The Story of Miranda, part 1

Oh, no, not one of those long stories about friendship and relationships and very little spanking. Oh, yes, here it comes. This is one of the original stories about Miranda and her friend Felicia. Miranda is the girl who was waiting, earlier in my blog. The story is longer than this and maybe I will post the rest later.

I am Miranda. When all this began I was far younger than I am now. Of course, such things, just don't begin but it was at this time they became real. It happened in the autumn and I had just started school again. I was, then, still the tiny unassuming Miranda. I was not skinny but slim and light in my frame. I think I was quite pretty in some sense but I was not beautiful and, definitely, not sexy. To be sexy at my school you had to have big breasts, dress in revealing clothes and wear heavy makeup. I didn't have big breasts and my clothes were quite conservative. I preferred skirts and dresses and occasionally trousers. I guess I was quite boring.

Everything interesting about me happened on the inside. My imagination was far more colourful than my appearance. I don't think my classmates realised how wild and strange my inner world was. To them I was just tiny Miranda. I wasn't bullied or anything and I don't think I was ugly but I was just ordinary.

Everything changed when I started school that autumn. Felicia came to our school. She was weird. At least that was what everyone said. She dressed strangely and behaved strangely. Felicia had red hair. That in itself made her strange to many. She dressed in green, dark green, and was far more flamboyant than me. She didn't behave like the sexy girls in school and her breasts wasn't enormous so she was weird.

I thought she looked like a queen, a fairy queen. She was half a head taller than me but, then again, most people were taller than me. I was immediately drawn to her and her way of moving and her way of seeming like she didn't care about the others. She was my heroine. She entered into my fantasies as a fairy queen with magic powers and as a being walking through a world where she didn't belong. She came from some faraway place where things were different. I imagined myself kneeling in front of her when she was sitting on her throne as her captive and putting my life in her hands and I felt a strange thrill when I imagined her having the power of controlling me.

The good thing about Felicia was that she soon became very real. It took some weeks but then we started talking. She was a bit shy, I think. To me she seemed almost haughty but I think she was shy. I was eager to get to know her but a bit scared of her being so confident. She seemed not to care about what other other people thought about her and I admired that. The beginning was somewhat awkward but soon we became great friends. She wasn't at all haughty or aloof but, really, just as anybody else. I felt more confident together with her and I sensed that she enjoyed having a friend in the new place.

The best thing about Felicia was that she was like me, on the inside, that is. She had the most sparkling imagination ever possible. She liked my fantasies and shared her ideas with me and we realised that we had a lot of things in common. We both were fascinated by vampires and horror stories. We were not too keen on the kind of films were the mad killers splatter blood all over the place but rather the old romantic ones. She laughed but was flattered when I told her that she made me think of a fairy queen. She liked that because magic and fairyland was another thing we shared.

The things I am going to tell you about concern another interest of ours, something, maybe darker, but far more exciting and dangerous. I had carried this with me for a long time as a strange twisted burden, something I never dared mention to anyone. I think it came from my interest in Gothic horror and especially the kind that is concerned with old castles and horrible dungeons. I imagined the horrible deeds committed in the dungeons and the dreadful torture that was performed there. It was something else than the ordinary thrill of horror that filled me when I thought about being submitted to the terror of a castles dungeon. The sense of helplessness and fear that would fill you when you were strapped to the torture bench was exciting in another way to my mind. I felt a tingling of lust when I saw myself chained to a dungeon wall dressed in a flimsy dress awaiting my fate. The thought of being subject to horrible old time punishments made my cheeks blush and my heart race.

I felt embarrassed when my mind eagerly played out scenes of punishments and torture. I imagined being a captive or maybe a slave and subject to the humiliation of being publicly sold. Maybe the buyers needed to be shown the merchandise. I, the slave, would have to strip before them. To make a punishment more degrading the culprit got her dress torn from her body in front of the audience.

