Paintings

I don't know what this is. An idea, a scene that pops into my head. Not full of steaming sex but what did yo expect? I think there is tension in it. A little, anyway. And besides anything else, this is not about my view on equality between the sexes. This is just a scene.

We were walking in the big lofty rooms, the sound of our shoes on the marble floor disturbing the peace. Groups of people looking at the painting, discussing them in hushed voices. I looked with amazement at the beautiful paintings, the landscapes, the dreamscapes and mythological creatures.

'What do you think?' he said and turned to me.

He was elegantly dressed in a light grey suit, his hat in his hand. He smiled.

'It is all very beautiful,' I replied, 'it is a grand museum.'

'But what are you thinking?' he asked looking intently at me.

I blushed, looked down. I felt, suddenly naked, dressed in a thin linen dress and a matching straw hat.

'I am thinking of all the women in the paintings.'

'What about them?' he asked, still looking at me.

'They are most often, I have to say, very naked.'

'So are the men.'

'There are fewer men in the pictures,' I said, 'and they are more clothed. Very few of the men are naked. The women are almost always naked.'

'Do you mind?' he wondered.

I fell silent for a while.

'No, I don't mind,' I continued.

'But it affects you,' he said, smiling.

'Yes,' I had to admit, 'it affects me.'

'What are you thinking of it?'

'There are so many men and women here, looking at the paintings,' I said.

I was silent for a while.

'And I wonder,' I said, 'what the women are thinking, seeing other women naked in the pictures. Do they see themselves in them? What do the men think? Do they think of the women at their sides and try to picture them naked?'

'Do you see yourself naked in the pictures?' he asked looking at me, smiling menacingly.

'Yes,' I said after a pause, 'I do.'

'What does it make you feel?'

'Oh, I don't know. I get embarrassed.'

'Is that all?' he asked.

I blushed, sensing that all the other visitors must know what I was thinking.

'Not only embarrassed,' I said.

'What more?'

He wouldn't let me off the hook.

'Hm, excited, I think.'

'Excited and...?'

'Aroused,' I whispered.

He looked at me, his eyes shining. He enjoyed this.

'And the men,' he asked, 'what about the men?'

'What about them?' I replied.

'What do you feel when you think about the men watching the pictures, imagining you in them – naked?'

I blushed even more.

'Embarrassed.'

'And?'

'Yes,' I whispered, 'aroused.'

We stood in silence for a while. I glanced at him and saw a faint smile on his lips.

'It is unfair,' I said.

'What is unfair?'

'That the women are naked.'

'Why shouldn't they be naked? They are beautiful.'

'The men have clothes,' I said.

'So they have.'

'It is not equal.'

'Why should it be equal?' he said.

'It is not fair.'

He looked at me. He was sterner now but I saw that he was still enjoying it.

'Are we equal?' he asked. 'Are you and I, equal?'

'No,' I replied, ' we are not.'

'Should we be equal?'

'No, we shouldn't be equal.'

'Then, perhaps, it is fair that those men should imagine you naked, in the paintings.'

I was silent again.

'I am still embarrassed,' I said.

'Maybe that is only fair,' he said, smiling triumphantly.

I blushed.

We walked for a while looking at more naked women. I felt my cheeks hot with embarrassment as I imagined myself in them.

I spoke boldly,' I said, after a while, 'I spoke boldly about fairness.'

'Yes, you did.'

'Will I have to be punished for it?'

'We'll see,' he said, smiling, 'we'll see, my sweet girl. When we get home.'

Where to Go?

When I started this blog I was intent on writing about my fantasies, to share them and put them in a blog because I didn't want to be alone with them any more. I wanted to talk about me and my mind, tell you about what was there. Not because I thought it was extremely interesting but because it was my mind. It was a kind of self centred pursuit. Something I did for me.

I was hoping to find that my embarrassing fantasies were no so terribly private and that I shared them with some of you out there. I think it is like that. People have contacted me and told me that this and that fantasy correspond to theirs. I do love hearing from you and that is a kind of contact I hoped for. Makes me feel less weird, less strange and twisted.

