Thursday, 29 January 2009

Naughty Thoughts Tumbling in My Head

This blog contains a lot of stories but I started it as a blog about fantasies, where I could talk about them, describe them and reflect on them. I have done that a little and I will return to it.

If there is one thing I am good at, it is to get ideas. I have more ideas to stories and events and relationships than I have time to write them down and work with. Not all of them naughty of course but a good many of them are. So here is a scene, half a fantasy, half an idea, something that I could use in a story, perhaps, a little surreal but I don't mind that.

There is a bar in a club or something similar, a place where young people go to meet, dance, connect and be naughty in. At the bar there are a man and woman. They are around twenty, that age when you can be miserable but if you are confident you can see the world open up before you.

He is an ordinary guy, young handsome, dressed in trousers and shirt untucked, covering in the uniform of young men. He is a little cocky, confident in himself.

The woman is blond, ponytail, dressed in jeans and spaghetti strap top. She is like most young women, aware of herself, her body, and she is confident enough to know she is attractive but she doesn't feel the need to dress up and show off.

They sit at the bar with their drinks and they look at each other, he stares and she smiles. They connect in that way that sometimes happen, two people find they have a common goal or something like that.

There is a context to this scene. This man is discovering a very naughty side of himself and is doing bold and daring things and has got a reputation for putting his hand down girls' knickers and even worse.

The girl knows this. She has a naughty side too although it may be expressed in different ways.

Anyway, what happens is that they strike up a conversation and during that she asks him what he is thinking. He is daring enough to tell her that he is thinking that he would want to spank her bottom. Her response is something like 'I thought you'd never ask'.

But instead of developing this into a spanking story, I imagine her alluding to his reputation for pulling down knickers and that sort of thing and he says something about it being hard when someone is wearing jeans.

Then she asks if it won't be easier if she was standing and then she stands up and approaches him. He can't back down now, can he? So he reaches out his hands and unbuttons her jeans. She doesn't protest.

He continues and yanks her jeans and her knickers down. Some people in the bar starts staring at them but no one interferes. Maybe it is like when you are a little tipsy and see something but not really believe what you see.

When he has pulled her jeans and knickers down a bit he puts his hands between her legs and lets a finger slip into her. She doesn't protest but lets it happen, in view of everyone around.

Then he asks her if she wants to dance with him.

I am interested in both parties. They are two fascinating characters. He is a man who is discovering his power, his fascination for spanking and taking control of girls. In this parallel world all girls he meet are happy for him to be in command and they all long to be spanked...of course.

The girl, of course, she has this longing for submitting to another person, she is daring enough to accept it being done in public, being humiliated in public. She is confident to not back down and be ashamed of her desires.

Right, this is just a sketch.

Tuesday, 27 January 2009

Surrender, part 9

I am a little lazy, I know. I will follow one part of the Surrender story immediately with another but maybe you will forgive me, there is some action in this part.

Then he struck.

The sound was terrible, sharp and unforgiving. The pain exploded in me. I think I held my breath, clung to the chair, struggled with my sanity, trying to accept what was happening. It hurt so much, more than I could imagine.

He waited for me to compose myself. I shook my head in disbelief. I was overwhelmed with the pain, the humiliation and the power of him. I knew, deep down, inside me, that I had a choice. I could rise from the chair and just walk away. That would end it there and then. He wouldn't stop me.

I trembled as I stuck my bottom out again, to receive the next stroke. I had made my choice and there was no going back.

He hit me again and I regretted offering my bottom for the cane. I had never ever in my life felt something this painful. I didn't cry, I didn't scream but I held my breath. I had to use all my willpower to compose myself.

When I stuck my bottom out for the next whack I knew what I was doing. I knew how much it would hurt, how mad I was to do it, to accept it. It was now a matter for my will to endure.

My determination to take the punishment, his punishment was stronger. I stayed in place. I had to let go of everything else and only concentrate on the next blow of the cane. That was all that existed, the cane that relentlessly whacked my bottom and the searing pain. That and my will to survive, to go through with it.

He gave me blow after blow. He let me compose myself before the next one fell, before the next one exploded in my body. It broke me down. I endured but I struggled and there came a point when I thought I would lose that battle.

He pushed me further, he continued whipping me and suddenly I broke down, tears filled my eyes and I cried out. I felt I couldn't take one more of his terrible whacks.

'Please, please, I can't take it, please.' My voice was weak, pleading, no pride was left.

His voice was strangely soft as he talked to me.

'We are not done yet, some more to go, for now.'

