The Dream

I was about to say, now something more cheerful but, come to think of it, this may not be exactly cheerful. Less depressing, though, I hope. It starts out, pretty grim but there is more exciting stuff coming up, so be patient!

Dear Dove, this is for you. Something we talked about inspired me to write this. I do hope you will like this. You are a dear friend and this story is for you.

The night was dark and I was lying in my bed. Dark monstrous clouds were rolling through the sky and a cold wind swept though the world. I was sleeping, far, far removed from the ordeals and pains of this world.

Suddenly I awoke, no longer in my bed but flying through the dark sky. I shot through the black clouds like an arrow, carried by invisible hands, pushed along by a wind that shook the world. It was cold but I did not shiver.

Fear overtook me because the sky was immense and very dark and I was very small. I could not scream, I could not flee. I was alone.

The horrid wind captured me and threw me through the sky and threatened to rip my only garment from me. My nightgown, my only memory of my bed, my home and my life was thin and did not protect me.

Then the cloud disappeared and I saw the land below me. I saw the terribly speed I had, the speed that would crush me should I touch the ground.

I saw mountains and rivers and cities and dark castles and black windows and horrid eyes staring at me. I was alone but not alone and I was very small and very scared.

The wind, then, gently put me down in a courtyard of a grey and gigantic castle and I saw that my dream would be another dream. My journey was over but I did not yet know where I was.

On trembling legs and bare feet I walked over the courtyard and through a portal. I climbed a staircase and into a chamber. Everything was dark and grey and I was very lonely.

Then there was sound and my heart stopped beating. I was not alone in the chamber any more. There were candles lit and a fireplace come alive and I saw three terrifying women standing behind me as I turned.

They where beautiful. I had never seen such beautiful women before. They were terrifying and grand, still lithe and strong as animals. They were not human. I knew that. They were women but they harboured something else within their souls, if they indeed had souls.

They grabbed me and held me and I was helpless in their hands. I didn't try to run. There was nowhere to run.

They turned me so I faced the door and I stared as it opened. I saw another woman enter, all dressed in white, her eyes gleaming red. She looked at me and smiled. But no woman has ever smiled like she did. In her smile I saw lust beyond lust and pleasure beyond anything I knew and in that face I saw the reflection of a wickedness I did not know existed.

She dropped her dress and stood naked before me, her skin as marble, her flesh still soft. She was the most beautiful thing I had even beheld.

She told me I was hers and I knew then that I was lost. She moved towards me and I saw the gleaming white teeth in her mouth and the bloodred lips. The three other women were still holding me and I knew my blood was lost.

Then a great thunder came. And a great darkness descended. In a sudden flash of light I saw the women throw themselves to the floor and scuttle away like frightened rats. In that flash of light I saw what made them scared. I saw Him.

The darkness vanished and in the glowing light of that cursed chamber I saw Him. He was terrifying, beautiful and otherworldly. He was splendid and grand, dark and horrible. He was the Master of this castle. I felt like kneeling before Him, like I should prostrate my body at the feet of this tremendous being. I did nothing. I could do nothing.

He looked at me and He smiled. Fear filled me as He smiled. I dared no look at Him but I could do nothing but look at Him. I knew I was His to command, His to do whatever He choose and in that strange moment I knew He wanted me more than His other women, the cowards who now were cowering in the corners of the chamber.

I stared at His mouth, His red and beautiful mouth, His delightful sensuous lips and His white and horrible fangs. I knew He was to speak. I knew He was to tell me what He wanted with me.

'Take her to my chamber!' He said with a voice I was not sure I could hear but I knew was there.

The women sprang at me. The three servants grabbed me.

The man turned and walked away but before He left He turned around.

'But whip her first!'

I was dragged to the other end of the great chamber. I was thrust against a wooden pole. My hands were pulled forward and fastened in some cold and hard iron, iron that touched my body and filled me with a coldness that was the coldness of the empty universe.

I was held by that cruel iron as I was hoisted in the air, my body pressed to the pole, my face pressed to the surface of that rough pole, my arms stretched, my feet no longer touching the ground.

My nightgown was torn from my body and I felt my naked breasts and belly scratch the surface of that horrid pole.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the beautiful queen of those women, now dressed in a long black gown, her shoulders bare, her eyes flashing and in her hand a whip. And I swear it was alive. The whip was a snake and it moved and lived in her hand.

And then I was whipped. I was whipped without restrain. I cried like a baby as that venomous snake bit my naked skin.

I lost my consciousness and I hoped, for a short moment, I hoped that the dream would be over.

As I awoke I was lying in darkness on a dark bed, in a dark chamber. I was terrified, I was more dead than alive. I was alone and I could see nothing. I knew the dream was not over.

Suddenly the chamber was lit by hundreds of candles. I sat up, full of fear. I looked around the room and saw only walls of stone and a window with a starless sky without.

As I turned my head I saw that I was not alone. In a cloud of red mist I saw Him again. I knew it was His chamber and His bed. I knew I was His. And I became aware of how naked I was. How utterly, helplessly naked I was.

And then He touched me. He touched me and I was lost. However cold his touch was, I felt His life with that touch. I knew He was far away and beyond anything I had ever felt and I felt His life in that touch.

He caressed me and He stroked me. He touched my breasts, my neck, my belly, my flanks. His hands were touching my feet, my legs, my thighs and my hips. I was being touched by this creature, this being, this strangeness of the night. He touched me and I was His, His to take and have and I wanted nothing else than to be His, body and soul.

He took me and He had me and I was His in every possible way. I was touched and caressed and I belonged to Him. I screamed for Him and I cried for Him and I moved for Him and I performed for Him.

In the stillness that followed, in the sweet stillness that was there I lay in His arms, held by Him. I didn't know if He was alive or dead, or if I was dreaming or awake. I felt only His presence.

