with him.

We stayed in the pub till gone five when Juki had joined us from work, she was really stressed, and Pat got her a gin and tonic. After a bit she relaxed and got into the flow of things. We then struck up a conversation about interviews and I said that in general I found them quite stressful-

"But" Pat had interjected, "spare a thought for the members of the panel. I've conducted a few interviews in my time, and it's bloody draining. In fact, a strong candidate will almost intimidate you."

"Hmmm, that's an interesting point," I had conceded.

"So, Pat, how do I come over then?"

"You're full of yourself. Very confident."


It's at this juncture that Juki throws in: "It's all an act with Matt, underneath he has real confidence problems..."

I say nothing for a moment but then wonder if indeed deep down I am brash, and that I try to dampen down that with self-deprecating remarks so as not make myself unpopular and create enemies who can harm me. I think of my son and my half-brother who possess similar but not identical traits and wonder if I am more like them than I care to admit, with the power to make others cringe at the time with my words and actions only for myself to cringe later on reflection.

Maybe I should just be myself and say 'fuck it!'

The conversation then moved on to other things before we had all decided to call it a day.

Juki and I had then caught the bus down to Ryde, and because I hadn't been shopping, had plumped for a curry in the Tandoori. Afterwards we had both concluded that the standard of the food had gone down and had speculated as to whether they'd hired a new chef - be a shame as they used to be really good.

So, today, I have a lot to think about, and possibly not a lot of time to do that thinking in - if I have lied to a high enough standard!

Can't be arsed to write anymore.

Friday 2nd March 2012: Fat, Fifty and Landing the Fucking Job - Blog

A couple of hours ago I received a phone call to tell me that I have landed the job!

Friday 23rd March 2012: St Hamicle: to Serve is to Suffer - Dream

"This is where you belong," a calm and authoritive, yet disembodied, female voice informs me.

"Where am I?"

"Saint Hamicle's"

Before I can ask more I realise that whoever it is that has delivered me here has disappeared.

I survey my surroundings - a high and imposing wall constructed of granite slabs confronts me. It does indeed look a bit like the outside of a monastery.

A plain wooden wicket door swings silently open in front of me and beckons me, without words, through it.

I am standing alone in a courtyard and become aware that I am totally naked. I am bewildered and disorientated.

"You are here to serve and suffer, that is your purpose."

The voice that seeks to command me is male with a rich and appealing timbre and it originates, I suddenly understand, from within not without.

"To serve and suffer," I soundlessly mouth.

Without warning I am lifted by a supernatural force and powerless to resist I find myself bent over a small wall. I fear that I am to be punished.

Once again acutely aware of my nakedness I await the agony...

"Tell me that you love me, and then, only then, can I return my love - to love me is to love yourself."

I attempt to straighten myself but to no avail.

"I-I d-don't think I can do that," I respond tremulously.

My bare back is lashed and it feels like a thousand tongues of fire have licked my flesh.

Again, I taste the agonies of the unseen cat o'nine tails, for that is what it must be, and yet I know that my will is strong enough to endure, to prevail.

I suffer countless strokes yet I refuse to surrender and soon the pain begins to wane, fades to a dull sensation.

"So be it," the voice booms.

I am raised up and transported to some sort of a dungeon.

I see nude women and men, manacled to the wall, being whipped by devil with my eyes drawn first to a young woman twisting and turning with the pain as her ample and firm reddening breasts are painfully flogged.

I then wince as I observe a man screwing his face up in agony as his genitals are whipped with regular frequency before witnessing the pitiful sight of a bloodied back in the process of being thoroughly scourged by a multi-tongued whip accompanied by the fearful and ear piercing screams of the unfortunate.

"To suffer and to serve, that is my gift to you. Take it before it is too late."

"No. No. NO. NO!"

I am outside the wall; the wicket door is closed and I am empty - I should have taken his gift.

Fool. Fool. Fool.

I bang on the rough wooden slats but the door remains closed, for all eternity.

I awake.

Sunday 25th March 2012: No Need to Worry - Blog

I think I'm okay but this morning, for a while, I couldn't remember what happened yesterday, or the date.

Juki, because she worries about me, has insisted we go to the hospital in case I've had a stroke. Of course it could be heat stroke also since we were out in the sun for a long time yesterday - though I don't normally have probs with that.

I'll keep you updated.

Friday 30th March 2012: Why is Genital Mutilation Legal in this Country?- Blog

Why is it legal to mutilate an infant's genitals in this country?

I am talking about circumcision of course.

Day after day, well, year after year we are subjected to self-righteous politicians (aka greedy, war mongering, egotistical, hypocrites) banging on about human rights all over the world and always on about protecting the vulnerable, well, what could be more vulnerable than an infant unable to resist having parts of its penis removed?

Personally speaking I would retain circumcision for politicians, only I would keep the foreskin and throw away the rest!!!!

Thursday 19 Apr 2012: A Break From Writing? - Blog

And further, by these, my son, be admonished; of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh: Chapter 12:12 Ecclesiastes.

It's true.

Earlier today I spent the best part of four hours editing and re-editing a short story of mine in order to print it off and give to a colleague to read in the hope that he would say nice things about it. I can't deny it, with me it's all about vanity,ego.

The thing is, after all the effort I put into it, the piece didn't actually read any better and having got to two o'clock I realised that I had wasted the better part of the day, to accomplish what? A feeling of being drained, failure?

Sooooo, I have decided, at least until the end of October when I finish work for the winter, to give up attempting to write creatively because quite frankly, I can't be arsed anymore.

Let me say that again: Quite frankly, I can't be arsed anymore.

Yep, feels kind of liberating.

However, I have decided to keep a journal which is far less taxing in the meantime, and probably rather boring too

But, you know what, I don't care because it's for me and Juki, though if you really want you can read it too - I'm kind like that.


Yesterday afternoon, I cycled to Seaview in the drizzle - having being shopping first at the Co-Op - and before returning home I called in for a hot chocolate at the end of Ryde Pier. I spent about half an hour there with an old history book reading about Queen Victoria - it's a period of history that I am beginning to find rather fascinating.

I probably would have stayed longer but I knew Juki was finishing work early and would want to see me so I mounted my 'faithful steed' and made my way back up to the flat.

When I got back Juki was watching Doctors on her PC. I asked her if she fancied a kip only for her to inform me that she had already dozed for a bit. I then persuaded her to have a lie down with me in the bedroom.

Well, one thing led to another and after a bit we were both naked. I held her down and whispered in her ear that I was going to write 'filthy, ugly, fat, slut' in lipstick over her torso and then cane her so hard in public that she would scream and cry. Whilst I was doing this I was rubbing her clit really hard too. It didn't take long for her to climax strongly and then collapse into my arms totally satiated.

It was now my turn but because she was still having her period she rubbed my nipples and allowed me to wank myself off fantasising about caning her hard.

Whilst lying on the mattress after Juki told me that she would like to be tied up some time and be photographed. I said I would make discrete enquiries and hopefully find someone who could instruct us in rope bondage.

That was last night, today I have done very little except go for a walk on the beach, and tomorrow I'm back at work.

Nearly time for Coronation Street!

