Tom's School Days 3

Tom's life in his strange school moves on, however slowly, at the moment. From the comments it seems as there are at least some who are a little bit curious about where this will go.

As it happened, Tom was disappointed that the whole thing was over and done with. He was as surprised as he was disappointed. He hadn't thought that of himself, that he would actually enjoy swinging a sturdy cane through the air, and hit the soft and sensitive skin of a girl with it, listen to the sound of it, and watching the reactions of the poor victim. He was disappointed that he was so elated by being cruel to someone, especially a girl. He was scared of what he felt. He was riven with guilt and wondered how true was his belief in the inner goodness of humans. Still he wanted to do it again.

'Now, claim the trophy,' Mark said.

'Shall I?' Tom whispered.

He knew the Club kept tokens of their work. He had just forgot about it.

'Yes, go ahead.'

Tom was trembling as he approached the girl, who was still holding on to the armrests of the chair. With numb fingers he took hold of her knickers and pulled them further down her legs. He thought he felt a shivering as he brushed her skin.

She obediently stepped out of the knickers when he reached her feet.

'You can stand up now,' Fred said in a commanding voice.

'Thank you, sir,' Amanda replied and stood up, letting her skirt fall down.

Tom thought that she would think her skirt must be very short now, when she had no underwear.

Amanda looked at Tom, curtsied and said:

'Thank you, sir, for punishing me.'

Then she smiled. She smiled at Tom. Her eyes were still wet, and her cheeks still red, but she smiled. Tom was bewildered and could only nod in reply.

Mark escorted the girl from the room, while Fred and Tom went into the common room, where Tom got the privilege of hanging Amanda's knickers on a peg along the wall. There were two rows of similar pegs and on many of them hung other pairs of knickers. They were of different colours and shape and Tom was amazed by the variety of female underwear.

'I can see what you're looking at,' Fred said with a grin, 'they belonged to Tamara, you know who she is, don't you? Stupid girl.'

'Yes, I think I know.' Tom thought he knew who she was, a tall, dark, and quite beautiful, and self assured girl.

'She thought she wouldn't have to take them down. That's silly.'

Tom could see that the knickers were minimal and mostly consisted of strings. She most likely thought that if she turned up to a whipping with knickers that didn't cover her buttocks she would get to keep them on.

Frederick showed Tom a book lying on a table.

'You hung her knickers on peg 23. Put that down first on the line, then the name of the girl, Amanda Tilly, then the date, tool, and number of strokes. You write it twelve plus one, since it was an extra added.'

'Right.'

'When we collect the knickers each Thursday and store them in our archive, we need to tag them so we can relate them to the correct punishment. You see there is a reference number on each line. This was punishment number 217 in this book.'

Tom's School Days 2

It seems as there is no great opposition against continuing this tale. So I will do that.

'Lean over the chair, please' Mark commanded and the girl let go of a pitiful sigh and leaned over the back of the chair, and grabbed the wooden armrests.

Fred walked over to her and flipped her skirt up. Tom stared at her fair and very naked bottom. Her skin seemed so soft and so thin.

'Now it is your turn to have fun,' Mark said and made a gesture towards the girl.

Tom walked closer and held out the cane. It seemed like a terrible thing to use it on the girl. He moved the cane closer and let it touch her buttocks. She drew her breath and tensed her body, as if he had already hit her.

'Get on with it now, she's waiting,' Fred said.

Tom pulled back the cane and hesitated, then he let it fly. He was surprised by the sound, the hissing sound of the cane through the air and then the sharp report when it hit the skin of Amanda, the girl who had been late to her lecture.

There was a pink line forming across her bottom. And she gasped.

'That was nothing,' Mark said, 'it doesn't count. Do that again, harder this time.'

Tom pulled the cane back and this time he hit harder. The report was sharper and the girl's reaction more violent. She pulled herself up, gasped and drew her breath intensely. The mark across her buttocks was redder now.

'That one will count,' Fred said, 'but it is not proper unless you hit her harder.'

Tom took aim and swung the cane again. This time he used as much power he could muster. The girl cried out and jumped up, straightening her back, letting go of a squealing sound.

'That one was better,' John said, 'but it won't count since she let go of the armrests. Amanda! You know you get extras for that?'

'Yes, sir,' she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Fred and Mark urged Tom on, and he did his best to use the required strength in each lash. He let the cane land with determination, each time the sound rung out in the room, each time the girl jumped up, her feet making a wild dance as she tried to get to grips with the excruciating pain. She didn't let go, but soon she could not hold back her tears. She was sobbing and crying.

Amanda's tears made Tom feel bad about himself and he stared at the girl, and her fair and striped bottom, her soft skin, and the pain he caused her.

He told himself he had to do this. It was part of his duties as a member of the Club. Fred and Mark urged him on, complemented him on the ones that were really hard and hit the right spot.