That was the things the tiny unassuming Miranda filled her head with and I don't think my classmates ever suspected that. The thing with Felicia was that she seemed to share some of my interest in the darker side of the mind. It wasn't obvious at first but I picked up on any interest she showed in the cruelties and degradation of horror stories. Soon I started to sense that she was quite keen on the more sinister details of stories we told.

It was with a sense of elation I began to feel that I had met a person with a mind as twisted as my own. Or at least, almost, as twisted. I was happy for that but a bit apprehensive. My fantasies was where I lived. If they were strange I had to be strange and twisted and I was ashamed. The sense of having someone to share that with was liberating.

It was, by no means, an easy thing to find out. It took me the whole term to realise that Felicia actually shared my interest in such things. I proceeded slowly and introduced more and more of my thoughts and found that she had some of her own. It may seem as I deliberately tried to get her to know me and my thoughts but I wasn't aware of any plan. I was just happy getting to know her and a bit cautious when talking about my darker fantasies. I was cautious but eager at the same time.

It was around Christmas time when I remember her telling me about something she read in a book about olden school days. She told me about how they had really hard corporal punishments in those days and that both boys and girls was birched and spanked for the slightest breach of rules. I remember the glow in her eyes when she told me about the worst of those punishments when the culprit had to lower their clothing to receive the birching on naked skin and that that also was done to girls. The most humiliating thing was that the punishment was performed in front of the classmates.

The enjoyment she showed when telling me this made me understand that she shared my interest in certain things. I had sensed it before but then I was sure. Her way of telling this story convinced me and made me bold and I admitted that the thought of having to subject oneself to such a punishment was quite exciting. She didn't seem the least shocked or disgusted by my admission which relieved me. I felt that I had told her something of my inner darkness and she had not seemed to mind.

After that our fantasies often turned to horrible things like torture and captivity and humiliating punishments. She quite enjoyed imagining the horror of being publicly whipped in front of the whole town or sold as a slave in a public market. I was happy, having someone to share those thoughts with and Felicia seemed to enjoy my imagination when I was conjuring up new humiliating situations.

There was one difference between us, a difference I wasn't aware of at the beginning but which became more and more obvious to me. Felicia was a fairy queen. When she spoke of horrible things she liked to describe them and shiver with horror at the thought of having something like that done to you but most often she seemed to see the scene in her mind as an onlooker or someone in charge. She didn't share my perspective of being the one always at the receiving end of the torture imagined.

It wasn't until March that year that things really changed. I remember it clearly. That afternoon things changed and after that nothing ever became the same again. We were sitting in Felicia's room chatting and imagining things as we often did after school. This afternoon we talked about how it would feel if there were spankings in school like it used to be. We talked about the people we most wanted to see spanked and the ones we most of all disliked having there if you would be spanked yourself. I remember our conversation clearly. Felicia turned to me and asked:

'Would you enjoy being spanked in school?'

'No, I don't think so,' I answered, 'although the thought is somewhat exciting.'

'I would hate it,' she said.

'Aren't you supposed to do that?'

'It seems to be the point with spankings.'

'It is supposed to be painful,' I said, 'and humiliating.'

'But an exciting thought, anyway.'

'Yes, isn't it strange?'

Felicia sat in silence for a short while.

'Would you like to be spanked?' she said.

I suddenly blushed. It felt as if she had seen through my disguise. That she saw inside my mind and asked me something that she wasn't supposed to know.

'How...how, do you mean?' I asked, still confused and embarrassed.

'I mean that we could test it. I can spank you and you can tell me what it was like.'

'Like an experiment...'

'Yeah, like an experiment.'

'I don't know,' I said, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed.

'Come on, Miranda, don't be such a chicken!'

My heart was beating fast. I was excited and I felt a tingling sensation in my body that made me shiver. My face was hot and I suppose I was blushing.

'Come on, Miranda, You want to try it.'

I could only nod. I wanted it to happen but was so embarrassed that I could sink through the earth. She had exposed my secret and I didn't want it to be too obvious that I wanted it.

'How...how, should I do?' I asked, my throat feeling dry.

'There, lean over the bed!' she said taking command.