In that sweet moment I saw his bloodred lips and I knew what He wanted. I wasn't afraid any more. I was prepared.

And as He sank His teeth into my soft flesh I felt the conscious me dissipate, float away and disappear into darkness.

I awoke in my bed, my very own bed, the bed I had left aeons ago. I was back. I was alive and I was there. The grey morning light filled my room and I knew it was my room. My dream was over and I was back,

My heart was still beating fast, still overcome with fear and anxiety and that otherworldly lust that still seemed to float through my veins. My heart was still beating fast as I stepped naked from my bed to start another day.

Touch Me...

This may be a little darker and a little more poetic than my last blog entry. But you know me by now, at least a little and you know I jump between moods and thoughts. And this is to express how it feels sometimes. So, don't read too much into this! It is not a description.

Touch me, I am lonely!

Come and love me, I am lonely! I am in darkness, I can't see you. Love me!

See me, my love, see me! Look at me and see me! I am invisible.

Let me be, who I am. Come and love me! I need you now. I am nothing, love me for being nothing.

I am angry now, I am sad and angry and I want to be loved. Love me! Touch me!

Don't ask me to love you, don't ask me to see you. I am blind and I am cold, cold as dead. I can do nothing. I can say nothing. I am empty, spent and tired to my bones. I am exhausted, lost and scared. I am tired. To the core of my being I am tired. I have struggled, I have fought but I want no more wars, no more fights.

Love me! Touch me!

Touch me and make me feel beautiful. I want to be beautiful. I want to feel life.

Oh, how sweet it would be to be touched by you. How beautiful I would be in your embrace, in your love. Come and love me for I am lonely!

Allison's Bottom, part 2

Dear Kirsten, this is for you. You have waited a long time to hear about poor Allison's next trip to lapland. But here it is, I hope you will enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it. This is a kind of continuation of my first story about Allison.

Allison hurried through the corridor, her heart beating fast. She felt like a schoolgirl, one of her pupils, on her way to the headmaster.

'He had looked terribly grim when he had asked me to come to his office,' she thought for herself, 'I wonder if it is the report?'

She avoided a collision with a pack of young girls and managed to hurry past one of her colleagues without them noticing.

'There is no reason for me to get upset,' Allison thought, 'it is only a report and what could possibly happen?'

At last she stood outside his office and knocked at his door. No one answered. 'He is not here.' A mix of sensations threatened to overtake her as she stood there wondering if she should knock again.

'Come in!' someone shouted from the other side of the door.

Allison took a deep breath and opened the door. Her hand was shaking but she did her best to ignore it. She didn't want to show him and she didn't want to think of it herself.

Tall Dutch and handsome was sitting down behind his desk and Allison looked at him and thought to herself that he, really, was quite handsome.

The fellow teacher was called Theo and was Dutch. He had made, quite, an impression on Allison and especially on her bottom, very soon after he had arrived. Allison had had a hard time getting that incident out of her mind.

'What did you want?' Allison said and heard that her voice was a little hard and, to her own embarrassment, defiant.

Theo looked up and smiled.

'Oh, nothing much,' he said, 'just wanted to talk about the report, the one you wrote.'

'My report on discipline in school?' Allison replied and imagined she saw a movement in Theo's eye.

'Yes, your report,' he said, beaming.

'What about my report?' she said and cursed herself for sounding like one of the girls in her class when found out with some mischief.

'You know I am not English,' he said and looked strangely sad for a moment, 'I don't know your lovely language that well but I believe there are some errors in the report.'

'Errors?' Allison sounded upset.

'Spelling errors,' Theo said looking solemn.

'There are no spelling errors in my report,' Allison blurted out.

Theo took up some papers. Allison assumed it was her report, turned it towards her and put it on his desk. There were three words encircled with red on the page.

'Correct me if I am wrong,' he said, 'and please do if I am, but I believe that these are misspelled.'

Allison stared at the page. Indeed there were some errors. There was a 'to' that should be a 'too' and a 'the' that looked very much like 'teh'. She stared in disbelief at Theo.

'Aren't they errors?' he said, slowly.

'But,' Allison stared, 'but I corrected them, the spell checker found them.'

'Yes, but they are still there.'

'I...I must have forgotten to save the document before printing it.'

'Yes, of course, that is the explanation,' Theo said and was all smiles again.

Allison looked at him and thought that he looked like a boy when he smiled like that. At this very moment there was something menacing with his smile but she still found it strangely attractive. This thought started a long series of arguments and counter arguments in her head discussing the fact that although he looked like a boy when he smiled it was, surely, not that quality which she found attractive, because she was not attracted to boys but to men...

'No problem,' he said, interrupting her thoughts, 'just correct the errors and give me the report.'

He smiled still.

'Of course,' Allison replied, looking annoyed, 'first thing.'

She turned to leave and it struck her that he was, actually, quite rude not offering her to sit down before starting to accuse her of being sloppy. That chair by the filing cabinet would do.

'Wait!'

She turned to him, looking surprised.

'There is no problem with the errors, you just correct them,' he continued.

Allison looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face.

'But to make sure it will not happen again, I will have to correct them too,' he said.

'Excuse me?' Allison said and looked at him with a combination of anger and bewilderment.

'I have to correct the errors,' he said.

'No, I will correct the errors,' she said.

'Yes, but I will correct you,' he said and the smile was back on his face.

Content was the word Allison looked for to describe the smile on Theo's face as he said that. She felt her heart beat harder.

'Correct me?' she said, her voice full of disbelief.

'Yes, I will have to punish you,' he said, still smiling.

'Punish?' there was a hint of laughter in Allison's voice.

'Yes, punish you,' he said.

