When you write down a fantasy it becomes a story and a story obeys other rules and laws than fantasies. You tell it from a certain point of view and it has a narrative in a way that many fantasies never have. It gives you an opportunity to view things from different angles in a way you may in a fantasy but is much easier in a story.
All my stories up till now have been narrated by a first person - by me - and has had me as the receiver of spankings. This story changes the perspective, tries another point of view. It is, also, more brutal than, maybe, I have posted before but it is far easier to imagine things than to experience them and I think, honestly, that this is not something I would want to experience in real life.
Furthermore, this is an example of a story that started out as a simple story, inspired by a lovely picture by Waldo and then turned into something different. Maybe the ending seems a bit stilted and does not really fit in but it made sense when I wrote it and it tells something about the emotions involved.
It was a very unusual piece of furniture. It was made of rough planks and stood on sturdy legs. It was a torture device. There was no doubt about that. It had a flat surface, like a table but it was a quite low table. On its surface were three hinged pairs of planks, one at each end and one almost at the middle of the oblong table. Those hinged planks had semi circles in them, two in the ones at the ends and a big in the middle one. The semi circles formed circles or holes when the planks were put in place. They were like the stocks where you could put your hands or your feet through those holes and when the upper plank was secured you were stuck.
She looked wide eyed at the table. I sensed her trembling at the sight of it. I am not sure she knew the purpose of the device but she surely expected it to be painful for her. In that she was right. She turned to me and had to look up. Her face expressed fear and anticipation. I could not blame her for that. She was lovely.
She was the cutest thing imaginable, blond, slim and quite short. Her being was delicate and the room in the cellar and the sturdy table looked brutal in contrast to her soft being. She trembled as if cold in the damp air. She was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, quite ordinary, although it looked lovely on her body.
I walked over to the table and unhinged the three planks. She started to realise that my wish was for her to be fastened by them on the table. She was right in that. She shivered a little and took a step towards the table. She looked scared. She took another step.
'Ok, now', I said, 'strip!'
She looked up at me with fear in her eyes.
'Oh, no, please', she pleaded.
I just looked at her. She knew what I wanted. She knew she had to obey.
She sighed and reluctantly and hesitantly she pulled the t-shirt over her head revealing her round and tiny and very desirable breasts. I never tired of seeing her lovely breasts and it was a special joy to see them being exposed like that.
She shrugged her shoulders and looked around for a place to put her t-shirt. She found nothing and dropped it on the floor. She looked at me again but found no mercy. She sighed and started to unbutton her jeans. She seemed to have problems with that, maybe her fingers felt numb. I could understand that. She was scared and she had reasons to fear the immediate future.
She managed to unbutton her jeans and after that she wriggled them down from her hips. She was careful not to lower her knickers. She stepped out of her jeans and dropped them on top of her t-shirt. She was dressed only in knickers and shoes now. I regarded her. She trembled and looked scared. She didn't dare to cover her body.
I told her to take off her shoes and she complied. It seemed as if she found the floor a bit too cold for her liking. I smiled at that. She looked vulnerable, even more so with her feet bare.
Her knickers were pink and minimal but I think she relished the fact that she still had them. She wasn't completely naked. She knew, however, that her last piece clothing could be removed at any time.
'Ok, take off the knickers, now!' I commanded.
'Oh, please, not everything', she said.
Her pleading met with no reply. I just regarded her.
Slowly she removed her knickers. Now she was naked. I saw goosebumps on her skin. I am not sure she was cold or if she was just scared.
I regarded her. She looked down, wanted to cover up but refrained from doing that. She knew herself watched. She must have felt very vulnerable and naked in front of me.
I tapped the table and she looked at it with fear in her eyes. She moved towards it and started to climb onto it. She knew, now, that the planks were to fasten her to it. She was an intelligent girl and saw the meaning of the device. She prostrated her body on top of the table and fitted her waist into the semi circle of the middle plank and her feet in the two holes in the one end plank and her hands in the two holes in the other end plank.