He gave me two more and then I pleaded with him again, overcome with agony, feeling I couldn't stand one single blow more.

'Brace yourself, here comes the next,' he said, almost with pity in his voice.

He gave me some more whacks but he prepared me for each of them by talking to me. I clung to his voice. I let him pick me up so I could take the next one.

I was grateful for his encouragement. My tears were streaming and I shivered as I knelt and stuck my bottom out.

'Now, there are eight more to come.'

Instead of being scared or hateful I was happy, I could, now, see the end of my ordeal.

He gave me the eight in silence and I counted them in my head, almost longing for the next so it would all be over.

He told me to stand and I climbed down from the chair and stood on trembling legs. I felt like a long distance runner after the final spurt, I was sweaty and my body was aching, my bottom felt numb, warm and numb.

'You did well,' he said and looked sternly at me.

I looked at him through my tear filled eyes. I didn't know what I was thinking of him then but he was different, in my mind he was different, well known, like someone I had always known but also a stranger, a terrifying avenging angel, someone from another world. I stood in awe.

He took a step forward and put his arms around me. I clung to him, I leaned my head against his breasts and I started to cry. I cried with abandon at his chest while I was held by him, my naked body pressed against him. I felt his clothes against my skin and I felt how different we were; him clothed, me naked, and how unequal and unfair it was, but at that moment I felt a blessing, as if there was a big grace in this.

Was it for this I had endured all this? Was this the reward for the caning, the humiliation and the agony? I felt him close to me and I felt blessed and it seemed as being held by him was something that was worth all the rest, that it was for this I had returned.

When I had calmed down, he held me with his arms, looked me in the eyes. I looked up at him.

'This will do for now, you did well, you were brave.'

Two emotions hit me with equal power. I was immensely proud hearing his words. I felt as if I was a child again and had been told I had done something scary and how good and brave I was and I felt happy as only a child can be. At the same time I heard that it meant that this was not the end of my punishment. There was more to come and this filled me with dread.

'Go home now, this has been a lot for you.'

I nodded.

'I will tell you when to come back. The same rules apply, about clothes and not touching yourself.'

When he told me not to touch myself I realised that he hadn't touched me in that way for ages, not the whole evening, not even a kiss. I felt how my body ached, how terribly, painfully aroused I was.

He watched me as I put my clothes back on. In a way I was glad I didn't have to put any knickers on, sensing that my bottom was too sore for that.

He didn't say anything as I dressed and when I was done I looked at him. He looked at me.

'Goodbye, thank you for taking me back.'

'You did well, I am proud of you.'

I smiled as I left. I smiled as I walked home. I was in agony and my head was in turmoil but there played on my lips a faint smile. I was proud of myself.

When I came home I stripped off and felt a new significance in my nudity. He had ordered it and I did it for him and now it was not just a humiliation, it was also a blessing.

I was exhausted and went straight to bed after taking a shower. I fell asleep immediately, lying on my side, not allowing anything to touch my bottom.

It was different in the morning when I turned and woke up with a throbbing pain in my bottom. It felt like an open wound and in the cold morning light my state of mind seemed like utter madness.

I got out of bed and looked at my bottom in the mirror. It was in a sorry state. There were raised welts criss crossing my buttocks and my whole bottom was red and blue in places. It was not a pretty sight.

I wouldn't be able to sit on it for some time. I had my breakfast standing and wondered what was going on with me. Was I being brainwashed? How could I let a man get so much power over me? How could I let someone whip me?

I was ashamed, felt stupid and silly. I felt as if I was losing myself in all this and that I needed a reality check, talk to someone to see how true this was for me, if it would just vanish like some demon of the night.

But who could I talk to? Most people would turn him in to the police and even my closest friends would question my sanity. And in addition I was so ashamed that I couldn't stand the embarrassment.

Still I knew I had to talk to someone.

Work was agony. I had some meetings and sitting down was a nightmare. I was fidgeting and moving about all the time and had to compose myself and concentrate to be able to keep still. I wasn't very useful at the meeting.

One thing happened some time into one of the meetings. As I sat there struggling with my sore bottom I thought about the day before and at first I blushed with shame and embarrassment but there was also something else. I thought about my aching behind and how he had made it like that, how he had wanted it to be like this. He knew what he was doing. He knew today would be hard for me.

The strange thing was that instead of cursing him for his cruelty I felt a sparkle of joy in my heart, sensing his presence in the soreness, as if he was present, with me there in the meeting.

I felt a new kind of courage to endure the pain. I felt as if I should not try to avoid it. Instead I should endure and let it be. I relaxed, calmed down. The pain was still there but it had a purpose, it made me belong to him.

