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.
In my mind I go to places that may seem quite unwelcoming and harsh there to be subjected to degrading and painful treatment. Why on earth would you like to experience that? I know this is not problematic for most people but it is for me and one reason for me to blog is to share with others some of those fantasies that are exciting and interesting for me but seem strange and maybe even horrible at the same time.
A setting for fantasies is a town square in a medieval town. The square is lined with tall buildings and covered in cobble stones. There is a market going on and the space is full of people going about their business or waiting for the entertainment. At one end of the square there is a scaffold and this will be the scene for the ensuing entertainment. That is the place where the women of the town are punished in public. Depending on the punishment of the day different horrible devices may be found on top of it. This day there will be a whipping so the platform will have a sturdy pole standing in the middle.
Of course I am part of the entertainment, you could even say that I am the main character, at least one of the main characters. I am to be punished this day and people have gathered on the square to see me being whipped. They are in a great mood.
I was ushered towards the platform by two armed guard. It must have look strange with these two men pushing a tiny figure towards her punishment. My knees were weak and my body was trembling. The crowd shouted and cheered and welcomed me, although they were not there to show me any mercy. They were there to see me punished, to see me suffer.
I was pushed onto the the creaking stairs and soon I could be seen by the multitude of people who were there for the entertainment. They could see me ascend the platform, walking towards my punishment. I was clad only in a thin, partly torn, dress that fell off my shoulder. My hands were tied behind my back so I could do nothing to adjust my simple clothing. I felt exposed as I entered the platform.
What I saw there made me want to turn around and flee, to escape what awaited me there. There was no escape for me, however, the guards held me and I could not but walk towards my doom.
In the middle of the platform there was a sturdy wooden pole fastened in the floor. An iron ring and some rope made the device complete. What caught my eyes was not the pole but the man standing beside it. He was gigantic. He was the most powerful man I had ever laid my eyes on. He was muscular and taller than the guards that held me. I must have looked like a child at his side.
He was dressed in black boots and red trousers. He had a black mask covering his face and his upper body was exposed. His muscular body glistened in the sun Around his hips hung a broad leather belt and in that belt he had put his tool of trade, the whip.
I stared at the whip, I stared at the man. My gaze was transfixed at his body, his muscles, his strength and the vicious whip that hung by his side. He was a man that could make any girl weak in her knees but the thought of that man using his strength to punish me made my head swirl and I almost fainted. I was held upright by the guards and they had to almost drag me towards the menacing looking pole and the gigantic man.
'Welcome my lady,' the masked man said politely but with an evil smile on his face. I was standing between the guards, shivering, unaware of anything but the man standing in front of me.
'Greet your lover!' he said and made a gesture towards the pole, 'you are soon about to embrace him.'
I felt the blood disappear from my face at that. Fear grew in me and I almost began to beg him to spare me. I knew it would be to no avail but fear makes people weak and I was weak.
'Prepare her!' the man said sharply turning to my guards.
The guards took hold of my thin dress and with one powerful movement ripped it open. They smiled at me and looked content as they brutally stripped me. They tore my dress from my body, down from my shoulders and I had to take a step to the side not to fall over. Soon my upper body was free and the crowd cheered as they could see my small breast shivering in their new and unwelcome freedom. Soon the guards ripped the rest of my dress from my hips and after some tearing and ripping I was completely naked.
The guards looked at me with lust in their eyes and one of them roughly and eagerly fondled my breasts as he stripped me. The crowd was in uproar, laughing and cheering them on. The gigantic man turned towards me.
'That's better, my lady,' he said, 'now you are ready for me.'
He stared at my body and I could do nothing to protect me, my hands being tied behind me. Everyone could see me. I was given no mercy. I was naked and exposed and everyone on the square could see me.
The masked man made a gesture and the guards pushed me towards the pole. Brutally and ruthlessly they pushed my body against the rough surface of the wooden pole. They held me in place, pressing my breasts and belly against the pole while they untied my hands and pulled them forward. The man with he whip took hold of my hands and tied a rope around them binding them together. When he was satisfied the guards let me go. I could not move far since my arms now almost embraced the pole and I was tied to it, facing it.
The rope around my bound hands ran through the iron ring at the top of the pole and soon the masked man pulled my hands upwards forcing my body against the pole once more. He pulled and pulled and I had to stretch my body and stand on my toes but he kept on pulling at the rope. Soon I was almost hanging from my hands, my belly pressed to the pole, the soft skin on my breasts rubbing against its rough surface.
