Iconic Images 2

I think this is a lovely image. And very exciting. To me it seems almost as if someone had illustrated my favourite spanking fantasy. In its simplicity it contains so much tension and excitement.

There are no faces in the image and that makes it a little impersonal but then it is so much easier to identify with the people in it. The main part is the woman who kneels on a cushion like something. She is wearing something that looks like riding boots and trousers. Her top is pushed up and her trousers pulled down. Someone is standing beside her, I think it is a man but I am not sure. They are holding a riding crop to her bottom. We all know she is to be whipped by it.

But if you think about it. This is an image of pure evil. We get so excited by spanking and images of it so we forget what we see sometimes. Here is a woman kneeling, bared and exposed. Beside her stands someone who is holding a riding crop to her buttocks about to whip her. A riding crop is designed to sting through the thick hide of a horse. Now, someone is taking it to the tender skin of a woman. The purpose is to cause her pain. Furthermore she has had to expose her skin to make the pain even worse. That is immensely cruel and humiliating. She is not tied there but kneels obediently. She accepts being whipped. By force or by own will we don't know but she accepts it. She is already defeated and now she will be whipped.

Think about it! Isn't this a very cruel image? An image of evil. How could you think about whipping someone with a horsewhip like that? No one can really deserve that.

Still, and that is the strange thing, I find this image immensely exciting, attractive and even arousing. I know many others share my view. And for me it is the very cruelty of it that attracts me. The thought of that woman having to surrender to that cruelty. How is it, kneeling there, exposed, waiting for to be whipped? What does she feel? Is it just horrible or is there a kind of excitement in it?

The fact that she has had to expose herself for the whip adds something to it. The mere fact that someone deliberately is going to hit her to cause pain and that she has had to expose her body to make it even worse make this image very exciting. It scares me beyond anything and at the same time it excites me. Do I wish I was that woman? Sometimes I do, but why do I do that?

Am I just trying to convince myself that I am weird? Am I weird? Or is there a contradiction in the fascination with spanking and similar things?

Why Slavery?

I can't help trying to understand the whys about my fantasies. Perhaps I do analyse too much, think to much a do too little. I know that but, still, I can't help it. I can't help wondering about the appeal of being a slave. We all know that slavery is a really horrible thing and no one really wants to imply that there was anything good about it.

So why do we (I know it is not only me) return there in our minds? Why do we travel there, only to be stripped, bound, chained, shamed and sold? I believe there are a multitude of explanations and reasons for fantasies. Some of them are obvious and others have been discussed at length and the area is, most likely, too complex for a single blog entry so, for that reason alone, I will talk about one possible reason now.

I think it has to do with status, with social standings and such matters. Most of us are caught up in the eternal struggle for acceptance and social standings. We do what we do to gain recognition and status. In addition we do fear losing face, to do something that is frowned upon, disliked by our peers. At least some of us are very concerned with such matters and the ones who claim they aren't, are often more caught up than they dare to admit.

So being enslaved should be our darkest nightmare. What could be more humiliating than to be stripped naked, chained, paraded through the street and sold to the highest bidder (I know different fantasies deal with different situations but I think you know what I mean)? Being enslaved must be the ultimate losing of face, the definite loss of social status. The slave is the lowest of low, she is only property. She is nothing in society.

I think that is the reason why it appeals to us. When you have lost everything, you don't have to struggle any more. You are, in some sense, free. You can concern yourself with accepting your situation, accepting who you are. When you have fallen you don't have to fear falling any more.

And you are free to indulge in activities that are not acceptable in ordinary circumstances. Sexual indulgence is not for good girls. As a slave you are free to enjoy your body, your sexuality. It is required of you, you can even do it without the stigma of wanting it.

I Am Pleased

Lost friends are refound and Janice is pleased. In fact, she was so pleased that she went kite flying on Sunday (poor winds, though).

Boxed

I don't often fantasise about abductions and kidnappings. Being captured by grim slavers and taken to some remote desert town to be sold is a completely different matter. This little snippet of a story is an exception to that. It is not really a story, just a situation, no context, no nothing, really. But still, here it is. SK, this is for you!