When I had dressed that morning I had chosen between two acceptable skirts. The one I had been wearing the night before and another one. Both were black and proper and suitable for my work but the second one was some inches shorter. Remembering his words about my clothes I took the second one.

Wearing a skirt without knickers made me feel naked and the shorter the skirt the more exposed I felt. Those few inches made me feel quite naked. It was still a very proper skirt and nothing would show even if I tried to pick something up from the floor but I was still fully aware of how naked I was underneath it.

However embarrassing it was, being with no knickers there was another sensation I couldn't deny. All kinds of nudity had double meanings for me. Mostly I was embarrassed, feeling exposed. I had always been like that. But there was also another sensation, something that was more private. Being exposed made me feel aroused too, being watched made it even clearer to me. Those sensations always went hand in hand, I was both embarrassed and aroused.

I wasn't terribly aroused, not mad with desire, that wouldn't have been me. It was more like a little tingling in me, a kind of thrill I got from undressing. I had felt it as a kid, although I hadn't connected it to anything sexual then, not knowing what sex was.

When I grew older and more aware of my body and the sexual tension between girls and boys, being naked or undressing became a source of both terrible embarrassment and a kind of private and very secret joy. At the beach, dressed in bikini I felt how I blushed if I thought someone was looking at me. The very thought of them seeing my body made me cringe with embarrassment but also feel that tingling in my body.

Going to my college with no knickers under my skirt brought those feelings back to me. I felt like a kid, doing something naughty and forbidden and I was genuinely embarrassed but there was also that sense of silent arousal.

The fact that I had not been allowed to touch myself for a long time made that sense of arousal to an agonising sensation. I felt how I desired to touch myself, to give me relief but I knew it was part of my punishment and however silly I felt, I wasn't prepared to disobey him.

I survived that day and I went home, stripped off and had my dinner standing in the kitchen. I was wondering about myself. A part of me shouted in my ear that I was going mad, I was accepting something that no woman should put up with, abuse and violence. But at the same time I was there, standing naked, following his orders meticulously.

Tuesday, 20 January 2009

Surrender, part 8

I am a very self critical person. I am also very selfish. I write because I enjoy it, I write because I need it. I blog because it has become a way for me to express myself and not be totally alone. I do it for me. I am utterly and completely selfish.

Having a blog that others read and being self critical is not easy. If I think that I could only blog what is good I would edit and edit and edit again and nothing would be published. I have to stick to the idea that I blog because I want to share what I have in my head.

To have readers means the world to me. It means that we share, at least you share my thoughts and you get the chance to share yours. Still I write for me, for my own very selfish reasons. Sharing is the reward, the blessing that comes with it.

I am saying this because I got a comment yesterday that infuriated me. An anonymous person wrote something that made me understand that they didn't like my blogpost. That is not the issue. No one has to like what I write. But what made me angry was a remark they made: ' though it's supposed to hold my interest'. This person didn't just tell me they thought my writing was bad in a quite rude way but they also implied that I was writing to satisfy them and thus had failed.

My stories are like my children. They are mine and they mean everything to me. But you don't have to like them. It hurts when someone says they are 'sleepy' but I am prepared for that. I take the risk and I welcome critique. It is I, after all, who put them out in the public domain so I am not expecting any mercy.

But I will defend them with everything I have got if anyone says they are failures. How can they be failures when success and failure are not issues on this blog? They are my stories and scribblings and they are what they are. They are not attempts to evoke this or that sensation in the reader. They are my thoughts.

Now to the story. I suppose some of you will be angry with me for cutting it where I did but I think smaller chunks are better. I will continue, soon.

'Do you know what I want?' he said.

'You want me to obey.'

'Yes, that is true.'

'You want a woman at your feet.'

'I want you at my feet.'

It seemed as if my heart beat an extra beat at his words. He wanted me back, he wanted me at his feet. I felt like two people sitting there, one was calm and collected, listening to the conversation, saying things, participating in a game that seemed both strange and absurd, the other was different, she was like a little girl, a young woman without sense or thought, staring in admiration at this man, much older and wiser than her, a man she found immensely attractive, unexplainable fascinating and overwhelmingly powerful and whose words she soaked up as a sponge and who could turn her head with a gesture of his hand.

'Are you ready to be punished?'


'That is not an answer to my question.'

'I am ready to be punished.'

In a flash I saw for my inner eye how he would have me lean over the table and spank me, there and then, in the café, with my skirt raised and my bottom on display.

