My Imagination

My imagination is a lush forest, a clear blue sky, sparkling stars and sweet water. It is a land, a continent, a whole world or several worlds where I travel when I want to.

I can let myself fly through the lands and look down on emerald forests, and gleaming rivers running through the land, and endless blue seas. It is a world of beauty and grandeur, pristine and primeval in places, where thoughts grow freely and in abundance.

Imagination is a place of immense beauty but also of passion and terror and lust and desire. There are people there, of course, and people can be both sweet and cruel.

Between the green canopies of gigantic trees you may spot a woman walking, a proud and beautiful redhead, naked and with her hands tied in front of her. She is leashed to a horse where a man is riding. He is the hero and she the heroine and in this world she is his captive. She is his woman, bound and naked, and all is well.

On the coasts there are splendid cities with gleaming spires and shining pagodas where ancient and strange gods are worshipped by delightful women with glittering dark eyes. In those cities slavers and warriors sit in taverns and brag and revel, staring with desire at the servant girls hurrying between the tables, clad in almost nothing, all there for the pleasure of those brutes.

Imagination is not a place of eternal happiness. No, passion and pain fill the lives of brutes and slaves and not every woman is happy about being captured and not every man is a good man.

It is a brutal world where a woman may find herself stripped and in chains on the slaver's market before she knows it. And although she knows she belongs there, and longs to be there she has to endure the unfairness of it all.

It is a world of passion and pain as well as desire and lust and love and compassion. It is not a dead world. They are all alive. And despite the hardship and the cruelty they are all living and breathing and being alive. In their hearts they know that living is good and there is beauty in all aspects of life.

But this land is greater than that. There are modern cities too, where people live lives that look like ours, they work and commute and go to restaurants and watch telly. It is just an illusion, because those people know too, in their hearts, that this world is a good place to live, and they can live without fear. And when passion takes them, they can say yes to that which may seem cruel and unpleasant but really touches their souls.

The girl who follows the arrogant bastard to his place, having been touched and groped by him, may fear him when he takes out his whip and demands her to undress, but she never fears life. She may be terrified by the pain and the humiliation but in the end it makes her feel alive.

It is an honest world. When people love, they love with passion and truth and they trust the love they get and give. In this world you may want to hurt the one you love without ever ceasing to love. A lash with a whip may be a sign of affection and a rope around someone's wrists may indicate belonging.

But there are dark places in this world of imagination. Places that are not as easy to spot as the sun drenched vistas of endless forests and rivers. There are dark alleys and ruined castles and derelict buildings. And there are perfectly beautiful places but were cruelty lives. In those dark places strange things happen. Things that are hard to explain and understand.

To those places people go to be humiliated, shamed and hurt and they go without knowing why. They are drawn there, like moths to the fire, and they want to turn their heads but still they return.

In those dark places a whip can be wielded with the intent of hurting, really hurting and someone may take pleasure in someone else's fear or shame. A girl can be raped and abused and used and although she hates it she cannot avoid it, doesn't want to avoid it.

Imagination stretches into space, where the awe of eternity boggles your mind and the distance between the stars are so immense that the mind cannot grasp it.

But the endless vistas of space aren't empty. No, there travels ships of different shapes and sizes and empires are created and lost and passion makes people fight and love.

Scantily clad space empresses and princesses look upon the travellers with sparkling eyes where the cold eternity of space lies and men fight with swords and rayguns to do their biddings.

In the world of imagination there is also immense sweetness. The lovers lie in each others arms, looking out over the sea while the mild breeze ruffles their hair. There is true love and true passion, not hindered by jealousy and fear. In this world you can love with all your heart and all your body and know that you are alive.

Imagination is a place of contradiction, life and passion, cruelty and sweetness. It is all I want it to be but also much more. There lies my fears and my desires and things I don't want to see but are there all the same.

I cannot describe it, not fathom it. I can only glimpse it, get a fleeting vision of it. And what I can't do, is to describe it, not all of it. What I know is this: I would be nothing without it.

Letters

I have learnt something from blogging and that is what people understand you have written is not what you intended to write, it is not even what you write but only what they understand you have written. I will say no more, at the moment. Ponder this and if you don't know what I mean, then you are allowed to ask me what I wanted to say with it.

Anyway, I will plod along with my stories and my writing and my fantasies. Here is a story, completely devoid of spankings. Take care, Dear Readers.

Dearest Elinor,

How could you be so cruel? My soul still aches from your leaving. Why did you have to leave? Education and universities are all important, I know, but why did you have to leave me here?

Dearest sister, dearest soul sister, life here is bleak without you around. Only three days have gone but they are like years to me. How will I live?

