Surrender, part 1

Just a word on my latest story, Arrogance. My disclaimer was not so much about whether there was consent or not in the story, there obviously was, in some way. No, my concern was that someone might think that I shared the underlying assumption that she was to blame for the problems with the relationship and that a relationship between a man and a woman works better if the man takes charge, with physical means if necessary. I still wonder what you, dear Readers, think the title refers to.

Now, something completely different. I will now start serialising a rather long story. Mind you it is yet not finished but I have written quite a bit already. It is a proper story where I take time to develop the characters and the events unfold in a slow but steady way. There are no chapters and no parts so I will just present it in chunks of about 1500 words each. I will try to cut the chunks off where it seems natural but I won't take into consideration whether there are any kinky scenes in them or not.

So, here is the first instalment of the story called Surrender. The title will explain itself. There are no exciting scenes in this first post but if you read on there may be some of that later on. I will continue blogging normally on the side so not every post from now on will be part of the story but I will try to post them on a regular basis.

And, please, let me know if you grow weary of it.

He hit me between the eyes, directly between the eyes. I had no idea where he came from but suddenly he was there. He was a demon, who conjured up things in me I didn't know existed, brought out the worst and the best of me. I think he was a demon, a demon or a god.

He was handsome. He was good looking in a way that annoys you or makes you weak in your knees. But that was not all. Many men are handsome like that and very few impress me. I am not the one to pick and choose but I do look for something other than a pretty face.

He was handsome, that is true but he was also arrogant. He was an arrogant bastard and he had that steel hard gaze that threatens to intimidate you, the one that can make you feel like a little girl.

He didn't show off his strength. He didn't have to. On the contrary, he was extremely polite and gentle. His strength came from beyond that. It was of the kind that he brought with him from childhood, the one that didn't brag but just made him know that he had the right to be happy.

He had a very special smile. You saw it sometimes when he was talking or debating. It was the smile that told you he was enjoying himself. It was a tad arrogant but it was an introvert smile. It seemed to come from the heart.

It was that smile that decided it for me. I guess I fell in love with him but it didn't occur to me like that at first. What I felt when I met him was very different from what I had felt with other men. He seemed to just exist, to be there and intrude on my world and that was enough, enough to make him the guest of my thoughts.

How I met him is irrelevant. I think it was in the pub, with my colleagues. He was a friend of a friend. The important thing was that suddenly he was there and from that point he occurred everywhere.

He hit me between the eyes already at that first meeting but since I am as I am, I was angry about that. I felt intimidated in the way you feel when you have to admit that you fancy the most gorgeous boy in school and you know that he will never ever even look at you.

He was way out of my league but he looked at me and he smiled at me and he didn't leave my thoughts after that. I guess I was smitten in that very moment but when I walked home I was angry.

After that he was everywhere. He walked past me on the street and then we went to a café and then there was a lunch and even cinema and dinner. I came to like him during that time. He was dangerous, he could easily have made me feel ashamed and intimidated. I was vulnerable, had no defence. But he didn't make feel ashamed. He was kindness and gentleness with me and I started to feel that it was nice to be inside his bubble of confidence.

I wasn't a weak person. I knew who I was and I knew I was good at what I was doing. I could address an audience of hundreds and keep my head up and I didn't back down in the heat of a debate. I was strong in my own way. Perhaps this strength had scared some men away. I had made them feel uncomfortable.

I couldn't pretend. I was who I was and I acted in the only way I could. He was different. He was frightening in a way I had not felt before. I knew he could reduce me to a scared child if he wanted to. I stayed away from men like him. I didn't enjoy feeling vulnerable.

I was vulnerable, that was obvious. And perhaps we all are. Being with him was a leap of faith, trusting that he didn't hurt me. I felt naked with him in a way I wasn't used to, still I hadn't run away.

I didn't feel insecure with him. That was the miracle, and perhaps that is why I didn't turn and run. I felt him as a blessing rather than a threat.

I was happy those days. I felt it as if he saw me and I believe he did. I was blessed and I was in love. In a strange way I was in love but it felt very different from the other times.

I always fell violently and deeply in love and I sank deep when it crashed. No one was allowed to know how I felt, but I fell deep into darkness when it crashed.

He was different. It wasn't life threatening like it used to be. I was in love but he was of another kind. I was safe with him.

I don't know what he felt for me. I know he enjoyed being with me. That was easy to see and the way he looked at me made me know, not just think, that he cared for me. In his own unique way he cared for me a lot.

But it didn't seem for me to judge him or try to figure out what he felt. Being with him was a blessing and a grace.

Although I didn't really know what he felt for me there was no arrogance in his way of looking at me, in the warmth in his eyes, as he gazed sideways at me. He had that smile, that private smile that told me he enjoyed himself when he was with me and from him, that was the best assurance you could get.

And he desired me. That was thee great miracle. He was that kind of handsome man I would have expected would choose a more flamboyant woman than me. I was a lecturer, a researcher, not at all glamorous. I cared about my appearance and I felt I was vain in comparison with many of my colleagues. But I wasn't glamorous, not beautiful, not stylish or flamboyant. Still he desired me. At least he desired me enough to want to seduce me.

I desired him too, more than I had expected. He was handsome, well built, slim and yet strong. He was fit and moved well. I was surprised as I felt my knees become weak as I looked at him and how I blushed as he looked at me. I really wanted him to have me.

I expected him to want me and then forget me. I was prepared for it. Still I let it happen. I felt that for once I would throw caution to the wind and just let it happen. Tomorrow is another day, let it happen now!

