Before the Party

I know, I am hopeless. Here I bang on about a darker side and daring to write something that scares me, and when I sit down and write, this kind of story comes out. Well, I can't deny it, I am a hopeless romantic, so here is a kind of love story...of sorts.

She was beautiful. I know it is shallow to begin with that, but she was. She was blond, narrow shoulders and narrow hips. She was quite small. She had the greenest of eyes and a very serious mouth, a mouth I couldn't help wanting to kiss. And a smile that made my knees week.

Somehow it seems even more shallow to try to describe her character, or what I liked about it. She was clever, that goes without saying, but she had humour and she was kind and she was a good person to be with.

The real truth was that I loved her. Whatever her looks or her mind or whatever it could be, I just loved her. And best of all was that she loved me.

This particular night we were on our way to a rather formal dinner. I wasn't used to it, neither was she, but we knew it was good for both of us to attend. And besides, who could be sure it wasn't going to be nice?

I had tried my best to dress up in black tie but that was nothing compared to her. When I got to her flat I was amazed by how she looked.

She had dressed in a black dress, it was almost shining, some kind of satin, I suppose. And it felt really nice to the touch. It was a sleeveless dress with a wide neck, but quite modest. The upper part fit her quite snugly while the skirt was wide.

The way she smiled at me, and how she looked with her hair in a ponytail, necklace and earrings and everything. I thought it would be hard to keep my hands off her.

She didn't make it any easier by standing very close to me and inviting me to take her in my arms. I kissed her, and she kissed me. I didn't want to go to the party.

'I love you,' she said.

'I love you too,' I replied.

'I don't think you understand,' she said and tilted her head, 'I love you so very, very much.'

'You do make it hard to leave the flat.'

'You do want me then?'

'I want you,' I said, 'I want you so very, very much,' echoing her words.

'You can have me,' she said and looked almost serious, 'I mean it, you can do anything you want with me. I am yours.'

'That sounds very nice,' I said.

'I mean it, anything.'

'I like hearing you say that, but you don't mean it.'

'I do.'

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

I looked at her. I can't describe the expression on her face, but I knew it was something deep and profound, something I may not ever understand, but something that was there all the same, there for me.

'If I make you regret those words?' I said.

'Make me regret them.'

I looked at her. She smiled. I believe it was in that moment I decided what to do.

I left the embrace. Took a good look at her, then I looked around. I moved in a strange kind of haze, but I was determined. For some odd reason I knew exactly what to do.

I took the wooden chair that stood in the hallway, the chair she used to sit on when putting on her shoes. I turned it round. I then took her hand and pulled her towards me. She look amused and curious as I sat down on the chair. She made no efforts to defy me when I pulled her down on my lap. Maybe she knew what I wanted to do, maybe she just read my movements in that moment.

'Careful with the dress,' she whispered.

'Don't worry,' I said and flipped her skirt up. 'Nice, black,' I said when I saw her knickers.

I leaned to the side and picked up one of her plimsolls. It was a grey shoe that seemed to fit well in my hand. I then looked at her knickers. There was really no reason to hold back. I took hold of them and pulled them down. She gasped a little but said nothing. She even lifted her hips to make it easier for me to pull down her underwear.

I didn't say anything. There were no words for this. Instead I smacked her bottom with the shoe She jumped and gasped but didn't say anything.

Then I began spanking her in earnest. I let the shoe fly through the air and smack down on her naked bottom, time and again. There was a very special sound that resounded through the hallway, a sound I knew I liked.

It had been just an idea, maybe born from a deeper longing, a fantasy or desire I had born inside me for a long time. When I decided what I was to do, I thought only of teasing her, of challenging her words, trying to make her regret them, prove that I was right. But now when I was really sitting there, letting my hand with her grey shoe There was something compelling, something quite exhilarating in spanking her.

There was not he slightest hint of anger in me, no desire to hurt or harm, or even to get the better of her, just an overwhelming and childish delight in seeing her bottom get hit by a shoe I was wielding.

I wasn't soft with her. No, I spanked her good, let the shoe hit her quite hard. I knew, I could feel in her body that she felt it. It seemed the right thing to do. Or rather it seemed the thing I wanted to do, the thing I challenged her to accept, to take because of her words.

'Done,' I said, 'on your feet.'

She slowly stood up. Her face was flustered and she stretched her back, taking some deep breaths. She hadn't said anything during the spanking, no cries, no protests, no words at all. Now she stood up and pulled her black knickers up. Then she looked at me.

'How is my face?' she said.

'Still in its place,' I said, 'you look gorgeous.'

'It's time to go.'

'Yes, it's time to go.'

There was tension in the air. I couldn't really read her face. She looked serious, but not angry. She didn't smile, but she didn't look unhappy either.

When we went out into the soft evening, she took my arm and leaned against me.