'Look what I have got!' he continued and smiled like a little boy who had found a coin on the ground.

Theo had a ruler in his hand. Allison stared at the ruler and stared at Theo.

'Come here!' he said as he rose from his chair. He was very tall. Allison had to look up. He took two steps and sat down on the chair, the one by the filing cabinet, the one Allison had imagined she would be sitting on had Theo not been so very rude.

He was suddenly much closer to Allison and long before she had time to react he stretched out a long arm and grabbed her wrist.

'Come here!' he repeated as he dragged her closer to himself. She swung round and as if the dance had been rehearsed many times over she pirouetted on the spot and soon found herself lowered onto Theo's lap.

Allison was surprised by the swiftness and ease with which this sudden change in positions had been achieved. She was astonished with the suddenness of his movements and the change she had undergone, from standing in Theo's office, a colleague and fellow teacher to someone who was now in a position where it would be very easy to punish her, to spank her.

Allison blushed. She squirmed but she did not protest. No, Allison was silent. She said nothing. There were no words that could express her feelings at that moment. Maybe there could be some guttural sounds that would have been suitable but Allison was far too controlled to do something like that. So, Allison was silent.

There was a sudden tension in her body as Theo flipped up her skirt.

'It is good you wear a skirt,' he said with a voice that told Allison that he still had that childish smile on his face.

'Still, those under things and leg things has to come down,' he continued.

'It is called tights and kni....what?' Allison blurted out.

'Don't be silly!' she continued.

Tall Dutch and handsome did not reply but proceeded to take down Allison's tights and knickers. This is not something that is easily done when attempted on a woman lying face down in your lap and when you are holding a wooden ruler in your hand.

Theo seemed to know what he was doing, though, something Allison found exceedingly annoying, and perhaps he got some help from Allison herself, something that was even more annoying.

After some struggling with clothes, Theo managed to bare Allison's bottom. At that moment there was stillness. Allison stopped squirming and Theo sat still, holding his breath.

Allison's head was swirling with the absurdity of the situation. Everything had happened so swiftly. Still she was surprised how...natural...it was.

Allison began squirming again the moment Theo's ruler connected with her naked behind. The ruler was powerful and Theo's arm was long. The result was that it hurt. Allison felt that it really, really hurt.

She was silent but took a deep breath as Theo continued punishing her. The ruler fell over and over again and Allison was surprised how painful it was. In fact, she almost lost control. She felt that the pain was a little too much and a part of her wanted to start crying, to start weeping like she used to do when she was a little girl and someone had been mean to her.

Theo continued his relentless smacking of her poor exposed bottom and it was only with the mustering of all of her self control that Allison managed to hold her tears back.

'There you go,' he suddenly said and the smacking was over. Allison still squirmed. She was still occupied with holding back her reactions so it took a while before she realised it was over.

'That wasn't so bad?' he asked.

Allison said nothing.

'You can stand now!'

Allison scrambled to her feet and in the same movement she pulled up her knickers and tights. She didn't look at Theo. She was still for a moment, composing herself before turning to him.

He smiled. He beamed. He looked happy. All the verbal abuse Allison had planned to hurl at him seemed to evaporate. She almost smiled back but that was to go too far. She stared at him.

'You will have the report on your desk within an hour,' she said stiffly.

'No, hurry,' he said cheerfully, 'tomorrow is alright.'

'Very well,' she said and turned and left the office.

She shut the door behind her and had to restrain herself not to slam it. She leaned on the wall, stared at the floor, felt her heart beating. She had been spanked. She had been punished. She couldn't believe it.

She looked up and saw another teacher staring at her.

'Are you alright, Allison?' she asked, with a smile, 'why do you look so smug?'

'I am not smug,' Allison replied and turned and walked away.

The Biker Boy

And now a long story I have had some qualms about posting. I have shown it to friends and I have heard both 'don't' and 'do' regarding putting it here but the 'do's' won so here it is. It is a little harsher and darker than my ordinary postings but I decided to post in anyway, after all, the story was in my head and I wrote it. That should not be such a surprise, we all have darker sides, don't we?

A disclaimer, though. I feel that people riding motorcycles get a bad press in this story. All my stories are fantasy stories, dream stories and everything that is put in them are there to represent something in the story. A story set in Egypt is not about Egypt, the setting is there because I fancy it in a fantasy. The bikers in this story represent something that is not real life bikers. And I know there is a great difference between Hell's Angels and Totley on the Wold's Sunday Riders.

The same goes for how things are described in a story. It is not necessary one of my opinions that is expressed but an opinion held by the one expressing it in the story. Ah, you get it! I am too worried, perhaps, that you will think me dismissive. Now, read the story!

What a strange world we live in, where the whitest fears and darkest desires of our souls can take shape and walk the earth. And where that darkest of angels can take you by the hand and show you the nightmare that lives in your head, the dreams and desires that haunt your deepest mind.

I am the complete bore. I am the young professional, always perfectly dressed, always on top of it. I am in the middle of my academic career, successful, but like most women here, not as successful as my younger male colleagues. I am a celebrated lecturer and my paper on the fallacies of formal semantics caused some controversy and is very much cited.

I am the woman the mothers of my male colleagues would love them to bring home. I am smart, elegant and witty. I am attractive in their eyes as a career option but I am not the girl they think about alone in their beds.

I am young, successful, attractive and single, the kind of woman who finds her love in so many books of today. I am the perfect bore who should be loved by someone but who finds herself to be too aloof and cold to be pushed against the wall even when the whole department is having a drunken stupor.

He was different. He was a stranger in my world. He was my student, still I don't know if he was older or younger than me. He seemed to be without age, eternal youth, perhaps, but he walked the earth as if he knew every part of it and had been there many, many times before.