I was apprehensive when it happened but he was strong enough to not let that scare him away. I was nervous over dinner as he looked at me. It was as if I knew he wanted it. Or maybe it was because I wanted it. I could do nothing. Either he would seduce me or I would go home untouched.

When we left the restaurant he kissed me and with that kiss he told me his intentions. There was no doubt any more. At least I thought so. He took me to a bar and we sat there for a while. I knew we were on our way somewhere else. I think the kiss had told him I would go with him wherever he went.

He asked me to come back to his place and I nodded consent. He smiled at me but this time it was not arrogance, it was reassurance I saw in it. I was reassured.

He was gentle and soft and a gentleman but he didn't hesitate. He unzipped my dress already in the hallway and let it slip from my shoulders. I wore my underwear to the bedroom and there my bra fell to the floor. He kissed me and he looked at me. He was still dressed as he sat me on the bed. He removed my shoes and then laid me down and removed my knickers. I was naked as he kissed me and I pressed my naked body against his clothes.

I was lying there naked on his bed as he undressed. Then he let me slip between the sheets.

He was in command but I wanted that. I wanted him to do what he wanted. I wasn't strong enough to take him for me. I had to be taken. It made me feel wanted and valuable and loved. I thought that love may not be involved but I wanted it still.

He was strong and selfish, yet loving and careful. He held me and caressed me and kissed me and had me. I wanted it badly and I let go of my fears.

Afterwards, I was relaxed, fulfilled and satisfied, yet there lingered a kind of sadness as I thought that such a man would move on after his conquest. I would let it happen, I was prepared, still it would hurt.

Nothing in the way he treated me afterwards gave any suggestions of his moving on. On the contrary, he started treating me as a girlfriend, as a partner. He took me to cinemas and restaurants and parties and gatherings and I was by his side and I was his.

Two Years

Two years ago today, Janice started to blog. Imagine that! Two years! It seems like a long time, but not long at all. If you want you can go back and read my first ever blog post. I think I have been true to my mission statement. I write what I want and I write about fantasies.

Blogging means a lot to me. First and foremost it shows me that I am far from as weird and strange as I have imagined. It is a lot about that, to be honest. What I didn't expect was the response I got and still get. My blog is far from the most popular out there but it has allowed me to communicate with a lot of nice and interesting people and I know there are a group of you who keep coming back.

Blogging has boosted my confidence too. Your encouraging comments means the world to me. I reread my stories and of course I blush when I see some of it but sometimes I am really proud because I like what I see. Sometimes I live up to my ideal of writing what I want to read.

It is not perfect, I am sloppy and my stories would benefit from some more editing but that has also been part of if for me, that I shouldn't just blog stories I think are perfect but instead look at them and think they are alright and put them on the blog as they are. Had I not done that, I would still be editing the first ever blog post, believe me, I am hopeless when it comes to that. So having a blog that is not error free is an achievement in itself for me.

Two years is a long time and I feel I have achieved something. And this is thanks to you, Dear Readers, a great big hug and smile to you.

And don't forget to read the latest story now, the one before this post!

Arrogance

You must have read plenty of them, there are loads of the out there, the stories of some spoilt and rude girl or woman who finally gets the spanking she has been asking for so long. There is something deeply objectionable, for me, in most of those stories. Firstly, I reject the idea that you can and should use spankings as a way of changing someone's behaviour unless it is absolutely clear that the desire is mutual and between consenting adults (which, of course, absolutely disqualifies spanking of children). Secondly, the idea that women, in general, should submit to men, just because they are men, makes me cringe.

Still it happens that these themes enter into my fantasies and sometimes it is the objectionable nature in them that makes me fascinated by them. It is often the unfairness or the inequality in them that thrills me. Think what you like, but I am not going to analyse this.

I don't know why I am so bothered with a disclaimer like this, no one would accuse a writer of crime fiction for condoning murder just because they write characters who happily kill each other.

So here it is, a real horror story, actually, but one that was quite fun to write. I am a little curious to know how you, Dear Reader, see Sarah, the heroine of this story, her character and what happens to her.

A young man and a young woman is walking on the path to the front door of a big house in the countryside. She is dressed in a white shirt and jeans and ballerinas. She has dark hair, that falls to her shoulders, she is of smallish build, slender and is quite delicate. She has a slightly worried expression on her face.

The man is half a head taller than her, slim and has long arms and legs. He is blond, wears his hair shortly cropped. He has a narrow face and blue eyes and he looks worried too, but his expression seems to show insecurity rather than concern.

'Who is this person, anyway?' the woman says.
'His name is John and he is a good friend.'
'The way you talk of him he seems to be your guru rather than friend.'
'He is wise, I care about his advice.'
'Is that why we are here?' the woman says, her voice trailing off.

The young man is silent.
'Is it?' she repeats.
'Sarah,' he replies, anxiety in his voice, 'I want him to meet us and talk to us. That is all.'
'So he can see how we are and give us advice?' her voice sharp.
'It hasn't been that good, lately,' he says meekly.
'What has he told you?'
'Calm down, Sarah, he just said he wanted to meet us. A social call, nothing more.'
'I don't like it at all,' Sarah said.
'You'll like him, I'm sure.'

The couple had come to the door and knocked on it. They stood in anxious silence and waited. After a while there was a rustle behind the door and finally it was opened.

A man stood in the doorway. He was as tall as the young man but looked stronger. He had short dark hair and a square face. His eyes were grey but sparkled as he looked at the young couple.