'You will have to work harder to make me regret my words,' she said and I heard in her voice she was smiling.

'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why did you let me do it?'

'Because I love you.'

'Oh.'

'Have you wanted to do it for a very long time?'

'I believe I have,' I said.

'That counts for something.'

Then she didn't say more.

I couldn't keep my eyes off her the whole evening. She sparkled like she had never sparkled before. When she moved about a little at the dinner table, I thought of her red bottom and her very black knickers and I almost dropped my spoon in the soup.

Then she looked at me and I knew then that she wasn't angry. She looked at me and I knew she loved me. And in that moment I could have jumped on the table and shouted to the whole world how much I loved her. I knew then that she didn't regret her words.

*

It was a quite formal thing, that party, which he had been invited too. I think he was a bit nervous, thinking that he had to make an impression, to further his career, and all that. It was quite sweet, actually.

At the same I think he was excited, men like to dress up too. I was very nervous but very excited about the idea of being formal and all that. I had found a very lovely black dress. It looked really strict, in a sense, but lovely, in black satin, with a wide skirt.

It didn't look like it but it was really nice to wear, felt soft and good against the skin. I felt good about myself wearing it and when I looked at myself in the mirror I felt that I had changed, become someone else, if only for a night.

When he arrived he was dapper in black tie. There is something special with a man in black tie. He stood taller, moved with more confidence. There was something absolutely irresistible about him and for a moment I was touched by a dreamy sense of everything happening out of time, in some special place, where we were a very gorgeous couple, at least he.

It was easy to allow myself to be childishly, overwhelmingly, and irrevocably in love with him. It was like all what was hidden below the surface, all those aeons of talking and sharing, and lovemaking and touching, all those memories sped to the surface and seemed to sparkle on my skin, to fill my head and permeate my body.

I had to embrace him, I had to be near him. He kissed me, we kissed, and I didn't really want to go to the party. I wanted to be with him, be his, completely, and lose myself in it, forget all that was me, all what I was during the days.

I meant it when I said he could do anything with me. He took it as a challenge. He is a man, after all, that's what men do.

I think he thought he challenged me too, that he wanted to provoke me to go back on my words, to show me I didn't mean it. The truth was that I enjoyed his grip on my hand, how he directed me across his lap. I wanted him to do things to me.

I wasn't even surprised that it was a spanking he had in mind. I knew that about him, that he hid his fascination, could never admit it, not openly. Those things show in tiny details.

I wasn't surprised when I realised what he had in mind, but I hadn't expected it, I hadn't expect it to surface there and then.

I placed myself across his legs with a tingling and overwhelming thrill, the thrill of handing myself over to him, let him decide, let him do what he wanted.

I felt warmth and a spark when he dared to pull my lovely black knickers down. I didn't mind the boldness, the audacity. I didn't mind his undressing me, I was swept away by it, let myself be swept away.

Then came the beating of the heart, the fear of pain. But I handed myself over to that too.

He took one of my new plimsolls to my skin. It was daring, almost insulting. But there and then, he could do it.

The spanking, the pain was the real challenge, the moment when he tried to make me go back on my words. There is pride in me, and it helped me take it, but the pride was not so much in proving him wrong, as to be true to my own conviction, and my own emotions. I bit my lip and took it. I had no other desire, I wanted to take it, with all my heart.

The sense in my body when we came to the dinner was special. My bottom was aching, smarting, still sore, and the warmth seemed to wash through me completely. I felt I was glowing with it and it made my skin hot. I blushed when I walked beside him, a spanked woman, a woman he had just taken over his knee. The thought was outrageous and very, very delightful.

The way he looked at me, the way his gaze seemed to caress me and see through my clothes, it was not just lust or desire, there was something far more beautiful in it too.

I would do it again, any time, for him, with him.

Surrender, part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer Scribblings, part 1

Rejoice! At least that is how I feel. Last summer I had some time for some scribblings. I could only work on an old computer and I saved my text on an old floppy disk. When I got home I could find some of my scribblings but not all. A friend said that her stories and texts were like her children and although I don't completely share that feeling I felt quite bereaved when I thought I had lost what I had written. A couple of days ago I found all the texts, they were sitting there on a flash drive and I had just missed them. I am chuffed. And because I am so happy having found those texts I will post some here on my blog. This one is just a monologue with some thoughts about fantasies of this kind.

You could whip me. You should whip me. I think you should. Wouldn't you like it? Have me at your mercy, have the complete power over my body? The power to give me pain. You could decide if I should suffer or if I should not. Complete power, yes, that is true. You would have the power to give me pleasure as well. Of course you would. You could touch me or caress me and make me squirm with pleasure if you wanted to. But you could also use it to whip me, to make me scream and cry in agony.

I think you should whip me. I mean, really whip me. You decide of course but I think you should do it. Not just smack me, not pretend to make me suffer. I mean you should whip me, really hard, make the pain real for me.