I was trembling when I obeyed her orders. At the same time it felt good being commanded and not having to say or do anything of my own accord. I leaned over her bed, putting my arms and upper body on the top of it. I heard her move and picking up something. I looked over my shoulder and felt a strange sensation, almost as if I was about to faint, when I saw her holding a wooden hairbrush in her hand.

I knelt in silence as Felicia knelt behind me.

'Are you ready?' she asked, sounding quite eager.

I nodded. She then reached forward and flipped up my skirt. I was embarrassed by that but the sensation was at the same time quite arousing. I didn't want to admit that, even to myself, but it was quite exciting and terrifying. The mix of feelings was strange and something new.

I had never before had anyone looking at my bottom before, let alone, my bottom only dressed in knickers. The sensation was strange and thrilling.

'Ok, then,' she said and reached out her hand and I felt something against my bottom. I realised it must be the brush. I closed my eyes and prepared for the impact. I had imagined being spanked and whipped many times and in my mind it was quite an exciting thing but now I realised that it might hurt, there would be real pain and I wasn't sure I could cope with that.

I wasn't prepared when she hit me. The sensation was electrifying. It was like a bolt of electricity had passed through my body. My head swirled and then I felt the sting. She hadn't hit me hard but the sting was a sting of real pain. It hurt. The pain was not at all pleasant. It was, just, painful and horrible. The next smack was harder. I drew my breath and felt the pain. It really hurt. I hadn't imagined the pain like this. In my imagination the pain made me float away and lifted me to another level of conciousness but this was real pain.

Although I wasn't prepared for the pain and I didn't really know what to do with it I was in such a strange state of mind that I couldn't do anything but stay in place and subject myself to the spanking. I didn't want to feel the next smack, it hurt too much but something made me stay. I was to endure, it was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to be painful. That was what a spanking was all about. I was supposed to suffer and I stayed although the pain was horrible.

She smacked me for a while. I didn't count the strokes but it could have been a dozen or so. Felicia stopped spanking me. I drew my breath, thinking that it was over. Then she said:

'That was for warm up, now you'll get six of the best,'

Her words made me shiver. Six of the best would mean more power and more pain. I prepared for the worst. The thing that followed took me by surprise, though.

'Take down your knickers!'

'Felicia,' I cried.

'You'll have to take the last six on the bare,' she said with determination.

My head swirled with humiliation. She would see my bum and not only that, she would hurt it with the dreaded hairbrush. That was degrading.

My hands trembled when I obeyed her. I pulled down my knickers, slowly and just a little.

She then gave me six of the best on my naked skin. They were harder and really painful. I was trembling when she was done. I pulled my knickers up and my skirt down and rose and turned to Felicia.

I looked at her and saw her blushing. She was, obviously, agitated. I was a bit surprised by that but was too concerned with my own sense of pain and humiliation to think too much about it. The air in the room was tense. My mind was in turmoil and Felicia just sat there, looking at me.

'How was it?' she asked after a while. Maybe she needed to break the spell.

'Painful, really, really painful,' I said.

'It is supposed to be painful,' she said and suddenly we started to laugh. We were nervous and laughing was a way out of the tension. It helped. We were back to normal, as it seemed. In reality, things were never again to return to normal. There was a tension between us now but that tension was not altogether a bad thing. We didn't speak more about it that afternoon but when I walked home I sensed that I had changed. I had been spanked. It was something I had fantasised about but the real thing was very different. I realised that this treatment with the brush was nothing compared to the whippings in my mind but the pain had been very real and I had experienced a strange sensation of having been pushed to an edge and almost tipped over it. The pain had been worse than I could have imagined and not at all as pleasant as in my imagination. In fact, the pain was only painful and horrible. Still I was in turmoil. I had been spanked and the sensation was overwhelming. It was beyond anything I had ever experienced. It was something real but at the same time something that belonged to my inner life. It was as if the two had met and it was both unexpected and well known at the same time.