'You know it will be harsh?'

'Yes, I know.'

'That spanking I gave you will seem like a caress.'

I shuddered.

'Do you know what a cane is?' he continued.

I nodded.

'Do you?'

'Yes, I do.'

'What is it, then?'

'Something you use to whip people with.'

'Yes, that is correct. And when we go back to my flat I will use the cane on your body, as a punishment.'

'Yes,' I said and looked down.

The thought of the punishment, the punishment I had known about for three weeks, had become very real in a sudden. Now I knew what it would mean.

I thought about the spanking he had given me. It had hurt but I wondered, in my heart, if not my pride had been more hurt than my body. It had been painful but when I thought about it I was more upset by the fact that he had spanked me than the smacks themselves. When I remembered them now they seemed to burn in my soul, burn of humiliation and shame.

The cane was something else. I had no real understanding of what it meant but I imagined it to be something brutal, something immensely cruel.

We didn't speak more at the café but rose and left. My legs were trembling as I walked by his side. I felt dizzy and weak and walked with a strange detached feeling. My heart was pounding as I went to my punishment as a sheep, a creature without a will of her own.

When he opened the door to his flat and I was ushered in I felt as if I was entering another world. I had been there before, I had even knelt naked in the hallway but now it felt like something else, something new and terrifying.

I looked around his living room and it seemed as I had never seen it before, never noticed the Persian rug, the comfortable sofa, the red armchairs. The oaken table seemed strange and unfamiliar with its six high backed wooden chairs. I saw it with new and different colours, as if it was newly decorated. Yet I knew I had seen it all before and admired it, thought that he had good taste and the money to indulge in it.

'Go and get the cane, it is on the sideboard.'

I turned and looked at the imposing armchairs and the little sideboard between them. I froze as I saw the cane.

I walked over and picked it up. It was a sturdy stick, hard as steel. I took it by its handle and walked back to him.

'Hold it for a while. This is the tool I will use on you for your punishment.'

I held the cane in my trembling hands. It felt like something living, like something evil, something that meant me harm, something I wasn't allowed to hold.

'Please, will you take it.' I said and held the dreaded thing out to him.

'Place it on the table!' He indicated the great dinner table.

'Do you know what you are doing here?'

'Please, will you just punish me?'

'Do you know what you are doing here?'

'I am here to be punished.'

'But do you really know why you are being punished?'

'Because I didn't obey you.'

'That is correct but do you know what it entails, letting me punish you?'

'You are taking me back?'

'Yes, but what does it mean to be back with me.'

'That I will have to obey you.'

'Is that what you want?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you want from me?'


'Answer the question!'

'I want you to love me.'

'Are you prepared to obey me then?'


'And be punished when you fail me?'


'You know that things have changed between us?'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Take your clothes off!'

Now it was for real. I didn't even hesitate. I moved my trembling hands to my shirt and started to unbutton it. I moved as in a dream.

He looked at me. He gave me no mercy. His gaze made me aware of my actions, made me know I was undressing in front of this man. I had done it before, mostly to be touched and loved but also to beg him to take me back.

Now I was burning with shame as I parted the panels of the shirt and let it slide from my shoulders. I held it in my hands and looked round for a place to put it. He pointed to one of the armchairs so I took a step towards it and placed my shirt on the armrest. I was wearing a simple cotton bra and I wondered if I should take that next or the skirt.

I had no knickers under the skirt so I decided to start with the bra. In my strange state of mind I was fully aware of how odd those thoughts were, that I should be preoccupied with the order I was undressing.

I unhooked the bra and let it slip from me. I placed it on the shirt and looked up. He was staring at me and I was overcome with a sudden flash of embarrassment and had to struggle back an impulse to cover my breasts.

I then unbuttoned my skirt and stepped out of it. I folded it, placed it on the rest of my clothes and subdued a desire to put a hand over my sex.

I had never undressed for a punishment before and the shame I felt at preparing myself for this utter degradation seemed to run through my body like a cold wave. I wanted to scream, to run, to turn and flee, to struggle with this man and overcome him.

I stepped out of my shoes and stood naked before him. He looked at me, let his gaze move up and down my body. He seemed to like what he saw but I didn't know if he found me attractive or if he just enjoyed my humiliation.

'Now, take the cane, hold it in your right hand, handle up and the rest of the cane pointing to the floor.'

I picked up the cane and held it as he had instructed.

'Now, stay there and wait for your punishment.'

I was bewildered. I wasn't to be caned at this moment. I had stripped naked and prepared to be punished and now I had to wait. I wanted to sit down and cry. This was too much, to horrible.