Now I was ready for my punishment. Now I was ready to receive the whip. I tried to look over my shoulder at the masked man as he walked round me. I saw him move to the edge of the platform bowing to the audience. He made a show of this. I saw him take out his whip and holding it above his head. Fear overcame me and I had to close my eyes. I heard the roar from the crowd.
Suddenly they fell silent. I sensed that the man was standing close to me. My heart stopped beating. It was time.
I heard the menacing sound of the whip sweeping through the air. It was followed by a sharp, resounding and evil sound. It was the sound of its leather against my soft skin. Then came the pain. It felt like someone pressed a hot iron bar against my body. Words cannot describe the excruciating pain that my body had to suffer.
I held my breath, tensed my body. The first lash had hit me across my buttocks. The second followed immediately after, this time a little lower, on my thighs, almost. I felt how I lifted my feet and hung in my bonds. The crowd roared at that and laughed without mercy. I was, really, a spectacle to watch and they enjoyed it mercilessly.
The gigantic man proceeded to lash my body without mercy and I lost track of everything. The only thing that existed was his whip and the unbearable, excruciating pain that it caused. I almost fainted and my head was dizzy.
The whip wrapped around my body stinging my soft belly and my poor bosom at times. The man was ruthless and whipped me with vigour. I had to endure, I had to go trough it. There was no escape for me. I was only a naked and bound girl being punished at the square.
I didn't notice that he had stopped. It took me some time to realise that he had stopped whipping me. I was exhausted, hanging from my bound hands, my body on fire, my breasts and belly and thighs scratched from their contact with the pole.
My ordeal was over. I had been punished.
Not very interesting to go on here. It is, indeed, a quite brutal fantasy and I find it hard to understand why it is still exciting. It is a bit over the top and maybe slightly over dramatic but I like it that way sometimes, more of everything.
It is fantasies of this kind that show that some things are better lived out in the mind than in reality.
One good thing about fantasies is that you can be whoever you want. If I want to be a man spanking a girl I can be that and if I want to be the girl being spanked I can choose that too. I can be an alien or an aeroplane as well but changing sex is quite exciting in itself.
I have to admit that spanking is interesting from both perspectives. It is something compelling about the thought of spanking a woman, having her in my lap, letting go of a hail of blows directed at her bared bottom.
I don't know for how long I spanked her but I kept on for a while and she struggled and squirmed in my grip as the spoon hit her naked skin. I felt happy and excited and enjoyed this. I didn't know spanking a girl was this fun. I stopped thinking about being merciful. I just wanted to see and hear the spoon hit her sensitive skin and sense her agony. She was there for me and I enjoyed spanking her and I was only concerned with the joy of it. Her agony was a part of it but there was no sense of wanting to harm her. There was no hate or anger only joy and elation. Her agony was my desire but I did it for my lust and the sense of happiness at the sound and sight of it.
I realised that she had stopped struggling and just lay there in my lap being spanked. Her body twisted as the spoon hit her buttocks but she seemed to accept the pain and went with it rather than tried to avoid it. I kept on for a while longer not wanting to stop but after some time I felt tired and sensed that It was, actually, enough.
At the same being spanked, being submitted to the cruelty of being spanked is quite exciting as well, maybe even more so. The thought of surrendering to the punishment, handing over the power over your person to someone who uses that power to make you suffer is something terrible - terrible but good.
‘Lift your hips!’ I knew what this was for and this was even more degrading. I did as I was told and felt his fingers tug at my knickers. Carefully he slipped them down to my knees and suddenly I was almost naked. I had met him once before and now I was lying half naked in his lap. He was, of course, fully dressed and I felt the fabric of his trousers against my naked skin. This made me feel even more vulnerable than before. I was only a half stripped girl in the lap of a man about to punish me and the imbalance between our states of dress made me feel even more humiliated. Strangely enough, I found this sense of humiliation quite appropriate. I was to be punished and the humiliation was part of my punishment.
He didn’t say anything when he reached for the brush that was lying on a small table beside him. I felt a shiver through my body and felt betrayed by it. I didn’t want to show how embarrassed I was.
This is a rant and to be honest I am not sure what I am trying to say, maybe just that I find both the idea of giving someone a spanking as well as receiving one quite exciting.
