Surrender, part 22

I was a little mean to you who don't know the glory of Cricket. I couldn't help it. It is a great game. Here comes the next part of Surrender story. If you are as confused as Wystan E, then you may read my comment on his comment to the last instalment.

The next morning we went walking through the city centre. It was ancient and sedate and full of churches and old palazzos. He took me to a church and we wandered through it. I was taken by the mix of old and new, delicate and vulgar.

Behind a pillar, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear to take my knickers off. After the first rush of opposition and reluctance there came the thrilling sensation of giving in to him, to accepting his wishes, the excitement of doing something bad like that, in a place of worship.

I looked around and although I heard there were other people in the church, I saw no one. It was quick work to slip my knickers down and step out of them. I handed them to him and he put them in his pocket.

He took me to an art gallery and with precision found all paintings and sculptures depicting nudes, and especially female nudes. He stood before them for a long time talking about them.

'That is how women should be, naked. That is how I want them, naked for my pleasure.'

To him there was no doubt about our roles. I was there to please him and he made it clear to me that he was pleased with me. He compared my body to the ones in the gallery and explained in detail why he found me beautiful.

I was an object for him, an object he loved and wanted. In his strange way he respected me. He wanted me for what I could do for him, that was no secret.

He didn't look down on my academic achievements, on the contrary, he was proud of them, but they didn't interest him. He was selfish in a very childish way, he talked a lot about what he thought and wanted. He was interested in my opinions as long as they didn't interfere with his own wishes and desires.

There, in that Italian town, he made it clear to me that there was another side of me, a side that wasn't about career and achievements, but that was about something else. It was about body and submission and accepting my desires.

That was the strangest of it all. I desired it. All this submitting to him spoke to some longing in me. He disregarded my will but somehow, he left room for my own desires. I don't think he knew this, or if he did, he had stumbled on this knowledge by mistake. He was selfish, but self assured enough to not having to subdue my longings.

I was happy those days. We walked through this ancient town, had dinner in small restaurants and climbed the mountains outside the city walls. He didn't have to whip me and tie me up. He had me wear too short skirts and very little underwear, just as a reminder of whose power I was in.

It was easy being his. It was sweet being his woman, his servant and slave. He didn't provoke me in order to test my resolve. He had already done that, he had already forced me to accept the whip and being shamed me in front of his friend. We both seemed to know it wasn't necessary any more.

At the end of our stay he did want to shock me, though. He seemed to want to remind me that submission to him wasn't all sweet romantic walks through a lovely old town. Or maybe he just wanted to play a game.

In the evening we went back to the hotel and in the street in front of it, there was a group of young men sitting on scooters. My man stopped short and looked at them. He then looked at me. I saw a kind of wicked smile play on his lips and then he went over to the young men and talked to them.

When he came back they followed him. They looked at me in a way that made me blush. They stared at me, and smiled.

He took us all into a back alley behind the hotel. He took my arm and turned me around so I suddenly stood facing the small group of three Italian youths.

'Knickers off,' he said to me in a sharp voice.

Humiliation burned my cheeks as I put my hands under my skirt and pulled my knickers down. I stepped out of them and tried to give them to my man. He pointed to the young men and one of them reached out and took them. He chuckled and put them in his pocket.

'You,' my man said and pointed to one of the youths, the tallest and most handsome of them. 'Come here.'

The young man came forward.

'Unbutton your dress,' he said to me.

My fingers were numb as I did as I was told. I was terrified but not of the young man, but of my own humiliation.

'Slip it down your shoulders,' he snapped.

I parted the panels and slipped my dress from my shoulders. The young men stared at me, my breasts, and licked their lips.

'You may touch them now,' he said to the man standing closest to me.

I held my breath as his hands shot out towards my breasts. For a short moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he didn't believe his luck. He smiled a childish smile and put his hands on my bosom.

I drew my breath. His fingers were cold. He started to grope me and knead my breasts with his nervous hands. He eagerly squeezed my flesh till it hurt. I looked at him and saw him stare with wide eyes at his own hands and my bosom.

'Stop it now,' my man commanded, 'put your hand under her skirt.'

He withdrew his hands, looked nervously at my man and then complied. He lifted my skirt and put his hand on my sex. I held my breath.

The youth looked at my man who nodded consent and he slipped his fingers into me. He was not gentle. He was too eager, too nervous. He rubbed his fingers against me, inside me and I gasped at the suddenness and the intensity of his movements.

