Car Trip

And now a short break in the ongoing story about Tom and his girls. I will be back with next instalment soon, but this is a short something I just wrote. I publish it here, warts and all.

It was a hot day, and I had to stand in the sun while I was waiting for him. I had dressed for the day, but it didn't really help. I felt too clothed for the weather, yet I was still wearing a bit too little for being quite appropriate while being seen. My sleeveless and striped top was tight, too tight, really. And my shorts were too small. I felt silly, and wondered why had taken them. I knew why. I knew I had done it because I knew he liked it that way. That was rather kind of me.

'Get in the car,' he said, as he stopped beside me. My heart had started beating the moment I saw him approach. He smiled. I smiled too, and suddenly I was excited about going away with him.

He didn't say much as he took us through the crowded street of the city centre. He looked at me from time to time and smiled. I became quite self conscious about him looking at me, at the same time it was not altogether an awkward sensation.

'Take your knickers off,' he said, suddenly.

'Here?'

'Unless you would prefer I stop the car and you step out.'

'We're still in the middle of town.'

'I know.'

'And I am wearing shorts.'

'And...?'

I knew that look on his face. He meant what he said. I wasn't exactly scared of it, but I knew he was determined to have me do as I was told. There was a certain inevitability about it. It made my heart race.

He had had me do the same before, but that time I was wearing a skirt. It was much easier then.

I looked at him, again, and knew I would soon be sliding my shorts down my legs. I started by unbuttoning them. I looked around and thought that I could delay it a little, wait for a less crowded street, a place where he would drive the car in a little bit higher speed.

When I knew I had already waited to long, I began wriggling them down my hips, and had got them to my knees when he stopped. There was a red light. People were standing to the side, waiting to walk across in front of the car.

'Go on,' he said, smiling.

I slipped my shorts down and took them off. I waited a little, for the light to turn green.

'You don't want to take too long with that,' he said. And I knew exactly what he meant.

I lifted my bottom and pulled my knickers down, at the same moment as the car gained speed.

'In the glove compartment,' he said, and I knew he meant my knickers. I was somehow relieved I didn't have to throw them out of the window.

'What are you doing?' he said, as I reached for the shorts.

'Putting my shorts back on.'

'Did I say that you could?'

'You didn't say I couldn't.'

'Putting them on is dressing.'

'I suppose you are right.'

'And you know what the rules are for dressing.'

'Always ask permission.'

'Right.'

'Can I put my shorts on, please?'

'No.'

'We're in the middle of town, and this car is moving very slowly.'

'The answer is no.'

'Please.'

'Don't cross your legs!'

'Please!!'

'Keep them parted, instead.'

He put his hand on my thigh at the same time as I cautiously parted my legs, just a little. He turned to me and smiled.

'Look at the road,' I said.

He chuckled, and let his hand move up my thigh, and then down, on the inside.

'People will be looking,' I said.

'The women will be envious, and the guys will be envious too.'

I found it hard to comment, as his hands moved up the inside of my thigh. I looked up and saw him looking forward, smiling. Then I heard myself gasp as his fingers moved inside. I held my breath as I felt his fingers begin to snake and move.

'You do like this,' he said.

'No.'

'Don't lie to me, you know what happens when you lie.'

'I am not lying.'

'Some part of you likes it.'

Occasionally he retrieved his hand to change gear, but it always returned to its place. Sometime he just kept his fingers still, and sometimes he moved them about. I never knew what would happen next.

I didn't want to give in to the fire his intruding fingers lit. I looked out of the window, trying to focus on the road signs, on the people on the street, or how the buildings around us were constructed.

'There is something in the back seat. It's for you,' he said.

'I'll look at it later,' I replied.

'Don't sulk.'

'I'm not sulking.'

'Look at it.'

I turned round to reach for the plastic bag that was lying on the back seat. He didn't remove his hand, and I got the distinct impression that anyone standing by the road would get a very good look at what was happening.

'You are embarrassing me,' I hissed, as I sat back.

'Yes, I know. I like that. Open the bag now.'

I opened the bag. In it was a leather object. A handle, covered in braided leather, that softened into a short braided tongue, that got thinner and thinner towards the tip. It was a robust thing, quite short, and didn't look like anything I had seen before. I had no doubt, though, that it was some kind of whip.