I have this fantasy about an oasis in a dry desert. It is a tiny oasis with some trees and a well and a small pond with clear, cool water. In the shade of the trees sits a group of men dressed in their white burnouses. Behind them are their camels. They are drinking tea and relaxing, taking their time to enjoy the shadow and refuge of the green oasis. Behind them, by the pond stands a girl on a rock. She has black hair, olive skin and is very slim and slender. She stands on a rock stretching her body in the sun, drying up after having washed herself in the pond. She is arching her body, holding her hands in her hair and she is looking very relaxed and at ease. The girl is completely naked. She is wearing nothing and her nudity stands out against the heavy burnouses of the sitting men. She wears a iron band, like a collar around her neck with a heavy iron ring hanging from it. She is a captive, she is the captive of the men and they are taking her somewhere through the desert. She enjoys the coolness of the oasis but she is naked. Soon they will travel on and the girl will be brought to a market there to be sold to the highest bidder. She is their property but she seems not to mind. That is strange.
I am fully aware that my, vaguely Eastern setting is nothing like the real thing besides that it borrows some details from it. It is fantasy land and very different and if I would talk about men in this land being rough it has more to do with me wanting to have rough men in fantasy land than me believing something about the East.
I have this fantasy about being taken to a market in a desert town one early morning. I am walking beside a man in a blue burnous riding on a donkey. I am clad in a kind of cloak, fastened around my neck.
It is still early morning as we arrive at the square where the market is being held. The square is lined by heavy poles stuck in the ground. Each pole has a heavy chain hanging from an iron ring at the top. These poles are for displaying slaves and we stop at one of those poles. The square is still deserted save from one or two people arriving and setting up business.
It is early morning and the day promises to be a hot day, but the air is still quite chilly. Still I have to take off my cloak and kneel by one of the poles. Underneath the cloak I am naked and I shiver in the cool air. The man who brought me is not bothered with that and takes the cloak and sits down by my side, waiting for customers.
The square starts to fill up and other girls arrive and are positioned by the poles. Some are chained to their poles and others kneel like me. They are all in different states of undress but no one is completely naked like me.
Then the sun climbs higher and customers are beginning to crowd the square. Whenever someone looks at me my master snaps his fingers and I have to kneel and arch my back and present myself. If a customer shows interest in me, my master orders me to stand. I know how to do that and I put my hands behind my neck, my feet slightly apart and arch my back.
I have to stand like that, presenting my body for the prospective customers and they are allowed to look at me and bargain about my price. I know myself to be naked as I sense the coarse fabric of their clothes brush against my skin. Some of the visitors are allowed to examine me. I have to present myself well, as I feel their hands on my body, touching me, fondling my breasts.
One of those men will buy me but before that I have to endure their hands upon my body and I am left trembling as some of them even enter their fingers into my sex and force me to react to their touch. They laugh as they finger me and I have to stand and endure. They arouse me and then their fingers are gone and I stand their with an ache in my sex, violated and touched and they joke about my reactions, my body and how good a slave I will make.
I stand there and I know that someone will buy me and I will be his property and I will have to serve him with my body. My master will get paid and I, who provide the goods, is given nothing. I am naked and they are clothed, I show everything and they show nothing. That is my lot as a slave.
I came across a comics book, long time ago, that was called 'The King of the World' by Wallace Wood. It seemed like an ordinary fantasy tale, set in some typical fantasy land at first, although more nudity there than usually. Suddenly a sequence from the book jumped out and struck me in the face. The main character meets a strange couple coming out of the woods. There is a man riding on his horse and in front of him walks a woman. The man is, partly, clothed and armed but the woman is naked. In addition to being completely naked, she is bound with a rope around her neck, like a leash.
I was shocked by this. Not only was it unusual and strange to see something like that in a comics book but also the thought of a man leisurely riding through the woods with a naked and bound woman by his side was something extraordinary. Even more strange was that the woman didn't seem to mind that much. The main character cuts her bonds later on as the man lies unconscious but she stays by his side. She seems perfectly happy being a naked and bound captive.
I have often imagined myself being that woman, walking naked in front of the man on his horse. It is hot under the trees and the light is green, coloured by the canopies. I am sweaty and my thighs stick together as I walk. Suddenly the man tells me I have delayed his progress. He is some kind of hero travelling round doing strange deeds and such. I am only his lowly companion. He tells me I have to be punished for this and my heart starts beating. I know what that punishment will be.
In the evening, when we camp and I have cooked for him and served him he tells me to prepare for my punishment. I kneel by a tree, put my hands on the trunk and stick my bottom out. He gets his whip, a vicious three tongued whip and with that whip he will punish me.
