Four Years and the Perils of Cold Weather

Today it is four years since I posted my first post on this blog. I just wanted to let you know and say that I am, after all that has happened, quite proud. I know it is slower now, but that doesn't mean I will close the blog.

I thought I should address another issue, while I am here. I have thought a lot about why I chose the picture for the last blogpost. Why did I take a picture of a naked woman in snow? The truth is that I have a thing about snow and cold weather.

Don't get me wrong. I don't like it. Snow can be beautiful and fun, but I don't enjoy freezing and being miserable in cold weather. What is it that attracts, then? I don't really know. But there is something fascinating about being forced into the cold, and especially when you are exposed and vulnerable. Being forced to pull down knickers in the outdoors and get a spanking, or being stripped naked and bound and marched in weather you would need a good jacket to endure, are things that crops up in my fantasies and stories.

There is something about the utter unpleasantness of it. If you walk out into the cold autumn and you feel the wind through your jacket and sweaters, it is a strange and terrifying, but yet exciting, thought that it would be so much worse to naked in that weather.

Maybe it is one of those things that you know you would survive, at least for some time, but that would be terribly unpleasant. And thus something that could be done to you, if someone had the power to punish you. Maybe it is the utter vulnerability, the sense of being outdoors, being exposed and unprotected. I don't really know.

I have had a hard time explaining this to myself. A lot of other things may be traced back to something pleasurable. Spanking includes intimacy, and there is a clear connection between pleasure and pain that gets exciting when you think about someone controlling that for you. All this about being bound and enslaved is not that strange to understand, after all (well I have been fretting about it on the blog, but I do see the logic in it). Being looked at, and being looked at without clothes, is something nice, at least if you are desired. And being a slave holds a lot of promises of pleasures, and without the burden of responsibility.

But being cold? Being marched naked into the snow? There are few things that are so utterly unarousing (new word) than freezing. It must have something to do with the utter helplessness and vulnerability.

I remember watching some film clip on the Web where some woman who was quite tied up and gagged and very naked was taken out into the snow and even pelted with snowballs. I remember feeling shocked at the sheer meanness of it all. But, then, there was this strange excitement. And when I had seen it I began to include it in my fantasies and I began to let it happen to me (in my mind, of course). I guess, though, that it ties in with older fantasies about being outdoors and risking being seen or, actually, being seen.

Never mind, I just wanted to write about this and welcome any input from you, Dear Readers.

Another Strange Dream

I have to say that you are a very encouraging lot. Thank you for all the support. You are, really, the best. What can I do in return? Publish the things I write, strange and weird. Here is a story (note my choice of words, here). Be kind to yourselves.

'It is strange how you dream.'

'Well, yeah, that's true.'

'Sometimes you don't know where your mind wanders in the night, or why.'

'I gather you have had some weird dream.'

'Very weird.'

'Won't you tell me?'

'Something tells me I shouldn't.'

'But some other part says you should?'

'Yes, I did mention it, didn't I?'

'You did.'

'It was terrible.'

'What happened?'

'I was in this city and it was dark. Or maybe I just saw it. Anyway, I had this sense of danger or like if there was a disaster happening. Perhaps it was war and the city was being sacked. There were fires and light so I could see quite clearly.'

'Light and dark, dreams are strange.'

'Well, this was more or less a sensation, a mood, or something, or a part of the dream that I have forgot. I remember the rest much better. I am not sure it was me or if I just saw her, but there was this girl, not like a young girl, more like a young woman. She was slender and thin and very fair, almost pale. I think it was me, or I became her, later. I don't remember. There was a crowd gathered and they stood around her...or me. She was being held by these men. And they were like black clad, in leather jackets and boots and that sort of thing. They didn't look like soldiers but somehow I knew that it was they who were sacking the city or whatever it was that was happening. In front of her was this man, also dressed in black, he was quite young, had long dark hair, looked like a rocker or goth or whatever it is called.'

'Emo?'

'Whatever! He looked at the girl, woman, and had this terrible grin on his face and in some way I knew she was the enemy, a spoil from the plunder or had done something terrible according to the man in black. He made this sign with his hand, quite elaborate and strange and although I can almost see it before me, still, I can't tell you what he did.'