He didn't seem to care but turned and walked out into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging around with something while I stood there, naked, holding the cane trying to fight down my will to protest, to say how unfair this was.

I reasoned with myself and was baffled by my logic. I had, after all, accepted to be punished and if he wanted me to wait, I should wait. This part of my reasoning seemed to accept the absurdity of the situation without a second thought. Still, the calmer me, the rational me, saw how foolish I was, how stupid I was who stood there, to attention, naked, holding a cane in my hand, a cane that soon would be used on my body.

The familiarity of the sounds from the kitchen felt menacing in my predicament. I realised that the man was making tea. He used to take a cup of tea in the evening and I thought it was time for that now.

He came out from the kitchen with a tray. He set it down on the sideboard and sat down in the armchair, the one I hadn't put my clothes on.

I stood there as he had his tea. I stood in a way so I couldn't look straight at him. I cast a glance at him now and then and I saw that he looked at me. He looked pleased with himself. This made me feel intimidated. I wasn't just stupid and very naked, I was weak willed and had bowed to him without protest.

At last, he was done with his tea and I felt my heart start beating harder as he approached me.

'Please, give me the cane.'

I held it out to him and I felt relief as he took it from me.

'Now, will you take that chair and put it where you are standing now, the back facing away from me.'

The chair was heavy but I could still lift it without problem. I placed it as ordered and stood back.

He looked terrifying with the cane in his hand.

'You know that cane will hurt, it is a tremendous instrument, sharp and painful.'

I nodded feeling dizzy again.

'You see, I want it to hurt, it is a punishment and it is supposed to be painful.'

The calmness with which he spoke of caning me made me fear him more than ever before. I wondered what devil stood before me. I hated him in that moment. I dreaded him.

'Will you, please, kneel on the chair, with your back towards me.'

His calm voice was like an insult, like a burning slap on my face. He didn't have to kneel naked to be caned. He could just be there and whip me. It was easy for him, easy and unfair.

My body moved as if I was beyond thinking about the fairness of the situation. I didn't even hesitate but climbed the chair and knelt on it. The hard surface hurt my knees and it was not easy to find a position that wasn't unbearable.

'Stick your bottom out.'

I closed my eyes and held on to the back of the chair with my numb fingers. I took a deep breath and stuck my bottom out.

He placed the cane against my buttocks and I froze.

'This will hurt.'

I nodded.

'You see, I want it to hurt, I want you to suffer.'

I had to struggle to hold back my tears.

Monday, 19 January 2009

Spank Me!

I hope you have noticed there is a pattern. I try to post one instalment of the Surrender story every week and get another posting up too.

I have found that I am not a typical spanking story writer. I am obsesses, like most others, with the little details of such pursuits but I tend to focus a lot on the interaction and the hesitation and that sort of thing. I think perhaps that makes my stories a little too boring to be good spanking stories. But they are mine.

Anyway, here is another one, just like many other stories of mine, about people talking about it. It is just a dialogue and a rather silly one, really.

Anyway, I will be away from Wednesday so if I don't get a post up tomorrow it will have to wait until next week.

'Spank me!'


'I want you to spank me.'


'I need a punishment.'

'What have you done?'

'I don't know, been bad.'

'Bad, in what way?'

'Does it matter?'

'No, not really.'

'I think you should spank me.'

'As a punishment?'

'Yes, as a punishment.'

'But not for a specific crime?'

'No, just because I deserve a punishment. And want one.'

'Do you want to be punished?'


'And that punishment would be a spanking?'

'Or two, or three.'

'What kind of spanking?'

'I shouldn't really decide my punishment.'

'Of course not, I'll be the judge of that.'

'That is good, I shouldn't decide such things.'

'But you must have an idea of what kind of spanking is appropriate.'




'I know you have a lot of ideas. Won't you set me on the right track?'

'I could do that.'

'Please, enlighten me!'

'You could spank me on the bottom.'

'That is where you imagine it would happen.'

'You could start by smacking my bottom for a while.'

'Sounds reasonable.'

'You could use your hand. And I could lie in your lap.'

'I understand.'

'But I don't think it is proper if I just lie down in your lap and get a spanking.'


'No, I think you should make sure I feel the spanking.'


'I think you should make sure that there is nothing to lessen the impact of your hand against my bottom.'

'How would that be achieved?'

'I think you should bare my bottom, lift my skirt and take down my knickers.'

'So that there are no clothes in the way?'

'Yes, so there is only naked skin that is spanked.'