Later he binds my hands behind my back and my feet together and covers me with a blanket. My bottom smarts as I am lying there and it is not comfortable to be bound. Still I am content. I love him, I have to, and the soreness from his whip and the ropes on my, still naked, body is extensions of his will, his power and they are like his touch and I feel his presence in that.
I have been fascinated by the story of O since I read it the first time, especially the beginning where O gets into the car with her lover and he prepares her for her arrival at Roissy. All the arrangements of her clothes are there for her to feel exposed and prepare her for her ordeal at the mansion. The best part of it is this:
'Undo your garter-belt,' he says, 'take off your panties.' There's is nothing to that, all she has to do is get at the hook behind and raise up a little. He takes the garter-belt from her hand, he takes the panties, opens her bag, puts them away inside it; then he says: 'You're not to sit on your slip or on your skirt, pull them up and sit on the seat without anything in between.' The seat-covering is a sort of leather, slick and chilly; it's a very strange sensation, the way it sticks and clings to her thighs.
Since then the thought of having to take off my knickers and pull up my skirt and sit directly on whatever I am sitting has been an important part of my fantasies. It is a small detail, one of those, maybe silly, things that makes you excited.
I have this image of a pair; a girl and her lover, who go to a restaurant. They sit in a secluded and dark corner, facing each other across the table. He is dressed in a black suit, very smart, although he is quite young. She has a nice dress, maybe blue, maybe silk. She is young, almost a girl and very shy. She can't look him in the eyes.
They sit down and he looks into her eyes and she looks back, blushes and looks down. He tells her in a soft voice to take off her knickers and give them to him. She starts to rise but he tells her it has to be at the table. She is embarrassed but complies. It is a bit tricky for her to secretly slide the knickers down her hips while still sitting down but she manages. She is mostly concerned with how to get them off her feet without anyone noticing it.
She is very careful and manages to obey him. She blushes as she finds the sensation of the knickers sliding over her skin quite arousing. She is embarrassed by her reaction. She gives him her knickers and he puts them in his pocket. Then he tells her to pull up her skirt and sit directly on the chair. She gives him a pleading look but he is determined and just smiles. She has no choice but to obey him. The dress is long enough so she is able to arrange it in such a way that it is not obvious that she is not sitting on it.
Underneath the skirt she feels her skin touching the fabric of the chair, be it wood or some rough cloth. The dinner goes on and they order and eat their food but not for one second does the girl forget that she is naked on the chair.
She is embarrassed and violently aroused by this and as they walk from the restaurant, through the streets in the night, she knows that she belongs to him and that he has overwhelmed her in a way she had not known was possible. She has obeyed him and knows herself under his spell. She both loves and adores him for this. Of course, he keeps her knickers in his pocket.
Another place where this might happen is a cinema. Imagine sitting in the darkness of a cinema, beside the boy/man you fancy and he whispers in your ear to give him your knickers. It is a bit awkward and you have to try to make the person beside you not notice. Your date takes your knickers and tells you to pull up your skirt. You can't think of the film any more. The only thing you are aware of is the sensation of the cinema seat against your naked skin, the harsh reality touching your soft person and the fact that you have obeyed this person without question.
I have this image of me being a girl or a young woman; teenager or in my early twenties, sitting on a bus. There are people in the bus but I have a double seat for myself. I am dressed in a short summer skirt since it is a hot day. For some strange reason I get the idea of taking off my knickers and there is, of course, some awkwardness and worry regarding this. I stuff them between the seat and the wall and proceed to pull up my skirt. The seat is rough and maybe even dirty and I am sweaty so my thighs stick to the surface. It is a strange sensation sitting there looking around trying to figure out if anyone has noticed.
I feel naked leaving the bus and leaving my knickers on the bus. I walk the street knowing that I am naked under my skirt and thinking that everyone knows that. They can somehow see that I am, indeed, naked under my skirt.
I was still confused as he flipped up my skirt and my mind was in such turmoil that I didn't realise what he was doing. I remember a sensation of embarrassment at this intimate and arrogant act of flipping up my skirt.
The confused sensation of embarrassment and maybe even humiliation was added to as I felt how he took hold of my knickers and with one bold movement pulled them down to my knees. I felt him move and later I realised that he was pulling off a switch from a small bush like tree close by.
He was still for a brief moment. I said nothing, did nothing. I waited. Then he started spanking me. I heard the switch travel through the air and then I felt its sting on my, now, naked behind. I was shocked and overwhelmed and I think my heart had stopped beating.