I saw that the table was cold against her naked skin. She trembled and shivered as she adjusted her body to fit into the device. I walked over to her and swung the middle plank into its place, thus, securing her waist in it. I fastened the planks together with a plug, no lock was needed, she wouldn't be able to reach for the fastening device. The circle, or rather oblong opening, the both planks formed, fit snugly around her waist. I repeated the action at her head and fastened her hands in the two holes and then did the same at her feet. She was now lying, belly down, prostrate on the table with her hands and feet secured in the stocks at the ends of the table and her waist in the stock in the middle. Her feet was fastened at some distance from each other which meant that she had to spread her legs slightly, not provocatively so but enough to make her feel that anyone watching her could glimpse her sex between her legs.
'Now, you are ready,' I said and moved away from the table. I picked up her clothes, her shoes and the lamp that had dimly lit the room and moved towards the door.
'No, please, don't leave me here,' she pleaded with a hint of panic in her voice.
'I will be back', I said and smiled at her and left the room in darkness. I bolted the door, which was really unnecessary since she could not move from the table. She was naked and bound and quite helpless as she was.
I went to another room in the cellar, where a big fire heated the air and where some armchairs stood in front of a bear skin, sprawled on the floor. I put her clothes and shoes in a chest and put down the lamp. I went over to a big oaken cupboard and opened it. From the door I chose a three tongued whip. It was a real whip, not a toy. The tongues were braided and quite vicious and would cause a lot of pain. That was my intention. I wanted her to suffer.
I didn't return immediately. Instead I sat down in one of the armchairs, poured myself a glass of port and stared at the fire. I wanted to relax a bit. She could wait.
I sat down with my port and tried to relax. It was not easy. I was also quite keen. Anyway, I managed to sit for a period of time and to drink my port. When I had finished I took the whip and the lamp and returned to the chamber were she was.
I unbolted the door and entered the room with my lamp. The dim light fell on her trembling body. She had been startled by the sudden noise from the door but she seemed somewhat relieved by seeing me. That sensation was followed by an expression of panic in her eyes as she saw the whip. She knew what was coming.
She started to move about on the table almost as if she suddenly tried to escape. She couldn't, of course. I held out the whip in front of her eyes so she could see the implement that was to be used on her body. The whip was vicious and she knew that. She panicked and tried to move away from me.
'Oh, no, please,' she almost cried, 'not the whip, please, not the whip.'
'Oh, yes, my dear,' I answered, smiling, 'it is going to be the whip.'
She bowed her head as I positioned myself on her left side. The touch of the whip startled her and I could hear her moaning. She shivered as she lay, sensing the touch of my whip on her buttocks. She was bound and could not escape and her body was exposed and was vulnerable to the bite of the whip.
I let the whip fly through the air with a hissing sound and a loud crack as it hit her buttocks. The sound was provocatively loud and I saw her body stiffen and heard her squeal in a low voice. I saw her body move in agony afterwards while her skin showed the burning marks of the three tongues of my whip.
She was still moaning as the second blow hit her naked flesh. She moved her body as if she was hit by lightning but didn't give a sound. I saw her face contort with pain and only after a couple of seconds could she breath again. I saw that the pain was excruciating and this was only the beginning.
At the third blow she cried out loudly in pain. She screamed and pleaded when she came round.
'Please, please, please, I can't stand it', she wailed.
I answered her with another blow. She screamed again and I saw her body rock with convulsions as she sobbed when she started to breath again. She was crying now and she was pleading softly but without hope of any mercy.
A fifth blow made her cry out in agony and move as in disbelief. I think she felt the pain to be unbearable, too powerful to fathom, impossible to cope with. But still, she had to cope with it, she had no choice.
I struck her again and she cried in panic and fear and pain. She moved about as much as she could in her confinement but nothing could save her naked buttocks from being struck by the whip. I stood there with the power to give her mercy or to give her pain. I enjoyed denying her the mercy and giving her pain. I was in power and she was subject to that power and she had to endure the pain I chose to give to her.