He was like a joke, like something from a film, with his leather jacket and fifties hair. I laughed when I first saw him. He wasn't bothered and he looked back at me with a smile that should have made me furious with its arrogance. Instead he entered my dreams.

He wasn't to be denied and I looked at him in a way that must have encouraged his childish content, his arrogance and smugness. I was like a schoolgirl, like the girl with the pony tail and long skirt in an old film who is giggling and staring at the boy on his motorbike.

When the conference dinner was held I couldn't stand the speeches and the stifling air of academic perfection. Instead I sneaked away with the biker boy and got myself laid. My colleagues would have stared in disbelief if they had seen how I was taken by this stranger in paradise.

They didn't know and I didn't tell them. Neither did I tell them about the weekend he had promised me. He told me he would show me something that I had never seen but something I would know what it was the moment I saw it.

He picked me up on Friday with his monster of a bike. He gave me a crash helmet and I climbed on board. I felt like something from a film, hitching my skirt high and holding on for my dear life as we left the parking lot with a mighty roar. My adventure was about to begin.

I didn't know him and shouldn't trust him. I knew I was entering into madness but I did it with open eyes, willingly, against my better judgement but I felt that I didn't want to judge. I felt that maybe he was beyond judgement.

We drove on for many hours and we didn't talk. I had no idea where we were heading but at that moment I didn't care. He was allowed to take me wherever he wanted. I followed him and was prepared for a dream.

Night came and we stopped at a B&B. We shared a room as a married couple and for a moment I pretended we were. We didn't share a bed and were too exhausted to think about it. It didn't matter. I wanted him but I didn't feel I had to have him there and then. There was still time.

He awoke me early in the morning. The sun was still down as we sneaked away from the inn. I had brought clean underwear and a clean blouse but there was not space for a complete change so I slipped into my skirt and jacket from yesterday and climbed aboard his stallion.

We drove on through the bitter cold and dark morning. I was cold and stiff and still sleepy. In the morning light we stopped by the road and rested. He told me we were nearly there.

I didn't ask him where we were heading. I knew he wouldn't and, perhaps, couldn't tell. For once in my life I was patient.

The morning was still freezing and I was sleepy and miserable as I stepped from the bike. There was something in the morning air that promised a hot sunny day but it was still a dreary morning.

He stretched his body, yawned and looked at the world. He returned to his bike and took something from a bag. He returned to me and held out his hand. I looked at him and wondered what it was he was offering me.

I took from his outstretched hand a very tiny, blue and white bikini. I stared at him as I felt the fabric of the garments with my trembling fingers.

I had entered too far into his world to deny him. I was his and nothing could make me not do what he wanted.

I shivered in the cold morning air as I unbuttoned my jacket took and it off and then slipped out of my skirt. I looked at him as my numb fingers worked with the buttons of my blouse before I slid it from my shoulders. I saw him staring at me as I slipped down my knickers and put them on top of my other clothes. I stepped out of my shoes sensing the cold ground beneath my feet. I don't know why I did it like that, stripping naked before I put on the bikini.

The clothes he had offered me was nothing, protected nothing. I was naked in the cold morning air and my body was trembling. I was not completely naked but I was exposed and I felt that this was the moment when I stepped into his world. This was the way he wanted me and I had not uttered a word in protest. I had complied without protesting.

We drove on down the road and I clung to his leather clad body, pressing my small frame against him, sensing my nakedness against his protected back. I was cold. The wind bit my skin and I felt naked.

I looked up as we came through a curve and I saw the true glory of the world laid out before my eyes. The valley was glowing in the morning sun and the emerald hills were rolling softly down to the river, everything was made magic by the thin mist that was rapidly evaporating.

He pointed to a wound in the pristine landscape, a brown patch of mud and grey tents that looked as if the ground had opened and spewed some foul and forbidden blasphemy onto the virgin soil. We were on our way to that patch.

Then we entered the nightmare. Around us was a chaos of mud and tents and bikes and monstrous beings clad in black leather. They moved like humans but they were the rats of hell that had gathered here because the Old Man himself had thrown some unclean carcass on the ground that attracted them to this hell on earth.

We drove around among this gathering of men and motorcycles and my knight greeted them and was greeted by them as their brother. He was of them and this was his domain, his home.

There were women there as well. They were outnumbered by the men of the bikes. They were vulgar and brazen, bold and confident. The women of that camp were without fear and yet vulnerable and exposed. Their clothes were more revealing than protecting and their movements deliberate and provocative. They were ogled and fondled, held and pushed by the rough bikers. They did everything to attract attention and the attention they got was brutal and swift. Yet they performed their dance of pleasure and when they did not perform well they were slapped and abused and beaten and swept aside. Still they laughed and drank and held onto the brutes and bullies as if they loved them.

I was entering this hell camp of bikers and tarts clad in a bikini. I felt naked and clung to my knight as if my life depended on it. We drove through this chaos and I saw an unknown world move before my eyes. I held on to my biker boy as if he was the only thing I could trust in this madness.

Yet I knew, in my heart I knew that he had not brought me here just to let me watch. He had brought me here to show what his life was like, to let me feel on my own skin how his world felt against my protected body. He had dressed me in a bikini, exposed me to the men of this gathering, not to brag about his capture but to let me know what it was like to be a woman in his world. I knew he would throw me to the crowd. Yet I could not hate him.

Words cannot describe what moved inside my soul as I rode on his bike between the tents and machines and the crowds. I saw chaos and abuse, brutality and violence. I saw the worst of man that I could imagine. Still there was this stirring sensation within me that this was life. This was a kind of crawling, dirty and brutal life that made my department, my everyday life, seem like a tomb, like a funeral with its ceremonies and chants.