'A quirt,' he said, 'I have bought you a quirt.'

'And I assume that it is not mine in the sense of me using it?'

'Of course not. I am going to use it,' he said, and smiled, '...on you.'

'What have I done?'

'Nothing much, really. I just wanted to use it.'

'It looks harsh.'

'I think it will be. I am looking forward to it.'

He moved his fingers inside me, and I jumped. The whip, being half naked, his fingers, all seemed to conspire to send a wave of something pleasant, although quite unwelcome through my body.

'You are looking forward to it too.'

'I'm not.'

'Yes, you are.'

'Don't be daft.'

'Truth to be told, if you like it too much, it's not the same.'

'Don't worry, this one looks mean.'

I held the dreaded thing, still in my hands.

'Take your top off now.'

'I can't do that.'

'Maybe this will be a good pretext for using it. The quirt on your soft bottom for disobedience.'

I looked around and found that we had come up on the highway. The cars moved faster, and were further away, but not far enough for other drivers not to notice if I was wearing a top of not.

'Should I really take my safety belt off?'

'You could always try without taking it off.'

'That's awkward.'

'Your choice.'

'I have no bra.'

'Yes, I know.'

I managed, somehow, to extract my top from my body, without taking the safety belt off. As I sat back, I felt the coarse fabric of it pass between my breasts. I looked out through the window. I didn't think the oncoming traffic would have time to notice too much, they were far away, but the ones we passed and those who passed us would surely notice.

'Do you enjoy it?' he said.

'Enjoy what?'

'This.'

'Being naked in your car, on a public road, while you have your fingers inside me, knowing that I will taste a brand new whip in a not too distant future?'

'Yes.'

'I am embarrassed.'

'That's not what I asked for.'

'If I enjoy it?'

'Yes. I know you are embarrassed, I know you are a bit apprehensive about the quirt. I know you are awkward, but do you enjoy it?'

'Do I have to answer that?'

'Yes, please, do answer.'

I sat for a while, staring out through the window. His fingers were not still, and stayed longer now when there was less need to change gear. I held it back, but those fingers were very persistent. There would come a moment when I no longer wanted to hold back, when I wanted to go forward, when I would beg him to let me go forward.

'Yes, I enjoy it.'

A Place of One's Own

At the very end of this month, I will present you with a lovely little piece by someone I have known for some time, through my blog. I have the permission to post it although I don't know what to call the author. They will have to get back to me to let me know. At the moment they are just Anonymous.

This is not, as you will see, a story about whipping and slavery. This is a story about devotion and determination. It is also, I believe, a story about pride. Anonymous mentioned Jane Eyre in our conversation about this story and I didn't understand. The more I think about it, the more I believe it really has to do with pride. And the thought of Jane Eyre makes sense then.

I think this is a really beautiful story and I am proud to be able to put it on the blog. Read and enjoy.

With much bowing and murmuring, they brought my new slave girl to me. She was a small thing, thin-boned, high tight bosom, slim hips. Everything about her was tiny, in fact, except her darting almond eyes and full lips. Rather plain, I thought. Quite unlike the ripe beauties who waited, each evening, for the golden apple that summoned one or two, or ten, to revels and games in my bedchamber.

My eunuch detected my indifference to her. "She will serve you well," he said. "She is obedient and clever. She has been trained in all the arts. She can dance and sing and ... of course..."

"No doubt," I replied. "Leave us."

"Nearer, girl." She stepped forward on slim, long-toed feet. "Kneel." She sank down smoothly, eyes slightly downcast. Her training, no doubt.

"What," I asked, "do you do best?"

She paused. "My Master will learn, and perhaps tell me."

"The proper answer," I said sternly, "is that the thing you do best is to serve me."

She nodded.

"And will you serve me?"

"Oh yes," she said, "yes."

"And how will you serve me?"

"By being for you what no one else will be. By doing for you what none else would do."

I shook my head. "You'll have to better than that. My slaves do what I tell them, always. They become whatever I require."

"I offer more..." she whispered, head still lowered. "More than that."