On a sunny morning you could take me out of the house. Yes, I think it should be done outdoors. But why should I think? Well, you haven't said I shouldn't so I will allow myself to think. Until you tell me not to I will think. But when you do I will stop. That is how it should be, how I want it to be.

On that glorious morning, that sunny promise of a wonderful, beautiful day you should take me out of the house and whip me. Maybe you take me by the hand and lead me there, drag me there, with me in one hand and the whip in the other. I would know what was to happen to me, I would know I was to be whipped. You don't have to be angry, not even stern. You just have to want it.

Or you just tell me to follow and I would. Of course I would. Maybe you even tell me, no ask me, to bring the whip. Maybe you want to let me know I am to be whipped, make me help you in whipping me, make me bring the instrument of torture, the tool, the implement that is to be used on me, that is to touch my body.

You know the pole, the sturdy pole that is standing by the shed? It strikes me as a perfect whipping post. The time we arrive there, if we arrive there, it is on your command and you will have decided where and how I am to be whipped but since you haven't said anything I will think about how I imagine it.

You could bring me to the pole, the sturdy pole, the whipping post. That is a perfect place to whip me. It seems made for whippings. It just needs some preparations, a metal hook, a ring or even just a big nail will do. It has to be put high on the pole, above the height of my head, even above the height of my extended arms. That is easy. On that hook you need to hang a rope. Or maybe, even better, I could do it. What preparation, to have me prepare the whipping post? It will make me aware of its use, it will make me have to think of my upcoming whipping. I would prepare it, hang the rope on it while I was thinking, all the time, that soon would this rope be applied to my body, to hold me to this whipping post for my whipping. I would shudder and think of it, knowing that I was to be whipped.

Then, when you have brought me to the pole, the prepared and waiting whipping post you would stand me there, letting me see what awaited me. You would not have to be angry or stern. You could just tell me that it was time for it.

Then I should prepare myself, make myself ready for to be whipped. I think you should whip me for real, on my naked skin. That would be a real whipping, a whipping with no mercy, a whipping on my naked skin.

Maybe you have decided to whip my back. I would have to take my top off, baring my upper body for you. Or perhaps you want to whip my bottom. That seem suitable in a way. Having me expose my bottom. That would be even more degrading. It would bring home my vulnerability to me. Maybe you want to whip me all over my back and bottom. You could tell me to strip naked. That seems appropriate, the right thing to do, to have me naked at the whipping post.

Maybe you have told me to strip naked before, even before you walk me or drag me to the post. So that I would follow you naked and vulnerable on our way to my whipping. I would have images in my head of a walk of shame, in public, in front of the crowd, naked and on my way to my whipping, to a punishment, my punishment.

It doesn't have to be a punishment, you don't need an excuse to whip me. You can just do it. It is just that I may think of it as a punishment or that it is like a punishment. I don't have to provide you with a cause, I don't have to have sinned or been naughty. I don't have to deserve a punishment, a whipping. You just have to want it and I just have to let you.

Then it is time to tie me to the pole. I think you should do that, tie me to the whipping post. Not that I would ever try to escape, to flee from you. I am staying, that is true, so no real need for it but to a whipping post you should be tied. Tying me would be a help, a help for me. It would make it easier for me to stay put when the whipping becomes really painful and I would reconsider letting you do it, when my resolve becomes weak, when you make it weak. Maybe this will make you more reluctant to tie me to the post, the thought that I do no longer want it, that I have to be tied to endure.

This is the crucial point. I want you to weaken my resolve, I want you to overwhelm me. I want you to make me want to flee.

But there and then, when you have brought me to the whipping post and I am naked, it is for you, not for me to decide those things. You may want to test my resolve and think that tying me really is too easy for me.

If you should tie me, if you would decide to be kind to me, make it easy for me, then you should tell me to extend my arms, one on each side of the pole. Then I am to cross my wrists while you tie them together, with the rope that is hanging from the nail or hook or ring. I would be facing the pole. That is the old fashioned proper way of tying someone to the whipping post.

Then you should pull at the rope and I would have to lift my arms, to extend them and stretch my body. This would bring my body closer to the pole, even force me to press my belly, my breasts and my thighs to the pole. That would bring home my nudity to me, make me feel vulnerable and helpless. That is a part of it, me feeling weak and helpless.

I would sense the thrill then. I think I would be in a strange state of mind then. All the things before this would have brought it on, heightened the sense of it. The bringing me there, the whip in your hand, the preparations, the taking off of clothes, the nudity, your looking at me, the tying and all that. But the sensation of the rough surface of the pole against my naked body would make it very real and I would feel the thrill, the thrill I wouldn't know if it was fear or anticipation or even lust and arousal. Maybe because it was a little of everything.