I do my chores every day and I visit your mother. I play with little Will and he is such a sunshine. But no one here is like you, no one comes close.

I hate you, Elinor, I hate you. I can hardly bring myself to write that but why did you have to be so cruel? Why couldn't you just embrace me or just leave and wave or leave me a note or something? Why did you have to kiss me?

I curse the moment you kissed me and I curse the moment I turned my face to you. My lips still burn with your kiss. Still after three days, I can feel the heat of your lips and words cannot describe the fire they have caused.

My father, my dear father, is worried about me. He asks about my health all the time and no reassuring words can rid his brow of the clouds that seem to have gathered there. I think he knows how much I miss you.

Will you come back to Christmas? I will count the days. Please, don't forget me? How could you? If you feel a fraction of what I feel it will be impossible for you to forget me.

Yours

A.

Dearest Elinor,

I think of you every day. I think of you every hour. It is an eternity before I see you again but I am sure I will survive.

Your letter was a blessing. I think everyone saw that. My father looked pleased and he said he had not seen me this happy for ages. I know he meant for three weeks but it seems like ages, indeed.

Dearest, sweetest, soul sister, please forgive me for what I write here! I am sworn to honesty even if it will make you hate me forever. I fear writing it but I have to.

My thoughts about you haven't been pure. Since you kissed me I have been burning, burning for you.

But when I think of you, I don't just think of the things we spoke of, the strolls in the park, the stories we told each other and the secrets we shared.

My mind has turned to improper thoughts. I think of how you kissed me and how your lips touched mine. I think of the fire in my frame and how I long for your lips to kiss me again.

I am sad and lonely. I cannot talk to anyone about my feelings. They will tell me they are forbidden and wrong. I have to tell you. I will wither and die if I don't tell you.

Tell me you forgive me! Please tell me you forgive me. I promise I will never ever kiss you again, when I see you, if I will. If you still want to see me.

I would rather live my life in solitude than to be dishonest with you. You see, I had to tell you about my thoughts. Please forgive me.

Yours, ever

A.

Dearest Elinor,

Dearest, sweetest Elinor, I am so happy. You have no idea how happy I am.

Your letter arrived three days after I sent you my letter. You said nothing about forgiveness and my heart sank. I thought you had ignored me and my only consolation, my only hope was that you hadn't read my letter before sending me yours, that they had passed each other on the way, not knowing about each other.

Now I know you have forgiven me. I even know you feel the same. My heart is flying, it takes turns around the house and returns only occasionally to my bosom.

When you stood outside my room, in the night, outside the open door I was frightened. You must have seen that. Then I realised it must be you, although you were not there in body but in soul. I realised it was you and I felt no fear.

To my eyes you looked real, although I never saw your face. That scared me but I knew it was you and when you asked me to invite you I never hesitated.

I feared you were angry and had come to tell me how wrong I was, how horrible I was. But when you held me in your arms I knew I was forgiven.

You felt different, strange and alien but I know it wasn't your body but your soul who had come to visit me so I knew it had to be different.

When you kissed me, I knew I wasn't just forgiven. I knew you felt the same. It was kind of you to not kiss my lips, the kiss on my neck was still the sweetest thing on earth. I knew, then, that you felt the same.

Oh, Elinor, I am so happy. You heard my call, across the space that separates us and your soul travelled the distance just to tell me that my feelings were answered. I am so happy.

Love

A.

Dearest Elinor,

My heart is sad today. I am feeling weak and weary. My feet feel like lead when I walk. The walk through the woods, the one we used to take, feels like many, many miles and I am exhausted when I come back.

My father is worried but I know it is a sickness of the heart that has befallen me.

You forgive me. In your letter you forgave me, and that means the world to me but I am no longer sure you feel the same. I am ashamed, ashamed of my impure thoughts and my outpourings. I know you forgive me and I know you still love me but my heart was singing when I believed you felt the same. But now the bird, that my heart had become, has plummeted to the ground.

Elinor, my sister, please forgive me for I felt anger with you for your letter. It contained words of friendship but not of love. But your friendship is more valuable to me than any love. My anger will abate and my love for you will remain. But why did you come to me in the night? Why did your soul travel the distance between us to kiss me like that?

Still forever yours

A.

I am sick. A strange kind of illness has befallen me. I didn't recognise it first. I thought, perhaps, it was just my heart, my saddened heart that made my body ill but now I am not sure any more.

I am weak and cannot walk many steps without feeling ill and dizzy. Could it really be just my longing heart? Can you long so much that your body dies? I feel as if I am dying.

You still come to me in the night. I don't understand. You love me enough to send your soul to whisper in my ear about your eternal love but your letters are so different.

