This is my dilemma.

I have to get dressed every morning for work.

I like to show Dexter the progress I make. I bounce up and down in front of him and show him my underwear.

He smiles at me, which would make you think he is pleased with me. Wouldn’t it?

Apparently not.

Sigh. Never mind, I will try again tomorrow.

Would you like another?

At moments like this there is no before and no after. There is just now.

There is this breath.

And this one.

She lowers her head to rest on her arms, the mattress giving slightly as she shifts her weight forward. Her long hairs falls forward, an extra curtain to hide her face.

He pushes her knees even further apart  and she bites her lip; shame and anticipation building like warm honey inside her.

She stays silent however, silent as he traces his finger tips over the lines and welts he has created on her thighs and bottom and silent as she moves against him, her will not her own. She tries again to feel shame but the emotion is lost as his finger reaches just under the curve of her bottom and disappears forwards to trace the evidence of her desire.

She feels his thighs as he leans against her and alters the belt. His thighs are broad and naked. He is naked behind her as she is naked before him. She is bent and exposed before him. She knows that he is hard, she fees him nudge against her as he repositions the strap of leather.

It rests over her back, the buckle bouncing slightly against her ribs when he makes her shudder with his touch.

He leaves it there after he has used it, taking it up without warning and slashing it across her thighs and the curve of her cheeks. At first she cried, then she begs but at some point it became this moment.

Now.

She waits.

She hears his breath, hears the desire he feels for her. Wordlessly she begs him for more.

More of the belt, it could be.

More of his touch, perhaps.

More of him, certainly.

More.

Bent over before him with his hands pushing and covering her bum he moves her slowly back until his cock disappears inside her.

A rush of breath escapes her as though he has forced it out. She has waited for him like this for so long that he feels almost unbearably and perfectly large, as though he pushes her from inside to accommodate him.

The stripes sting as he pulls her towards and away from him, the belt still in place for now, she can feel it rest on her back.

He is slow, calm, almost measured as each stroke fills and leaves her in a powerful wave. Just as the sea pounds at the beach he takes her back and forth.

She wants more, she rises, her arms straight as she pushes back against him and the belt drops to the floor.

He stills. She has no choice but to follow but utters a cry of despair as he withdraws fast and sure, the heat and the force of him lost to her in an instant.

She hears him pick up the belt and knows he is taking his time to fold it, to prepare it. She imagines him standing behind her, erect and full of desire; desire to beat her, desire to take her.

She feels the sharp reproach as the belt strikes her, a loud snap in the quiet room, a bark in the night. He is standing and the belt crosses her, at first he strikes from the right and then the left. She has failed him, she let it fall and her swollen and reddened bottom rises to accept her punishment. She does not realise she is crying out until it stops, an agony of chastisement, a penitent lover- she stays still as though to beg him to return and swiftly he does.

He leaves the belt wrapped around his hand and she feels it there, as though at any moment he will resume striking her while he enters her, so sure and hard that she is thrown forward and pushes her face into the pillow.

His leathered hand holds her shoulder, keeping her steady against him as he takes her with each stroke. It may as well be a declaration, so forceful is he.

But his other hand finds her hip and then melts around her finding her small and hard and full of need for his touch. She slams back onto him, animal like in her need for release. Every touch of him controls her, her belted hand, his sensuous hand, his filling of her, his force against her punished, hot, scarlet bottom.

When she comes it is because  he tells her to, because he is shuddering into her, hard and gentle as only a lover like he can be.

Would you like another?

Yesterday I wrote about how hard it is at work at the moment as I am having a bit of a crisis of confidence.

I was talking to (weeping on) Dexter about this and this morning he sent me this clip.

I think it perfectly sums up what most women experience on a daily basis.

But luckily we can fight the assault on our hearts with the care and support of lovers and friends. I had the most amazing comments (and emails) from people who know how it feels to stumble from the pain sometimes. It has been (and continues to be) a very difficult year for me and I have no idea how I would have fared without the kindness and understanding from people here.

Thank you.

And here is a spanking picture to show I am still on topic.