When he had reached six he thought it was quite enough and thought his heart would break if he had to continue. By the count of eight, he experienced a strange excitement, and number nine and ten left a sensation in him, that was not altogether unpleasant.

He delivered eleven with a strange mix of guilt and pleasure, and was surprised by the elation he experienced. When it was time for number twelve and thirteen, he felt he was going to miss this.

[To be continued]

Tom's School Days

I have not completely abandoned the silly writing. This one happened to a bit longer, so I decided to blog it as short instalments. The setting for this story is the strange and quite misogynous Royal Lentil School. The hero of the story is a certain Tom Banks, hope you will enjoy it.

Tom was walking across the quad. The air was still warm after a hot day, fragrant and soft. He hurried towards the Tower, the old building on the grounds where the Mushy Peas Club had their common room. The Club, as it was called, was ancient, and it was a privilege to be a member. It was The Privilege to be a member, and only a few were allowed in.

Tom was still panting as he came into the room. He was still amazed by its interior. The common room looked more like a chapel than an ordinary room. There were armchairs and a gigantic fireplace, Persian rugs and bookshelves. On the walls hung paintings of prominent members.

Tom didn't look at the paintings or the armchairs or rugs. He stared at the two other Club members in their striped jackets. Frederick and Mark where not friends of Tom's but they were member, senior members and had to be obeyed.

'It's your first time, isn't it?' Fred asked.

'Don't worry, it will be fine,' Mark said and smiled.

'It'll be fun. You'll like it,' Fred continued.

Tom just nodded.

He followed the two others to a smaller room close to the entrance. It was comfy, with a couple of armchairs, but not as imposing as the common room. A girl rose from a chair as they entered.

'Here she is,' Fred said, 'her name is Amanda, and she is here for just twelve.'

It was an age old arrangement that the Club helped out with the punishment of the pupils. It was Tom's first time and he stared at the girl with a combination of anxiety and fascination.

'Mr Saunders was not pleased with her being late,' Mark said, 'but as you know, he is a softy, only twelve for her.'

The girl stared back at Tom and he was moved by the gaze she gave him. She looked concerned, and a little frightened, but there was something else, as well, a shyness, and perhaps a hint of kindness when she looked at him. Tom felt worse for it. She was pretty.

'Get the tool now,' Fred said in a low but commanding voice.

Tom knew what it meant and got the cane from its peg on the wall. The girl stepped back as he turned to her.

All students were subjected to discipline but the kind that was meted out differed widely depending on what kind of person that was about to receive it. Older boys like Frederick and Mark, were exempt from most kinds except a verbal telling off. Tom, who was a little bit younger could still be submitted to detention, or writing lines. The cane was reserved for girls. And so was other kinds of corporal punishments.

'Amanda, prepare yourself,' Mark said.

She sighed as if she knew there was no turning back now. She appeared very small and vulnerable to Tom as she put her hands under her skirt and pulled her knickers down to her knees.

'You don't have to do this,' she whispered, her voice weak and trembling.

Tom felt cruel. He pitied her. She was pretty and frightened and he would rather have hugged her than used the cane on her.

'But we have to,' Fred said, 'and we enjoy doing it.'

The girl looked at Tom and he had to look down.

[To be continued, (it will be, trust me...)]

In a Pickle

I can imagine that some of you will find this story a tad insensitive. I guess it is. Still I decided to write it and publish it. If only to show that imagination is strange and that mine is not always doing what it should. If you are a tinsy winsy bit like me, your imagination wanders off in very inappropriate ways when it shouldn't. It doesn't mean you condone the things that made it wander. I think you will understand this and forgive me for this story.

It goes without saying that I do not condone the gadget riots in UK, and I do take them seriously. It's just that my mind got some strange ideas at the same time, quite detached from my moral compass.

There I was, standing in a room, in front of four sturdy policemen, dressed in nothing more than a neon green t-shirt. It was long and covering, almost like a very short dress, but the fact that it was the only thing I was wearing, made the stares of the four men much more intimidating than would otherwise have been the case.

It started as a very ordinary day. I was walking home and noticed that there was some commotion in the streets. There were policemen and people in a angry mix. I didn't care that much, instead I tried to keep away from the crowd and found myself walking down a small lane.

As it happened I came out on a larger street where chaos had already started. Now I began to realise that something was, indeed, happening.

I had not much time to think about it, before I was grabbed by a motley crew who pulled me aside. They were a mixed bunch of mixed colours and creed and the only thing they seemed to have in common was their audacity and desire to take what they wanted.

They began immediately to help themselves to my clothes. They were very efficient, I must admit, and soon I was lying on the ground, quite naked, and held by my arms and legs. The gang was about to help themselves to more than my clothes when I heard the clang of metal.