'Dreams!'

'The men holding her grinned in response and began tugging at her clothes. She was dressed in red shorts and a striped tank top. When I think of it now, this is weird, the modern clothes. I got the impression that it was some ancient city being conquered but the clothes were modern. Anyway, they tugged at her clothes and made clear they wanted her to take them off. She looked around and saw that there was no escape, then I slipped my top off. They all looked at me. The leader, the man in black, made another sign and I was dragged backwards and thrown on the ground, on my back. There was this wooden beam I was held down onto and my hands were pulled out. And then, this is really horrible, they brought big nails, like those you see in museums, that are made by hand, by some smith. Then they nailed her arms to the wood, like if she was being crucified. I remember seeing her bend her back, in agony. But it didn't hurt.'

'It didn't?'

'No, I remember no pain, but it was horrible, all the same, like some kind of terrible fear or anxiety cutting through my body. The worst thing was that she was beautiful, in a way, something about her arching body, her outstretched arms and her agony was weirdly beautiful...beautiful but terrible.'

'Sounds grim.'

'Grim is the word, it was like some dark horror painting, with me in the middle of the darkness, all pale and white and being nailed to the crossbar of a cross. The beam was lifted and I was pulled backwards to some great pole or pillar, the cross. There was a strange silence in the crowd but I had this sense of animals, of predators licking their lips, eager to watch, but also full of pity and anger.'

'Pity?'

'Yes, some kind of pity, that kind of pity that almost enjoys it.'

'Glee?'

'Perhaps, I don't know. Then came the harsh bit. I had to be lifted and they had ropes and ladders and it was a lot of people around me. And when the girl was hoisted in the air, she cried out. There was a bit of panic, as if she couldn't believe she would be able to hang from her arms, her nailed wrists. Still there were no pain, no proper pain.'

'Haven't thought of it, maybe it doesn't happen in dreams?'

'What doesn't happen?'

'Real pain.'

'Perhaps. She was lifted and she was hanging from her arms. The crowd didn't cheer, but there was this sense of a wave going through it, a kind of awe or fascination, as they saw her breast heave in agony. Then I was hanging there, overlooking the crowd and I remember looking down on my body, thinking of those red shorts. Remember, I was dressed only in those shorts and they were quite small, not extremely small but I felt them to be tiny. For some reason, that seemed to be more on my mind than having my wrists penetrated by nails, that I was almost naked, that everyone could now look at me, on display, so to speak.'

'Stranger things happen in dreams.'

'They do. There was this weird sensation in me, as if this terror, this agony, this horrible thing happening to me, was, somehow, also satisfying. Maybe satisfying is the wrong word, maybe it touched something in me, that wasn't just horrible, something that, somehow liked it.'

'You weren't crucified for real, dreams are symbolic.'

'I know, but it didn't feel symbolic while I was there. But as I was hanging there, feeling looked at, ogled and exposed to this horror, I thought how utterly helpless I was. If someone wanted to do something to me, I could no longer defend myself. I hadn't thought that thought to the end before the guards came up to me and reached out for me. I was suddenly terribly scared they would take my shorts. This was something I really didn't want to happen. They reached for me and unbuttoned the shorts and I remember sighing in frustration. The crowd was silent, as if it was holding its breath. Then the guards yanked my shorts down from my hips and there was a giant sigh and I whimpered. Strange thing, that I heard myself whimper! Or maybe it was me hearing the girl whimper, I don't know? Anyway, shorts were removed and she was naked, I was naked. And somehow this seemed to be the worst humiliation of them all, that I was denied the last item of clothing. And yet, there was a kind of surge in me, as if I found this exciting, arousing or something.'

'Not so strange.'

'I think it is strange.'

'Naked on a cross, in a symbolic way, it can be sexual.'

'I suppose. Then they nailed my feet to the cross and I could see in the body of the girl, that it hurt. Then something happened that was like in a film. The sound seemed to disappear and I began to see the cross from a distance. I clearly saw the naked girl on the cross, the girl who was, or had been, me. And there was like a circle around her, a circle of black clad people, with torches and banners and then I think I woke up.'