I was ashamed about the fact that I had accepted it but at the same time I was proud of having endured it. I was scared to bits by the sense of being pushed to an edge without having control. The fear of being pushed over the edge was overwhelming but at the same time I longed for the sensation of being pushed. I was even slightly disappointed that I had coped. I wanted to lose control but at the same time this was the thing I dreaded above everything.

Iconic Images 2

I think this is a lovely image. And very exciting. To me it seems almost as if someone had illustrated my favourite spanking fantasy. In its simplicity it contains so much tension and excitement.

There are no faces in the image and that makes it a little impersonal but then it is so much easier to identify with the people in it. The main part is the woman who kneels on a cushion like something. She is wearing something that looks like riding boots and trousers. Her top is pushed up and her trousers pulled down. Someone is standing beside her, I think it is a man but I am not sure. They are holding a riding crop to her bottom. We all know she is to be whipped by it.

But if you think about it. This is an image of pure evil. We get so excited by spanking and images of it so we forget what we see sometimes. Here is a woman kneeling, bared and exposed. Beside her stands someone who is holding a riding crop to her buttocks about to whip her. A riding crop is designed to sting through the thick hide of a horse. Now, someone is taking it to the tender skin of a woman. The purpose is to cause her pain. Furthermore she has had to expose her skin to make the pain even worse. That is immensely cruel and humiliating. She is not tied there but kneels obediently. She accepts being whipped. By force or by own will we don't know but she accepts it. She is already defeated and now she will be whipped.

Think about it! Isn't this a very cruel image? An image of evil. How could you think about whipping someone with a horsewhip like that? No one can really deserve that.

Still, and that is the strange thing, I find this image immensely exciting, attractive and even arousing. I know many others share my view. And for me it is the very cruelty of it that attracts me. The thought of that woman having to surrender to that cruelty. How is it, kneeling there, exposed, waiting for to be whipped? What does she feel? Is it just horrible or is there a kind of excitement in it?

The fact that she has had to expose herself for the whip adds something to it. The mere fact that someone deliberately is going to hit her to cause pain and that she has had to expose her body to make it even worse make this image very exciting. It scares me beyond anything and at the same time it excites me. Do I wish I was that woman? Sometimes I do, but why do I do that?

Am I just trying to convince myself that I am weird? Am I weird? Or is there a contradiction in the fascination with spanking and similar things?

Why Slavery?

I can't help trying to understand the whys about my fantasies. Perhaps I do analyse too much, think to much a do too little. I know that but, still, I can't help it. I can't help wondering about the appeal of being a slave. We all know that slavery is a really horrible thing and no one really wants to imply that there was anything good about it.

So why do we (I know it is not only me) return there in our minds? Why do we travel there, only to be stripped, bound, chained, shamed and sold? I believe there are a multitude of explanations and reasons for fantasies. Some of them are obvious and others have been discussed at length and the area is, most likely, too complex for a single blog entry so, for that reason alone, I will talk about one possible reason now.

I think it has to do with status, with social standings and such matters. Most of us are caught up in the eternal struggle for acceptance and social standings. We do what we do to gain recognition and status. In addition we do fear losing face, to do something that is frowned upon, disliked by our peers. At least some of us are very concerned with such matters and the ones who claim they aren't, are often more caught up than they dare to admit.

So being enslaved should be our darkest nightmare. What could be more humiliating than to be stripped naked, chained, paraded through the street and sold to the highest bidder (I know different fantasies deal with different situations but I think you know what I mean)? Being enslaved must be the ultimate losing of face, the definite loss of social status. The slave is the lowest of low, she is only property. She is nothing in society.

I think that is the reason why it appeals to us. When you have lost everything, you don't have to struggle any more. You are, in some sense, free. You can concern yourself with accepting your situation, accepting who you are. When you have fallen you don't have to fear falling any more.

And you are free to indulge in activities that are not acceptable in ordinary circumstances. Sexual indulgence is not for good girls. As a slave you are free to enjoy your body, your sexuality. It is required of you, you can even do it without the stigma of wanting it.