'Stop now,' was the command, 'go now, the rest is for me.'

The young man withdrew. He looked in awe at my man but seemed unable to say anything. The other two looked amazed and disappointed, as they all returned to their scooters.

'Now they will have something to talk about,' he chuckled as he turned to me.

I still stood with my back against the wall, my dress down from my shoulders and with my bosom on full display.

'How do you feel?'

'Ravaged.'

'Excited?'

'Yes.'

'Humiliated?'

'Yes.'

'Button your dress.'

'Yes, Sir.'

I was trembling as we entered the hotel and went to our room. The youths were gone from the street. I was sure the story would be all around town soon.

'The rest is, indeed, for me,' he said as he began to unbutton my dress.

In that moment I didn't care I had been humiliated in a back alley behind a hotel. I desperately wanted him to touch me.

The Ashes Is Coming Home

Who could have guess this after the one innings defeat at Headingley? The Aussies had squared the series and the Oval was to be the decider. They only needed a draw or a tie and after England's 332 in the first innings a victory wasn't at all certain.

In my humble opinion it was Broad's spell of five wickets for 37 runs in the first innings that paved the way for the victory. Ponting got 8 and Hussey was out for a duck. The Aussies only managed 160. There you see, it is not only England who have perfected the art of collapsing.

England declared on the third day with 373 for 9, leaving Australia to chase a total of 545 for a tie and 546 for a win. England now had two days to get the Aussies out, which they managed already on the fourth day. Australia fought back with a decent score, managing to get 348 runs but with the collapse on day two, that meant a win for England by 197 runs. The Ashes is coming home!

Although Swann totalled eight wickets in the final test, I still think Broad is the one who saved England this time. There were high hopes that Flintoff would do that, and getting Ponting run out was genius, and Trott is to be congratulated for getting 160 runs in his test début, with a century in the second innings, still, Broad was my man this time.

Sorry for this interlude. The final episodes of Surrender story will be posted shortly. And the sport is Cricket for those who aren't sure. And forgive me, dear Aussies out there, for being a little biassed.

Surrender, part 21

Here it is, the end of the story. There will be two more parts but then it is over. We'll see what you will think of the end but at least I have written a longer story to the end. This is, actually, an achievement for me. I usually lose interest somewhere in the middle and go off to start another story...or two...or three.

'Will you come to Italy with me?' He said, a week later.

'To Italy, is it some conference or meeting?' I said, trying to figure out what I really felt, trying to overcome my surprise.

'No, just you and me, no duties.'

'Why do you ask me?'

'Because I want you to come.'

'No, I wondered why'd you ask me, why don't you just order me.'

'Who said I wasn't interested in your opinion?'

'No, why,' I said and felt bewildered.

He scrutinised me for a while.

'What is it that bothers you?'

'Why do you suddenly care about what I think, you didn't care when you let Jonathon touch me.' My cheeks became red and hot at the memory.

'I didn't say I would respect your opinion. I may still be interested in it.'

'Of course,' I said.

'Don't be grumpy, and you haven't said if you want to go to Italy with me.'

I looked up at him and saw him smile. There was no way I was to change his mind about anything. He was a force of nature and if he didn't want to budge he wouldn't. I could stand my ground but I would have to take the consequences of that.

'I'd love to go to Italy with you.' I smiled at him.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I am absolutely sure.'

'You will come as my woman, sit at my feet.'

'I'll kneel at your feet by Fontana di Trevi, if that is what you want.'

'Then we are going to Italy.'

'Yes.'

'And from now on, you will address me as Sir.'

'Sir?'

'Yes, I like that. And you will do it in public.'

'No one will think of me as your partner, I will be like your PA or secretary or something.'

'Do you mind?'

'Yes, Sir, I do mind.'

'But you will do it.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good.'

The sense of pride that filled me surprised me. I had begun to be proud of my achievements but it was still surprising that I should be so happy putting my own person to the side and accept whatever humiliation he chose for me.

I was warm and tired as we arrived at the airport of the small town he had chosen for our trip. The sun stood high on a clear blue sky and despite the fierce traffic and ugly suburb, Italy managed to smile at us.

He had insisted on shopping for me before leaving so my bag was full of new clothes and shoes. I wore a light summer dress and a hat that made me look as if I was on the Grand Tour sometime around the beginning of the 20th century rather than living in the contemporary world. I knew it was quite deliberate since he had chosen a very timeless suit that well matched my outfit.