'It must hurt more then.'

'Yes, it must.'

'Or you could bare it.'

'That is another idea. If you want me to prepare myself for my punishment.'


'It would be a way for me to show that I submit myself to my punishment.'

'Yes, that you accept that you are going to be spanked.'

'I think that is a good idea.'

'But it must hurt.'

'Yes, it will hurt. It is a punishment after all.'

'Yes, you are right, it is supposed to hurt.'

'And when you have spanked me for a while, perhaps your hand my be a little sore.'

'Not as sore as your bottom.'

'No, of course not. But it may still be uncomfortable.'

'I suppose it may.'

'Then you could use something to spank me with.'

'To avoid getting a sore hand?'

'Yes, that is not a good idea, that you should suffer.'

'No, I suppose not, it is you who should suffer.'

'So, you could use something. Or you could take it from the start, if you want.'

'Yes, I know. It is I who will decide.'

'It is your decision.'

'What kind of thing could I take?'

'You could use my hairbrush.'

'The dark brown, wooden one?'

'Yes, that one.'

'It is very heavy.'

'Yes, isn't that a good thing?'

'If you want it to hurt.'

'Don't you want it to hurt?'

'I don't know, I suppose I do, it is supposed to be painful for you, your punishment, right?'

'Yes, so the hairbrush is good, it is heavy and will hurt but it won't make your hand sore.'

'No, that is true.'

'So you can continue for a long time.'

'So that the spanking is very painful?'

'Yes, so that the spanking is very painful.'

'I suppose that is the very idea of a spanking.'

'Or you could take my bath brush, or a ruler.'

'Oh, the bath brush, that one looks mean.'

'Yes, it would make an impression.'

'I am sure of it.'

'But maybe I can't lie in your lap if you choose the bath brush. You need more space for the swing. I could always kneel on a chair or lie across the armrest of the sofa.'

'Isn't that very brutal?'

'I am being punished after all.'

'Yes, you are right.'

'You could start with having me in your lap, smacking my bottom, my bared bottom, of course.'

'Of course.'

'And then, when you think that my bottom has the right colour.'

'Right colour?'

'Yes, it will turn pink and perhaps a little red, if you smack hard enough and long enough.'

'Yes, of course, didn't think of that.'

'When it has the right colour, you may decide that it is time for the severe part of my punishment.'

'So smacking your bottom with the hairbrush or my hand is just preparation.'

'It could be.'

'Yes, of course, if I decide you need a more severe punishment.'

'Yes, if you think I am not punished enough, you could order me to place myself over the armrest, or kneeling on the chair, or leaned over the piano stool. One variety is to put some pillows on the bed and place me on them, so my bottom sticks up.'

'Makes it easier to hit it.'

'Yes, that is the very idea of it.'

'And I could use the bath brush, the harsh one, or a ruler.'

'The ruler is short, perhaps better for the lap.'

'Yes, of course.'

'But you could use the bath brush, or a belt.'

'A belt?'

'Yes, a belt to whip me with.'

'On your bottom?'

'Yes, my bottom.'

'Will it still be, you know, bared?'

'That is your decision but it seems pointless to choose a more severe tool if you are going to be lenient with me.'

'So I would use it on your bare skin.'


'To get the maximum effect?'

'Yes, to get the maximum effect.'

'With a belt?'

'If you choose.'

'Sounds harsh.'

'Depends on which belt you choose.'

'Of course.'

'I've got a broad and heavy belt that you could use. It will pack a punch.'

'And be quite painful.'

'Yes, if that is what you want.'

'Is that what you want?'

'It is what I deserve.'

'What you deserve?'

'Or need.'

'Or want?'

'Yes, what I want.'

'So I whip you with the belt.'

'Or any other implement.'

'Bath brush for example.'

'Yes, but there are many more you could use.'

'Like what?'

'I have a wooden fish slice and a wooden spoon. And if you think I should suffer you could always use my old horsewhip.'



'Like a riding crop?'


'But they are for horses.'

'They can be used on women too.'

'But they are made to sting through a horse's hide. That is much thicker. Your bottom is nothing compared to that.'

'No, I know.'

'It must hurt like hell.'


'You still think it is a good implement.'

'It is a punishment.'

'It is supposed to hurt?'

'Yes, that is the general idea.'

'And on the bare skin.'

'Yes, I think that is right.'

'But painful.'

'There are other advantages with baring me before spanking me.'

'Such as?'

'It makes me feel vulnerable.'

'Is that good?'

'Yes, it could be, I feel vulnerable and exposed to my punishment.'