Friday 20th Apr 2012: Eating Roast Potatoes with Talking Gorillas - Blog

So, I'm in Union Street and it's full of gorillas. Everywhere I look - gorillas. I'm kind of concerned, what if they turn nasty? Anyway I look across the road only to see a gorilla with a giant oven next to him full of roast potatoes - what?!! The gorilla sees me and much to my surprise, says: "Fancy a roast potato?" Feeling a little relieved I wander over to the gorilla, who seems a rather nice fella, and say: "I don't mind if I do." So I pick up the roast potato, which is golden brown, and pop it into my mouth. To my delight it is the most delicious roast potato I have ever tasted in my life. I go to pick up another one - and wake up!

This was this morning, and I'm not even going to hazard a guess as to what the dream was all about, however last night I went to bed with mild toothache and ended up, being a clumsy fucker, applying clove oil to every part of my mouth except the troublesome molar. After a fair while of failing to get comfortable I got up and took two paracetamol. That did the trick; the ache faded and I dozed for a couple hours, until I woke up in the middle of the night with heartburn. I thought that if I just left it a bit the indigestion would pass. Nah. So, more tablets. And now thinking about it, I took five different tablets in about two hours. Hmmm... no wonder my dreams are strange.

The good thing was that when I got up, though feeling a tad tired, the toothache had gone and I didn't need to phone in sick.

Changing the subject, whilst on the way to work I thought wouldn't it be fun to start a new religion, perhaps one with barely disguised sadomasochistic rituals - I could invent a deity, prophets, saints, rules, prayers, design religious symbols, sacred holidays, rituals.

Something to ponder eh?

Okay, that's enough rabbiting for today...

Saturday 21st April 2012: Lost in Ventnor - Blog

Haven't been in that long. Topped the day off with a meal at Yan Woo, Juki fancied a Lemon Chicken.

Anyway, I did the shopping this morning and when I got back I persuaded Juki that we needed to get out and about as it was a really nice day, so we caught the bus out to Ventnor taking along our thermos flask (whom Juki christened Fellatio) and some cakes.

Whilst in Ventnor I discovered much to my annoyance that I had left my mobile phone on the bus. Using Juki's phone I contacted the bus station and the inspector reassured me that he would search the vehicle when it arrived at Newport. In the meantime we took a stroll along the seafront, stopped off for a drink in The Spyglass, and then walked along the cliff path to catch the 6 to Newport - whilst at the Spyglass I had phoned the bus station to be told that they had found my phone, which was a relief.

Having collected my phone we then caught the bus up to Cowes and popped round to catch up with AngelVixen and Master Hawk who had invited us over for a buffet. We had a very enjoyable couple of hours and felt as welcome as ever - many thanks.

One more thing, as we were walking back Juki turned to me and said: "You're a crafty bugger, it was your turn to have a good beating today, and you've got out of it - for now. However you're not getting out of shagging me when we get to bed!!!"

Oh dear...

Sunday 22nd April: Romance is not Dead - Blog

As I compose this quick blog Juki is washing up so I can update you all on our extremely exciting life...

Last night I was informed by Juki that she was expecting a shag... and what Juki wants... Juki gets... resistance is futile and all that. Anyway... after getting undressed and cleaning my teeth ecetera I entered the 'royal' bed chamber to be confronted with Juki bespectacled and head stuck into A Night to Remember...

"So... ready for a good fuck then?" I say to her... and no point in beating about the bush... not that she's got a bush anymore.

She puts the book down and takes her glasses off before handing them both to me to place on the bedside table - I guess that would be a yes.

I pull the duvet off revealing her pale and naked body. I then pull her left arm behind her head, snog her, call her a dirty filthy slut and tell her that I'm going to scrawl SLUT across her tits in lipstick before slippering her REALLY hard over her short denim skirt and that I'm also going to film it and put the clip on the Net so that everybody can see it. I also squeeze each of her nipples so tight that she squeals. At this point I check that her cunt is damp enough for penetration. It is so I clamber on top of her and stick my cock in before wrapping her legs between mine.

Now in position I start to thrust whilst she commences to rub my nipples. I immediately fantasise about her bending over the footstool while I whack the slipper as hard as I can across her quivering buttocks... mmmm. Within a few seconds I climax.

I dismount and then grab hold of her left arm and once again bring it round the back of her head... she loves the feeling of being overpowered. I don't waste anytime and immediately start rubbing her clit whilst saying to her: "Where are you and what are you?"

"I'm in the Town Square... and I'm about to be punished for being a slut... a dirty fucking slut."

"Yeah... that's right... slut's have to be flogged and then branded publicly to teach them a lesson... what are you again?"

"A slut... a dirty, ugly fat slut who thinks all day about cocks."

"So... what does the magistrate order you to do?"

She's breathing rather heavily now but manages to gasp out: "He makes me take off my scarlet robe... and then orders me to be taken to the whipping post..."

"And then what?"

"I'm then tightly secured with leather straps to the post with my tits pointing out so that they can be flogged really hard..."

"And that won't be the end of it will it?"

'No... they will brand me across my cunt...'

"And what will it read?"

"SLUT... ohhhhhhh.... aaaarrrr"

She arches her back and squeezes me tight as she climaxes before slumping back and laughing.

"That was a good one." I say

"It was." She agrees.

I switch the light off, cuddle her and wait for sleep...

That was last night...

Monday 23rd April 2012: Camping Sauvage - Blog

Totally and absolutely knackered, and was glad to get home today. Juki was knackered too!

Last night we had a quiet evening in and ended up watching Camping Sauvage, a strange and compelling French film which stars Denis Lavant and Isild le Besco, in fact it's one of our favourites. Good sound track too.

This morning I took a quick shot of St Thomas' Church in the rain before catching the bus to work and though not really busy my legs are really aching now - must be getting old!!!

Have just washed up after cooking Cumberland Sausages, mash and beans and we're now looking forward to a night of telly, and yes, Coronation Street.

Tuesday 24th April 2012: Behold the Man - Blog

Well... it's been a pretty boring day... sorted out paperwork... went shopping... sorted out paperwork... washed up... put dinner on... kissed Wife... cooked dinner... listened sympathetically to Wife moaning about job... served dinner... told Wife that I'd filed everything... ate dinner... Wife informed me that she'd be expecting sex either today or tomorrow... response from me not quite as enthusiastic as was hoped... wife repeated her request... response satisfactory... Wife then says: "You can slipper me at the weekend"... I respond: "Three hard ones with the plimsoll?"... Wife: "Okay then"... "Good I'll look forward to that... be just like being back at school for you!"

Soooo... in a minute it's more washing up then maybe a film... and at nine it'll be the last episode of the Syndicate... which we've been thoroughly enjoying... and after that... well... probably a couple more chapters of Behold the Man by Michael Moorcock which I've read before and is an interesting take on Jesus and the crucifixion... or should that be cruci-fiction.

Time to die... I mean... do the washing up... for a second there I thought I was the android Roy Baty out of Blade Runner.

Wednesday 25th April 2012: She's Dangerous - Blog

Sat here composing this I'm wondering if there's trouble in store for me, probably not, but I'll get to that later.