Her vanity amused me, momentarily. I would test that vanity, I thought. I shall let her observe me with my favorites -- let her see these exquisite girls, so much lovelier than she, give a man everything he could dream of. Let her watch, and find herself untouched, unseen, unnoticed in our frenzy. Let her ache.

"No doubt," I replied. I sipped my wine, planning.

"Master," she said quietly. A statement, not a question. "Yes?" "Master may I ask a question?"

Surely she knew better. But I was amused enough to say, gravely, "You may ask a question."

"Your servants told me that you punish slaves who disobey you."

"Of course."

"They told me that your arm is strong, your whip cruel."

"Why would you ask such a question? Are you afraid of being whipped?"

"No," she replied. "I am not afraid..."

"Perhaps you should be." My voice was cold.

"But they said... they said..."

"What? What did they say? Speak up."

"They said that if I obey you I would not be punished."

At last I understood. "They speak truly, little slave girl. Obey me and you will not be punished. Obey and you need not fear my strong arm or my cruel whip."

She nodded.

"Now leave," I ordered, "until you are summoned."

I turned to the window, savoring the tart wine, watching the sun set. Then I rose. She was still there, kneeling.

"I told you to go," I said, my voice all menace. I expected her to flee. She remained, still kneeling.

"Leave, I tell you." She said nothing. "Are you deaf?" I thundered. "Leave!"

She stood now, feet apart, gazing into my eyes, silent.

"So be it." I strode to the wall, where the whiplash hung on a peg. I snapped it. She jumped, but held her ground.

So be it.

I took her two little wrists in one hand and pulled her into the antechamber. She moaned when she saw the hook in the ceiling. She resisted with her little strength as I bound her small hands and secured them over her head.

I clapped three times. My servants rushed in, then stopped short as they saw her, helpless, awaiting punishment. "Watch and learn," I told them. I ripped open her tunic, baring her back. I pulled it down, exposing her bottom. I leaned close to her. "As for you -- FEEL and learn."

I stroked her back with the long whip. Her breath was fast, her eyes closed.

She endured the first lashes in silence. I stood farther off, bringing the whip to play over her maiden breasts. Now she danced and sang.

I struck harder. I used all my cunning to time her stripes. She hung in her bonds, exhausted, overawed. I struck between her legs and she rose up again, shrieking piteously.

I could feel every nerve in my body, feel my strength coursing through me. I felt... I felt pleasure at teaching this sylph a lesson in long, hissing strokes.

"Leave us now." The servants backed away quickly. As obedient as they had been, as eager to please, they would now be abject, driven, unrestrained in their duties. I imagined my buxom lovelies -- how industrious they would be tonight, how creative, how artful, how abandoned...

I held her pretty face in my hands. Her ... pretty face. Pretty? How odd.

And then a thought.

I took a dipper of water from the jar and held it to her lips. Still sobbing, she drank greedily. I gave her another drink of water, and another. I could see how the blinding agony of her flogging was receding just a bit, to a dull, more distant pain. How her dread and fear and humiliation were giving way to exhaustion and oblivion.

"No," I said. "You may not sleep, not yet."

"Then I shall not," she whispered.

"You fool," I said, "why did you disobey me?"

She shook her head. "No..."

"I ordered you to leave, and you defied me. Why would you disobey me, knowing what would come?

She was still shaking her head. "Ssss...." She couldn't get the word out.

"What are you trying to say? 'Sir,,' is that it?"

"No," she murmured.

"Say it. Say it now. What were you trying to do, in my chambers, when you defied me?

"Sss... serve...serving you... master..."

"What?" I sputtered. "Serving me? How?"

The words came slowly. I ladled more water into her parched mouth. "Giving you....the one thing," she whispered. "That ... no ... one... else would do for ... you."

"Giving me disobedience? Defying me?"

She nodded. Her reedy voice was stronger now. "I told you I was not afraid of the lash. Plain girls must be fearless."

"Go on." I stroked her cheek.

"Everyone is so terrified of my master. Too terrified to ever..."

"Disobey me?"

"To give you leave to whip them. Too terrified to give you what you truly need, as a man, as their master. Selfish slaves. All they offer is their beautiful pampered bodies, their perfect, skilled caresses."

I nodded.