'Mark,' he exclaimed, 'come in! And this must be Sarah.'
He held out his hand.

Sarah looked at him and smiled a very cautious smile and took his hand.

John conducted them to the kitchen and sat them down by the big table. It was a rustic but neat kitchen and although the furniture and equipment were simple it was clean and well kept.

'I thought we should take tea before we begin,' John said.
'Begin?' Sarah said looking just a little provoked.
'Sarah!' Mark said.
John ignored her and began to prepare tea and sandwiches for them.

Tea and sandwiches were nice but Sarah appeared to to be more and more annoyed since John kept on ignoring all her remarks and Mark seemed all too impressed by him.

Sometimes John addressed a direct question to Sarah and then he listened with attention but otherwise he showed no signs of listening to her. This increasingly bothered Sarah since she noticed that John listened carefully to everything Mark said.

They spoke of ordinary things and when John asked something of Sarah it was about her work and interests and such things.

When tea was finished, John cleared the table and turned to the young couple.

'Shall we begin?' he asked with a smiling face.
'Begin what?' Sarah exclaimed.

John ignored her and looked at Mark. When he nodded John indicated that they should follow him into the parlour.

The parlour or living room was spacious and very cosy. It looked more like a library with plenty of bookshelves. There was a fireplace and an old rug, some armchairs and a great dark wooden table with four high backed wooden chairs.

'Mark, take a seat!' John said and indicated one of the two armchairs that were placed in front of the fireplace were a small fire was crackling.

Mark looked insecure but sat down in the armchair. John sank down in the other armchair.
'Sarah, sit down, you too,' John said and pointed to a footstool by the side.

Sarah was dismayed by the idea of being allocated a seat without a back while her boyfriend got the cosy armchair. She found it very impolite of John to take the other.

'What is this all about?' Sarah asked.
'Be quiet!' was the reply she got.
John's voice was sharp and Sarah was quite taken aback by the harshness in it.
'I want to know what this is all about,' she said, not letting John silence her.
'Be quiet now!' he said again, sounding more annoyed than angry.
'I am leaving,' she said, holding back her anger.
'Sit down!'

Sarah stared at John, her face had changed from anger to fear. She was silenced for the moment. She reluctantly sat down on the footstool.

'Listen Mark,' John began, looking intently at the young man, 'it is good that you came to me with your problems. I believe I can help you.'
'What problems?' Sarah asked but was silenced when John looked at her.
'I think I can be of help,' John continued, 'I can't solve your problems but I can provide you with some tools you can work with.'
'What tools?' Sarah blurted out.
'You'll see,'John said and smiled.
'What are you?' Sarah continued encouraged by for once getting a reply to her question, 'are you some sort of therapist?'
'Shut up!' John snapped.

John turned to a sideboard and took from it a wooden hairbrush. Mark and Sarah stared at him.
'This is a good tool,' he said, 'it will not be the answer to all your problems but it is a start. I will show you more tools later.'
Mark nodded and glanced at Sarah with a worried expression on his face. Sarah stared at the hairbrush in disbelief.

'To begin with you should use this every night, for a week,' John said, still turned to Mark, 'then you could start using it when it is called for.'
'What is this?' Sarah's voice sounded puzzled and a little alarmed.
'You see, Sarah,' Mark said, looking anxious, 'John's methods are a little unorthodox.'
'She will find out soon,' John said to Mark.
'John, will you please, tell me what is going on?' Sarah said.

Now John turned to her and smiled.
'Soon, Sarah, dear, soon.'

He then turned to Mark.
'You can take her in your lap, like I have shown you, and spank her for a quarter of an hour.'
Sarah stared at John.
'Apply the brush with some vigour, don't be shy, you need to get the message through.'
Sarah stared and her face showed an expression of disbelief and disgust.
'It is important that you bare her for it, this makes her take notice better.'
'Are you two mad?' Sarah cried.
'Be quiet!' John said.
'I am off.'
Sarah rose but before she had time to move John turned to her.
'Sit down and don't make me have to tell you again!'
His voice was quite matter of factly and this made Sarah stop short and sink down on her seat seemingly quite deflated.

'Take the brush and smack her every night for a week and then you should use it only when you think she need it.'
'When is that?' Mark asked meekly.
'Whenever you have had a row or when she is moody or grumpy or when she talks back.'
Sarah shook her head.

'But having meet Sarah,' John continued, 'I am not sure the brush will be enough. Most women get the message but in this case you may need something more intense.'
Mark nodded.
'And there is always a need for something more intense, even if the brush is enough. If the woman needs an extra dose.'

Sarah and Mark stared at John as he rose to his feet and walked over to a cupboard. He opened it and they saw that on the inside of the doors there hung a multitude of items. There were canes and riding crops, and wooden and leather paddles. Some of the items looked strange and unusual but they all looked menacing to Sarah.

He took out a cane and swished it through the air. He walked back to the armchair, swinging the cane in the air. When he came back he let it land with a sharp report on the seat of the armchair.

'Are you serious thinking of...' Sarah said but she was interrupted by John talking to Mark.
'This is the cane, and it can really pack a punch,' he said, 'and I can assure you that a woman will take notice, especially if it is applied on naked skin.'
'Isn't it a little brutal?' Mark asked.
'It will hurt but that is the point, isn't it? To make a point and show her what happens if she don't stop.'