Anyway, the day started okay even though the weather was wet and windy. I caught my bus as usual for work and on there was an ex-colleague. I asked him how he was and he told me that he was going over to Southampton for chemo and later radiation treatment if I remember right - I knew he'd had a battle with cancer but had assumed he had fully recovered since he had returned to work - obviously not. He's not had a lot of luck over the last couple of years since he lost his wife suddenly yet despite that he is always cheerful - I doubt that I would be. I'd felt a bit bad going upstairs - he was on the lower deck - because I know he would have liked a chat but I sometimes need time to myself, especially as I have to put on a bit of an act at work which can be quite wearing.

I have to say that I had a pretty good day till about twenty minutes before we closed up when one of supervisors said to me: "Do you still hear from Calamity?"

I am now working where Calamity used to - she'd left for another job, screwed up... and when she'd applied for her old job back, they wouldn't have her.

"No, I don't really want anything to do with her, I think she's dangerous."

"You're right Matt, she falsely accused a fellow here of sexual harassment, caused a lot of trouble for him, and it was totally unfounded."

"I can believe that,"I respond

"Not only that she contacted the higher management to accuse me of unfairly giving overtime to my son - I never did."

"I'm sure you didn't," I say, and I believe her.

"As a result of that I decided I couldn't give her a lift to work anymore. She then started sending me abusive texts - I wish I'd kept them as evidence but I deleted them because they were so horrible. The other thing I have to tell you is that she was constantly talking about you all the time: 'Matt says this' 'Matt says that' 'Matt is my best friend' "

At this point in the conversation I'm thinking: Shit

She then continues: "She gave everybody the impression that you and her were an item, were you? I hope you don't mind me asking?"

"I had a brief fling with her, but that was all," I reply, and feel a bit awkward.

I then add: "It wasn't long because I got bored with her, she was only interested in me when I got a girlfriend, she didn't really want me but she was jealous. I think she begrudges other peoples' happiness. She also had an affair with one of her lecturers from university, and went to the authorities, to report inappropriate behaviour, when she'd had enough of him - that's why I think she's dangerous."

"She's quite a clever girl, Matt, but she's not right in the head, makes up nasty stories about people."

"That's why I don't want anything more to do with her."

The conversation ends but now I'm wondering what Calamity has told my work colleagues in the past about me, and I'm also wondering what trouble she could rake up for me if I ever piss her off.


Saturday 28th April 2012: Suffering and Vanity - Blog

Last night (between Corrie) I submitted myself to a severe beating. Prior to stripping, clambering on the bed and kneeling with my head bowed I felt extremely apprehensive; a part of me hates pain, it really does. With the camera rolling and me now face down on the mattress clutching the headboard, Juki laid into me with an assortment of implements: cane, flogger, shoe, leather paddle, wooden paddle and wooden spoon.

The first few strokes of the cane weren't too bad, they stung but were bearable, but soon it became an ordeal because apart from the shoe everything else hurt, and the wooden spoon was the worst, I think because the long handle enables a higher velocity to be attained and, in addition, wood seems less yielding than other materials. At one point I wanted to cry but I didn't, couldn't - log jammed emotions? As I gripped the rails of the headboard I buried my face, which I could feel was flushed and perspiring, at times into the pillow. I remember, at one point, turning my head to one side to see my bare right arm taut, and wondering what it would be like to be judicially punished, a Malaysian style caning, and what hell that would be.

The paradoxical thing is that the longer and more she hurt me, the more I loved her, sought to surrender to her - it was almost religious - almost.

Suddenly, it was over and it took me a couple of seconds to adjust to that, and I got to my knees. She then took my head in her hands and told me how much she loved me, how proud she was of me. It all then seemed so worth it. She then went over and turned the camera off.

During the evening I uploaded the first three minutes to SpankingTube because, because, even in suffering there is vanity...

Sunday 29th April 2012: Thoughts about God and a Postponed Slippering - Blog

Back at work today. It wasn't too bad, and nobody mentioned Calamity - thank fuck!

On the bus this morning however I was thinking about the parallels between religion and sadomasochism/submission. You see, after Saturday when the more Juki hurt me, the more I loved her I suddenly thought: isn't that the way most of humanity react, I mean, the more disasters and tragedies 'God' puts us through, the closer we become to him. And when we surrender to an individual or agency more powerful than us then surely we are hoping to become a part of that which conquered us, kind of a 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' strategy. And is this the true message behind 'The meek will inherit the earth'?

I need to think about this more.

Thursday 3rd May 2012: The Fucked up Fuck-up - Blog

Weary. Weary. Weary. That's how I feel today.

The dream:

I am in a lagoon. Around the lagoon are tropical, perhaps primeval, trees and vegetation. There are people milling around - holidaymakers? I do not feel I belong here (do I ever truly feel that I 'belong' anywhere?). A blonde middle aged plain-ish woman, who I am half attracted to, suddenly appears at my side.

"Do you know how you got here?" she asks me.

"No. Truly, I don't. I am aware that it is all a dream, but I can remember nothing, absolutely nothing, before I began to dream."

"Hmmm, follow me," she commands.

I attempt to follow her but she soon leaves me behind. I give up trying to keep up with her and decide to rest awhile. I sit down. The ground is giving and upon closer inspection consists mainly of old bark. I do not feel at ease. I discern movement under the carpet of rotting wood to see a long oily looking centipede emerge. Terrified, the creature crawls across my legs - I know I must keep absolutely still, and wonder if there are venomous snakes here too. I look up and see people gambolling at the water's edge without a care in the world and feel the need to warn them that they are in great danger. And then chillingly realise that it is not them who are in peril, it is me.

That is the point at which the dream ends.

* Yesterday, I fucked up. I let Juki down. I upset her and I didn't mean to.

She had said to me, "I need you to be with me at the dentist's, you know my phobia about them."

"I will darling, I will."

But I wasn't because Mister Smart Arse reckoned he could just get over to Sandown and back before Juki arrived back in Ryde for the dentist and save himself a job for later. But he miscalculated and ended up meeting Juki after she had been to the dentist.

"You don't think things through, do you?"

"I'm sorry, really sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough. I could have asked my sister to come instead. I was petrified being there just by myself."


"I'm not happy about it..."

Things are fine now, she's forgiven me but I've let a lot of people down in my life, disappointed them, especially my mother (whose birthday it would have been yesterday too had she lived), my son. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

Fuck it. Let's do the whole fucking gamut of the feelings and emotions that are running amok in my head most of the time: Guilt; Sadness; Thwarted ambition; Lust; Vanity; Greed; Repressed anger; Sadism; Masochism (self-directed sadism?); Fear; Confusion; Weirdness.


Friday 4th May 2012: Britain and Juki are both Fucked - Blog

Britain is finished. Britain is finished as we know it because in the final analysis the rest of the world isn't prepared to buy our goods at the price we have to sell them. To live with China one has to compete with China and to compete with China one has to be like China. And that means long hours, low pay, shit working conditions and low taxes. But because the majority of the electorate aren't going to stomach that they will vote for the party that promises the opposite: the Labour Party.

