Clothes Pegs

Once upon a time when a woman 'pegged out' it meant hanging out the family's knickers and shirts in the back yard under steely, smoky, northern skies. You hardly ever see that anymore, I've no idea why, yet clothes pegs are on sale in every supermarket so sales still must be high and I understand that exactly.

You don't need dungeons and whips, thousand dollar sex machines and chains and electricity. All you need for an unforgettable night of discipline and excitement, poise and pain, is a packet of ordinary clothes pegs, bought with the change you pick up from the pavement on your way down to the shop. Just as Blackadder had his pencil to show Baldrick all the horrors of hell, I have my drawer full of clothes pegs.

I'm uncertain about them only in that I don't know if I like to use them or be used by them more. I've applied them to another girl more than I've taken them myself, but I've taken more than any girl I've ever been with. Their eroticism comes from their ordinariness, the inversion of the drabbest items of domestic servitude reborn as instruments of pleasure, punishment and tantalising pain.

Although plastic ones can have their uses, I'm an old traditionalist at heart and love the honest old wooden ones. My drawer is full of them, more loved than any vibrator or dildo. A favourite few will have been stretched, or used so often their bite is toothless now, and be reserved for a girl's initiation while a new packet of bright pine pegs glints on the bedside table like the naughtiness in my eyes.

Pegs teach you poise, grace under pressure. A girl should take them without fear or complaint, perhaps a gasp as it first nips her like the asp at Cleopatra's breast. One on each nipple is enough at first, applied after long minutes of kissing and sucking, to keep the nipple erect as her clitoris first feels your fingers. Later, another night, for nothing is to be hurried, her labia can be clamped and pulled open for a minute to allow her budding clitoris to flower at your tongue.

Spanking for punishment of course, but for some transgressions only the pegs will do, they teach stillness and contemplation. The girl need not ask or count as she would under a cropping, but she must arch up her hips and offer her labia to the pegs and take them sweetly.

I used to ask for pegs when I still slept with boys, anything to give the act the spice, the edge it lacked in essence. I'd peg my own nipples while I rode him, never suffering under his clumsy, hesitant fingers, and close my eyes and let the pain season the pleasure. I'd clamp my own labia and pull them apart while I lay on my back as he fucked me.

If a girl will let your peg her, she really loves you, or has spirit which is even more rare. If a girl will peg you properly she is worth her weight in gold. The trick is to remember that a girl can always take one more peg than you think, but always for a minute less than you want. You must release her before the blood flow stops and the pain fades. This is an escape from the drabness and insensibility of life, not its re-enaction.

If you were in my bed you would not be tied. You must submit to this willingly or not at all. Through your courage you find strength in yourself and trust in me. Later you will be tied, stretched, splayed and pegged without mercy but later still, I will turn you into a work of art. I will peg a halo around each breast, your labia will be a nest of vipers, and I will peg your livid swollen clitoris and photograph you for my wall. You will become a goddess, at least in my eyes.

All these pleasures and possibilities in a simple packet of clothes pegs. Wood and wire and two hearts that beat as one.