Sarah stared in disbelief.
'Are you saying it is all my fault?' she said, 'I can't believe what I am hearing. This is mad.'
'Sarah,' John said, turning to her and looking at her intently, 'I am going to say this only once. A woman needs to know where the boundaries are and what happens if she oversteps them. A woman not kept in line causes all sorts of problems and it is better for all if she knows the consequences of her actions. This is all I have to say, in the future the brush and the cane will do the talking.'

Sarah just stared at him.

'Mark, I can see that you are a little uncertain about the cane but I can assure you that it is a necessary tool. I'll show you.'
Mark stared in amazement at John.

John turned to Sarah.
'Come here Sarah!' his voice was determined but quite soft.

Mark stared in amazement as Sarah, without a word, rose to her feet and approached John. She moved with hesitation but she did it with no protest.

'Now you will do as I tell you,' he continued, 'understood?'
Sarah nodded.
'Understood?' he repeated.
'Yes,' Sarah said meekly.

John walked over to one of the high backed chairs and pulled it out. He turned it round and put it on the great red rug.

'Now, I want you to kneel on the chair, Sarah,' he said, 'facing the back of it.'

Sarah moved gingerly towards the chair, cast an anxious glance over her shoulder towards Mark and hesitantly climbed the chair.

Mark was astonished by this glance and was not sure he had interpreted it right. He imagined he didn't see defiance in her eyes but almost a question, as if she was seeking his approval or his support.

'Now, Sarah,' John continued in his determined but soft voice, 'I want you to unbutton your jeans.'

Mark blushed and Sarah gasped but she did unbutton her jeans.

'Pull them down to your knees!'

Sarah reached out and took hold of her jeans and with some effort pulled them down from her bottom. She worked them slowly down from her hips and down her thighs until they were gathered around her legs mid thigh.

'Further down, Sarah.'
She reached back and pushed her jeans further down.

'Sarah, listen carefully now,' John said.
She nodded.
'Sarah!'
'Yes.'
'I am going to do something I believe your Mark should have done a long time ago. I will do this for instruction, for both of you. For him to see how it is done when he will do it himself and for you to know what awaits you and what will help you keep in line. It is good for you to know what will happen should Mark, in the future, see fit to punish you for various reasons or just because he wants to make a point. Sarah, I am going to cane you. I am going to give you some good strokes with the cane on your bottom. It will hurt but that is the intention. It is supposed to hurt. This is not a punishment but an instruction. It will hurt and it will hurt badly. It will hurt you even more since I will give the caning on the bare. Do you understand?'

There was a moment of silence.
'Yes,' Sarah said, her voice trembling.
'Good,' John said, 'now, pull down your knickers!'

Gingerly Sarah grabbed hold of her knickers and pulled them down from her bottom. Mark gasped as he saw this.

John held out the cane and gently put it on Sarah's bottom. She reacted as if she had been stung by a bee. She tensed her body and held her breath.

'Sarah, are you ready?'
'Yes,' she replied, 'I think so.'
'Good, take a deep breath and this will be over in no time.'

John withdrew the cane, waited for a very short while and then let it fly. Mark jumped as he heard the menacing hissing of the cane through the air followed by the sharp report when it struck the buttocks of Sarah. It was the ominous sound of cane against soft skin, the sound of pain.

Sarah seemed to be hit by lightning or stung again by a bee. She drew her body up, held her breath, shivered a little and then let the air out of her lungs. She shook her head as in disbelief and then she started to squirm.

It appeared to Mark as if Sarah was overwhelmed by the effect the cane had on her. She seemed to not really comprehend what had happened to her, that she had been hit, that she was being caned.

A welt was forming across Sarah's soft and fair bottom. And when John, once again, placed the cane against her skin, close to the shining welt, she whimpered.

Sarah contorted her face and squealed as the second blow hit her across her bottom, close to the first. She didn't scream but she squirmed.

The third blow came quickly after the second and Sarah jumped. She gasped and seemed to be struggling for air. She shook her head and trembled.

'Sarah, you are doing fine,' John said, 'I will give you three more and then I will be done for now. Take a deep breath!'

Sarah really took a deep breath but whimpered as John put the cane across her bottom once more.

She didn't scream and she didn't protest but Mark could see that she was in a lot of pain and that the last three strokes was a read ordeal for her. He didn't know what made the greatest impression on him, the sheer brutality of the caning or the fact that Sarah took it without arguing.

'Very good, Sarah,' John said, encouragingly, 'you are doing well, I am proud of you.'
Sarah moved.
'No, don't step down! There is one thing more for you.'
She looked alarmed.
'Come here Mark! I want you to try this.'
'No, please,' Sarah said, 'don't let him do it.'
'Why not? He is the one who will be in charge of your discipline. He will do it many times. I want to see that he gets it right.'

Mark rose from the chair and approached Sarah and John with an expression on his face that spoke of both fear, anticipation, eagerness and relief.

He took the cane John handed him.
'You can stand here!' John said.'
'How did you do it?' Mark said as he moved to take his position.
'Do what?' Whip her?'
'No,' Mark said, 'no, I meant, how did you make her do as you told her.'
John laughed.
'Dear Mark,' he said, chuckling, 'that is easy. I just told her. A woman will do anything for you if you only tell her with authority, anything.'
Sarah squirmed.

'Now, place the cane across her buttocks, to take aim!'
Sarah moaned a little as she felt the cane touch her bottom.
'Give her three whacks, now, but take your time.'
Sarah held her breath as the cane left her.

The stroke was not as distinct as the ones John had delivered but it still hurt Sarah and she jumped. It had hit her high on her bottom.