It would not be arousal alone, not excitement and satisfying desires alone. Then it would be a game, a nice pastime. Then my ordeal would be only to overcome my sense of shame, my prudence. Then you would just indulge me, help me to reach a new level of excitement.

There is nothing wrong with you indulging me. Love can make you want that. But bringing me to the whipping post is about something else as well, it is about my devotion to you, my desire to give myself to you, to let you decide, to let you do whatever you want. If I let you make me suffer then I know I am yours, completely yours.

Maybe there is another, deeper, more profound motive. Maybe I want you to bring me there, strip me naked and tie me to the pole to make me feel, to make sure I feel something profound. To make me real. Naked, bound, my body pressed to the pole, being whipped I would be real and maybe that is, really, what I desire.

When you have tied me to the pole, facing it, embracing it you should pull the rope, raise my arms and press my body to the pole. You could just have me stand or you could even stretch my body further make me stand on my toes, almost hang in my bonds. That would be painful, bring my ordeal home to me. Maybe you would enjoy the sight of my body better then, outstretched, naked and vulnerable, at your command. Maybe that would be a way for me to indulge you, to be beautiful and desirable for you. I would be something for you to look at and feel you have power over.

With your strength you could even hoist me in the air, make my feet leave the ground and make me hang, cruelly, by my bound wrists. That would make my whipping to a real ordeal, make it worse, make it complete. I would stop thinking then. I would think only of the pain in my body. But I would be completely at your mercy and I would know that you wanted it, that my suffering was giving you pleasure.

Whatever you would do, have me stand on my feet, on tip toe or hang, the time would be near for my whipping. Tied naked to the pole I would be completely at your mercy, in your hands and forced to trust you. I would have to be really sure you wouldn't harm me. I would be yours to harm and be without protection.

Then you could whip me. You should whip me. I think you should. I would be naked and vulnerable and at your mercy and you should whip me. Because you could do it, because you wanted it or even because I wanted it.

It is an immensely cruel thing to do, to whip the naked body of someone tied to a whipping post. There is no struggle, no battle and no honour in whipping a helpless body, only cruelty. But you are not cruel and I don't want you to be cruel to me. Still I suggest you whip me. No, I ask you to whip me, want you to whip me.

It has to be something else than the mere cruelty of it. It has to be something beyond that. Perhaps it is the devotion, the dedication that makes it meaningful? It could be the trust, the knowledge that I am safe. Maybe it is about giving myself up to you, to let you do it and cruelty is the ultimate evidence that my surrender is complete, my belonging is profound.

Maybe it is something black, that I want to be obliterated, to be nothing, to be humiliated and punished, just to satisfy some kind of deep and hidden guilt, that I think I deserve it.

Or maybe it is just the nudity and that I think that I would look sexy, tied to a pole and writhing in pain under your whip, that you would find me attractive being at your mercy, that I would feel attractive and aroused by being naked for you, for anyone looking at me. That my vulnerability, somehow is awakening the lust in you. Maybe that I would want to be beautiful in your eyes and being naked means being me, being whipped means showing my feelings unhindered.

You should whip me, I am prepared for it and at you mercy. I think you should take the opportunity of whipping me. Maybe it would be easy for you, that you would truly enjoy it or maybe you will find it hard and you are reluctant to hurt me, make me suffer. I think you should whip me, let me have it. While I am there you should let me have it.

The whip is a cruel thing and it would hurt. Applying the whip to my naked skin would hurt. There is no doubt about that and it would hurt immensely. I would not think I could endure it. Maybe I would break down and cry and beg for mercy.

That would be a hard moment for you, hearing me begging for mercy. Or maybe you would enjoy that. Maybe that is your moment of glory. Maybe you want me to beg for mercy so that you know you have the power of granting it or not. Maybe you would grant it but not until you have made me suffer some more. Maybe you would deny me mercy and still whip me. I think, perhaps, you should. That being the whole point of it.

That could be the crucial point, where the ropes come into it. I am bound and helpless and the pain is so immense that I really, want it to stop. I can do nothing to make it stop but to plead. I may have some resolve not to plead, some pride in enduring but at that moment when I break down and plead I show you that I am really at your mercy, I acknowledge that I am yours, that I can do nothing and that you decide. I scream my plea for not having to endure. I cast away my pride and my resolve to endure and beg for mercy. That is the moment when you can decide to show me you are in charge, that I really have given you power over me, that I have really surrendered to you. If you hear my pleas and how I have thrown away my pride and still show me that you are in charge then I will know.

Then afterwards, when I am untied, unbound and it is all over, my body aching, burning with the whip marks, then I need some comforting. I need softness, need to know that there is not all pain but sweetness as well. Then I want you to hold me, close to your body. I would be unarmed, vulnerable, naked and helpless but I need your comforting, your sweetness and your love. I have surrendered to you and I would not hate you for being cruel, I would not even think of how I love you. I would be in pain and in need of comforting.