The sun was up and warmed my body. I was naked in this chaos and scared beyond anything I had experienced and yet I was alive and felt this tingling within me. The tingling that told me that this ugly and horrible place, this hell on earth made my body live. I hated it but I was alive hating it.

We stopped and I was ordered to dismount the bike. I had to let go of his body. I could no longer hold on to him. I had to stand on my own two legs. He looked at me and I saw that he, indeed, was one of them. He was my knight, my guardian but he was one of them. I didn't belong here. I was a stranger, an exotic animal.

We were soon surrounded by men, bikers dressed in leather. They greeted my boy and talked and cheered and offered him beer and their love. They stared at me but did not touch me. I was still his, I still belonged to him and honour between men protected me. They cheered and talked about me. They talked about my body, how slim I was, how my breasts were too small and how a pretty innocent face I had and what they wanted to do with me and how they would have me perform and please them. They never talked to me, never offered me a kind word or even a can of beer.

Then my biker told me to take my top off. It was said in a casual way. He showed off his power over me to his friends. He didn't order me or threaten me. He just told me to remove my top. I was his property and there was no need to show me any respect. I had just to obey.

He took it and put it in a bag on his bike. He was still straddling it while I stood beside it. Taking my top off was like a signal, that I was not protected any more. The men closed in and crowded me and started to grope me and fondle my breasts. I held my breath and felt my body pushed from side to side. They didn't hurt me but they touched me. Their hands were eager and rough and some of them even had their gloves on. They pinched my nipples and caressed my belly and held my arms. Someone even put his hand down my knickers.

Then they stopped and moved away. My biker boy had waved his hand and said that is was enough. They liked him. They respected him and now he had said it was enough. The men laughed and moved away.

We walked through the crowd and I was still trembling and overcome with the chaos around me. I felt secure with him but I knew that I was not to expect to be protected all the time. I knew I was there for the pleasure of him and his friends.

Images of drunken bikers and screaming women flashed before my eyes and I walked in a haze, like in a dream or if I had been drunk. The noise and roar of the crowd mixed with the warmth of the sun on my skin and smell of leather from my knight's jacket. I remember stopping and taking off my bikini bottom. I think I was ordered. I remember someone taking my last piece of clothing and throwing it into a crowd. I never saw the bikini again and I walked on naked.

We came to a place where I saw a girl being pushed against a motor cycle and her knickers being ripped off. Then she was raped while screaming in fear and anger. We watched for a while and then she was gone and I was lifted onto the bike. I was placed facing backwards as I straddled the machine.

I was held in place and I soon realised that there was a crowd around me, staring at me, screaming and smiling. My legs were spread and soon I realised that they wanted me to touch myself. My hands were pushed down to my sex while I realised how exposed I was and how widely spread my legs were.

The crowd was annoyed that I didn't comply, that I didn't do as I was told. In fear I tried to do what they wanted and I put my fingers in my sex. I couldn't. I was not able to do it and I pulled my hand away.

I was rewarded with a slap in my face and suddenly there was pain and my heart started beating. Then I realised that someone had put his fingers in my sex. I was naked and exposed and ogled by a great, dirty crowd. He did not take notice and while they cheered and urged him on I felt him move his fingers within me.

I was helpless. I could do nothing. I was their entertainment. I looked desperately for my biker boy but I could not see him. I almost started to cry. The fingers moved and touched and wriggled like a snake within me.

That dirty, overwhelming life that was this camp, this gathering of bikers was moving inside me and that damned life warmed my body in a way I had never experienced before. I had no choice. It was not for me to decide what would happen. I screamed and cried but my body betrayed me.

I remember lying slumped on the bike, exhausted, overcome with this unwelcome climax of the unbidden intrusion. I was breathing heavily, my body limp. I was not there and yet I was and my body was warm and tired and seemed not to be mine any more.

I was, suddenly, pulled from the bike and stood on trembling legs for a second before I was thrust forwards against the bike. I heard the crowd roar with laughter and I was held down on my belly. I was told I was not being obedient enough and that I was too posh to treat them with respect. That I thought too highly of my own importance.

Then I felt the pain. I felt the impact that rocked my body forward. I didn't understand what it was but I felt something burning my buttocks. Then the impact again and I thrust my naked breasts against the bike.

I realised I was being beaten. I was being whipped. They held me down, pressing my naked body against the bike while one of them whipped my bottom. I think he used a belt but I am not sure. It bit my flesh and soon I was screaming like a baby. I looked up and saw through the tears in my eyes the face of a woman. She was pretty, her face was young and innocent. She looked at me with something I thought was pity. Then she started to laugh.

They laughed while I was whipped. They told me I deserved it. I was worthy of nothing better. And I cried.

I didn't realise, at first, that I wasn't being beaten any more. I was panting, overcome with emotions. I wasn't prepared for the intrusion. I felt something entering me from behind and I knew I was being taken. I realised with a surreal sensation that it was not enough to whip me. They wanted more and they took it.

I don't know how many men entered me but there were more than one and I had to endure them all. They laughed as they did it and I closed my eyes. Again my body betrayed me and the crowd found great pleasure in that.

The rest is just a blur. I remember being placed on a motorcycle again and how we rode through the camp. I held on and didn't realise at first that it was my knight who was driving. I slowly woke up realising we were leaving the camp. We were on the road again.

I pressed my still naked body against his leather clad and held on. I was crying as we drove on, relieved that we were leaving the camp behind. He was my knight in shining armour after all. He saved me from the crowd. I was grateful and crying.

We stopped by the road where I had entered into his world. I stepped from the bike and he gave me my clothes and my shoes. I dressed in silence. I didn't recognise my old clothes. Another woman had been wearing them, in another life. I dressed and covered my nudity and climbed onto the bike again. We didn't speak.