The city centre was ancient and hadn't it been for the advertising boards and the youngsters on their scooters, it could have been a hundred years ago.

The hotel was small and the interior did nothing to bring us back to the 21th century. We got our key and went to our room. I was tired, it had been a long journey. I had been true to his command and called him 'Sir' but I had made my utmost to not address him in public. He knew this and seemed to find it amusing.

'Now I need something to drink,' he said as I put my bag on the bed to unpack. 'I think I'll go down to the bar.'

'You want me to change?'

He stopped short, waited.

'...Sir,' I said.

'No, I don't want you to change and I want you to stay in the room.'

'Yes, Sir,' I said, a little bewildered and quite disappointed.

He opened his bag and rummaged through it. He smiled as he pulled something from it. It looked like a narrow belt or a leather strap but as he held it out I saw that it was fitted on a metal ring. The strap was threaded through the ring so that the leather formed three loops, like the petals of a flower.

'Strip,' he said in a soft voice.

It was easy. He told me to strip and I obeyed him. It was a hot day and it was quite nice to slip out of my clothes. The French window was slightly ajar so the sounds of the street below filled the room. This made my undressing seem a bit more public.

I enjoyed taking my clothes off for him. He looked at me and I knew he wasn't looking at the Doctor of History but at an obedient woman, a woman who was exposing her body at his command. I felt attractive as he stared at me, attractive and excited.

He made me sit on the floor, quite close to the window. I could feel the soft breeze on my body as I sat down. He knelt in front of me and now it became clear what he wanted with the leather strap.

He put two of the loops around my legs and moved them up to just above my knees. The third loop contained the buckle which he opened. I leaned forward and leaned my upper body against my knees as he buckled the strap shut around my neck. When he was

done I sat folded forward, with my chest on my thighs and my neck strapped to my the leather around my knees.

He then took another strap out of his bag and applied them around my wrists behind my back. When he was done I was quite bound. Two quite short leather straps made sure I wouldn't go anywhere.

'I'll go down for a drink. Stay there,' he said and chuckled to himself.

'But if anyone comes?'

'Yes, what if anyone comes?' he said and smiled.

'Will you be long?'

'As long as it takes.'

He turned to me when he had got to the door.

'This is not a good place for whippings, the walls are too thin. We will have to do without them for a while.'

Then he left and shut and locked the door. I was left on the floor, naked and bound.

I struggled with the sense of humiliation he had left me with. I was different from him and nothing could show that more clearly than him sitting in the bar, enjoying a nice something to drink and me, naked and left on my own in the room.

I was disappointed and wanted my freedom to explore and experience this new place. I was even angry.

Maybe it was the soft air coming in through the door, the sounds from the street that made me feel close to the world outside, the place itself, the fact that it was different and new to me, maybe it was all of that which made me suddenly very calm. I took a deep breath and I knew that this wasn't an ordinary trip. I wasn't there to study Italian culture and life. I was still inside a bubble, his bubble. I was his woman, the woman who was sitting by his feet.

This was who I was. This was me with him, naked on the floor, bound and helpless. I was at his mercy. This was the life I had chosen and it was petty to be disappointed that I couldn't sit in the bar or go walking outside. I was here because of him and with him and I had to accept where he put me. Or rather I chose to accept it, not in that very moment, but as the basis of our relationship.

There was meaning with my nudity, my bonds and my being left alone. It was what he had chosen for me and in binding me, he had touched me and the leather around my limbs were his touch. He was there with me.

I felt childishly happy at that thought. I wasn't sitting there because he was superior to me by nature, not because he had the right to do so, but because he wanted it that way, and I wanted it that way, and because I loved him.

I felt sexy. I wasn't used to that. I felt suddenly very soft and vulnerable, all those things I had been scared of, things that had threaten to expose me to danger. Now, inside his bubble, they seemed attractive and something sought after, asked for and wanted.

The Descent

Hello, again. I am glad that my last post inspired some discussion. That's what it is all about, isn't it?

I have always been fascinated by dreams and the dreamy side of fantasies. I wrote this piece when thinking about those things. Those of you who have been with me for a while will recognise a little from earlier posts. But this is me, and my fantasies tend to return to the same themes.

It was a worried night, a night when the clouds chased each others across a dark sky, when the moon peeked through, now and then, as the veil was lifted. It was a night of winds and cold air. It was a night when it was hard to sleep, the kind of night that brings up nightmares and horrid thoughts.