Fantasy Monday tomorrow as normal.

I hope you have a wonderful Sunday night.

Would you like another?

I am telling this because I think maybe some other girls are on a similar path, maybe they will read this and see their own journey and we can keep each other company on the way.

I got told off the other day, not really told off but that is how it feels for a girl like me.

There are many changes at work. I deal with a lot of people but there are some hard core people that are very difficult and I have lost my way in dealing with them. My boss told me I have started to curl up when I am challenged by some of these people and that I visibly retreat. I am not resolute and unfazed in the face of attack- I used to be. I am not now.

He is right about how I have changed and I loathe that he is. He was very kind and said he would do whatever he can to help me get back my ability to look aggression in the eye. I have a lot to do for my company in the next few months and if I screw up and do not lead us well then the implications are dire for everyone.

That he still trusts me tells me a lot.

But the idea of that trust and what I must do makes me shake. I have to not shake any more. I have to be fearless, not just in front of lots of people but in front of all the people. I have to understand why some people are so hard to stand up to.

This is what I realised- I submit to the wrong people. I submit to the wrong situations.

For example, when I am attacked I open my heart and focus everything on the person that attacks me. I listen to every word and every possible aspect of the ways I may have failed and let all the guilt and pain soak in to me.

I try to defend myself and explain why they are wrong. I also think very hard about if I have done anything to deserve such criticism. I am not talking about the valid and constructive criticism of my boss, just about the times when someone attacks me for their own reasons and delectation.

Girls like us (and maybe everyone but I don’t know about other types of people) should be drawn to people like my boss and people like Dexter because they tell us off in a caring, thoughtful and constructive manner.

But when I am told off by Dexter I shut my eyes and my ears and I will not yield. I resolve to fight him utterly. I lose the words he says so that he has to repeat himself two minutes later and two days later. I cannot remember what he says.

I compare this to a totally invalid and untrue accusation I received a few months ago and I can remember every word of that.

When my boss gives me a project that is vital for everyone I work with I ignore his trust in me and open my consciousness to the possibility of failure.

When I read some bit of bile on the internet, hatred, unkindness or untruth I let the words echo in my brain like ball bearings in a pin ball machine. It need not be about me (it very seldom is but it might be about women, girls that get spanked, or some other group I identify with) but I take it as much to heart as if my own mother said it.

When I walk in the mountains with Dexter so the sun is on our backs and below us the lake stretches out so far that its toes and fingertips reach a hundred little shores I let the moment pass me by for fear of not worrying enough about where I should be and who I should be there for.

I continue to soak up the views and comments of those ignorant and rude people who neither care for me nor know me, and I cast aside the constructive support of the wise and kind people.

Why do I do this? Do you ever do this? I suspect I am not alone.

Is it lack of trust?

I know the things and people that hurt me may be depended upon to continue hurting me. I know just where I am and those situations will not alter. Often these situations are nothing to do with me (that is true without exception now I think of it) and so they will be unchanged forever and can make me feel bad until I am an old lady and beyond.

If I only open my heart to the bad stuff and uncaring people then my world will be forever unchanged which is uncomfortable but stable and I do like stability.

If I open my heart to the people that care for me, support me and with whom my submission becomes fuel for positive change than nothing will be the same.

I can see the logic in this; I can see why change matters. But I do not know how women like me learn to submit in the right way.

I find myself over his lap with my fists in a tight little ball, my heart clenched even tighter. I ask myself to relax and let this be. I cannot.

I would just like to me that can submit a little bit, that is all.

If possible I would like to be as open to Dexter, whom I love dearly, as I am to the internet stranger or the work colleague who I see once a month.

Putting it like that it is an utter mystery why I cannot be as I wish.

Would you like another?

I could stay up late tonight and write and tell you all about things.

But I will not.

Tonight, as every day recently, I am a hundred different tides pulling me from shore to sea, such deep pulls this way and that – I am sure my post would ramble and you would think me bewildered and confused. My emotions threaten to drown me, I hope this slows soon. I would like it even more to stop. I can’t write well until I can make some sense of what I feel, otherwise I ramble and send out an incoherent narrative that is neither use nor ornament.