At that moment it is better if there is no sin, no guilt, no wrongdoing and no forgiveness. I have surrendered to you, I have given myself to you but I need to know that I can be proud of it. I don't want to have to forgive you for being cruel or confirming that I deserve it. I want you to be close to me and love me because I need it and want it. I want you to touch me out of love. I don't want to have to say to you that you were right. You should be strong for me and know it yourself. You should only think of me then, how proud you are of my devotion and endurance and how strong I am for you. You should admire me then as I admire your strength as you whip me.

Yes, that is how I think of it. You should whip me, I think you should. If you want it.

Slave Story, part 3

This is the third instalment of the Slave Story. Things are changing for poor Calissa. Her life is changing. I hope this part will show that this will not be just another Gor rip off. It is a little longer than the first ones but the interesting things happen at the end so keep reading!

I thought about the fact that I hadn't been branded yet. I wondered if that meant that I wasn't technically a slave yet. Maybe I was still free and the process of enslaving was on its way but was not finished? Maybe I could still be freed? I felt despair since I could do nothing about it from the pens, my hopes rested with someone else. My father had sold me and if he didn't change his mind I would become a slave for real. I wanted to bring him here and beg him to take me back. If he would see his youngest daughter naked in the pens he might change his mind and set me free. I wished for that.

My father never came, no one came for me. I was left on my own, naked and deprived of everything. I cried in misery. My heart was in despair.

I don't know how long I sat there engulfed in my own misfortune but after a while I heard a rustling beside me and looked up. I saw the smiling face of another girl. She didn't say anything, she just looked at me, still smiling.

'Leave me alone!' I said.

'Hi, I am Miro, at least for the time being,' she said ignoring my words.

'What do you mean?' I said in a very unfriendly voice.

'You know,' she said, 'slaves don't really have names, your Master may change it at any time.'

'I am not a slave,' I blurted out.

'I guess you are free as a bird,' Miro replied.

This brought some giggles from the other women and girls.

I looked at her in anger and saw her still smiling. She hadn't meant to mock me, her smile seemed to tell me that. She looked kind.

'Sorry, Miro,' I said.

'No offence taken,' she said and looked at me.

She was shorter than me, I guessed, although we were on the floor. She was slim and delicate. She had black hair, brown eyes and her skin was a light olive, much darker than my pale being. As she leaned forward her tiny breasts tried to dangle but as she sat back I saw that they fitted her slim body very well. She was a very good looking young girl of my own age, I thought.

Miro told me she came from a village to the south and that she had been enslaved a month ago when her family had fallen in debt. She belonged to master Guur who was renowned for his riches and power. She had been in the pens for three weeks and didn't, still, know what fate awaited her.

She seemed not to be too concerned with being enslaved which puzzled me. How could anyone not be concerned? I imagined that some of the older girls, the ones who had been slaves for a year or more, would have become used to it and accepted it but Miro was new to it, just as I was.

Miro laughed a lot and told jokes and tried her best to cheer me up. She was kind to me and stroked the hair from my forehead as I was crying and comforted me. She hugged me and held me as we slept. At first this intimacy felt strange and frightening and something that was not to be. It was a strange sensation feeling her naked body cuddling up to mine but soon I found some comfort in her presence.

I was ashamed of being naked and felt humiliated at the thought of someone touching me. I had been a free girl and I was used to keeping my body to myself. This is not allowed for a slave and soon I was shown that physical contact for a slave was not always of the soft kind that Miro provided.

In the first evening as I sat in my place, and only a couple of hours had passed since my capture, two guards came into the big room laughing and roaring. They grabbed a set of keys on the guard's table and walked among the pens. They decided on our pen and slammed the door open. They came in and all the slaves in the pen shrunk back. One of the men grabbed a blond girl and threw her on the floor. She screamed but did not dare to fight him as he mounted her. She cried in misery as he took her as a desperate bull takes his mate. The other guard browsed the slaves and his eyes fell on Miro.

He put his arm around her waist and lifted her. He placed her on all four and knelt behind her. He grabbed her hips and took her as the dogs do.

The blond girl was some years older than me and she screamed and cried out in agony. Miro seemed calmer. She didn't smile any longer and she bit her lip as he entered her but she didn't scream or cry. She seemed calm up until the man started to groan and grunt, then I saw her face contort a little and she closed her eyes. She cried out a little as the man gave a low grunt and stopped pumping in her.

The men left and I was in shock. I looked at Miro who was lying panting on the floor. She was lying on her side, her body prostrated in quite an attractive way. She was affected but she looked content rather than horrified. I was amazed by that.

She scrambled to her knees after a while.

'I am sorry, Miro,' I said.

'He is a brute,' she said, 'but some are far worse.'

'Does he do it often to you?' I asked staring at her.

'Not that often, but it happens,' she gave me a kind of smile now.