Sharing is good as an inspiration as well and I hope someone has been a little inspired by some of the things I have written.

Then some comments tell me that it is well written and I get some compliments. That makes me happy and proud. I do care about writing, how things are presented, about language and how you express things. I do want to write, I love to write.

This makes me a little confused. I start thinking too much about what you want to hear and less about what I want to tell. I hope you don't think me arrogant for saying this. The thing is that I do care what you think but I don't want to lose that sense of writing from my own head. I do care that some stories get no comments and I think that you don't want to hear how it ends, like the Slave Story and to some extent the Story of Miranda (I did get a lot of comments on that one, so maybe it is unfair to mention it here). This is not my intention. I want to tell stories because I want to tell them. I start to care too much about if they are well written and such instead of the content of the story.

I don't know, really, what this post is about, maybe I want to tell you that I don't know where this blogging will take me. Will I start thinking of it as a story blog, for my texts about fantasy themes or shall I stick to the idea that it is about the landscape of the mind, what dwells inside my head and what makes me sad and excited, in the hope that what roams there is of interest to you as well?

Fleeing

I am running. Fear fills me as I am running. I am fleeing, knowing that I will perish should my pursuers find me.

It is a surreal landscape that lies around me. The thick fog embraces the forest, me and all living things. The ancient trees stand out as the silhouettes of some evil creatures, stretching their thin, cold fingers after me.

I stop. I look around, can't see anything. My bare feet touch the hard and cool ground. It is almost like the floor of a giant building and the trees are like distorted pillars. I hear them coming, the enemy, the ones that will take me.

Then I hear them closer. Fear makes my heart beat faster. I run, stumble, almost falling. Then I stop.

There is something in the clearing, someone in front of me. I stop and I look at it. My heart stops beating as I see the outline of a great black horse with a silent rider on its back. I feel him watching me.

I am dressed only in a thin white garment, a thin dress, a flimsy nothing. I can't see his eyes but I know the rider is regarding me, seeing me, seeing through me, my clothes and my soul.

Then he moves. His steed moves up to me before I can run and the horseman scoops me up like I am a toy. He throws me, belly down, on his saddle before him and rides off.

I am lying there, helpless, captured by the dark rider. We rush through the forest in an overwhelming speed and I begin to realise that we are leaving my pursuers behind. The strange rider is not going to bring me into the hands of my enemies. He is going to save me.

I turn my face and look at him. It is dark. I can't discern his features. I see a square jaw, dark eyes, a grim expression. He is a demon, a dark and menacing demon. But he has saved me.

A strong arm around my waist tells me to try to sit up. I move slowly, carefully, terrified of the speed, of the thought of falling off this moving, living world that is this horse, this rider.

At last I sit in front of him, my feet dangling on one side, my arms desperately holding on to my rescuer. My face is closer to his face now but I see nothing more of who he is, this grim and silent rider. He doesn't look at me. He sees only the forest, the fog and the ground before him.

I look at him but I dare not speak. I wonder why he has saved me, if he has saved me. I hold on to him for my life, scared of moving. The fog and the forest rush by and I do no longer hear my pursuers. Then the rider speaks.

'Strip!'

I stare at him. He doesn't look at me.

'Take off your clothes!'

His order is clear. The fog, the forest, the horse and the rider, my fear and my pursuers, all of this makes my head dizzy.

I know I have to obey him. I am nothing. He can easily throw me down, give me to my enemies. I am his. I am at his command.

I dare not move my hands, dare not release my grip for fear of falling off but I have to. Carefully and slowly do I manage to slip my dress from my shoulder, I shift my grip and slip it down from the other shoulder. I work the thin fabric down my sides. I hold on to the rider and lift my hips, just a little, as much as I dare but enough to slip my dress from my hips, down my legs. Then I let it go. It seem to float in the air for a second and then we are gone. My clothes are left behind. I am naked.

He doesn't even look at me. I look at his face but I see nothing in his grim countenance. He has taken his prize. He has snatched me from under the nose of my enemies. I have stripped and I am naked but he doesn't even look at me. He knows he will have time.