So instead I will take myself upstairs and pour a bath. I will take a glass of wine with me and chat to Dexter whose study is next to the bathroom. I will splash and talk of nothing and he will laugh at me and not think I know.

Afterwards I will wear a white cotton nightdress, a Victorian style one that I bought years ago that cost a horrible amount of money and has to be ironed when it is washed.  It is my most modest sleepwear.

He has threatened to spank me later. I think he might but more than that, I hope he kisses me and does whatever a man does with a girl who blushes in a Victorian nightdress.

Goodnight or good morning- I hope you feel happy and peaceful no matter where you are,

Would you like another?

Life with a vanilla man.

He walks in and looks at you expectantly.

You say

a) There are some clean socks/ tee shirts in your chest of drawers

b) We can have whatever you want for dinner, I was going to make steak/curry/ pasta with a marscapone and tomato sauce

c) Thank you for mending the car/vacuum cleaner/washing machine. I don’t need anything else.

I am aware that is a pretty wonderful set up. There is something mutual and relaxing about it all. I am a very lucky woman to have been with such a man.

Life Under A Big Top

He walks in and looks at you expectantly.

You say

a) I don’t think I did whatever you think I did and if I did then I did not do it very much.

b) How do you want me? (while flinging yourself into his arms for some ravishing)

c) Nothing. (He came in carrying the cane/riding crop/tawse. It is as well not to make it worse.)

Butterflies everywhere and coy smiles when someone asks me how I am.

Would you like another?

“Please, please don’t, I have just got my hair straight.”

And she did try very hard not to tut at him as he ignored her pleas and tipped her forwards making her flat, shiny hair tumble and twist over her head.

He spanked her over her knickers at first, one of those short sharp spankings where he just used part of his hand, she never knew which pLuke. It seemed wrong to ask at the time and she never wanted to ask later in case he gave her a demonstration.

But then he stopped and jerked her knickers down to her knees and left her panting and pink cheeked bent over his knee.

“Tell me why I am doing this,” he demanded his hard tone belied by the gentle way he stroked her bottom.

Jayne resisted the twenty responses that leapt to her tongue and chose the better path. She sulkily stroked the seam of his jeans as she pouted out, “Because you said I am not to be nervous about meeting your friends who are all grown up and important and I have to be good and part of being good is being relaxed and happy and because everything is alright and I know it is because you said it is.”

“Good girl.”

And he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling him closer to her and gave her thirty hard spanks that caused Jayne to kick and squeal and totally forget her hair.

When he stood her up again he kissed her fully on the lips and felt her arch her back to better offer herself. Luke knew his point was made and he smiled as he watched his girlfriend go back to the mirror to undo the imperceptible damage he had unleashed on her hair.

XX

The pub was one of those ones London excels in. Thoroughly modernised  in the seventeenth century and left well alone since then, the floors were uneven, the ceiling too low and the chairs and tables mismatched.

Jayne watched Luke beam before he ducked down to enter the bar and she shared his smile, watching the man she loved being so happy made her happy too. He had wanted to take her out to this pub for months but for some reason they had never found the opportunity and meeting Anna and Mark was perfect. It was his favourite pub and now Jayne had seen it she could understand why

Luke and Mark had met in secondary school, and had met ever since once or twice a year for a meal and a pint or two. They would talk and chat together about mutual friends whose paths still crossed and those that didn’t and to reflect as only old friends can.

Jayne was nervous. Mark and Anna had been together for an eon, married and with children at university they settled with ease into any situation but for her it felt different.  There was the age gap for start, she was almost fifteen years younger than any of them. Her career was still green compared to theirs, they had no music references to share, politics was difficult and as much as Jayne  tried to be witty or urbane, she always felt like the fool at the party. As such she would smile a lot and, unusually for her, let the others lead the conversation and dip into it as she felt comfortable.

