Friday, 28 January 2011

Going Out

A story is just a story and I should not be so embarrassed about it. Right? Well, I am. Can't help it.

'You need to be punished,' he said smiling at me.

I stood in the hallway, looking up into his face, newly kissed, still held in his arms.

'Have I done something bad?' I purred.

'You need to know your place,' he said, 'I am not sure you do.'

'What is my place, then?' I asked.

'Somewhere here,' he said, and smiled, this time a wicked smile, 'or down there.' He pointed to the floor.

I looked at him for a while, trying to understand what he was thinking. Then, out of nowhere, I sank to my knees. I slipped out of his grip and knelt before him, close to him.

I looked up at him, my face at the level of his crotch.


I sank down on the floor, leaned forward and touched my forehead to the floor, in between his feet, my hands still grasping his ankles.

'Or here?'

He knelt before me. He took my chin in his hand and lifted my head until I was looking into his eyes.

'I like this, I like you down here. But you still need to be punished.'

He leaned forward and I felt his hand grip the fabric of my dress and pull it up, over my bottom.

'You will still have to be punished. And you know how you punish a woman, don't you?'

'No, I don't. How do you punish a woman?'

'I am sure you know.'

'No, you will have to tell me.'

'Stand on your knees.'

He pulled at my skirt and I raised my body and stood straight, still kneeling. He held my skirt up, above my waist. He crumbled it in his hand and pressed it to my belly. I understood and took hold of it, holding it up.

He reached out his hands and put them on my hips. He caressed them slowly, holding my gaze fast.

'I am sure you know what is good for a woman. If she needs to be punished.'

'No, I don't.'

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my knickers and with a swift tug pulled them down, down to my knees.

He took a firm grip on my buttock, his fingers digging into my flesh.

'You know, don't you?'

'I think I know,' said, and heard how I gasped.

'What is it then?'

'You want to hear me say it.'

'Yes, I want to hear you say it.'

'A spanking.'

'Say it properly.'

'How is properly?'

'What a woman needs when she is to be punished is a spanking.'

'Do you want me to be in earnest?'

'Just say it. And mean it.'

'What a woman needs when she is to be a spanking.'

'A good spanking.'

'To make me know my place?'

'To make you know your place. Come.'

He rose to his feet and took my hand, the one not holding my crumbled skirt against my belly. He rose me to my feet and led me into the living room.

I hadn't dropped my skirt and I hadn't pulled my knickers up. I stood in the centre of the dimly lit room. He took a heavy high backed chair that stood by the big old table and turned it around. He stood by the chair, his hand on its back and looked at me.

He seemed to scrutinise me, wonder about me, wonder what I would do, what would happen. I still stood before him, exposed as if he had ordered me to stay like that. It was unbearable to see him just look at me.

I saw at his crotch that punishing me was something that had awakening his desire. I didn't want him to spank me. I wanted him to do other things to me.

He took my hand and led me to the chair while he sat down on it. I knew what was expected of me and I submitted to him and placed my body across his knee, sensing his arousal as I lowered myself in place.

He placed his hand on my bottom. It was a mocking gesture, a false sweetness from the hand that soon would deal out pain. He seemed to hesitate.

'This, my love, is your place.'

He lifted his hand and the world seemed to be still. Then he smacked me. More than anything, I was surprised by the sheer force of it. He had let it descend on my naked skin with brutal force and my body seemed to explode from the sudden pain.

He smacked me again. My body rocked forward and my mind was overcome with panic, the fear that this was too much, that this was something I couldn't cope with.

He smacked me again.

'I am not sure...' I gasped, 'please.'

'Listen to me,' he said, his voice strained, 'I want it to hurt, I want it to be terrible, do you understand?'

'Yes,' I whimpered.

'You will be punished. I will give you time to take it, but there is no getting away from it, do you understand?'


He smacked me again. I had to take it. The pain surged through me and I squirmed and whimpered but I had to take it, smack after smack.

He took his time, let me take a deep breath between smacks, but he didn't let up. He continued spanking me for a long time, smack after painful smack landing on my bottom.

This was what he wanted to do to me, this was what he wanted. He wanted it to hurt and it hurt. He chose this spanking for me and I took it. I took every blow of it.

When he was done, I heard him breathe heavily. I didn't know he was done, I was still waiting and wondering if he would give me more pain, if he would punish me more.

I felt his body under mine and I felt his arousal through the fabric of his trousers. I was aware of every detail, every sensation in my body. My bottom was warm and throbbing and tender as he placed his hand on it.

He gently began to caress my bottom, taking it into possession, gripping my buttocks. It was as if he wanted to tell me that my bottom was his, belonged to him and that he could do whatever he wanted with it.

My body was his. I wanted nothing else than to feel him touch and fondle my body. I belonged to him. He had punished me and I wanted it to be like this, like it was.

I held my breath, surprised when his fingers slipped in between my buttocks, into me. The sudden intrusion was intimidating in its intimacy. When I had thought that my body belonged to him, it seemed as if he wanted to prove it by invading it.

His fingers burned inside me as he slowly moved them, let them snake inside me, touching and arousing me.

'Do you like being punished?' he said, his voice low, smooth.

'No,' I gasped.

'It is good if it is true. A punishment should be bad. I want it to be bad. I want you to suffer.'

'It hurt.'

'But I think you are a liar. I think you liked it. I think you should be punished for lying to me.'

'More spankings?'

'No, not at the moment. I want your service. Stand up.'

I scrambled to my feet and felt how my body was trembling and how strange it was to become an independent person again, not a being attached to another, being touched and spanked.

'Take those knickers off.'

My knickers were still around my knees. The dress was tight and clung to my body and although the skirt had fallen down a little it barely covered me.

I slipped my knickers down and took them off.