We drove through the night and I held on. In the dark night we came to where another woman lived. I dismounted the bike and walked to the door. I seemed to understand what I was supposed to do. I had a key and opened the door. I stopped and turned around. I saw the boy on his bike and he looked at me. He didn't smile, he didn't say anything. We both knew he had shown me something I didn't know existed. I had been to hell and I had returned.

I wondered what would happen after this. What would I say to my students? Would they see that this woman had been somewhere far, far away, and beyond? Would they know that she had seen her darkest desires and her whitest fears? Would they know she had harboured that within her?

The biker boy revved up his engine and drove off. He disappeared into the night like a dream. I stood and watched him go and saw him drive into the shadows. I knew I would not see him again. I knew he would always be here.

The Sweet Wind

Travel with me through time and to a far off distant land! I love this setting and I wonder why I haven't included it more in my writing.

I am standing on the shore of the Great River, the sweet Northern wind is rustling my hair and plays with my thin linen dress, makes it stick to my body, makes me feel naked. It is sweet to stand here, overlooking the river, overlooking the world.

The girl will not leave my thoughts. I can't understand why she lingers, why she won't go. I can't get her out of my head.

I have done my duty, I have many duties. I am the daughter of the high priest of the temple of Osiris and the wife of the Overseer of the King's Works. I have many duties. This morning I went to the temple of Isis. I paid the priest to burn the incense before the Goddess. I stood in awe at the beauty of Her temple. The columns grew like papyrus in the marshes at the day of creation. The coolness of Her shaded courtyard made me tremble with delight and the paintings on the walls made me shiver with desire for Her blessing. She is the Queen, my Queen and I am Her. In some small way, I am Her.

I went, then, to the market. I had things to buy, things I couldn't trust others with. The servants don't know good linen from bad and they can't smell the difference between the different brands of sandal wood. Some things I have to do myself.

The foul stench of the street assaulted my nose and the closer I got to the market, the worse it got. I looked at Little Girl but she seemed unaffected by it. She is sweet, Little Girl, and she is strong. I love her very much. She is very good to me and she carries my bags. I would not go to the market alone.

Then I saw her, the other girl. The one that won't go away. The girl I have in my head and who won't be swept away by the sweet wind from the North.

It was in the slaver's market. She just stood there. The street was bustling with life and the cries of babies and mad women and merchants but she just stood there. Her back straight, her weight on her left leg, one arm hanging free, the other at her hip. Her head was held up high. Her black hair tousled and hanging to her shoulders.

She was not beautiful but something in her stance told me she didn't care if she was. She knew she was beautiful. She stood there as if she owned the world and in some way I think she did.

She was naked. She was completely naked, except for the collar around her neck. The gleaming metal resting on her collar bones, hard against soft skin. The chain hanging down between her breasts, the softest and sweetest of breasts I have ever seen. Except for her bonds, she was naked, naked and beautiful. Her body the sweetest body I have ever seen. A proud body, a soft and sweet body.

By my Queen, I wanted to touch her. I wanted so badly to touch her.

As I drew closer she turned her head and looked at me. She was a slave, she looked down but in the short moment she looked me in the eyes I saw something. Was it Her? Was it beauty? Was it pride?

How could she be proud? She was the slave, she was the body owned. I was the free one, the daughter of a priest.

Still I knew, in that short moment, I saw in her eyes that she had known pleasures that I would never ever dream of. She had been touched in ways I would never be. I saw who she was.

My eyes lingered on her soft skin, saw the glow of perspiration on her sweet body, her sweet and proud body. She was naked and I was clad. She was proud and I was shaken.

Isis, how I wanted to touch her.

The wind is sweet and this is a good place to be. The River comes from the Gods and return to the Gods and it is a delight to see it pass by.

I could have bought her. I have the means. I am the wife of the Overseer of the King's Works. I could have bought her and brought her home. I could have had her naked in my chambers, I could have had her dance for me and please me and I could have touched her to my heart's desire. I could have had her enter my bed in the night with her proud body. Why didn't I buy her?

I guess, she was not mine to buy.

Capital!!

Dear Reader, I have had a great time reading your comments. I do appreciate hearing from you. Some of you I have met before and some not. It doesn't matter, really. I do enjoy knowing that I have readers. It makes me feel less lonely. Not that I am a lonely person in real life but sometimes I feel that my strange imagination makes me a little lonely. It is good to know that you enjoy what I write and that I am changing. Blogging is a journey for me and it is a very good one at that. Not always pleasant but always interesting and quite exciting. So thank you, Dear Reader, for commenting but more than anything for reading. Take care and be kind to one another!!

Love Our Lurkers Day

This is an idea that, I think, originates with Bonnie over at the My Bottom Smarts blog. the idea is to ask the lurkers to leave a comment.

I think it is a great idea. And please, feel free to say hi or just say something! But, please, please, don't feel intimidated by this! I am happy having you read even if you decide to stay quiet. You are still a Dear Reader.

Captive

This blog has turned into a rants and stories blog. I don't mind really but when I started it I sometimes just wrote about fantasies, images and scenes in my head without making them into stories. This is a return to that. I will tell you a fantasy of mine. Some may think that this is very much inspired by John Norman but I can tell you that I had those fantasies long before I ever read any of the Gor novels. I can admit that I have been inspired and it may show but, as I have said before, John Norman didn't invent slavery.

This is a typical parallel world fantasy. It starts with the girl, that is most often me, in her bed, sleeping. She is by some strange magic whisked off to another, parallel world (magically, not in this universe) and wakes up in this new world. Things look very similar to our world, there is a big plain and some woods and rolling hills and blue sky. So she doesn't really understand that it is another world at first.