The hissing sound that was heard made them release me and scamper away like frightened squirrels. The white smoke and the pain in my eyes and throat suggested that a cannister of tear gas had fallen nearby.

I fled down an alley as I saw the riot police rush forward. Out of the immediate danger I found it appropriate to try to take care of the fact that I was stark naked.

After have been running for my life, I started walking cautiously, scared that I would cut my bare feet on glass or other debris on the ground. I heard the fighting behind me, but found no one in the alley. I thought this was a good thing, since I was not keen on being stared at in my present condition.

I got to a street that had already been affected by the riots and found myself standing by a smashed window, staring at a neon green t-shirt that someone had dropped. It seemed like a heaven sent gift, so I took the shirt and donned it. I found that it was long enough to cover me and thought that now, at least, I was more able to get home with a minimum of embarrassment.

My plans had to change when I turned around and was confronted by the riot squad, complete with helmets and shields and very nasty looking sticks. They wasted no time and arrested me and bundled me into a police van.

I was glad the others were equipped with handcuffs too, their eyes told me that otherwise they would have taken the opportunity to strip me of my last vestiges of decency, and probably more.

The police station was brimful of looters locked up in the cells, so I was ushered into a room where the situation was explained to me. It was very simple. I had been caught looting and would be charged for it.

There was an alternative, though. If I was willing to accept them dealing with my case immediately, they would let me go.

So there I was, standing, facing the four sturdy policemen who where about to deal with my case. The way they said 'deal with' made me understand that it would be something quite unpleasant but temporary, as opposed to the drawn out process that otherwise would have been my fate.

As soon as I had nodded, accepting their suggestion, I was gripped by my neck and my upper body was forced down on a table. I saw the glaring eyes and the evil smiles and began to regret my decision.

Soon I saw one of the policemen remove his belt from his trousers, while another pulled my shirt up.

I must admit I was embarrassed as he stopped short and started chuckling.

'This one has made it easy, no knickers.'

'What a pity, I quite like that.'

'What?'

'The getting rid of knickers thing.'

'Well, you do it with some gusto.'

'I can't help it they tear so easily.'

One of the policemen grabbed my wrists and the other held me down with a grip around my neck. The third one had the belt, while the fourth was just staring.

A strong policeman with a belt in his hand, trying to make you suffer while your bottom is naked and exposed to his efforts, is not a nice thing. The impact was terrible, my body rocking forward while my buttocks exploded with pain.

He seemed to be skilled with the belt. And he was not keen on mercy. No, he let the dreaded belt swing through the air and land on my unprotected skin, time and again.

I did cry. I did yell and whimper. It was hard to avoid it. And it never stopped. I guess he had a lot of frustration to take out on me.

I was quite numb as I was finally let up from the table. The smiling policemen said I was now free to go. I nodded. Before I had time to leave they told me that the shirt I was wearing was looted and had to be returned.

I did hesitate. It is understandable, considering the fact that it was the only item of clothing I was wearing. But the smiling policemen were very helpful and soon I was stripped of the neon green t-shirt.

I was embarrassed walking through the reception on my way out. Once again, I found myself in the not so enviable situation of having to get home through the city wearing absolutely nothing.

How I got home is another story, a completely different story.

Summertime

Well, it is that time of year when you go on holiday, and go visiting relatives and you generally are busy with things not blogging. It is the same for me. And I am afraid I won't be back here until August, or at least I don't think it is fair to promise to do anything before that. So, I am writing this just to let you know that the blog is not abandoned, just temporarily a little lazy.

Summer is a good time, a time of light dress, bare legs and no shoes, sun (even in UK we do have sun from time to time) and softness. Enjoy your summer and be kind to yourselves (antipodeans have to enjoy the winter or wait some time).

I will just post a silly little nothing I wrote the other day. It was one of those things when you start with just a phrase and then just write and see what happens. It was just that 'I want to see you in bikini,' that started it all, just a thought, and when I added 'she said' to it, it became something that made me continue. I honestly think this is a silly dialogue, but what's wrong with silliness?

Thank you ever so much for your kind words about my last post. It was very heart-warming and encouraging. I haven't forgotten the suggestion, some time ago, about writing about writing, about the blog, what has happened with the stories, if they have evolved and that sort of thing. Take care, Dear Readers.

'I want you in bikini,' she said and smiled to me.

'Why would you want that?'

'I think you are pretty in bikini.'

'But the others won't be in swimsuits.'

'No, but that doesn't matter, I want you in bikini.'

'That would be strange, I mean, with them in whatever they wear and me in just a bikini.'

'That's why I want it, no explanation, no reason, just having you there in a bikini, displaying that sweet little body of yours, for all to see. And hopefully you are a little embarrassed, that's very fetching.'

'I will sure be embarrassed.'