"I gave you that. I am not beautiful..."

"Shhh," I whispered, feeling suddenly tender. "Hush, slave. You are beautiful."

"No," she replied sadly. "They are great beauties, your many women, your harem, your slaves. But plain as I am..."

She paused. "Plain as I am, I have found a place."

I released her. She slumped to the floor.


I had my six girls that night. I took my pleasure from them roughly, imperiously. I grabbed, I sucked, I bit their perfect breasts. I plunged into their mouths, their cunts, their bottoms. They groaned and endured.

A week later, I took the little slave girl to my bed. I used her a bit roughly, marveling at the fading weals. "Serve me..." She was generous and graceful then, as in all things. But she was still ...

As I lay back, she knelt by the bed. "Next week, master..."

"Time will tell."

"Next week," she said, insistently.

"Next week, what?"

"Next week I shall be... strong enough to disobey you again."

I nodded. "So you say. But the second offense merits harsher punishment than the first. Think on that."

She thought.

"It is my place, to serve and not obey."

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.

'Here?'

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 punished...is 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?'

'Yes.'

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.'

The Crate

Early, at dawn, one chilly autumn morning, a car drove up to the kitchen entrance of the Manor. Two men jumped out and unloaded a crate from the back. They were strong men and the small crate didn't seem to bother them too much. They went back to the car and drove away. They never rang the doorbell.

'My Lord.'

'Yes, Pearson.'

The Lord was sitting at his table, being served his breakfast. He was a man in his late fifties, grey whiskers and broad face. He was impeccably dressed in grey tweed.

The Butler bowed his head.

'My Lord, there is a crate down at the entrance for you. I believe it is sent by Lord F.'

'Oh, that was quick. Have you brought it in?'

'Yes, of course, My Lord. It is in the kitchen.'

'I'll come down, immediately and we will open it.'

Pearson had a hard time keeping up with the Lord as he rushed down the stairs to the kitchen.

'Well, Pearson, open it, what are you waiting for?'

'Baines!' the Butler called and one of the footmen approached the crate with a crowbar in his hand. He forcefully opened it, removed the lid, and stepped back.

The Lord looked down into the crate and Pearson and the other staff craned their necks to get a glimpse of what it contained.

'It is a very small space,' the Lord said, 'I wonder how she fits in there.'

He was looking down at the bare skin of the back of the inhabitant of the crate. She was leaning forward, crammed into the minute space.

'Pearson, get her out of there, feed her, and clean her, or whatever is appropriate, and then bring her to me. I'll be in the Library. I won her on cards, the other day.'

The Lord went and Pearson and the footman reached down and lifted the girl from the crate. The crate was small so it took some effort to extract her from it.

When the ropes were removed from her body, she could stand up. She was naked. Pearson handed her over to the maids who cleaned her thoroughly. She was then fed in the kitchen, before she was placed across the main table, and Pearson delivered the appropriate dozen of stripes with his cane.

'My Lord, your gift is prepared.'

The Lord was in the Library. With him, dusting his books, was a maid, who had the good sense of moving within his sight, turning her back to him, and thus, giving him opportunity to rest his eyes on the parts of her that weren't covered by her apron, the only item of clothing she was wearing.

'Bring her in, Pearson.'

The naked girl was ushered into the room and stood before the Lord. She was fairly blond, quite delicate in her frame, a young woman.

'She is pretty,' the Lord said. 'Was there a note?'

'No, My Lord, nothing, except for a slip that says she was delivered from Lord F.'

'Very good.'

The Lord regarded the young woman. He let his gaze wander up and down her body, let it linger on her breasts, stayed for a while on her belly, slid down between her legs and followed the thighs and the calves down to her feet, only to return to her face, with its short nose and soft lips.

'Turn her around, Pearson.'

The Butler snapped his fingers and made a movement with his hands and the girl turned around.

'Nice bottom, don't you reckon, Pearson?'

'A very fine specimen, My Lord.'

'Are the stripes yours, Pearson?'

'Yes, My Lord, I thought it appropriate to get her acquainted with the ways of the Manor.'

'Very good, you are a Master with the cane.'

'Thank you, My Lord.'

'Pearson, I want to have her bring my elevenses.'