The good news came in the form of a bottle of Shiraz which was open and waiting on the table.  Mark and Anna had cleverly grabbed the corner booth. It was just big enough for the four of them and encased on three sides by dark oak that went from floor to ceiling.

“Come on in!” Anna called to her, “Look- we snagged it just as another couple was leaving- isn’t it perfect? The locals call it ‘The Confessional’- so you’ll have to confess interesting stuff in here! ” and so the conversation began. Every one spoke at once at first, greetings exchanged, men discussed which ale was best and Luke went to get a couple of pints in while Anna glugged ruby wine into Jayne’s waiting glass.

“So, how have you been? Did you get that job?” Anna had the best memory which Jayne cursed.

“No, but its no bad thing. I don’t think I wanted to move up really” Jayne nodded to Luke at the bar, “I like having the time to spend with Luke and it would have meant travelling for a week every month. You know how it is.” She smiled too broadly at Anna who was no doubt thinking that Luke could have done better than someone who stuffed up a promotion on an internal interview.

Jayne picked up her glass and tilted it towards Anna, “Anyway, cheers,” she drank, “Good choice. I am starting to love Shiraz.”

To her relief Luke returned and she made room for him by her, sitting close to him when he sat so that their thighs were tight together. He gave her a surreptitious squeeze and after a brief hint diverted Anna from the conversation about Jayne’s non-promotion.

Conversation segued from jobs to family catching up – the rise and fall of children and parents and on into some introspection about the NME. The NME (New Musical Express) was the music informant of choice when Luke, Anna and Mark had left school and first travelled into London. They had bought a copy every week and had many happy memories of the humour and shared musical taste.

This was Jayne’s cue to listen. She hadn’t a clue about some of the bands they referred to and was well aware that she had been reading little girl comics when they had been drinking pints and swapping stories from the NME. She let the words wash over her and instead watched Luke’s lips as he spoke and laughed.

He had beautiful lips.

And that was how it happened.

It is just that she did not know what.  The booth went quiet- one moment they had all been talking and then they were not. Jayne cursed her lack of focus. What in hell had just been said?

She looked at Luke first, he was looking serious, a face that could have been mistaken for impassive but not by her. He was looking right at her. Her eyes looked right back at him, and she inhaled, a start of a sentence because she had no idea what she had done r how she could have done it. His face  was filled with the lines that would tell her she was in serious trouble but how could she be? And how come here? Not here. Her bottom clenched at the thought of it. But he couldn’t. Not here.  She gave up and looked at her glass, bewildered and afraid.

And that is when she heard it.

“You know I will not have that. You know that don’t you?”

Jayne’s stomach sank and her mouth went martni dry. She was searching for the words with which to respond and she heard them.

“Honey, I know,” the voice was quiet, soft and deep as a pool. It was not her voice.

It was Anna.

“But please, can’t we do this … just not now. Please?” It was still Anna. Her with the expensive hair style and cashmere top, Jayne knew that tone. Anna was begging not to be spanked.

Jayne out her fingers to her mouth and started to chew a nail but did not resist when Luke pulled her hand back down. Instead she took hold of his instructive hand and stroked it as she looked at it.

“Up.” The instruction was neat and clear. It was from Mark. Jayne was desperate to look up and at the same time looked longingly at Luke’s lap and wished she could sit in it to hide. She looked hard at his hand still and watched his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

“Over.”  He was not even giving her the choice.

Over what? Over the table? Over my dead body? Oh God, she was going to laugh- the incredible awfulness of this was making her stupid. Jayne bit the inside of her lip very hard to keep herself safe and quiet.

Every time she tried to imagine what on earth could be going on she just got a blank page in her mind, as though she were a cartoon character who had run off the edge of the page.

She felt Luke shift closer to her, pushing her into the corner as he made way for Anna to lay her top half over the table.

Jayne could hear herself breathing, she sounded out of breath; she sounded like a pervert. She should stop breathing she thought as she watched Anna’s hands spread out on the dark oak, her  rings tapping on the surface.

“I’m going to use my belt on you until I think you can behave appropriately. Do you understand?” Mark sounded hard, and unforgiving.