'It will make it worse for you?'


'And that is a good thing, because it is a punishment, right?'


'And I may want to be harsh.'

'Yes, if you want to be harsh, baring me is good. I will feel ashamed and embarrassed too.'

'When baring yourself for the punishment?'

'Yes, exposing my body like that.'

'And it will add to the discomfort?'

'Yes, it will.'

'And that is a good thing.'

'If you want it to be worse for me.'

'Which I may want to, which you may want to.'

'I think I need a punishment.'

'And want it?'

'Yes, and want it.'

'So the baring is part of it, heightens the sense of being punished?'

'Yes, you can even go a step further. You could always demand that I take all my clothes off.'

'Why? There is no need for that.'

'No, no need, other than it would make me feel even more humiliated.'

'More exposed to your punishment?'

'Yes, more exposed.'

'I do like to watch you naked.'

'I know.'

'Does that make you embarrassed?'

'It does.'

'So that would work in the same direction as everything else?'

'Yes, but I like it too.'

You should.'

'Should I?'

'Yes, I think you are beautiful.'

'I don't feel beautiful.'

'What do you feel then.'

'I'd rather not say.'

'Tell me!'

'I feel sexy.'

'That is good.'

'In a way.'

'So, if I would demand that you should strip off all your clothes in order to receive your punishment, you will not only be embarrassed but also like it, a little?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'May I ask you something?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Will you feel sexy being spanked too?'

'I...I believe I will.'

'Even if it is very painful.'

'I think there will be a little of that. I believe it will be even more then.'

'Are you sure about this?'

'No, this is how I think about it.'

'So you don't really know.'

'No, I don't really know.'

'But you still think you need a punishment?'

'Yes, I think so, very much.'

'A really harsh one?'

'Yes, a really, really harsh one.'

'If it is too harsh?'

'I will find out.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I am sure.'

'I don't know.'

'You must know what you think.'

'I think I do.'

'Will you punish me?'

'I will. I think I want that very much.'

Tuesday, 13 January 2009

Surrender, part 7

You will have to keep track of which story you read now. This is the seventh instalment of the Surrender story. I feel I should say something but I won't. The story speaks for itself, I hope.

What had I done? What had I started? This was utter madness. My whole head rang with warning bells, telling me what a fool I was and how I had humiliated myself. My whole rational being cried out in anger at my utter stupidity and how I had degraded myself because of a man.

I cringed at the memory of walking through town dressed in a short dress, only. I blushed and shook my head when I thought of how I had stripped off in the stairwell, how I had knelt and begged him to take me back. I was ashamed of myself.

Yet I sat there in my kitchen having breakfast, naked. I had not worn any clothes since I stepped into my flat. And now I sat here, obedient, doing as I was told. And the worst was that I liked it. I was ashamed but I wanted it.

When I dressed for work, I put on a skirt but I didn't take any knickers. I blushed as I stepped out into the sun and walked to the university naked underneath my skirt. And I was happy. That was the thing I couldn't explain.

In the common room I was aware how naked I was under the skirt. It was fairly short and it rode up my thighs. I crossed my legs and remember after a while that I was not allowed to do that.

My reaction was strange. I blushed violently and uncrossed my legs. I looked around as if anyone had seen me break this rule, as if they would know it was a rule. I struggled with guilt and wondered if I would tell him I hadn't been completely obedient. I knew, somehow, that I would tell him, tell him and take the consequences.

When I got home I was in a strange mood. I felt elated and my heart was beating lightly in my breast. I felt my cheeks flash. I was a mix of feelings. I felt guilty for crossing my legs and stupid for wanting to obey his rules. I was scared of being punished and wanted it to be over and done with. I was happy for being taken back and intimidated by his demands.

And I was aroused. I was terribly aroused. That was worse than anything. I knew I wouldn't disobey that rule. That insight made me tremble and wonder what had become of me.

I disrobed when I entered the flat and I felt silly. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a naked women, plain and nothing at all, naked and ordinary. Still I felt good for doing as I was told.

I shook my head at this, how my mind had changed, how my mind had accepted the idea of a man deciding those things. It wasn't right. I knew that. It was wrong in all possible ways and yet I did it, yet I obeyed.

He didn't call to let me know when I was to be punished. I walked in my flat like a caged animal, worrying about what lay in store for me.

He didn't call for many days and my evenings were spent in waiting. I sat naked in my flat, watching stupid quiz shows and American sitcoms. I sat naked in my sofa or at my kitchen table. I tried to read. I tried to avoid touching myself but the mere thought made me terribly and achingly aroused.