'How horrible,' I said.

'You will have to get used to it,' she said, 'a slave's body is for her Master.'

I shrugged in horror as I realised she was right.

I froze at the thought of what I had just witnessed could happen to me. I knew it most probably would but I was terrified. Still there were something in Miro's expression that told me that the pleasure had not been entirely on the side of the brute. I couldn't understand that and at that moment I almost despised her, my only friend in the pens.

Miro and the other women in the pen helped me through those first horrible days. We did nothing, just sat there and talked and waited. We were twenty three naked women and girls locked up in a cage. In the room there were seven other pens full of slaves.

My fellow captives turned out to be a good bunch of people. There was jealousy and anger between some of them but all of them took pity on me and treated me kindly. I felt a bit patronised by this but it helped me through the worst of my ordeal.

I couldn't say I got used to sitting naked on the floor of the pen but after a while the worst of the shock settled down. I was able to forget my agony for short whiles and even laugh at some jokes and enjoy the songs we sang.

Miro took a shine to me and I enjoyed her company. She seemed amazingly content and happy although I knew she missed her family in the nights when she cuddled up to me and I put my arms around her. I started to enjoy sensing her body close to mine, it gave me comfort.

I was spared the brutes. No one had me there in the pens although some of them seemed to like Miro and the other women very much. It was obvious that they had favourites and Miro was one of the most favoured. She seemed to find their attention flattering or even pleasing and I could not understand that. I was terrified some of the guards would even touch me.

There was a bit of competition amongst the girls about the attention of the guards. The blond girl who had been screaming when she was taken was new and still in shock but most of the others seemed to accept it or even want it. Some even showed off a bit, thrusting their chest out as the guards walked by. They laughed heartily at that and mocked the girls. Miro never did that. She was just herself but still she was one of the most popular.

When the guards talked about the women, which they did quite openly, they seemed to praise the fully breasted women the most and those with flat bellies and long legs. Miro was short and very slim and had only tiny breasts. Still she was popular with the guards. I didn't understand that.

I wondered a little why I had been spared and asked Miro if she thought it was due to me being quite small and slim and not having big breasts. Miro shook her head and said that she was convinced that I was off limit to the guards, that is, I was to be spared for my buyer. I shivered at her words and fell silent.

She thought that I was sad because I hadn't been taken by the guards and assured me she thought me very beautiful. I didn't believe her but her words felt good anyway.

Miro was a strange being. I came to like her more and more as the time passed. She was always by my side and she seemed to enjoy my company. I couldn't understand that since I was mostly sour and sullen and unhappy.

I found her looking at me with a strange glimmer in her eyes at times and she seemed overly happy as we cuddled up in each others arms for sleep at night. I was a bit puzzled by this but didn't think a lot about it.

One night as we were sleeping close to each other I was awaken. We were lying face to face and I saw that Miro was awake. She looked at me in silence. I wasn't really awake so I looked back into her eyes.

Then she stroked my cheek and I smiled at her, still sleepy, and finding her touch quite soft and nice. I was a bit surprised as I felt her hand move down my cheek and touch my shoulder. I was still dazed and accepted her touch. It felt nice and I think I closed my eyes and smiled.

I opened my eyes as I felt her breath on my face and I saw her face very close to mine. Then she kissed me. She gave me a soft and lovely kiss.

I must have looked puzzled and about to say something because she put her finger on my lips to hush me. She kissed me again and whispered in my ear.

'It's ok, just relax!'

She rose to her elbow and leaned forward and kissed me again. My lips responded and I felt her softness against me. She moved her body closer and I felt her hip touch my side. She kissed me again and I kissed her back.

Then she touched me. I felt her hand on my belly and I drew my breath.

'Hush, just relax!' she whispered.

I started to breathe more normally again.

I felt her hand stroke my belly and the sensation scared me. It felt very good having her hand on my body.

A part of me told me it was a dream and that I could embrace what happened. I didn't protest or move as I felt her hand move further down my body, over my lower belly and then, slowly, in between my thighs. A rush of blood to my head told me that her touch stirred up sensations in me that I thought belonged to another place and to another situation.

I was deadly scared she would touch me there, between my thighs and at the same time did my body crave it. It was very strange.

Her circling movements told me she was on her way to me and I held my breath. She kissed me again and then I felt her fingers slip into me. I froze and didn't breathe for several seconds. I was overcome with the tingling in my sex her fingers arose. Her fingers terrified me at the same time as they made me feel blessed with something strange and very pleasant.

She moved her fingers in my sex and soon I couldn't control the wave that threatened to carry me away. She seemed to know that it was on its way because her fingers felt more eager now and soon it happened. I dreaded it but it was a bliss. I almost cried out as my sex exploded and took my whole body with it. I can't describe the sensation that ran through me and overwhelmed me. I had never, ever before, felt anything like it.