So, this is what I fear will happen:

Because of free trade the British Public will continue to purchase cheaper foreign products thereby reducing the profits and viability of British Companies that employ British Workers and both pay the taxes that in turn pay the benefits of those already out of work. But as more and more British Companies fold then the remaining British Companies (along with their workers who are increasingly buying comparatively cheaper imported goods) have to pay more and more tax to support the swelling numbers of the unemployed which has the knock on effect of making them even less competitive

Of course, the situation has also been exacerbated by four terms of a high spending New Labour administration (primarily to bribe voters) and the bail out of the banks (who are legally licensed to print money yet still fuck up) along with additional 'Green' taxes and regulations promoted by politicians who not only travel everywhere by greenhouse gas spewing chartered jets and petrol guzzling 'Limousines' but also wage constant wars, which aside from the human and financial cost, also result in large volumes of noxious substances being released into the environment.

So, what do I think will happen (I can't be sure to be honest)?

Well, I reckon, that as the economy collapses, whatever bunch of clowns is in power will print money (they believe that'll be the less worse option since the 'crash' of 1929 was caused by the shortage of money) till rampant inflation brings down the financial system which in its turn could lead to riots, the breakdown of law and order etc. In desperation, governments will turn to successful and powerful countries like China for assistance who will name their price and that price will be the land, and the people. Game over. The end of Britain as we know it.

The above scenario has been gelling in my mind for the last couple of days and now, reflecting upon it, I think the dream I shared with you yesterday was saying to me, 'Even though we're all going to be in the shit soon there's nothing you can do to prevent it, so, look after yourself.'


Anyway, yesterday, after I had posted the aforementioned blog and phoned my friend up, I went for a bike ride to Puckpool accompanied by my flask and an old history book. On the way back I cycled down the Pier, bought myself a hot chocolate at the cafe, read for a bit and then captured a short clip of the town and beach from there.

On the way back to the flat Juki phoned to inform me she was on the bus so I cycled straight to the bus stop to meet her off the bus. Whilst waiting for her, and watching the constant stream of traffic, I speculated as to how long it would be before the oil ran out, and how we would deal with it.

When Juki got off the bus she told me that she reckoned it was possible that she only had another year in her job. Not good.

After an Uncle Ben's Coconut Curry we settled down for the evening to watch a DVD of Curb Your Enthusiasm followed by Coronation Street. Because she was tired we postponed her slippering and instead we retired to bed early where I first shagged her (climaxing to the image of her caning and kicking me hard in the balls) then frigged her off whilst recounting the tale of her being flogged naked in the town square for being a dirty slut and cock whore.

Sleep was not far behind...

Tuesday 15th May 2012: Taxi Driver Died - Blog

Around about half six Juki and I popped down for a meal at Bob's - we couldn't be bothered to cook. After we'd eaten - the time was about half seven - we decided to be lazy and get the bus back to the end of our road. As we did there seemed to be a bit of a commotion and I noticed that a taxi had ran into another car at the entrance to the pier. At this point I saw a guy bent over in pain by the shop moaning about his back. A few seconds later this youth ran up shouting: "The police and ambulance are on their way." A bus driver, who we knew, who was walking back from the toilets came up to us and said: "I think he's a gonna."

Whilst we were waiting an ambulance drew up. The paramedics got out and went to the taxi. After a few minutes they lifted this guy out, who was tallish with curly blond-grey hair and wearing shorts and dumped him, rather casually I thought, onto a stretcher. It was obvious he was dead.

It looked like he had suddenly died and crashed his taxi injuring his passenger - the guy curled up in pain.

Fucking hell. One minute you're here, the next you're gone.

Monday 16th July 2012: Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men - Blog

The best laid plans of mice and men eh? After I'd given Juki a good tit flogging yesterday evening I was more than ready, she more so, for a good fucking but whilst preparing for bed, idiot head, moi, managed to a get a blob of shaving gel in his right eye. It was agony despite repeated rinsing and still hurting when I clambered into bed and just what you need! Anyway, the upshot was we postponed the fucking much to Juki's chagrin, though she was understanding about it.

Also last night I came across a documentary about the Marquis de Sade which had been uploaded to YouTube. I only saw the first couple of segments but they were really interesting.

Okay, time to get dressed and go to work. Also, for some reason I can't stop thinking about having to bend naked for Juki and her kicking me hard from behind in the balls...

Tuesday 17th July 2012: I Could have been a Serial Killer - Blog

I was just about to compose my journal when Juki, looking over my shoulder caught the tail end of yesterday's entry about my fantasy of being kicked in the balls by her, said: "You'd better get me pregnant by the end of this month or it'll be happening in reality."

She seems quite serious about this, and she has just informed me she is due on a week this Saturday. Still, I did fuck her last night, so fingers crossed she could actually be pregnant as I type.

Moving swiftly on, I had a very interesting and candid chat with a young (and, yes, quite pretty) female colleague yesterday about anger and violence. She said she can become very angry to the point of violence, though you would never guess it because she seems so sweet and gentle. The conversation then moved onto discussion of psychopathy and serial killers with me admitting that when I was a young boy I used to get a real kick out of torturing and killing insects and small animals, though now I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, in fact I go out of my way, literally, not to tread on insects. Having said that, I do kill bluebottles because they are a health hazard. When I recounted this to her she replied, "Sadistically killing animals is one of the first stages in becoming a serial killer or mass murderer, and psychologists look out for that kind of thing. Still, it looks like something turned you around, you seem a well-balanced and nice individual now."

Hmmm, wonder what she would say if she read some of my stories?

Wednesday 18th July 2012: Christ and BDSM - Blog

Just treated myself to a cooked breakfast, and a lazy day beckons. Surf the net for a bit. Casual stroll to the shops. Gentle bike ride to Seaview and back - if it's not raining. Cook something tasty for dinner. A film this evening. Bed and maybe, a shag.

Sounds okay, but is it, what could go wrong? Maybe today is the day that something horrible happens: I suffer a massive heart attack. I get knocked off my bike and horribly mangled. Or maybe today is the beginning of anarchy. The banking system collapses. Runaway inflation. Mass unemployment... I can't help it, contentment and happiness, make me twitchy. And the more I attempt to dismiss such thoughts, forebodings, anxieties, the more I dwell on them. And to recall what my mate quotes, "An optimist is just someone who isn't, as of yet, in full possession of the facts."

I don't seek these terrible things to happen so why do I immerse myself in gloom a lot of the time. Why? And why am I drawn, excited, also to fantasies and images of pain, humiliation and degradation?

I have some ideas forming, out of the darkness that passes for my mind, and when, if, they crystallise I will share them with you, but now, here is something, highly contentious, for you to think about. Christ and BDSM.

As a child I was brought up to believe in God, a good God, who would right all wrongs, defeat evil and reward the individuals who obeyed him if not in this life but in the life hereafter. I also recall my Mother counselling me, "Matt, this life is a test. Don't fail it." I remember the exact spot where she had told me this too: above the tunnel entrance on Ryde Esplanade; which was also kind of significant because a few years earlier a stranger had saved my life (he had turned me upside down and struck me hard between the shoulder blades apparently) after I had started to choke when a boiled sweet I had been sucking on had become lodged in my windpipe. Looking back, I wonder if that was a deliberate, and quite subtle, ploy on the part of my mother to associate a real life 'second chance' with a spiritual one. That, stuck with me for quite a while, and it had also chilled me because, even at that young age, secretly I had been entertaining some rather 'evil' thoughts.