Darkness, confusion, pain. I was waking up from sleep or perhaps even from being unconscious. I was in distress, felt uncomfortable. Everything was unpleasant and wrong.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, I realised I was sitting. Darkness was around me. I felt a hard surface behind my bent back and then I realised there were surfaces to my sides as well. It dawned upon me that I was sitting in a very confined space.

My senses came back and I began to sense how I was sitting, my different body parts started to report to my mind where they were and in what position they were. I was sitting, hunching in a confined space. I tried to move but couldn't. At first I didn't understand why.

I wondered if it was the surfaces, the walls around me or something else that kept me in place. With a cold sense of panic I realised that I had walls all around me, in front, to the back, to my sides and above me. I was crammed inside a very small space. My heart started beating and I knew I had to control those feelings because I feared panicking in this strange situation would make things unbearable.

My feet were held together, close together, and my arms were behind my back. It took me some time to sense where I had my arms. They were bent upwards behind my back and held in place by something that pressed on my wrists and arms in different places.

I was bound. My feet were tied together and my arms had been cruelly bent upwards on my back and tied in place. I realised how uncomfortable and painful it was, how unnatural that position was. I couldn't move.

I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I had something in my mouth. It was hard and rubbery and pressed my mouth open. I had been gagged. I realised that someone also had tied a scarf around my head, thus blindfolding me.

My mind was in turmoil as I understood that I was gagged and cruelly bound and placed in a small confined space, like a box or a crate. I almost panicked. Who had done this? Why was it done to me?

I vaguely remembered falling asleep in my bed. Or had I been somewhere else?

As I desperately tried to bring order in chaos, I realised something else. I suddenly felt that where my body was touching the walls I felt it directly against my skin. I could move just a little and I could feel the rough surface scrub against my skin. I understood that I was not fully dressed. I went over my sensations and decided that I most certainly was naked, completely naked.

The next realisation made my heart beat faster in humiliation. The one who had stripped and bound me and put me in this situation had not only secured me but added to my shame by tightening a rough rope that run between my legs and cut into my sex. I was sure, now, that I was, indeed, naked.

Suddenly it appeared to me that there were sounds around me. I had denied myself that knowledge but now I realised that there were a lot of hustle and bustle around me. I listened intently to try to find out what kind of sounds there were.

Slowly order came to chaos. To my horror I realised that what I heard was the sound of a train station. My situation dawned upon me. Someone had most likely drugged me, stripped me naked, tied me with ropes, gagged and blindfolded me, put me in a crate and placed me on a train station.

Bustling life went on around me, only feet away from where I was sat, helpless, naked and bound, in a crate, on my way somewhere. I cried in my misery and my heart started beating at the thought of my final destination. Who was to open the crate? What would happen when he did?

Frustration

I do not often write about my personal life or what happens in it. This will be one of the rare exceptions. I am sad and frustrated today. A couple of weeks ago I got in contact with someone who had read my stories. He seemed to share many of my fantasies, or rather the mirror image of my fantasies, and we have had quite an intense exchange of ideas. Suddenly he had to stop our communications, some security issue as it seems. That is something you have to respect when a conversation is of a private kind. (In my mind I wonder if getting an hotmail or yahoo account would help but I am not, really, very good at such things). In addition, another good friend told me she will disappear forever soon.

I know it is unfair but I feel abandoned and that makes me sad. And when I am frustrated and sad I want to write really horrible stories. Maybe I should do that and you will see another aspect of me, not at all gentle and kind and polite and ... (stop it, silly!!).

I hope the people I have mentioned will forgive me for this outburst of frustration. And you dear Reader, please leave this sad blog entry and go read some of my stories, they are far more entertaining...and better.

The Castle

I am back and it feels good to be back blogging. I have a story for you, one about spanking. Not my best, perhaps but I like the mood in this. I do hope I managed to convey something of it.