Why do you never show your face? You feel different. I am still glad you visit me. I need you to visit me. I miss you so. I am sure I would be well in no time would you come back, although I know you can't.

Christmas is still so far away.

Yours, ever

A.

Dearest Elinor,

My blood is cold, cold as ice and I feel steelhard fingers squeezing my heart. I know now that it is not you who visit me in the night. I don't know why I am now so certain, I just know. But who is she?

I cannot walk at all now. I am confined to my bed. I do sit up some hours during the day but I am exhausted from doing that.

Father is worried and the doctors are worried. I know now that I am truly ill. I am fading away. Can it be the heart, my aching heart?

I wish you could come home but I know you cannot afford it. It is a long journey. Your letters lighten up my day, though. Knowing that you cry for me in your pretty little room makes me both sad and happy.

I dream such strange dreams. They are both beautiful and frightening. I see endless vistas of woods and rivers and I see dark castles in the moonlit night. I fly through those lands to one of those castles. It seems as if she, the spectre that visits me, lives in one of those castles. She is calling me and I want to go there but I won't go because I would have to leave you.

Those are only dreams but when I sleep they seem real to me. I am comforted by ordinary things in my room, the chairs and the rugs and the clock on the mantle piece.

Don't worry, my dear Elinor, I will be here when you come back. I love you.

Love

A.

Sweetest Elinor,

I am scared now. Strange things happen to me. It seems so dark around me. Even when the sun is shining I have to close my eyes.

In the night I hear those calling voices that want me to come to them. I am weak. I cannot resist them. I have to resist them.

Still, my body is stronger now. I awakened quite refreshed this morning. I think the worst is over. My illness is fading and I grow stronger.

I am stronger but my dreams are worse. I dreamed this night that I went walking. It was strange because I could see despite the darkness. I walked up to the big house by the river, the yellow one where the Jones live.

I met Clara, you know her, the eldest daughter. We talked for a while and she was very polite but I could tell she was scared of me.

I remember we struggled and I held her down and kissed her, on the neck, like the spectre did with me.

It was the oddest and scariest dream I have ever had.

Please, come home, soon, I know the dreams will be all sunny and good when you come back.

Yours, ever

A.

Dearest Elinor,

Your last letter was so full of sorrow and sadness I could hardly read it. It made me so sad. You wrote as if to say goodbye. Have you met someone? Have you forgotten me? Do you want to forget me?

I need you to be strong for me. I don't know what darkness engulfs me but I am lost. I struggle to stick to what I know is real but it is all fading.

I am scared. Please, Elinor, don't leave me now.

Love, ever

A.

Dearest Elinor,

I am lost. I have lost. It is all over. I cannot struggle any more. It is all lost.

They are all scared of me now. I am too dark. I have to leave.

I will write to you.

Love you

A.

Sweetest Elinor,

My heart is in darkness. I know I cannot see you any more, ever. I am lost in darkness and no one is here. I am alone but that is for the best.

I cannot see my family, I cannot see anyone I love. I cannot keep it back. They will be harmed. I cannot allow that to happen.

Goodbye, my sweetest, dearest soul sister. I have no soul but the one I had was yours, sister. I love you still, with all my heart and all my body. I dare write that now, now when it doesn't matter any more, now when all is lost.

I cannot see you. I cannot ever be with you. Please forgive me.

A.

Dear Elinor,

I am so happy. My illness is gone. I am feeling stronger than ever.

Elinor, I will see you. I will travel the long way to your university. I will be educated, I will see the world. I am so happy.

But better than the world, better than any education. I will get to see you my love, my beloved Elinor.

And when I see you I will give you the sweetest kiss you ever knew.

Yours

A.

Amazed

That is what I am by your reactions. I have had my doubts about this story, seeing that I was losing readers while I was posting it. So, even if you aren't the majority, your comments tell me that you care about the story. This is fantastic. Imagine that I can write something that engages you!! And believe me, this is no pretence or false modesty, I am honestly amazed that what I write means something. I have learned this when blogging, it is true, but the wonder of it still amazes me.

For your information, the story, as it is now, contains some 33,000 words (just a tad shorter than Heart of Darkness) and although I started writing it in May, last year, I wrote two thirds of it during six consecutive days in November, just before I started posting it. Why do I tell you this? It is because I want you to know that I haven't been writing it while I was posting it.

In my mind there is a continuation and I hope I will be able to sit down and write it. I have some ideas for it. On the other hand, I found that stopping now wouldn't be a bad idea. It is an ongoing process and there is no real end point. There is no obvious conclusions to the story.