'Some dream.'

'Why do I dream such things? Why does it happen like that?'

'Why should you worry? You weren't crucified for real, it was a dream, it didn't happen and it was just an image.'

'It was scary.'

'And nice.'

'Scary and nice, yeah.'

Dark Side of the Loon

I though I was immensely clever when I came up with that title but googling it returns 672 hits so I wasn't the first. My reason to choose that title was that I am about to post a story, I wrote some time ago (perhaps you can tell), that is towards the darker side.

Sometimes an image in your head gets stuck and it is not always this image is a nice one. Sometimes it is cruel or brutal. One way to get rid of it, of course, is to write a story about it. This is what I did. I, kind of, like this story, despite the theme.

I have to say that there is no blood and notice subtle details such as 'flat nosed' that make it just a tad less horrible than perhaps it could have been. It still makes me cringe so I don't expect you to enjoy it, but here it is.

And for those of you who try to figure out the scene, I just want to remind you that in the world outside the Commonwealth you mostly drive on the right side while we drive on the correct side (chuckles a little at her own joke, that she, of course, has stolen).

He drove her to a secluded spot where they could be alone. They sat in his car overlooking the glimmering lights of the night city. He looked at her and she looked back but lowered her gaze almost as if she was shy. He smiled.

'You are beautiful,' he said.

'Thank you,' she said and blushed.

He looked out of the window and they sat in silence for a while. It was not an awkward silence but a moment of anticipation, a short wait before the real thing would start, a time for taking a deep breath before plunging into the water.

He turned to her and regarded her. She was dressed in a short, tight fitting black dress that seemed even shorter than it was as she sat beside him. He looked at her bare legs.

'Take off your knickers, now!' he said with a soft voice.

The young woman blushed and nodded. She seemed agitated and he could see that she was trembling a little in the dark. She had to pull up her skirt to get hold of her knickers. Her movements were a bit awkward in the confined space. Soon she slid her knickers down her legs and took them off. She gave them to him. They were black and tiny and plain. He took them, looked at them and put them in his pocket.

'Pull up your skirt!' he continued with the same soft voice.

She complied but not without a slight moment of hesitation. He saw that and smiled. He watched her slide the skirt up and regarded her naked skin that became exposed with her movements.

She blushed as she felt the fabric of the seat against her buttocks. She looked down and rested her hands in her lap in a very innocent pose. His eyes glimmered in the dark as he looked at her.

A moment of stillness and silence followed. The man gazed at the woman and she looked down. He smiled and she looked serious. After a while she turned to him with a quick smile, a fleeting moment of connection before she turned away again.

He moved. He reached for the glove compartment and opened it. Her eyes followed his every movement with anticipation. She gasped as he took out a pair of pliers. Her eyes moved rapidly in bewilderment. She didn't know what the pliers meant but she felt a sting of fear as she understood that they had something to do with her.

He held out the pliers and smiled at her. She looked up and he could see fear in her eyes. She looked vulnerable with that expression on her face, vulnerable and to him utterly desirable.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was a soft, quick kiss, a kiss of comfort for her. She relished the kiss but had no time to reply to it. He leaned back, put the pliers on the dash board and turned to her.

He reached for her with his right hand. Without hesitation he put his hand down between her thighs. She spread her legs quickly to give him space. She moved as if it was a reflex.

She held her breath as his fingers entered her. They felt cold against her sensitive skin. They were intrusive and demanding as he groped her. She couldn't understand what he wanted for the hand was not caressing her. They moved as if they searched for something, sensing their way inside her. It reminded her of being examined by a doctor. The determination and the matter of factly way he touched her made her feel humiliated and strangely aroused. She felt groped, invaded and degraded. He touched her most intimate parts and the way he touched her made her ashamed and excited. Images of being put up for sale on a slave market and being examined by a prospective buyer flashed through her head, degrading images but still with some pleasure in them.

She gasped again as he got hold of her inner lips and pinched them painfully. He, now, reached down his left hand and took over the grip on her. The free right hand reached for the pliers and returned without hesitation.