'Good,' said John, 'but aim a little lower next time. You should avoid, at any cost to hit her across the lower back, never come close to that. It is better you hit her across her thighs. Aim here, at her sweet spots!'
John touched Sarah low down on her bottom and she gasped and squirmed.

The next blow was right on target and Sarah drew her breath. Mark looked at John and seemed to be asking for confirmation.

'Much better aim. Next time, put some force into it. She won't break.'

The last of the three was, indeed, the hardest Mark delivered but it missed Sarah's buttocks and hit her high on her thighs and she cried out.

She squealed and moved about.
'Well done!' John said, 'isn't a woman's bottom lovely when it wriggles about like that.'
Sarah didn't hear Mark reply to that but she was sure he agreed.

'Now, Sarah,' John said, 'you may come down from the chair and you may adjust your clothes.

Flustered and with wild eyes, Sarah climbed down from the chair and pulled up her jeans and knickers. She gasped as the fabric of her clothes moved over her newly caned bottom.

'I think this is enough for today,' John said, 'there is no need for socialising now, go home, if you want and practice what I have taught you.'

Mark nodded and Sarah stood in silence. She regarded him with a subdued gaze.

'John, thank you for helping us,' Mark said.
'A pleasure,' John replied, 'and I got to meet your lovely girlfriend.'
'See you later.'
'Later.'

Mark turned to Sarah.
'Thank John now, for what he has done for us.'
She gave Mark a defiant look. John raised his eyebrows in appreciation of what Mark had learned.
'Thank you,' Sarah said meekly.
John smiled.

'You can take the hairbrush, that is easy to keep in a bag. You wouldn't want to carry around the cane. But I will help you buy one that will suit your needs.

John took the hairbrush from the table and handed it to Sarah.
'Shall I take it?' she wondered in earnest.
'Yes, Sarah, I think it is only proper that you should carry the tool for your improvement.'
Sarah sullenly accepted the gift and held it in her hand. She had left her bag in the hallway.

'See you later,' John said, 'and good luck. Don't forget to do what I told you.'
'You mean, spank Sarah with the hairbrush?'
'Yes, every night for a week.'
'Can I really do that?' Mark said, 'I mean, after today?'
'You can, but it wouldn't be wrong to wait a day and start tomorrow. She will feel this caning for some time. But tomorrow, start with the remedy.'
'Yes, we will.'

John escorted them to the hallway. Mark seemed a lot more cheerful, as if new hope had been found in his heart. Sarah looked baffled and was flustered but said nothing.

They said their goodbyes and left. John stood in the door and looked after them.

To his great satisfaction he saw them leave his house hand in hand.

Sweet Fantasies

I do have a very romantic view of sex, immature I think it would be correct to call it. I am who I am and this is not the place to fret about that. I am a hopeless romantic and it is time to accept that.

I am, however, not going to talk about romantic fantasies about all consuming love. No, I will stick to my fantasies about submission and nudity and such things.

Sometimes when I am in the mood I like to transport myself to some fantasy land that is breathtakingly beautiful, full of untouched nature and cities like pearls on the green emerald lands that span the continents between deep blue seas full of mysteries and dangers.

And there I wouldn't mind being a slave, sitting on the marble benches of the terrace of some palace, overlooking the azure waters of the endless sea. Behind me there are mountains that stretch to the sky, with feet covered in lush jungles.

It is not bad being a slave in that palace, the personal property of some princess, perhaps, or a king. I am beautiful, of course, a slender girl with emerald eyes, my long flowing red hair caught by the wind.

I am a slave. My neck is encircled by an unyielding but still delicate iron collar, locked in place, impossible for me to remove. Maybe I am even manacled, new to the palace, still needing to be kept in place.

I sit naked on the marble bench, my sweet body full on display. But it doesn't matter, the wind is smooth and mild and the sun makes it pleasant to be unclad. A slave is kept naked, to show her who she is, so that she knows she is there to please, to be something to look upon, to delight her owners with her looks.

That fantasy is sweet. It is delightful to be that naked girl. The sensation is sensual rather than sexual. A sweet slave may delight with her body and she may have to serve, that is true but the pleasure of being her, is not that of the prospect of intense lovemaking or the passion of pain when whipped. No, this is a relaxed, calm sensation, a sense of being lovely and sweet and knowing that life is not so bad in the soft wind from the sea and below the warming sun in this delightful land.

There is a sense of being safe and secure in being that slave girl. I know my place, I know where I belong. I don't have to decide, don't have to be responsible for anything. I can enjoy being someone who may please, not only with her actions but with her presence, her mere existence.

You know me now, to some extent. There are always mixed feelings in my stories, pleasure and pain, joy and dread. This is not like that. This is all nice. I would like to be that girl and I think it would be sweet to be her. And I know she can only exist in a delightful fantasy like this.

The picture was made by someone who calls himself Grigbertz (yes, I know it is a he).

Disturbing Images 2

Before anything else I would like to tell you how chuffed I am at the responses to the Love Our Lurkers Day. I had hoped for many comments but didn't expect as many as I got. Thank you for stopping by and saying hello. It is still not too late to delurk. But as I say, reading is more important than commenting, has always been and still is.

When I started to post a Disturbing Image I thought about it as images that I really found objectionable but still are attractive or arousing. This image is a bit different. I still wanted to put it in this category.

Here we have a photograph of a naked woman, lying on her back, bound and blindfolded with a kind of gag. She is bound in such a way that her sex is easily accessible to her captor. In addition she is spreading her knees making herself even more open and exposed.