I would want to write some more, but I don't know when I will have time to focus on it. I need to focus to write these stories. I know I tend to end mid-story often but this one is different. I was thinking of it as a longer story. A story like Waiting was never meant to be more than the first bit. Some other stories I still feel I should continue with.

On the other hand I have an urge to go back to what this blog was all about: fantasies. I don't mind stories but I feel sometimes that fantasies, dreams, and imagination aren't always captured in stories. A story has its own life, moves in its own ways and a good fantasy may not be a good story. Maybe I will try to talk about fantasies, or find other ways of expressing them. Someone said something nice about my drawings, maybe I should try more of that.

When it comes to stories, I feel, somehow, that I am a bit tired of the ones I have been writing. One comment, by Meta, raised an interesting question. She was a little bothered by the fact that the heroine of Surrender wasn't told in advance that she was to be used, as it was, by another. I agree with her on one level, I would have been too, if it was me. To be perfectly honest, I am quite sure I would be severely traumatised by a lot of the things I let my heroines go through. On another level I want that edge. I didn't think of it but when Meta pointed it out I realised that I wanted it to be this way, that she wasn't told, she wasn't asked, she had no opportunity to say no.

It is fiction, after all, and I am interested in that harshness, that cruelty, that kind of edge in a story. I am a dreamer, I imagine things. I do not write about the real thing, the real relationship, when you need after-care and when stop words are essential. I do recognise the importance of that, I really, really do. But in a story, I can let the needed trust, the thing that makes both parties sure, beforehand that everything is ok and wanted, be replaced by a gigantic leap of faith, or a shocking revelation that not until later makes sense.

In fact, if I am honest about what I want to write I am drawn to the dark and weird, at the moment. I feel I am too kind sometimes, in my stories. I do like the romantic, the sweet, the mutual and good. I do love a happy ending. But that is not all I like, there is a sharper edge to my imagination too and it is not easy to let it out.

So, we'll see where this will take me. There will be no continuation of Surrender immediately, maybe later, I am sorry. Take care and thank you for reading.

Surrender, part 20

You may have noticed, I haven't been blogging that much lately. I am sorry, I have every intention of blogging regularly but now my mind has been busy, full of other stuff. Anyway, here is the last (latest) instalment of the Surrender story. I think it would be quite possible to stop there but part of me wants to continue. What do you think Dear Readers? I have an idea what you will say but I will ask you anyway.

A Tuesday afternoon in November he phoned me at work and told me to come home to him in the evening. That sort of thing often happened and he showed no respect for any plans I possibly had. This evening I had no plans but something he said made me a little wary.

He told me I was to be spanked when I got to his flat. I wasn't exactly surprised that he should choose to spank me without giving a reason but it was unusual that he told me in advance and I was by no means used to being punished like that.

I was quite upset the whole afternoon and was a little annoyed with him. I knew the reason for telling me in advance was for me to have time to worry. It was all intentional. That thought caused both anger and a strange sense of acceptance. If this is what he wanted of me, then so be it!

I was a bit apprehensive when I rang his doorbell and was admitted. He beamed at me as if the thought of giving me a spanking was the most delightful thought ever conceived. Maybe it was, for him.

'There is someone I want you to meet,' he said as we entered the living room.

'I thought,' I blurted out before I bit my tongue.

A youngish man sat in one of the armchairs, the left one, the one he never sat in. He had dark blond hair, was quite thin and had delicate hands. He was dressed in black trousers and a dark read sweater. I saw that he was tall and slender as he rose to his feet to greet me.

'This is Jonathon, and this is my pet.'

I had wished he had told Jonathon I had a PhD in History, not just a 'pet'. My cheeks were red as I took his hand and felt the firm grip of a warm hand. I liked him already.

'What were you saying?' my man said to me.

'No, nothing.'

'Please, tell us. You thought something.'

'It wasn't important.'

'Oh, but do go on and tell us, now that I have asked you.'

I considered saying something about thinking that we were going out but I knew he knew what I had been about to say and lying to him seemed like something I couldn't possibly do.

'Please, it doesn't matter.'

'Do say it, I want you too.'

'I am sure Jonathon doesn't want to know all about what I was thinking.'

'Tell us now!'

I took a deep breath.

'I thought you were going to...smack me.' My voice trailed off.

'What makes you think I won't do that?'

'We have guests.'

'But Jonathon is a good friend. He won't mind.'

'You can't be serious.'

'I am dead serious.'

I stared at him. I felt how I blushed. I had told Sarah but that had been embarrassing enough. The thought of an unknown man, like Jonathon watching my humiliation was unthinkable.

'Can I make you some tea?' I said in a desperate attempt at a diversion.