I know, then, that my destiny has taken a new turn and the road ahead of me is still clouded in mist. I shiver as I press my naked body to the strong frame of this dark rider, my rescuer, my master.

In My Mind

I just finished reading the latest (and last) Harry Potter book the other day. Yes, I do read Harry Potter. In fact, I have read them all and enjoyed them. They are not the greatest books ever written but they are a good read.

Anyway, I saw something on a page that caught my eye and it made me think, or rather want to express something that has been on my mind. The citation is from the end of the book but I can't think I give anything away by using it here, taken out of its context. So, here it goes:

'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'

Food for thought, isn't it? At least if you take it in a more general sense. Think about it! Everything that happens is experienced - yes, exactly - in the head. Even real life actions and events, those that affects our body are experienced by our minds. This may sound a little trivial. Of course it has to be like that. What else could experience anything?

The not completely trivial point I am trying to make is that it is not just experienced in our minds but similar events may be experienced in different ways depending on how our minds perceive them. For example, should the wind catch a curtain and slap you in the face you may be a little grumpy but don't think much about it. Should someone, on the other hand, walk up to you and slap you in the face you would be really upset and in some circumstances even traumatised by it. It may, even, be something you would remember as a humiliation for the rest of your life. What I am trying to say is that it is how we perceive the event that is the crucial factor, really.

The bottom line is that everything happens in the head and when you start to think that way, you can't just dismiss fantasies as, well, fantasies. They are events that happen in your head but the feelings, the emotions are real and they affect you as much as many real life events do.

And I am not saying that it is the same to imagine getting your bottom slapped as actually getting it, to bring this discussion to a level where I usually find myself. Of course it is not the same. What I am saying is that fantasies are real. Full stop.

My Second Life

Second Life (SL) is fantastic place. Everyone is beautiful and has all the time in the world and you don't have to worry about cleaning and buying food and cooking other such things. It is a place to be bold and daring and try out some of the fantasies you have. And I can tell you, there is plenty of room for that.

I have my avatar in SL and we (my avatar and I) indulge in all sorts of naughty pursuits. Most women I have met are tall, tanned and have big bosoms (perhaps they are all men in Real Life (RL)). Except me, I am short, pale and not very well equipped. You can, of course, change you appearance all the time and some people thrive on that but I have come to like my avatar as she is. I am even so short that I am sometimes mistaken for a child which may cause problems regarding the kind of activities I indulge in.

I have no face to lose and no standing in SL that may suffer from me behaving badly. I considered a job as a stripper in a club but was too short for that. Besides some setbacks there is a lot of fascinating and fun things to do in SL.

I do leave my grumpy self in RL and I become far more humble and submissive as I enter SL. I have got myself a mistress, well, actually, I have two. It is a little complicated, my second mistress is my first mistress' mistress. Did you get it? My second mistress has a pet (or slave, whichever you prefer) and that pet is my first mistress. In fact my second mistress (the higher of the two) has a mistress too who also has a mistress. It is like a ladder with women who are both mistresses and pets. Except for the ends of that ladder and I am at the bottom rung, so I have no pet.

I assume that some of you who read this are into this kind of culture but for me it is quite new. Anyway, I was collared in a ceremony and was, later, given a pet name. This is very cute and I am proud of it. This is the really strange thing. I am extremely proud of my collar and my pet name and I truly enjoy belonging to those two lovely women. I know it is a game, a role play but it is still great fun and quite immersing.

Although I am not exactly as I am in RL my avatar is very much me, still. I get to see myself from outside in a way that is interesting. My mistresses take care of me and protect me and all this is very sweet and good. I know they think I am a little too vulnerable and too easy to hurt so they need to take care of me.

I may tell you more about my second life later on but this will do for now.

Inspiration...

I will start with a disclaimer. Remember when you read this, that it is just me and just now! I am not saying anything about fantasies in general or what I think is good or bad or anything. This is just how I feel...now.