As I came around I saw Miro's smiling face. She looked so tenderly at me that I almost burst out in tears. She stroked my cheek and I started to cry. She embraced me and held me close stroking my hair. It was wonderful sensing her tiny naked body against mine and at that moment I wanted to be nowhere else in the world but in her arms.

I fell asleep and as I woke up I wasn't sure it had happened at all but the look on the face of Miro told me it was for real. I saw love in her eyes and I smiled at her. I was glad that it was a girl who did it for me the first time.

I knew that such things happened, I had sensed it in the pen at nights but I didn't think I was like that. I longed for the night now when I would be lying in Miro's arms. I was ashamed and thought it a wrong thing to do but I couldn't help being aroused just looking at her. I loved her not only with my heart, now I loved her with my body as well.

I felt shame as I thought about my family and the village and wondered what they would say if they knew, but then I thought about why I was here and how my father had sold me and how I was another man's property now. Selling your daughter into slavery meant that you knew that her body would soon serve her new owner. Maybe they didn't think about how her body could satisfy her sisters in bondage. Maybe they would frown and be displeased but I didn't belong to them any more, for better or for worse.

Miro taught me how to satisfy her and I was happy to oblige. She taught me how to kiss and I soon became an eager pupil. I was still shy and very much ashamed but I liked it.

The Story of Miranda, part 4

So here it is, the fourth instalment of the Story of Miranda. What seemed like a spanking story turned into a girly romantic story. I am like that. There is no continuation. It might turn into pornography should I continue or a serious relationship drama. Perhaps, sometime in the future. There are some snippets and situations from their life together that I might post here but no real continuation.

I changed during that summer and much thanks to Felicia. We went shopping together and she insisted on me getting clothes I never would have dreamt of buying. I got a brand new red bikini, even smaller than the blue one. The top was not considerable smaller but the bottom was minimal. I only partly covered my bum and its front was minimal. Seeing me from the side one could think I was naked. Felicia insisted on me tying the cords at the sides with bows that could easily be slipped. Most girls tie stout knots and make them look like bows but mine were real. This made me feel vulnerable. I had to buy a very short, wide skirt. It fell only to halfway down my thighs and was very revealing. Adding to that was the fact that it hung very low on my hips. Felicia told me to wear a shirt together with the skirt and knot it in front so that it left my belly exposed. It was nothing unusual about that but it was most shocking for tiny Miranda to be dressed like that. I had the tiniest of shorts and only the red bikini top when we went walking in town on hot summer afternoons.

She took an interest in dressing me so that I had to reveal my body in public. Nothing I wore was shocking or strange, many girls wore less but they were hip, they were sexy. I was the unassuming Miranda and was embarrassed to have to walk through town with exposed belly. It was very exciting at the same time. I often blushed when we passed people and I thought that they looked at me and my body. Sometimes they did. I was very much aware of boys and men watching me.

I felt ashamed at the same time as I enjoyed being so naked. I felt a special tingling in my body when I saw men turning their heads looking at me. I wondered if it was like this for other girls. Maybe this was what it was all about, this dressing up and showing off that the girls did?

That summer was exciting and arousing and the best thing was that Felicia was in command. I felt happy not having to be responsible for this. She commanded and I went along. The downside with all this exposure was that I couldn't get spanked as much as we wanted. It was hard to spank me without leaving some traces. During the spring semester one of the girls had commented on some marks on my bum during gym class. I had been whipped three days before and the marks still showed. I said something plausible and I don't think someone realised what had happened but we felt the need for being more cautious.

I was happy during that summer although I was sad about the spankings. I missed them or rather I missed the opportunity they gave me of losing myself in it. I have described it as being dragged to the edge of a terrifying void and almost pushed over it and that I longed for to be pushed. Although we experimented a lot I didn't seem to get any closer to that void that I so much lusted for and feared. I was eager to be pushed even further, to really lose control although I knew it meant that I would have to submit, for real, to the pain. I imagined it as pain beyond endurance and something I couldn't cope with and that it would make me fall into that void. Pain was always pain and it hurt so. I couldn't thing of anything more horrible than unbearable pain but the longing for what it might do to me was undiminished.

There was another theme that seemed to dominate that summer and it was connected to the incidents with our hugging each other and Felicia's hand in my jeans. Felicia took an interest in my body or exposing it. It seemed that these incidents had changed Felicia too and that she was more keen on looking at me and exposing me and making me feel ashamed of being exposed. I caught her regarding me sometimes when I was walking from the water, wet and in my bikini or laying in the sun.

Nothing was said but there was something, concerning my body, that went on underneath the surface. It was about her gaze and the lust for being touched and maybe the lust to touch as well. In some ways I was in love with her. I wanted her to watch me and I wanted her to touch me but I could not admit it. Felicia didn't say anything either but there was this air of something nice and powerful going on.