The castle is perched on the hill above the town, the eternal wind howling against its walls. The wind is chilly today and I shiver a little in the cool air. There is no one there, except for me and an old man taking his dog for a walk. I am sitting on a cold bench of stone, waiting for you. My thin skirt is poor protection against the cold, cold stone.

My heart starts beating as I see you approaching. I am happy to see you. I have been longing for you, still I am apprehensive, being a little scared of you, not knowing what you will do.

You sit down beside me. I am happy to have you near me. I look down, a little scared of meeting your eyes. I know you want me to be like that, a little submissive, a little timid.

'Take off your knickers!' you command.

'Here?'

You nod. It is as simple as that, a nod seals my doom. Blood rushes to my cheeks. You know I will obey. I look around, checking that there is no one there. The man with the dog is further down the hill. I look at the castle, its windows are black. Anyone may be watching me from behind those black windows. You know this but still you have commanded me.

My hands, under my skirt, grab hold of my knickers. The movements are awkward as I slide them down my thighs. It is a strange sensation feeling the fabric of my knickers gliding over my skin. My skirt covers me but I know I am becoming more and more naked underneath it. I blush like a little girl as I rise up a little allowing my knickers to slide down a bit. They are around my knees and I am ashamed. You know how I feel about this and still you choose it for me.

I hesitantly pull down my knickers to my feet and step out of them. I give them to you but you don't take them. Instead you tell me to throw them in the bin. This is humiliating. My knickers are litter and they will be there in the bin among the rest of the rubbish. My most intimate piece of clothing is just rubbish and I will walk home without them. I blush.

'Pull up your skirt!'

I am supposed to feel the cold stone against my naked skin. You want me to be humiliated. I do as you please. I always do. The stone is cold against me. I am fully dressed but very naked underneath my skirt.

I know you want to punish me. I have not bought a thing you asked me to buy. My lectures took all the time and I didn't want to miss this appointment. I want to explain, to apologise but I don't.

I know I deserve to be punished but still a cold hand grips my heart as I see you tap your lap. This gesture means but one thing, that I am to be spanked. But I can't believe you want to do it here, in public.

'Can't we leave it till tonight? I plead.

You don't answer, you just look at me. I am silent. I look around not wanting anyone to see us. The man with the dog is still far away, the windows still dark.

I lean forward, hesitating, I lie down in your lap. You lift your hand, take hold of my neck, almost like a tender gesture, as to hug me. Instead I sense your grip on my neck, forcing me down on your knee. I have to rise up, slightly in order to place myself there but soon I am in position. I am ashamed, not only for myself but for the both of us. I hope you will not lift my skirt.

I sense your hands on my back. Suddenly I feel the cold wind against my legs and I know you are lifting my skirt. I have tears in my eyes. I bow my head while you expose my bottom. I am waiting.

The first blow doesn't hurt. Strangely enough it comes as a surprise. I hear your hand against my skin. When I start sensing the heat from the first whack you deliver the next. I am being spanked. It stings and it hurts but not too much. I am more embarrassed and ashamed than anything else. Blow after blow hit my naked bottom. The pain is mounting and soon the pain is the most prominent sensation. In some way it feels good to be able to concentrate on the pain rather than anything else. I am still concerned that someone will see us.

The pain is mounting and soon it is only my bottom and your pounding hand. The pain overwhelms me and I have to focus on it completely to cope with it. I do not cry out but I moan and squeal a little. I can't help it.

And then it is over. You tell me to stand up. I obey you. I sit down beside you. I dare not pull my skirt down but it falls around me covering my naked legs. The ice cold stone soothes my spanked bottom. I look around and I see that the man with the dog is behind me. It can mean only that he has passed us while I was being spanked. I ask you about it but you don't answer.

In short...again

Dear Reader,

I will be busy during Easter and some time after. This means less blogging and less communicating. I put this here just to let you know that I have not abandoned my blog. I will be back and I will read your comments. They are most welcome. Take care!

Waiting

A story again, or is it just the beginning of a story? I am not sure. There are no raunchy details in this, just something to get your mind moving. I will now introduce one of my fantasy figures. This time it is Felicia (not Felicity), a real pre-raphaelite stunner (google for it in case you don't know what I mean!). She is my true friend and much more and she is a creation of my imagination, a wish for that perfect friend. Too much dialogue in this, perhaps? I like what is implied and not mentioned sometimes.