I am dressed only in a flimsy but full length nightgown which makes me realise that something really odd is happening. (Did you notice my clever change from third person to first, there?) I start walking over this green lush plain towards a forest I can see below the rolling hills. I am completely alone beneath the clear blue sky.

I soon get company. A man on a horse appears and I am both glad to see someone and scared of this stranger. There is no place to run on the plain so I have to wait the approach of this man.

He is a strong man, not necessarily muscular and young but more of the kind with grey eyes, confident, with a will of steel. He is not a cruel man, just a strong man. He sits on his horse regarding me. He talks to me and I reply. There is some confusion. I don't behave like he expects and I don't understand his questions. He wonders where I am from and doesn't recognise the places and countries I speak of. He is not unkind but quite stern.

Then there comes an important point in the fantasy. The man shows that he has had enough of conversation and simply orders me to strip. I don't believe what I am hearing and does not comply. Disbelief is a good word to describe what goes through my mind. The order is repeated and I realise that he is serious.

This is a moment of fear. I realise the situation, how vulnerable I am and how powerless I am. I realise I have to obey him, out of fear if nothing else. I think that he is about to rape me and doesn't want to be bothered with my clothes. I talk to him, reason with him and even plead with him.

I do strip off my nightgown and I am suddenly naked, completely naked in front of this man on his horse. He is clothed, he is wearing leather boots, a cloak and a belt. He carries a sword and maybe even a shield on his back. I am naked and in that moment I realise that I have accepted his power over me. I can still argue with myself and say that I fear him but deep down I know I have accepted his power over me.

He dismounts and approaches me. At this moment my heart is beating with fear. Images of being raped flashes through my head and I resign to my fate, thinking: 'this is it, now it will happen.'

Instead of raping me the man ties my arms behind my back and fastens a rope around my neck, like a leash. He mounts his stead and rides off, with me on the leash, naked and bound. Without violence, without even overpowering me he has captured me and I am, suddenly, just a naked woman, lead away bound behind his horse.

Then the fantasy can go on and I follow this man, walking by his horse, always on the leash, sometimes bound, sometimes not but always naked. I am his captive, I have to serve him, cook for him and wait on him. Always naked. He binds me in the night and throws a blanket over me. The coarse fabric scratches my naked skin and I am helpless in my bonds.

He is kind to me in his own way. He is not a man who has to assert himself by humiliating me or demanding me to call him Sir or Master. That is beneath him. He knows his strength and he knows his power over me. He is patient and knows I will understand. He talks to me and is kind to me but there is never, ever any doubt about my status. I am his captive and I do his biddings.

Slowly I get to understand my status, understand who I am in this world. There are two things that helps me understand who I am. The first thing is his whip. He whips me whenever I don't please him, when I am too slow or makes too many mistakes. There is no cruelty in this. It is just natural to whip a captive when she is not doing it right. I am not defiant. I am too clever for that. I am obedient but still I have to be whipped at times. It shows me that I am, in every respect, a slave.

The other thing is what happens after a while. It is not the first thing this man does. He is patient and waits for when I am ready for it. When he thinks it is time he takes me. He uses me for his own pleasure and I have no say, whatsoever, in this. There is no malice, no want to humiliate me in his conduct, just that he thinks that it is time for him to use me this way.

The thing that makes me surrender to this man, finally give up my freedom and realise who I am is that I cannot hold back my own pleasure. I do come when he takes me. I have no choice and in some strange way, this liberates me. From that moment I can relish my captivity. I have no say and thus I am free to enjoy it fully.

I become devoted to this man but more than anything I become devoted to my own slavery.

A Letter

This is an experiment. I don't know if it works.

Dear Sir,

I still feel silly writing that. Sir sounds strange, distanced and pompous. You will always be my love, my dearest and my man. You will never be a Master. Maybe You will have to punish me for that.

I do miss You. There is still a big hole in my soul, something missing, something that makes my heart beat with pain. There is something missing in my bed and there is a touch, a caress that has been taken away from me. Return to me soon, my love, my Sir!

I have done everything you wanted me to do. I blush as I write this. No, that is not true. Yes, I do blush but I haven't done everything you told me to do. How can I punish myself? How can I possibly make myself suffer the way you do it. My will is not strong enough. I am too weak. My body says no.

I do light the candle every evening and I kneel by it. I am naked as instructed. I can almost sense your eyes on my body as I kneel. As if you were somewhere in the shadows regarding me. I do sit back on my heels, spread my knees wide. And I blush. I straighten my back for you, for your eyes that lurk there in the corner of the room, in the darkness. I hold my head up high and I straighten my back. And push my bosom out. Offering my body to you, as if you were there.

I blush as I do that. A free, thinking woman has to blush as she does that, to a dark corner. It is strange and I feel stupid, opening myself to you. I am naked and I am open and I am yours. That is what it means. It is strangely humiliating doing it while you are not there. Had you been watching me, then there would have been a reason. But not now. Now it is only to make me feel vulnerable.

I did the other thing. The naughty thing you wanted me to do. I donned the skirt, the one you like, the short one. And I left my knickers. No, I didn't. I brought them in my purse. Just in case. I was lucky on the bus to work. There were no seats left. I blushed as I came to the office. I felt as if it was very, very obvious. I suppose it wasn't. How often do you see a woman's knickers when she walks by?

It was mean of you to plant that thought in my head. It was worst with the scum bag down the corridor, you know who. When I thought of his disgusting fingers I was angry. I know I am proud but this is not easy for me.

I had to sit on the bus home. That was embarrassing. Had to think about how I was sitting, all the time.

I will stop writing now. I miss you terribly. Come back to me! Come back to me, soon!

J

Slave Story, part 4

Another installment of the long story about Calissa, the slave.