'No, you can walk over to the table and lean over it.'

'Please.'

'Do as you are told!'

In a way it was easier when he was this stern. I seemed to lean on his harshness, his demanding voice to be able to do what was required of me. It was easier to surrender my will to his and let him take the shame.

I walked on trembling legs over to the table. I looked over my shoulder and leaned on the table. I knew that Jonathon now could see my bottom clearly. I was wearing a skirt and it wouldn't ride up too far but with or without clothes my bottom was on full display.

'Please, prepare yourself.'

My heart started beating as I knew I had to raise my skirt. I reached back and slowly pulled it up. There was no way I would volunteer to pull my tights and knickers down. I still hoped I would be allowed to keep them on.

'What makes you think I would choose to spank you on your tights this time?'

The mocking tone of his voice seemed like a slap in my face.

I took hold of my tights and worked them down over my bottom. I stopped directly below my buttocks, when I just had exposed my knickers.

He cleared his throat in a way that made me aware he wasn't satisfied with my behaviour. I knew what he meant. I knew I had no choice.

I sighed and reached back and pulled my knickers down to my tights.

'Down to your knees.'

I did as I was told. I pressed my knees together, fully aware that Jonathon now could see my naked bottom and possibly more too.

It was to be the belt this time. I had never got the belt before. The one I was spanked with was broad and rather heavy and stiff. It felt a little like the tawse but was a bit heavier.

I struggled with the pain, trying to cope when he landed blow after blow on my naked bottom. I didn't want to cry and sob when Jonathon was watching.

I squirmed and wriggled my bottom while I tried to hold back my tears and the pathetic sounds of distress that threatened to come out.

I sighed with relief when he held up after an eternity of smackings. I closed my eyes and hoped it was over for this time.

'Jonathon, perhaps you want to have a go as well?'

I was startled. He really wanted to humiliate me this time.

I heard how Jonathon rose from his seat and approached me. He wasted no time and soon a smack landed on my already sore bottom.

I had tears in my eyes. He let another man spank me. At that moment it felt like he had given me to him for sex, as a loan, as he was prostituting me. Spankings had been between him and me, now an unknown man was spanking me.

Jonathon was milder, didn't beat me as hard, although the lashes with the belt still stung. He kept on for a while and I was on the brink of starting to cry when he stopped.

I took a deep breath and hoped that it would be over. I wanted to hide, to pull something over my head and forget all about this.

'Yes, go ahead,' I heard my man say and immediately I felt a hand on my bottom. I jumped. I knew it was Jonathon who was touching me.

I gritted my teeth as I felt his hand caressing my aching bottom. I shivered as I felt him moving his fingers over my burning skin.

I wasn't prepared when he quickly slipped his fingers in between my thighs and into me. I cried out in shock and shame but Jonathon didn't hesitate. He kept his fingers in me and felt his way.

My heart was beating in agony as anger flashed through my mind. It all happened so quickly and I was so unprepared. I couldn't defend myself. He kept his fingers in me and I cried when I felt I couldn't keep my arousal down. Like the sudden assault of some hidden foe in an ambush it shocked my body and when it was there I couldn't resist it. I was helpless.

I squirmed as I came with the stranger's hand inside me. My body told me it was sweet but I was devastated. I felt used and abused and wanted to cry.

Later I was allowed to pull my clothes back up and I was even offered a place in the sofa and there we sat, all three of us having a polite and civilised conversation. Still we all knew that I had been leaning over a table just minutes before, knickers around my knees, spanked and fingered and shaming myself. It was the most surreal experience I had ever been through.

'How could you do this?' I cried at him when Jonathon had left. I was furious, hurt and very, very upset.

'Do what?' he said, pretending to be unknowing.

'You know what I mean.'

'Jonathon is my friend.'

'I don't know him.'

'Does it matter?'

'I matters to me.'

'Listen,' he said and looked me in the eyes, 'what makes you think your submission is a private matter? What makes you think you have the right to hide it from my friends?'

'But you let him touch me.'

'That is what I wanted him to do.'

I stood in silence, lost for words. I stared at him, tears in my eyes, heart beating hard. I wanted nothing of this. I wasn't coping.

'So this is what it means to be a woman at your feet?'

'Yes, this is what it means.'

'I don't think I can cope any more.'

He looked at me. I wondered what he was thinking. He looked full of thoughts. I could see he wasn't angry with me but I saw no sign of regret either.

'If you let me, I can help you.'

I stood in awe. That was something I hadn't expected him to say. His voice was gentle. He wanted to help me. He was firm about ruling me but he wanted to help me submit to him. It was a strange combination.