She was lying in her bed, turning from one side to the other, slipping in and out of sleep. When she finally opened her eyes, the room was flooded with moonlight and she had thrown off the duvet, despite the cold air.

She stared at her room but she couldn't recognise it. It looked strange and twisted in the cold white light. She systematically looked at each and every detail of it, the chair, the mirror, the cupboard, to make sure it was her room.

She found every detail of her room to be as she expected and was somewhat calmer, thinking that the sense of unreal dream was just a trick of the night and the moon.

She wasn't scared, more curious, when she saw that she had been mistaken. There was one thing that wasn't as usual. She knew she had never seen the door in the wall, opposite the window before. She stared at it and realised that it would open up on the stairwell, some distance above the stairs. A silly door.

She left the bed and walked on bare feet to it. Her mind was absolutely clear and awake but yet she knew she had to be in the middle of a dream. She felt the chilly air against her skin, the thin nightgown being poor protection against the cold. Curiosity drove away discomfort.

She was surprised when she felt the door against her fingers as she touched it. It was real. She knew she had to open it.

There was nothing strange about the door, except that it shouldn't exist. She opened it with ease, there wasn't even a sound as it swung open.

She expected to see the stairs below and the landing to her left. She wasn't prepared to see what was before her. There was a stair but it started by the door and led downwards inside a tunnel. The walls were stone and this fact unsettled her more than the existence of the door and the stairs.

She stepped through the doorway. She had to, it was a dream and in dreams you have to explore what lays ahead. At least in this dream

The steps were made of stone and the walls were made of stone and a few steps down she felt as if she was inside an old castle or a dungeon, rather than her house. She would have expected the stairs in a castle to twist and turn and go round and round but this one was straight.

She continued down the steps, one by one, cold against her feet. She walked further down into darkness and soon she felt lost in the dark. She had to touch the cold stone and feel her way with her feet.

She walked cautiously and slowly, still she almost banged her head against the door ahead. She felt it with her hands and thought it a very different door from the one in her room. This one seemed heavy and old, like something in a medieval castle.

The door opened silently as she pushed it. Behind it she was met with light. She looked into a room lit by a great fireplace and a multitude of candles. She saw high backed chairs in front of the fire and a bearskin on the floor. A heavy table and a chest to the side.

'Welcome my dear.'

She hadn't seen the person in the chair. Now he seemed to appear from nowhere, standing in front of her, smiling.

'Welcome,' he continued, 'do you know where you are?'

'No,' she whispered, overcome with the suddenness of his appearance.

He was dressed in black trousers, a long black jacket, elegant but simple. He wore black boots. He seemed to be tall and slim, black haired and pale faced. His lips were red and his chin was narrow. He was smiling and he looked pleased with seeing her, although she felt no warmth in him.

'You should know,' he said, 'you created it.'

'Did I?'

'Yes, this is your imagination. This is your creation.'

'I can't remember it.'

'Don't you? I am sure you do.'

She blushed. She knew this place. She felt caught out. She gasped and looked down to make sure she was still wearing her nightgown. Images flashed through her mind. When she had been in this room before she had been naked.

'It seems so real.'

'It is real, my dear, you are in your imagination now and everything around you is as real as you are.'

'Oh.'

'Do you know why you are here?'

'No.'

'You are ready for the tour.'

'What tour?'

'The tour of your mind.'

'I am not sure...'

'There is a lot to see, many places to visit.'

'I don't think I want to.'

'This for example,' the man said and made a gesture with his hand.

The room was suddenly full of smoke. She felt fear in her heart and turned around to look for the door. The smoke turned to impenetrable fog and she felt, somehow, that the room wasn't there around her any more.

She tried to penetrate the white mist and thought that she could see the outline of the naked branches of a dead tree. She heard a thunderous noise and knew that she was on the run. Her heart was full of fear as she knew that she would perish and die should the hunters get her. She couldn't remember who they were, just that they must not catch her.

She began to run. She stumbled on the uneven ground. She didn't fall but knew she couldn't keep on running. She was exhausted already and she could hardly see the ground.

Then she saw him. In front of her loomed a shadow. She felt his presence more than saw it. Her eyes tried to penetrate the fog and could only discern his silhouette. He was on a horse, a gigantic horse and the man himself seemed to tower over her head.

Somehow she knew that her only hope rested with this dark stranger, this demon on his terrible horse.

As she stood there he approached her and came out of the mist. He was black and terrifying, his horse a monster.