She had told me to wait for her at the café. I had been sitting there for an hour waiting for her, drinking my tea, being nervous. I knew she wanted to be late. There was always a reason and I couldn't really say she was late, she had never told when she was due. She had just told me to wait, so I waited.

I pulled at my black skirt that seemed too short, too daring for this place. I wore no stockings, no tights and I felt strangely naked where I sat. Two young men in the corner cast their eyes in my direction and I had to look down only to look at my striped top. It was too tight, too snugly fitting and I am sure the men noticed that I wore no bra and that I was excited. I blushed.

When, at last, she arrived she was not apologetic, she didn't even say a word about me waiting for her. I knew she wanted this of me but still I was a bit angry, a little upset. As she swept into the café, approaching my table I struggled a little with my sense of anger, thinking that she wanted this of me. I surrendered to that thought and looked at her in amazement.

She was a magnificent girl. Her red hair fell like a flaming stream from her head and her lovely, lovely features made me melt. My eyes were drawn to her lips and her shining green eyes. Felicia was not a big woman. Most people would think her rather small and even petite but there was a strength in her that filled the whole café and blew me away. She was half a head taller than me and beside me she looked like that strength had taken physical form.

'I wanted to talk to you,' she said as she sat down.

'Can I get you a cup?' I asked.

'Tea, please,' she said.

I rose to my feet and went to the counter to buy her a cup. I had to walk closer to the young men. I knew they were looking. My legs were trembling but I didn't know if it was the men or Felicia that caused it. Perhaps both. I had no strength to resist them.

I put the tea in front of Felicia and sat down. She noticed I gazed at the two young men. She smiled at me and I blushed. She wanted to talk to me and doing that in a café was ominous. I knew that.

'You wanted to talk to me,' I said after a long silence.

'Yes, that is true,' Felicia answered without showing any tendencies to continue.

I sat in silence.

'You are going to be punished,' she said after a while. I think I saw a smile on her face.

'Yes, I am not surprised,' I said although her words had struck me like an open hand in my face.

'Don't be smug,' she said but she didn't seem to be angry with me.

'I am sorry,' I said, overcome with a worried sensation I wanted, desperately to explain.

'Don't worry!' Felicia said looking me in the eyes.

I nodded.

'Those two boys keep staring at you,' she continued.

'I know,' I said, 'I wished they'd go away.'

'Why is that? You are worth looking at.'

'Felicia, please!'

'You are such a sweet girl.'

'Felicia, I am not sweet.'

'Yes, you are but now I want to punish you.'

My heart started pounding.

'Yes, Felicia, you told me,' I said, my mouth dry as paper, 'why?'

'Does it have to be a why?'

I was silent

'No, it doesn't,' I said, 'for you it doesn't. But I would want one.'

'I just thought that I wanted to punish you, that is all.'

'No, Felicia, it is not all,' I felt upset now.

'I thought you needed a punishment.'

'Do I?' I fell silent again.

'Well, yes, I think you do,' now Felicia sounded a little insecure.

'Need in the sense deserve or need in the sense I want it?' I heard my voice gaining in strength.

'I don't know what you want,' she said, sounding just a little vexed.

'So I deserve a punishment?'

'Yes, you do.'

'Why?'

'Because you defy me, because you disappoint me, because you talk back, like now.'

'Do I disappoint you?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'You, you...I don't know.'

'Please, tell me!'

'Look at those men!'

'What about them?' I was confused, taken aback.

'They look at you and you enjoy that.'

'But?' I was lost for words.

'Don't you?'

'You are jealous?'

I looked at Felicia and saw anger in her eyes, I saw hurt and pain. She was, indeed jealous. But she couldn't possibly be jealous about someone looking at me. She was far more beautiful than me, she was a real stunner. I though that, perhaps, she was jealous of me wanting the attention.

'Felicia?'

'Yes.'

'Punish me!'