'My Lord, how shall I have her dress?'

'Nothing, I want her in the buff. Perhaps something to adorn her, something nice, but nothing that covers.'

'Very well, My Lord.'

Later the young woman returned, carrying a tray with the Lord's tea and scones and some toast and other nice snacks he enjoyed. She was dressed in nothing but a golden necklace, some discreet bangles and a golden chain around her hips, like a girdle, nothing that covered her body at all.

The Sweetest Moment

It is the sweetest moment. A moment like that can be complete. From then on it is life, life with its commitments, loyalties, determination and struggle. But a moment, a moment that covers no distance in time, have no space, can be true.

Does he have to be handsome? I don't think he has. He has to be possible, the animal has to be there, lurking.

My friend brought him and told me who he was, where he came from, whom he knew and what he did. He turned his eyes at me and looked at me.

This was what he did. He looked at me and he saw me. He saw me but not in the sense when the Goddess or her angels look into your soul and see all of you. He was no magician, he couldn't know me, couldn't see more than what was there.

He saw me in the way a baby sees a bright shining thing and wants it, not because they know what it is, but because it shines.

He looked me in the eyes and he saw me, selfishly. His eyes told me that he wanted me. They told me he wanted to rule me, do things to me, take me and have me for himself.

I looked back. I looked into his eyes and saw what he wanted. And in that moment, the sweetest of moments, he could have me.

*

This land is mine but I’ll let you rule
I let you navigate and demand
Just as long as you know…this land is mine

('This Land is Mine', Dido Armstrong, 2003)

One Wise Woman

I got this story in the mail. It is written by Oxbridgeman, who, as it happens, is not at all from Oxbridge. It is a story of love and devotion, of a very special kind. Read and enjoy.

[6 January is Epiphany Day, the day when the Church commemorates the coming of the Wise Men to the baby Jesus, the One they adore above all, and bring Him the three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Here is a story of one wise woman who also brings three gifts to the man she most adores in her life.]

He had chosen her. He loved her. He cherished her. He cared for her. He protected her. She loved him. She was pleased that he had pursued her and chosen her. And he was honorable and worthy of her adoration. So she chose to give herself to him. Soul and body. For she was a wise woman and knew that the greatest gift a woman can give to a man is herself. Totally and completely.

Tonight she would again show him that she wanted to be his, to belong to him. And so in her bedroom she had taken off all her clothes and put on a lovely short nightgown, plain with just a touch of lace and thin satin straps over her shoulders. It came down only to the tops of her thighs. She had used just a hint of make-up and had brushed her shoulder-length hair to a beautiful shine. She looked at herself and smiled slightly. She knew he would like this.

She was now ready to present herself to him. She was a little nervous as she picked up a long thin piece of cloth and started toward the sitting room. The tiles were cold on her bare feet and even though the house was warm her body seemed to feel the cold winter air from the outside and she shivered slightly. But that was fine. She would be warm in a moment.

In the sitting room he sat in a chair near the fireplace. The fire roaring in the fireplace warmed the cozy room chasing away the January chill. The cat was curled up on the chair where the woman of his life usually sat. He had the newspaper in his hand but he wasn't really reading it. He knew she was coming.

She walked into the room. They looked at each other but neither said a word. She walked over in front of him and knelt down before him, resting her bottom on her heels. She placed the piece of cloth beside her on the carpet. Her head slightly bowed, knees together, hands to the side, she stayed in the kneeling position while he drank in her beauty. The hem of her nightgown rested on the tops of her thighs. He loved that this intelligent, successful woman should think so much of him that she would voluntarily kneel at his feet. His heart overflowed with love for her. The cat stared at them then went back to her slumber as the man continued to gaze at the kneeling woman.

Finally she said, "I have some gifts for you." The wise woman presented her first gift. She pulled the nightgown over her head and laid it to one side thereby giving him her first gift, her nudity. She resumed her kneeling position only this time with her knees slightly parted so that he could see all. Nothing would be withheld from him. Once again he gazed at her from his chair. His soul was filled with passion and part of him wanted to reach out and pull her into him, but he waited for he knew there was more to come. The only sound that could be heard was the January wind blowing outside and fire crackling in the fireplace inside. The man and the woman were hardly aware of either.