I am a prude and I keep repeating it. This may seem strange regarding my stories but if you think of it, there are not much raunchy details in my writing. And I do get terrible embarrassed by such a picture as this one, where a woman exposes her sex like that.

So why is it here? What is it that still appeals to me? I think what struck me first is her vulnerability, her helplessness. She is bound and open and exposed and accessible. Anyone may touch her and she can do nothing. She can't even watch the one doing it.

This could be rather nice, if you trust the one who has access to your body. Still I find this image menacing. I don't know if her friend or foe has tied her up like this.

There is however one particular thing that made me put this disturbing image here. I sometimes look at an image, especially the ones I find a little disturbing and think about what to say about them, what the participants would say, that sort of thing.

When I looked at this image and wondered what it would be like to be her, that exposed and bound woman, I knew what words she would say, or what I would say. The words are 'touch me!'

Not 'have me,' 'take me' or 'please let me go!' but 'touch me.' Suddenly there was a kind of significance to it, it became an image of a desire to be open to touch, to long for to be touched. It doesn't have to be sexual, it might be, though. Her pose, doubtlessly, makes you think like that.

The power in it comes, I think, from the fact that that, for me, touch is the most important thing, touch, not sex. One must not be put up against the other. Sex is important, very important, but more essential than anything is touch.

Fantasies are often like that for me, they are about very basic desires and some of them are not always the obvious ones. So here I am finding a kind of meaning in an image that I think would be far away from what most people would be thinking of.

Love Our Lurkers Day

Dear Readers, today is the Love Our Lurkers Day. This means that this blog post is for you, who read but never comment. Don't get me wrong. I think it is absolutely fine to read and not comment. So if you want to continue being a lurker, I don't mind. I am happy you read anyway.

Still it would be nice to hear from you. You don't have to say something clever or even nice but any kind of comment would be welcome.

I love writing and I love blogging and the fact that I know some of you are out there reading makes it all worthwhile. So, Dear Readers, take care and be well! And remember to be kind to yourself!

Oops, forgot to say that the original idea comes from dear Bonnie, at My Bottom Smarts. She is an inspiration and a mentor to all of us spanking bloggers.

Sweet Spanking, part 4

This is the last instalment in the story about Isobel and her Juliet, at least for the time being. Maybe I will continue with it, maybe not. I don't know. They live in my imagination and perhaps they will not be denied but only future can tell.

I dressed the next day as I went to college to teach. My bottom was still sore and I still felt the caning while I was sitting in a meeting.

I was a lecturer, a professional. But something sang in my head that more important than that, I was Isobel's woman, I was Isobel's.

Monday was busy and Isobel was away in the evening so I spent it reading. It was not until Tuesday we had time together.

We were both tired and sat in the sofa watching telly. It was nothing exciting on and I was becoming bored and wondered if I should go and do something else when Isobel turned to me.
'How is your bottom?'
'Much improved,' I replied and Isobel chuckled.
'That is good,' she said and looked a little concerned. 'You know, I don't really want to harm you.'
'I know,' I said and smiled, 'but you want it to hurt.'
Isobel didn't reply immediately.
'Yes, I do,' she said sounding very thoughtful, 'yes, I want it to hurt. That is the strangest thing.'

This was something I couldn't get my head around. She wanted it to hurt and I was dead scared of it, still it was a part of what we had, Isobel and me. It was a part of she being the one doing and I the one being done to.

'Do you enjoy it?' I asked.
Isobel let out a short nervous laugh.
'Yes, Juliet, I do,' she said, 'I do enjoy it.'
'So it is not just a heavy duty?' I said mockingly but with a smile.
'Far from it,' she said, 'far from it.'
'But that makes it a dangerous path,' she said after a while, 'doesn't it?'
'That you enjoy it?'
'Yes, it opens for the risk that I would do it just because I like it.'
'I suppose,' I said.
'It should really be for you,' she said.
'For me?'
'Yes,' she continued, 'all this about your discipline, you obeying orders and that. It should be as a punishment, something to make you follow those orders.'
'Do you think I do as you tell me because I am scared of punishments?'
'No, Juliet, I don't think that. I think it helps you do it, that it is for you.'
I felt strangely intimidated by the thought. I knew she was right, that the threat of six of the best with the cane made me more eager to do everything correctly, it sharpened my mind. But still the thought of it being done for me was humiliating.

This whole thing, about discipline and Isobel being in charge, had started awkwardly, as a joke. Isobel had always been the stronger and I had felt, from the start that she enjoyed being the one in charge, being the one who decided things.

I was not like that at all. I felt as if I was being cared for, and I felt comfortable letting Isobel be in charge.

Isobel sometimes joked with me when I was a little reluctant doing what she wanted, like when she suggested something for me to wear I wasn't so keen on.

There was these miniature power struggles. There were really no hard feelings but Isobel told me what she wanted and I stood up for my will.

Sometimes I let her have her will and sometimes I didn't. When I gave in I got the tiniest of thrills from surrendering to her and when I didn't I felt confident in defying her. It strengthened my pride. I wasn't sure that was for the best though.

When I defied her she sometimes joked about punishing me for doing it. She could say that I should really get my bottom smacked for being disobedient.

My willingness to give in seemed to strengthen Isobel and she seemed to flourish with the power I gave her. Later it turned out that she really meant that about punishments. It was very awkward at first and we both felt quite silly.

It had to be like a game at first, a childish game we played but later it became something more real, something we both felt more comfortable with.