I get feed up with myself and my fantasies at times. I look at them and see pain and humiliation and bad things. It strikes me in the face sometimes and it hurts. I can't turn away from it since it is me, my fantasies, my imagination but it hurts.

Then I want to go back, to visit each and every scene in the cinema of my head and do it right. I want to throw down all the whips and canes and break them and shout out loud that there will be no more whippings. I want to untie all the ropes and unshackle all the shackles and set free all the slaves and captives and...and myself. I will tell them, us, to dress and go somewhere and cuddle with someone they love. I want to touch all the bruises and caress away all he pain and humiliation. Then I want people, myself, everyone to be loved and love. Not to hurt and degrade and cause pain.

I know, it is all fantasy, it is not about bad things. It is about love and trust and all that is good. I know that. I really, understand that. But sometimes the images, the themes, the events in my imagination seems so brutal, so full of pain and humiliation that I wonder how it can be. How is it possible to have that in your head.

Another Spanking

I do like to think that you don't know me yet, that I am still able to surprise you a little. I have told you before that I like to take on different roles when I write and this is what I have done now. Perhaps this story seems to be less consensual and a little more brutal than my ordinary scribblings. I don't think it, really, is.

'No, don't touch me!' she cried.

I grabbed her in silence. She tried to wriggle lose but I was stronger. I took hold of her shirt.

'Don't touch me!' she screamed desperately.

I pulled at her shirt in anger, sensing the buttons give away, ripping it open, exposing her breasts. She wore no bra. I stared at her naked breasts, round and lovely. I wanted to touch them.

Tearing her shirt open meant I lost my hold on her and she moved away. I lost my grip on the shirt with one hand but retained the other. She tried to rise up and move away from me. This pulled the shirt from her shoulders but she almost made her escape. I kept hold of the shirt and scrambled to my feet. I captured her again and this time I got hold of her shirt pulling it down from both her shoulders pinning her arms to her side, further exposing her.

She wriggled lose leaving me holding her shirt. She was now topless as she fled to the door. This time I was quicker and captured her again.

'Let me go you bastard!!!' she cried but I wouldn't let her go.

I got hold of her jeans and managed to unbutton them.

'No, please, no,' she wailed with desperation in her voice.

Her legs seemed to give way under her and I fell on top of her. She tried to break free but I got hold of her and now her jeans came down from her hips, taking her knickers with them.

'You can't do this,' she screamed.

'Can't I?' I hissed as I pulled her jeans down a little but further.

She tried to crawl away but this only meant that her jeans were pulled further down. Now they have parted company with her knickers which now covered half of her bottom.

I pulled her back by my hold of her jeans and she turned around and almost got away. She fell back with her jeans around her ankles and I crawled closer and grabbed her around the waist. I put my foot on her jeans and pushed and soon they were free from her left leg. I pulled her towards me as I sat and she soon found herself in my lap.

I pulled down her knickers to her mid thighs almost ripping them to pieces.

'Let me go! You bastard, you devil.'

The only reply she got from me was my hands turning her body in my lap so that her bottom was turned up. I pinned her legs with my leg and gave her a hard sharp slap on her buttocks.

'You don't dare!' she wailed.

As a reply I planted another hard slap on her naked behind. She tried to put her hand over her buttocks as protection but I grabbed it and pulled up towards her neck pinning her down. Now I let go of a hail of hard slaps on her wobbling and very naked behind.

'You can't do that!!' she screamed. 'It hurts.'

'It is supposed to hurt,' I replied.

I had got into it now whacking away at her bared bottom. Her pale skin turning pink and almost red in places.

'No, stop it, stop it,' she screamed.

'Why? This is fun.'

'You can't do that, stop it, it hurts!!'

'That is no way to ask a favour.'

'A favour, you bastard,' she screamed almost in tears.

'Well, it could be considered a favour to stop this fun.'

'It's not fun, it hurts!'

I spanked her hard and quick now, alternating between her buttocks. I was still angry, still annoyed but the sight of her wobblig bottom amused me greatly.

'Please, please, stop it!'

'That is better, but you have to mean it.'

