Dear Reader,
I find, I really enjoy writing about what is in my head and just now I have found out that there are some people, who have read my blog. I am really happy for that, I write to share and a blog seems the right way to do that.
I am going on holiday soon and that is very nice but the bad thing is that I will not have time to update my blog for some three weeks or so. I write this only to say that I have not abandoned it. I will be back.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Janice
This is one of my favourites and it has been with me for a long time. The setting for this particular fantasy is the grand living room or, perhaps, the library of a mansion somewhere. There are oaken shelves and cupboards and Persian rugs on the floor. There is a grand fireplace where a great, welcoming, fire is burning. There are sofas and armchairs and in general it is an imposing but at the same time welcoming room.
The room is populated by a lot of people, all smartly dressed; men in suits or maybe even black ties and elegantly dressed women. They are having tea or maybe some of them are drinking port. They are enjoying themselves and are awaiting the entertainment that is to come.
In one of the armchairs, in the middle of the group, sits a man with a grey suit. He is a very special man. It is his mansion and he is also my master. He is the man I belong to, the man I have to obey.
I enter this setting on trembling legs scared of what is about to happen. I am dressed in a white shirt or possible a tight fitting, maybe striped top. I wear a very short and wide black skirt, no stockings and heelless black shoes, like ballerina shoes. I am not as elegant as the others. I look girlish in comparison. I am different from all of them. I am the entertainment.
Everyone knows why I am there and they stop talking as I enter. They are eagerly watching the scene unfold. I am the entertainment and they want to be entertained.
I have to walk up to my master's armchair and stand before him. He talks to me in a soft and kind voice but I know and everyone else knows that it is a voice that has to be obeyed. He asks me why I have come and I have to tell him I am there to be punished. He asks me what punishment I will receive and I have to suggest to be spanked. I will have to suggest to be spanked with a cane or maybe a horsewhip. All this talk is mainly to humiliate me and make me feel small and vulnerable.
Then he tells me to prepare myself by removing my clothes. This is quite humiliating and at the same time quite arousing with all those people watching. I have to obey and I sense my fingers tremble as I take off my shoes first and then my skirt. I put the skirt on a chair. I sense all the people's eyes on me as I strip.
Then I have to take off my shirt or top. If it is a shirt I take my time to unbutton it, slowly and carefully. I want to make this moment last as long as possible but eventually I have to slip the shirt off my shoulders and expose myself. I have no bra so they immediately see my breasts. If it is a tight top I have to slip it over my head. The fabric of my top brushes over my nipples, the friction making them hard.
The people in the room see me undress and they look at me in anticipation. I strip off and they can see me become more and more exposed. I am aware that I am aroused and they are able to see that, I blush and my nipples are erect.
Then I stand there, clad only in my minimal black knickers. They are dressed and I am almost naked. At this moment when I cannot hardly breathe of anticipation, fear and excitement, my master tells me to prepare the floor. This means I have to walk to the side of the room and get a piano stool and put it in the centre of the room. Then I have to walk over to a great cupboard and get the whip.
The whip may be a cane or a horsewhip. If it is the latter it is black and long and not of the kind with a leather flap but rather the kind that is narrow and mean. As I hold the whip it feels like I am doing something I am not allowed to do. I almost sense it moving in my hand and it is a relief to hand it over to my master.
While I am standing in front of all, clad only in my knickers, my master tests the whip on some cushions and I feel blood rush to my cheeks as I think about how this vicious whip soon will make contact with my own soft skin.
Then it is time. Up until then I have been wearing clothes. I have been half naked but I have been wearing something. Now my master tells me to take off my knickers. I tremble at this and prepare to do it. My fingers are numb as I take hold of my last piece of clothing and slip it down my hips. It is like a caress to sense the fabric move over my body and it is sensual and arousing in a strange way. I feel utterly vulnerable and humiliated at the same time. I do it slowly and gracefully and in a controlled manner but there is a fire raging within me and I tremble.
I stand before the smartly dressed men and women, nude and exposed, and they are allowed to look at me. I am naked.
Then I am ordered to kneel by the stool. I know how to do that and I have to do it in such a fashion that I turn my bottom towards the guests. I kneel and prostrate my upper body on the surface of the stool and the touch of its fabric make me feel even more naked and exposed than before.
I am in position and my master rises from his armchair and approaches me. It is time for my punishment. I freeze as I feel him touch me with the whip. He touches me across my bottom, showing me where I am to be whipped. Then the whip leaves me and I hold my breath in anticipation.
I hear the vicious hissing of the whip as it travels through the air and then a loud, sharp report as it hits my tender skin. I hear it hit me before I feel it and when I feel it the pain is beyond comprehension. I cannot believe how much it can hurt. It seems as if he presses a white hot iron bar against me.
Then he hits me again and I cannot but let go of some tiny pathetic sound of pain. He whips me relentlessly but slowly and each hit sends waves of pain through my body. I cannot but scream and cry and move around on the stool. I cannot stay calm or composed. Soon there is only me and the pain. I do not plead but I scream and cry. I surrender to the pain, there is nothing else I can do and I am overwhelmed.