This changed suddenly one afternoon by the lake. It was late in the summer and the air was hot. We stayed on when most people started to leave and after some time we were alone. We often choose spots that were almost deserted even when the lake was crowded and this afternoon we were alone.

We were lying in the setting sun feeling warm and lazy. Suddenly I felt Felicia's eyes on me. I turned around and looked at her. She looked back and smiled as strange kind of smile.

'Take your top off!' she said.

'Ok,' I answered.

It happened now and then that she commanded me to take my top off. I don't know why but this time I sat up and stretched and made quite a show of it. I felt a bit ashamed, but nice in a way, doing that. It wasn't a big show, nothing spectacular but I stretched my body, arched my back a little and undid my top and slipped it off. I felt like a stripper but if anyone could have seen me it was nothing out of the ordinary, I guess.

My performance was not lost on Felicia, though. She watched me intensely and I sat on the beach for a while enjoying the sun. I wanted to stay in that moment because it felt good, daring to take off my bikini top while she watched.

'Take off your knickers!' she said and my heart took a leap and started pounding. This was new. I had showed off my breasts before but I had never been naked in a public place like this. No one was there so there was not much risk being seen but it was still shocking.

'Here?' I asked feeling stupid.

'Yeah,' she answered and didn't stop looking at me.

I looked around to see if anyone could see me and then I decided that I dared risking it. The sense was not if I dared doing it rather how hard it would be doing it, because I couldn't resist her demands. I slipped down my hands and quickly pulled off my knickers. I was shaking. I was naked. She watched me and I was embarrassed. At the same time it felt nice in a kind of warm and sexy way to strip for her.

'Lay down now!' she said and I did.

'No, as before, on your back!'

My cheeks were probably very red when I awkwardly rolled over and lay on my back. I felt terrible exposed and was hoping no one would see me, no one besides Felicia. I wanted her to see me and I think she did. I didn't look at her but I sensed her eyes upon me. I took up my book and started to read again. I felt the urge to do something ordinary just to stop the beating of my heart and the scary, dreadful sense of being aroused by the whole thing.

Then she touched me. I felt her hand on my belly. Her fingers were cool against my warm skin when she lightly touched the area around my navel. I was shocked but it felt ever so good. I held my breath not daring to do or say anything. I was afraid that the slightest reaction from me would break the spell and she would withdraw her hand. I was embarrassed but it was so good to sense her touch and I didn't want it to stop.

Her hand moved around, stroking my belly, moving down to my lower belly. I was terrible aroused and couldn't' breath. I was scared she would touch my sex at the same time as I longed for it. I was helpless in her hands. I was vulnerable and exposed.

She did move down to my sex. I almost exploded when she carefully placed her hand on my sex. She stroked me a little and I felt the tingling between my legs. I tried to be still but I think I shivered and maybe moved a little. When she slipped her fingers into me I let go of a tiny, pathetic, little sound. I held my breath again and tried to control my trembling body. I didn't want her to leave me as she had did the time before but I was equally afraid that she would satisfy me.

Her fingers burnt in me and I felt even more vulnerable with her presence there, in my most intimate spot. She moved around a little and I felt waves of heat running through my body. I almost fainted with the sensation and I didn't want her to stop. I almost forgot that we were laying on a public beach and I was completely naked.

The heat seemed to focus on my sex and with a great deal of fear I realised that I was close to coming. I believe Felicia felt that too but she didn't seem to mind. She kept her fingers moving in me and the inevitable happened. I came with a vengeance. I can't describe the tingling and heat that soared through my body. I think I sighed and moved but it was beyond anything I had ever experienced.

I didn't notice Felicia removing her hand. I recall rolling over on my side, overcome with emotions and the physical reaction, burying my face in my hands, being both happy and ashamed.

When I came around I felt Felicia's hand on my shoulder. I rose to my knees, looking at her.

'I am so ashamed,' I said.

'Didn't you like it?' she asked suddenly looking scared and concerned.

'It was the best.' I said and almost started to cry. Felicia took me in her arms and I hugged her violently. I pressed my naked body against her and I felt her close to me. I hugged her and cried at her shoulder and felt happy. It was good sensing her body against mine and her arms around me and my arms around her.

After a while she looked me in the eyes with a serious face. She regarded me for a second or two and then she kissed me. She kissed me on the lips. A sweet, soft kiss. A kiss that didn't demand anything but was the sweetest thing imaginable. I eagerly kissed her back and we were suddenly full of passion. We kissed for a long time and my head swirled. I was kissing a girl and I liked it. I loved her and she was a girl.

We came to our senses and realised that we didn't want to be seen. It was a forbidden thing and we would have to hide it. We knew that. We looked at each other in bewilderment and then we smiled. It was good but we had to go back now. We could not stay. I didn't know what this would lead to but I loved her and I didn't care too much at that moment.