'Come here!' He held out his arms. I looked at him, still angry, still hurt, tears streaming down my face. But I longed for his touch.

I let him embrace me and hold me. I wondered if I let him defeat me, yet again, or if this was what I really wanted. Or if it was both.

He held me and stroked my cheek. I cried with abandon, like a child.

'I do love you. I love you so much. And I am so very proud of you.'

'But you want me to surrender to you,' I whispered.

'Yes, I want the whole of you, for me, because I love you.'

'You are an arrogant bastard, you know that.'

'I know.'

Surrender, part 19

The story goes on.

'Take your top off!'

I had just come inside his door and he had not even greeted me.

Obeying him had started to come naturally. I often hesitated, not because I didn't want to do what he said but because I had to figure out that I had been given an order.

There, in his hallway, I was taken aback. He sounded very harsh, nothing of his ordinary gentleness and kindness. No, this order was barked at me in a hard and demanding voice.

I was as frightened by his voice as by his demand as I took hold of my top and slipped it off. In an instant and in one movement and after one order I stood there topless in his flat.

'Turn around!'

I was more prepared now and turned around. For a second I feared he would open the door and push me out into the stairwell, topless.

Instead I felt him grab my wrists and cross them and soon I felt something like a rope encircle them. My heart started thumping when I realised I was being bound.

I had never been bound before. It was a strange and terrifying sensation to feel how my wrists were fastened together behind my back. All sorts of strange thoughts ran through my head. I had forgotten to scratch my nose and now I couldn't and how easy it was for him to touch me or even undress me.

'Wait there!' he said and turned around and left me in the hallway, bound and with bared breasts. I knew I should find it comical but I felt just surprised and a little deflated.

He left me there, standing in the hallway for a long time. I don't know what he did but I heard him move in the flat, beyond the door but he didn't come back. I stood there and waited and became a little annoyed with it. I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't. That I should try to accept what happened to me, accept that he had a plan for it, wanted something with it.

Finally he returned but he didn't say anything. He just grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the living room.

'What is this all about?' I heard how angry I sounded.

'Silence!' he snapped and stared at me.

He stood me in the middle of the room and then he unceremoniously unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. My tights and my knickers followed suit.

I felt terribly humiliated by his causal and rash undressing of me. He just yanked my clothes down my hips and expected me to lift my feet and help him get them off me. I did but my heart was beating hard.

When I was stripped naked he snapped an order to kneel.

'Knees!'

I knew what he meant and spread my knees wide. My cheeks were flashing and I trembled with humiliation.

Then he left me again. He went into the kitchen and made some tea. He took his time and didn't return for a long while.

I was left in the living room, kneeling, naked, knees spread wide, hands tied behind my back, thinking. I reasoned with myself. I knew this was part of being the woman at his feet but I still felt intimidated by his harshness, his roughness and his disrespect for me.

I felt fed up with it all, wanted to get away, to rest, to think. I knew that this was how I had felt when he had spanked me the first time, how I had walked away from him, convinced that I would never ever accept a man who believed he had the right to punish me when he saw fit. I remembered, too, how I had missed him, how my heart had longed for him, so much that I had humiliated myself and accepted the dreadful canings.

I thought all my pride was gone, trampled into the ground, still it was pride that raged within me, pride that demanded respect for me and my will.

Eventually he came back with his tea, sat down in the armchair and poured himself a cup. I knelt facing him so he could have his tea and have a good look at me at the same time.

He took his time, didn't speak to me but poured another cup and drank it. I was shivering and felt miserable as he looked upon me.

'I like to have you like this, my pet,' he said and smiled for the first time this evening, 'naked and kneeling at my feet.'

'What have I done to deserve this?'

'Nothing.'

He looked me over, smiled and I squirmed as I imagined I could feel his gaze touch my body.

'You are angry, me pet, I can see that but you still obey me. I like that. You are making progress.'

Anger flashed through me, anger and shame. He was right. I did obey him, I didn't protest. I did exactly what he told me to do. He had defeated me, I had surrendered to him. Still my anger flowed through me.

He spoke of me like a child or even a real pet. I was still being trained. That was obvious and he chose to patronise me and talk about progress.

I wanted to cry out to him that I was a professional, I had achieved a doctorate, I was published and acclaimed. I was no pet who was to be complimented for her ability to kneel naked at a man's feet.

But I knew I was defeated. I knew I had surrendered. I did kneel naked at his feet and I had let him bind me. I knew he was right.

He knelt in front of me and touched me. I squirmed in agony as his fingers lit the fire and then withdrew. He smiled as he left me sitting there, my body shivering with the desire he had awakened.

I didn't speak. I waited in silence, trying to comprehend what it meant being so defeated as I was.