Jayne looked up at Luke, shouldn’t he stop this? This is illegal – and it was terrible, confusing, wrong. She watched the curve of his chin and the start of stubble on his cheek. She imagined how it would feel to kiss the cheek. She tried to imagine she was doing so and did her best to block out Anna’s quiet response of, “Yes, Sir.”

Sir! She called him ‘Sir’! Why wouldn’t Luke look at her? He was looking at Anna and Mark. He was just sitting there.

Jayne caught the edge of Mark’s belt in her vision. She saw it whip itself back from view and forward again, like a leather snake at its victim.

The crack was the loudest thing she had ever heard and without thinking she picked up Luke’s arm and tucked herself underneath it. Although his arm was next to her ear she could hear everything. The crack of the belt, the strangled cry of Anna, and the steady beat of Luke’s heart.

As though it were a scary film she could still see through the block his body made, the slope of Anna’s back, the curve of her bottom as it disappeared off the table and the insistent brown leather belt as it assalted her.

No one knew she was watching and Jayne shuffled closer into Luke but somehow she could just see more, the drop of Anna’s thigh, the belt biting around the edge of it, even Mark’s determined face as he worked at the punishment.

Jayne had forgotten her hand, left it behind on the table until she was reminded of it.

Anna grabbed it. She grabbed it and held on. She did it as though for comfort, support to get her through what she endured.

All the time the belt went back and forth and Anna rolled on the table and begged him to stop. But Jayne knew that begging. She knew the way that Anna’s reached for her. She understood.

She leaned away from Luke and looked for the first time at Anna, taking in the tableau as though she were its equal. She laid her hand flat under Anna’s and closed her cool fingers around Anna’s burning ones. She joined with her as she watched Anna’s face struggle and accept the beating.

And then it was over. A crying shaking Anna stood up and buttoned up her jeans, pulling them up with a puff of pain over her bottom and sat quickly in the corner of the booth, the shudder of humiliation weighing out the pain.

Jayne picked up the wine bottle and started to pour a glass for Anna. Her hand shaking so much that the wine spilt and she looked at Luke in alarm. He smiled down at her, shaking his head softly with a smile and as he did she felt Anna take the bottle from her and pour for them both.

The men were talking again, something about a shared friend who had moved away, something about something. She looked at Anna, flushed and shaking but saw how her hand was in Mark’s and her body pointed at him.

Jayne listened to the conversation across the pub, gentle and flowing and it was only then she realised. The conversation never stopped. For the first time she looks up at Luke who smiles down at her and pulls her towards him. She listens to his heart, steady as time.

“You be good now,” he whispered in her ear.  She is all wide eyes and heart beats as she nods and looks all around her seeing everyone and everything for the first time.

Would you like another?

I wish I could say it is a mystery why he makes me wait in position for him to start the punishment.

But it is not.

Not even a little bit.

I am certain if he knew how much worse it makes the spanking it would never ask me to wait for him.

Would you like another?

Right now I have just picked up Dexter from the station and we are arriving at my little cottage.

The cottage with the big thick walls.

The cottage with his cane in it.

Good job I am not naughty.

I am sure I will be quite safe. I bet while you are reading this I am sitting next to him having a cup of tea.

Would you like another?

How come there is nothing in the world like being told you have been naughty and now you are going to get spanked?

And yet …

At the very same time there is nothing at all in the whole world like when he takes your face in his hands, kisses you, calls you a good girl and tells you he is proud of you?

Both announcements give you a special kind of butterflies, as though all those butterflies in your tummy flew out rested on his hand.

This is why your heart skips a little when he holds your eye and starts to speak. You wait upon his words. Your heart beating a tattoo inside your chest. You would run if you could, no matter if it is scolding or praise he offers.

You wait with everything you have ever been for him to speak very breath you have ever had has waited for those words and when he speaks you hide from him and from yourself…

until he fetches you back. This is what it is to be guided and led by another. Dichotomy upon dichotomy, layer upon layer, an unimportant mystery.

Would you like another?