I remember how he relentlessly let the switch land on my poor exposed buttocks and how my sense of shock changed to a sensation of pain. I didn't scream, I was too overwhelmed, but I think I moved and maybe I squirmed a bit.
I was embarrassed, humiliated, scared and overwhelmed by his treatment. I remember being upset by the meanness of him choosing to switch the most sensible and most exposed part of my body like that.
There was a strange sensation within me that I could not understand at first. It was a strange satisfaction with the fact that he wanted to do something with me. I wanted to be close to him but this was not how I had imagined it to be. The fact that I was partly undressed made me feel upset and strangely excited. To be completely honest there was bit of arousal as well but that I could not admit.
This is a fantasy but not that far removed from reality. I mean there are no spaceships and things here. Anyway it is about spanking and I find it a bit embarrassing to write about it. Why on earth would you be excited about spanking? After all a spanking is supposed to hurt, be humiliating and generally not pleasant. If someone would spank you it is to punish you or be mean to you. I know there are a lot of people doing it for mutual pleasure and that is absolutely fine. What I am thinking of is the very idea about spanking. It is supposed to be bad for you.
Still there is something compelling about it. I do respect all those people who have made spanking a part of their lives or at least of their sex life. At the same time I suppose there are a lot of us who are less inclined to live out our fantasies but still find the thought quite exciting.
In my mind a spanking is both humiliating and painful. I don't think about a friendly slapping of buttocks as a foreplay. In my mind it hurts and it hurts really badly. A spanking is something that is so unbearably painful that you can't really cope and something that you are really overwhelmed by and something that you are genuinely scared of before it happens. Still I get excited, thinking about it.
I find the thought of waiting for it to happen and then preparing for it both arousing and horrible. Imagine the humiliation in having to pull down your knickers and baring your body and taking up a position that will help someone causing you pain! Then you have to wait for it to start. You hear the sound of the whip, or cane or whatever is used on you, flying through the air and then the sound of it hitting your exposed and soft skin. The sound reaching your ears before your body realises it has been hit. Then the hot searing pain.
Why is all this so exciting, so arousing? It is strange. At least it is strange in my mind. But it is still there. In real life I do not, particularly enjoy being humiliated. I have no longing for to surrender my person for painful punishments. Still the thought excites me. I find this hard to understand and if your read my blog you will probably find that I return to this theme quite often.
This blog is about fantasies and imagination. I have always admired people who make some of their fantasies real. I, on the other hand, have always been a person who prefer not to. I have always felt inferior towards people who realise their fantasies. I have come to change my mind about this of lately. I think it is good thing if you are able to realise your fantasies but in my case I don't think it would be possible, they are sometimes too wild and too strange for that. You can't try to be a zeppelin pilot in a parallel universe and at the same time be a slave to a ruthless barbarian ruler in some wild ancient era.
My imagination is full of wild and really strange things, some closer to our reality and some quite far removed from it. I am not pretending to be unusual in that sense. Far from it. I think there are millions and millions of people who are like that, who have their heads full of strange worlds and strange events and who live perfectly ordinary lives. My life is very ordinary and boring and I am, on the whole, quite happy with that. It would be a lie to say that everything is perfect but I am not sure I would want that.
In this blog I will not talk about myself as a real person but more about my imagination. I am quite aware that there are a plethora of blogs out there so the probability that someone will read this is quite small. This means that this blog will mostly contain my thoughts but if someone would be triggered by something I write, then feel free to comment and maybe even participate!
Now to the headline: Wild Imaginative Sex. This is something that springs to mind when it comes to fantasies. I am a quite shy person when it comes to sex and. Still my head is full of wild and strange things that happen in my imagination. I am not sure I would want to make them real. I think, actually, I will prefer that they stay as fantasies. This may seem like a very held back and cowardly way of handling my desires and maybe it is but for the moment I think I will be quite happy writing about it. If you would care to read my blog then you will find that my strange imagination deals a lot with sex or things that have to do with sex.
I will try to write as freely as I can and that means writing about some odd things and things that may offend someone. I have no intention of offending anyone. Everything is in the mind and I am not condoning it just because I write it. Fantasies are sometimes violent, degrading and horrible and I think that is the way it should be. I do not mean that bad things in fantasies are necessary only that if they are there they have a right to be there and that you turn them into something good by having them there. It is better to kill someone in your imagination than doing it in real life. Fantasies about rape and abuse does not mean you want things to be like that.