Later he raised me to my feet and led me to the bedroom. He laid me down on the bed and tied my feet together. I was naked and bound and totally defenceless. He gave me no mercy. His hands explored me and I cried in frustration, torn between the humiliation of being a captive being groped and the pleasure of feeling his hands on my body.

In his mercy he let me come. He could have left me in unfulfilled frustration but he rewarded me. I was grateful for that and as I looked up at his face I was uncertain which sensation dominated, the anger that he had shamed me thus or the joy for the blessing he had decided to give me.

From that moment I knew he was fully aware of what he was doing to me. He knew where my pride was and he constantly challenged it. He played a game with high stakes, at least they were high for me. He could easily have pushed me too far, made me so infuriated and hurt that I would have left forever.

Again that initial sense of total vulnerability came back. I wondered how he saw me. I knew he cared for me but what would it have meant had I left him? Would he just shrug his shoulders and think that I wasn't up to it. Did I mean as much to him as he meant to me? I had no defence against that thought. I was vulnerable and I knew that I would always be. The moment I admitted that he meant something to me, I was weak and easy to hurt.

He hadn't pushed me too far, not yet. But sometimes I was convinced he really tried to test my limits.

I was tired during those days. My mind was constantly in turmoil and I had very little rest from new and shocking discoveries. It was a period of transition and I could just about cope.

A Day at the Office

And now an original, new story by me. Just to show you that I do have a cruel streak in me. I have touched upon this theme before but this story made me feel mean. I decided to put it here anyway.

Across the courtyard came a group of four. They were walking from the mansion house towards a low stable. They were three men, dressed in shirts, jeans and boots and a woman, dressed in a black, knee long skirt and a black top. She had soft flats on her feet.

'So, Bern, what you reckon? Rhys here thinks Wales have a chance against New Zealand on Sunday. You're from down under, aren't you?' He pointed to a tall man with shoulder length dark hair in his mid twenties. Rhys was tall, broad shouldered and had sharp features and dark eyes. Although William, or Will, himself didn't fancy men he could tell that Rhys was handsome.

'South Africa but I still don't think Wales will stand a chance.' Bernhard, or Bern, was almost as tall as Rhys, but wore his blond hair shortly cropped. He was a sturdy man, broad shouldered and powerful. There was something grim in his expression and his square jaw added to the impression of a warrior, the kind of man who wouldn't stand down from a fight.

Will was the oldest of the three men, in his forties, but still a strong man. He was slightly bald and had grey, very intense eyes.

'Of course Wales have a chance,' Rhys said, they are at home and the Welsh crowd will carry them on.'

Will chuckled to himself.

The woman was half a head shorter than Will who was the shortest of the men and seemed only half his size. She had auburn hair, falling to below her shoulders. She kept looking down and her lips were shut and tense.

They walked across the court yard and stopped in front of the stable were a sturdy pole was set in the ground. It was some six feet tall and with a surface that had been worn smooth. Close to the top there was a sturdy iron ring set in the wood.

'I think it will be possible for Wales if they get a try in the beginning, to unsettle the All Blacks a little. But if they have to defend, nothing can stop them.' Bern was frowning as he seemed bothered about having to go back on his earlier statement.

'Wales won the Grand Slam, you know, and they have improved.' Rhys was smiling now.

'Alright, honey, strip off time for you,' Will said.

The woman seemed startled.

'Please.'

'Don't be silly.'

'But the All Blacks can beat anyone, if they want.' Bern looked serious.

'You don't have to do this,' the woman said with a weak voice.

'Hurry up now,' Rhys blurted out, 'we don't have all day.'

'You see,' Will said, 'Wales beat England, England beat Australia and Australia beat New Zealand. So on paper, they have a chance.'

'That was years ago.'

The woman sighed deeply and unbuttoned her skirt. She gave it to Bern who held out his hand. She looked at Will with a pleading expression.

'Yes, darling, everything.'

She sighed again and pulled her top over her head. She then stepped out of her shoes.

'Knickers!'

'You should be lucky you are allowed knickers at work.'

When the woman had slipped off her knickers and given them to Bernhard, who put all the clothes on the ground behind him, she was naked. Rhys gave her a glance and licked his lips.

'It's been a long week,' Will said, as he took the woman's arm and shoved her against the pole.

'Yeah,' Rhys replied, as he stepped round the pole and took the rope hanging from the iron ring, 'it's been busy.'

'You doing anything interesting for the weekend?' Will asked turning to Bernhard who had taken the other end of the rope in his hand.

'No nothing, really, some pints at the pub, watch the match and that, just relaxing.'