I whipped her for quite a while. Sometimes I would strike four or five times in rapid succession and listen to her mounting screams and sometimes I would wait for a long time between the blows. I studied her body that moved and wriggled and tried to escape. I enjoyed watching her nakedness, her softness and vulnerability. I relished the sight of her roundness, her female forms in my bonds. Her skin glowed in the dim light and even more so as a sheen of sweat covered her.
She flung her head, and with that her blond hair, around as the whip struck home and I loved watching her body move in agony. Her pain was my pleasure and she had to endure.
I whipped her for a long time and I whipped her good. I struck her buttocks and her thighs and after a while I saw her skin covered in glowing red stripes. Some hits had taken deeper and had became bruises, almost turning purple. Her bottom was a mess, a burning painful mess and I realised that I didn't want to whip her any more. She had had her dose and for the moment I didn't want to whip her any more.
I removed the locking plugs from the stocks and unhinged them. She looked at me as if she didn't believe her ordeal was over, for the moment. She had tears in her eyes, her face was red and agitated and she trembled and was sweaty. She moved her body as the bounds were removed and she moved on to the floor with difficulty, trying not to touch the table with her burning buttocks. She moved stiffly and cautiously. I took her hand and helped her stand up. She looked at me and the expression on her face was strange. She gave me a soft look, a look of tenderness rather than hate or anger. She was exhausted, I could see that, but she seemed calmer now although she trembled still in the aftermaths of the affect.
Later, in the room with the still burning fire, she was lying on her belly on the bearskin. I was sitting in an armchair, regarding her. She was still naked. I was still clothed. Her buttocks still looked sore, very sore. She looked content, though. She smiled and seemed to be lost in thoughts. She was unbelievably beautiful and sensuous. She was a mystery.
'Why don't you run away?' I asked.
'Because I want to stay,' she answered.
'Yes, but why do you want to stay,' I continued, 'when I cause you so much pain?'
'I like it,' she said.
'I can't believe you like it,' I said, 'being whipped like that must be horrible.'
'It sure is overwhelming,' she said.
'But, what's in it for you?'
'Being overwhelmed, I suppose,' she said.
'You want to be overwhelmed,' I said, 'but by pain?'
'Overwhelmed and defeated,' she said, 'that's true, I want to be defeated and overwhelmed and totally and completely lose myself in it.'
'Even if it is painful?'
'It has to be painful, it has to be something I dread or do not want or want only when I have to accept it.'
'You want to, not want it and still have to go through it?' I asked.
'Something like that,' she said.
'But there is no pleasure?'
'Oh,' she said, 'that's a hard question. There is pleasure to be had as well. Trust me, I am truly a twisted mind but I am aroused by the prospect of a whipping or such things.'
'But, surely, you can't find pleasure in being whipped in the way you were, just now? You looked so scared before and so much in pain during it.'
'You are right,' she said and looked serious, 'I was terrified by the torture table and the whipping really hurt and I can't say that I felt any pleasure at the time but, still, there is something compelling about it and the sensation of my burning behind gives me pleasure now, afterwards. No, but you're right, a truly vicious punishment fills me with dread and I want to avoid it but still I wouldn't want to be spared because there is something great and beautiful in being overwhelmed, defeated and having to endure it whether I like it or not. It is, actually, better if I don't like it, if it is really horrible.'
'But if I would tell you, now, that we were to go to the torture chamber and I was to suspend you from the ceiling in your hands and I would whip your body until you fainted, what would you say?'
'I would say, please, spare me,' she said and smiled, 'although I know it is to no avail and then I would obey but I would be terrified and still there would be a tingling in my sex that would tell me to surrender and let you do whatever you pleased with me and my body.'
'You are a strange creature,' I said.
'Not any stranger than you are,' she said, 'my Love.'
She stretched her lovely body in a catlike fashion and rolled over to her back. This made her remember her burning behind and she cried out and rolled back and lost her catlike posture. We both laughed and I looked at her and she looked at me and I think I saw love in her eyes.