Tuesday, 19 August 2008

Ups and Downs

Dear readers, as you may have noticed, I haven't been blogging as much as I use to. I am fine. It is just that I haven't had much to say, lately. This is a little lazy, I know, but on the other hand I feel bad just writing something I don't have my heart in.

I have been blogging since November 2006, and on average I have had two blogposts per week (at least when I haven't been on holiday). I m not bragging or looking for pity, just telling you that I have been doing this for some time and at the moment I don't really know what I want to say, what story I want to tell.

I am not giving up writing. Far from it. It means so much to me to realise that I enjoy writing, the power of being able to express myself, being able to share my thoughts and fantasies.

And writing isn't just about spanking fantasies. There are so much to write about and talk about. I think, however, that I will stick to fantasies in this blog. Don't worry, I will not bother you with long romantic stories here. Unless there is some spanking in them.

Anyway, I will be quite busy for a week and a half and won't be blogging until beginning of September. So, apologies for letting you wait for the next blog post.

So, there readers, thank you for reading and being so kind to me. You are the best! I will be back. Have fun!

Wednesday, 13 August 2008

A Whipping Scene

Thank you for your replies to my question about fantasies. It is interesting to read your views although I am not sure I am any wiser now...smiles.

There hasn't been much writing lately so I don't have a lot of new stories. In addition, I feel that I may be repeating myself. I have a distinct feeling I have written this story before. Not exactly like this but similar.

Anyway, here is a story, a scene, a tad darker than usual but why should we refrain from being cruel in our fantasies? There is passion in cruelty and since you don't really have to feel the pain you may always allow yourself to enjoy it, if you want.

She was slender. When he looked at her back he thought that she looked like a child, like a girl. Her skin was tanned, almost olive and her dark hair kept in a ponytail.

He looked at her back and left flank and saw how the light from the fireplace made the shadows dance over her naked skin. She turned her back to him but he saw no rejection in that. She could do nothing but turn her back to him. He had tied her to the pillar in the big room, facing away from him.

He let his gaze linger on her naked body, her slim legs, her soft thighs, the round a small bottom curving, the cleft between the buttocks, her narrow hips. He looked at her slim waist, her slender back, her delicate arms that were embracing the wooden pillar and stretching upwards. He could see her right hand behind the pillar, remembering how he had tied her wrists together.

She looked at him over her shoulder and he saw her deep dark deer eyes stare at him, her full and delicate lips shiver.

He looked at her flank and her left breast, the small and round and sweet breast bulging and how it was pressed to the wood when she had to lean against it.

He looked at her and he found her beautiful, yes, more than beautiful. Her soft skin seemed to glow in the soft light from the candles and the fire. He thought about that soft skin, how he desired to touch it, how lovely it would be to trace his fingers over her curves, follow the shape of her body, feel its softness under his touch.

There was no time for touching. There would be time for that too. But at this very moment his heart burned with another kind of desire.

His grip tightened around the whip, the vicious leather whip. It was the perfect tool for his pleasure. It was hard and harsh, an instrument of torture, designed to inflict pain. It was no toy, no scary looking gadget designed to sound and seem horrible but was really meant to caress, to sting at the most, but to be sweet. No this was a real whip, designed to inflict pain. Still it was the kind that would not leave marks, would not harm or break the skin unless used with total abandon.

There was a risk for total abandon but he was prepared to take that risk. The girl at the pillar had no longer a choice.

He was almost surprised when he finally let the whip fly. He was startled by the vicious hissing sound when it travelled through the air to its intended, soft and vulnerable target, He was shocked at the loud crack, the terrible report that followed as the leather made contact with the sensitive skin of the girl's bottom.

He looked intently at her body as she drew her breath, held it and then let the air out. He watched the slight tremble in her frame as she seemed to struggle to cope with the shocking realisation that she had been whipped, that her naked and vulnerable body had been hit by the whip.

A welt was forming on her skin and he could see the mark he had made on her body. He could see the impact of his power over her, see it on her body. The power he had used to make her suffer.

Within him the joy of feeling that power struggled with the sense of the cruelty it was to hit the delicate body of this young woman with something as hard and brutal as a whip. He was struck with the immense unfairness of it all, to have this girl strip naked tie her to a pillar, deny her all possibilities of defending her body, to cover herself, and then hit her with a whip, a tool made to cause pain.

Still he liked it. He liked that unfairness, the cruelty, the meanness of it all. He liked the power he had, the power she had given him, the power to be kind or to be cruel. He loved the choosing of the cruelty, the making her suffer. He enjoyed the sense of doing it, whipping her and being so immensely unfair and cruel. He loved the inequality, the difference between them, the contrast between him, clad, protected, in power and cruel and her, naked, bound and subject to him, her having to endure his cruelty.

She didn't scream when the whip hit her again but she gasped and he heard her give up a low squealing, a sound of distress. He watched her press her small body to the wood in a pathetic attempt to get away from the whip.

He liked that. He liked watching her body move under the whip. He enjoyed seeing the helplessness, the vulnerability her body expressed with its movements when he whipped her.