I became anxious and annoyed, frustrated and angry. I told myself, time and again how stupid I was, how I should just dress and stop being such a meek and weak person. How I should stop humiliating myself and become a grown up, a responsible person again.

Still I never dressed, still I never touched myself. I didn't cross my legs and I didn't wear knickers, my skirts were short enough and I did nothing but wait.

When he finally phoned, on the Tuesday of the third week I wasn't even glad to hear from him. I was so frustrated that I almost started to cry but I was also too angry to let him notice it.

He told me to come to his flat, Thursday evening. He didn't specify a time and he didn't say anything about dress.

I was frustrated I still had to wait two days but now I knew the wait was soon to be over. I was happy for that, happy and angry.

I had dressed in a white shirt and a black skirt, no stocking, no knickers and simple black flats when I went to him. The skirt was very modest, quite short, a palm's width above the knee.

Butterflies were fluttering wildly in my belly as I waited for him to open the door. I was nervous, I was scared, I was angry and frustrated.

Something happened to me when he opened the door. He didn't smile but I saw he was pleased to see me. His face made my mood change in an instant. It was as if I had been struck by lightning.

I looked at him and I knew I wanted to be where I was, at his door, hoping to be let in. My anger vanished, my frustration seemed to change. Still with me was my fear and my anxiety but something else struggled for a place in my heart. I can't put a name to the warmth that seemed to grip my heart, run through my body and make my cheeks flush but it overcame me and I felt suddenly weak and helpless as a child.

He admitted me and I entered his flat. I stood in the hallway waiting for instructions, waiting for him to take command. I felt that things between us would never be the same again, the premises had changed. This was uncharted land and it scared me no end. Still I was there, not running from it.

He told me we were going to Carfax café, the place we so often had visited. I was a little surprised. I had braced myself for a punishment and I knew that it may mean pain.

We went to the café like any other couple and sat down at a table. He had his espresso and I had my tea. We didn't speak. We had sat like this so many times before, with our coffee and tea. Many times we had laughed and debated, argued and talked. Now we were silent.

I wasn't just the young professional out on a date, I was someone else. I didn't know who I was but I knew he had said I was to be punished. The humiliation of the mere thought of a punishment traversed my body and I blushed.

'You know why you have come to me,' he said.

'Yes,' I replied, my voice weak.

'Tell me, then!'

'Not here, people may overhear us.'

'Tell me!' He stared at me.

I had gone through this so many times in my head. I knew he would take command, I knew he would demand things of me, I knew it would be hard. Still I felt awkward, unprepared, unwilling to comply. I looked at him and knew I had to tell him, had to obey.

'I have come to be punished,' my voice a mere whisper.

'Why are you being punished?'

I looked at him in a sudden flash of anger and embarrassment.

'I am being punished for not obeying you.'

He looked me over, his eyes still dark. He was still the stern headmaster.

'Do you want to be punished?'

The question hit me like a punch in the stomach. Did he want me to say I wanted to be punished? I didn't want to be punished. I was prepared to be punished. There was a universe of difference between them.

'I am prepared to be punished.'

'But do you want to be punished?'

'If it means you will take me back.'

'It is a means to an end?'



'Do you know the end to those means?' he continued.

'I am not sure. That you will take me back?'

'Do you know what it means to be back with me?'

'No,' I said and I felt how I almost started to cry, the tension overwhelming me.

'What do you want?'

'I just, I just want you to love me.'

I felt suddenly completely deflated, exhausted and very, very tired.

'Have you done as you were told?'


'Have you only worn skirts?'


'Have you been wearing knickers?'

'Please, keep your voice down!'

'Have you?'


'No, what?'

'I have not been wearing knickers.'

'Have you been naked in your flat?'

'Yes, always.'

'Have you touched your sex?'

'No,' I tried to whisper.

'And your skirts?'

'They have been above the knees.'

'I am disappointed.'

'Why?' I felt my heart starting to beat violently.

'That skirt.'

'It is above the knee.'

'Yes, indeed, but I would have assumed you knew why I wanted you to wear short skirts.'

'To make me feel exposed.'

'Right, and yet you choose the longest, least exposing skirt that are still true to the letter of my demand.'

I sat in silence. He was right and I felt the rage of being proven wrong live in my breast. He was right, I had chosen a skirt that was the most covering I could think of but still according to his orders.

'I felt exposed.'

'I wanted you to feel exposed.'

'Yes, I understand.'

'Yet you choose that one.'

'I am sorry.'