'Give them here.'

I gave him my knickers. Seeing my underwear being held in his hand was strangely intimidating. It was as if some private and embarrassing part of me, of what my body was, had been exposed and held out for scrutiny.

He put them in his pocket.

'Take the dress off.'

I pulled it over my head and held it in my hand. I was naked.

'On the floor,' he said and I dropped the dress on the floor by my feet.

'On your knees.'

I sank to my knees.

'You may lie all you like about enjoying your punishment, I am completely honest when I tell you I like it. Come here.'

I moved closer to him, on my knees. When I approached him, he suddenly spread his legs.

'Maybe you should not think of this as a punishment. Maybe it is better that you think of this as your place, your proper place. When you think of your place, keep this image in your mind, you naked, kneeling between my legs. This is your proper place. Your punishment for lying will come later. There is plenty of time for that.'

He reached out his hand and placed it on my breast. He caressed it for a while, then began to knead it, then he gripped it. He moved from gentle to brutal, as if he wanted to show he could do this, that he had the right to touch me and grope me.

Then he let his hand slip down from my breast and down over my belly. This time he caressed my skin, let his palm and fingers glide over it, touching, arousing it.

I shivered and gasped as he let his hand continue down, over my belly, down over my lower belly, then, inevitable, as it seemed, in between my legs.

'No, you can't come. This moment is not for you. It is for me, only me.'

He sat back and regarded me.

'I want your service, your lip service.' He smiled at his own joke.

I slowly unzipped him. He drew his breath as my fingers dug into the opening, trying to reach for his sex. I moved with gentleness, not wishing to hurt him, not wanting to cause him any discomfort.

He gasped as his warrior was let out, as it sprung to attention. It was a beautiful thing. I looked at it and was torn between a sense that I was embarrassing him by exposing his sex and a strange desire to touch and to come close to it.

I heard him moan and I felt him react as my lips finally made contact. He leaned back and breathed heavily as my mouth touched his sex, as my lips caressed him.

Although every kiss, every touch, just put fuel on the fire inside me, I was overcome by a powerful urge to please him, to satisfy this man.

I did satisfy him, I did what he wanted and needed. I was not shy, I was bold as I pleased him.

I sat back on my heels, my back straight, my bosom a little forward, my head bowed, hands on my thighs. He was reclining, moving awkwardly, as if he finally remembered that he was sitting on a hard wooden chair.

His dress was back in order. He was again properly dressed. I was still naked, still waiting.

He leaned forward and took my chin in his hand, tilting my head up, looking into my eyes.

'Your punishment will have to wait.'

'Yes,' I said.

'I love you,' he said.

'Thank you.'

'Now, dress, we have a table booked for dinner. I am hungry.'

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Blogging Again?

Long time no see, as they say. My only excuse for not blogging is that sometimes life goes through periods when your mind is occupied with things that make you think that blogging is not the most important thing. I know this is a little dismissive, as if I didn't think blogging was important, or that you, Dear Readers, weren't important. For whatever it is worth, I can tell you that starting blogging has been one of the most important things in my life and that it has helped me a lot with a lot of issues. So I hope you will forgive me for being absent for such a long time and don't feel too dismissed by my arrogance.

If you excuse me some more I am going to be a little academic. I am fascinated by those details in fantasies that seems so important, the ones you focus your mind on. I am sure you have the same. It struck me that they seem crucial and meaningful and that if you focus on them you will understand why they are so prominent.

I even came up with a fancy name for these fantasy elements. I thought they could be called fantasemes, in the same vein as mytheme and that sort of thing. Although I find it useful to think of it as an important element that tend to be similar in different settings, I couldn't think of a definition that was scholarly enough and it all seems to descend into some kind of pseudo academic chaos.

So, let's skip the silliness and focus on what I am talking about. What I mean are those details that you really like, perhaps triggers you, or at least seem crucial in a fantasy. They may be simple things or quite elaborate series of events and only you, yourself, know what they are.

One such detail in my world of fantasies is the taking off of knickers and pulling up of skirts and sitting on chairs and seats. It is shamelessly taken from The Story of O, but that is not a problem, we are inspired all the time by things we see and hear. The important thing is that it triggers something in us, and that we pick up on a detail. This 'fantaseme' of mine occurs in many different settings, it can happen on a bench in a part, on the bus, but most often it happens between a man and a woman seated in a restaurant. He tells her to take her knickers off, pull her skirt up and she does it, trying to cover it up as much as possible. It is this combination of being exposed and touching the world, and at the same time trying to act normally. She knows it, he knows it, and, hopefully, no one else knows is. It is often a symbol of giving yourself to someone, the fact that she does what she is told. It seldom happens if she is already submitted to him, but as a provocation from him, one she accepts and submits to.

Another such detail or 'fantaseme' in my world of fantasies, could be the sliding of knickers down from your hips. I often delve on the details here, the sensation of clothes touching the skin, moving down and away from the body, the baring, the crossing over a boundary, going from clothed to nude. In addition it is important when the knickers slip from your feet. It seems to be another crossing over. Before that you can always pull them up, but by removing them they become unreachable. You seem to accept being bared, being naked. There are some additional details that seem to crop up. If this is done in a semi public place, as a part of the 'fantaseme' above, the knickers can be given to the other person who then, perhaps, takes them and puts them in his pocket or even throws them in a rubbish bin. This is a powerful symbol. It is discarding of clothes, showing that they are not going to be put on again, they are irrelevant and useless, what is required of you is being naked.

I could go on and on and I could also become really, really boring. But I find it interesting to think about those details, those 'fantasemes' and wonder what they say about the fantasy, what they mean and why they are so powerful. I wouldn't mind getting a reaction. Do you have those details? Do you know what they mean? Do you even think of them as important details?