Then it is over. I have been spanked. I have been thoroughly spanked but now it is over. I am ordered to rise from the stool. I kneel in front of my master, thanks him for whipping me and I kiss the implement that has been used on my body.
Then the fantasy becomes blurred. I may be ordered to stay but I am not allowed to dress and maybe I have to walk around, naked and let the guests inspect me. They are kind to me and look at me but they do not pity me or feel sorry for me. They congratulate my master for a good spanking and they look at the marks on my body and they comment on it with a sense of having been treated to something jolly and exciting. I am of a different kind from them. They are dressed and honoured guests. I am only a naked and spanked girl.
Or Breakfast on Grass or something like that. When I first saw this painting I was amazed. I couldn't really say why but it fascinated me. I know now that Manet was a very controversial painter and that his naked ladies looked like and probably were prostitutes. Naked women in art at that time were goddesses of Greek mythology and that was acceptable but real women without clothes were shocking.When I saw the picture for the first time I saw some men, wearing clothes, reclining leisurely, seeming to have a good time. With them is a girl who is naked. There is another woman in the background wearing a very thin dress or garment. They are having a picnic and everything seems calm and peaceful. Still there is the question; why are the men dressed and the women naked or less dressed?
The situation intrigued me. There is an inequality in the picture, dressed men and naked women. Being naked is being more vulnerable, less protected and, maybe, it can be a bit humiliating, as well, if you are embarrassed about it. Being naked is being sexy too and that is exciting.
I didn't know anything about the circumstances and the interpretation of the image, that the women probably were professionals and that the whole thing is staged. In my mind I conjured up images of lovely summer days with groups of young men and women having picnics in green parks where the men reclined leisurely after having eaten while the women stripped off and were naked. I don't know why they would do that but the situation is quite exciting.
I am thinking how it would be sitting there in a crowd of people having no clothes on and I am the only one being naked. They are clothed and they are protected while I am naked and exposed and everyone can see me as I am. I feel sexy, maybe, and very exposed. It is like in one of those dreams where you run around naked (if you have had one of those dreams) and don't understand why.
I like to be the woman in the image, at least in my imagination. I would have mixed feelings about it, being embarrassed and feeling slightly humiliated and at the same time feeling sexy and excited. Still the image of this picnic is a very nice image, one that I like to keep close to my heart.
When I first came to be interested in spanking it was when I heard stories about how they punished people in older times. It was harsher then, it was common to spank kids and corporal punishments was not uncommon, I mean real floggings and whippings. The excitement grew from the thought that that kind of punishment included some nudity. You were stripped to your waist being flogged and if you were spanked on your bottom you had to bare it. The punishment became, in my mind, both extremely embarrassing and quite exciting at the same time and I am still concerned about this duality, good and bad at the same time. In my mind the fact that you had to partly strip was at least as bad as being whipped or spanked in itself. That is silly but minds are like that, sometimes.
At first I was an spectator and in my mind I was horrified and excited about people being spanked, especially women. It was later I started seeing myself at the receiving end (pun intended). Still, in my mind, spanking was punishment and there ought to be a reason, a kind of guilt and some kind of forgiveness in the whole business. One powerful image was how I was accused of something I had done but by mistake and I was to be punished. The one punishing me tells me that there is always forgiveness and that I will be forgiven but that I had to be punished before that. The unfairness and meanness of that made me somewhat excited.
The guilt part has become less and less important and I began to see spanking as a kind of inequality between people and I was focussed on the fact that spanking is violence against a person, not because you want to defeat him but because you have defeated her and you use that power to make her suffer. That is cruel and mean but still exciting. It became connected to female submission and male dominance although some of the spankers in my imagination are other women or girls. Spanking was an expression of that inequality, a language expressing that difference using the woman's body. There is a difference in power and that is crucial even if the power has been given with full consent.
Attitudes in my fantasy do not travel well into the real world. I do not think that women, in general, should be subjected to men or anything. It is rather the fact that this idea is quite absurd that makes it exciting in my mind. Fairness in the real world is one thing, inequality and submission in fantasies another. It seems to be connected to that imagination often is in sharp contrast to my reality, that I tend to turn things to its opposite there. This does not mean that I have any objections about how other people arrange their relationships. People are free and should use that freedom to their best knowledge. I write about my imagination.
Nowadays, I find that the emphasis on subjection and domination is less important and that I have fantasies about people living out their urge to spank and be spanked. Still there are questions I cannot, really, answer. Why do you enjoy spanking someone and wanting it to hurt when you really love and care about them and why would you want to be spanked when the basic idea is that it is supposed to be painful and humiliating?
I know that there are plenty of people who have no problem with this and do not want to analyse it further but I still find this a bit troublesome and hard to get my head around.
As a note at the end: I do really object to the spanking of children, in any form or fashion.