However, a few years later (I was about nine) I was in church with the primary school to celebrate Easter when the words from a hymn, 'immortal, invisible, God only knows...' had triggered something in me to suddenly transform my image of God from being a deity in human form to an agency, an energy, an energy, like a furnace, that sustained and supported the cosmos 'invisibly' - I was too young to understand the concept of transcendence (more about my views of transcendence another day). That 'revelation' coupled with the increasing awareness that many of the religious types I encountered were not only uptight but didn't practise what they preached led me in due course to become an atheist; my mother's stratagems and efforts to gift me with a sense of peace and purpose were in vain.

Having rejected Christianity but still searching for a meaning to life, over many years, decades, I read and researched Buddhism, Zen Buddhism, the Bahai Faith, Arthur Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Ayn Rand, Anton LeVay, amongst many others, and the result of which has left me considerably more knowledgeable yet no wiser or happier. However, in the background was always the powerful image of Christ and the Cross. Why couldn't I relinquish it? Why?

Now, when you look at the story or moral message of Christ it doesn't make any sense; why would a good and all powerful God sacrifice his only son in the most cruel, degrading and agonising way for someone else's sins?

However, what could make sense, possess value, is if God is not omnipotent or all powerful but rather 'more' powerful and that the only way he can increase his (or its) power is to absorb us, and that the only way he can absorb our energy or essence is to destroy our form, like releasing the energy from fuel by burning it. Right, if it is the case that our essence in some sense is indestructible then by merging with God one becomes more a part of something more powerful, more intense - to surrender to God is to become God, and, 'The meek will inherit the keys to the Kingdom of God' (I forget the exact words) actually begins to make sense.

I don't know whether I'm explaining this at all well, but I think you can see what I'm leading to: that submission is about sacrificing choice in order to gain power, advantage.

So, does BDSM actually reconcile something we thought couldn't be more far apart: Christianity and Darwinism?

Hmmm, I think that's enough heavy stuff for today - gone off on a tangent again.

Anyway, feel free to post comments.

Thursday 19th July 2012: Games and a Thrashing - Blog

Feeling a bit subdued as I write this - a couple of hours ago Juki gave me a painful beating, but I did manage to endure it.

Been kind of a strange day anyway as this morning on the way up town I bumped into an ex-colleague, K, and her male friend, D. she looked okay despite her ongoing battle against cancer. I have to admit that I never really know what to say in situations like that; I tend to try and be positive, which may come over as false, but what else can you do? Still, she seemed relatively cheerful, though as I left her I wondered, morbidly, if I would ever see her again.

After lunch Juki and I went for a stroll along the Esplanade and ended up buying a couple of ice creams from the Appley Cafe before plonking ourselves down on a bench to eat them. It was funny as the more I observed the view across the water the more the colours became primary colours, as though 'crayoned' onto a large curved sheet of paper: yellow sand, green sea, blue sky, white clouds... And then I imagined peeling it all back to reveal 'things' as they really were, as if it what was that simple; not so much surreal as sub-real. Odd.

The 'weirdness' didn't last long, and I never mentioned it to Juki who seemed totally content beside me.

When we finally walked off and set back I thought about my forthcoming beating, began to feel anxious about it, and then I remembered K, her ordeals, her fear, and it prompted me to ask a question of myself: what kind of a crazy game am I really playing with myself? And then a further question: what kind of a game is the universe secretly playing with us?

Still, the beating was much needed, made me feel alive...

Friday 20th July 2012: The Morning after the Night Before - Blog

The morning after the night before. It was good last night. Very good. Very gratifying. And as I write this, I still smell of sex, juices blended together, 'fermenting'.

But it won't be for long as I will soon be showering, in cold water as it happens which to me is more purifying, more bracing.

I can hear Juki running the shower now; last night's passion, now, just the morning's sluice...

I guess I'm talking crap already.

But, it was good. We got to bed quite late last night as we were chatting to my son, who is with us for a while till he gets his love life sorted, and when we finally retired it was about half eleven; late for us.

Juki was already in bed reading by the time I had cleaned my teeth and stripped off. In fact we both read for a bit, I'm currently engrossed in The True Story of Bonnie and Clyde, prior to Juki putting her book and glasses down and nipping out to the loo. When she returned we didn't waste any time. Both naked, we cuddled and talked about beatings; she admitted that she was still turned on from the prolonged thrashing she had administered earlier to me and also asked me to punish her at the weekend; I suggested an over-the-knee hairbrush spanking to which we both began to mentally salivate over. Fully erect, well, fully erect for me, I grabbed hold of her and forced her onto her back. I then clambered on top of her, all the while, savouring her firm breasts and pale, freckled, sexily, in areas, flesh before thrusting my cock into her freshly shaved cunt. She then placed her legs between mine, and whilst she rubbed and squeezed my highly sensitive nipples, I began to pump strongly. Within seconds the, scary and also extremely exciting, image of me having to bend naked prior to submitting to a hard kick in the balls from behind forced itself into my mind, and it didn't take long for me to be gripped by a powerful and highly satisfying orgasm.

I then rolled off her, took her left arm in mine, pulled it back hard behind her head and began to frig her roughly whilst whispering in her ear: 'Where are you?'

To which she responded: "The Town Square..."

It wasn't too long before she was moaning and arching her back in ecstasy, deep sleep soon following...

Saturday 28th July 2012: An Anxious Day - Blog

It's going to be an anxious day, no point in pretending otherwise. For the benefit of those who don't know, we have been trying for a baby for the last year, and so far, no luck. Juki is due her period, so we will be keeping our fingers crossed for the next few hours that she doesn't come on. In order to take her mind off things Juki wants us to go out for the day; I don't think it will work though.

I have to admit that I'm more 'philosophical' about the whole affair: if it happens, it happens, and if it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be. Mind you, I already have a son and three grandchildren; and possibly more as my son admitted recently to having somewhat sowed his oats wide and far! However, I believe every woman should have the right to have children if they so desire and my wife is no exception: I will do my best (I do not masturbate at all now), and to further prove my commitment I have volunteered to submit to a sharp kick in the balls should she not be pregnant on this occasion in order to share the pain, as it were. I hasten to add that I am not looking forward to that experience at all, but I love her, and that is the least that I can do.

Okay, that's all for now. I will keep you updated.

Wednesday 1st August 2012: Juki isn't Pregnant - Blog

The wife isn't pregnant; her period started Monday. She was quite upset by it as she wants a baby more than anything. I felt really sorry for her and comforted her as best I could, and although we do not know the reasons as to why she is failing to conceive I am beginning to feel a little bit inadequate (or rather, more inadequate if I'm to be honest). On the plus side she told me it wasn't, now, necessary for me to have my balls kicked, the original reasoning behind that being for me to share her pain with her... however, instead, I will be shortly having a 10 stroke penis whipping followed by 50 full-force swats of the bathroom brush on my naked buttocks.