The third lash made her fling her body sideways. He knew the whip had curled around her body and stung her lower belly. This was cruel. He knew that, he knew but he didn't have to feel the immense pain his whip caused when it left its burning marks on her naked skin.

That was the point, wasn't it? That he knew and could imagine the pain but didn't have to feel it. That he had the power of letting her feel it, that it was unequal, that they were different. That she was the one feeling the pain and he was the one giving it to her.

That was what he wanted, this was exactly how he wanted it. He wanted to be the one whipping and he wanted her to be the one being whipped. He wanted that contrast, that difference, the different conditions for them.

The fourth lash hit her upper thighs and this time she cried out. Her cry resounded through the room and suddenly there was a voice. They had been silent for a long time but now there was a voice. There were no words, just a cry of agony, a cry of pain.

It was as if that sound agony urged him on because he hit her again, this time across her bottom. She pressed her body against the pillar and gasped.

The sixth lash seemed to surprise her. She tore at her bonds and wriggled her body and a heart-rending wailing filled the room. He watched her body as it trembled and he heard the sobbing.

He knew she didn't fight it any more. He knew she didn't hold back any more. She didn't try to be strong any more, there was no pride there now. She just felt the pain and could do nothing about it. She surrendered to it and she cried.

She screamed in pain as the seventh lash hit her bottom and curled around her body. She cried when the eight hit her thighs and made her lift her legs in a pathetic dance of pain.

He trembled with the darkness that filled his soul, the dark desire that made him continue, the one that fed on her suffering, the one that forgot how painful a whip was, the one who enjoyed the effect of it but did no longer understand the pain.

She had become a tool for his desire as he continued to whip her, lash after lash. The girl squirmed and wriggled from side to side in a helpless struggle to avoid or cope with the relentless onslaught on her defenceless body.

He gave no mercy. He was close to the wild abandon he knew was not allowed. He gave no mercy as he let the whip fly, time and again and land on the unprotected body of the naked girl.

Then it was enough. Then he knew it was enough. He stopped and stood panting in the room. He dropped the whip and stared at the young woman before him.

He looked at her body, shivering, covered in a sheen of sweat, glowing in the soft light. He saw the welts, the marks of his whip, the signs of his power, the sighs of his cruelty.

He saw her beauty. He saw how sweet she was, how vulnerable she was and how cruel he had been. He felt a sudden pang of something that could have been regret or even guilt. He didn't struggle, he let it be there but he didn't give in to it. He had enjoyed it, after all.

He saw the sweetness in her body and all the joy it could give him, joy that didn't include pain or suffering for her. He wanted to touch her now, with a soft and sweet touch. He desired her and now all the wish to make her suffer was gone. He had felt his power, she had felt his power. Now he wanted sweet.

He walked to the bound woman and he heard her gasp as he put his hand on her shoulder, felt her skin hot under his fingers. This was his moment of agony, his moment of powerlessness, the moment he didn't control.

She turned her face to him, her eyes were wet with tears, her lips were trembling. She looked at him and her eyes read the question in his eyes.

He leaned forward as he saw her lips move, trying to form words.

'I love you,' she whispered feebly.

Then he knew.

Thursday, 7 August 2008


So, here is something I have been meaning to ask you, dear Readers. I may be a bit preoccupied with fantasies and the role they play in my life. I can't help being fascinated and intrigued. I get the impression, sometimes, that fantasies have a different function for some people I communicate with.

So, my question to you is this. What are fantasies to you? Are they just a nice pastime, something you do when you have nothing else to do? Or are they something you use to, well, get in the mood, whether you are alone or with someone? Is it part of your lifestyle, something that fills you day? In short what role do fantasies play in your life, how important are they?

I will leave it at that and hope for some replies. Take care dear Readers! And be kind to yourself!

Tuesday, 5 August 2008


I am back. Have you missed me? I am sure you are perfectly happy in your life with or without my blog. I know you read what I write and those of you who come back must like some of it. Some tell me they like what I write and that is very, very, very nice to hear.

I have not written much during holiday, at least not much for the blog. I took a break from that too. I have been thinking a little about what I want with this blog. I know what I want but not sure where to go.

I want this blog to be about fantasies, and especially those that are a little hidden and forbidden. This is a contradiction in itself. They are not very hidden if they end up on a blog but to me that was my motivation, the very reason for blogging. I wanted to have a go at letting others know what could roam in a person's head and see how weird it really was. It turned out to be not weird at all. In fact a lot of my very personal and private fantasies seem to chime well with a lot of other people's fantasies. That is amazing.

I should have known after having read some stories on the Web but still there is this strange sense that 'why am I so preoccupied with this or that detail?' To this day, you, dear Readers, have been very enthusiastic about my silly details and that is a very good thing. That which sometimes bothers me and makes me blush is not necessary the hideous fact that I have fantasies about getting my bottom smacked but that I get very excited at the thought of some silly details, such as the sensation of clothes gliding over skin or that sort of thing. Sometimes the tiny, silly and sweet details are more embarrassing than the really kinky ones.

So, I will stop there and say that I am pleased to be back, not sure what I will put on the blog in the future, would very much like to know what you think about fantasies and that I will post stories whenever I feel I have one good enough for the blog.