I continued spanking her.

'Please, please,' she screamed, 'I'll do anything.'

I stopped for a while.

'You just say that to make me stop spanking you.'

'I want you to stop spanking me.'

'I don't want to stop.'

I began in earnest, spanking her, now, red buttocks.

She screamed in anger and pain. She didn't say anything but she wriggled and cried. After a while her struggle abated. She moved about but I felt she did not struggle against me any more.

I stopped.

'Please, please,' she said, sobbing, 'please stop spanking me, I can't take anymore. I will be good.'

'Will you do as I say?'

'Yes, I will, I'll do anything you say.'

'Do you mean that?'

'Yes, I mean that, just stop spanking me.'

'I have a hard time believing you.'

'I promise, I will do as you say.'

'You just say that to make me stop spanking you.'

'Please, please, don't spank me any more!'

'You will have to prove to me that you will do as I say.'

'I will, I will, as soon as I get up I will obey you.'

'Will you?'

'Yes, I will.'

'Why?'

'Because, because you will spank me if I don't.'

'How true.'

'Can I rise now?'

'No. I have another question.'

'Yes?'

'Who am I?'

'You are my boyfriend.'

'Is that all?'

'You are the master.'

'Sounds better. Who am I?'

'You are my master.'

'Mmm, sounds nice.'

'Will I still be your master when I let you go?'

'Yes, you will.'

'Regardless of what I do?'

'Yes, you are my master, as you are.'

'Ok, then.'

I started spanking her again.

'No, don't do that, you bastard!!' she screamed. 'I promised to obey you.'

'Yes, you did and now I want to spank you.'

She screamed in anger.

'Please, please,' she said when she stopped sceaming, 'please, don't spank me!'

'Stop your wailings and take you spanking!'

She was silent save for some moaning and squealing.

I continued spanking her red bottom and she wriggled and moved but she did not fight me. I spanked her for a good while and she sobbed and cried but did not protest.

When I was finished she was lying still in my lap, panting, sobbing.

'I have stopped spanking you,' I said.

'Thank you,' she replied.

I let go of her body and she scrambled to standing on all four. She turned to me and I saw her dishevelled and red face, wet with tears. She regarded me for a while and then she suddenly smiled.

'You bastard,' she said but this time her voice was soft and her eyes had a strange kind of glimmer. She turned around to lie down in my lap. She turned her lovely self to me and she smiled at me. She stretched her arms to me and took hold of my neck and pulled me close.

'Kiss me, kiss me, my master!'

I Am Back

It has been a long and lovely holiday. Perhaps a little too much of relatives and people come visiting but it is mean to say that. I do love the company of my relatives and friends. It is just that sometimes you need to be alone, alone with your most beloved. Just to relax and get back on track.

Anyway, I managed to do some writing but very little suitable for this blog. I do have one story I will put up in a day or two. Well, it is not really a story, just a fantasy snippet. But you should know me by now. This is how it works on this blog.

It is a strange experience, coming back after a long holiday. My mind is still confused and this blogging life seems so distant and weird. I am not saying it is bad or anything, just strange. I will get out it and things will return to normal. I am quite convinced.

One good thing with holidays is that it gives you time to think about who you are and what you think. Things I already knew becomes clearer and some new thoughts appear. I have realised how grumpy I can be. This is, definitely, something that makes the real me unsuitable for being the polite and humble submissive I am in my fantasies. I do get angry with people and I do get irritated and I don't always have the patience I should have.

I was complaining about friends and relatives but one good thing about meeting them is that I realise that I am a part of a network of people who really love and care about me and that is worth a lot...well, almost everything.

I am back now and I will continue blogging and I still love to hear from you. I got a comment on my Sad Story that said '...never be afraid to walk the line between umbra and penumbra... that is where the tears come from, and where the treasures are found.' That is one of the sweetest comments I have ever had. It makes me think that, perhaps, I have an ability to convey something of what I feel. And it gives me the courage to continue writing the things I want to write even if it is not just exciting and arousing.

After all, I am glad to be back.