As I compose this blog an image of me dying during a beating has just forced itself into my mind, and I wonder, is this how I would like to die, not just in extreme pain (as most probably do anyway) but also in a deep state of submission, surrender. I also recall reading Freud and his assertion that 'pleasure is the discharge of tension', realising, shortly after, that life itself is the greatest tension and that perhaps dying is indeed the sweetest pleasure, perhaps.

More likely though is that the process of dying (unless instantaneous) is just a ghastly cocktail of bonds of love and attachments being ripped apart, agonising pain and severe disorientation, and here I am once again becoming 'dark', immersing myself in gloom.


"You believe you don't deserve to be happy... it frightens you... if your life is gloomy and miserable it can't get any worse... if you allow yourself to be happy then it can all go wrong... and that's where the fear kicks in... it's a defence mechanism." The wife's words from behind my shoulder as she reads my blog, she adds: "It was a similar thing for me... when I was single I wasn't unhappy with my life... I had lots of good things in it... but now I have had better times with you and if we were to split up and I had to go back to that life it wouldn't be as good because I've experienced something much better... cynicism is a protection."

Enough said.

Thursday 2nd August 2012: Grey and Sunny - Blog

Looking out of our lounge window as I type I can see it's grey, but also sunny, and in a way I feel that kind of sums up this weird thing we call life: grey and sunny, grey and sunny. I like that, still, I now want to share with you some of the events of the previous day, which were mostly grey...

So yesterday being my first day off after three days in a row at work (what a hard life I lead!) I decided to have a quiet and loafing day, recharge the batteries and all that. After a lazy morning Juki popped up town to do some jobs, she also decided to catch the bus over to Sainsbury's afterwards in Newport because they had some laptops on offer, and mine, I must say, is getting pretty knackered: keys issing.... keys jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjamming etc. Around about two o'clock I got a call from Juki: "The credit card won't work, what shall I do? I'm at the checkout now."

"Just pay with it using the bank card, the credit card will have 'maxed' out, we've got enough money in our bank account to cover it, remember, I had a good wage packet and we also got the tax back, don't worry."

"Okay, see you later," she had said before ending the call.

At this point I had realised how close we had been sailing to the wind, we owe a fair amount of money, however, in a couple of weeks I shall be getting my work pension early, and that comes with a lump sum, a lump sum we will utilise to pay off all our debts. I hasten to add that though we will never be rich, we should be comfortable from now on; provided we both keep our jobs.

Also, as I sit here, I am reflecting on how my circumstances and attitude with regards to money (and this life thing) has changed over the last few years. Although I have never been a financial whizz I have always believed in living within my means and keeping a pot of money for emergencies. I have also always been on reasonable wages and been able to get overtime if needed, and, in short, I have never had any serious money worries. In addition, when I got to my late thirties I started to consider my retirement plans, I didn't want to work till my mid-sixties, so I started paying into an AVC and also took out a couple of life insurance policies too: I wasn't going to be one of those who worked till they dropped - no way.

But, then gradually my opinion changed. I recall a conversation with a former colleague, who had also paid into AVC, who had told me that the extra amount he received from them was merely taken off his pension credits."I would have been better off hiding my cash under a bed," he had ruefully added.

I was also influenced further by the fact that two colleagues had died just short of retirement and another fellow who I knew who had had to spend all his savings (a fair amount) when he had fallen ill and become unable to work about three years before his sixty-fifth birthday. Hmmm, I thought and increasingly began to believe that: the longer and harder you work, the more you put in, the more responsible you are, the less likely you are to get anything. And linking that to the fact that my parents both died relatively young I thought: fuck it, don't get into debt, just live for the day.

After I split from Sharon late 2003 I ended up with a large cash sum from the proceeds of the house sale, and because I had been diagnosed with high blood pressure and cholesterol I knew I wasn't long for this world, and def wouldn't reach retirement; I thought I would be lucky to live another ten years (it's nine now). My thinking at the time was that one day I would most likely just drop down dead one day, and that would be that. But that didn't happen ( I guess it could still), but what did happen was that I kept getting vertigo attacks (cause still unknown despite extensive tests) which led to me losing my driving license and hence my job; though I did get a good pay-off. That was May 2009. As you could imagine having been an honest and hard working individual, and having more than 16k in the bank, I was entitled to nothing, that's right, all that tax and national insurance, zilch (not that I'm bitter about it of course).

The 'fuck it' attitude strengthened with the belief that I wasn't long for this world just led me not to care, I spent money like there was no tomorrow, and in a way it was liberating. Also, because my health seemed to be deteriorating, if I did run out of money I could simply commit suicide (more about my suicide pact another day). But things started to swing the other way, imperceptibly my condition seemed to improve, I fell in love with Juki, married her. And gradually I began to regret having been so irresponsible - life's a bitch eh?

I have digressed somewhat, back to yesterday afternoon...

Anyway after Juki had phoned about the credit card I decided to have an afternoon nap. I stuck a CD of Enigma on and was soon asleep. About an hour later I woke up... Juki was back. I got up and walked into the lounge, I kissed her, and as I did she said: "One of the drivers told me tell you that 'L' has died."

I was totally shocked, I'd only seen him a couple of weeks ago at work - I knew he was having chemo, but thought he was responding positively to it.

Shortly after I cycled to Seaview and back... savoured the feel of the wind in my face... breathed in the odour of the rotting seaweed... felt the strain in my muscles... gazed in wonder at the waves... the sky... the clouds... and thought of L... I remembered him years ago telling me his 'life story'... how his father had left his mother... how she shortly after had thrown herself under a train... on a line he had worked as guard... and how just a few months later his father had died of cancer - tragic. Despite this he had survived and just when when we thought he would never marry he met a woman who became the love of his life... and he did marry her. They had a son... and I was pleased for him.

But, it wasn't to last, he contracted cancer, and whilst he battled that, his wife died, she'd been suffering too from cancer, and nobody knew, not even she, till it was too late.

The one light at the end of the tunnel was that he had got the better of it, till just recently, and the one thing I admired about him was his spirit; he was always positive about things, cheerful even, and now he is gone.

I can't believe it.

Sat here wondering should I go back to 'fuck it'?...

Monday 13th August 2012: I Lose her Forever - Blog

We are in some sort of a warehouse. She is walking ahead of me; maintaining her distance.

There is something wrong; I have made her unhappy.

Without warning, unexpectedly, she breaks into a run. I attempt to catch her up but she is too quick for me.

"Wait!" I shout out desperately.

She spins round, still running, with her eyes reddened and damp with tears: "It's too late."

She disappears out of view.

I make my way to the railway station. I see her there on the platform. Her back is to me, but I know it is her; I recognise her long, full and wavy chestnut hair, the familiar blue jacket, and her jeans.

I feel a little relieved.

I approach her from behind and when I am close enough I softly whisper her name.

She turns and it takes me a second to realise that it is not her. The woman, who looks as though she could be foreign, effects a puzzled expression and says nothing.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

I feel momentarily uncomfortable, foolish, before I take a step back and begin to cry. I realise, chillingly, that I have lost her, lost her for ever...