'Sounds great,' said Rhys as he crossed the woman's wrists as she embraced the pole, facing it. He then bound them together. 'I am going to London with girlfriend.'

'Doing anything fun?' Bernhard said as he started to pull the rope.

'Shopping,' the Welshman said, chuckling.

'Up you go, honey,' Will said and gave a sign to Bernhard who pulled at the rope. The woman drew her breath and gasped as her body was pressed against the pole and her arms hoisted in the air.

Bernhard was a strong man and wasn't satisfied until the woman only touched the ground with the tips of her toes. She wailed a little as her body was stretched out, hanging from her wrists, pressing against the pole.

'Cry time for you, my dear,' Will said, as he brought out a braided leather whip. It was short, one of those who is called a quirt.

'Are you shopping for clothes or something more interesting?' Bernhard asked.

'Shoes,' Rhys chuckled, 'she loves shoes, she has millions but still needs more.'

'That is amazing.'

The woman gasped as she felt Bernhard put his hand between her legs, groping her unceremoniously.

'Stop it, Bern,' Will said, 'we have a job to do. And we are not supposed to.'

'Just a little touching, won't harm them.'

Will immediately brought down the whip on the bottom of the naked woman as Bernhard stepped away. She gasped and tensed her body and raised her leg. A red stripe was forming across her buttocks.

She squirmed and cried out as the next lash hit home, just above the first.

'I love that,' Will said, 'how the bottom wobbles when you whip it.'

'You can't really say this one wobbles,' Rhys said, looking serious.

'No, it is more of a vibration,' Bernhard butted in.

'You are right,' Will said, 'this one has a small bottom. But I like it all the same.' He laid the quirt on once more with full force and the woman gave a long wailing sound.

'This is killing me,' Will said, grimacing, 'my shoulder hurts so badly.'

'Too much whipping?' Rhys said.

'Too much digging.'

'I can do it,' Bernhard said.

'No, you get your share. How many was it now?'

'42, I think,' Rhys said.

'Wait your turn then,' Will said and let the whip fly again, hitting the top of the woman's thighs.

'How are you doing honey?' Rhys said, as he got the quirt from Will.

'Please, please, I can't take any more,' the woman said through tears and between sobs.

'Don't worry, you won't break.'

She cried out in misery.

'By the way, I met Kev down the pub,' Bernhard said as Rhys let the quirt fly and added to the criss crossing of red marks on the bottom and thighs of the naked woman at the pole.

'Kev?' Will said, 'you mean, Kevin Jones? How was he? What's he doing?'

'He seemed pleased with himself, he said he works at the Windmill Farm.'

'They have girls too, don't they?'

'Yeah, he said he get a lot of practice.' The both men chuckled. They were interrupted by a loud cry as Rhys landed number 23 on the unprotected skin of the bound woman.

'She is very loud,' Will said.

'We could always gag her,' said Bernhard.

'We don't have a gag.'

'We have her knickers.'

'I like it when they cry,' Rhys said.

'What you doing over weekend, Will?' Rhys said as he handed the whip over to Bernhard.

'There is a tournament on Saturday, I was runner up last year and I will have a go at winning this time.'

'You an your angling.'

'Please!!' the woman cried.

'It's a good pastime, lots of lovely people.'

'And dead fish.'

'Have fun with your shoe shopping.'

'Actually, I wouldn't mind sitting by the river with a fishing rod in my hand.'

'It is very relaxing.'

'Now to the last four, I will make them very hard,' Bernhard said.

The woman closed her eyes and sobbed.

'Bern! You are not supposed to,' Will said with a tired voice.

'Come on, she wouldn't mind.' Bernhard slipped his hand out from between the woman's legs where he had let it wander after touching the red welts on her bottom.

'I don't care if she minds or not, but they are out of bounds.'

'For serious things, yes, this is just a little touching.'

The woman gasped as Bernhard pushed his finger back into her.

'Let her go now,' Will said.

'Alright, alright.'

Bernhard stepped aside as Rhys untied the rope and let the woman down. Will supported her as she stumbled.

'That wasn't too bad, honey.'

The woman didn't reply as Rhys untied her wrists.

'Get your kit on and go back to your duties now.'

The woman picked her clothes up and gingerly donned them.

'It's almost five,' Bernhard said, 'we'll wrap it up here and go down the pub.'

'Yeah, for a quick pint,' Rhys said.

The woman was clothed again and turned to Will.

'Can I go back now?'

'Yes, darling, you do that.' He slapped her bottom and the woman jumped as if stung by bees. Then she hurried away from the men towards the mansion house. She turned and looked at the men who had started to walk towards the stable. Then she hurried on and disappeared through the kitchen entrance.