The steel of the pliers felt cold as they brushed her thighs. She let out a tiny, pathetic sound as he applied the pliers to her and squeezed. The steel cut into her soft flesh. It was a flat nose pliers but the grip was still steel hard.

He leaned back still holding his grip on the pliers. He looked at her. She looked back. He saw pain in her face, pain and bewilderment. Her cheeks was a little red. She was affected by his grip.

'Does it hurt?' he asked.

She nodded.

'Good,' he replied.

She blushed at this. The thought of him wanting to hurt her made her shiver with a strange combination of fear and excitement.

For a while they just sat there, she with pulled up skirt and slightly spread legs and he with his hand on the pliers between her thighs. Then he smiled.

'Now, my dear,' he said, 'unbutton the dress!'

'But I have no bra,' she said, with a tone of alarm in her voice.

'I know,' he said.

The dress had a number of tiny buttons in front and she sighed as she reached for them. She moved cautiously because of the pliers. Her fingers shivered as she unbuttoned her dress. He regarded her as she did this. It took longer than she wished. Still she was reluctant, unbuttoning her dress in a car where anyone could pass by.

The dress was tight and when the fabric was free from the buttons they parted exposing her skin. Her breasts were still covered but her dress was now far more revealing than before.

'Slide the dress down from your shoulders!' he demanded with the same cool and soft voice. It was something formal in this way of exactly demanding what she should do.

She gave him a frightened gaze, looked out through the window and then complied. She slid the dress down from her shoulders, the left before the right.

'All the way down,' he said.

She slid the dress further down and now she had to reveal her breasts. They were quite small but still round and full and rosy. He regarded her and his eyes rested on her bosom. She looked back at him. Strangely enough she seemed more self assured now. She still blushed but she looked him in the eyes for a long time before averting her gaze.

'Do you love me?' he asked.

'No,' she said in a low voice.

He tightened his grip.

'Ah,' she said.

'Now, do you love me?'

'No.'

This time she didn't speak but he could see the pain in her face as the pliers cut deeper into her.

'Do you love me?' he asked again.

'No, I don't,' she answered.

This time she didn't have to endure a harder grip.

'Do you want me to remove the pliers?' he asked.

'No,' she said.

He smiled.

She had to lean forward as he tightened the grip again, her knuckles white as she held on to the seat, her face contorted. He held on for an eternity. She didn't give a sound.

'Still?' he asked as he had loosened the grip.

'No.' she answered, breathing heavily.

He looked at her for a long while. She looked back, determined not to let go. He could see strange things in her eyes, things that made him admire her.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her. He put his left arm around her shoulders and held her. She felt the fabric of his jacket against her naked skin. He still held his right hand between her legs and as they kissed deeply he tightened his grip slightly twisting the pliers. He felt her shiver as they kissed but still she responded to him, still he twisted a little more but she didn't let go. She kissed him back.

She cried out as his lips drew back. She leaned her head back and groaned. He still twisted the pliers and she shivered in pain.

Then it was over. He withdrew his hand with the pliers and she was relieved. She still felt the pain from the grip but she was free.

'There is not time now,' he said. She lowered her head, breathing, composing herself.

'No, I know,' she answered.

'We have to go back,' he said. She nodded.

He put the pliers in the glove compartment and reached for the ignition key.

'May I put the dress on?' she asked.

'Of course,' he said, 'but don't slide the skirt back down.

She nodded as she started to button up her dress. He looked at her and thought that he saw a smile on her face.

He drove her back to her place and stopped the car on the street below her window. He turned to her. She looked back.

'See you soon?' he said.

'See you soon,' she said as she slid the dress back down. She opened the door and stepped out. He put his hand in his pocket and felt her knickers. He didn't give them back.

With the door still open he leaned forward and looked up into her face.

'You don't love me?' he said.

'No, I don't,' she answered.

'Maybe that is good?' he said.

'Maybe,' she said and smiled.

Just before she closed the door she stopped short for a while and gazed at him.

'But I do adore you,' she said and slammed the door and walked away. He gazed at her as she crossed the street.