'Good. I haven't decided which one, though.'

'Oi, I haven't said I would yet.'

'I think, perhaps, the white one, with red polka dots, it's very cute.'

'It's also very small.'

'Not like the black one, the one with just a string.'

'No, that's true, but it is very low cut and the top is not big.'

'But you don't need a big top.'

'My bosoms is so small, you mean?'

'It is the perfect size, it looks lovely, really delightful.'

'I am glad you like it.'

'Don't be stupid, you know I love it,' she smiled.

'Yes, yes, I know.'

'So why not show it off?'

'Because it is very private and you don't go round and show your breasts to people.'

'That's true, maybe you shouldn't wear the top.'

'I'll take the bikini, no protests.'

'But that's a good idea, you there without a top. I can imagine what they would look like. I can see you standing there, greeting Brian, and how he wouldn't know where to look, if he was allowed to look at your bosoms or not.'

'How do you know he would want to do that. Maybe he likes bigger things.'

'I know he loves your tits.'

'How do you know that?'

'He told me.'

'He told you?'

'Yeah.'

'You have talked about my breasts with Brian?'

'Yes, and not only with him.'

'With others?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Why is that of course?'

'Because you have very lovely breasts and it's nice to share the thought with others.'

'So you have discussed my breasts with people who appreciate them?'

'Yes, most of them.'

'Who didn't like them?'

'Don't focus on the negative.'

'Who?'

'Tanya.'

'You discussed my bosoms with Tanya, a girl?'

'Yeah, why not. I am a girl and I love your boobs.'

'Boobs?'

'Yeah, or tits, or breasts, or bosoms.'

'But Tanya didn't like them?'

'She's envious.'

'How do you know?'

'Because yours look nicer.'

'Have you studied hers, then?'

'Yes, of course.'

'I haven't, but as I remember they look nice.'

'But not as well shaped. I didn't say they were ugly.'

'No, you didn't.'

'No.'

'But still, I can't believe it, you talk about my breasts with others.'

'And the rest.'

'The rest?'

'Yeah, Eric adores your tummy.'

'My tummy?'

'Yeah, he told me it was the softest, sweetest tummy he knows.'

'How would he know it is soft, he hasn't touched it?'

'It looks very soft.'

'So you agree.'

'Wholeheartedly.'

'This is mad.'

'And Rebecca loves your bottom and Mark is a sucker for your legs.'

'I don't believe this, I am just an ordinary woman.'

'No, you're not. You are special.'

'For you, perhaps, but I don't look special.'

'You do.'

'I don't.'

'Do you know what Rebecca said about your bottom?'

'No, I have no idea.'

'She praised it highly and then she said it was a spankable bottom.'

'Spankable?'

'Yeah, that she would love to spank your bottom.'

'Doesn't that hurt?'

'Of course it does.'

'But why? Does she hate me?'

'No, she adores you. She just wants to spank your bottom. For the joy of it.'

'That's mad.'

'No, not at all. I might try it myself.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Don't tempt me. And maybe I should let her do it.'

'You are mad.'

'Madly in love with you. Go and change to the bikini now, the guests are here soon.'

'I will, for you I will do it. But don't you dare let Rebecca get close to my bottom.'

'All right, but I am not sure I can stop John, though.'

'John?'

'He expressed something along those lines. Maybe you should take the string, it would make it easier for him. Without too much embarrassment for you.'

'I'll change into the polka dot now.'

'Yes, you do that.'

Before the Party

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I love you,' she said.

'I love you too,' I replied.

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

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

'You do want me then?'

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

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

'That sounds very nice,' I said.

'I mean it, anything.'

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

'I do.'

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

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

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

'Make me regret them.'

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

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

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

'Careful with the dress,' she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'How is my face?' she said.

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

'It's time to go.'

'Yes, it's time to go.'

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

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

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

'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why did you let me do it?'

'Because I love you.'

'Oh.'

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

'I believe I have,' I said.

'That counts for something.'

Then she didn't say more.

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just About...

Some people have made the assumption that I have stopped writing for the blog. I hope that is not the case, although I know my posts have been few and far between, lately. The urge to write down and share my fantasies are not as powerful as before. Maybe it has worked, in the sense that some of the demons are gone. Still I enjoy writing. It's just that I more seldom, these, days, sit down and write something that would work on the blog.

It is strange, I still see the blog as a labour of love and it has meant so much for me. Maybe I should try something else, try to find new ways for it, make it meaningful and worthwhile in some new and interesting way? As always, I am open for suggestions, and I am happy discussing things related to fantasies and imagination and that sort of thing. Communication has always been at the core for me.

I do believe the odd story will still appear here, but if you talk to me, suggest things, debate and discuss with me, maybe this could be something good. What do you, my dear Reader, want to read and see here, what do you want to discuss? What's on your mind?