He scooper her up and sat her in front of him in the saddle and took off. She held her breath as they rode on at a breathtaking speed. The misty landscape around them seemed to rush by and she wondered how the rider could know where to go.

She heard how the hunters were left behind but knew that they must not stop running. The black demon was her rescuer but he had to let his horse keep on running.

It was in that moment of complete dependence, when she knew she was at his mercy, her strange and terrifying rescuer told her to take her clothes off. It was in the exact moment when hope had been lit in her heart, when the terror had ceased to be the only element in her thoughts. It was then he had ordered her to strip.

It was awkward for her, shifting her body, still holding on to him, scared of falling, trying to move her flimsy nightgown down her shoulders, over her hips and down her legs.

It seemed to float in the air for a while and then it was gone. She was still wearing some kind of breech cloth, tied round her hips with a leather thong. She undid the knot at her hip and shifted her body to let this last garment disappear in the night.

She was clinging on to the black demon, now nude and exposed. She felt vulnerable and helpless but the colour of the dream had changed, from black and grey to include red.

Then the mist and the horse and the man seemed to begin to evaporate. She felt a sudden dizziness and then she was back in the room with the black clad pale man.

'I can't show you more,' he said, 'the image disappears. I know you wonder what the black demon will do to you, but you have no images of that.'

'I remember this fantasy,' she said, 'I felt so vulnerable.'

'But that's not all.'

'No.'

'You felt excited too.'

'That's true,' she blushed and looked down to make sure she was, indeed, still dressed in the nightgown.

'I have to leave,' she said, 'can I go back up the stairs?'

'Yes, you can, thank you for visiting.'

'Bye.'

'You will come back.'

'Will I?'

'Yes, you will.'

She hurried up the stairs and was back in her room. She got into bed and pulled the duvet over her. She lay staring, trying to fall asleep, but the memory of the strange room and the strange man, her guide, was too vivid, too frightening.

She seemed to be staring into nothingness for an eternity but as it often happens she dosed off.

The moment she dosed off she awoke again but this time in a changed room. Sun was shining and the room was back to normal. She looked at the wall and saw no door. She was back.

Hello

I am back. Hope you have had a nice time while I was away. It is a strange experience coming back from a holiday like this. I am not at all in the mood for everyday life. This will be a short blog post. Anyway, I am glad to be back.

I read a book while on holiday. It's called Sexual Deviation by Anthony Storr and was published in 1964. Kind of interesting to read about the view on those things, 45 years ago.

It is so easy to be superior and laugh at a book like that. Homosexuality is a deviation and is analysed, the author trying to find the reasons for it. I assume you agree with me when I am thinking that the question is the wrong one. Considering the behaviour of our closest relatives, the Bonobos, the question should not be, 'why are some homosexual?' but rather 'why are so many exclusively hetero- and homosexual?'

There was an interesting part about Sadism and Masochism. Thing is with this book that although it was very old fashioned and PC for that time, some of the observations are interesting. There is this thought that being a Masochist you long for being a child again, when you were cared for and had no power over what happened to you. This rings true to some extent.

I know there is a reluctance about explaining or discussing reasons for various kinks within the 'community'. I think that is a little short sighted. I know analysing the reasons, may open up for the thought that there is something wrong with enjoying spanking or being submissive, but not doing it, is burying your head in the sand. I think there are reasons for the way we behave but that doesn't mean it has to be wrong and should be explained away.

I think, at least for me, there is a kind of truth in the idea that being submissive is, partly, longing for being as helpless as a child. Enough analysis now, just wanted to say that although that book was prejudiced and old fashioned I couldn't just dismiss it.

Maybe that is the reason why, in fantasies, the longing for submission is total, maybe that is the reason why I, sometimes, have this desire for being completely and utterly submitted and even degraded and humiliated. Maybe they are signs of that utter helplessness you may experience as a child, a vulnerability that isn't a bad thing, but something you enjoy. Are you with me, still?

When it comes to blogging and writing I feel more and more that I am not so interested in writing yet another spanking story. I have lost my heart for it, at least for the moment. When it comes to fantasies and kink, I feel that I am drawn to more darker sides. And having written that, I become uncertain, because there are lots of more romantic stories in my head too and some about more subtle things.

Anyway, we'll see what will happen. I am a little disappointed, though, that no one commented on the picture in the last post. I think it is very nice. There is a kind of everyday sense to it, just an ordinary person lowering their trousers feeling the touch of a stick, waiting to be whipped. Something about that lack of glamour and stylishness that appeals to me.