When I say comfortable I mean only that it didn't seem silly, that had become something real. It wasn't just a game any more, a game we were both embarrassed to play. Isobel wasn't ashamed any more and that made it different.

The next day, it was the Wednesday, I went shopping. I wasn't sure what I was looking for. I knew what I wanted to tell Isobel but exactly how, I wasn't sure of.

I went from shop to shop and walked down the aisles looking for the right thing. I knew I would be sure when I laid my eyes on it but after some shops I started to doubt myself.

In a shop for shampoos and nice smelling oils I found what I was looking for. When I held the bathbrush in my hand I knew this was right.

I weighted it in my hand and found that it was quite heavy. It was sixteen inches long and had a flat and sturdy head. When I slapped it against my palm I imagined everyone in the shop would turn to me and see what I was doing, they would know. This made me both terribly embarrassed but also strangely proud.

'This will hurt,' I said to myself and trembled, 'it will be perfect.'
I bought the brush and went home on very shaky legs.

'Is this for me?' Isobel said as I handed her the parcel.
'Yes, it is because I love you,' I said feeling very melodramatic.
Isobel removed the wrappings and held the brush in her hand.
'Is this what I think it is?' she asked.
'Yes, it is.'
'Thank you, Juliet, this is really sweet.'
'Isobel, it is more than just that.'
'More gifts?' she said and smiled, pretending to be a girl on her birthday.
'I just wanted to tell you,' I said and hesitated.
Isobel looked serious.
'About what you said, yesterday,' I continued, 'about enjoying it. I just wanted to say that I think that it is good. Ah, what I am trying to say is this: I think you should do that, I mean, enjoy it, or rather do it, to me, when you want it. What I am saying, Isobel, is that I think you don't have to punish me.'
She looked at me.
'You mean that I should use this just because I want it?'
'Exactly!' I said, 'that is exactly what I mean. That you do it when you want it.'
'Are you sure about this?'
'Yes, I am sure.'
'This will really hurt.'
'Isn't that the point, isn't that what you want?'

Isobel looked at me for a long time.
'Thank you,' she said, 'thank you, my love.'

Sweet Spanking, part 3

Alright, there is no spanking in this one either but some naughtiness. I was uncertain if I should continue with this story but I have had some nice comments and that sort of thing makes me bolder. So, here it is, the third instalment about the story about Isobel and her Juliet.

'Come!' she said and rose to her feet. She held her hand out. I scrambled to my feet and she took my hand. She led me to the bedroom.

In the bedroom she turned me towards the mirror.
'What do you see?' she said.
I was suddenly embarrassed at seeing myself, naked in the mirror. My hand flew up to cover me.

Isobel took hold of my hands and held them firmly by carefully. She then gently moved them down and behind my back. She crossed my wrists and let go. I knew I was bound. I wasn't to remove my hands.

She did it to stop me from covering up.
'What do you see?'
'I see you,' I said, 'in a pretty dress.'
'And?'
'I see me.'
'Tell me what you see!'
'I see me, naked, a skinny woman, staring at me.'
'Is that what you see?'
'Yes.'
I will tell you what I see. I see the loveliest girl I have ever laid my eyes on. Look at her hips, her narrow and delicate hips. And look at her thighs, those sweet and delightful thighs. Then there is the belly.'
Isobel placed her hands on my hips and thrust them forward, not brutally, just a little, just enough to change my stance, to make me embarrassed.
'I see this lovely belly, sweet and smooth and shaped in the most delicate way.'
She let her hands move over my belly and caress it. I held my breath.
'And I see lovely breasts, the sweetest bosom ever created. Those round breasts are the most delightful I know and when those pretty little nipples stand out I could kill to touch those soft mounds.'
She cupped my small breasts, let her hands glide over them. She took hold of my nipples with thumbs and forefingers, rolled them a little till they started to bead and then let go.
'And I see shoulders, narrow sweet shoulders, that she should show off more often in clothes that leaves them bare. Then there is this soft and lovely neck and upon that neck the cutest face imaginable with the little short nose and those kissable lips and those eyes that shine from the light within and from where tears of sadness run. And this lovely face is framed by the lightest, blondest hair I have seen.'
She moved her hands down my shoulders.
'And here,' she said and put her hand on my crotch, 'is her love cradle, a well and a fountain of so much delight.'
She let her fingers slip into me and I gasped and moved my hands.
'Bound!' she snapped.
I remembered how she had placed my hands and I returned them.
'Look at you! You are the most beautiful creation on earth and you don't see it.'
'Please, Isobel.'
'I am merciless.'
Her fingers snaked in me and I sensed my desire well up in me. The itching, red wave started to spread.

Isobel put her other hand on my belly, caressed it, moved up to my breast and kneaded it. Meanwhile her fingers in my sex moved and explored and I felt intimidated by the intrusion. Still her touch was the sweetest thing.
'Can't you see how sexy you are?'
I gasped, unable to talk.

I was bound and I was naked and Isobel touched me and had me in front of the mirror and soon I had no resistance, if resist I wanted. I was lost, I couldn't think. I gave myself over to Isobel and let her decide, let her have me.
'Look at you!'
I looked and I saw how helpless I was and how naked I was and I saw how desperate I was, desperate for her touch to take me all the way.

In that moment, when I looked at my cringing, swaying and very naked body, moving at the touch of my Isobel's hands, played like an instrument by her, dancing its need if front of that mirror, then I saw, with a strange sense of detachment from myself that it was beautiful, I saw that this body, this person was attractive. I think I for a short moment saw myself with her eyes. I saw how much she found me lovely.