After another few minutes, the wise woman offered her second gift to her man. She handed him the long thin cloth then put out her arms and crossed her wrists one over the other. He paused just briefly then proceeded to bind her hands together. He wrapped the thin piece of cloth around one wrist, then the other, knotted it, then wrapped both wrists together front to back, side to side and then knotted it again above her wrists. The cloth was soft but firm and the knot was away from her fingers. She was now naked and bound. She resumed her kneeling position with her bound hands in her lap. He was on fire with love and passion for her. She was his. And had she stopped here it would have been enough, but he knew there was yet more. He reached out and gently caressed the tips of her breasts. She felt a slight stirring as he did this, but she didn't move.

Finally, after many minutes had passed, she looked up at him for the first time since she had knelt before him. She was nervous and her voice was almost a whisper, but she summoned her courage and said, "Drawer." She then looked back down and he gazed at her for a long time. Finally, he lifted her face to him and smiled at her with love and assurance. He got up and went over to the bureau. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a small whip. The wise woman had now bent her body down, placing her elbows on the floor. She stretched out her arms and placed her head on the floor between her arms. The wise woman then presented her third gift to him. She raised her bottom up ready to receive his passion, his strength and his masculinity through the kiss of his whip.

She trembled slightly and felt in her throat that she was going to cry but she had already resolved in her mind that she would be brave and receive in her body all that he would deliver to her so that they would both know that he was strong and able and that she truly belonged to him.

He stood behind her as she presented her beautiful waiting bottom to him. She was naked, kneeling, bound and ready to be whipped. He hesitated. She did not deserve this. She already was his. She had given him so much. But his passion cried out that he had to make her his own completely. He had to mark her as his own, and the way he had to mark her was with the stripes of a whip. He took the small whip, held it over his head, paused briefly and then struck.

She received the first sting of pain. The second caused her to flinch. As the whip began to strike her over and over, she had to fight herself and make herself keep her bottom raised. Her thighs were giving way but she willed them to stay still and keep her bottom raised to receive each painful sting, each kiss of fire, each expression of his passion -- the intensity of his love. She wanted to cry out to him to stop. She wanted to get up and run away. But she stayed where she was. Her bottom was on fire and she could not protect it. The culmination of the successive stings was overwhelming her. But she stayed where she was. She pressed her head into the carpet and clenched her teeth. Her hands closed into fists and her fingernails dug into her palms. Her toes curled up tightly and occasionally her lower leg would raise slightly as the whip struck her yet again. But she stayed where she was. She would be strong and bear it no matter how long he whipped her.

After two dozen lashes, he stopped. He gazed at her trembling body. He gently put a hand on her hip indicating that she could rest her bottom. He stared at the red stripes which were all over her bottom and even on the tops of her thighs. He had done that to her. He had marked her with those red stripes, markings that declared that she was his. Although she wouldn't see them until later, she knew that her beautiful body was now marked. She was marked with his stripes. And the memory of the pain and creation of those markings made real for her again the knowledge that she was truly his.

He went in front of her, and lovingly raised her up. He took her chin and raised up her face to his. Although she had not cried out, tears trickled down her cheeks and her lip trembled.

"Let it out," he said. As she grabbed him around the neck with her bound hands the sobs burst forth from her. She cried on his shoulder as he held her tightly and comforted her.

As her tears subsided he looked at her and said, "I love you, with all my heart!"

"I love you, too," she replied. He then picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. She rested her head in his chest. She didn't have to be strong now. She could let herself be comforted by him, cared for by him, loved by him.

Later that night the fire in the sitting room died away, and the cat stretched and yawned before resuming his long winter nap. The man and the woman were also curled up together, deep in the sleep of satisfied lovers. The wise woman's gifts had been received with gratitude by her man, and he had in turn offered her the gift of his manhood that assured her she was beautiful and loved.

Surrender, part 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The young man came forward.

'Unbutton your dress,' he said to me.

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

'Slip it down your shoulders,' he snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'How do you feel?'

'Ravaged.'

'Excited?'

'Yes.'

'Humiliated?'

'Yes.'

'Button your dress.'

'Yes, Sir.'

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

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

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