I Am Pleased

Lost friends are refound and Janice is pleased. In fact, she was so pleased that she went kite flying on Sunday (poor winds, though).

Boxed

I don't often fantasise about abductions and kidnappings. Being captured by grim slavers and taken to some remote desert town to be sold is a completely different matter. This little snippet of a story is an exception to that. It is not really a story, just a situation, no context, no nothing, really. But still, here it is. SK, this is for you!

Darkness, confusion, pain. I was waking up from sleep or perhaps even from being unconscious. I was in distress, felt uncomfortable. Everything was unpleasant and wrong.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, I realised I was sitting. Darkness was around me. I felt a hard surface behind my bent back and then I realised there were surfaces to my sides as well. It dawned upon me that I was sitting in a very confined space.

My senses came back and I began to sense how I was sitting, my different body parts started to report to my mind where they were and in what position they were. I was sitting, hunching in a confined space. I tried to move but couldn't. At first I didn't understand why.

I wondered if it was the surfaces, the walls around me or something else that kept me in place. With a cold sense of panic I realised that I had walls all around me, in front, to the back, to my sides and above me. I was crammed inside a very small space. My heart started beating and I knew I had to control those feelings because I feared panicking in this strange situation would make things unbearable.

My feet were held together, close together, and my arms were behind my back. It took me some time to sense where I had my arms. They were bent upwards behind my back and held in place by something that pressed on my wrists and arms in different places.

I was bound. My feet were tied together and my arms had been cruelly bent upwards on my back and tied in place. I realised how uncomfortable and painful it was, how unnatural that position was. I couldn't move.

I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I had something in my mouth. It was hard and rubbery and pressed my mouth open. I had been gagged. I realised that someone also had tied a scarf around my head, thus blindfolding me.

My mind was in turmoil as I understood that I was gagged and cruelly bound and placed in a small confined space, like a box or a crate. I almost panicked. Who had done this? Why was it done to me?

I vaguely remembered falling asleep in my bed. Or had I been somewhere else?

As I desperately tried to bring order in chaos, I realised something else. I suddenly felt that where my body was touching the walls I felt it directly against my skin. I could move just a little and I could feel the rough surface scrub against my skin. I understood that I was not fully dressed. I went over my sensations and decided that I most certainly was naked, completely naked.

The next realisation made my heart beat faster in humiliation. The one who had stripped and bound me and put me in this situation had not only secured me but added to my shame by tightening a rough rope that run between my legs and cut into my sex. I was sure, now, that I was, indeed, naked.

Suddenly it appeared to me that there were sounds around me. I had denied myself that knowledge but now I realised that there were a lot of hustle and bustle around me. I listened intently to try to find out what kind of sounds there were.

Slowly order came to chaos. To my horror I realised that what I heard was the sound of a train station. My situation dawned upon me. Someone had most likely drugged me, stripped me naked, tied me with ropes, gagged and blindfolded me, put me in a crate and placed me on a train station.

Bustling life went on around me, only feet away from where I was sat, helpless, naked and bound, in a crate, on my way somewhere. I cried in my misery and my heart started beating at the thought of my final destination. Who was to open the crate? What would happen when he did?

Frustration

I do not often write about my personal life or what happens in it. This will be one of the rare exceptions. I am sad and frustrated today. A couple of weeks ago I got in contact with someone who had read my stories. He seemed to share many of my fantasies, or rather the mirror image of my fantasies, and we have had quite an intense exchange of ideas. Suddenly he had to stop our communications, some security issue as it seems. That is something you have to respect when a conversation is of a private kind. (In my mind I wonder if getting an hotmail or yahoo account would help but I am not, really, very good at such things). In addition, another good friend told me she will disappear forever soon.

I know it is unfair but I feel abandoned and that makes me sad. And when I am frustrated and sad I want to write really horrible stories. Maybe I should do that and you will see another aspect of me, not at all gentle and kind and polite and ... (stop it, silly!!).