The light is subdued, pearly, and I am in bed. I feel anxious; the dream has disturbed me. She is next to me, lying on her side with the top half of her pale and lightly freckled back, not quite covered by the duvet, facing me. Her long brown hair, with just a hint of red, flows over the pillows and covers. She is breathing heavily and rhythmically and I wonder what she is dreaming about. I gently place my right arm over her shoulder, draw myself close and then kiss her on her head. I do not intend to rouse her but she stirs nevertheless and queries drowsily: "You okay?"

"I dreamt I lost you."

She shuffles round, reassuringly cradles my face between her warm hands, and quietly says: "I will never leave you, I love you my darling."

ETA: A little while later I realised that today is the second anniversary of falling in love with Juki.


A pleasant looking elderly fellow wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled up and beige coloured trousers strolls along the westernmost jetty; shrill screeches of seagulls piercing the briny air; "...you'll probably only catch crabs" - the tail end of a conversation of a father to his young son, as they amble in front of me.

Ryde Harbour:

I am sitting on a bench looking towards the shore. The tide is receding and most of the fifty or so yachts and small craft are now resting on the muddy sand.

The wind momentarily picks up causing what little water left to break into ripples, grey clouds lazily drift across the sky.

To the landward side of the harbour entrance an overweight middle-aged couple paddle with their even more overweight teenage son at the edge of the damp sand.

I observe a seagull swoop low across the water.

The sun isn't making an appearance and it's kind of blowy, yet I feel quite relaxed. It's good to be alive and I now desire to be around, God willing, a little longer; I wonder if that will be so?

I suddenly remember that I will be beating my naked wife over my knee later with a wooden hairbrush and a delicious tingle briefly runs through my loins; I relish hurting her as much she likes, needs, to be hurt...

I just discern the barking of distant dog, the muted roar of the traffic along the Esplanade.

Life is good.

For now...

Saturday 18th August 2012: I Take 300 Lashes of the Flogger - Blog

"You seem to have got out of it again, don't you?" she sneers in a playful way.

I have indeed, for today at least, 'got out' of a beating, a thrashing, at her hands yet it was not my intention to do so; events have just overtaken us, and yes, I feel bad about it.


I am lying upon our bed when I hear my twenty-four-year-old son call out from the hallway: "I'm going out, I'll be back late."

I glance up at the illuminated red digits of the clock: 21:20 and realise that it is not too late to present myself, my unworthy self, for a beating: a beating I am due; a beating I deserve; a beating I need.

I get up, walk into the lounge and simply, say to her: "You can punish me if you want."

You see, I also need her to know that I am not a coward, that I can take as much as I can give, though that is only the half of it.

"Alright then, go to the bedroom and strip off, I'll be with you shortly. What do you think you deserve?"

"Three hundred lashes of the flogger."

"Three hundred, you've never had that many before, you know I won't hold back, it'll hurt, really hurt."



I am kneeling on the bed, facing her, with head bowed and feel afraid - it will not be pleasant, not pleasant at all.

"Time for your punishment... look at me," she orders me flatly.

I raise my head, she looks, well, like she means business.

The hard slap across my left cheek smarts but doesn't quite stun; I deserve it too because, in my own mind at least, I do not live up to her expectations of a being a good and dutiful husband.

"Lie face down on the bed," she adds coldly.

I obey and lower my naked body onto the covers making sure my tiny penis is flat between my body and the mattress.

For a short moment there is silence, then a fleeting awareness of a soft hiss just prior to a stinging, almost burning pain, barely endurable, flaring across the upper half of my exposed back. I cry out, as the all too familiar feelings of wretchedness and worthlessness are once again thrust to the surface of my mind...

Another lash. And another...

I drift back, retreat within, as the pain, incessantly waxing and waning, rips away the carefully crafted mask of my persona starkly revealing me, to me, for what I truly am: a let-down to my mother and grandmother, a pathetic coward, a hypocrite, a crap father, ugly and repulsive, a big-mouthed fool, inadequate, a fraud, vain...

The agony switches to my buttocks, my fat buttocks, and the suffering intensifies, the 'scourging' continues, and it is kind of good, cathartic, cleansing; it is only too fitting that I must be thrashed, thrashed severely, for my faults, my 'sins'.

I desperately need to cry, but I cannot...


"That's it, your punishment is over."

Hot and perspiring, exhausted, sore, a wave of relief gushes through me. I unsteadily get to my knees and thank her for punishing me, adding that I deserved it...

Thursday 23rd August 2012: Cruel Caning for Sobbing Wife - Blog

She is on all fours, naked on the bed, drawing in large gulps of air between sobs. The twin half-moons that are her buttocks are cruelly and roughly barred with livid, rising, slowly purpling scarlet wheals.

Grasped firmly in my sweaty right hand is the cane and I'm pausing, hesitating, deliberating because a feeling of overwhelming compassion has abruptly, out of nowhere, welled up within me, and now the guilt, the guilt.

Moments ago, my wife who I love and care about, should care about and look after, was happy and cheerful, and now she is hurt, and weeping, wretched, damaged, I reflect agonisingly.

Yet, yet I know that she desires, craves, needs to be punished, thrashed, and if it wasn't me, it would be someone else, and besides, and besides...

I gently place my hand upon her back discerning a slight dampness and noticing a light film of perspiration as I do.

"Just a couple more, darling, then it will all be over," I softly counsel her.

I draw back the cane, thin, whippy, and prepare to swing then deliver it as hard and as accurately as I possibly can upon her thrust-out, vulnerable and trembling buttocks...


"Tell me you don't feel bad about it, because if you do, then so do I."

"No... no... I'm okay... it was g-good... very good," I stutter out.

"I wanted to take more, could have taken more, I need to cry, it releases things, pent up emotions." She adds: "I think you] need to cry, one day I'm going to make you cry, you know that."

"Yes, I do believe you're right, it will be good for me." I change the subject. "It was really intense wasn't it, the agony, the emotions, the sex after."

"Well, we don't want to leave it too long, we don't want life to become boring, do we?"

I wander over to her and without a word kiss her on the lips before saying: "I'll go and cook dinner now."

I then exit the lounge before wandering into the kitchen, pulling open the cutlery drawer and selecting the sharp, black-handled knife I use for peeling potatoes. As I do, for a brief instance, I kind of understand the 'purpose' of existence, that to live it fully one must embrace yet transcend, smash through, consume, the paradoxes: life and death; past and present, void and fullness; meaning and meaningless; good and evil, and then it all slips away, recedes, frustratingly, out of my grasp.

I pick up the potato in my left hand and slice the shiny blade into its skin...

Wednesday 29th August 2012: Make Me Scream - Blog

"Roll over onto your stomach please."

Eager to obey, excitedly, in a not-quite-quick-enough fashion, she swiftly complies.

"Good," I say.

I run my eyes over her nude body: the backs of her strong thighs (she used to be a runner); the firm twin, almost gleaming, ivory hemispheres of her buttocks; the curiously alluring hollows scooped and sculpted of her lower curved back; her upper back, gently arched and lightly freckled reminding me of the shadows of leaves in the autumnal sun...

She is resting upon her drawn-in elbows, head hung low... waiting... waiting for the taste of pain... feverish somewhat...

I reach out, without warning, and grip her upper left arm then, gritting my teeth in sadistic gratification, I rake the untrimmed nails of my left hand, pressed hard upon her vulnerable flesh, fully the length of her back.