And then I came. I cried out in a sudden outburst followed by a whimper as I doubled up, my legs unable to hold me. I staggered and knelt by the bed. I crumbled up and lay panting on the floor.

I felt hands on my back, arms embracing me. Isobel was there.
'I love you, Juliet.'

I lay moaning for a while. Then I turned my head. Isobel was there, looking at me, smiling.
'I felt beautiful,' I gasped.
'You are beautiful.'

I sat up. I felt how sore my bottom was when it made contact with the floor. I drew my breath. Isobel giggled a little.
'It's time for lunch,' she said.
She was sitting beside me by the bed. She was smiling.
'I'll cook for us,' I said, 'what do you want?'
'Satay, I think, something satay.'
'I'll do it,' I said and rose to my feet.
'Juliet!'
'Yes,' I said and turned to her, she was still on the floor.
'Don't dress, I want you naked.'

So I cooked for her, for us, naked. I went about my duties without wearing a single item of clothing. It was an odd sensation chopping up the ingredients, frying them and laying the table while naked.

I hummed a tune as I worked and I felt happy. I was content. I thought about Isobel and me and what we were. I loved her. She loved me. I knew that and she made me feel beautiful.

Isobel was strong for me. I was weak. I had my pride and I knew what I was good at. I was who I was and I could stand up for myself but with Isobel I was weak. In a way I was weak. I was vulnerable and open to her. But all this made me strong, made me untouchable for all the bad things in life. Being with her protected me.

But I had given up all pretences with her. I had no pride, no face to protect with her. She saw through me and let me be weak or strong, whatever I was.

I had really given myself to her, surrendered my person to her. I did it already the moment I met her, when I fell in love with her and when she began to love me. I was hers, through and through, so subjecting myself to her was nothing, submitting to her will was nothing. I was hers to have and command. And she wanted to command me, that was the great blessing.

So the outer signs of my giving myself to her was less important. I wondered sometimes about the shame I felt, the humiliation. In a way I couldn't understand why the acting out of something I knew in my heart could be so difficult.

It was difficult to show her in action how much I belonged to her. But although it was hard and my pride protested, I felt utterly relieved for every step I took and I found how proud I was for everything I had learned to show openly.

There was pride in me that felt ashamed for humbling myself and showing in action how much I was hers. But in that shame there was a joy, and another kind of pride that sprung from those actions.

I had shown my submission to Isobel, to my love for her. I had let her cane me, let her punish me, I had knelt to her and let her touch me. I had surrendered to her and now I cooked for her, naked.

I knew I should be ashamed, should feel humiliated by humbling myself, by submitting my body to punishment and touch, by kneeling and being naked. But what I felt when I stood there in the kitchen was happiness – happiness and life. I felt more alive than I had felt in a long, long time.

I was still naked as we sat down to our lunch.
'This is yummy,' Isobel said.
'Thank you.'
'You are not just beautiful, you are a great cook too.'
'Stop it!'
'Not sure I will.'

We continued eating for a while. Isobel looked at me and chuckled a little when she saw me move about on the chair. My bottom was smarting still and it was uncomfortable sitting down.

'You still feel that caning?' she said.
'Yes, I do.'
'Does it bother you?'
I looked at her, not sure what to say.
'No, Isobel, it doesn't bother me. I feel sore, and it is not comfortable sitting down but that is not what I think when I feel it. I think that you did this, that it was your intention, so I feel that you are there, with me. And I know it is a sign of me giving myself to you.'
'Does it bother you that I punish you and make you suffer?'
'No, but I think it is unfair.'
'That I punish you unfairly?'
'No, that is not what I meant.'
'What then?'
'I think it is unfair that you should have to take control, that you should have to be strong for me. It is easy for me. I can just say yes and accept. You have to decide and do. I can just be. That is unfair.'
'We are different, Juliet, you and me.'
'I think we are,' I said, 'and I am happy for it.'
'Me too,' she said, 'and I was going to say that it was unfair that you had to bow to me.'
'Unequal,' I said, 'is the word, Isobel, not unfair.'
'Unequal, it is,' she said, 'and that can be good.'
'It can.'

I spent the rest of the Sunday naked. We stayed at home and did nothing useful. I sat in my armchair and read and Isobel sat by the computer writing. Later, in the evening, we watched the telly together and I laid be her side, still naked.

It was a very special feeling, being naked all day, spending it with the fully clad Isobel. I felt it clearly as I lay by her side with her arm around me. I think the difference in clothing enhanced that sense of inequality we had spoken of.

Isobel couldn't stop her hands from moving all over me as I was by her side. She was never a stranger to touching me or hugging me whenever she passed me or stood near me. I was the same with her. We were like apes, grooming each other constantly. But with me completely naked her touches became bolder. She didn't just hug me or caress me. Often she pinched my bottom or my breasts, or groped me or put her hand between my legs. It was as if she felt she had a right to my body.

I didn't mind that, I don't mind she feeling she can touch me but suddenly sensing a hand groping you between your legs can be quite surprising and a little intimidating.

That sense of being at her disposal made me feel quite submissive, made me feel that I belonged to her. And when I got past the feeling of intimidation I felt blessed by it. I wanted to be hers, I wanted her to treat me like hers.

In front of the telly her hands became even more exploring and soon she kneaded my breasts and let her hand wander in between my legs. Soon she had me moaning, and after a while I lay panting on the sofa, overcome but quite satisfied.