I hope the people I have mentioned will forgive me for this outburst of frustration. And you dear Reader, please leave this sad blog entry and go read some of my stories, they are far more entertaining...and better.

The Castle

I am back and it feels good to be back blogging. I have a story for you, one about spanking. Not my best, perhaps but I like the mood in this. I do hope I managed to convey something of it.

The castle is perched on the hill above the town, the eternal wind howling against its walls. The wind is chilly today and I shiver a little in the cool air. There is no one there, except for me and an old man taking his dog for a walk. I am sitting on a cold bench of stone, waiting for you. My thin skirt is poor protection against the cold, cold stone.

My heart starts beating as I see you approaching. I am happy to see you. I have been longing for you, still I am apprehensive, being a little scared of you, not knowing what you will do.

You sit down beside me. I am happy to have you near me. I look down, a little scared of meeting your eyes. I know you want me to be like that, a little submissive, a little timid.

'Take off your knickers!' you command.

'Here?'

You nod. It is as simple as that, a nod seals my doom. Blood rushes to my cheeks. You know I will obey. I look around, checking that there is no one there. The man with the dog is further down the hill. I look at the castle, its windows are black. Anyone may be watching me from behind those black windows. You know this but still you have commanded me.

My hands, under my skirt, grab hold of my knickers. The movements are awkward as I slide them down my thighs. It is a strange sensation feeling the fabric of my knickers gliding over my skin. My skirt covers me but I know I am becoming more and more naked underneath it. I blush like a little girl as I rise up a little allowing my knickers to slide down a bit. They are around my knees and I am ashamed. You know how I feel about this and still you choose it for me.

I hesitantly pull down my knickers to my feet and step out of them. I give them to you but you don't take them. Instead you tell me to throw them in the bin. This is humiliating. My knickers are litter and they will be there in the bin among the rest of the rubbish. My most intimate piece of clothing is just rubbish and I will walk home without them. I blush.

'Pull up your skirt!'

I am supposed to feel the cold stone against my naked skin. You want me to be humiliated. I do as you please. I always do. The stone is cold against me. I am fully dressed but very naked underneath my skirt.

I know you want to punish me. I have not bought a thing you asked me to buy. My lectures took all the time and I didn't want to miss this appointment. I want to explain, to apologise but I don't.

I know I deserve to be punished but still a cold hand grips my heart as I see you tap your lap. This gesture means but one thing, that I am to be spanked. But I can't believe you want to do it here, in public.

'Can't we leave it till tonight? I plead.

You don't answer, you just look at me. I am silent. I look around not wanting anyone to see us. The man with the dog is still far away, the windows still dark.

I lean forward, hesitating, I lie down in your lap. You lift your hand, take hold of my neck, almost like a tender gesture, as to hug me. Instead I sense your grip on my neck, forcing me down on your knee. I have to rise up, slightly in order to place myself there but soon I am in position. I am ashamed, not only for myself but for the both of us. I hope you will not lift my skirt.

I sense your hands on my back. Suddenly I feel the cold wind against my legs and I know you are lifting my skirt. I have tears in my eyes. I bow my head while you expose my bottom. I am waiting.

The first blow doesn't hurt. Strangely enough it comes as a surprise. I hear your hand against my skin. When I start sensing the heat from the first whack you deliver the next. I am being spanked. It stings and it hurts but not too much. I am more embarrassed and ashamed than anything else. Blow after blow hit my naked bottom. The pain is mounting and soon the pain is the most prominent sensation. In some way it feels good to be able to concentrate on the pain rather than anything else. I am still concerned that someone will see us.

The pain is mounting and soon it is only my bottom and your pounding hand. The pain overwhelms me and I have to focus on it completely to cope with it. I do not cry out but I moan and squeal a little. I can't help it.

And then it is over. You tell me to stand up. I obey you. I sit down beside you. I dare not pull my skirt down but it falls around me covering my naked legs. The ice cold stone soothes my spanked bottom. I look around and I see that the man with the dog is behind me. It can mean only that he has passed us while I was being spanked. I ask you about it but you don't answer.