She gasps and fights the urge to pull away.

I rake her again... savouring the infliction of pain... and again... and again.

She cries out now... without inhibition.

I bring the flat of my hand down, without mercy, with relish, full force upon her buttocks in turn several times.

"Ooooo... aaaah"

"You can get on your back now."

Silently she obeys.

I catch hold of her bare left arm and twist it behind her head, her long hair flowing across the pillows then bring the fingers of my right hand to her freshly shaved and moist crutch.

"Can you still recall the dreadful pain when I caned you hard recently?"

I know she can...

"Yes... I could have taken more... I need to take more."

"Well... next time I am going to make you write a letter detailing why you deserved to be caned... then, with your head bowed in shame, you are going to read it out... and I am going to film it so that everybody knows that you are a dirty filthy slut... and that the only answer is to punish you cruelly and publicly..."

"Yes... I am always thinking about cocks... and being fucked... I'm a dirty and sinful whore."

"That's right... but because I care about you... and want to save you I must beat you... beat the slut out of you. How many strokes should I give you?"

"Twenty... really hard... make me scream with the pain... make me bleed... I deserve it... truly I do."

The 'voltage' begins to rise; I continue to frig her.

"I want you to imagine that you are naked... that you are kneeling in front of me, arms by your side. I ask you to bend over... and then you discern the swish of the cane... the line of fire across your buttocks..."

Her body suddenly goes into spasm... she cries out... grips me... then relaxes and slumps back onto the covers.

We laugh... it's my turn now...

Thursday 30th August 2012: The Swimmer

I am swimming in the sea


I feel strong, powerful


Not as strong and as fit as I once was.

Long ago I had hope for the future, long ago.

I draw myself through the water, against the current


Know that I can choose, at any moment, to turn and drift with the flow. Anytime. Easy.

The wavelets splash in my face, I can taste the salt.

I turn my head to the beach:

Golden sand, golden hair, golden flesh, golden people, golden ice creams, golden sun, golden times, ah yes, I remember them.

So near the shore


So far.

So near the shore


So far.

So easy,


So easy, just to turn, to drift with the current.

I bring my arms together, pull them apart, feel the tension in my biceps, kick out


Move forward against the flow.

You see, I can do that, I am strong


Not as strong as I once was.

Fragments, whispers.

It would be so easy, just to turn, to drift, with the current, become the current, so easy


No one would see, no one would care.











Can you see what I see? Can you?

The whispered invitation, soft and subtle, of the sea...

So easy, so easy.

I turn, surrender to the current, as I knew I would

Then, then

Turn again, for the shore, the golden beach, the golden people.

It was good to tease, the tide, the current, destiny...

Saturday 8th September 2012: Money for Violence - Spanking Fantasy

She is not a nice woman, not nice at all, she hurts people, seriously hurts people, especially males, and I, trembling with fear, am awaiting her arrival... her imminent arrival


I need her... crave her.


Without her I would be worthless... totally worthless


With her... I am not quite nothing.


That, like it or not, is the way it is - understand?

I am naked, by the door (I mustn't delay her in any way for her time is precious) and quivering with the sweet and sour tang of rising terror waiting for Her to buzz... the buzz that signals the advent of my near destruction.


Maybe, just maybe, she will elect, as is her wont, today, to totally destroy me


I would allow that.


I surrender my unworthy self to her absolutely... absolutely.

She is a psychopath... no doubt about that... she had recounted, once to me, almost salivating, how she had smashed her husband's nose with her bony fist... watched the blood gush and smear across his face then kneed him hard in the testicles... and had then spat upon him as he writhed and groaned upon the ground: "I taught the dirty fucker not to shag another woman... to lie to me... after, I took the fucker for every penny I could."

Delicious... delicious.

Money and violence....

The buzzer sounds in my hallway as an unpleasant tingle momentarily grips my freshly shaved balls... She is here... to hurt me... to inflict severe pain on me.

I press the button on the intercom to let her in...

I open the front door of my flat ever so slightly and listen to her footfalls become louder as She ascends the double flight of stairs to my flat - I must be there to let her in... I must not fail her... displease her in any way.

Suddenly she is in front of me... shoulder length straight flaxen hair... tanned face... slight frame... faded denim jacket... jeans.


Those cruel blue-green eyes... soul-less, sadistic.

I swing open the door for her... let her in... then close it behind her.

"Get me the money... you pathetic and perverted prick."

I quickly rush into the lounge and pick up the brown envelope containing a hundred pounds and hand it over to her.

She says nothing and, without counting it, slips it into the top pocket of her denim jacket - she is a mercenary bitch... and I worship her more for it.

"Right... let's get on with it... crawl into that shit-hole you call your bedroom whilst I get the cane from the bathroom... you have been soaking it in salt water as I instructed?"

"Yes... y-yes," I stutter out.

Naked and on all fours, I drag myself, scuffing my knees as I do, into the bedroom before prostrating myself on the carpet.

A couple of seconds later I hear her enter the room - I dare not glance up without her permission... dare not.

"Okay... you pathetic worm with your tiny cock, big nose and flabby body you can turn round now and kneel in front of me... I want you to see what I am going to beat you... beat you to a pulp... with."

I do as she says and as I do, she slips her jacket off and lays it across the back of a chair. Underneath, she is wearing a simple sleeveless white top and her uncovered arms, unblemished apart from a couple of small black moles on her right forearm, are deeply tanned and smooth.

Shortly... very shortly... she will be employing those very arms to visit severe pain upon me.

She picks up the cane... about eighteen inches long and whippy... and swishes it in front of me.

For the first time since her arrival, I detect the first trace of a smile run along her glossed thin lips.

I gulp.

"Get on the bed and lie face down... don't scream too loudly and remain in position till I tell you it's over."

I immediately comply.

Tense, extremely tense, I wait for the first searing stroke... and then I discern a swish just prior to a searing line of fire igniting across the vulnerable flesh of my buttocks.

I cry out and twist with the pain... and over my shoulder I can hear her laugh... laugh out loud.

Again, and again, without respite, without mercy she brings the cane down across my buttocks... the pain... the pain... the agony.


Yet I take it... take it because... 'taking it' is all I'm good for.

My senses dull... blur... and it is though the thrashing is happening to someone else... distant... far away.

I hear someone guffawing... I think it might be me... why?

"Get up," she snarls into my ear. "Think it's funny, do you?"

I remember who I am... who she is... why she is here... collect myself.

"No... no... I would never laugh at you... never."

"Get up," she repeats with increasing venom.

I drag myself to my knees, put my hands to my bottom... they are sore... very sore... and sticky... then clamber off the bed.

"Bend over the bed... legs apart... I'll teach you to mock me!"

"I didn't... honest... honest...."

The pain detonates between my legs and I am dimly aware of sinking to the floor... grasping my groin... I again make out laughter... almost manic... but this time there is no doubting whose it is...


I slowly, tentatively, rise to my feet... my genitals ache and my buttocks still smoulder. She has gone now... I never noticed her leave....

There is a hint, just a hint of a fragrance hanging in the air... and already I miss her... miss her... terribly...

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