Sometimes the girls in the pen started to chant and someone would get up and dance. I was shocked at first as I saw them dance. Their dance was brazen and revealing and very daring. They moved their hips and made all sorts of sensuous and embarrassing movements. Miro was a wonderful dancer. She swung her hips and shook her chest as no other girl in the pen. She was a natural talent. I blushed as I saw her because I saw in her dance her needs, her desires and vulnerability. Deep inside me I envied her that ability to express herself so openly although I was ashamed on her behalf because she seemed to show everything, her inner secrets.

I was prompted to dance as well but I was stiff as a stick compared to the other girls. I tried to move a bit but I blushed and soon I sat down.

On one of those occasions I stepped out in front of them and this time I let the song take me over. I moved a little freer and I felt a kind of elation as I swung my hips. I lost control for a second and danced. I heard the other girls cheer as I moved.

I was blushing as I sat down because I felt I had acted silly. I had moved without thinking and I was sure I had looked terrible.

Miro looked at me as I looked up after a while. She smiled but looked very sincere at the same time.

'You have it in you,' she said.

'Don't be silly,' I said, blushing.

'I am not,' she said looking serious, 'you have it in you, just let go and you will be the best.'

I didn't answer but her words stayed with me.

I had been in the pens for three weeks and my misery still overwhelmed me although the presence of Miro and the kindness of most of the other girls made it bearable. I was happy having met Miro but I still wanted to be free and come back to my old life, although I knew it was not possible.

One day it all changed. The pens were only for safekeeping of girls waiting to be sold or transferred. There were always slaves coming and going. I was worried they would take me away or take Miro away and separate us but I tried not to think like that.

I was completely unprepared when the day, finally, came. Suddenly the guards slammed the door to our pen open and stood in the midst of us.

'Now, my little cat, it is your turn to be sold,' one of the guards said as he turned to Miro and held out his hand. She was immediately on her feet, an obedient slave girl. He took her by the arm and spun her round. He waved to another guard who brought a heavy iron yoke.

Miro looked miserable but determined as he put the heavy iron on her shoulders and locked it shut around her throat. She obediently held up her hands to be locked in the yoke. The man was the same brute who seemed to be most fond of Miro and I sensed a certain kindness in the way he treated her. He was very matter of factly as he fastened her to the heavy iron yoke but he showed no impatience or harshness. He even smiled at her.

There she stood in the pen locked in a heavy yoke that weighted on her shoulders and cut into her flesh. I was devastated and looked on in horror as I realised what it meant. My beloved Miro was to be taken away from me.

The brute slapped her buttocks and made her move forward. I rose to my feet and stood at the bars and watched as she was led to the big door in the big room. Just before she left she turned a little, as much as she could, and looked at me.

'Bye, Calissa, bye my love.'

'Don't leave me Miro,' I screamed as she walked out of the pens. The guards laughed at my outburst as I sank back on the floor.

I was distraught, I was devastated. I was unhappy and miserable. The only thing that made my life bearable in this hell was Miro and now she had been taken away from me. I cried in anger and frustration.

I had only to stay in the pen for three more days. Master Firul had, finally, decided what to do with me. The guards came for me one day but they did not bring a yoke or even a chain for me. They just put a rope around my throat and led me away. It was another day for them but for me it was the first time in almost a month I had set my foot outside the pens.

My body shivered as I followed on my leash. The men walked in silence. The daylight hit my eyes as we crossed a courtyard. It was lovely to see the sun again, though.

I was led to a building were water came in through a pipe in the wall and poured into a kind of pool in the corner. I was told to wash myself in the water.

In the pen we were sometimes given a little water for washing but it was too little and too seldom for a proper wash. Being able to cleanse my body was heavenly. The water was cold but I relished the opportunity to be clean again.

I felt like a new girl as I stepped out of the pool and for a second I was not aware that I was completely naked in the presence of men.

I was taken to a very light and clean room were I was ordered to kneel on the floor. Although we always greeted the guards in the pen on our knees and legs widely apart, kneeling like that in this room felt extremely embarrassing. Maybe it was because the room looked like a normal room and that I was, suddenly again, a part of the normal world, a world I had re-entered as a lowly slave exposing her body for anyone to see.

I knelt on the stone floor for a long time and at last an old man came in. He had me stand up with my hands on my head while he examined me. His hands pinched me and probed me and almost caressed me. He took my small breasts in his hands, pinched them and pulled at them, he pressed his fingers in my belly and looked in my mouth, examining my teeth. I felt like an animal at a market and in many ways I was.

Most degrading was his examination of my sex. He took his time probing my sex with his dry fingers. It felt intrusive, intimate and very humiliating. I suddenly remembered Miro's fingers and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I suppressed them as well as I could and tried to concentrate on the strange sensation of the man's fingers in my sex.

The thought of Miro made me almost aroused and I couldn't get rid of that feeling as his fingers felt their way inside me.

Finally he withdrew and I was blushing. He turned to the guards.

'She is still a virgin'

'Good.'

That was all that was said. Then I was led away.

I was taken to a small room with no windows. Down the middle of the room run a heavy iron bar raised from the floor some twenty centimetres. I was told to lie down on my back and put my ankles on the bar. Heavy shackles were produced and I was secured to the bar. Then they left me.

I was lying on my back shackled to the bar on the hard stone floor. I was alone and miserable and realised that I was probably to be sold soon or moved to a new place were I could serve as a real slave.

I had no idea what this meant although I could imagine it meant a lot of hard work and possibly that I would have to serve some man with my body. Miro had made me think of other things but now my head was full of fear of the future. I didn't know what would happen to me but I knew it was going to be horrible.

I spent hours at the bar and at last I fell asleep. In my troubled dreams I saw fat men who looked at me and drooled as they saw me. They told me they had bought me and I was to serve them with my body.